overpowering desire to scream at the top of his lungs every curse he knew.
“Why?” he asked after a moment. “I thought it was customary to wait four days.”
Pell glanced at Troutbeck again. “It is,” he said. He motioned for Ethan to follow him and started toward the chapel entrance.
Ethan pushed away from the pew, stepped out into the central aisle, and hobbled after him, wincing with every step.
Pell waited for Ethan to catch up with him. “What have you done to your leg?”
“It’s an old wound.”
They walked out of the chapel into the cool night air and the silver glow of the moon, and made their way down the path into the churchyard. Ethan checked the street and the grounds, expecting to see the conjurer’s girl or Sephira’s henchmen. But aside from a pair of gentlemen walking past in earnest conversation, their shoes clicking on the cobblestones, the street was empty.
“Tell me about the girl,” Ethan said.
Pell grimaced. “There’s not much to tell. Her family demanded the funeral. We couldn’t refuse. You didn’t expect us to keep her here forever.”
“No. But another day would have helped.”
“Why?” the minister asked, dropping his voice. “What’s happened?”
“What hasn’t happened? I’ve been beaten, threatened, I’ve even been summoned to speak with Thomas Hutchinson himself.”
“Hutchinson!” Pell repeated, sounding impressed. “What interest does he have in this?”
“He believes Jennifer Berson was killed by the same mob that destroyed his home.”
“Is he right?”
Ethan shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The important thing is I have the brooch.”
Pell’s eyes widened. “You do? That’s remarkable!”
“Actually, it’s not. The conjurer who killed her wanted me to have it. He or she is assuming that once I’ve given it to the Bersons, they’ll be satisfied.”
“I don’t understand,” Pell said, shaking his head. “You’ve got the brooch, but you don’t know who gave it to you?”
“Essentially, yes. It’s too much to explain right now. But the conjurer wants me to believe that Berson’s daughter was killed by a petty thief named Daniel Folter, who allegedly was part of the mob.”
The minister frowned. “Folter,” he repeated. “Why is that name so familiar?”
Could he really be this fortunate? “Is it possible,” Ethan asked, “that you know his name because his body is lying in your crypt right now?”
“Yes!” Pell said. “I mean, no, he’s not there. But that is how I know about him. He was brought here earlier this evening. Mister Troutbeck had me send the men who carried him to another church.”
“Do you know which one?”
Pell shook his head. “No. But I can tell you there’s no doubt as to how he died. He had been beaten and then stabbed several times. He looked a mess.”
Of course. Sephira and her men had killed Folter; the conjurer was merely using his death to mask his own crimes.
“You don’t believe Folter killed Jennifer Berson?” Pell asked.
“I know he didn’t. He wasn’t a conjurer. But now I can’t prove it to anyone else, not even her father.”
Before Pell could respond, Ethan heard someone approaching along the lane. He reached for his blade.
“It’s all right,” Pell said quietly. Then, in a louder voice, he called, “Good evening, Mister Caner.”
The man walking toward the chapel paused in midstep, but then walked on. “Is that you, Trevor?”
“Yes, Reverend, sir.”
“And who is that with you?”
“This is Ethan Kaille. He’s the thieftaker Mister Troutbeck mentioned to you yesterday.”
“Ah, yes,” the rector said. By now he had joined them in the churchyard. Stopping before them, he extended a fleshy hand to Ethan. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Kaille.”
Ethan gripped the man’s hand. “And yours, Mister Caner.”
The rector was short and round, and even in the moonlight Ethan could see that he had a pleasant face. His mouth was shaped like a small bow and his eyebrows were bushy. He wore a wig of thick white curls in a style that had been current before Ethan sailed with the Ruby Blade, but not since.
“You’ve been looking into the matter of the Berson girl, is that right?” Caner asked.
“Yes, Reverend, sir.”
“How goes your inquiry?”
“I believe I’m making some progress,” Ethan said, choosing his words with care.
“Fine, fine. Glad to hear it. Terrible business.” Caner stood a moment shaking his head slowly, his lips pursed, a frown creasing his brow. “Trevor,” he said rather abruptly, “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind leaving us, so that I might have a word in private with Mister Kaille.”
Ethan saw his own surprise mirrored in the young minister’s expression.
“Of course.” He raised his eyebrows for just an instant. “Good night, Mister Kaille. I wish you continued success with your inquiry.”
“Thank you, Mister Pell,” Ethan said. “Good night.”
After watching Pell enter the chapel, Caner faced Ethan again, his expression far less pleasant than it had been when first he joined them in the yard.
“Walk with me,” he said, moonlight shining in his heavy-lidded eyes.
He didn’t wait for Ethan to answer, but walked out of the chapel yard and up Treamount Street. Ethan followed.
“You’re a danger to him,” Caner said quietly, as Ethan caught up with him.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t look so surprised, Mister Kaille. I know who you are, and what you are. I know Trevor quite well. And you’re a danger to him. What is more, you know this to be true.”
“Mister Pell-”
“Mister Pell is hardly more than a boy. He sees you-a thieftaker-and he is intrigued, as any young man would be. But Trevor sees more than that. He sees a man who is known to have used the dark arts to solve mysteries. What could be more fascinating?”
They walked in silence for several moments, Ethan marshaling his thoughts, Caner watching him keenly.
“You know a great deal about me,” Ethan said at last. “May I ask why that is?”
The minister smiled reflexively. “I remember the Ruby Blade, and as a man of God, I take note of the devil wherever he appears, no matter his guise.”
“You believe me a servant of the devil?”
“An unwitting one, perhaps. A dupe, if you will. But yes. Through you, Satan would lure Trevor Pell into his service, and thus gain a foothold in our church.”
“You don’t seem to be afraid of me.”
“I have faith in the Lord, and in His faith in me.”
Ethan kept his eyes fixed on the road before him. “So do you intend to have me hanged for a witch?”
Caner shook his head. “No, Mister Kaille. I am at war with the forces of Hell, as is every man of God. As I say, I don’t believe you to be a willing ally of Satan, and I see that you are doing work for good. If you can find Jennifer Berson’s killer, that will be an act of mercy for her family. I see no need to destroy you.” He paused. “That is, unless you insist upon bringing the devil into my church. Leave Trevor Pell alone, and you have nothing to fear from me.”
“I think you exaggerate the influence I have over Mister Pell. He and I have spoken only a few times. And I assure you that I wish him no ill.”
Caner halted, as did Ethan.
“I lease Mister Pell a room,” the rector said. “Late last night he left our house, doing his best to go undetected. He came home sometime later. Do you know anything about where he might have gone?”
Ethan met the man’s gaze. “Did you ask him?”
