Darrow’s jaw muscles bunched. Mackintosh eyed them, seeming to grow more confused and nervous by the moment.
“I wan’ Mister Darrow with me,” he said at last.
Ethan sighed, but he could hardly blame the man. Mackintosh had known Darrow for a year and Ethan for ten minutes. To Darrow’s credit, he didn’t gloat at all. Rather he turned to Ethan again, a question in his eyes.
“All right, then,” Ethan said. “If that’s what he wants, you should join us.”
Darrow nodded and led them the rest of the way down the stairs to the tavern. While he crossed to the bar, Ethan and Mackintosh took a table by the hearth.
“You don’ trust Darrow?” the cordwainer asked as they sat.
“I wouldn’t say that I don’t trust him. But I’m not sure that he has your best interests at heart.”
Mackintosh laughed. “An’ you do, is tha’ right?”
“No,” Ethan said. “I couldn’t care less about your best interests. But you never would have thought to trust me, so that hardly matters.”
Mackintosh frowned. “Darrow helped me out some time back. He helped get me off after we sacked Oliver’s house, an’ jus’ this mornin’ he got Sheriff Greenleaf t’ let me go. You might not think he has my interests at heart, but he’s done me a good turn time an’ again. I know him. I trust him. You…” He shrugged.
“I understand.”
Before they could say more, Darrow came to the table with two ales. He placed one in front of each of them, and then sat.
Mackintosh still looked troubled.
“Is everything all right?” Darrow asked.
“Mister Mackintosh was explaining that he trusts you and not me,” Ethan said.
“I see,” Darrow said. “And were you telling him why he’s wrong to put his faith in me?”
“I merely told him I didn’t think you were concerned first and foremost with his welfare.”
“What do you think of that, Ebenezer?” Darrow asked.
“You’ve helped me out o’ some tough spots, Mister Darrow. Tha’s wha’ I told him.” But Mackintosh didn’t meet the man’s gaze.
Darrow regarded him for another moment before facing Ethan again.
“Perhaps you should ask your questions, Mister Kaille. Ebenezer has had several long and trying days.”
“Of course,” Ethan said. He faced Mackintosh. “As I already told you, I’ve been hired by Abner Berson to inquire into the death of his elder daughter, Jennifer. She died the night of August twenty-sixth, around the time you and your followers were abroad in the city ransacking the homes of Benjamin Hallowell, William Story, and Thomas Hutchinson.”
“And there’s folk who think I’m t’ blame?”
“Aye,” Ethan said, resisting the impulse to glance Darrow’s way. “She wore a brooch that night, and it was stolen from her. And since her father is wealthy, and a friend of the lieutenant governor, Hallowell, and Story, some have suggested there may be a connection between the attack on Hutchinson’s house and her death.”
“How did she die?” Mackintosh asked.
How indeed? They had come to the crux of the matter, and to the one thing Ethan least wished to discuss in front of Darrow. He didn’t know how to answer, or how to determine if Mackintosh was a conjurer. In the end, he decided that he had little choice but to dissemble, at least until he could contrive to speak privately with the man.
“No one knows for certain,” he said. “There are some who claim that her killer used dark powers against her.”
Mackintosh stared at him for the span of a heartbeat. Then he let out a loud, nervous laugh. “Dark powers. You’re havin’ a bit o’ fun with me, right?”
Ethan said nothing.
“Is he makin’ a joke?” Mackintosh asked Darrow. “Are you two havin’ th’ run on me?”
“I don’t know what Mister Kaille is up to,” Darrow said in a hard voice. “I was led to believe that yours was a serious inquiry, Mister Kaille,” he said. “What is this foolishness?”
“I’m only repeating what others have said,” Ethan told him.
“Wha’ others?”
“That I won’t say.”
“Well, it’s madness!” Mackintosh said, sounding truly shaken. “They wan’ me t’ hang for a murderer, an’ if tha’ don’ work, they’ll hang me for a witch instead!”
“Nobody is going to hang you, Ebenezer,” Darrow said. He frowned at Ethan. “I thought better of you, Mister Kaille.”
Ethan made no answer to Darrow, but asked Mackintosh, “Do you remember seeing a lone young woman in the streets that night?”
The cordwainer shook his head. “Do you know how many of us there were? Hundreds. Maybe more. I know tha’ most o’ my South End boys were there, an’ a fair number from th’ North End, too. But askin’ me t’ remember one girl… Obviously you weren’ there, or you’d know better.”
“Did your men stay with you the entire time?”
He shook his head a second time. “No, we split up. Some wen’ t’ pay a visit t’ Hallowell, th’ rest wen’ t’ see Story. We met up again an’ then wen’ on t’ Hutchinson’s house. An’ before you ask, I wen’ back an’ forth between th’ two-kept an eye on both groups.”
Ethan nodded, unable to hide his disappointment. When he met with Adams, Darrow, and Otis, the men had blamed Mackintosh for the girl’s death, and Ethan had no doubt that they could convince the Crown authorities that he was responsible. He had led the mob, controlled it even. He admitted as much, and that might well be enough for a court, particularly if they could also blame Daniel. But Ethan wasn’t interested in holding Mackintosh responsible. He wanted to know who had actually killed Jennifer Berson. And he sensed that Mackintosh was right: There was no way to know this for certain, short of speaking to every person who had been in that crowd.
“Can I see your forearms, Mister Mackintosh?”
The other man regarded him as if he was mad. “Wha’?”
“Please,” Ethan said. He could hear the weariness in his own voice. “Humor me. I need to see your forearms.”
Mackintosh looked to Darrow, who hesitated but then nodded. The cordwainer pushed up his sleeves and held out his arms for Ethan to see. There was a single long scar on one of them, which might have come from a knife fight. But otherwise, unlike Ethan’s own arms, which were scored with a lattice of scars old and new, Mackintosh’s were unmarked. If he was a conjurer, he had found some other way to draw upon his blood for spells.
“Wha’ are you lookin’ for?” Mackintosh asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ethan said. He stood, drank a bit of the ale Darrow had bought him, and started toward the stairway. “It isn’t there.”
Chapter Eighteen
As much as he didn’t wish to see Mackintosh sacrificed by Darrow, Adams, and the others, Ethan was disappointed to learn that the man wasn’t a sorcerer. Everyone he had talked to thought that Mackintosh was responsible for Jennifer Berson’s death, and though he mistrusted them and questioned their motives, he had also come to hope that they might be right.
Now he knew they weren’t. And with the cordwainer eliminated as a suspect, Ethan’s suspicions fell once more on Cyrus Derne. He thought it likely that whatever dealings the merchant had in the city the night of the riots had gotten his betrothed killed. Whether that had been his intent remained open to question.
He didn’t think that Derne or his friends would allow him to get close enough to the merchant to question him, so he needed to think of another strategy. He went back to the Dowser.
As soon as he entered the tavern, Kelf called for Kannice, who emerged from the kitchen clutching a scrap of
