larger purpose. That’s why you must trust me, even though I’m a conjurer. I’m the only person who can stop him.”
Again the minister stared at him; he looked thoroughly unnerved. Which did he fear more: Ethan, or his own ignorance in matters relating to “witchery”?
“What is it you want me to do?” Caner finally asked, surrender in his voice.
“Well, you can start by promising that you won’t have me hanged.”
Caner waved a meaty hand, either dismissing the notion, or accepting it without argument, Ethan wasn’t sure which. “What else?” the rector asked.
Ethan started to answer, but then stopped, the memory coming to him at last. It hadn’t been his imagination; there had been something. “I need to borrow Mister Pell,” he said.
Caner narrowed his eyes. “What for?”
“Yes,” Pell said, his eyes wide with surprise. “What for?”
Ethan grinned at his friend. “I need to watch two people, and I’m but one man. I told you before that you might make a fine thieftaker. If Mister Caner will grant his permission, we can put that notion to a test.”
Caner scowled at them both. Pell fairly beamed.
Chapter Nineteen
Ethan was more eager than ever to speak with Cyrus Derne, eager enough that he had abandoned any hope of contriving another meeting between himself and the merchant. Derne had decided to use his money and influence to protect himself from Ethan’s questions; Ethan would use his conjuring skill to slip past the men Derne had hired as guards.
From King’s Chapel, Ethan made his way back to the Derne house on Bennet’s Street to confirm what he already suspected. The chaises were gone. Derne had probably returned to his wharf. Ethan went there next. Along the way, he stopped in a deserted alley and cast the same concealment spell he had used the previous evening while walking from Elli’s house to the Dowsing Rod. Once more he knew that he risked alerting the conjurer to his whereabouts, and if Derne was Jennifer Berson’s killer, the merchant would have no trouble seeing through Ethan’s spell. But he would deal with that when the time came. The casting would at least allow him to get past the guards at the base of Derne’s Wharf, and whatever others the merchant had positioned between the street and the warehouse where he had his office.
As Ethan walked, he took care to tread softly. This was easy enough on the cobblestones of Boston’s streets, but when Ethan reached Derne’s Wharf, it became far more difficult. Like most of Boston’s wharves, this one was made of fill: solid refuse from shops and homes piled into wooden cribs and covered over with a blend of dirt and sand, of crushed seashells and rock. There wasn’t a man alive who could walk on fill without leaving an imprint with every step. Even after he slipped past the first guards onto the wharf, he had to creep along its edge, constantly watching for anyone who might come too close. Late in the day, he might have been able to reach Derne’s office quickly, but in the middle of the afternoon the wharf was crowded enough that people were constantly walking past in one direction or the other.
Halfway to Derne’s office he stopped, realizing once more that he had been foolish. He didn’t have to risk venturing farther out onto the wharf. Derne would take care of that for him. The merchant wouldn’t remain in his warehouse forever, and if he had dealings in the city that he wanted to keep from Ethan, chances were he wouldn’t want many others knowing about them, either. Eventually he would leave the building and abandon his escort. There was nothing for Ethan to do but wait.
He wondered if he might be best off waiting back at the street, where he could pick up Derne’s trail on the cobblestone rather than on this treacherous fill. He had even gone so far as to turn back when he spotted a familiar face coming in his direction. Diver.
Ethan frowned at the sight of him, wondering whether he would be better off letting his friend pass by, or enlisting Diver’s aid. Diver could go where Ethan could not. He could find out what Derne was doing and who was with him. Except that Diver shouldn’t have been here at all. What business did he have on Derne’s Wharf? He usually worked Greenough’s Shipyard or Thornton’s. If he had been working for Derne he would have told Ethan as much several nights before, when Ethan told him about Jennifer Berson.
What was more, his friend was behaving oddly. He walked slowly, repeatedly glancing back toward the street, and warily eyeing the hired men ahead of him.
The memory hit him like Yellow-hair’s fist. The last time Ethan had seen Diver, they had been here, at Derne’s Wharf, or at least on the street just beside it. Ethan had come to question Derne; Diver, he assumed at the time, was merely passing by on his way home from work.
Diver had acted strangely then, too. At the time, Ethan had been too preoccupied with Jennifer Berson’s murder and his conversation with Derne to give Diver’s behavior much thought, but now it all came back to him: how uncomfortable Diver had been at seeing Ethan there, how reluctant he had been to go to the Dowser, even how interested he had been in Ethan’s conversation with Derne. Was it possible that Diver had business with the merchant?
He watched as his friend strode past him, and then he set out after him, moving with as much stealth as possible. When Diver reached Derne’s warehouse, he slowed. But then he squared his shoulders, took a breath, and approached the building’s entrance. The men there stopped him and said something Ethan couldn’t hear. Ethan thought for certain that they would keep Diver out. He was dressed in his usual work clothes and he looked far more like a South End tough than he did a merchant.
After a brief discussion, though, Derne’s men let him pass, and Diver entered the warehouse.
Ethan was so overcome with curiosity that he started forward to follow his friend inside. What business could Diver-Diver! — have with one of the most influential merchants in Boston? It actually took his glowing ghost throwing out a hand in front of him to keep Ethan from giving himself away.
“Right,” he whispered. “My thanks.”
Moments later, his interest in Diver’s affairs took on a far darker urgency. His friend emerged onto the wharf once more, accompanied by none other than Cyrus Derne. The two of them headed back toward the street and several of Derne’s guards fell in behind them. They walked this way for a short distance, but then Derne halted and spoke to one of the men. Their conversation lasted only a few seconds, and when Derne and Diver started away again, none of the others followed.
Ethan trailed them, walking with some care, but unwilling to risk losing sight of the pair. A few heads turned at the sound of his footsteps, but of course no one could see him. As they came to the end of the wharf, Ethan spotted Derne’s chaise, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing aloud. If they traveled somewhere by carriage, he would have little chance of keeping up.
But Derne and Diver turned northward onto Ship Street and walked past the chaise. Relieved, Ethan followed. Now that they were back on paved lanes, he could get closer to them. But though he thought he was near enough to hear anything the two men said, they exchanged no words. Ethan had the distinct impression that Derne barely tolerated Diver’s company.
At the north end of Ship Street, they headed west on another lane. Though his bad leg was starting to ache, Ethan walked quickly to the corner. Carefully he peered around the side of a wheelwright’s shop. Derne and Diver were several strides ahead of him, still unaware of his pursuit. Waiting until they had gone some distance up this new street, Ethan continued after them.
They hadn’t gone far when two more people turned onto the street some distance ahead of them and started walking in their direction. Ethan slowed, then halted. Uncle Reg stopped as well, watching him, his expression wary. Ethan’s pulse suddenly was racing. Fear, rage, confusion-his emotions were as roiled as a stormy sea. One of the people approaching Derne and Diver was dressed as a merchant, though Ethan didn’t recognize him. He looked a little older than Derne, and he wore a black suit and a tricorn hat. Ethan should have been curious about this man; learning his name or trade might have helped him with his inquiry. But he barely spared the merchant a glance. His eyes were drawn to his companion. Sephira Pryce.
Diver and Derne had halted. When Pryce and her companion reached them, they stopped as well, and the four of them stood speaking, their voices low enough that Ethan couldn’t hear any of what they said.
