“Sephira Pryce was here,” Ethan said. “She and her men were waiting for me.” He glanced at Henry. “You didn’t hear them earlier?”
Henry looked hurt. “O’ course I didn’t. Ya think I’d let ya come up, knowin’ they was here?
Ethan shook his head. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry, Henry.”
The cooper’s face colored. “I did hear some commotion and… well, I was afraid to come up. But then I heard them leave. That was all I heard, though. I swear it.”
“I believe you. And it’s probably best that you waited. There’s no telling what they might have done to you.”
“She was really here, eh?” the old man said, gazing wistfully at the door, as if he might still catch a glimpse of Sephira and her men. “Th’ Empress herself?”
Ethan had to laugh, though it hurt to do so. “Aye. It’s my own fault. I saw one of them coming up behind me on the stairs. I should have realized that he wouldn’t be alone.”
“Wha’ does Sephira want with you?”
“New job I’m working on,” Ethan told him. “You really don’t want to know.” He probed his face gingerly with his fingers. Everything felt swollen. “I must look a mess.”
“Ya do,” Henry said. “I’ll get some water and help ya get cleaned up.” He stood, hitting Ethan’s knife with his foot as he did. “They leave that?” he asked.
Ethan shook his head. “It’s mine. It’s pretty much the only thing they didn’t take.”
Henry glanced around the room. “They took stuff?”
“Just my money. Good thing I paid you before coming up here.”
Henry grimaced sympathetically, but he didn’t offer to give Ethan back any of the rent money. He left the room, still looking around, perhaps, Ethan thought, hoping that he might spot something that Sephira had left behind. Ethan thought it likely that nothing he had done before had impressed the old man as much as getting thrashed by Sephira Pryce’s men.
While Henry was gone he gently probed his ribs with his hands, trying to decide if any were broken. It felt like at least one of them was, but Henry entered the room again before he could cut himself and cast a healing spell. For all their years of friendship the old man didn’t know that Ethan was a conjurer. Or if he did, he acted as though he assumed Ethan didn’t cast anymore, for he never mentioned spellmaking or “witchcraft” in front of Ethan.
Henry had brought a bucket of cold water, several pieces of clean cloth, and a bottle of what Ethan guessed was rum. He helped Ethan climb into the chair and then began to clean the wounds on his face. The old cooper was surprisingly gentle and deft, though he worked slowly. It wasn’t long before the cloths were stained red with blood. Henry continually wrung them out into the bucket, and soon the water had shaded toward pink.
“Lot o’ blood,” the cooper said after a lengthy silence.
“I was noticing that. I think I’m glad I don’t have a looking glass.”
“I have one,” Henry told him. “I can get it if you like. Ya don’t look so bad. Probably feels worse than it looks.”
“Aye, probably. My thanks, Henry.”
The cooper finished cleaning him up, and then opened the rum and poured a bit onto a clean cloth.
“Is that necessary?” Ethan asked.
Henry shrugged. “They say i’ keeps away infection.”
“I’m going to smell like a distillery. People will think I’ve been drinking.”
“I’d drink if I looked like you do,” Henry said, cackling.
Ethan frowned, but then gestured for the cooper to use the rum.
Henry leaned forward and began applying the soaked cloth to Ethan’s various cuts.
Ethan spent the next several moments inhaling sharply through his teeth again and again. “Damn!” he said after the sixth or seventh time. “Do you have to use that much?”
The cooper glanced doubtfully at the bottle. “I didn’t think I was using a lot.”
Ethan closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “I’m sure you weren’t. Just… keep doing what you were doing. I’ll keep my mouth-” He winced again as Henry touched the spirit-soaked cloth to another spot on his temple. “-closed.”
Henry grimaced again. “Ya want me t’ stop?”
Ethan stared at him briefly before picking up the bottle, pulling out the cork, and gulping down a mouthful. It burned, but it tasted good. “Don’t stop.”
The cooper nodded his approval, a toothless grin on his face, and went back to work.
When at last Henry had finished, Ethan had to admit that he felt somewhat better. He stood stiffly, and began to pull off his waistcoat and shirt.
“Ya should rest,” the cooper said.
“I can’t. I have to pay a visit to Beacon Street.”
“Beacon Street!” Henry repeated. “Who d’ya know there?”
“I have a meeting with Abner Berson.”
The cooper’s mouth dropped open and he shook his head. “Pryce and Berson in one day. Ya’re movin’ up in the world, Ethan.”
Ethan didn’t say anything. It probably would have amazed Henry to see the house in which Ethan had grown up. His father had taken great pride in being able to afford a home within a block of the Bristol Cathedral. Ellis Kaille would have been ashamed to see his son living in this single room on Cooper’s Alley.
“My thanks again, Henry. I’m in your debt.”
The old man gathered his bucket, cloths, and rum, and paused at the door. “Not at all. Have a care though. I don’ want t’ have t’ do this again. Never liked blood o’ any kind.”
Ethan watched him go. Once Henry had descended the wooden stairs, Ethan sat again and checked his ribs, determining that only the one was broken. Taking a long breath to prepare himself, he pushed the broken bone back in place, gasping in agony, and fighting not to be sick. When he had set the bone as best he could, he pulled out his knife, cut his forearm, smeared some blood on his side, and said, “ Remedium ex cruore evocatum. ” Healing, conjured from blood.
Uncle Reg appeared, took one look at Ethan’s face, and began to laugh silently. If Ethan could have punched the ghost in the nose, he would have. Despite the specter’s mockery, the effect of Ethan’s spell was immediate. It felt as though cool water were flowing over the bone and surrounding flesh. He hadn’t realized how much it hurt each time he took a breath until he could inhale without pain.
Ethan wished he could do more for his wounds, but Henry had seen the bruises on his face and would notice if he healed too quickly. He would have to be satisfied with mending the broken bone. Healing spells were taxing, and after the beating he had taken, he would have liked nothing better than to take Henry’s advice and rest. But one didn’t keep a man like Abner Berson waiting, and Sephira’s visit had served only to make Ethan more determined to begin his inquiry. He changed into clean clothes and left his room. One of his eyes had swollen shut, making it difficult to see, and his split lip would make speaking a chore.
He had lost track of the time, but the sun was still up, angling sharply across the shops and lanes of Boston. The day had grown warm, and a steady wind blew in off the harbor, carrying the scent of rain.
He walked back up Water Street and School Street, passing King’s Chapel once more, and also the Granary Burying Ground, before turning onto Beacon Street. The night before, while waiting for Ezra Corbett in the merchant’s sitting room, Ethan had remarked to himself how much nicer Corbett’s home was than his own. Now, walking past the mansions at the base of Beacon Hill, he wondered if Corbett felt the same way when he came to call on men like Berson.
Referring to these manors as houses failed to do them justice. They might have been situated within the bounds of the city, but they resembled the country estates of Braintree, Milton, and Roxbury as much as they did even the finer houses of the North End. Beacon Street itself was clean and pleasant, offering fine views of the hill. There were no beggars asking for coin or miscreants lurking in alleys. Each house had its own stone wall and iron gate, and the grounds surrounding the homes were neat and well tended.