“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?”
“I did not. To be honest, I think I already know. You may roam this city day and night, exposing yourself to every sort of wickedness, but men of the Church do not.” He took a breath, straightened. “I’m telling you to leave him alone. I don’t want him having anything to do with you.”
“I’ve already told you that I have no control over Mister Pell. I’ve done nothing to corrupt him or put him in danger, and I never would.”
“And his whereabouts last night?”
“You’ll have to ask Pell.”
Caner said nothing. After a moment, Ethan said, “Good night, Mister Caner,” and turned to go.
“What were you doing at my chapel?” the minister asked.
Ethan faced the man once more, and sighed. “I heard a rumor that Jennifer Berson had been buried. I was hoping I would find it wasn’t true.”
Caner’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Because now I can’t prove that she was killed by a conjuring, and the wrong man is going to be blamed for her murder.”
The rector raised a hand to his mouth. “He’s to be hanged?”
Ethan shook his head. “He’s dead already.”
Caner’s forehead wrinkled again with puzzlement, but Ethan didn’t bother to explain. He turned and hobbled away, leaving the minister to ponder what he had said.
This late in the evening, the streets of Boston were largely deserted. Ethan did cross paths with a man of the watch who called out the time and eyed Ethan warily as he walked past. But other than this fellow, and a few men far gone with drink, he saw no one.
When at last he entered the Dowser, he found it practically empty. Diver sat alone in the far corner, a cup of ale resting on the table in front of him. His nose was swollen and discolored, and his eyes were ringed with dark purple bruises. Seeing Ethan, he stood so quickly that he toppled his chair.
“Thank goodness!” Ethan heard from the bar.
Kannice stepped out into the great room, crossed to where he stood, and put her arms around him.
“I’ve been worried sick,” she said.
“I’m fine,” he told her, breathing in the scent of her hair. “They took me to see Hutchinson.”
“Hutchinson?” Diver said, sounding impressed. “What did he want with you?”
“He wanted to make sure I knew that the same people who wrecked his house would have been capable of killing Jennifer Berson.”
“Surely you haven’t been with him all this time,” Kannice said.
“No. After I left the Town House, I had another encounter with Sephira’s men.”