authorized to offer you ten pounds. Consider it a bounty on the head of the killer. Find him, and the money is yours.”
Ten pounds was a considerable sum. Even Sephira Pryce might have killed for less.
“All right,” Ethan said. He surveyed the ship once more, the bodies strewn about the hold. Aside from the color of the conjurer’s power, he had little information with which to start. Except, of course, for the conversations he had overheard. Spectacles and Sephira were looking for someone who they believed was on one of the British ships. So, Ethan would look for this man as well.
“To start,” he said, turning back to Senhouse, “I’ll need the name of every man on this ship.”
Chapter
S IX
For several seconds, neither Senhouse nor Geoffrey said a word.
The lieutenant narrowed his eyes, his brow creasing. “Whatever for, Mister Kaille? Surely you can’t think that one of these men is responsible?”
Ethan wasn’t about to voice his suspicions about Spectacles. Not yet, knowing so little. Sephira Pryce had too many friends among those who served the Crown. If she learned that Ethan suspected her associate of a crime of this magnitude, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.
“Forgive me, Lieutenant,” he said, “but you’ve asked me to inquire into the deaths of these men, and now you need to let me conduct my investigation.”
Senhouse blinked once, obviously taken aback. To his credit, though, he recovered quickly. “Yes, of course. You’re quite right. This way.”
He led Ethan and Brower back to the ladder and up onto the ship’s deck. After the darkness of the hold, the sunlight was blinding, and Ethan had to shield his eyes with an open hand. But he welcomed the cool touch of the autumn breeze and the clean, briny scent of the harbor air.
Senhouse strode to the stern and into the captain’s quarters. Ethan followed the lieutenant back as far as the doorway to the quarters, but faltered there. It had been more than twenty years since last he served on a ship, but still the old habits of a sailor remained deeply ingrained. A common seaman didn’t simply walk uninvited into a captain’s quarters.
Geoffrey, who as far as Ethan knew had never served in the navy, had no such reservations, and walked into Ethan from behind.
“Pardon me,” Brower said, flustered.
Senhouse looked back at them and waved Ethan into the cabin. “It’s all right, Mister Kaille,” he said, with an understanding nod.
Ethan entered, though doing so still felt odd. The air was sour in here as it had been below, the faint hint of stale sweat and rancid food lingering beneath the bitter smell of spermaceti candles.
The man lying on the bed in the far corner of the cabin looked to be no older than Ethan. He had long brown hair that he wore in a plait. A powdered wig sat on a small writing desk bolted to the wall just beside the bed. Because the Graystone was too small to be a rated ship, her commander had not been a captain, but rather a lower-ranked naval officer—perhaps another lieutenant. Senhouse might well have been friends with the man.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Ethan said, his voice sounding loud in the small space. “Who was he?”
Senhouse stared at the body. “His name was Jacob Waite. He was also a lieutenant. He received this posting only last month. You would have thought they had named him fleet commander, he was so pleased.” After a few seconds more, he looked away and seemed to force himself into motion. Crossing to the desk he said, “The manifest should be in here somewhere.”
He began to search the papers on the commander’s desk. When he found nothing there, he knelt down to open the sea chest beside it. Finally he stood again, looking puzzled.
“That’s strange,” he said. “There should be a manifest here.”
“Maybe the purser had it,” Ethan suggested.
“Yes, maybe he did.”
They left the captain’s cabin and went back below to the wardroom, where the
Ten pounds was a considerable sum. Even Sephira Pryce might have killed for less.
“All right,” Ethan said. He surveyed the ship once more, the bodies strewn about the hold. Aside from the color of the conjurer’s power, he had little information with which to start. Except, of course, for the conversations he had overheard. Spectacles and Sephira were looking for someone who they believed was on one of the British ships. So, Ethan would look for this man as well.
“To start,” he said, turning back to Senhouse, “I’ll need the name of every man on this ship.”
Chapter
S IX
For several seconds, neither Senhouse nor Geoffrey said a word.
The lieutenant narrowed his eyes, his brow creasing. “Whatever for, Mister Kaille? Surely you can’t think that one of these men is responsible?”
Ethan wasn’t about to voice his suspicions about Spectacles. Not yet, knowing so little. Sephira Pryce had too many friends among those who served the Crown. If she learned that Ethan suspected her associate of a crime of this magnitude, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.
“Forgive me, Lieutenant,” he said, “but you’ve asked me to inquire into the deaths of these men, and now you need to let me conduct my investigation.”
Senhouse blinked once, obviously taken aback. To his credit, though, he recovered quickly. “Yes, of course. You’re quite right. This way.”
He led Ethan and Brower back to the ladder and up onto the ship’s deck. After the darkness of the hold, the sunlight was blinding, and Ethan had to shield his eyes with an open hand. But he welcomed the cool touch of the autumn breeze and the clean, briny scent of the harbor air.
Senhouse strode to the stern and into the captain’s quarters. Ethan followed the lieutenant back as far as the doorway to the quarters, but faltered there. It had been more than twenty years since last he served on a ship, but still the old habits of a sailor remained deeply ingrained. A common seaman didn’t simply walk uninvited into a captain’s quarters.
Geoffrey, who as far as Ethan knew had never served in the navy, had no such reservations, and walked into Ethan from behind.
“Pardon me,” Brower said, flustered.
Senhouse looked back at them and waved Ethan into the cabin. “It’s all right, Mister Kaille,” he said, with an understanding nod.
Ethan entered, though doing so still felt odd. The air was sour in here as it had been below, the faint hint of stale sweat and rancid food lingering beneath the bitter smell of spermaceti candles.
The man lying on the bed in the far corner of the cabin looked to be no older than Ethan. He had long brown hair that he wore in a plait. A powdered wig sat on a small writing desk bolted to the wall just beside the bed. Because the Graystone was too small to be a rated ship, her commander had not been a captain, but rather a lower-ranked naval officer—perhaps another lieutenant. Senhouse might well have been friends with the man.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Ethan said, his voice sounding loud in the small space. “Who was he?”
Senhouse stared at the body. “His name was Jacob Waite. He was also a lieutenant. He received this posting only last month. You would have thought they had named him fleet commander, he was so pleased.” After a few seconds more, he looked away and seemed to force himself into motion. Crossing to the desk he said, “The manifest should be in here somewhere.”
He began to search the papers on the commander’s desk. When he found nothing there, he knelt down to open the sea chest beside it. Finally he stood again, looking puzzled.
“That’s strange,” he said. “There should be a manifest here.”
“Maybe the purser had it,” Ethan suggested.
“Yes, maybe he did.”
They left the captain’s cabin and went back below to the wardroom, where the
Similar Books
