Read Online A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) by D. B. Jackson - Free Book Online

shillings and handed them to her.
    She eyed the money, pocketed it, and stood. “I’ll be right back.”
    “I’ll take a cup of Madeira, too,” Ethan said, following her to the bar. She went around the bar and disappeared into a room in back, adjacent to her kitchen.
    “You steal somebody’s coin purse, or somethin’?” she called.
    Ethan laughed. “No. But I got paid yesterday, and I managed to dupe Sephira Pryce long enough to keep her from stealing the money from me.”
    He heard Janna cackle. “Good for you, Kaille.”
    In all of Boston, Janna might have been the one person who disliked Sephira more than Ethan did. To this day, he wasn’t certain why. Janna remained closemouthed about whatever had passed between her and the Empress of the South End. When asked, she said only that Sephira had once cost her a good deal of coin.
    Janna emerged from the back room bearing a small leather pouch that was filled near to overflowing with leaves. She handed it to Ethan.
    He drew it open and held it to his nose. Right away, the air around him was redolent of the pungent, subtly bitter fragrance of fresh mullein.
    “Don’t that smell good?” Janna asked.
    “It does,” he said, as he slipped the pouch into his pocket. “My thanks.” He placed a half shilling on the bar.
    Janna took it and poured him a cup of Madeira. “Watered?” she asked.
    “Just a little, thank you.”
    Janna watered her own Madeira so much that it had little flavor. Given how much of it she drank, this was wise; if she drank it undiluted she would have put herself out of business, and been too drunk to notice.
    She added some water to his wine—more than he would have put in, but less than she added to her own—and slid the cup to him.
    “Were you conjuring last night?” he asked her.
    “When?”
    “Late.”
    “I was sleepin’ last night, late. Why?”
    He shook his head. “It’s not important.” He took a sip of wine. “Do you have any bone to sell, Janna?”
    Her expression grew guarded. “Since when do you conjure with bone?”
    “I don’t,” Ethan said. “But you have some, don’t you?”
    “O’ course. I always have some. But I don’t like sellin’ it. Don’t like where it comes from.”
    “And where is that?”
    She stared at him briefly before motioning with her head toward the table at which she had been sitting when he came in. Ethan picked up his wine and followed her.
    She lowered herself into her chair and gathered her shawl around her shoulders once more. Ethan sat opposite her.
    “Why are you sudd’nly so interested in bone?”
    “Work,” Ethan said. “I need some information.”
    “Yeah, I figured as much.” Her expression had soured, but her voice remained mild. “You come in here throwin’ money around like that, an’ I knew you’d want knowledge from me. You always do.”
    Ethan said nothing, but watched her, awaiting some sign that he could ask his questions.
    “Well, go on!” she said. “You spent your coin. Might as well make the most of it.”
    He smiled. “Thank you, Janna.”
    She scowled and waved away his gratitude.
    “What did you mean before, when you said that you didn’t like selling bone because of where it comes from?”
    “What do you think I meant? I can make money sellin’ bone. People pay a lot for it. But I don’t like thinkin’ ’bout graves bein’ dug up, and dead people bein’ riled.” She shook her head. “Wrathful dead ain’t good for any of us.”
    “Are there resurrectionists here in Boston?”
    “O’ course there are. Have been for as long as I can remember. We didn’ always call them that. For a while they was just grave robbers, like the rest. But, yeah, they’re here.”
    “Can you tell me who they are?”
    Janna shook her head. “I may not like what they do, but I’ve still got to do business with them. I can’ risk makin’ them angry.”
    “I understand. Tell me this: Are certain bones more powerful than others?”
    “You mean for