This week, we're welcoming author D.B. Jackson, whose latest novel THIEVES' QUARRY is set in America's 18th century and follows Jackson's earlier novel, THIEFTAKER. Join us on Sunday, when the author will offer a free copy of THIEVES' QUARRY to a lucky blog visitor. Here's the blurb:
Boston,
Province of Massachusetts Bay, September 28, 1768
Autumn
has come to New England, and with it a new threat to the city of Boston.
British naval ships have sailed into Boston Harbor bearing over a thousand of
His Majesty King George III’s soldiers. After a summer of rioting and political
unrest, the city is to be occupied.
Ethan
Kaille, thieftaker and conjurer, is awakened early in the morning by a
staggeringly powerful spell, a dark conjuring of unknown origin. Before long,
he is approached by representatives of the Crown. It seems that every man
aboard the HMS Graystone has died, though no one knows how or why. They know only
that there is no sign of violence or illness. Ethan soon discovers that one
soldier -- a man who is known to have worked with Ethan’s beautiful and
dangerous rival, Sephira Pryce -- has escaped the fate of his comrades and is
not among the Graystone’s dead. Is he the killer, or is there another conjurer
loose in the city, possessed of power sufficient to kill so many with a single
dark casting?
Ethan,
the missing soldier, and Sephira Pryce and her henchmen all scour the city in
search of a stolen treasure which seems to lie at the root of all that is
happening. At the same time, though, Boston’s conjurers are under assault from
the royal government as well as from the mysterious conjurer. Men are dying.
Ethan is beaten, imprisoned, and attacked with dark spells.
And if he
fails to unravel the mystery of what befell the Graystone, every
conjurer in Boston will be hanged as a witch. Including him.
Thieves'
Quarry is the second volume in the Thieftaker
Chronicles, the new historical fantasy series from D.B. Jackson. Combining
elements of traditional fantasy, urban fantasy, mystery and historical fiction,
the Thieftaker books are sure to appeal to readers who enjoy intelligent
fantasy and history with an attitude.
**An excerpt from THIEVES’ QUARRY, by D. B. Jackson**
Boston,
Province of Massachusetts Bay, September 28, 1768
He heard the man’s footsteps first,
boot heels clicking on the cobblestone street leading toward Clarke’s Shipyard.
A moment later, Tanner came into view, a bulky shadow against the faint,
distant glow of the comfortable homes of Boston’s North End. He walked with
purpose, his hands buried in his pockets. Every few strides, he glanced back
over his shoulder.
Tanner passed Ethan Kaille without
noticing him, though Ethan stood just off the lane, so close that he could have
grabbed the man’s arm as he hurried past. With the concealment spell Ethan had
placed on himself a few minutes earlier he could have planted himself in the
middle of the street and Tanner would have collided with him before realizing
he was there. Still, Ethan breathed into the crook of his arm, so as not to
give himself away with a puff of vapor in the cool autumn air.
He watched as the man walked onto
the wharf and crept past the first of the shipyard warehouses. Tanner moved
with more caution now, his steps on the gravel and dirt fill of the wharf
nearly lost amid the sound of small waves as they slapped against ships’ hulls
and lapped at the timbers of the pier.
The moon, a night or two past full,
hung low in the east, like some great, lidded red eye. Its reflection wavered
on the smooth waters of Boston Harbor, casting just enough light for Ethan to
mark Tanner’s progress as the thief slipped from shadow to shadow.
Somewhere out on the wharf, amid the
warehouses, Tanner had hidden a small package containing several gold watches
that he had pinched from a watchmaker named Charles Short. All told, they
probably were worth five times the ten pounds Short was paying Ethan to recover
them. But Ethan tried not to think about that. A thieftaker’s reputation
depended not only on his cunning, not only on his prowess with a blade or his
brawn, or, in Ethan’s case, his skill as a conjurer, but also on his honesty.
Unless that thieftaker happened to
be Sephira Pryce. But he tried not to think about her, either.
Ethan had been working this job for
the better part of a month, watching the wharves, learning what he could of the
men and women who unloaded trading ships when they arrived in Boston, even
making inquiries with merchants and wharfmen about the captains of the various
vessels . . .
. . . After enlisting the help of a
friend, Ethan had begun to watch Tanner, observing him from a distance as the
man worked the shipyard, and following him through the narrow alleys of the
South End to a small, rundown tavern where he spent most of his evenings. The
thief was easy to spot: brawny and tall, mustached and fair-haired. He spoke
with a faint Cornish accent, and he had a raucous laugh that frequently
punctuated his own jokes.
It had taken Ethan only a couple of
days to decide that his friend was right. Tanner had to be their man. The
Cornishman had returned to the shipyard warehouses several nights running, each
time arriving after midnight, skulking through shadows, and crawling on his
hands and knees out near the end of the pier. He had also met with a number of
men who Ethan knew to be fences. But thus far, Ethan had yet to see Tanner exchange
money or goods with any of them. And, on the one occasion when Ethan managed to
get onto the wharf unseen and search for the watches himself, he found nothing.
That was why he had come tonight. He
had guessed that Tanner would return to the shipyard yet again, and this time
he intended to confront the thief while he had the watches on his person. As
Tanner continued along the side of the warehouses, Ethan eased onto Ship Street
and began to make his way toward the wharf, still concealed by the spell.
Out on Boston Harbor, in the
distance and to the south of where Ethan walked, lights bobbed on the gentle
swells: lanterns burning on a dozen or more British naval ships. Several of the
vessels had been anchored within sight of the city for a week or more; eight
others had sailed into view earlier this day. They were arrayed in a loose,
broad arc, their reflections dancing and swirling like fireflies. They might
have been beautiful had it not been for what they signified: more strife and
fear for a city already beleaguered by its conflicts with the Crown.
But these were worries for another
time. Tonight, Ethan had business with Christian Tanner.
He stole toward the wharf, placing
his feet with the stealth of a housebreaker, peering into the shadows, trying
to keep track of the thief. Before he had gotten far, however, he heard raised
voices. A man cried out and was abruptly silenced. An instant later something
-- or someone -- fell to the ground with a heavy thud. A torch was lit on the
merchant ship nearest the end of the wharf, and then another.
Ethan started running toward the
commotion, but halted at the sound of an all-too-familiar voice. It was that of
a woman, low and gravelly, so she sounded as though she was purring as she
spoke. Except that her words didn’t match her alluring tone.
“. . . Not very clever, Tanner,”
Sephira Pryce said. “Mister Short isn’t pleased, and that means that I’m not
pleased either. You’re new here in Boston, but that doesn’t excuse what you’ve
done.” She stood over the man, and even from a distance, even in the flickering
light of the torches held by her toughs, Ethan could see that she looked
lovely. Black curls cascaded down her back, shining with torch fire, and her
breeches and the tight-fitting indigo waistcoat she wore accentuated the
generous, perfect curves of her body. “When you come to a new city you should
inquire of those who are familiar with its customs and its habits. You should
find out who to avoid angering, and who to avoid altogether. Wouldn’t you
agree, Ethan?”
This last she pitched to carry.
Learn more about author D. B. Jackson at:
