Chapter ONE - Weebly

anymore.
A pretty young servant opened the door and led
Ethan into a small sitting room before going in search of
her master. He surveyed the room: wooden floors,
simple furnishings, an empty hearth in the center of the
south wall. The subtle aroma of roasted fowl and fresh
bread blended with the bitter scent of spermaceti
candles. There were finer houses in town—mostly on
Beacon Street and in the North End—but it was
obvious the Corbett family didn’t want for much.
Ethan strolled around the room, looking at the
paintings of Corbett’s wife and his two daughters. After
several moments, a door opened at the far end of the
chamber. Mr. Corbett stepped in and closed the door
quietly behind him. Facing Ethan and eyeing his clothes,
he faltered, a frown on his homely face. Belatedly it
occurred to Ethan that he must look a mess. His
breeches were filthy from his struggles with Folter on
the wharf, and there probably were bloodstains on his
waistcoat and shirt.
“Mister Kaille,” the merchant said grimly. “I didn’t
expect to see you again so soon. Is there a problem?”