A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) (21 page)

“You think you can come in here an’ buy my food an’ get all sorts of information out of me. Well, I’m tellin’ you, Kaille: I’ve got other things—”

“Which would you prefer, Janna? That I buy your food and get information from you, or get my information from someone else, and spend no money here at all?”

She glowered at him, her mouth twisting. But without another word she retreated into her kitchen to get him his meal. She emerged again moments later and placed a bowl and a round of bread in front of him.

“Ale?” she asked.

“Please.”

She filled a tankard and set that on the table as well. For a few seconds she stood over him. Then, with a huffed breath that signaled her surrender, she sat. “Go ahead an’ ask.”

“This stew is excellent,” he said, and meant it.

“I know that.”

Ethan took another bite and laid his spoon aside. “You’ve told me in the past that any spell is possible if the conjurer casting it is strong enough.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you afraid of smallpox, Janna?”

A smile crept over her face. “You’re gettin’ smarter and smarter, aren’t you?”

He felt his pulse quicken. “So, you do know how to protect yourself from it?”

“It’s not just a spell,” she said.

“An herb as well.”

She nodded, coy now. “A lot of them. I have a recipe I use.”

“Mullein?” Ethan asked.

“That’s one. There’s wood sorrel in it, too. And larkspur, windflower—the blossoms, not just the leaves—Saint-John’s-wort, sassafras, and…” She grinned again. “Well, a few others. I gather them all in a sachet and sell those. Each is good for one spell.”

“I need to buy some from you.”

“This just for you or for your woman, too?”

“Does it matter?”

She grew serious. “It matters how you use the sachet and how you word the spell. This is high magick, Kaille. Harder than most of your ordinary conjurin’.”

“But if it protects against—”

“It guards you from the pox, but it’s a matter of how long it lasts. An’ if there be two of you…”

“I need to go into the house of someone who just died of smallpox. And I might not be able to wait until it’s been thoroughly cleaned and smoked.”

She scowled. “That’s what I mean. That kind of foolishness will take a whole sachet by itself. These are not made to protect you from bein’ stupid, an’ they ain’t cheap.”

“How much?”

“Three crowns each.”

Ethan stared back at her before reaching for his ale. “Three crowns?”

“They take time to put together, an’ the windflower blossoms alone are worth almost half that.”

“If I didn’t go into the house, if I just used them to stay well during this outbreak, how long would a sachet last?”

Janna shrugged her bony shoulders, her gaze sliding away. “I can promise a fortnight. After that…” She shrugged again.

“Do these really work, Janna?”

She sat forward quickly, her expression so fierce that Ethan almost dropped his tankard. “You’re damn right they work!”

“I apologize,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, you shouldn’t have! You know me longer an’ better than just about anyone in this town. An’ you ask me if somethin’ I’m sellin’ is gonna work?” She shook her head. “You should know better.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He reached into his pocket. “I’d like to buy one, but one is all that I can afford right now.”

She nodded, her lips pursed. She wouldn’t look at him. “What are you goin’ to do with it?”

He didn’t answer right away. The truth was, a fortnight of protection for either him or Kannice was worth little. This outbreak would surely last longer than that; epidemics always did. But if this concoction of Janna’s, along with whatever spell she taught him, could keep him safe while inside the Tyler house, that might well be worth the money he would have to spend. If Mrs. Tyler’s ghost was there and could communicate with Reg.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Goin’ in that house is crazy. You know that. This is meant to protect you from getting’ sick when you’re goin’ about your business. But what you’re talkin’ about…”

“Will it protect me?”

She sucked at her teeth, nodded. “I think so.”

“All right.” He counted out the money and handed it to her.

She took it, dropped it in her pocket without bothering to count it herself, and walked behind her bar to the room in which she stored her herbs.

When she came out again, she carried a small bundle wrapped in paper. Even before she handed it to him, Ethan he could smell the sorrel and mullein.

“The spell ain’t easy,” she said. “It has more than one part, an’ it has to be spoke just so.” She recited the conjuring to him in Latin a few words at a time, pausing between each section and inserting a word in English, so as to avoid actually casting the spell at that moment. Ethan repeated it back to her in the same way, and soon had it memorized.

When they had finished, Ethan reached for his hat and stood.

“You sure about this, Kaille?”

“Aye. I trust your herbs, and your spell.”

“But still, goin’ into that house might not be so smart.”

“When have I ever let that stop me?”

They both grinned.

“I really am sorry, Janna. About before.”

“I know. You be careful. Come back an’ buy more of my food.”

“I will.”

He let himself out of the tavern. The wind off the harbor had strengthened, but it did little more than stir the hot, sour air that had settled over the city. Ethan began the long walk back to the South End and Cornhill, where several of the people on Pell’s list had lived. He hadn’t gotten far, though, when he felt another spell rumble in the street beneath his feet.

He knew immediately that it was a finding spell. But rather than originating at Sephira’s house, like the finding spells Mariz had cast, this one came from farther off, though from a similar direction: the waterfront, to the south of the Battery, near Adams’ Wharf.

The spell rushed toward him, like a breaker sweeping over a beach. And when it reached him, it was nothing like the finding spells Mariz had cast: it was far more aggressive. This was no twining vine; rather it felt like hands reaching up out of the earth to grab at his legs. Just like in his dream. A heartbeat later, it was gone.

With Mariz’s spells Ethan knew what to expect. Usually the conjurer showed up within minutes of locating him. Sometimes Mariz was alone; other times he had the rest of Sephira’s toughs with him. But one way or another, when Ethan felt one of Mariz’s finding spells, he knew to expect a run-in with the Empress of the South End.

This spell promised another sort of confrontation. His previous encounters with Nate Ramsey had taken place in but a single day. Still, Ethan knew what Ramsey was capable of doing, and how he conducted his affairs. He didn’t think the captain would leave his ship to track Ethan through the city lanes. That spell had been a summons, and also a challenge.

Ethan’s good sense warred with his curiosity. He didn’t want to face Ramsey until he knew more about the spells the captain had cast and his purpose in returning to Boston. But for better or worse, Ramsey wanted to speak with him, and Ethan wished to know why. In the end, his curiosity prevailed. He followed Orange Street to Essex Street, turned eastward, and walked to the southern extreme of the South End waterfront. Upon reaching Windmill Point, Ethan halted and scanned the wharves and shipyards that projected into the harbor between the point and the South Battery to the northeast.

He wasn’t sure that he would recognize the
Muirenn
if he saw it moored beside other similar vessels. But he should have known that Ramsey wouldn’t waste Ethan’s time, or his own, by making him try.

Another spell pulsed, weaker than the previous one: an elemental spell, sourced in water or air. Ethan spotted an eagle wheeling above Tileston’s Wharf, the longest of the piers before him. It flew in lazy circles, its great wings held steady, its tail twisting in the wind. And then it faded from view: an illusion, conjured for his benefit. He followed the narrow harborfront lanes to the wharf and walked out onto the pier, eyeing each ship he passed.

Halfway to the end, he spotted a lone man standing on the deck of a pink. The man, whom Ethan recognized as Ramsey, marked his approach before disappearing from view. Ethan had checked his stride at the sight of him, but now he continued toward the ship. She was a small vessel, but clean and obviously well tended. She was tied between a pair of bollards, and sat light in the water. Whatever cargo she might have carried had already been off-loaded. Now that he saw her again, Ethan recognized the
Muirenn
. He wondered where Ramsey had gone, and went so far as to pull out the pouch of mullein he had bought from Janna. Warding himself would have been the prudent course of action. But the captain would feel the conjuring and would assume that Ethan had come looking for a fight. He put the mullein back into his pocket.

The ship’s gangplank was down, but Ethan paused at her prow, and called, “Ahoy, the
Muirenn
!”

“Ahoy!” came the reply. A moment later Ramsey appeared again. He stood at the rails amidships, holding a flask of what was probably Madeira and two cups. “You came.”

“I did. Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted.”

Ethan walked up the plank and hopped onto the deck just in front of the captain, who watched him with a faint, sardonic smile on his face.

The years had not touched Ramsey at all; he looked just as Ethan remembered. Tall, spear-thin, he had a long face and a dark, unruly beard. His eyes were pale and his grin exposed yellow, crooked teeth. He wore a white silk shirt and tan breeches, as he had the last time he and Ethan met.

Ethan proffered a hand, which Ramsey seized in a firm grip. An instant later he pulled Ethan into a rough embrace and thumped him on the back.

“It’s good to see you again, Kaille,” he said, the words colored with a faint Scottish burr.

Ramsey released him and Ethan took a step back. He couldn’t keep a smile from touching his lips even as his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Of course! Men like us—we don’t have many friends. We have to enjoy those we do have.”

“Forgive me, Captain, but the last time we met—the only time we met—we fought. We came close to killing each other. And you murdered two men I had been engaged to protect.”

“Aye, I remember. I also recall that you were not as keen on keeping those men alive after you heard my reasons for wantin’ them dead. And we were well matched, you and I. It’s not often that I find a conjurer who’s as skilled as I am.”

“That may be, but—”

“Leave it, Kaille. Friends, enemies. There aren’t that many people in this world who inspire passion in me one way or another. So stop arguin’ and drink with me.” He walked to a pair of barrels and sat, gesturing with the hand that held the two cups for Ethan to follow.

Ethan stared after the man, laughing to himself. He strolled to where Ramsey had perched himself and seated himself on the other barrel.

The captain filled one cup with wine and handed it to Ethan. After filling his own, he raised it. “What shall we drink to?”

“I believe we drank to your father last time,” Ethan said. “We should again.”

The look in Ramsey’s eyes hardened, but he nodded once and said, “Thank you,” as Ethan tapped the rim of his cup to Ramsey’s. They both drank.

“You look old, thieftaker. The years haven’t been kind to you.”

“I was thinking that you hadn’t changed at all.”

“Sure, I have,” Ramsey said. “I’m smarter now. Stronger, as well.”

“Is that a warning?”

“It’s a fact.”

“What brings you back to Boston?”

Ramsey let out a soft laugh. “That was direct.”

“It was a simple question.”

“I think we both know better.” He drank, nearly draining his cup. “I’m not ready to answer you. There’s more that I have to do, and I think you already know more than you’re lettin’ on.”

“Have you hired men to rob graves here in the city?”

“I just docked today.” Ramsey finished his wine and poured himself more. He held the flask out to Ethan.

Ethan shook his head. His cup was still nearly full.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Ramsey drank, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“Do you know much about resurrectionists?” Ethan asked.

“I’ve read a bit. I know they steal cadavers.”

“Or body parts. They do it for profit—they sell the dead to surgeons and those who aspire to the trade. That’s what most people here think lies at the heart of this latest spate of desecrations. Greed.”

“Most people,” Ramsey said. “But, I take it, not the great Ethan Kaille.”

“I make no claims to greatness. But I do know better than to think that this is about money.”

“And that’s supposed to impress me?” Ramsey laughed. “I don’t imagine it was too hard to figure out. The gap between what these others think and what you know is more a product of their stupidity than any cleverness on your part.”

“As I said: I make no claims to greatness.”

“And yet,” Ramsey said, his voice silken, “you intend to match your wits against mine, your power against mine. You may not claim to be great, but you’re still reachin’ higher than you have any right to. You should be careful, thieftaker: stretch your arm out too far and you might overbalance. Or you might simply lose a limb.”

Ethan’s laughter sounded harsh to his own ears. “Is this how you speak to all your friends?”

“Why did you come here, Kaille? What did you expect to find? What did you think I’d tell you?”

“I came here because you as much as asked me to,” Ethan said. “It was your finding spell that drew me, your illusion spell that told me where the
Muirenn
was moored. She remains a fine ship, by the way. You should ask yourself if you wouldn’t be better off putting back out to sea. It’s safer for you out there.”

Ramsey drained his cup again and set it down smartly on the rail. There was no trace of mirth left on his face. “You should go.”

Ethan sipped his wine, making no move to leave. “I think you brought me here because you’re torn. You say that you’re not ready to reveal your purpose in being here. But you’re just bursting at the seams, wanting to tell me everything. You’re so enamored of your plans that keeping them secret hurts.”