A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) (26 page)

He raised the blade again.

“Ethan, no!” Kannice said, leaping forward, and grabbing both his blade arm and the arm he intended to cut.

He gasped.

“What?” she said, recoiling. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. It’s—” He pointed at his left arm with the tip of his blade. “This arm is broken.”

She covered her mouth with a shaking hand. He saw that there were tears on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, staring at his wounded arm. “I didn’t know.”

He shook his head, gazing at her, his chest rising and falling.

She raised her eyes to his. “What’s happening, Ethan? What is all this?”

“I can’t conjure, not even to heal myself.”

“Why not?”

He started to say that he didn’t know, but that wasn’t true. “Nate Ramsey is back,” he said.

She frowned. “Ramsey,” she repeated.

It had been a long time, and his last encounter with the captain had coincided with the very beginning of their love affair. But still, she surprised him.

“The sea captain. The one who killed those two merchants.”

“Aye,” Ethan said.

“He was a conjurer, too. I remember you telling me about him.”

“That’s right.”

“What does he have to do with your ability to conjure?”

“It’s not just mine,” Ethan said. “Gavin Black told me that he can’t conjure either. And I expect others are having the same problem.”

“But why would Ramsey make it impossible to conjure? Wouldn’t he be hurting himself as much as you?”

“One would think so,” Ethan said. “But he can conjure as well as ever—better actually. It’s the rest of us who are struggling to cast.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” She looked him over, taking in the burns on his bared right arm, the bruise on his face from where Ramsey hit him. “He did all of this to you?”

“Aye.”

“You should tell Sephira. She’ll be so jealous that she’ll take care of him for you.”

It was so unexpected that he couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “That’s better than any idea I’ve had.”

Her smile didn’t linger for long. “If you can’t heal yourself, we’ll have to get you to a surgeon.”

He nodded, glanced at the knife in his hand. “All right. First, I’m going to try once more.”

Kannice said nothing, but crossed her arms over her chest. As uncomfortable as she was speaking of his spellmaking, she was, he knew, even more unsettled by watching him conjure. Still, she didn’t turn away as he cut himself and put blood on his wounded arm.

He took a breath. “
Remedium ex cruore evocatum.
”

The conjuring thrummed, and this time the effect was immediate. He sucked air through his teeth as the pain increased at the first touch of his healing power. After a few seconds, though, the pain decreased. He could feel the bone mending.

“Did it work?” Kannice asked.

“Aye, it’s working now. It takes some time, but the spell did what it was supposed to.”

“Why would it not work one moment and then work perfectly the next?”

It was a good question: one more for which he had no sure answer. “I would presume that whatever Ramsey is doing isn’t complete yet. Before long it will be, but for now he’s still putting the pieces in place.”

“What pieces?” she asked.

He looked up from his arm, meeting her gaze again. “I’m trying to work that out. It has to do with ghosts and mutilated corpses.”

Kannice blanched. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“I’m sorry.” He ended his healing spell, probed his arm gently with his fingers. “It’s sore still, but the bone is mended.” He looked at the burns on his right arm. “Let’s see if I can heal these, as well.”

It took two castings before the healing worked, but soon, the pain of the burns had begun to subside.

“What do ghosts and cadavers have to do with conjuring?” Kannice asked, breaking a brief silence.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about those things.”

She shrugged. “Explain it to me.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“When you cast, a ghost appears. Isn’t that right?”

“Aye,” Ethan said, glancing at Reg. “He’s here right now.”

“So, ghosts are part of your spellmaking.”

Ethan nodded, comprehension dawning on him. Kannice’s understanding of conjurings was crude, but essentially she was correct. The power for spells existed at the boundary between the living world and the realm of the dead. In order to access that power, every conjurer needed a ghost like Reg: a spectral guide who could travel through that boundary, between the two realms.

He turned to Reg, recalling their exchange from the night when the old warrior spoke with the shade of Patience Walters.

“You told me that something—some conjuring—had prevented Patience from moving on to the realm of the dead. Do you remember that?”

The old ghost nodded.

“Are you talking to your ghost?” Kannice asked, sounding frightened. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I do it more often than I care to admit.” To Reg he said, “Could the same conjuring that is keeping Patience here also be blocking my spells?”

Reg nodded again.

“Could that be what the ghosts are for? Are they being held here to keep our conjurings from working, to make it so that only Ramsey can conjure?”

The warrior didn’t answer right off. He appeared to weigh the question. When at last he did nod, he did so with some hesitation; he remained uncertain.

“What did he say?” Kannice asked.

“He thinks it’s possible, but I don’t think he’s sure.”
He may never be.
This last, Ethan kept to himself.

“If you were to do the things Ramsey is doing, and your ghost didn’t approve, could he defy you, keep you from conjuring?”

“No,” Ethan said. “I have done things he didn’t condone.” He held up his hand, forestalling Kannice’s next question. “I’d rather not say what. But while he’s made his disapproval clear, he has never kept me from conjuring. I honestly don’t believe he can. Or that Ramsey’s ghost can stop him, if that’s what you had in mind.”

“It is.” She took Ethan’s hand. “What does Ramsey want, Ethan?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Beyond wanting to be powerful and to hurt me, I’m not sure that he knows.”

“He does,” she said, with a certainty he didn’t share. “No one goes to such lengths without a purpose.”

He took a breath, his free hand wandering to his chest. He wasn’t sure he would ever forget the feeling of not being able to breathe, of being utterly at the mercy of a man he knew to be mad. “He’s not sane,” he said, his voice low. “His moods ebb and flow like the tide. He can seem perfectly reasonable, even friendly. And a heartbeat later, he’s threatening murder and using his power to shatter bones. At least Sephira is predictable. She’s driven by greed and malice and vanity. But Ramsey…”

What does he want?

Kannice was right. There had to be something.

“It’ll be morning soon,” she said, tugging gently at his hand. “You need some sleep.”

“I can’t sleep.”

She stood, pulled his hand with greater insistence. “You’re going to try.”

Ethan knew better than to argue with her when she was right. He stood, groaned at the stiffness in his back and legs.

“You honestly enjoy your work?” she said. “And you tell me that Ramsey isn’t sane?”

He smiled. She tried to lead him to the stairs, but he held his ground, forcing her to face him again. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For listening. For asking questions that make me think in ways I wouldn’t otherwise. For taking care of me.”

She kissed him, her lips soft and warm against his. “You’re welcome,” she whispered. “Now, come along. I’m tired.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fingers entwined, they started up the stairs. She eyed his burned clothes and shook her head. “Honestly, Ethan: I’ve never met a man who goes through shirts the way you do.”

“It wasn’t my idea to light my sleeve on fire.”

“No, I don’t imagine.”

They reached her room, and Kannice helped Ethan into her bed. When he was settled, she kissed his brow and smoothed his hair, the way she might have for a little boy.

Despite his protestations to the contrary, he fell almost immediately into a deep dreamless slumber.

When he woke to a warm room and a half-empty bed, sunlight was seeping around the window shutters and voices were drifting up from the street below.

Ethan pulled a spare shirt from the corner of Kannice’s wardrobe, where he kept a few changes of clothes, then dressed and went down to the Dowser’s great room.

Uniformed regulars sat at several of the tables, eating chowder and drinking ales. They ignored him as he crossed to the bar. Kannice watched the men, her mouth set in a hard line. She seemed calmer, though, than she had the last time the soldiers were here. Kelf stood at the far end of the bar, drying glasses and watching the men as well.

“You slept,” Kannice said, concern in her eyes as she searched his face.

“Aye. Thank you. What’s the hour?”

“Close to midday. Are you hungry?”

He opened his mouth to say that he had too much to do to eat. But he realized that he was famished, and also that he wasn’t sure that he could do anything before the sun went down. The shades couldn’t be seen by day, and he doubted that Ramsey would disturb the burying grounds with the sun shining overhead.

“Yes,” he said. “Very.”

“I’ll get it,” Kelf said before Kannice could answer. He tossed his rag on the bar, gave the soldiers a final glance, and walked back into the kitchen.

He came back out a moment later with a full bowl of chowder and some bread.

“There ya go,” he said.

“My thanks, Kelf.”

The barman filled a tankard for him, and placed it beside the bowl.

He ate quickly, and didn’t argue when Kelf refilled his bowl. But he did insist on paying Kannice for his food and drink.

Kelf went back to drying glasses, but Kannice leaned on the bar across from Ethan, her chin in her hand.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“My arm, you mean?” he said, keeping his voice low. When she nodded, he said, “Still sore, but better.”

“Where will you—”

She stopped, staring toward the door, which had opened, allowing in a glare of sunlight. A frail figure entered the tavern, and paused at the door to take in her surroundings.

“Janna?” Ethan said, stepping away from the bar.

She limped toward him, scowling. “Kaille,” she said, in a voice that accused him of being responsible for all her troubles.

“What are you doing here? Why are you limping like that?”

“You and your damn questions. I’m limpin’ like this because I’m old, and I’m here because I’m lookin’ for you.”

He pulled out a chair for her at the nearest table and helped her to it. Kannice joined them at the table.

“This is Janna?” she asked, smiling at the woman.

“That’s right,” Janna said, regarding her with a wary eye. “Who are you?”

“I’m Kannice Lester. I own the Dowsing Rod. Miss Windcatcher, it is such an honor to meet you. Ethan has talked to me about you for years. I feel like I’m meeting royalty.”

Whether or not Kannice knew it, she had said the perfect thing.

Janna beamed at her. “Well, aren’t you the sweetest thing.” Janna faced Ethan. “This your woman?”

“Aye,” Ethan said.

“That’s what I thought. What on earth is she doin’ with you?”

“Can I get you something to eat, Miss Windcatcher?”

Janna hesitated.

“It’s on me, Janna,” Ethan said.

She smiled again. “Well, in that case, your stew smells fine.”

“I’ll get you some right away.”

“And a glass of Madeira,” Ethan said. Lowering his voice, he added, “Watered just a little bit.”

Kannice nodded and went back to the bar. Ethan sat across from Janna, who was surveying her surroundings.

“This is a nice place,” she said with grudging admiration.

“It was her husband’s once,” Ethan said. “From what I’ve heard it wasn’t much when he ran it. He died of smallpox in sixty-one and she took over, made it more respectable.”

Janna looked around for a moment more before settling her gaze on Ethan. “I’m guessin’ you know why I’m here.”

“I think I do,” he said. “You tried a spell and it didn’t work?”

“I tried several. I tried to send an illusion spell to talk to you, but I couldn’t even get an elemental conjurin’ to work. That ain’t happened to me since I was a girl.”

“I saw Gavin early yesterday. The same thing has happened to him.”

“I figured as much. So, what did you do?”

“Well, I told him that I would try—”

“No,” Janna said, leaning forward. “I mean what did you do to mess up my conjurin’?”

“Here you go, Miss Windcatcher,” Kannice said, bringing a steaming bowl of chowder to Janna. Kelf lumbered behind her, carrying what Ethan assumed was a cup of Madeira.

“Thank you,” Janna said, a smile brightening her face once more.

Kannice must have noticed Ethan’s expression, because she led Kelf away from the table saying, “We’ll be by the bar if you need anything else.”

For his part, Ethan could only gape at Janna, his mouth hanging open.

“Whatever you did,” Janna went on, her voice dropping, “you better fix it, and soon.”

“You think I did this?” Ethan said, knowing he sounded like a fool, but unable to think of anything else to say.

“Who else would it be?”

“This arm was broken last night, Janna,” he said, pointing to his left arm, struggling to keep his voice low so that the regulars wouldn’t hear. “And the other one had burns from the wrist to the shoulder. It took me a half-dozen castings to heal myself because I couldn’t get the spells to work. And you want to blame this on me?”

She looked down at her chowder. “I’m sorry. I just assumed…”

“Do you really think of me as being that careless or stupid or evil that I would do something to take away your power to conjure? For that matter, to you think I’m strong enough to do such a thing?”

“I think you’re stronger than you know, Kaille.” She looked up again. “But I know you’re not stupid or careless, and I know there ain’t an evil bone in your body. I’m sorry.”