A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) (33 page)

“I’ll cast for you any time, Henry.” He chuckled and shook his head again. For years he had congratulated himself on keeping his secret from the cooper despite living over the man’s shop. Now it turned out that he had done a poor job of hiding his abilities, while Henry had been superb at keeping the truth from Ethan. “All right,” he said, still tickled, “I have to sleep. This has been quite a day.” He put out a hand, which Henry gripped. “Thank you, Henry.”

“For what?”

“For being a good friend. I’ll help you with the repairs, and I’ll pay you back for all the cost.”

“Sure, all right,” Henry said. “Just be careful, though. That speller who broke your door—he sounds dangerous.”

Ethan couldn’t argue.

Chapter

E
IGHTEEN

If there was a bright side to having his window shattered and his door broken into pieces, it was that Ramsey had returned to Boston in midsummer, rather than in the dead of winter. With the breeze that flowed through his room, Ethan actually enjoyed the most comfortable night’s sleep he’d had in several weeks. The new day, however, brought complications. He didn’t wish to leave his room unattended with no door in place. He possessed few valuables, but with Ramsey loose in the city, and Sephira a constant menace, he preferred to know that what little he had was safe.

Henry had work to do and couldn’t watch his room all day, and though Shelly might have guarded his door for a time, Ethan feared that the first thief with a tasty piece of mutton or fowl would have little trouble slipping past her.

He had never cast a detection spell, but he had fallen victim to more than his share. He decided that the time had come to use one himself. After considering the matter for but a moment, he elected to cast two; he could easily imagine Diver or Pell coming to his room, seeing that the door had been destroyed, and rushing in out of concern for Ethan’s well-being. He didn’t wish to subject them to an incapacitating spell. Thus, his first casting would rely on an illusion spell, an image of himself that would warn away those who approached his door. A second conjuring would deal with anyone who ignored his warning and entered the room.

He didn’t know how to create a spell that he himself would not trigger, so he hoped that upon seeing the damaged doorway, he would remember to remove the conjuring. He also thought that he should warn Henry about the spells, lest the cooper take it upon himself to begin the repairs on his own.

These were difficult conjurings; each had to be constructed in two parts, one to create the detection web, and the second to set in place the spell that the breaking of the web would trigger. He worked on the spells for the better part of an hour, figuring out the exact wording and then casting the spells in the correct order. Even after he finished, he could not be entirely sure that the spells had worked.

Without any other means of determining if they had, Ethan had no choice but to disrupt one of the detection webs himself. The first several times he did this nothing happened. Finally, on his fourth try, the spell took hold. He cast the second spell—the sleep spell—four times, hoping that at least one of them would work. He dared not test this one. When at last he was done, his arm was raw and tender.

His next task was far more serious. He needed to speak with Ramsey again, and he guessed that doing so would be next to impossible. But his memory of the captain’s illusion conjuring the night before gave him an idea. He removed his last leaves of mullein from the pouch—six of them in all—and held them in the palm of his hand.

“
Videre et audire, per mea imagine, ex verbasco evocatum.
” Sight and hearing, through my illusion, conjured from mullein.

He felt this conjuring in the wood of the stairway landing, and knew that Ramsey would feel it, too. In this one instance, that mattered not at all. Ethan closed his eyes and pictured in his mind the deck of the
Muirenn
, which he assumed he would find once more at Tileston’s Wharf. Within just a few seconds, he knew that the illusion of himself had materialized on the ship, for the vision he had summoned from memory gave way to a view that included members of Ramsey’s crew. He heard their voices, knew that they fell silent at the sight of him.

“I wish to speak with your captain,” he made the image say.

The men gave no indication that they were alarmed by Ethan’s conjuring; clearly they were used to spells.

After a few seconds one of the men said, “What if he don’t wish to speak with you?”

He and his friends laughed.

“He can tell me so himself. But I want to hear it in his words, not yours. And I don’t imagine he would want you making that choice for him.”

The sailor sobered. He whispered something to one of his comrades, who went belowdecks.

Moments later Ramsey emerged onto the deck with the second sailor in tow.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked. He surveyed his ship and the wharf before returning his glower to Ethan’s conjured image.

“I want to speak with you,” Ethan said through the illusion. “Not like this. Face-to-face. I’m asking for your permission to approach your vessel.”

“What is it you think we have to say to each other? You’re alive because you dared summon the shade of my father, and because your friend happened to arrive when he did. He still lives because he managed to produce his pistol while I was occupied with you. We’re at war, you and I. And our next battle will be our last. I promise you that.”

“Fine, Ramsey. We’re at war. Grant me a truce for one last parley.”

Ethan was certain that Ramsey would refuse and demand he remove the conjured image of himself from his ship. But he didn’t, at least not right away. “To what end?” he asked after some time. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing. I’m trying to save lives: yours, mine, and those of anyone unfortunate enough to wind up between us when next we meet. And I’m trying to save the souls of the dead you have disturbed. I have a proposal for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I should never have said what I did about your intent to bring back your father. That is your choice and his. It’s no business of mine. As I told you, I understood why you want him alive again.”

The look in Ramsey’s eyes had turned flinty. “Is there a point to this?”

“Use the power you’ve gathered to bring him back. If you need me to help you do it, I will.”

“What kind of help can you offer?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan admitted. He was growing weary. Illusion spells were not difficult, but speaking, hearing, and seeing through the image of himself made the conjuring that much more taxing. He couldn’t maintain the spell indefinitely, and he was all too aware of how little time he had to convince Ramsey of his sincerity. “I assume that bringing the dead back fully to the living world takes a good deal of power. I’m offering to let you use what power I possess to that end.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Once your father is back, you release the shades, return that which you stole from the graves, and leave Boston.”

The captain laughed. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“You’d have your father back. Between your last visit to Boston and what you’ve done in the past few days, you’ve avenged him. Forrs and Keller are dead. The families of Alexander Rowan and Bertram Flagg have been terrified by the shades of their dead. You even managed to desecrate the three burying grounds in this city where the men responsible for the persecution of Salem’s ‘witches’ are interred. You’ve done well, Ramsey.”

The captain’s grin appeared genuine.

“You have nothing more to prove,” Ethan said, pressing the small advantage he seemed to have gained. “Let us bring back your father, and the two of you can set sail again. You can leave behind the tragedies inflicted upon you by this town.”

Ramsey narrowed his eyes. “Why would you help me?”

Ethan saw no point in denying the truth. “Because I fear you and the damage you could do here. Because I enjoy being a conjurer, and don’t want to have my power taken from me. Because even if I manage to kill you, I’ll be dooming the souls that you control. And because, as you have said before, if we had first met under different circumstances we might well have become friends.”

“How do you know that I won’t accept your aid, and then refuse to uphold my end of our bargain?”

“I don’t. I’m offering you my trust. Mariz could have killed you last night. I told him not to. I’m hoping that small mercy might have earned me a modicum of goodwill.”

Ramsey regarded the conjured image of Ethan. On the wooden stairway above Henry’s cooperage, Ethan held his breath.

“You’re an odd man, Kaille. You’re stubborn to a fault, and your devotion to duty is foolhardy, at best. And yet, you can also be quite pragmatic, and even compassionate. I don’t know if that last is a weakness or an asset, but in this case it serves you well.” He hesitated for another few seconds before nodding. “Very well. I’ll accept your help, and when my father and I are together, we’ll sail.”

“You’ll forswear further acts of vengeance?”

“To be away from this city? With my father? Aye.”

Ethan smiled, and knew that his image mirrored his relief. “Good.”

“When do you wish to do this?” Ramsey asked.

“I’ll make my way down to the wharf shortly,” Ethan said. “If all goes as it should, you’ll be putting out to sea by this evening.”

“Very well.”

Ethan allowed the conjuring to end. Opening his eyes, he endured a wave of dizziness, and braced himself on the wooden railing outside his door.

Once he had his bearings again, he descended the stairs and walked out to Milk Street. He didn’t wish to keep Ramsey waiting, but he also knew better than to place all his faith in the captain’s word. Rather than face the man with no way to conjure except through blood spells, he hastened to Janna’s tavern, walking so quickly that his bad leg, which was still tender from having been broken by Ramsey the previous night, soon ached even more than usual.

Still, he begrudged every minute, knowing that Ramsey would already be questioning the choice he had made.

Upon reaching the Fat Spider, Ethan entered and crossed to Janna’s bar.

“Kaille,” she said, her tone sour. “What you want now?”

“I just need to buy more mullein from you, Janna.” He placed three shillings on the polished wood.

“That’s all?” She sounded suspicious. “No questions?”

Previously, she had offered to help him, but Ethan didn’t wish to put her life in peril if he didn’t absolutely have to.

“Not right now,” he said. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

She nodded, her lower lip protruding. “Well, all right then.” She took the money and walked into her back room. “You know any more ’bout what’s happenin’ to our spells?” she called to him.

“I’ve learned a few things. In another day or two, I should have answers for you.” He could have told her more. Lord knew that with all she had told him over the years, he owed her as many answers as she wanted. But he didn’t wish to risk any additional delays.

After what seemed like an eternity, she emerged once more, carrying a pouch filled near to overflowing with the herb. “Here you go,” she said. “You went through that last bit awfully fast. You don’t need to use a lot. Not that I mind the sales.”

Ethan forced a smile, and had to keep himself from saying that if Ramsey hadn’t been using his mullein as well, and if he hadn’t needed to speak with so many dead conjurers, his last purchase would have lasted longer.

“My thanks, Janna,” he said instead, already crossing to the door. “I’ll come back soon, and tell you everything I can about the conjurings.”

“You do that,” she said.

Back on the street once more, Ethan half walked, half ran to the waterfront. He felt safer now that he had a pouch full of mullein, and as he hurried through the streets, he considered casting a warding spell, just as a precaution. Ramsey would feel it, though, and Ethan couldn’t be sure that his conjuring would be effective. He decided not to try.

The closer he got to the wharves, the heavier the scent of brine in the air, and the louder the cries of circling gulls. For the first time in several days, Ethan thought that he might be on the verge of helping the families of the King’s Chapel congregation.

Until he felt the first pulse of power tremble in the cobblestone street. This first conjuring was followed an instant later by two more in quick succession. Ethan bolted for the wharf. A pistol shot rang out across the waterfront. He heard shouting.

When he reached the dock, he found a pitched battle under way. In the shadow of the
Muirenn
, Sephira and her men fought hand-to-hand against Ramsey’s crew. Sephira and her toughs were outnumbered nearly two to one, but Ethan could tell from a single glance that hers were the more skilled fighters. Already a few of Ramsey’s men had fallen back, all of them bleeding from what appeared to be knife wounds, several of them needing support from their fellow sailors.

Ramsey stood on the deck of his ship, one hand gripping the rail, the other a blade. Blood flowed from a fresh cut on his forearm. Mariz stood apart from the fighting, also bleeding, also with his knife at the ready. Sephira fought with the grace and lethal efficiency Ethan remembered from past encounters with her. As he watched, she dispatched one of her foes with a vicious arcing kick that caught the hapless sailor square on the jaw. She leaped toward the other man fighting her, but he fell back. Seeing this, she rushed to join Nap, who was being harried by three men.

Ethan didn’t know what to do. He had paused at the top of the wharf, but he ran forward now, shouting for Sephira to stop fighting. No one heeded him, though Ramsey looked his way, his face white with rage.

Ethan called Sephira’s name again.

“Get out of here, Ethan!” she answered, even as she slashed at another sailor with her knife. Blood blossomed from the man’s side, just above his waist. He staggered, backpedaled several steps. “This doesn’t concern you!”

“It does! You’re doing more damage than you know! If you could have waited a few hours, Ramsey might have been gone! Perhaps none of this would have been necessary!”