A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) (36 page)

“Why? What’s happened?”

Ethan told her about the battle at the wharf and his subsequent confrontation with Ramsey and the sheriff.

She didn’t look happy, but aside from those few moments in the Dowser, when Kannice was doting on her and Ethan was buying her chowder, he couldn’t remember the last time she had.

“Well, I suppose that this once havin’ Pryce and her boys on our side might help.”

“I’m going to speak with Gavin next,” Ethan said, already starting toward the door. “I don’t know yet what we’re going to do, or when. But I’ll let you know as soon as I can.” He paused, looking back at her. She was tiny and frail; her dark skin seemed to be stretched thin over the bones of her face. He had no doubts about her skill as a conjurer, but he couldn’t helping thinking that he was making a mistake asking her to fight this battle with him.

“I know what you’re thinkin’,” she said, meeting his gaze and raising her chin defiantly. “I’m old. I ain’t as strong as I once was, and I wake up some mornin’s thinkin’ that a good wind could blow me over. But there ain’t no one else in this city knows magicking like I do. There ain’t no one else who can help you as much as I can.”

“I believe that. You’ve been a good friend to me over the years, Janna.”

“No, I haven’t. I’m mean as a snake, and you know it. But that’s just my way. It don’t mean that I don’t…” She gave a vague wave of her hand. “You know.”

“I do. And I don’t want something to happen to you because of anything that I ask you to do.”

“Ramsey didn’t start this because of you. Boy’s got darkness in his soul. It ain’t your fault. We can let him win, or we can fight him an’ get our conjurin’s back. You know which I choose. Now, go see ole Black.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She grinned at that.

Ethan left her and walked back toward Hillier’s Lane. He could have saved himself some walking by going to Black first, before he visited Janna. But if Janna had refused him, Gavin would have, too. And Ethan needed Janna’s knowledge of spellmaking to make all of this work.

Gavin’s house on Hillier’s Lane, which stood but a stone’s throw from the Dowsing Rod, was one of the older homes on the street. Its clapboard siding had been weathered to a pale gray by nearly one hundred winters and more storms than Ethan could count.

Gavin had once told him that the house was first built for his great-grandfather, who had also been a sea captain, and who had given up the sea after losing his arm in a whaling accident. The house had been passed down to Gavin, who leased it during his years at sea, and finally returned to it when he sold his ship.

Ethan knocked on the door, waited, knocked again, and was beginning to wonder if he should look for the old man elsewhere when at last the door opened.

Gavin blinked against the daylight. His clothes were rumpled, and his white hair was in tangles.

“Ethan,” he said, his surprise apparent.

“Did I wake you?”

“Aye.” He tried to smooth his hair. “It’s been thirteen years since I gave up sailing, and still I don’t sleep well on land. I catch what sleep I can, regardless of the time.” He fixed a smile on his face and gestured for Ethan to enter the house. “Come in.”

Ethan stepped past him. He had been in the house only a few times before, and not for some time. It hadn’t changed much in the intervening years. It was sparsely furnished and in need of fresh paint.

“Can I offer you some wine?”

“No, thank you. I’m sorry to disturb you, Gavin, but I need your help.”

“My help?” Gavin said. He sat in a threadbare chair beside an empty hearth, and indicated a second chair for Ethan. “You’re the thieftaker. What help could you need from an old man?”

Ethan lowered himself into the other chair. “It’s related to what we talked about in the street the other day: the trouble you were having with your conjurings.”

Gavin averted his gaze. “How can my inability to conjure help you?”

“In all your years at sea, did you know a merchant captain named Nathaniel Ramsey?”

“Of course. He was a friend, a good man.”

“Did you know his son?”

“Aye. I haven’t seen Nate in years, but as a lad he spent some time on my ship. His father felt that he should have experience sailing under more than a single captain.”

Ethan sat forward. “So you know him well.”

“I’m not sure I’d say that. It’s been years since last we spoke. And after Nathaniel’s death … Nate changed.”

Ethan didn’t need for Gavin to elaborate. “He’s back in Boston; his ship is moored at Tileston’s Wharf. It’s he who is responsible for the grave robberies I mentioned. He’s using the shades of the dead to strengthen his own conjurings and deny the rest of us access to the power we need to cast.”

Gavin looked stricken. “Nate’s doing all of that?”

“I’m afraid so. He’s also trying to bring back his father from the dead.”

“Good God, no! He has to understand: it won’t be Nathaniel. It would be something else, something twisted, dark, more wraith than man.”

“He’s not thinking clearly, Gavin. I believe he’s more than a little insane. Brilliant and powerful, but mad. I’ve tried to reason with him, and I had hoped that I could get him to leave Boston, even if it meant helping him raise his father. But he believes that I’ve wronged him, and he seeks to avenge himself upon me, regardless of the pain it brings to others.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Gavin said. “But I don’t see what I can do.”

“Janna and I intend to fight him. I’m going to enlist another speller I know, and I hoped that you—”

“No.” Gavin stood and began to pace the room. “I have no power, Ethan. I’m old and weak and I can’t help you.”

“Working together, we might be able to cast more reliably, and we might enhance our power, as well.”

The old man shook his head, still pacing. “No. I can’t do it.”

Ethan frowned and watched him in silence. “I wish I’d known that you knew him so well,” he said at last. “You might have reached him where others couldn’t.”

Gavin halted, stared at him. “Are you asking me to talk to him?”

“No. I think it’s too late for that.”

“Nate and I don’t know each other well, at least not anymore,” Gavin went on, as if he hadn’t heard. He shook his head again and resumed his pacing. “I’m afraid of what he’s become. The last time I saw him I sensed the seeds of that madness you speak of now. It frightened me. And I think that he harbors resentment toward me, too. I didn’t do enough for his father at the end. That’s what he said, and I suppose it’s true.”

“Are you sure you won’t help us fight him?”

“I’m sorry, Ethan. There was a time when I thought myself brave. I might have stood with you then.”

“But your spellmaking—”

“I can live the rest of my days without conjuring. But I’m not ready to die.”

Ethan eyed him for a few seconds more. He and Gavin had never been close friends; he spent far less time with the old captain than with Janna. But he had expected more from this encounter.

Gavin had walked to a window that overlooked the lane, and stood gazing out at the street.

“I’ll go,” Ethan said, getting to his feet.

“You’re disappointed in me.”

He stepped to the door and pulled it open. “It’s not my place to be disappointed in you. I was asking you to risk your life; you’re well within your rights to refuse. We’ve known each other for a long time, Gavin. This changes nothing between us.”

Gavin faced him, a pained smile on his wan features. “Thank you, Ethan.”

Ethan left him and struck out southward again. As difficult as his conversation with Gavin had been, his next task promised to be even worse. He needed to enlist Mariz’s help, and that meant he had to face Sephira.

Chapter

T
WENTY

Gordon stood outside Sephira’s house, hands in his pockets, his massive shoulders hunched. His homely face was slack, his eyes fixed on something Ethan couldn’t see. He seemed not to notice Ethan as he approached the house along the street. But when Ethan started up the path to Sephira’s door, the man straightened and puffed out his chest. A scowl settled on his face, but it wasn’t the menacing expression Ethan was accustomed to. He sensed that more than anything else, Gordon resented the intrusion.

Ethan drew his knife, flipped it over and handed it hilt-first to the man. “I’d like to speak with Sephira,” he said, his voice low.

Gordon pocketed the knife. “Wait here.”

The tough lumbered into the house. Ethan surveyed the grounds of Sephira’s estate. Her gardens were in full bloom; yellow finches flitted in nearby branches, singing boldly; a soft wind stirred the leaves and bent the grasses on her lawn. It was too bright a day for all that had happened, and for what promised to come.

“She’ll see you.”

Ethan turned. Gordon held the door open for him. He nodded and entered the house.

Sephira sat in the common room just off the entryway, in a large arm chair near the hearth. Nap, Mariz, Afton, and several of her other toughs were seated with her. The room was silent save for the rustle of lace window curtains and the strains of birdsong.

“Did Greenleaf arrest him?” Sephira asked, before Ethan could say a word.

“No. Frankly, I think he and I were fortunate to get away with our lives.”

She gave no indication of being surprised or angry. “Mariz tells me that he’s very powerful, and that he’s found some way to weaken the rest of your kind. Is that true?”

“Aye.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to fight him,” Ethan said. “But I need Mariz’s help.”

“You’ll have help from all of us.”

“Sephira—”

“He killed him,” she said, her voice shaking. “He didn’t raise a hand or say any of the things you say when you use your witchery. He just killed him, with nothing more than a thought.”

“I know.”

“You’ve threatened me before,” she said. “You’ve threatened all of us. I suppose you’ve had cause. And you’ve said to me that if you wanted to you could snap my neck or tear apart this house or burn all of my men to ash. And though I’ve seen you do your magicking, all this time I dismissed those threats as mere talk.” She looked up, her blue eyes meeting his. “But you really could have done it. Not until today did I realize that for all these years, you’ve kept your witchery in check.”

He chanced a small smile. “You haven’t always made it easy.”

“No, I haven’t. And I’m not saying that I intend to start. But I … I respect your forbearance.”

“Thank you.”

“Ramsey, on the other hand, has ensured his own death. No one who kills one of my men goes unpunished. I don’t care what it takes; I will see this man dead, and I will spit upon his grave.”

Nap and the others watched, avid, alert. Ethan could see her rage mirrored in their eyes. He had long assumed that Sephira’s toughs were little more than well-paid mercenaries who remained in her employ because there were no better opportunities in the city for men of their particular talents. He realized now that he did Sephira and them a disservice. Whatever he might have thought of her, Nap, Afton, Gordon and the others loved her as soldiers do a trusted commander. He was sure that Nigel had as well. Alone among her men, Mariz held himself apart. Perhaps he hadn’t been with her long enough to feel the same loyalty and affection. Or maybe because he was a conjurer he remained wary of his companions and they of him. But Ethan didn’t doubt that if Sephira ordered her men back to the wharf, they would follow her, even if it meant their deaths.

“What I was going to say,” Ethan began again, “is that Mariz can help me far more than the rest of you. In fact, you being there might make matters more difficult.”

“That’s too bad,” she said. “We’re going to be there.”

“If Mariz and I—”

“Can you fight off Ramsey’s crew and also fight him?”

Ethan glanced at Mariz, who stared back at him, his expression revealing little. “Probably not,” he said to Sephira.

“I figured as much. So stop arguing with me, and tell me what it is you intend to do.”

“Right now there are three of us: Mariz, Janna Windcatcher, and me—”

“Windcatcher,” Sephira said. “You mean the daft old African woman who owns that hovel out on the Neck?”

“That’s right. She’s not daft, and she’s as skilled a conjurer as we have here in Boston.”

Sephira pressed her lips thin, her brow knitting. But she gestured for him to go on.

“I’m hoping that the three of us can combine our conjurings, so that our spells are stronger and more apt to work.”

She watched him, plainly expecting him to say more. When he didn’t, her expression turned even more skeptical. “That’s it? That’s your plan?”

“There is not much planning that can be done,
Senhora
,” Mariz said. “Ramsey is more powerful than we are. He will be expecting us to attack his ship again. Surprising him will be most difficult. But if what Kaille has in mind can work, that itself might be a surprise.”

“Have you ever used your witchery like that before?” Sephira asked, looking from Ethan to Mariz. “Can this be done?”

“It’s how Caleb Osborne’s daughters killed the men aboard the
Graystone
,” Ethan said. “It’s how they almost killed Mariz.”

“We would speak our incantations at the same time?” Mariz asked.

“Aye. But I believe there’s more to it than that. I’m hoping that Janna can help us figure out what else is involved. She told me that she’s never done it either, but her knowledge of conjuring runs deep.”

“I am curious as to whether our spectral guides can help us with this. If they work together it may be that speaking the spells simultaneously will be enough.”

Ethan nodded, remembering his violent encounter with the Osborne family. At one point, after Diver had been shot, the sisters cast a powerful healing spell to save his life. He could still picture their two ghosts standing together, one yellow, the other red, their hands clasped, so that their entwined fingers glowed orange. “I believe you’re right,” he said. “That might well be the key to making this work.”

Sephira’s brow had creased again. She regarded Mariz and Ethan the way a jealous lover might her beloved and a rival.