Ethan had no intention of drinking the stuff—it looked and tasted enough like horse piss to make Ethan suspicious of its origins. But he also wasn’t going to pay Duncan for the information he sought, so he thought that buying an ale was the least he could do.
Picking up the tankard, he turned and leaned back against the bar, surveying the tavern. The men who sat at tables in pairs and groups of three and four appeared perfectly at home amid the squalor of the Nest, which told Ethan everything he needed to know about them.
Dunc still had not acknowledged him, though the amount of smoke billowing from his pipe seemed to have increased.
“You can’t ignore me forever, Dunc.”
“Who says I can’t?” he answered from behind the paper.
“Imago ex cervisia evocata,” Ethan said, his voice low. Illusion, conjured from ale.
The pulse of this spell was weaker than most of the others Ethan cast because it was an elemental spell. But it did what he had hoped it would: Illusory flames erupted from the pages of the Gazette.
Dunc jumped, dropped the paper to the floor, and stamped on it.
Ethan whispered. “Fini imaginem ex cervisia evocatam.” Again, power pulsed, and the illusion vanished.
The other men in the tavern stared at Dunc the way they would at a lunatic.
“You’re a bit skittish, aren’t you?” Ethan said, grinning.
Dunc pulled the pipe from between his yellow teeth. “That wasn’t funny, Kaille.”
“I’d have to disagree.”
Dunc put the pipe back in his mouth with a click of teeth on clay. “What do you want, anyway?”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You have to ask?”
“I’m not helping you find anything. You come in here every time you have a new job, and you seem to think it’s up to me to find what you were hired to retrieve. Well, I’m through with that.” Dunc gave a nasty smile. “Go talk to Pryce. Maybe she’ll help you.”
“You’re right, Dunc.”
“Well, you can think whatever you want, but—” He blinked. “What?”
“I said you’re right. I shouldn’t be asking you to do my work for me. So instead, allow me to help you out.”
He pulled Paxton’s list of pilfered goods from his pocket and unfolded it. All the while, Dunc watched him the way a fox would a hound.
“What’s that?”
“The list of items I’m looking for.”
“I just told you—”
Ethan held a finger inches in front of the Scot’s nose, stopping him. “I heard you, Dunc. These things were stolen from the home of Charles Paxton.”
“You’re working for Paxton?” He grinned. “Things that bad then?”
“If any of these items come through the Nest, and word of it gets back to the customs boys, they’ll shut you down. Even Greenleaf won’t be able to talk them out of it.”
Dunc’s smile faded slowly. “Aye, you’re probably right.” He took the list from Ethan and perused it.
“Have you seen any of it?” Ethan asked.
“Not yet. When was it pinched?”
“I don’t think it’s been more than two days.”
Dunc handed him back the parchment. “Have you any idea who cracked the house?”
“I have no proof, but forced to guess, I’d say it was one of the regulars billeted over at Green’s Barracks.”
“Well, I’m not going out of my way to tell you when these things show up here, but I’ll make it clear to my fences that they’re not to buy any of Paxton’s stuff in my place.”
“That’s all I ask. My thanks, Dunc.” He raised the tankard to his lips but thought better of taking a sip. He set it on the bar. “You really should serve better ale.”
“I’ve told you before, coves don’t come here for the drink.”
“No, I don’t imagine they do.”
Dunc frowned. “Get out.”
Ethan pulled on his gloves and picked up his hat off the bar.
As he did, a spell trembled in the walls of the tavern. He looked sharply at Reg, who gave a single nod.
But nothing happened. None of the men in the tavern started arguing or fighting. None of them so much as glanced Ethan’s way. His warding had held. Or so he thought.
An instant later, a second spell shook the building, as puissant and clear as the pealing of a church bell. This time, Ethan felt the conjuring within his chest, as if the person who cast it had reached between his ribs and taken hold of his heart.
“Kaille? Are you all right?” Dunc asked, genuine concern on his narrow face.
“I don’t know.”
Chair legs scraped on the tavern’s wooden floor. Two men who had been sitting at the nearest of the tables were now standing, glaring at Ethan. Seeming to respond to some silent command, both men drew their blades as one and started toward the bar.
Dunc backed away from them. “What the devil are you two doing?”
Ethan slid his knife from its sheath.
“Kaille?”
“Stay back, Dunc.”
The men said not a word. Ethan didn’t think that they even shared a look. But they separated, one stepping to Ethan’s left, the other to his right. Both were tall, powerfully built. He had no doubt that they were skilled fighters.
Ethan still wore his greatcoat; he didn’t think he could take it off before they attacked, and he wasn’t sure he could fight them while wearing it. But he managed to pull off his left glove and cut the skin on the back of his hand.
“Discuti ambo ex cruore evocatum.” Shatter, both of them, conjured from blood.
Both men’s blades broke, shards of metal falling to the floor with a sound like the tinkling of breaking icicles.
“Lord save us,” Dunc whispered. Ethan kept his eyes on the men, who continued to stalk him. One of them lunged for him, moving faster than Ethan would have thought he could. He jumped back, acting on instinct. And a powerful forearm clamped down on his neck.
He struggled to get away, but the second man held him fast.
The first man reared back and hit him in the jaw, his fist like a brick. Ethan’s vision swam; he tasted blood.
“Discuti ex cruore evocatum,” he said, using another shatter spell.
This time he heard bone break and a grunt of pain from the man behind him. The man’s grip on his throat slackened. Ethan threw an elbow into his gut, drawing another grunt.
He grabbed the man’s broken arm and twisted out of his grasp. The man howled.
His friend swung at Ethan a second time, but Ethan ducked out of the way and took a step back, and then another. The man matched him step for step.
Fortunately for Ethan, the brute was as clumsy as he was large. He threw another punch. Ethan ducked again and the man’s fist whistled harmlessly over his head, leaving him off balance. Ethan planted his good leg and spun, using his bad leg as a club. His kick caught the brute in the kidney. The man collapsed to one knee. Ethan locked his hands together and hit him with every ounce of his strength, knocking him backward so that he sprawled unconscious on the floor, a trickle of blood flowing from his nose.
By this time, the other man was on his feet again. He held his broken arm cradled to his chest, but still he seemed determined to renew his assault on Ethan. He tried to hit Ethan with his good hand, but missed. Ethan threw a punch of his own, staggering the man. A second blow put him on the floor.
“Bloody hell!” Dunc said, staring at the men. “Do you know these two?”
Ethan was breathing hard, and his hands ached from the punches he had thrown. “I’ve never seen them before.”
“Then why did they go for you that way?” Dunc’s expression darkened. “And what was that you did to their knives?”
“I don’t know the answer to the first question,” Ethan said, flexing his right hand, “and you know perfectly well the answer to the second.” He picked up his hat and set it on his head, eager to leave the Crow’s Nest before another spell sent the rest of its patrons after him. “Remember
what I told you about Paxton’s property.”
“Aye, I will.”
“See you later, Dunc.”
The Scotsman still stared at the two men. But as Ethan reached the door he said, “Hey, Kaille. Watch yourself.”
“Aye,” Ethan said. “I’m trying.”
Once on the street again, Ethan cast a dark look at Reg and started back toward Mill Creek and the South End. He knew it wasn’t the ghost’s fault that his warding had failed, but he felt betrayed by his conjuring power, and Reg was the embodiment of that power.
“It seems a simple warding isn’t enough,” he said, walking with his hands buried in his pockets. “But I don’t know what else to try.”
Usually when confronted with his own ignorance about magicking, Ethan went to the Fat Spider to ask questions of Janna. But at the moment he didn’t feel safe going anywhere: not to Janna’s tavern or Kannice’s. He even feared returning to his room on Cooper’s Alley. What if Henry was hurt as a result of one of these spells?
He knew, though, that he couldn’t remain in the streets; this was the most dangerous place, not only for him, but for any innocents who happened to cross his path. After some deliberation, he decided that his room was his safest refuge. He followed a serpentine path into the heart of the South End, taking the least crowded streets he could find, and adjusting his route whenever he encountered a crowd.
Any doubts he had harbored as to the identity of the conjurer who was harrying him had vanished with that last spell. Who else but Nate Ramsey was wicked enough to use conjurings in this way, and also strong enough to overcome Ethan’s warding with such ease? But this certainty came as little consolation. How could he fight the man when he didn’t even know where to find him?
He climbed the stairway to his room, locked and warded the door, and lit a fire in his stove to keep warm. Pulling out some of the herbs he carried, he then healed his bruised jaw. And as he did all of this, he cursed his inability to do more. Ramsey, he had little doubt, was laughing at him, mocking his ignorance and impotence, reveling in the success he had enjoyed thus far in this, their latest battle. Ethan realized as well that in the Crow’s Nest he had made himself an unwitting ally in Ramsey’s scheme. He had thought himself so clever using an illusion spell to scare Duncan. Instead, what he had done was tell Ramsey exactly where he was. He would need to be more careful in the future.
But of course Ramsey would want that as well. Slowly, one step at a time, Ramsey was weakening him, taking away every advantage Ethan might usually have enjoyed. Ethan had allies here in Boston, and so Ramsey sought to separate him from those on whom he relied. He was afraid now to set foot in the Dowser, or any other tavern, lest he cause another fray. Ethan and Ramsey were equals when it came to conjuring, but now Ethan was reluctant to conjure, lest he reveal his location to the captain.
Yet, even knowing this, Ethan was helpless to do anything about it. At least until he found Ramsey.
* * *
Though loath to go anywhere near Gray’s Rope Works and Green’s Barracks again, Ethan still had a job to complete, and he had promised Paxton that he would return the following morning so that he might question the commissioner’s servant.
He followed the same route to the Paxton estate that he had used when he left the previous day, thus keeping his distance from the barracks. But he couldn’t avoid the ropewalks; all he could do was approach the mansion as quickly as his leg and the ice-covered lane would allow and get off the street.
Once more, Ethan’s knock was answered by Paxton himself.
“Ah, Mister Kaille.” He waved Ethan inside and closed the door. “I had feared that perhaps yesterday’s events might keep you away.”
Ethan felt the blood drain from his face. “What do you mean?”
“Simply that I watched from the window as the rabble at Gray’s establishment assaulted that unfortunate soldier. And I saw as well that you attempted to intervene before leaving.” He shook his head. “It was a bad business. Before all was said and done, some forty soldiers and nearly as many journeymen fought in the yard and in the street. Several men were wounded, and it would have been worse if not for old John Hill, who lives nearby. He somehow managed to keep those ruffians from doing worse to the uniformed men.”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan said. He was relieved to hear that the fighting hadn’t resulted in any deaths, and also that Paxton had no inkling of his role in the incident.
Paxton led Ethan into a sitting room off the front foyer. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll fetch Louisa.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you.”
Paxton bustled away, only to return moments later leading a young woman in a plain blue dress. She had raven black hair, large blue eyes, and a pale oval face that might have been pretty had she not appeared so frightened.
“Louisa, this is Mister Kaille,” Paxton said. “He’s a thieftaker. I’ve engaged him to find the jewels that were taken from Missus Paxton’s dressing room. I expect you to answer his questions truthfully. Do you understand me?”
The girl’s head jerked up and down. Paxton was doing nothing to put her at ease.
“Good morning, Louisa,” Ethan said, trying to keep his tone gentle. “I won’t take much of your time. I have some questions about people you might have seen near the Paxtons’ home. All right?”
She nodded again.
“Have you any friends among the workers at Gray’s Rope Works or the soldiers billeted up the street?”
Her gaze met his for the span of a heartbeat before darting away again; she began to wring her hands.
“Please answer him, Louisa.”
“There’s a … a s-soldier. But he’s very nice, and I’m sure he’s not … Well, I don’t think he would take anything from my mistress.”
“What’s his name?” Ethan asked.
“James,” she said. “James Fleming. He’s just a private now, but he wants to be an officer. That’s what he told me.”
“Has he asked you questions about the house?”
“No,” she said without hesitation. “Well—” She broke off and chewed her lip. “He wanted to know where my room was.”
“Why did he want to know that?” Paxton asked, his brows knitting.
A faint smile lit her face and a bit of color warmed her cheeks. “It was rather sweet, really. He said that he wanted to know where to look at night when I was asleep and he was on patrol.”
“Was that all he asked? Where your room was located?”
“Now that I think of it, I suppose he asked other questions as well.”
Ethan and the commissioner shared a look.
“What sort of questions?” Ethan asked.
“I didn’t think anything of it.” She turned to Paxton. “I swear to you, sir, I thought he was … he was only talking to me, because … because maybe he thought I was pretty. He’d prattle on about his fellow soldiers and the things he saw in Halifax before coming to Boston.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’ve never been anywhere, so I had no stories to tell him. So I thought his questions were intended to let me talk, so that it wouldn’t be him talking all the time.”
“What sort of questions, Louisa?”
She faced Ethan again, her tears flowing freely now. “He asked about … about the rooms. Whose they were and where. I’ve never been in any house as grand as this one, and so I told him a lot. I suppose I wanted him to be impressed.”
“Were there others?” Paxton asked, his voice flat. Ethan wondered if Louisa would still be employed here come nightfall. “Maybe one of the men from the rope yard?”
“No, sir,” she said, shaking her head so forcefully that tears flew from her cheeks.
Clearly she thought that she was reassuring her master. Ethan thought it more likely that her response only deepened Paxton’s anger. The commissioner would not want blame to fall on a British soldier.
“Is there anything else, Mister Kaille?” Paxton asked, sounding impatient for their interview to end.
> The thrum of a conjuring kept Ethan from answering. It was a powerful spell, and it seemed to come from beneath Ethan’s feet. Reg emerged from the shadows beside him, glowing with the color of dried blood. Ethan wondered if the soldiers and journeymen would be fighting again when he left the mansion.
Paxton leaned forward, peering into Ethan’s face. “I said, is there anything else.”
Ethan shook himself. “Aye. Yes, sir.” To the young woman he said, “Can you describe James for me?”
She offered a watery smile. “He’s about your height,” she said, regarding Ethan with a critical eye. “He has red hair and brown eyes, and freckles across here.” She ran a finger over the bridge of her nose. “And he also has a red birthmark here.” She pointed to her temple.
“Thank you, Louisa. That’s very helpful.”
She looked at Paxton.
“You may go,” he said, his tone and expression severe.
She curtsied and left them, dabbing at her tears with the cuffs of her sleeves.
“Foolish girl,” Paxton said, when she was gone.
“She didn’t know she was doing wrong.”
“You needn’t defend her, Mister Kaille. She can keep her job.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I suppose then that you’ll go and speak with this man.”
Ethan hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of entering the barracks while he had so little control over his conjuring power. He liked even less the notion of neglecting his job because he was afraid.
“Well?”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan said. “I intend to speak with Private Fleming as soon as possible.”
“Good.”
Ethan reached for his coat and hat. “I should be on my way, then.”
“I should think,” Paxton said. But he didn’t lead Ethan back to the front entrance. “Did you learn anything yesterday? As I recall, you were going to visit some disreputable tavern.”
“Yes, sir. I was there. The proprietor has not yet seen any of your lost items.”
“So he says. Do you trust this man?”
“As much as I do anyone who associates with thieves.”
“That’s hardly reassuring, Mister Kaille.”
“It’s been but a few days since the theft. And if Louisa’s friend was responsible, he won’t have had much time to sell what he stole. If forced to guess, I would say that your watch and your wife’s jewels remain hidden away in Green’s Barracks even as we speak.”
Dead Man's Reach Page 19
