“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?”
<
br /> 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.”
Ethan nodded, still stung by her accusation. “We’ve had to apologize to each other a lot in the past few days.”
“I was thinkin’ that,” she said. “I’ll be more careful.”
“So will I.” He nodded toward her bowl. “How do you like your chowder?”
She picked up her spoon and tasted it. Her eyes widened. “That’s good,” she said. “A woman who looks like that and cooks like this? You should marry her before she comes to her senses and kicks you out.”
Ethan grinned, but then turned serious once more. “Did you know Nathaniel Ramsey?” he asked her.
“Which one?”
“Both, I suppose.”
She nodded, taking another spoonful of Kannice’s stew. “The father was a friend. I always liked him. He would come to see me when he put in to port. Sometimes he’d buy an ale or a meal. Sometimes he’d buy herbs from me. One time he brought me a great big shell he’d found in the islands.” Her smile this time was wistful. “Told me it was a piece of my home. I still have it. He was a good conjurer. Not the most powerful I ever met, but reliable.”
“What about the son?”
“I liked him, too, but I only met him a few times. The last time was right after his father died. He come to tell me that his papa used to say nice things about me. He didn’t stay long—seemed lost in a way, if you know what I mean. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Well,” Ethan said, “he’s back. And he’s the one who’s behind whatever is happening to our conjurings. He’s also responsible for the grave desecrations we talked about the last time I visited you at the Fat Spider.” He leaned in closer to her. “Last night, Kannice and I were talking about this. When we conjure, our ghosts give us access to the power between the realms of the living and the dead. There are shades all over Boston. The corpses Ramsey mutilated are now appearing as shades in their old homes. Could those ghosts be keeping us from casting our spells?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Might be they could keep our ghosts from that power you talked about. That’s the one way I can think they would do it.”
“Of course,” Ethan said. “That makes a good deal of sense.”
“But why would he do it?” she asked. “He needs to conjure, too, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but he’s controlling the ghosts. Do you remember that symbol I showed you?”
“Of course I do. Carving runes into corpses isn’t anythin’ I’m likely to forget.”
“Right. I think those symbols allow Ramsey to bend the shades to his will. And I also think that the shades recognize Ramsey’s spectral guide, and allow him to do as he pleases. Ramsey’s spells work just the way they’re intended. He made that much clear to me last night.”
“Why is he so angry with you?”
Ethan recounted for Janna his encounter with the captain back in 1763. “I believe he’s been making inquiries about me ever since. He seems to know a lot about me.”
“Including what that maimed foot of yours looks like.”
“Exactly.”
She shook her head, and took a sip of wine. “You’re gonna need help before all of this is through. You know that.”
Ethan thought of Mariz. “Aye, I know it.”
“So you tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll be there.”
He reached over and patted her hand. “Thank you, Janna.”
She glared at him. “You’re humorin’ me. Don’t. I might be old, but I can conjure better than you, and better than Ramsey, too. You need me.”
“Before this is over, I may need every conjurer in Boston.”
“You intendin’ to kill him?” Janna asked.
Ethan faltered. “If I have to.”
“So you’re willin’ to spend those souls when the time comes.”
He frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“The souls: those shades you been seein’.” When his expression didn’t change, she placed her spoon on the table. “Every time a conjurer summons the spirit of someone who’s dead, he puts that soul at risk. If the conjurer dies before releasin’ the spirit, the soul is lost forever. No heaven, if that’s what you believe. No spirit to summon another time. The soul’s just gone. If you kill Ramsey while he still controls those poor folk, you’ll be makin’ it so them souls are gone for good.”
“You’re sure of this?” Ethan asked.
Janna glowered.
“Of course you are. My apologies for asking.”
“If you want to save the souls, you have to get Ramsey to release them before you kill him. And that ain’t gonna be easy.”
Ethan rubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t thought that this matter with the captain could be any more difficult than it was. He’d been wrong. “No,” he said, “it’s not.”
“Like I told you, Kaille: You need me.”
“Aye, I do. And when the time comes to fight him, I’ll make certain that you’re there.”
“Good.” She picked up the spoon again. “Now go away. Let me eat this fine food, before I have to walk back home.”
“Aye, all right,” he said and stood.<
br />
“You used that sachet yet?” Janna asked, before he could walk away.
“No, not yet.”
“Don’t,” she said. “If your spells ain’t workin’ you can’t risk it. If you go in that house where the woman died of the pox, you won’t know if the spell worked or failed until it’s too late. You understand me?”
A chill ran through his body. “Aye. Thank you, Janna.”
He joined Kannice and Kelf at the bar.
“How long have you known her?” Kelf asked, the words a quick jumble.
“A long time,” Ethan said.
“I’ve heard folks say that she’s mad—think she’s a witch, and seems proud of it.”
Ethan merely nodded, taking care to avoid Kannice’s gaze. “I’ve heard that, too.”
“What will you do now?” Kannice asked him.
“I’m not sure. Until nightfall, I really can’t…” He trailed off. “Damn,” he whispered. “I have to go,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Kannice’s mouth twitched: an attempt at a smile. “I know better than to tell you to have a care, but I don’t like this business.”
“Neither do I. And I will.” He gave her hand a squeeze and returned to Janna’s table, squatting down beside the old woman’s chair so that he could look her in the eye. “Did you feel any spells last night or this morning?” he asked her, voice lowered again.
“Several last night and a couple this morning,” she said. “I assumed you were castin’, though the ones this morning came from your place, not from here.”
Ethan shook his head, inwardly cursing himself once more. “No,” he said. “They came from the waterfront. Thank you, Janna.”
Ethan left the tavern for the Common Burying Ground. What Janna had told him about the souls of the summoned dead made it more imperative than ever that he keep Ramsey from desecrating Patience’s grave. He thought about casting a finding spell to locate the captain, but he had little confidence that it would work. Upon reaching the burying ground he walked its perimeter once, before searching a section of the cemetery a good distance away from where Patience had been buried. After a few minutes he found what he sought: the grave of a woman who had died within the last few months—March, to be precise. He positioned himself by the grave, and pulled out his blade.
A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) Page 21
