The younger Ramsey glared at him, hatred in his eyes, his knife held ready. The shade of the old captain spared Ethan not a glance, but kept his gleaming green eyes on his son. Eventually, Nate shifted his gaze to his father’s ghost, his expression softening, his rage giving way to pain.
Taking this opportunity, Ethan chanted a spell in his head. Tegimen ex verbasco evocatum. Warding, conjured from mullein. He felt the pulse of the spell, but he had no idea if it had worked.
At the first rumble of the conjuring, however, Ramsey seemed to remember where he was. He slashed his blade across his exposed forearm.
“Exure ex cruore evocatum!” Burn, conjured from blood.
The pain—sudden, needle-sharp—tore a cry from Ethan’s throat. He clutched his arm, saw blisters rising on his skin. So much for his warding.
“How dare you summon the spirit of my father! Release him now!”
With his good hand, Ethan pulled his knife from the sheath on his belt.
Ramsey glanced at the blade and shook his head. “You’ve learned nothing! You’re like a moth singeing its wings on a candle flame over and over again. Your warding failed, Kaille. So will whatever spell you’re considering. You cannot fight me. I’ve told you this before, and still you try.”
“Of course I try. The alternative is surrender, and that I won’t do.”
“No, the alternative is failure, and it’s already overtaken you.” He cut himself again. “Discuti ex cruore evocatum.” Shatter, conjured from blood.
The conjuring hummed, bone snapped, and Ethan’s bad leg gave way beneath him, the agony threatening to overwhelm him.
“Let my father go!” Ramsey said, bellowing the words and taking a step toward him.
Ethan gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. He would have liked to set the man’s hair and clothes on fire, even if it meant burning his room and Henry’s shop to the ground. Or better yet, he wanted to break every bone in Ramsey’s body. But he knew that his conjurings would fail, and the attempts themselves would provoke the captain to hurt him more. He knew as well that he could no more kill Ramsey than the captain could kill him. Ethan held the father’s soul; Ramsey held the souls of dozens, including, perhaps, that of Patience Walters. It was as if they each held a pistol aimed at the other’s heart. They could threaten, they could hurt one another. But neither dared fire the killing shot.
Still, it galled Ethan that he could not even protect himself from the captain’s assaults. The last time he had felt this impotent, this defenseless, he had been a prisoner. And yet, it seemed that Ramsey was not yet done sounding the depths of Ethan’s despair.
“You know that you failed as well to save your friend.” He lowered himself into a chair, watching his father’s ghost, perhaps deciding that Ethan could not harm the shade in any meaningful way. “I felt your conjuring. I know what you did, and yet I still managed to dig her up and take what I needed. She’s mine now, just like the others. Except we both know that she’s nothing like the rest. She was a conjurer in life, and so her shade has access to powers that the others can’t even comprehend. She will lead them, and I will command her. And you can do nothing to stop me.”
It was too much. Foolish though he might have been, Ethan refused to relent. Most conjurers would have warded themselves before coming to attack one of their kind, but Ramsey was so convinced of his own superiority that Ethan thought it possible he had neglected to take that precaution. If he could manage to cast a spell, he could hurt the captain and perhaps drive him off. At the very least, he could keep Ramsey from hurting him again. But what spell? Was it possible that a more obscure conjuring, one the captain could not anticipate, would have a better chance of succeeding?
He bit down on the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. “Corpus alligare ex cruore evocatum!” Bind body, conjured from blood!
The spell thrummed. Uncle Reg turned to Ramsey, as eager as Ethan to see if the spell had worked.
Ramsey no longer looked so smug; instead his face was a rictus of anger and frustration. But though Ethan could see the muscles in his neck and arms straining, he moved not at all. His fingers still gripped his knife, but he could do nothing with it.
Ethan struggled to get up and balance himself on one leg. He drew his knife and cut his arm. Catching the welling blood on the flat of his blade, he rubbed it on the skin over his broken bone.
“Remedium ex cruore evocatum.” Healing, conjured from blood.
The first spell didn’t work, but he cast it a second time, and the bone began to knit itself back together. Initially, the pain increased, and he ground his teeth together. Soon, though, the anguish began to abate. After a few minutes, his leg was strong enough that it could bear some of his weight.
“It seems I have more spells left in me than you thought,” Ethan said.
Ramsey stared daggers at him.
“I understand wanting your father back, Ramsey. You may not believe me, but it’s true. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t wish I could see my mother one more time. I lost her while I was in prison. It’s not the same, I know. She wasn’t hounded to her death the way your father was. If she had been … well, I would want vengeance, too. But my point is this: As much as you want him to live once more, you have to know that whatever you bring back from the realm of the dead won’t be him. It will be dark and unnatural and beyond even your control.”
The captain closed his eyes. It was probably the one way the man could think to block out Ethan’s words.
Or so Ethan thought.
Ethan felt a spell growl in the floor and walls of his home.
“What are you doing?”
Ramsey didn’t move. But an instant later, a shade appeared in the room. It was no one Ethan recognized, but he could tell that it was one of the ghosts Ramsey had awakened in recent days. It glowed as white as winter mist and it shuffled toward Ethan wearing a man’s breeches and jacket, its face decayed and ghoulish, its leathery hands hanging at its sides.
Ethan sensed a second spell, and another shade materialized beside the first. Ramsey bared his teeth in his own skeletal grin, though he didn’t appear capable of any other movement.
Two more spells pulsed, one right after the other. Two more shades joined the others.
“That was a good conjuring, Kaille. Better than I thought you could cast, it’s true. But as you can see, I have powers that go far deeper than even you can imagine.”
Ramsey rocked his head from side to side. He hadn’t yet regained motion in his hands or feet, but Ethan guessed that he would soon enough.
“Thank you for the use of the mullein, by the way,” Ramsey said.
Ethan saw him bite down on his own cheek, as Ethan had done moments before. The next spell was more powerful than the previous ones had been. Another pair of ghosts winked into view. Their comrades had forced Ethan to the back corner of his room. He straightened now, refusing to be cowed by the shades.
He reached out, allowing his hand to pass through the head of the nearest ghost. And yanked it back with a gasp. The touch of the fiend was bitingly cold, and left his skin blue.
“I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you,” Ramsey said. He pushed himself up out of the chair, swayed but didn’t fall. He slowly curled and straightened his fingers.
Ethan didn’t understand how the captain could have overcome the binding spell so soon. Whatever Ramsey had done to enhance his power seemed also to make him less vulnerable to the spells of others.
“Hold,” Ramsey said.
The shades halted their shambling advance.
He knew that the captain meant to attack again, and so he cut his forearm with a flick of his blade and cast first. “Ignis ex cruore evocatus.” Fire, conjured from blood.
The conjuring thrummed, but no flames appeared.
“A coincidence,” Ramsey said. “I had been thinking of the same spell.” He cut himself, and murmured the conjuring.
A swirling ball of fire burst from Ramsey’s hand, soared ac
ross the room and through the insubstantial body of one of the shades, and hammered into Ethan’s chest. The force of the blow lifted Ethan off his feet and sent him sprawling into the wall once more, his shirt and waistcoat ablaze.
He flailed at the flames, and rolled from side to side until he had put them out. The smell of singed hair and burnt flesh hung in the air. Burns throbbed on Ethan’s chest, arms, and hands. He felt like he had been run over by a horse and carriage.
Ramsey walked to where he lay, the shades parting to let him pass.
“It seems to me that we’ve done this before. I’ve already shattered a bone in your leg, so I believe the next spell I cast is supposed to keep you from breathing. Is that how you remember it?” He tipped his head to the side, his brow furrowing. “Or we could try something new. I could burn the building, or just destroy it. No one would be the wiser.” He glanced around, an expression of distaste on his face. “They’d blame inferior workmanship, and who could argue? They would never guess that it was a conjuring that did the damage.”
Ramsey’s knife flashed again.
“Strangula ex cruore evocatum.” Strangle, conjured from blood.
Invisible hands squeezed Ethan’s neck, choking him, crushing his throat.
“You won’t kill me,” Ethan said, croaking the words. “You won’t do that to your father.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Ramsey said. “I believe I can reach my father anywhere. My power runs that deep. Still, if you release him, I may spare you. And just so you know, your longing for Mommy is nothing like the suffering he and I have endured. I should kill you for your presumption.”
Ethan grabbed at his neck, trying to prise away fingers that weren’t there.
Dormite ex verbasco evocatum! He screamed in his mind. Slumber, conjured from mullein! He didn’t know how many leaves he used. He didn’t care. And it didn’t seem to matter. For though the conjuring made the floor tremble, it had no effect on Ramsey.
“I don’t know what that was,” the captain said, enjoying himself far too much. “But it didn’t work.”
Spots of light clouded Ethan’s vision. The room seemed to be spinning and darkening. He clawed at his throat again, but he could tell that his hands weren’t working as he wanted them to. He didn’t think Ramsey would go so far as to kill him, but his certainty was fading.
Yet another conjuring shook the building. Ramsey turned, still grinning.
“I’m afraid you’re no better than he is.”
A second man spoke in Latin. Ethan recognized the voice, but couldn’t put a name to it. His thoughts were fragmented, incoherent. But he sensed the hum of one more spell, and he saw Ramsey stagger as from a blow. The captain raised a hand to his temple. It came away bloody.
Fini evocationem ex cruore evocatum! Ethan cried in his mind. End conjuring, conjured from blood!
The blood vanished from Ramsey’s hand, and the building hummed again. Ethan breathed in, exhaled. The pressure on his throat was gone.
“I can kill you just as easily as I can kill him,” Ramsey said. “Easier, since you haven’t summoned a shade.” He glared at Mariz, who stood in the doorway, fresh blood running down his arm, his bloodied blade held in his other hand.
Ethan forced himself up onto his knees and crawled to retrieve his blade.
“I think you will find that more difficult than you imagine,” Mariz said. He looked past Ramsey to Ethan.
“All right, Kaille?”
Ethan nodded, cut his arm.
Several of Ramsey’s shades were advancing on Ethan again. Others had turned their attention to Mariz.
“Remedium ex cruore evocatum,” Ethan said. Healing, conjured from blood. He directed the conjuring at Ramsey’s leg, hoping to use his healing spell to shatter the bone from within. But the spell failed, drawing a laugh from Ramsey. Another conjuring pulsed in the floor. Ethan didn’t know what kind of spell it was, but he saw the blood vanish from Mariz’s arm. Again, though, nothing happened.
Mariz and Ethan shared a look.
“You’re persistent,” Ramsey said. “I’ll give you both credit for that. But you see now how futile this is. I will not be stopped.”
Iubeo, Nathaniel Ramsey, te mea iussa facere ex verbasco evocatum, Ethan chanted silently, caring not at all how many leaves he used. I command you, Nathaniel Ramsey, do my bidding, conjured in mullein.
The shade of Ramsey’s father stepped directly in front of Ethan, forcing the other shades, including those advancing on Mariz, to stop in their tracks. Ramsey’s ghost stared hard at Ethan, his brow bunched.
“I know that you don’t approve,” Ethan said to the glowing figure. “This is your chance to stop him.”
Nate Ramsey’s face reddened, and he leveled a rigid finger at Ethan’s heart. “My father is not yours to command!”
“Apparently he is.”
The shade turned to face his son.
“Release him!” Ramsey roared, his gaze sliding away from that of his father.
“Call back your shades.”
Ethan cut himself again. “Tegimen ex cruore evocatum.” Warding, conjured from blood. At the touch of power, Reg faced Ethan, their eyes meeting. Ethan wasn’t sure why, but this one time he sensed that his spell had worked. Perhaps by drawing the attention of the ghosts, Ramsey had left the boundary between the living and the dead unguarded, allowing Ethan access to the power there.
The shades watched both Ramseys; Ethan sensed that they were awaiting commands from one of them or the other.
Nate Ramsey hacked at his arm and muttered a spell Ethan couldn’t hear. He felt the conjuring and was nearly knocked off his feet by the force of whatever the captain had thrown at him. But his warding held.
“Damn you!” Ramsey said, shouting the words. “Let him go!”
“Get out of here,” Ethan said. “When you and your shades are gone, I’ll release him. And not before.”
“I can kill you where you stand!”
“I believe you just tried that. It didn’t work. And it’s fortunate for you that it failed. Or to be more precise, it’s fortunate for your father.”
Ethan heard a loud click. Mariz had pulled out a pistol and now held it full-cocked and aimed at Ramsey.
“Nigel’s,” he said for Ethan’s benefit.
“I can destroy that weapon with any number of spells,” Ramsey said, sounding like a boastful child.
“And I can blow a hole in your head before the Latin crosses your lips.” Mariz shifted his gaze to Ethan. “Indeed, I feel compelled to ask why I should not do this, regardless of whether he casts.”
“Because he’s leaving now,” Ethan said. He gestured at Ramsey’s shades. “And because I’m not ready to condemn all of these souls to oblivion.”
“I can bring this entire building down,” Ramsey said. “I can kill both of you.”
“Is that truly a risk you wish to take?” Ethan asked.
The spirit of Ramsey the elder had not moved since turning to look at his son, but he stepped forward now, shaking his head. He pointed toward the door with a glowing hand.
Ramsey held his father’s gaze for several seconds. No being in the room moved or made a sound, until at last the captain broke eye contact with the shade of his father.
“You have one night’s reprieve, Kaille. That’s all you’ve accomplished here.”
Ethan kept his silence.
The corner of Ramsey’s mouth quirked upward in a bitter smile. And as it did, the shades he had summoned vanished. With their departure, the room dimmed.
Mariz sidled away from the door, keeping his eyes on Ramsey and his pistol aimed at the captain’s head.
“You’ve made an enemy tonight,” Ramsey said to him. “You shouldn’t have come here, and”—he jerked a thumb in Ethan’s direction—“you shouldn’t have cast your lot with him.”
When Mariz didn’t answer either, Ramsey laughed. “Fools,” he said. An instant later, his expression hardened once more. “You will release him as soon
as I’m gone. I’ll know if you don’t. And for every second he is forced to linger here, I’ll prolong by an hour your final torment. You’ll endure pain beyond your darkest imaginings.”
“When you’re on your ship, and not before.”
The look Ramsey gave him could have flayed the flesh from his bones. The captain cast one last glance at his father, and left the room. Ethan listened for his steps on the wooden stairway leading down to the narrow alley below.
Mariz started to speak, but Ethan raised a hand, silencing him. When Ethan no longer heard Ramsey’s footsteps he walked past Mariz and onto the landing outside his door. He caught a glimpse of the captain turning the corner onto Cooper’s Alley; Ramsey did not appear to see him.
Still he waited, listening, watchful. Mariz joined him on the landing.
“We should not have let him go.”
Ethan leaned his arms on the wooden railing and took several slow, deep breaths. There was little left of his shirt and waistcoat save charred tatters, and the cool night air felt good on his burns and his blistered arm. The bruises on his back and shoulders throbbed. “Killing him might have been easier. It’s what he would have done in my position. But I was hired to protect the souls he has bound to his service, to win their freedom if I can. Reverend Caner might not understand that he hired me to do this, but he did. I can’t kill him yet.” He glanced at Mariz, offering a wan smile. “I don’t suppose Sephira would have handled things this way.”
“Not at all. She would have killed him without hesitation. He continues to destroy the goods of merchants she is paid to protect. There were two more incidents today. Not fires this time; instead spells that ground items to dust. The senhora wants him dead. I do not want her to know that you and I have met without her knowledge. I do not want her to know that I was here. Otherwise, I would have killed him despite your wishes.”
A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) Page 25
