Rowankind (3 Book Series)

by Jacey Bedford

  The smell of charcoal and burning hoof vied with a fresh bread smell from the bake house on the other side of the inn.

  “They’re at home, then,” Corwen said, dismounting.

  “It sounds like it.” I slithered down from Dancer and into his arms.

  “Leo!” Corwen called from the doorway.

  “Be with you in a mo—ah, it’s you two.” He straightened up and grinned at us. “I’ve nearly finished this pair. Go through into the yard and on into the house. The front door’s for guests. Back door for family. Rosie’ll be pleased to see you. No doubt she has cake, and the kettle’s always on.”

  We left Timpani and Dancer standing as if tethered to the rings in the outside wall. The powerful heat of the forge struck us as we passed through, nodding politely to Leo’s customer, an elderly farmer-type. The back door, also propped open to cool the forge with a through draft, opened up into a yard with a single pony trap resting in the middle of it and a small stable in a separate building with a gray cob’s head sticking out over the half door. It whickered hopefully, but when we gave it no attention, it retreated into the gloom of the box.

  “Ross! Corwen!” Aunt Rosie emerged from the kitchen, dusting flour from her hands. “Good to see you. You are both looking well.” She glanced at my belly, and I knew she’d perceived what was going on in there. I would have told her anyway, but I didn’t need to. “And some good news to impart, I see.”

  “Can’t fool you, Aunt Rosie. Not that we’d try.”

  “Quite right, too, my loves. Come on in.”

  I knew there were two best rooms at the front of the house, but the kitchen was the heart and hub of the home. A scrubbed wooden table in the center had four spoon-back chairs. A wide bowl, brown-glazed on the outside and cream on the inside, stood on one end with a muslin cover over it.

  “You’ve timed it right. I need to leave the bread to rise for a while.” She set the bowl in an alcove next to the fire grate and the cast-iron box oven. The heat from the fire was almost as scorching as Leo’s forge.

  Aunt Rosie wiped her face with the skirt of her apron. “Can’t bake bread without a good hot oven,” she said, picking up long tongs and swinging the kettle, dangling from a hinged bar, over the hottest part of the fire. It began to steam almost immediately. She deftly retrieved it using the tongs and a folded cloth and made tea in a sturdy brown teapot. Her china cups were wide-mouthed and copious, decorated with a rose pattern. Each stood in its own deep saucer.

  She presided over the making and pouring of tea exactly as my mother used to, though my mother would never have invited visitors into her kitchen. I guessed tea-making had been instilled into both sisters in their girlhood. When I looked at Aunt Rosie, my mother’s twin, I saw the person Mother might have been if she hadn’t let her hatred of magic sour her. They both had the same features, but where my mother’s had been pinched, her lips narrow and creased through a constant expression of disapproval, Rosie’s were rounder and softer and she had a ready smile. Her skin, like my mother’s, was unblemished, but her eyes had earned their laughter lines. Oh, how I wished I’d been able to bring these twin sisters together again, but my mother had died before I even knew she had a sister. It had taken some ingenuity to find Aunt Rosie. At least I’d been able to reunite her and Leo.

  “So is this a social visit or a professional one?” Aunt Rosie asked.

  “Professional?”

  I didn’t quite follow her meaning, but Corwen did. He nudged me and whispered, “Village midwife.”

  “Oh!” My face grew hot and I think I blushed.

  Aunt Rosie laughed. “Twins, is it?”

  “What? Oh, my . . . ” I hadn’t even thought about the possibility, but I should have. Corwen was a twin, and my mother and Rosie were twins.

  Aunt Rosie laughed. “Two for the price of one. No reason why they shouldn’t both be healthy.” She looked at my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “When Will and I were married, my firstborn came early. He was born on the Heart, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. He only lived a few days.”

  “Each confinement is different,” she said. “There’s no reason for this pregnancy to follow the same pattern as your last. You must take it easy toward the end and send word whenever you need me. Don’t expend too much magical energy, or you might draw it from the babies as well. It’s likely, with their heritage, that they’ll take after one or both of you.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Rosie. I guess it was a professional visit after all, but really we came to tell you we don’t have Walsingham’s notebook, though Corwen thinks Walsingham doesn’t have it either.”

  Corwen nodded. “When he was on the Guillaume Tell and I was at his mercy, he was inclined to gloat. I think if he’d had the means to make spells, he would have used them.”

  “So do you know where it might be?”

  “I hope it’s at the bottom of the sea.”

  I told her in some detail what had happened on the Black Hawk.

  “Hmm,” she creased her face up and closed her eyes as if looking inward. “I’m not much of a seer, and without having seen the book, I can’t locate it or summon it, but I have this scratchy feeling in the back of my mind. I can’t explain it, but it’s there all the time. I know the book is important. If nothing else, it’s important to deny Walsingham and his ilk the use of it.”

  “If it did come whole out of the sea, it might be in the hands of a pirate called Nicholas Thompson,” I said. “Old Nick to his enemies.”

  “What is he to his friends?”

  “He doesn’t have any. He used to sail the Flamingo with Gentleman Jim’s fleet out of Auvienne in the Dark Islands. It wouldn’t surprise me if he hadn’t taken advantage of the situation and taken over Jim’s holdings. With Jim dead, the strongest of his captains would be likely to step in, and that would be whoever had the hardest crew and the greatest firepower.”

  “Can you send the Heart to find out?” Aunt Rosie asked.

  “I’m not sure that would be a good idea. Gentleman Jim and Hookey never saw eye to eye, but they weren’t likely to kill each other. Hookey and Old Nick are mortal enemies. Nick once skinned a friend of Hookey’s—literally.”

  Rosie shuddered. I didn’t blame her.

  I thought for a while.

  I knew I probably could do it. But whether I should was a different matter. Will’s ghost had passed over to a deeper place; to call him back would be unsettling—for both of us. Will had stuck by me for three years after his death. It was only when he let me go, that I realized I needed to let him go as well, to release him. Calling him back now would be cruel.

  But there was another ghost more recently deceased.

  “I could call the ghost of James Mayo,” I said. “Gentleman Jim.”

  19

  Gentleman Jim

  I’D DONE IT before, called up ghosts and asked them to investigate things or track things down for me, but usually they were recently-dead specters who meant little to me personally. James Mayo, pirate captain, was my ex-lover. It was only the one time, I swear, well, twice, but both times in one night. I’d been trying to get myself back into the real world after three years of both mourning Will and letting myself believe his ghost was the next best thing to having him with me, warm and alive.

  Will had chided me for what he considered my infidelity, and I’d felt somewhat ashamed for using Jim as a man might use a willing woman. Jim had, in fact, been more than willing. I hadn’t realized he’d felt more than lust for me until, much later, the moment he’d given his life trying to save mine.

  Of course, by that time I’d met Corwen and had to make the difficult choice between my old love and the new. With Will’s ghost on one side and Corwen on the other, Jim had never really been in the running, and for leading him on—if I had indeed led him on—I was sorry.

  In the end Will had helped me
to make that decision himself, and we’d parted company forever.

  Now, here I was, with Corwen’s child, or maybe children, in my belly, about to ask favors from a one-time lover. I didn’t know whether Jim blamed me for his death, or whether his ghost still had some feelings for me. Either way it wasn’t going to be an easy encounter.

  Here’s the thing about ghosts. They’re exactly that: ghosts, pale shades of what they once were. They still have an echo of the same feelings as they had when alive, but there’s no vitality. And their logic can be muddled. They’re no longer focused on the living. Will had loved me, but when my life hung in the balance, he’d urged me to die in order to be with him on the other side.

  He couldn’t have forced me. Spirits don’t have the power to harm, except by suggestion. The biggest danger is that the one who calls them gets drawn over the divide into death. Having someone to anchor you to the real world was a real help. I knew Corwen would anchor me. He’d done it before.

  “If I’m going to do it, I’d rather do it here, in safety, with you two,” I said.

  “Do you need Leo?” Rosie asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to put him in harm’s way.”

  “Give me a moment,” Rosie said. “I’ll tell him to pop next door for a flagon of ale. Blacksmithing’s thirsty work.”

  “As long as he doesn’t mind being pushed out.”

  “He won’t mind. He knows not to get in the way when I’m working magic, just as I don’t get in the way when he’s shoeing horses.”

  “That sounds like a fair accommodation,” Corwen said.

  Aunt Rosie slipped out of the kitchen door and quickly crossed the yard. I saw her with Leo in the forge doorway, giving each other a peck on the cheek. Aww, I loved the way Rosie and Leo were so perfect for each other.

  “What do you need me to do?” Corwen asked.

  “Anchor me and don’t let me get drawn toward our ghost visitor.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Jim may think he has a claim on me, but whatever happened was before you and I met.”

  “I understand.” He came to stand behind my chair and dropped a light kiss on top of my head. “Nothing he can say will make me think less of you.”

  “I hope not.”

  Aunt Rosie came back in with a smile on her face. “Leo says to let him know when it’s safe to come home. I do like being married to an understanding man.”

  “Me, too.” I patted Corwen’s hand where it rested on my shoulder.

  There’s no spell to call up a spirit. It’s all about the power of the mind. I took a deep breath to settle my thoughts and concentrated on what I knew of James Mayo, a tall, rangy American with a Virginia drawl and a face more strong than handsome. His complexion was tanned by wind and weather, his hair dark and cut close to his head. His nose had a slight bump as if it had been broken. I expect it had; piracy was a difficult life. The lines around his dark brown eyes showed he was always ready to laugh. There was something flamboyantly gallant about Mayo, which may have been why he’d earned the nickname of Gentleman Jim. The first time we’d met he’d taken my hand and bowed low over it as though I was a queen. When I’d chided him for his extravagant behavior, he’d told me I’d always be a queen in his eyes.

  Mayo was fiercely competitive. It seemed he’d set himself a challenge to see if he could wheedle me away from Will, but no amount of wheedling would have separated me from my husband. We spent some time on Auvienne at a pirate and privateer conclave, trying to thrash out equitable rules for dealing with each other. After that, Mayo always seemed to regard me as his, which was somewhat annoying since the only one I ever belonged to was myself. Even Will never aimed to possess me, and Corwen always treated me as an equal. Jim saw me as a woman and therefore property. The competition extended to our ships. If Jim could pluck a target from under our noses, he did, and Will entered into the spirit of the game, giving back as good as he got.

  After Will’s death, Mayo propositioned me a couple of times, and eventually I’d given in to his not-inconsiderable charms.

  It had been time. Three years a widow, I needed to prove to myself I was part of the real world once more. I had proved it spectacularly, but I’d also proved to myself that James Mayo’s charms weren’t enough to tempt me into a lasting relationship. I’d fled his bed and his island under cover of an attack by British warships.

  All this was going through my mind as I stood on the brink of the spirit world and called.

  And called.

  Nothing.

  I called again.

  Still nothing.

  My focus slipped. In my mind I took a step forward, but Corwen’s presence kept me anchored.

  I thought back to the time I’d had a conversation with a new-made ghost in Plymouth. How had I called him? Ah . . . memory coalesced. Will had brought him to me. My lovely Will.

  Ross?

  I heard him in my head and didn’t need a voice to answer him. Will?

  How could this be? Will had passed over to that deeper place. He should have lost all connection with his past life—with me.

  Have you come for me?

  How could I tell him that I hadn’t? I’d come looking for the ghost of the man who’d tried to steal me from him.

  Rest in peace, Will.

  I felt Corwen’s fingers digging into my shoulder. He’d always been able to see ghosts. Many magicals could. Corwen and Will had once faced off against each other when Will’s ghost had tried to come between us. Will had exhibited more jealousy dead than he ever had while alive. I suppose that while he lived, I had not shown an interest in other men.

  Silverwolf, are you still here? Will’s ghost turned its attention on Corwen.

  “Still here, Tremayne. Now and always.”

  I opened my eyes. There was Will Tremayne, my first love, my first husband, the man I’d intended to grow old with until a falling spar had turned my world upside down. Other than the fact that I could see through him, he looked much as he had when alive: buckskin breeches, linen shirt, his hair drawn back in a black ribbon. He wore neither coat nor shoes, just as he’d been on the stormy night when he died. It wasn’t even the worst storm either of us had seen. We’d run from our cabin and up onto the Heart’s deck, but in the dark and the confusion Will had been in the wrong place at the wrong time when a spar came crashing down.

  I’d always thought it strange that Will’s ghost showed no sign of the head injury that had killed him instantly. It was as if his image had been captured in the moment before his death. Perhaps that’s when we are all at our most vital.

  “Go back to your rest, Will,” I said.

  You called me. You must need me. You can’t send me back. He was sounding whiny now. Will, in life, had never been whiny, but his ghost had occasionally shown an alarming tendency to self-pity. Even so, I’d loved Will’s ghost as fiercely as I’d loved Will himself, and I had clung to him for far too long—to his detriment and mine. There’s something coming, Ross, something bad. I don’t know what it is, but the tides in this place are strange. You’re going to need me.

  “Rest, Will.”

  The third time was the charm. Will’s ghost faded.

  His passing felt like another bereavement.

  There was a long silence in Aunt Rosie’s kitchen until Corwen whispered, “Are you all right?”

  I swallowed a painful lump that had been threatening to form in my throat and patted Corwen’s hand, still on my shoulder. “I’m fine. It was . . . the shock of seeing him again. I never expected . . . ”

  “Handsome devil, wasn’t he?” Aunt Rosie said.

  “Could you see him as well?”

  “Of course, I could. I’m a Sumner, too. Sumner, summoner. It’s what our family does. I wonder if you should take note of Will’s warning.”

  “Was it a real warning
, or was he only trying to grab my attention?”

  “Ah, you know him better than I.”

  “It’s strange that I couldn’t summon Gentleman Jim’s spirit.”

  Aunt Rosie huffed out a breath. “Have you considered the possibility that he might not be dead?”

  * * *

  I’d seen James Mayo murdered right in front of me, or, at least I’d seen his body slumped on the deck and heard the command to sling his remains overboard. I suppose, if he’d been unconscious rather than dead, the slap of cold water might have brought him round, and if he’d already been in the water and swimming for his life when the Black Hawk’s powder magazine blew, he would have stood as much chance as anyone.

  Well, good for him.

  I smiled to myself.

  I might not exactly trust Gentleman Jim, especially when it came to magic and money, but if there was a chance he might be out there, somewhere, that warmed me.

  “You liked him, didn’t you?” Corwen asked.

  “Jim and I were . . . ” I searched for the right word. “Complicated.” That summed it up. “He was kind to me when he didn’t need to be. I think we could have been friends, but he always wanted more. I shouldn’t have given it to him. I didn’t take his feelings into account. In truth, I didn’t credit him with feelings of that sort.”

  “So now what?” Aunt Rosie said. “We’re no nearer to Walsingham’s notebook.”

  “If, indeed, it exists.”

  She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

  Corwen cleared his throat. “If we had no other commitments, a sea voyage might—”

  “But we have commitments, thanks to the Fae,” I said.

  “Ah, delivering your ultimatum to the king,” Aunt Rosie said.

  “You know about that?”

  “Margann told me on her last visit.”

  “The idea is as mad as the king is supposed to be,” I said, “except . . . ”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Except the king has magic, or at least the potential for it. They’ll never let him admit it, of course, even if they know. It’s my theory that he’s suppressing magic. His madness is magically induced.”