Dead Man's Reach

by D. B. Jackson

  He made quick work of that first serving and asked Janna for a second rather sheepishly. She retreated to the kitchen to refill the bowl.

  “Where you been now that you’re so hungry?” she asked after placing it in front of him again. “Ain’t your woman feedin’ you?”

  “I stayed away from her tavern last night,” Ethan said, keeping his voice low. “To be honest, I was afraid to come here.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you remember what we talked about the last time I came?”

  “Those spells you was feelin’, the ones that made other people act crazy.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve been feelin’ a lot of conjurin’s the past few days. I assumed they were yours.”

  “Some of them have been, but not all. Not nearly.”

  “That conjurer still messin’ with you?”

  “Everywhere I go. Have people here been talking about the brawl at Gray’s Rope Works?”

  “The one yesterday?”

  “Aye. There was another one today. I have a new client who lives across the street from the ropewalks. Those spells caused the brawls. Several days ago, I was almost stabbed by a laborer on Long Wharf, and yesterday two men attacked me in the Crow’s Nest.”

  “And it was spells that did it each time?”

  “Aye.”

  “So you came to ask me questions.”

  Ethan ducked his head. “I’m sorry, Janna. I’ll pay for the food and ale, of course. And I can pay you as well for whatever you can—”

  She laid a slender hand on his arm and shook her head.

  “Not for this. You’re in trouble.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You already tried to see the spell color, right?”

  “Yes, several times. But whoever is doing this has hidden it well. Yesterday, I warded myself, and that seemed to work for a while. But then the conjurer cast a different spell, or a stronger one, and overcame my warding.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Your wardin’?”

  Janna straightened and indicated with a small, sharp gesture that he should follow her back into the kitchen. He walked around the bar and joined her in the small space. It was warmer here, and the aroma of her stew was far stronger.

  Janna sat on a low stool near the cooking fire while Ethan perched on an old wine barrel.

  “Now, what’s this about a wardin’? Wardin’ yourself from what?”

  “From the conjurings,” Ethan said. “I came to ask if you know of any way to keep another conjurer from using your power against your will?”

  “So, are you tellin’ me that these spells are comin’ from you?”

  “Aye. Every time one is cast, my ghost appears.”

  “But you’re not castin’ them?”

  “Of course not.”

  She exhaled through her teeth, the breath coming out as a low hiss. “Damn, Kaille. That’s not good at all.”

  “Has anything similar ever been done to you?”

  “No,” she said. “I’ve heard other folks tell of it, but I ain’t never even known anyone who had it done to them. You say your wardin’ worked for a while?”

  “It worked once,” Ethan said, his gut knotting. “Whoever is casting these spells tried something different and ripped through my warding like it was parchment.”

  Janna pursed her lips, her dark eyes trained on the fire. “Maybe the last time we talked I was too quick to say it’s not Ramsey.”

  Rather than frightening him more, this admission on Janna’s part came as some small relief. At least he wasn’t the only person to sense the captain’s scheming in these conjurings.

  “He can find me anywhere—at least that’s how it feels. I think he might have other conjurers working for him.”

  “That sounds like Ramsey.”

  “He has me hiding in my room, Janna. I’m afraid to go anywhere lest I start another brawl or get someone else killed.”

  “You didn’ get anyone killed!” she said, her tone fierce. “And you didn’ start any brawls either. That’s Ramsey’s doin’. Or whoever is castin’ these spells. It ain’t your fault, and thinkin’ it is, well that’s what Ramsey wants.”

  Ethan knew she was right. “How do these spells work?” he asked. “How can he have access to my power without my knowing it?”

  “Usually, for magicking like this, he would need to have somethin’ of yours. Best is somethin’ from you—a lock of hair, a bit of your blood. Failin’ that, he might have a piece of clothin’ or somethin’ that belonged to you. Anythin’ that he can use to connect to you and your conjurin’ power. After that, it’s a matter of knowin’ the right words, that’s all.”

  “I was unconscious on his ship last summer—I don’t know for how long. But he could have taken anything from me.”

  “Sounds like he did.”

  “Can I stop him?”

  “I would have told you to ward yourself. If that ain’t strong enough…” She shrugged. “There’s other kinds of wardin’ spells. You might wanna try some of them.”

  “I don’t know them.”

  “Well, it’s time you started learnin’ more advanced spells. You can guard yourself from all sorts of magick. Like I say, it’s just knowin’ the words.”

  Ethan nodded, although he had no idea where to start looking for new spells to cast.

  Janna leaned forward and patted his knee. “It’s all right, Kaille. I’ve got some books you can borrow. You might find somethin’ in them.”

  “Thank you, Janna.”

  “What bothers me is not knowin’ for sure if it’s Ramsey.” She shook her head. “I never learned to hide my power that way—don’t suppose I ever needed to. But you’re sure that you’re doin’ your reveal spells right?”

  “Aye, that spell I know. There was no residue on Richardson after he shot the boy or on Sephira’s man after he beat that lad who had robbed Josiah Wells.”

  Janna winced, shaking her head once more and clicking her tongue. “Of course there wasn’t. He’s castin’ these spells on you. That’s where the color should be. On you.”

  “No,” Ethan said. “I cast a revela spell on myself as well, after another conjurer used a finding spell against me. It revealed the residue from his spell, but nothing else. Believe me, Janna. If Ramsey’s power had left a mark on me, I’d have noticed it. I know that color as well as I know my own.”

  “Let me try.”

  “But if my spell—”

  “Be quiet and cut yourself,” Janna said.

  Ethan drew his knife, his pulse pounding, his stomach tight. He dragged the blade over his forearm, and as blood flowed from the wound, he dipped his finger in it and drew a line across his brow and down the bridge of his nose, over his chin, to his breastbone.

  “Revela omnias magias ex cruore evocatas,” Janna said. Reveal all magicks, conjured from blood.

  Her spell sang in the wood walls and the stone hearth, and her ghost, a glowing blue image of an old African woman, appeared beside her. A wash of cool air swept over Ethan’s face as the blood vanished, and Janna took a quick, sharp breath.

  He didn’t want to look down, but what choice did he have?

  His first reaction was one of revulsion—he imagined that this must have been how a smallpox victim felt upon noticing the first pustules of the distemper on his chest.

  He was covered in the glow of another man’s power. It shone from his chest, his gut, his limbs. Judging from the way Janna gaped at him, he assumed that it was all over his face.

  The glow was unmistakable: a deep aqua, the color of the ocean on a clear, sunlit morn. Once, this had been among his favorite hues, a reminder of the years he had spent at sea, before the Ruby Blade mutiny and his conviction. Now it was the color of apprehension and uncertainty, of torment and pain. It was the color of Nate Ramsey’s conjuring power. And it covered him like disease.

  He slashed his knife across his forearm, drawing fresh blood. “Cast the counterspell, Janna. I don�
�t want to see this.”

  She nodded, swallowed. “Vela omnias magias,” she said, her voice low. “Ex cruore evocatas.” Conceal all magicks, conjured from blood.

  The glow of Ramsey’s power began to fade, dying away slowly as Ethan watched. He wanted to shout at the magick, to make it vanish that very moment, but the spell Janna had cast didn’t work that way. And truth be told, it mattered not. Now that he knew it was there, he could almost feel the captain’s conjurings on him. His skin crawled with them.

  When at last the glow of the spells had disappeared, Janna raised her gaze to his. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself with a small shake of her head. At last she stood and smoothed her dress with the palm of her hand.

  “I’ll find you those books,” she said, and left him.

  Chapter

  FIFTEEN

  Janna returned several minutes later bearing three small volumes, all of them leather-bound and worn.

  Ethan hadn’t moved. Janna eyed him for several seconds before placing the books on the barrel beside him.

  “Why would your spell work that way when mine didn’t?” Ethan asked her, his voice taut.

  “I don’t know. But if he’s found a way to use your power the way he would his own, hiding those conjurin’s from you would be easy. Know what I mean?”

  Ethan was far beyond his depth; his knowledge of spellmaking had not prepared him for anything like this. But he sensed that she was right, that if Ramsey could turn his magick against him in this way, concealing the residue of his spells would be a small matter. He picked up the books and examined their spines.

  “I don’t know what you’ll find in those,” she said. “But they’re the best I’ve got. If you can’t find it in one of them … Well, I think you probably can.”

  “My thanks, Janna.” He stood, his legs feeling leaden. “I should go before he casts again and starts a fight in your tavern.”

  “You have mullein?” she asked.

  “Aye. A pouch full of it.”

  “That’s good. Ain’t nothin’ better for protection spells. You should have some betony and horehound, too. Spells in those books might call for them.”

  “All right. I’ll have a pouch of each. How much will that cost?”

  “A few shillin’s is all.” She was staring at the fire again; Ethan sensed that she was afraid to look him in the eye. “Maybe you should leave Boston. Just until you figure out how to beat him.”

  “Kannice said much the same thing.”

  “She’s a smart woman.”

  “I have a job here. I need to finish it.” As soon as he spoke the words, though, it occurred to Ethan that his job could well take him out of the city to the home of Louisa’s parents. He balked at the very idea of it. Not because he couldn’t leave Boston, but because he didn’t want to. Or rather, because he refused to be driven from the city.

  “For all I know, he wants me to leave,” Ethan said, his words filling a growing silence. “Perhaps that’s been his goal all along.”

  “His goal is to see you dead, and to take as many other people with you as he can. Clearly he’s alive, but I’d wager every coin in my till that there’s nothin’ left of him but skin and bones and hate. And magick. I understand you not wantin’ to leave. Your woman’s here. Your friends are here. But don’t tell me you’re stayin’ for a job. You’re stayin’ because you wanna fight him, and you don’t wanna run.”

  “Aye,” Ethan said. “That’s it precisely. I don’t want to run. I refuse.”

  Janna studied him, her expression as hard as obsidian. “All right then. When it comes time to fight him again, you know where to find me.”

  Ethan had to smile. “I do. And I’m grateful to you, Janna.”

  She waved away his gratitude as if it were a fly. “Let me get them herbs for you.”

  Janna left the the kitchen once more. Ethan picked up the books and followed her. His pulse had slowed, and an odd calm had settled over him like a cloak. The surety that Ramsey was in fact alive and back in Boston, the weight of Janna’s books in his hand, his resolve not to leave the city until he had found and defeated Ramsey: All of these served to quiet his mind. He remained afraid of the harm Ramsey might do with one of his spells, and he still felt as though he were corrupted and diseased by the man’s spells. But he would not surrender to Ramsey or to his conjurings, and he clung to that determination to fight the way he would a spar of wood in a storm-roiled sea.

  “Here you go,” Janna said, presenting him with a pair of fragrant pouches. “That’s betony on the left and horehound on the right. If you forget which one is which, remember that betony is sweeter, horehound more bitter.”

  “Thank you, Janna. How much do I owe you?”

  “Four shillin’s.”

  Ethan pulled five shillings from his pocket and handed the coins to her. “That’s for my supper and ale as well.”

  Janna glanced at them and slipped them into the folds of her dress. “I meant what I said. When it comes time to fight, you find me. Understand?”

  “I will.”

  He reached for his tankard, which still sat on the bar next to his half-empty bowl of stew, and drained what was left of his ale. He picked up his hat, pulled on his greatcoat, and left the Spider for the cold.

  Ethan knew that Kannice would be concerned about him, wondering where he was, but he returned to his room on Cooper’s Alley, and after restarting the fire in his stove, he sat on his bed and began to thumb through the first of Janna’s books.

  He searched for any mention of a spell that enabled a conjurer to use the power of another, regardless of whether the second speller gave his consent for such a conjuring. Finding nothing in the first book, he tossed it aside and picked up the second, a volume titled Spells and Incantations of the Necromancers, which had been published in London in 1632. Ethan leafed through this book, once again finding nothing that could help him. He was about to give up on this one and look at the third book when he came upon a page describing “The borrowed incantation.”

  He sat up and lit a candle. And then he read.

  It was not exactly what Ethan was looking for, but one line in the book’s description of the spell caught his eye. “The borrowed incantation enables one witch to use the power of another to accomplish what he might not on his own.”

  There was no mention of the “borrowed incantation” in the remaining pages of the book, nor did he find mention of it when he again scanned the first book.

  But the third volume, A Collection of Spells and Conjurings, devoted pages to it. According to the author, a man named Thaddeus Beralt, conjurers might borrow spells from allies or steal them from foes. He seemed to assume that this “borrowing” would always take place in the context of conjuring battles and would require that one conjurer be in close proximity to another. But in every other way, what he described resembled what Ramsey had been doing with Ethan’s power.

  “A determined necromancer might pilfer magick from another with ease provided that the second witch is unaware of what the first intends, and has taken no precautions against such violation.”

  Ethan frowned at this and searched adjacent pages for other references to the precautions a conjurer might take. He found none.

  Returning to the beginning of the volume, he scanned each yellowed, brittle page with more care. Outside, the sky darkened; eventually Ethan had to light additional candles. He found several references to warding spells, as well as to herbs that might be used to enhance a “witch’s” protection. To Janna’s credit, mullein, betony, and horehound were mentioned more often than any other herbs.

  But Ethan reached the end of the book without finding anything more about conjurings intended specifically to prevent the borrowing or theft of magick by another speller.

  “Veni ad me.” Come to me.

  An instant later, Reg stood over him, gleaming balefully in the small room. Ethan opened the second book to the page on which borrowed spells were mentioned and held i
t up for the ghost to see.

  “Have you heard of these conjurings?” he asked.

  Reg scanned the page, his bushy eyebrows bunched. Looking at Ethan again, he nodded.

  “This is what Ramsey is doing to me, isn’t it?”

  The ghost hesitated, and when at last he nodded it was with some reluctance.

  “Something similar, perhaps?”

  Yes.

  “Do you know how I can stop him from casting these spells? Is there a way to deny him use of my power?”

  He knew from Reg’s forlorn expression that the ghost would shake his head.

  “But this book—” He picked up the third text and riffled the pages until he found the correct one. “It mentions ‘precautions against such violation.’ That must mean that there are wardings I can put in place, spells I can cast to keep him from using me in this way.”

  Reg opened his hands. I don’t know.

  “Very well,” Ethan said. “Dimitto te.” I release you.

  Once Reg was gone, he reached for the first book once more and began to read the volume more closely from the first page.

  * * *

  He stayed awake for much of the night and read through all three of Janna’s books. Though he found a few more pages on which borrowed spells were mentioned, most of these were passing references. He read nothing that told him how to protect himself from Ramsey. When at last he lay down to sleep, he was as frustrated as he had been before studying the texts, and only slightly more knowledgeable.

  His sleep was fitful and he roused himself with first light so that once more he could pay a visit to the Paxton mansion. He followed the same circuitous route to the commissioner’s estate, but while he avoided the barracks this way, he did nothing to fool Ramsey. Even as he approached Paxton’s door, a spell growled in the earth beneath him. He knocked on the door, gazing back at the rope yard and then down the street toward Green’s Barracks as he did. But he saw neither soldiers nor journeymen. It almost seemed that the captain was toying with him, casting the spells for the sheer purpose of scaring Ethan. Reg had appeared beside him, but he spared Ethan not a glance. He, too, was watching for soldiers.