Dead Man's Reach

by D. B. Jackson

  A short distance beyond the tavern door, they turned onto Hillier’s Lane and then Green Lane, which took them through the heart of New Boston. The men walking behind the carriage had been speaking in low voices, but they fell silent now. Ethan felt his apprehension rising and saw that Sephira’s expression had turned grim. She stared out the carriage window, the muscles in her jaw bunched.

  “Near here, Mariz?” Ethan asked.

  “Farther, I think. Closer to the point.”

  They reached the corner of Leveret’s Street and turned due north. Ethan pushed open the carriage door and hopped out onto the lane. He slipped on the ice but righted himself without falling. Mariz joined him, and then Sephira and Nap.

  “I take it we’re walking now,” Sephira said, her voice dry.

  “I’m not sure what we’re looking for,” Ethan said, shielding his eyes against the glare with an open hand, and scanning the road. “But I assume that wherever Ramsey is hiding will be guarded by at least one man.”

  The northern end of New Boston sloped gently to the water’s edge, affording them a view of the streets and buildings to the north. Near Barton’s Point and Berry’s Shipyard sat several rope yards and their warehouses. Ethan paused and pointed, looking at Mariz.

  “There?” Ethan asked.

  “I am not certain. Perhaps.”

  They walked on, trailed by the carriage, now empty, and Sephira’s gang of toughs.

  “He may not have men guarding whatever building he is in,” Mariz said. “It is possible he believes detection spells are more reliable.”

  It was a fair point. Detection spells were conjurings that worked much as did a spider’s web: They only took effect when someone or something came in contact with a primary spell. Once disturbed, this first conjuring tripped a second. Ramsey had used them against Ethan and his allies during their last encounter.

  Sephira regarded them, fists on her hips. “So, it’s possible that we could be attacked by witchery at any moment, without warning. Is that right?”

  “Aye,” Ethan said.

  “Whatever your faults, Ethan, outings with you are never dull.”

  They walked on past Lee’s Shipyard. No one spoke, but the turning of carriage wheels and the footsteps of more than a dozen on ice-crusted snow were loud enough to alert all to their approach. Ethan felt exposed on the open road; it was only a matter of time before Ramsey’s men spotted them.

  Ethan kept his eyes trained on the rope yard warehouses. He saw nothing there that made him believe one of them held Ramsey and his crew, but still his gaze was drawn to the buildings. When they reached the lane, Ethan turned westward.

  “Why are you turning here?” Mariz asked.

  “I don’t know. I sense that Ramsey is in one of those warehouses. If you think he’s elsewhere, say so. Otherwise I’m going this way.”

  Mariz shared a glance with Sephira and shrugged. They followed him.

  The street ended at Wiltshire; Ethan turned to the north once more. And as the others joined him on the broader lane, he caught a glimpse at last of what he had been searching for. The door to one of the warehouses swung open and then closed again with a sharp crack that reached his ears a second later.

  “Did you see that?” Ethan asked, pointing again.

  “I heard something,” Mariz said. “That is all.”

  “Someone entered that warehouse.”

  Sephira gave a doubtful look. “And you think it was Ramsey?”

  “I don’t know. Whoever it was couldn’t be seen. I believe he was under a concealment spell.”

  “So, Ramsey knows now that we are coming.” Mariz removed his spectacles and wiped the lenses with a kerchief. “Perhaps it is time to use a spell.”

  “What sort?” Ethan asked.

  “I would like to know if he has cast detection spells. During our previous encounter, he nearly killed us all with them.”

  “You know such a spell?” Sephira asked.

  “We do now,” Ethan answered. “Each of us made a point of learning it after our last battle.” To Mariz he said, “As you say, they know we’re here; there’s no longer any reason not to cast it.”

  Sephira’s man shrugged off his coat and pushed up his sleeve. Ethan did the same.

  “I can cast the spell, Kaille.”

  “We’ll cast together,” Ethan said. “As we did the last time we fought him. Our spells will be stronger.”

  Mariz nodded.

  “Ensnarements of magick,” Ethan said. “That would be the wording, I think.”

  “Yes, that is how I learned it as well.”

  Taking care to match their movements, they cut their forearms and then said together, “Pateant omnes insidiae magicae, ex cruore evocatum.” Let all ensnarements of magick be unveiled, conjured from blood.

  The spell roared in the street, spreading from where they stood as would a finding spell used to locate a conjurer.

  An instant later, Sephira let out a small gasp.

  Mere feet in front of them, a thin wall of aqua power shimmered faintly in the bright daylight. Several yards past this barrier stood another. A third wavered in the sun closer to the warehouse, and still another awaited them just before the warehouse door. As the spell he and Mariz had cast continued to wash over New Boston, other walls appeared blocking other routes to the warehouse. There were even barriers shimmering over the water. He could see no way to approach the building without setting off at least three conjurings.

  “There must be a dozen of them,” Sephira said. “How can that be? These streets aren’t as crowded as those in other parts of Boston, but they’re not deserted, either.”

  “I would imagine,” Ethan said, “that they only work if a conjurer disturbs the primary spell. If Mariz touches that barrier, or if I do, the second spell will be made active. But you and your men can walk through them at will. Ramsey doesn’t fear you.”

  “He should.”

  Ethan didn’t answer, and Sephira, despite her brave words, gave no indication that she intended to go on without him.

  “We should ward them,” Ethan said, after considering the detection spells for some time.

  Sephira shook her head. Ethan knew that she disliked relying on “witchery” for anything, much less the safety of herself and her men. “I thought your wardings didn’t work against Ramsey’s spells,” she said.

  “My wardings can stop spells such as these. But they haven’t worked against whatever conjuring he is using to gain access to my power. It was for those spells that Mariz cast the warding in your home.”

  “Fine,” she said, sounding impatient. “Get on with it.”

  Together, Ethan and Mariz placed a warding spell on their entire company—themselves, as well as Sephira and her other men. Ethan hoped that it would hold against the detection spells Ramsey had cast.

  Uncle Reg had appeared beside Mariz’s spectral guide and was regarding Sephira with unconcealed hostility. Even if Ethan was willing to trust her for this day, his ghost remained wary.

  I want you to stay with me. He didn’t speak the words aloud, but Reg perceived them anyway. The ghost’s gaze found his and he nodded his assent.

  “You and your men should wait here,” Ethan said to Sephira. “Mariz and I will go ahead. When we’ve dealt with all the spells, you can join us.”

  “That’s not what we agreed to back at my home.”

  “I didn’t know then how many detection spells Ramsey would cast. Let me do this, Sephira. You can’t help us with these spells, but you can be killed by them.”

  She glowered, tight-lipped, her eyes shockingly blue in the bright glare of the sun and snow. “Fine.”

  Ethan and Mariz edged closer to the first shimmering barrier. If the detection spells Ramsey had used last summer were any indication, this first spell would simply alert Ramsey to their approach—it would be the second, third, and fourth that were intended to kill. Then again, Ramsey could hardly be called predictable.

  They halted inche
s from the spell and exchanged looks. Ethan raised his hand to the level of his chest.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Mariz planted his feet and dipped his chin once.

  Ethan extended his hand to the glowing wall of magick.

  As soon as he grazed the barrier with his palm, the ground shook with the power of Ramsey’s conjuring. A ball of fire flew from the wall, striking Ethan in the chest and lifting him off the lane.

  He landed on his back almost at Sephira’s feet, dazed, his back and chest aching. Flames burned on his waistcoat and licked at his face and neck and chest. Heat, pain; for a panicked instant, he thought that his warding had failed and that he was on fire. He began to roll back and forth, only to realize that the flames were neither spreading nor going out. Indeed, though he could feel the heat of them, they weren’t actually burning his clothing or his flesh. He stopped trying to put out the fire and climbed to his feet, feeling like he had been run over by Sephira’s carriage.

  “So much for the spells only warning him of our approach,” Ethan said under his breath.

  Sephira watched him, seeming unsure of whether to be alarmed or amused. “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ethan said. The flames still clung to his chest, the heat rising to his face. Even knowing that it wasn’t doing any damage, he found the sensation disconcerting to say the least.

  He cut his arm. “Exstingue ignem,” he said. “Ex cruore evocatum.” Extinguish flames, conjured from blood.

  The fire vanished with a small pop, like the crackle of dried wood in a hearth.

  Ethan walked back to where Mariz stood.

  “You are all right?” the conjurer asked.

  “Aye.”

  The first barrier had vanished with the fire spell. The second one still glimmered in the sun a few paces farther down the street.

  “Shall we?” Ethan said.

  They walked on until they reached the next shimmering wall. Sephira and her men advanced as well, though they stopped well short of the detection spell.

  Once more Ethan reached out toward the conjuring. He didn’t relish the idea of being assaulted again, but he knew that he would face far worse from Ramsey before the day was out. He couldn’t allow himself to be cowed by one detection spell.

  As soon as his hand touched this second spell, a ring of flame burst from the ice, encircling him and Mariz. Immediately, the ring began to contract, closing on them like a fiery noose.

  Mariz already had blood on his arm. Ethan cut himself as well.

  “Extinguish flames,” he said. “Quickly!”

  “Exstingue ignem,” they said as one. “Ex cruore evocatum!”

  Their spell pulsed; the blaze wavered as from a gust of wind. But this time nothing else happened. The heat of the fire was growing more intense, melting the ice and snow on the road and still pressing in on them. He sensed that these flames, unlike the first that had struck him, would burn them despite their wardings.

  “Perhaps we can escape them without conjuring,” Mariz said.

  Ethan nodded. Shielding their faces with their arms, they ran toward the edge of the flames, only to find that the ring of fire moved with them, even as it continued to tighten. Ethan could almost hear Ramsey chuckling.

  “Opposite directions,” Ethan said.

  He ran one way and Mariz the other, but the ring elongated and narrowed to match their movements. There would be no escaping the flames in this manner.

  “I would entertain any ideas you might have,” Ethan said, his voice tight as he and Mariz walked toward each other once more.

  “I was about to say the same.”

  Ethan judged that they had but one option left. “I used this when I was trapped in the warehouse at Drake’s Wharf. It saved my life and kept me from burning, but I could still feel the heat.”

  “What is the wording?”

  “Protection from fire,” Ethan said. The flames were almost upon them.

  “All right. Let us try.”

  They cut themselves and said together, “Tegimen contra ignem ex cruore evocatum.” Protection from fire, conjured from blood.

  The spell pulsed and the blood vanished from their arms. Ethan looked at Reg to see if the ghost thought the spell had worked, but already the spectral guide was standing in the fire. Ethan could see nothing of him save his glowing eyes.

  A moment later the flames reached them. Ethan couldn’t keep from screaming at the pain. Mariz roared in agony as well. For several terrifying seconds, which might as well have been an eternity of torment, they were in the flames, surrounded by them. Ethan thought his skin must be peeling away; with every breath he felt like he was inhaling molten steel.

  And then the ring was small enough that they could stagger out of it on the far side. Ethan collapsed and was vaguely aware that Mariz had, too. But when he looked at his hands and his clothes he saw that, as in the burning warehouse at the wharf, he had come through this ordeal unscathed. The ring of flame had become a narrow cylinder, and as he watched, it closed on itself and vanished in a puff of pale gray smoke.

  “It’s fire,” Ethan said, his voice sounding thin. “All of these detection spells will be fire conjurings of one kind or another.” He looked at Mariz. “It’s his revenge for what happened at Drake’s Wharf.”

  “Does that mean you know how to stop them?” Sephira asked, walking to where he still lay.

  “No,” Ethan said. “We know what to expect, but that’s all.”

  “What does it matter if you can’t prevent it?”

  Ethan forced himself to his feet. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

  He helped Mariz up, and they continued toward the end of the lane and the next detection spell, which still glowed with Ramsey’s aqua power. Sephira and her men followed more closely than Ethan would have liked. But he had warned her once, and he didn’t wish to argue with her again.

  “I should thank you for that last spell,” Mariz said as they walked. “I believe I would have died had I been alone.”

  “You’re welcome. But thinking about it, I’m not entirely convinced that we would have died, even without the protection spell. I don’t believe he wishes to kill us with these conjurings. He wants to defeat me in combat. The spells are intended to make us suffer, and to demonstrate his cleverness and his power.”

  “That bodes ill for this next spell.”

  Ethan couldn’t argue. They stopped before this glowing barrier as they had before the first two. Taking a long breath, Ethan touched it, wincing in anticipation of pain at the hum of power.

  For the span of a heartbeat, nothing happened. One of Sephira’s men shouted a warning. Ethan spun, but was pushed to the side before he could see what had prompted the cry. He fell. And an instant later, a ball of flame crashed into the ground, hitting the spot where he had been standing.

  He hadn’t time to thank Mariz for saving him. In the next moment, blazing spheres the size of snowballs were pelting down on all of them. He smelled burning hair and clothing, heard screams of pain. And he could do nothing more than cover his head and neck. Fiery missiles scorched his arms and legs, his back and head. Their warding offered no protection; there seemed to be no escape.

  Ethan knew that his waistcoat had caught fire, but he didn’t dare roll to put out the blaze, lest another ball of flame strike his face or chest. He cowered and endured the assault, which seemed interminable.

  And then it was over. As suddenly as the salvo began, it ended. Ethan managed to smother the flames burning on his back, though he could feel that his waistcoat was mostly gone. His flesh was tender, probably blistered.

  Most of the others were in a similar state. Sephira’s cape was charred in several places, and some of her hair had burned. Ethan wasn’t sure he had ever seen her look more angry. Several of her toughs bore ugly burns on their arms and faces. One man lay on the ground, most of his clothing and hair burned away, his body livid, his skin melted in places.

  “I swear I’m going to k
ill him,” Sephira said, staring down at her wounded man. “And I’ll enjoy doing it.”

  Mariz’s injuries were similar to Ethan’s. This time it was he who helped Ethan to his feet.

  “One more,” he said.

  Grim, and every bit as angry as Sephira, Ethan trudged on to the warehouse and the final barrier, Mariz beside him.

  Ethan and the others halted just outside the rope yard warehouse. He had yet to see any of Ramsey’s crew; he assumed that the sailors awaited them inside. Sephira, he noticed, had her flintlock in hand, as did several of her men. He eyed the weapon before raising his gaze to hers. She stared back at him, eyes blazing, daring him to tell her that she should put the pistol away.

  He said nothing, but turned back to the last of Ramsey’s conjured barriers.

  A simple fire spell, a ring of flame, fireballs raining down upon them. What had Ramsey saved for this final spell?

  “The ground,” he whispered. Then louder, so that Mariz and Sephira would hear, he said again, “The ground. It’s going to melt or turn to flame, or something of the sort. That’s what this last conjuring will do.”

  “How do you know?” Sephira asked.

  “I’m guessing. But I trust my instincts in this.”

  “So what should we do?”

  “I’m less certain about that.” He raised his hand and held it a hairsbreadth from the barrier. “Be prepared to run.”

  He pressed his palm into the shimmering wall and felt the familiar release of power.

  The ground beneath him started to give way.

  Behind him, several men cried out. Rather than retreating toward them, Ethan leaped forward and crashed into the warehouse door. His teeth rattled with the impact and pain blossomed in his shoulder. But the doorjamb gave way with a rending of wood. He toppled into the building, sprawling onto the dirt floor, which was as solid as the ground outside had been before Ramsey’s last detection spell.