He didn’t like the idea of fooling Ramsey into disturbing the grave of an innocent, but as much as he feared for Patience’s soul, he also dreaded what might happen if the captain managed to add the shade of a conjurer to his army of ghosts. And he was convinced that Ramsey was abroad in the city, walking freely under the protection of a concealment spell, confident that any finding spell Ethan attempted would fail.
Ethan remained in the burying ground for the better part of an hour, wondering if he was wasting his time. At last, another thought came to him. He left the Common Burying Ground and walked the short distance to the Granary. This burying ground looked different in sunlight than it had the previous night, but he had little trouble locating once more the gravesite of Mrs. Tyler. And as he did, he thought he heard quick footfalls.
“Ramsey,” he said, his voice carrying over the breeze and rustle of leaves.
No response.
Ethan drew his knife once more. “Looking for another corpse?” he said. “Another shade for your collection?”
As sure as he had been that the captain was near, he was still surprised by the pulse of power, which came from but a few feet away.
Suddenly, Ramsey was there, the sun shining on his tanned face and dark, untamed hair.
“You’re all healed,” he said. “I suppose that means you have a bit of power left yet.”
“A bit,” Ethan said.
Ramsey strolled to where Ethan stood and looked down at the newly covered grave. “Was she a friend of yours? A conjurer, perhaps?” Before Ethan could answer, he shook his head. “Forgive me; I forgot. Your friend is in the Common Burying Ground. I’ve already been there.”
Ethan schooled his features.
“You were looking for me?” Ramsey asked.
“I thought we might speak a bit more. Perhaps we can find some accommodation that would allow you to get whatever it is you want, and allow me to offer some solace to the families being haunted by your shades.”
“There can be no accommodation.”
“But surely—”
“No! I warned you last night, Kaille. I owe you nothing now, and we both know that your spells aren’t reliable enough to fight me.” Ramsey grinned. “How many healing spells did it take you to repair that arm? Four? Five? You took a great and foolish risk coming here today. I suppose there’s something admirable in that, and I’m willing to forgive a moment of folly. But my…” His smile deepened. “My patience wears thin. I would suggest you leave.”
Ethan’s blade hand itched. The incantations for a thousand different attack spells, each more painful than the last, flashed through his mind. But as Ramsey well knew, he didn’t trust his conjuring enough to instigate a battle of conjurings. If any one of his castings failed, Ramsey would kill him.
The captain appeared to read the fury in his eyes, and also the uncertainty. He laughed. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? So many people spend their whole lives ignorant of the power we wield. They go about their affairs, seeking out a surgeon to mend their burns and broken bones, and striking flints to kindle a fire. And they think nothing of it. But we—those of us who are accustomed to using our spells to accomplish similar aims—we grow so dependent on those powers that when they fail us, we feel helpless. Just as you do now.”
“What I find ironic,” Ethan said, his hands trembling with rage, “is that you think I lack confidence in my spellmaking, and you see that as my greatest weakness right now. Whereas I know that yours is your confidence, your hubris. It will be your downfall in the end.”
“Maybe,” Ramsey said, sounding unfazed as he started away. “But I doubt very much that you’ll live long enough to see that end.”
Chapter
FIFTEEN
Once Ramsey was gone, and Ethan was sure that the captain would not double back and follow him, he hurried to the Walters home. This was his fault. He had said too much to Ramsey the night before, and now the captain knew who Patience was and where she was buried. Ethan owed it to her, and to Darcy and Ruth, to do all he could to protect her from Ramsey’s power.
Darcy probably would not be at home—he often worked in the market at Faneuil Hall—but Ruth would be.
He was sweating and limping by the time he reached the small home, but he wasted no time approaching the door and knocking. Ruth opened the door. She held the babe in her arms, and her face looked even paler and more pinched than it had the last time Ethan saw her.
“Ethan,” she said, sounding surprised.
“Forgive me for disturbing you, Ruth. But I need to see Patience again.”
“But she doesn’t come until nightfall.”
“I think I can summon her, and I believe I have the best chance of succeeding if I do it here.”
“What’s happened?” she asked, shifting the babe to her other arm.
“It’s nothing. Just a question I forgot to ask the other night.”
She nodded and stepped aside so that he could enter. Once he was inside she closed the door and sat in a rocking chair near a window. “I’ll wait out here,” she said.
“Of course.”
Before he could leave the small common room, she said, “You know, as frightened as I am of Mother’s shade, I’m more scared by far of not knowing what all this means and what might happen next.”
He exhaled, faced her again. “I apologize for being less than honest with you,” he said. “There is a man, a conjurer, who is using spells to control the shades of the recently dead. As far as I know, he has yet to control Patience. But I said something to him—something foolish—and now he knows of her, both that she died not long ago, and that she was a conjurer. I believe he means to control her, too. I wish to warn her, and to see if somehow we can thwart his plans.”
“How does he control them?”
“Ruth—”
“He mutilates the bodies. Doesn’t he?” Her eyes were so filled with fear and despair that it made his chest ache. “I overheard some of what you and Darcy discussed that day you came.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Ethan said. “I don’t know if I can prevent it, but this is my fault, and I have to try.”
“I don’t think Darcy would blame you, nor would Patience. But I understand.”
He held her gaze for another moment before making his way back to Patience’s bedroom. Once there, he called in Latin for Uncle Reg.
“I know you don’t like it when I summon the dead,” Ethan said. “But in this case I have to. You know why?”
Reg nodded.
Ethan pulled out the pouch of mullein and removed nine leaves, the same number he had used the year before when he cast similar spells. He hoped that the conjuring would work; he didn’t wish to waste so much of the herb. He also knew that this spell wouldn’t be quite the same as those he cast previously to summon conjurers. Usually he had to summon them from the realm of the dead. But Patience had yet to reach that realm. In theory, at least, this spell should have been easier.
“Are you ready?” Ethan asked.
Again, the ghost nodded.
“Provoco te, Patience Walters, ex verbasco evocatum.” I summon thee, Patience Walters, conjured from mullein.
The pulse of power was like the pealing of some great bell. It shook the house; Ethan felt the hum of it in his chest, and knew that Ramsey would feel it as well.
“Let him,” Ethan muttered.
He looked to Reg for some sign that the casting had worked, and inhaled sharply. Patience had come. She stood beside the old warrior, still glowing with that same greenish color. She didn’t appear to be angry, as Ethan had feared she might. But her expression was grim, her eyes bright and fixed on him.
“Forgive me,” he said to the shade. “I wouldn’t have disturbed you without cause.” He glanced at Reg. “Does she understand me?”
The warrior nodded once more.
Ethan started to tell her of the burying ground desecrations and the number of shades already haunting homes throughout the city, but he hadn’t gotten
far before the shade raised a hand to stop him and nodded.
“She knows already?” Ethan asked Reg.
Another nod. Yes.
Ethan wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or reassured. “The man responsible is a conjurer named Ramsey. He and I share some history, and without meaning to, I let him know that you died recently, and that you were a conjurer. I’m afraid … I think he means to disturb your grave and add you to his legion of shades. I’m so sorry, Patience. It was careless of me.”
She shook her head: a gesture of absolution.
“I want to know if there is some way you can protect yourself, to keep him from controlling you.”
It took a moment for his words to reach her; it seemed he was speaking to her across a great distance. But at last the shade frowned, and gave a small shrug that was so like the shrugs Patience gave in life it brought a smile to Ethan’s lips.
“I miss you, Patience.”
A pause, and a smile in return.
“I believe it’s the symbol that he cuts into the cadavers that gives him control over the shades,” Ethan said. “But I don’t know how it works, or what kind of conjuring to use to overcome his power.”
He shook his head, realizing that this wasn’t doing any good, and that he had disturbed the shade of his friend for no reason. But his thoughts were churning. When he spoke of the symbol with Ramsey, the captain had tapped a finger on his temple and said, “It’s one of my own.”
Could that mean the symbol itself had no inherent power, that its potency lay in whatever meaning Ramsey assigned to it? If so, that meant that no countermanding symbol existed. No doubt that was why Ramsey had chosen a rune of his own design. Ethan felt himself sag. He still didn’t know what the captain sought to accomplish, but already he sensed that there was nothing he could do to stop him. Ignorance and helplessness: they made for a demoralizing combination.
“I’m sorry, Patience,” he said to the shade. “I wanted you to know that Ramsey would be coming for you, and I thought you should know that it’s my fault. I’ll do everything I can to stop him.” He started to say more, but stopped himself, realizing he had nothing else to offer her. He would do his best, but he wondered if she knew as he did how woefully inadequate his best might prove to be.
She nodded to him again. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it.
“Thank you,” Ethan said to Reg. “Dimitto vos ambos.” I release you both.
Both ghosts faded, melting into the daylight that lit the room. Ethan returned to the common room, his legs heavy. He felt a pulse of power, followed by a second. Both of them seemed to come from the waterfront.
“Did she come to you?” Ruth asked.
“Aye. I’m not sure it did much good. But I spoke to her.” He searched for the right words.
More spells made the house tremble, though of course Ruth showed no sign of feeling anything. A part of him was desperate to be away, to learn what Ramsey had done now. But even if he learned all there was to know, he probably couldn’t stop the man, and saving Patience from his control was more important than fighting another losing battle.
“Ruth, I don’t know how to stop this conjurer. But I’m certain he intends to desecrate Patience’s grave, and I want to prevent that, even if it means…” He shook his head, unsure of exactly what he wanted to say.
“Darcy and I both trust you, Ethan, just as Mother did. We know that you would never do anything to harm her. So, do what you must.”
“Thank you.”
He bade her good day, and left the house, walking back toward the burying ground, though with little urgency. Ramsey could conceal himself with a spell, but he couldn’t violate the gravesite in the middle of the day without drawing notice. He would wait until nightfall, which gave Ethan a few hours. To do what?
With what Ruth had just said to him, he had permission to remove Patience’s body from its grave. He could hide her somewhere, make it impossible for Ramsey to mutilate the corpse. He thought that by now he ran little risk of contracting the illness that had killed her, though he couldn’t be certain. But he could not allow her to fall under Ramsey’s thrall. It was a daunting notion, but he had few other options. And he knew just the person to help him.
Diver lived on Pudding Lane, in the middle of Cornhill. The street had been renamed Devonshire, but Ethan still referred to it by its old name, as did most people he knew. Diver’s room sat above a bakery in a brick building constructed after the great fire of 1760, when much of Cornhill was destroyed.
These days, when not working, his friend spent most of his time at Deborah’s room on Pierce’s Alley, which was also in Cornhill. But after the argument Ethan had witnessed in the Dowser a few nights before, he expected that he would find Diver on Pudding Lane.
He was right.
His friend appeared somewhat disappointed when he opened the door and saw him standing on the landing. He looked past Ethan down the stairs and along the length of the lane.
“Expecting someone else?” Ethan asked.
Diver ran a hand through his black curls. Ethan wasn’t sure he had ever seen Diver look more morose, not even on the many occasions when his schemes to make a bit of coin failed.
“I haven’t talked to her since that night in the Dowser,” he said. “I’ve been by her place, and she’s never there. I even left her a note.” He gazed down at the lane again. “I think she’s gone.”
“She’s not gone, Diver. She’s angry with you, and she’s making certain that you know it. Elli once did the same thing to me.”
“That’s supposed to cheer me up?”
“Aye. This was early on, long before the Ruby Blade. She forgave me eventually.”
“Really?” Diver asked.
“Really. You just have to be patient, and when finally she deigns to speak to you again, you have to apologize and tell her that it was all your fault.”
“But I’m not sure it was. All I did was tell her that I—”
“Diver, do you want to be right, or do you want her back?”
He weighed the choice for all of two seconds. “I see your point.”
“Good,” Ethan said. “Let me in. We have other things to discuss.”
Diver stepped aside and Ethan walked into the room.
“Close the door,” he said.
Diver closed it and dropped himself into a chair. If any man in Boston could be cheered up by robbing a grave, it was Ethan’s friend.
“I need your help,” Ethan said. “I have to do something that’s neither legal nor pleasant, and I can’t do it alone.”
A smile stole over Diver’s face. “How much are you getting paid?”
“Nothing at all. I’m doing it for the congregation of King’s Chapel.”
Diver raised an eyebrow. “So it’s illegal, it’s unpleasant, and there’s no money in it for either of us.”
“Right. Will you help me?”
“I can hardly refuse. What will we be doing?”
“Digging up a grave, removing the body, and finding a place to hide it.”
His friend blinked. “Are you serious?”
“Aye.”
“You’re mad. You can’t walk into a burying ground, dig up a grave, and pull up the corpse. Even I’m not that much a fool.”
Ethan considered this. “You’re right. We’ll need help from someone else, as well.” He walked back to the door and pulled it open. “Come along then.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about.”
“I’ll tell you, Diver. I swear it. But we have to get this done before sundown, so I need to explain as we walk.”
Still Diver sat, eyeing him. At last he pushed himself up out of the chair. “I must be mad, too.”
Ethan grinned.
They walked south to Water Street and turned right toward Marlborough. As they walked, Ethan explained to Diver all that had happened in the past several days: the grave desecrations, the appearance of the shades, and his encounters with Ra
msey. Diver remembered little of Ethan’s last encounter with the captain, and so he had to describe those events as well. He hadn’t yet finished when they reached King’s Chapel.
“What are we doing here?” Diver asked, gazing up at the stark façade of the sanctuary.
“As you said, we can’t walk into a burying ground and simply dig up a grave. Not alone, anyway. But if we have a minister with us, looking on, making it seem that we’re doing the Lord’s work, no one will give it a second thought.”
“Your friend,” Diver said, smiling. “Pell.”
“Aye, Pell. Why don’t you wait out here?”
Ethan entered the churchyard and the chapel itself. Caner stood at the pulpit. Hearing the door open, he looked up from the great Bible on its wooden stand, marking his place with a finger.
“Who is that?” he asked, squinting.
“Ethan Kaille, reverend sir.”
“Mister Kaille!” Caner said. Ethan thought that the rector had never sounded so pleased to see him. “Do you have tidings for us?”
“None that are good, reverend sir, and nothing that’s certain. I came to ask if I might borrow Mister Pell for a short while. I require his help.”
“May I ask what for?” Caner had stepped down from the pulpit and was walking toward Ethan.
“I think it best that I tell you as little as possible.”
“And I would prefer to keep Trevor out of harm’s way. I’m afraid I must refuse to let him go with you.”
“Reverend, sir, please understand. I am trying to prevent the desecration of more graves, and the mutilation of more corpses.”
“Here at our chapel?”
Ethan hesitated. “No. The body in question is buried elsewhere. But surely you wouldn’t wish such foul trespass on any soul, regardless of where the unfortunate lies.”
Caner’s mouth turned down, but he said, “He’s outside with the sexton.”
“Thank you, Reverend, sir. I’ll do my utmost to keep him safe.”
“See that you do.”
Ethan left the sanctuary before the rector could change his mind, and went around to the back of the chapel. There he found Pell standing over Mr. Thomson, who was working in one of the disturbed graves.
A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) Page 22