A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles)

by D. B. Jackson

  Opening his eyes, he found himself gazing almost directly northward. He could see in the distance the spire of the Old Meeting House, and far beyond the North Church.

  Copp’s Hill. Ramsey must have been in the burying ground.

  He set out for the North End, cursing his limp, walking as swiftly as it would allow, and trying to calculate the most direct route that would still allow him to skirt the barracks of General Mackay’s soldiers.

  He followed School Street into the heart of Cornhill, turned north at Marlborough, and continued onto King Street, intending to keep close to the waterfront, and thus as far from the regulars as possible. But as he turned on Merchant’s Row, he felt a second pulse of power, every bit as powerful as the first. He halted, puzzled and uncertain. This spell seemed to come from some distance behind him. Not far; it had been closer than the first spell. Ethan didn’t think it possible that Ramsey could have cast both spells.

  Yet, if he had to guess, he would have placed this conjuring in the area around King’s Chapel, or perhaps the Granary. He didn’t know what to do. He could continue on to Copp’s Hill, but he wondered if he would find anyone there. He could also backtrack to one of the closer burying grounds. Again, though, he didn’t know if this would prove fruitless. Who had cast these spells?

  “Veni ad me.” Come to me.

  Reg appeared in front of him, gleaming in the dark lane.

  “Those pulses of power: Do you know where they came from?”

  Reg nodded.

  “The first was at Copp’s Hill, isn’t that right?”

  Again, a nod.

  “And the second was at King’s Chapel?”

  Yes.

  “Do you know who cast them?”

  No.

  “Could it have been Ramsey at Copp’s Hill and one of his—?” He broke off.

  Reg was shaking his head again, and had held up one finger.

  “They were cast by the same conjurer?”

  Yes.

  “But how is that possible? I didn’t linger long in the Common Burying Ground after I felt the first casting, and I walked this far as fast as I could. I know that others can move faster than I do, but not that much faster.”

  Reg stared back at him, his gleaming gaze boring into Ethan’s, and he again held up that one finger.

  “I have to assume that it’s Ramsey. Can you tell where he is? Has he found some way to move himself with a conjuring?”

  The old warrior shrugged. He looked back over his shoulder toward the North End, then stared past Ethan in the direction of King’s Chapel. After a moment he shook his head.

  “There’s one other possibility,” Ethan said. “Perhaps he can conjure in one location and have the spell manifest itself in another.”

  The ghost’s frown deepened.

  “I know. If he can do that there’s no telling what sort of mischief he might cause. But that would explain—”

  A third conjuring made the cobblestones beneath Ethan’s feet hum. Reg’s eyes widened; once again he gazed past Ethan toward the Common.

  “If the second spell came from King’s Chapel, that one was cast at the Granary.”

  Reg’s nod this time was emphatic.

  “That’s where he is, isn’t it? He’s in the burying ground there.”

  The ghost nodded again. He pointed in that direction, clenched his fists and bent his arms, flexing his muscles, if a spirit could be said to have them.

  “He’s strong. Am I to assume that he’s growing stronger still?”

  When Reg nodded this time, there was an apology in his eyes, and perhaps a hint of fear as well.

  “All right,” Ethan said. “My thanks. Dimitto te.” I release you.

  Once Reg had vanished, Ethan strode back toward the Granary Burying Ground. His concealment spell remained in place. He considered casting a warding as well, but he couldn’t be certain it would work. He knew, though, that if he cast it, he would alert Ramsey to his location. The captain might guess that Ethan was trying to find him.

  He retraced the path he had followed so recently, and soon came to the stone gate of the cemetery. He had feared that Ramsey might be concealed as well, and that it might take a finding spell to locate the captain. He needn’t have worried. It seemed Ramsey no longer feared being found. Or maybe he knew that he couldn’t conceal all of those he had with him, and so didn’t bother trying.

  Whatever Ramsey’s thinking, Ethan spotted the captain as soon as he entered the burying ground. How could he not?

  Ramsey stood beside a gravesite; from what Ethan could see, it hadn’t been disturbed. He had his arms raised, and the old bent ghost who served as his spectral guide stood next to him. Or Ethan thought he did; it was hard to be certain, for Ramsey was surrounded by a retinue of glowing shades, one more gruesome than the next. Ethan thought he recognized Abigail Rowan and Bertram Flagg in their ranks, and he took some solace in not being able to spot Patience. But there were dozens of them, far more than he could account for just by counting the number of desecrated graves he had seen in the burying grounds.

  The shades moved little, and made not a sound. They resembled the chorus from some twisted Greek drama: witnessing all, but doing nothing themselves. Their collective glow seemed to illuminate the grounds; Ramsey’s face was alight with it. His eyes were closed, his expression exultant.

  Ethan crept closer, trying to hear what the captain was saying. But before he was near enough to make out the conjurer’s incantation, another pulse of power rumbled in the ground, thunderous and puissant. One more radiant figure appeared within the circle of shades. This one glowed with a color Ethan had not seen before. It was green, but unlike the sickly shade that Ethan had seen on Patience’s ghost, this was the green of life, of young leaves and spring grass.

  He could see that this was the shade of an older man, not bent like Ramsey’s ghost or even as grizzled as Uncle Reg, but older than both Ethan and the captain. He wore dark breeches and a light shirt, a captain’s jacket and a tricorn hat.

  Ethan gasped audibly. He thought that Ramsey might have heard, though in the next moment, the captain said something else that Ethan couldn’t hear and seemed once more absorbed in his conjuring.

  But Ethan’s mind reeled. What does Ramsey want? That was the question Kannice had put to him, the question he had struggled to answer. And here was the answer, so stark, so achingly simple, so breathtaking in its horror and audacity, that Ethan had failed even to consider it.

  He wanted his father to live once more. And while it appeared that on this night the captain had done no more than summon the ghost of Nathaniel Ramsey the elder, Ethan feared he might well have the power to achieve his aim. If he could do that, might he also bring back others who were less benign? And to what degree would the reanimated dead be his to control, rather than free beings? Ethan couldn’t say which he feared more: a legion of the awakened dead under Ramsey’s power, or newly animated corpses wandering the world of the living without anyone controlling them. Both prospects terrified him.

  Several of the silvery shades who had surrounded Ramsey from the beginning reached out toward the ghost of the conjurer’s father—Ethan knew not why. But at a sharp word from the captain, they snatched back their glowing hands.

  Ethan heard Ramsey laugh.

  “They want to touch him, Kaille!” he called. “They know that he will soon be alive, and they wish to be carried back with him to this realm. Should I grant them their hearts’ desire?”

  Ethan did not answer, but instead began to creep back toward the burying ground gate. He didn’t wish to confront Ramsey here, alone; he needed time to consider what he had seen. Surely his father’s return was not Ramsey’s sole ambition, but it might well be the one that would allow Ethan to learn all that he needed to defeat the man.

  First, though, he had to get away.

  “Find him,” Ramsey said.

  The shades turned as one and began to fan out across the burying ground, a glimmering wave breaki
ng over grave markers and grass. Ethan didn’t know what they could do to him. He wanted to think that they remained too insubstantial to do him any harm, but he wasn’t willing to risk his life on that hope. He hastened toward the gate, repeatedly glancing back at the shades. They glided like buzzards—far faster than he could walk.

  Still, he managed to reach the gate and the unpaved road beyond, before the ghosts caught up with him. He hurried to School Street, intending to take shelter in King’s Chapel if necessary.

  But the shades halted at the boundary of the burying ground, lingering there briefly before drifting back toward Ramsey and the ghost of his father.

  “Soon, Kaille!” Ethan heard the captain shout. “You can’t escape them forever! You can’t escape me forever!”

  He should have returned to his room, and locked and warded the door. His hands shook and his heart was racing like that of an overworked horse. In all his years as a conjurer and a thieftaker, never before had he been stalked by an army of shades. He didn’t wish to repeat the experience any time soon. But neither was he ready to surrender this night to Ramsey. He had an idea, but he couldn’t act on it until he was certain that the captain wouldn’t find him out.

  So once again he returned to the Common Burying Ground. He kept his distance from Patience’s grave, and he positioned himself near the Frog Lane entrance to the cemetery, so that he would have an easy path of escape if he needed it. And there he waited. He felt the thrum of another conjuring, followed by a second. He had to resist the urge to return to the Granary and see what Ramsey was doing. He held his blade ready, but as before, he didn’t trust himself to conjure, even for a warding.

  Sooner than he had expected, his persistence was rewarded. Alone for now, unaccompanied by his shades, moonlight shining on his uncovered head, the captain sauntered into the burying ground and made his way to the grave of Patience Walters. There, he waited, leaning against a nearby grave marker, staring up at the stars. Occasionally, he glanced around, at one point staring straight at Ethan, his gaze lingering for so long that Ethan began to wonder if perhaps his concealment spell had failed.

  Only when he heard voices approaching from behind did he understand. Ramsey’s men were approaching the burying ground from the waterfront, bearing spades and shovels, speaking in hushed tones. Ethan sidled out of their way and watched as they walked past him and into the cemetery.

  He knew that they had come to violate Patience’s grave, and knew as well that he could do nothing to stop them. He was all too aware of his own powerlessness. He couldn’t escape the feeling that he had betrayed Patience, had abandoned her to this monster, without knowing for certain that the one precaution he had taken would work. She deserved better.

  But though he could do nothing here, he believed he could strike a blow against the captain elsewhere. When he was convinced that Ramsey and his men would be occupied for some time, he slipped away and hurried back to his room.

  Once there, he locked the door and barred it with a spell, which he cast three times, just to be safe. He lit several candles, unwilling to do in the dark what he had in mind.

  When the room was light enough, he summoned Reg.

  “I need to speak with Ramsey’s father,” he said. “Another summoning.”

  The old warrior didn’t appear pleased, but he made no effort to dissuade him. Ethan wasn’t entirely certain that he could summon the shade of the elder Ramsey, but he didn’t believe that the son would make of his father’s ghost another foot soldier in his army of spirits. He wanted his father beside him, and he would never assume that he needed to control the old captain’s shade to keep it there.

  Ethan removed nine leaves of mullein from his pouch, noting once more how quickly he was depleting the supply he had bought from Janna. His pouch was more than half empty.

  Holding the leaves in his hand, he said in a clear voice, “Provoco te, Nathaniel Ramsey, ex regno mortuorum, ex verbasco evocatum.” I summon thee, Nathaniel Ramsey, from the realm of the dead, conjured from mullein.

  The leaves vanished from his palm. His conjuring shook the building to its foundation, and a form suffused with soft green light appeared in the middle of the room.

  Standing so near to the shade of Nathaniel Ramsey, Ethan could see what he had missed earlier in the burying ground: the son bore a striking resemblance to the father. He couldn’t see the color of the elder Ramsey’s eyes; they glimmered too brightly. But in the curve of the nose, the shape of the mouth, the tapering of the chin, he saw Nate Ramsey. Older, yes, and perhaps sadder. But it was the same face.

  “I apologize for compelling you,” Ethan said to the ghost. “I wouldn’t have called you here without cause.”

  Ramsey regarded him through narrowed eyes, his chin raised as in defiance. Ethan saw something of the son’s hauteur in the father’s expression. It occurred to him that summoning the spirit might well have been a mistake.

  “Your son is awakening shades all over the city. He has desecrated graves, mutilated corpses. You know this, don’t you?”

  The shade answered with a slow nod.

  “Has he done all this because he wishes to bring you back? Is that his sole purpose?”

  Ramsey looked away, first gazing toward Reg, and then looking at something Ethan couldn’t see. At last he shook his head. Something in his manner gave Ethan a shred of hope.

  “You don’t approve of what he’s doing, do you?”

  No.

  “Do you want to come back? Did you ask to be awakened?”

  No. The response was more pointed this time.

  “What is it he wants, Captain Ramsey?”

  The shade tapped a finger to his own chest.

  “Aye, he wants you to live again. I understand that. But you indicated that there was more to his scheming. What else is he trying to do?”

  Ramsey’s features hardened.

  “You don’t trust me,” Ethan said. “You shouldn’t. I could claim to be a friend to your son, but the truth is I’m a thieftaker who has been hired to prevent the desecration of more graves, and to recover that which your son has taken from the bodies he’s mutilated. He and I met once before: He killed two merchants who had hired me to protect them. They were men you knew, men who treated you poorly and drove you to take your own life. Deron Forrs and Isaac Keller.”

  The shade glowered, and his ghostly hand strayed to the pistol holstered on his belt.

  “You have every right to despise me. So does your son, for that matter. But what he’s doing is wrong. You know this; I can see you do. And I need your help to stop him. This will not end well for him.”

  The shade shook his head and pointed a finger at Ethan. It won’t end well for you.

  “Probably not. But that changes nothing. You’ve already told me that you don’t wish to come back. You prefer to rest. Your son wants you to live once more, but you must know that it’s not that simple, that bringing back the dead will have unintended consequences. Did Nate even ask you if you want this? Or did he assume that you did?”

  The shade’s gaze slid away.

  “At least you know that he’s acting out of love for you. The other shades don’t have even that. He has disturbed their rest, made them slaves to his will, for no other reason than because he can. Surely you see the injustice of that.”

  The ghost’s anger appeared to have sluiced away, leaving him troubled and forlorn.

  “What is he trying to do?” Ethan asked. A thought came to him. “I’ve assumed that the difficulty I’m having casting spells is incidental to his ultimate aim. But it’s not, is it?”

  The ghost fixed his eyes on Ethan again.

  “That’s what he wants: he seeks to render the rest of us powerless, and thus to make himself the lone conjurer in our world.”

  It was madness, and yet so utterly logical that once he put words to it he felt certain that he was right. The shade did not deny it. Ethan hoped that he would shake his head, communicate in some way that while his son was ruthl
ess and cunning, his ambitions did not run so deep. But he continued to stare at Ethan, offering no response.

  “Can he do it?” Ethan asked.

  Ramsey’s shade opened his hands and shrugged.

  Ethan turned to Reg. “Can he?”

  The old warrior nodded.

  “Damn. Is he close to succeeding? I’ve struggled with other spells, but I had no trouble summoning Patience and now the captain.”

  Reg pointed to himself and to the shade of Nathaniel Ramsey. He opened his arms wide.

  “There are shades everywhere,” Ethan said. When Reg nodded, he said, “And that’s why the summonings have worked. Of all the conjuring I could do, calling shades to me is the easiest right now. Because of Ramsey.” At last he was beginning to make sense of all that had happened to him in recent days. “My other spells still won’t work reliably.”

  Reg nodded.

  Ethan turned back to Ramsey’s shade. “Again I ask you, what is his purpose? If he can stand unopposed, with no other conjurers able to stop him, what will he do with such power?”

  The shade made a small gesture with his hand; Ethan wasn’t sure what he intended it to signify. Before the old captain could do more, he stiffened, his eyes growing wide. He spun toward the door.

  And even as he did, the door exploded inward, the hinges twisting, the wooden planks snapping as if they were made of twigs. Ethan was thrown back. He tumbled over his bed and crashed into the wall behind it. He narrowly missed the window, which shattered, shards of glass raining down onto him.

  Dazed, his back and shoulders and head aching, he raised himself up and saw Nate Ramsey standing in the doorway. The captain had his fists clenched; his face was contorted in a snarl.

  “You want to know what I would do?” the man said. “Whatever the hell I want!”

  Chapter

  SEVENTEEN

  “Ramsey—”

  “Release my father this instant, or I swear I’ll burn to the ground every house within three streets of here.”

  Ethan climbed to his feet, felt a trickle of blood on his temple. He didn’t wish to endanger Henry’s shop or the other homes and businesses nearby. But he knew from what Janna had told him that Ramsey couldn’t risk killing him, not if he intended to bring back his father. He hoped that Ramsey knew this as well. “I don’t think you will. I think you understand that if you kill me, your father’s spirit will be lost to you.”