Ethan twisted to follow the direction of Janna’s gaze. Sheriff Greenleaf had reached the wharf and was striding in their direction, a scornful look on his face. Several men of the watch walked behind him. Ethan knew that he would be searching for someone to blame for the fire and the additional deaths; without Ramsey here, the sheriff would lay on him responsibility for all that had happened.
“What did you do now, Kaille?” Greenleaf called while still several yards away. The man was predictable.
“I fought Ramsey,” Ethan said, making no effort to get up. “And I barely escaped the warehouse when he set it on fire.”
“You look none the worse for wear.”
“I was fortunate.”
“Aye,” the sheriff said, his voice cold. “It seems to me that you’re always fortunate. Some would call that coincidence. Others might credit your bonny luck to something darker.”
Ethan said nothing, but continued to stare up at the man.
“Where’s Ramsey?” the sheriff asked after some time.
Ethan pointed at the fire. “He’s in there.”
“He’s dead?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But surely if he’s…” Comprehension darkened Greenleaf’s face. He shook his head. “Damn you and your kind.”
“If it wasn’t for our kind, you woulda had to fight Ramsey yourself,” Janna said, her scowl no less intimidating than the sheriff’s. “How do you think that woulda gone?”
“Janna…” Ethan said, his voice low.
The sheriff stared down his nose at her. “You should watch yourself, woman. You keep saying things like that, and you may wind up with a noose around your neck.”
Her smile was so pleasant one might have thought they were discussing the sunset. “I ain’t never seen a rope that would hold me or a man brave enough to try to put one around my neck. And I sure don’t see one now.”
Even in the failing light, Ethan could tell that Greenleaf’s cheeks had reddened.
But the way the sheriff glowered at Ethan, one might have thought that he had spoken and not Janna. “Don’t leave,” he said. To the men of the watch, he added, “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” He stalked off toward Sephira.
“You shouldn’t goad him like that,” Ethan said, his voice low.
“Why not? He ain’t gonna hang an old woman, and even if he tried, it wouldn’t work.”
“No, but he might hang me.”
“That wouldn’t work, either, now would it? Sometimes it seems like you forget you’re a speller.”
Ethan had to laugh.
Janna watched the sheriff and Sephira. “What do you suppose they’re talkin’ about?”
“I’m sure Greenleaf is looking for some way to blame me for all of this. And if Sephira is feeling less than charitable, she might just help him.”
“I don’t think so. I’m a good judge of people’s character, and I think you can trust her.”
Ethan almost laughed again. Yesterday she had hated Sephira more than anyone in the world. From the way she was talking now, one might have thought that they were old friends.
“I should have asked before, Janna. Do you need healing?”
She shook her head. “Mariz took care of me. I just need rest.”
Rest sounded good.
Greenleaf continued to talk to Sephira, though he looked less happy with every word she said. When he made his way back to where Ethan and Janna were sitting, he appeared so forlorn it warmed Ethan’s heart.
“You’re free to go,” he said. “Both of you.” He leveled a finger at Ethan. “But I want to see you back here tomorrow. This is still your mess, and I’m going to have more questions for you before long.”
“I’ll come back in the morning,” Ethan said.
He climbed to his feet, his muscles sore, his legs leaden. He had escaped the warehouse without serious burns, but he had been hammered by Ramsey’s spells again and again. He felt bruised, beaten.
Before he could walk away, Greenleaf said, “He couldn’t really be alive, could he?” He nodded toward the warehouse, which still burned. The flames had died down, but the embers glowed balefully in the twilight. “Look at that. If he was trapped in there, he would have to be dead. Even a witch can be burned.” He faced Ethan. After a brief silence, he said, “I want an answer, Kaille.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Could you have survived a fire like that?”
“No. But I’m not a witch.” And with that, Ethan turned from him and began the long walk back to the Dowser.
Chapter
TWENTY-FOUR
Stepping into the Dowsing Rod was like returning home after a years-long voyage. Ethan was so relieved to be back in the tavern that his legs almost gave out beneath him before he reached the bar. Too late, he realized that while he had come through the fire relatively unscathed, his clothes had not. His waistcoat had been burned beyond hope of mending, and he had left it at the wharf. His shirt was blackened on the sleeves and stained everywhere else, and his breeches looked no better.
Before he could leave the tavern, Kannice spotted him and came out from behind the bar, concern etched on her face.
“You’ve looked better,” she said, taking his hand.
“Aye. I’ve felt better as well.”
She pulled him toward an empty table, at the same time signaling to Kelf.
“Ale and chowder; that’s what you need.”
He should have been famished; he couldn’t remember his last meal. But all he wanted to do was sleep. He kept his mouth shut, though; Kannice had decided that he needed to eat, and so eat he would.
As he sat, she winced at something on the side of his face—a burn or bruise no doubt.
“This business with Ramsey—”
“Is over,” he said, hoping it was true.
“It is?”
“I think so. There was a fire at Drake’s Wharf. No one saw Ramsey come out.”
He didn’t go so far as to say that the captain was dead, and she didn’t ask.
“God forgive me for saying this, but I’m glad.”
“That’s a common sentiment.” He paused, as Kelf arrived with an ale and a bowl of fish stew.
“Anything else, Ethan?” he asked, the words running together.
“No, Kelf. My thanks.”
He began to eat, and found that he was ravenous after all. Just as Kannice had known he would be. “Gavin is dead,” he said between mouthfuls.
“The old sea captain? The one who could conjure?”
“Aye.”
“I’m sorry, Ethan. I know he was a friend.”
“Ramsey controlled him with a spell. Gavin lured us to the wharf, and tried to kill Janna.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’ll be fine.” He smiled. “She’s stronger than all of us.”
Kannice leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I’m not sure I believe that, but I’m glad she’s well.” She touched her lips to his, and he returned the kiss hungrily. “You’ll be staying the night?” she asked.
“I’d like that.”
She straightened. “Good. Eat up.” She flashed a coy grin. “I want to be sure you have your strength.”
It was a late night.
* * *
Upon waking the following morning, Ethan found that he had slept far longer than he intended. Kannice had already left her bedroom; he could hear her moving around in the great room, and could smell bacon and fresh bread.
He swung out of bed, inhaling through his teeth with a sharp hiss at the ache of his abused muscles. Gingerly, he pulled clean, unburnt clothes from Kannice’s wardrobe and dressed. Every movement hurt. His hat was gone, he realized, lost in the warehouse fire. He checked to be sure that he still had his knife and his pouch of mullein, and left the room.
As he neared the stairway that led down to the tavern, he heard voices from below: Kannice’s, and a second that he recognized as that of Sheriff Greenleaf.
&n
bsp; “… Need to speak with him now!” the sheriff was saying, his voice rising.
“And I’ve already told you that he’s sleeping.”
“I’m here,” he said, descending the stairs. “What do you need, Sheriff?”
Greenleaf seemed to be alone, though even on his own he could still be intimidating. Kannice, however, didn’t appear to be the least bit frightened.
“We’ve been searching the warehouse, or what’s left of it. I want you to accompany me to the wharf, and answer a few questions.”
Ethan could tell that Kannice didn’t like this idea. Neither did he, but he doubted that he had much choice.
“Of course,” he said.
“And your breakfast?” she asked, with an arch glance at the sheriff.
“That will have to wait,” Ethan said. “I’ll be back before long.”
Greenleaf looked like he might challenge this last, but he kept his silence and gestured for Ethan to lead him out the door.
Once they were on the street, Greenleaf started toward the North End, his strides so long, Ethan struggled to keep up with him.
“Did you find Ramsey’s body?” Ethan asked, after a lengthy silence.
The sheriff, eyed him sidelong, but didn’t answer.
“You don’t know, do you?”
“His ship’s gone,” Greenleaf said.
Ethan faltered. “Damn.”
“Before they left the wharf, his crew unloaded a gruesome cargo.”
“Body parts.”
“Aye.”
“Skulls and hands.”
“You know a good deal for a man who just woke a short while ago.”
“I told you about the grave desecrations, and the shades Ramsey awakened. He stole those body parts so that he could bend the spirits to his will. If he left them, he has relinquished his control over the dead.”
“Or his men, recognizing that since Ramsey was killed they had no need to keep such foul bounty aboard the vessel, rid themselves of it before putting out to sea.”
“Tell me what you found in the warehouse.”
“When we get there,” Greenleaf said.
They covered the remaining distance in silence. It was another clear, hot day. Already Ethan’s shirt was damp with sweat, and his bad leg was hurting. They were still on Princes Street, some distance from the wharf, when Ethan caught the scent of smoke riding the soft harbor breeze.
As Drake’s Wharf came into view, Ethan saw that little remained of the warehouse. There were piles of charred rubble, and several human forms covered with burlap, but nothing remained of the walls. The adjacent buildings had mostly been spared, though the exterior walls of both were damaged.
“How many dead?”
“Six. Miss Pryce lost two men, but we don’t know who the others were.”
“One was Gavin Black,” Ethan said.
Greenleaf’s eyebrows went up. “Captain Black?”
“Aye.”
“Some claimed that he was a speller.”
“Is that so?”
Greenleaf rolled his eyes. “Was he working with Ramsey?”
Ethan didn’t wish to explain the control spells Ramsey had used, but neither did he wish to lie outright to the man, no matter how obscure the truth might have been. All he said was “Ramsey killed him.”
“So, that leaves three. One of them could have been Ramsey.”
“That’s possible.”
“Spit it out, Kaille. Why don’t you think that Ramsey is dead?”
“I haven’t said that I don’t.”
“No, but you seem unwilling to admit that he might be. What are you keeping from me?”
Ethan sighed. Despite sleeping away half the morning, he remained weary, and he found few things in his life more tiresome than his unceasing verbal jousts with the good sheriff.
“I’m not keeping anything from you. You found six dead, and we’ve accounted for three. Much of my memory of what happened yesterday evening is clouded, but it seems to me that Ramsey’s crew lost at least as many men as Sephira did, perhaps more. In which case Ramsey might not be one of those last three.”
“I see. And the gruesome cargo his crew left on the wharf?”
Ethan dared not respond to this question with as much candor. “That’s harder to explain,” he said, with intentional ambiguity. “It may well mean that Ramsey is gone, and his men want nothing more to do with his black arts. We can only hope.”
Greenleaf’s eyes narrowed. “You think he’s still out there.”
“I think he might be, yes. And wouldn’t you prefer that I believe he’s alive, and thus remain vigilant, rather than assume he’s dead and let down my guard?”
“Aye,” the sheriff said. “That I would.”
“Is there anything else, Sheriff?”
“No. As you say, I’ll be expecting you to keep watch, and to let me know if you find Ramsey, or even hear rumors of him. This is still your mess, Kaille, and I’ll hold you responsible until I see the man’s corpse.”
Ethan left him at Drake’s Wharf, and thought of going to see Alexander Rowan. He had asked Ethan to keep him apprised of the inquiry, and had hinted at offering Ethan a bit of coin for his trouble. On the one hand, Ethan was not yet certain that the inquiry was over, and even if it was, he remained convinced of what he had said to Reverend Caner the day it began: This was a dark business, and he didn’t think anyone should profit from it. On the other hand, he had ruined several shirts and a couple of waistcoats in the past several days. He would have welcomed a few pounds. He resolved to seek out Mr. Rowan in another day or two, when the emotions of the past week were not quite so raw.
Instead, he walked west along Ferry Way to the Water Mill and the Mill Dam. In the heat, with the level of water down because of the lack of rain, the pond smelled especially rank. But the dam itself was deserted, and Ethan welcomed the solitude. Halfway across, he stopped and cast an illusion spell using the water as a source. It was a simple conjuring. He sent an image of himself into his room over Henry’s cooperage, and was able to see through its eyes the disarray left by his battle with Ramsey: the shattered door and broken window. Shelly sat on the stairway landing outside the doorway. She whined at the sight of Ethan’s conjuring and stood, baring her teeth. Dogs, he had noticed before, responded this way to illusion spells, as well as to spectral guides.
“It’s all right, Shelly,” Ethan said through the image he had summoned. “It’s just me.”
The dog gave a tentative wag of her tail.
Ethan allowed the conjuring to end, and opened his eyes to the bright glare of the summer sun. A simple conjuring: just the sort of spell that Ramsey’s control of the shades had made impossible a single day before. Perhaps the captain was dead.
Reg stood beside him, ghostly pale in the sunlight.
“I can conjure,” Ethan said. “Does that mean that the boundary between the living world and the realm of the dead is whole again?”
The old warrior nodded.
“Is Ramsey dead?”
A shrug.
“Right. Very well. My thanks for all you’ve done the past few days.”
The ghost offered a small bow and vanished.
Ethan finished crossing the dam into New Boston, and followed Leveret’s Street down to Lynde, where sat the Walters house. At his knock on the door, Ruth opened the door, her son in her arms.
“Ethan!” she said, smiling. “Darcy,” she called into the house. “It’s Ethan.”
She waved him inside, and Darcy joined them in the common room.
“Whatever you did worked,” he said, gripping Ethan’s hand. “We’re grateful to you.”
“She wasn’t here last night?” Ethan asked.
Ruth shook her head. She still looked drawn, but she was smiling again; Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her look so at ease.
“I’m glad,” he said. “I hope that she remains at rest now, as she deserves.”
“We feel that we should pa
y you for your time,” Ruth said.
“No, thank you.”
“Will you at least sup with us?”
“I’d like that. In a day or two perhaps.”
Ruth nodded, and as she did, Benjamin began to fuss. “He’s hungry, and ready to nap. I’ll take him to our room. Thank you again, Ethan.” With a last glance at her husband, she retreated to the back of the house.
“What did you do?” Darcy asked, once he and Ethan were alone.
“I prefer not to speak of it. What matters is, I managed to shield her from the influence of another conjurer, and in the end her shade actually saved my life. To be honest, as glad as I am for your sake and Ruth’s that she’s gone, I had almost hoped to see her again, so that I could thank her. I suppose I’ll have to thank you, instead.”
“You were a good friend to her in life, Ethan. And whatever you had to do to bring peace to her spirit, I can’t thank you enough.”
“You’re welcome.” Ethan returned to the door, but after stepping outside, he turned to Darcy once more. “If by some chance she comes back, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
Darcy frowned. “Do you think that’s possible?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan said with a shrug. “Probably not. Forget that I mentioned it.”
He started to walk away.
“You’ll join us for supper one night?”
“Absolutely. Send a message to me at the Dowser.”
Rather than heading back to the tavern or to his room in the South End, Ethan followed Cambridge Street out to Pest House Point, and the Province Hospital. He knew better than to think that he would be allowed to enter the building to see Holin, Elli, and Clara, but he hoped that he could get word of the boy’s condition.
As he approached the hospital, he saw no less a personage than Dr. Joseph Warren emerging from its front entrance.
Ethan hailed him, at first drawing a puzzled look. As Ethan drew nearer, recognition lit the doctor’s face.
“Mister Kaille,” Warren said. “The thieftaker who doesn’t wish to ally himself with the cause of liberty.”
“Aye, Doctor. I’m flattered that you remember.”
Ethan was still several strides away from the stairs leading to the door, but Warren held up a hand to stop him.
“I wouldn’t come closer than that, sir.”
A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) Page 34