Dead Man's Reach (18 page)

Uncle Reg still walked beside him, and as Ethan neared the tavern he slowed. He needed to have this conversation while alone save for the ghost.

“What did you feel?” he asked, halting to face the specter. “There was a spell, isn't that right?”

Reg held up two fingers.

“Aye, two spells. Were both of them directed at the soldier?”

Reg didn't seem to know how to answer that. He offered a tentative nod, but Ethan had the distinct impression that he had asked the wrong question.

He regretted not having the opportunity to use a revealing spell on the soldier, though he assumed that like the spells cast on Gordon and Richardson, it would have shown little.

“Was this the same sort of spell you felt the day the boy was killed?”

Reg responded the alacrity this time.
Yes.

“And was the other ghost there again? The one you saw that day?”

Again the ghost nodded, though with less certainty.

“You believe so, but you're not sure.”

Yes.

“Were their other conjurers in the procession, aside from me?”

Reg shook his head.

Ethan frowned. He had expected a different answer. “Not even Jonathan Grant, the man we met in the Green Dragon?”

No.

Of course. The man was a clerk for the Customs Board. It was one thing to go to the Dragon, where he could be confident that only fellow patriots would see him. But to march in the funeral procession, on display for the entire city, could well have cost Grant his job.

It occurred to Ethan to ask another question of his spectral guide, but at the thought of it, his pulse quickened, and his thoughts returned once more to the night Gordon attacked Will Pryor.

“I didn't summon you tonight,” Ethan said. “I didn't have to. Why is that?”

Reg stared back at him; it seemed that his eyes blazed brighter than usual.

“The spells you felt tonight—where did they come from?”

Reg lifted his hand and pointed at Ethan.

 

Chapter

T
EN

Ethan had known that the ghost would tell him this, and yet he didn't understand how it was possible.

“I didn't conjure,” he said. “You know that I didn't.”

Reg nodded. But once more he pointed at Ethan, his glowing finger gleaming like a polished blade.

“I didn't cut myself, or draw blood in any way. I didn't—”

He broke off and fumbled in the pocket of his greatcoat for the pouch of mullein. Pulling it open he saw that it was still as full as it had been.

“It's all there.” He held it open for Reg to see, though the ghost showed little interest in looking. “So if I drew no blood, and used none of the herb, how could the spell have come from me?” He began to pace; he could feel Reg's gleaming eyes following him. “An illusion spell wouldn't have been powerful enough to make a soldier behave that way. Never mind that I didn't utter a single word in Latin.” He stopped and stared at the ghost. “What you're telling me isn't possible. How could I cast such a spell without meaning to, without being aware of doing it?”

Reg shook his head, but then pointed at him again.

“Yes, I understand! I cast the spell. I'm asking you how that can be.”

Reg opened his hands, a rare look of sympathy on his ancient features.

“Did both spells come from me? The first that precipitated the conflict, and the second that made the soldier attack Diver?”

The ghost nodded.

“It has to be Nate Ramsey. Who else could cast in this way?”

Reg offered no response.

“Do you sense him? Is he in Boston again, or perhaps out on the harbor, beyond the ice?”

The ghost shrugged and shook his head.

“Search for him, please. I walked the length of the waterfront three days ago, before the snowfall. I can do it again, but I don't think I'm going to find him that way. I need your help.”

Reg grinned and saluted.

“Thank you.”

The ghost faded from view, leaving Ethan in darkness on the street outside the Dowser. Stars shone overhead and the barest sliver of a moon hung low in the western sky beyond the dark mass of Beacon Hill. He had no proof that Ramsey had returned, no reason even to suspect that the captain was back save the unexplained conjurings that had done such grave harm in recent days. And yet Ethan felt as though an unseen blade were pressed against his throat.

He tried the tavern door. Finding it locked, he knocked once. Heavy footsteps approached the door.

“Who's there?” Kelf said, growling the words.

In spite of all that had happened this night, Ethan smiled in the darkness. As reluctant as the barman might have been to leave the funeral, he would have battled the entire French army to keep Kannice safe.

“It's Ethan, Kelf.”

The lock clicked and Kelf pulled the door open. He held a cleaver in his free hand.

“Took you long enough,” the barman said.

“Have you been worried about me?”

Kelf glowered. “Joke all you like, but she
was
worried. And I'm the one who has to put up with it.”

Ethan schooled his features. “I apologize. I'm not going anywhere else tonight, so if you want to be on your way, she'll be fine.”

The barman waved him into the tavern and shut the door. “What happened, anyway?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kannice said, emerging from the kitchen. “I want to hear this as well.”

“There's not a lot to tell, actually,” Ethan said, keeping his gaze on Kelf. “A few young pups thought they'd insult some soldiers and throw a snowball or two. It could have been worse, but they tired of their sport before too long, and the king's men kept their heads.”

Kelf gave a shake of his head. “Them lobsters shouldn't be here at all. The sooner they leave, the sooner we can get back to livin' our lives.”

Would that it were so easy,
Ethan thought. To Kelf he said, “I'd wager that every person who was in that procession tonight feels as you do, myself included.”

“Aye, but no one asks us, do they?”

Ethan grinned. “No, they don't.”

Kelf turned to Kannice. “All right then; I'll be on my way.”

“Thank you, Kelf,” she said.

The barman nodded to her and to Ethan and let himself out of the tavern. Once he was gone, Kannice stepped out from behind the bar, drew her own key from her bodice, and locked the door. Then she put her arms around Ethan's neck and kissed him.

“Now,” she said, “I want to know what really happened.”

“As do I.”

Her brow creased.

“I felt a spell, and Uncle Reg appeared. And as soon as those things happened some lads started a confrontation with a group of soldiers. I did my best to keep them from hurting one another, and thought I'd succeeded. But then a second spell pulsed in the street, and one of the regulars charged at Diver, his bayonet fixed. I had to cast three spells to stop him.”

“Is Diver—?”

“He's fine. But the soldier would have killed him; I'm sure of it.”

“And you have no idea where those other spells came from?”

“None.”

“What about your ghost? Can't you ask him?”

Ethan forced a smile, knowing that it couldn't mask his fear. “That's the strangest part of it all. He swears that the spells came from me.”

Kannice took a step back. “I don't like the sound of that at all. You didn't cast them, did you?”

“Of course not. Some other conjurer has found a way to use my power for his or her own spells, to conjure through me, as it were.”

“Is that something you can do?”

“I didn't even know it was possible until now.” He frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. “The odd thing is, these spells don't appear to leave any residue. Usually when a conjurer casts, there remains a hint of his or her power that another speller can reveal with a particular kind of conjuring. But that doesn't happen with these spells. There appears to be no residue at all, neither mine nor anyone else's. I'd almost feel better if there was; that at least would make some sense. It would mean whoever is casting wants others to believe I'm responsible for the violence these spells are unleashing. But to leave nothing…” He shook his head.

“Who do you think is doing this?”

Ethan's gaze slid away from hers toward the hearth. “I don't know.”

“Ethan.”

“I don't know, Kannice. I'm … I don't know.”

“But you suspect, don't you? I know you do. You believe it's Ramsey.”

He chanced a look at her. Despite the dim light in the great room, he could see that her cheeks had gone pale.

“Aye,” he said in a whisper. “I can't think of another conjurer who possesses both the skill and the ill nature to do something this … evil. But I don't even know if he's alive.”

“Of course you do.”

He dipped his chin, closing his eyes. “I've assumed all along that he survived the fire at Drake's Wharf, and that he would return eventually. I had hoped it wouldn't be so soon.”

Kannice put her arms around him again, and he pulled her close.

“He nearly killed you last time,” she murmured, “and now he has more cause than ever to hate you.”

There was little Ethan could say; she was right on both points.

“What will you do?” she asked, looking up into his eyes.

“I'll find him, I'll learn what he wants this time, and if I have to, I'll kill him.”

She took a deep breath and rested her head against his chest.

“First, though, I need to speak with Mariz, and perhaps I should see Janna again as well. It may be that they know more about this type of conjuring than I do.”

“Well, you're not going out again tonight, so take off that coat and come upstairs with me.”

He was in no mood to argue. “Yes, ma'am.”

*   *   *

Dreams of Nate Ramsey and their previous encounters haunted Ethan's sleep and woke him for good early in the morning. He slipped out of bed, dressed without waking Kannice, and descended the stairs to the tavern. Once more, he took some bread from the kitchen and left a few coins in the bar till. He stirred the coals in the hearth of the great room, and put two more logs on the gleaming embers. Soon he had a fine blaze burning. He settled into a chair by the fire and chewed his bread.

When he had finished, he pulled his knife from the sheath on his belt, pushed up his sleeve, and cut his forearm. “
Locus magi ex cruore evocatus.
” Location of conjurer, conjured from blood.

The spell rumbled in the floor and walls of the tavern, and his conjuring spread through the city, like ripples in a pond.

“Good morning,” Ethan said to Reg, who had winked into view near the fire.

Reg stood straight-backed, his head cocked to the side, as if he were waiting to see what the spell revealed.

“Did you find Ramsey?” Ethan asked.

The ghost shook his head. Despite his disappointment, Ethan was hardly surprised. Ramsey would never make things so easy for him.

For the same reason, he didn't expect his simple finding spell to work on the captain, but he still held out hope that some other conjurer was responsible for the spells he had felt. His finding spell revealed a conjurer in the North End; he assumed it was Grant. He also sensed two more a good distance to the south: most likely Mariz and Janna. And there seemed to be one more conjurer in the center of Boston, not far from the Dowser; he wasn't sure who this might be. But he found no conjurers near the waterfront or on the harbor. He would need to find this fourth conjurer, though he thought it unlikely that Ramsey, if he were alive, would venture so far into the city.

Reg watched him, avid, eyes glowing.

“Perhaps it's not Captain Ramsey after all,” Ethan said to the ghost. “We might have to do some hunting later today.”

The ghost grinned, then faded from view. Ethan stood and pulled on his greatcoat. As he did, he heard Kannice stirring upstairs.

“Ethan?” she called down to him.

“I'm still here. But I was about to leave.”

She descended the stairs, wearing a robe, her hair still disheveled. “Where are you going?”

“Sephira Pryce's estate.”

“Are you serious?”

“I told you I wished to speak with Mariz. That's where I'll find him.”

“Haven't you told me that she doesn't approve of your friendship with Mariz?”

He made no effort to conceal his amusement. “Aye.”

She arched an eyebrow. “There are times when it seems that you go out of your way to antagonize her.”

“Well, a man needs a hobby.”

“I'm serious, Ethan. She's no more fond of you than you are of her, and she has never been shy about threatening your life or ordering her brutes to beat you bloody.”

“She hates Nate Ramsey more than she hates me. When I tell her that he may be back, she'll be willing to let me speak with her pet conjurer. And I've just sensed another conjurer here in the city. She might want to know about that as well.”

Kannice narrowed her eyes. “Do you think she's beautiful?”

“I don't think it,” he said, without pausing to ponder his words. “I know it.”

She pressed her lips thin. “That was not the response I was looking for.”

Ethan walked to where she stood and took her hands in his. “Am I to understand that you're jealous of Sephira Pryce?”

Kannice's gaze dropped. “Well, you could have been a bit less adamant about how lovely she is.”

“You're right. I don't know what I was thinking. She's a hag, toadlike in appearance. I've seen sows that were more attractive.”

She laughed.

“Would you have believed me if I'd said that?”

“Probably not, but it would have been nice to hear.”