Dead Man's Reach (28 page)

“Aye,” Ethan said. “That's it precisely. I don't want to run. I refuse.”

Janna studied him, her expression as hard as obsidian. “All right then. When it comes time to fight him again, you know where to find me.”

Ethan had to smile. “I do. And I'm grateful to you, Janna.”

She waved away his gratitude as if it were a fly. “Let me get them herbs for you.”

Janna left the the kitchen once more. Ethan picked up the books and followed her. His pulse had slowed, and an odd calm had settled over him like a cloak. The surety that Ramsey was in fact alive and back in Boston, the weight of Janna's books in his hand, his resolve not to leave the city until he had found and defeated Ramsey: All of these served to quiet his mind. He remained afraid of the harm Ramsey might do with one of his spells, and he still felt as though he were corrupted and diseased by the man's spells. But he would not surrender to Ramsey or to his conjurings, and he clung to that determination to fight the way he would a spar of wood in a storm-roiled sea.

“Here you go,” Janna said, presenting him with a pair of fragrant pouches. “That's betony on the left and horehound on the right. If you forget which one is which, remember that betony is sweeter, horehound more bitter.”

“Thank you, Janna. How much do I owe you?”

“Four shillin's.”

Ethan pulled five shillings from his pocket and handed the coins to her. “That's for my supper and ale as well.”

Janna glanced at them and slipped them into the folds of her dress. “I meant what I said. When it comes time to fight, you find me. Understand?”

“I will.”

He reached for his tankard, which still sat on the bar next to his half-empty bowl of stew, and drained what was left of his ale. He picked up his hat, pulled on his greatcoat, and left the Spider for the cold.

Ethan knew that Kannice would be concerned about him, wondering where he was, but he returned to his room on Cooper's Alley, and after restarting the fire in his stove, he sat on his bed and began to thumb through the first of Janna's books.

He searched for any mention of a spell that enabled a conjurer to use the power of another, regardless of whether the second speller gave his consent for such a conjuring. Finding nothing in the first book, he tossed it aside and picked up the second, a volume titled
Spells and Incantations of the Necromancers
, which had been published in London in 1632. Ethan leafed through this book, once again finding nothing that could help him. He was about to give up on this one and look at the third book when he came upon a page describing “The borrowed incantation.”

He sat up and lit a candle. And then he read.

It was not exactly what Ethan was looking for, but one line in the book's description of the spell caught his eye. “The borrowed incantation enables one witch to use the power of another to accomplish what he might not on his own.”

There was no mention of the “borrowed incantation” in the remaining pages of the book, nor did he find mention of it when he again scanned the first book.

But the third volume,
A Collection of Spells and Conjurings
, devoted pages to it. According to the author, a man named Thaddeus Beralt, conjurers might borrow spells from allies or steal them from foes. He seemed to assume that this “borrowing” would always take place in the context of conjuring battles and would require that one conjurer be in close proximity to another. But in every other way, what he described resembled what Ramsey had been doing with Ethan's power.

“A determined necromancer might pilfer magick from another with ease provided that the second witch is unaware of what the first intends, and has taken no precautions against such violation.”

Ethan frowned at this and searched adjacent pages for other references to the precautions a conjurer might take. He found none.

Returning to the beginning of the volume, he scanned each yellowed, brittle page with more care. Outside, the sky darkened; eventually Ethan had to light additional candles. He found several references to warding spells, as well as to herbs that might be used to enhance a “witch's” protection. To Janna's credit, mullein, betony, and horehound were mentioned more often than any other herbs.

But Ethan reached the end of the book without finding anything more about conjurings intended specifically to prevent the borrowing or theft of magick by another speller.

“
Veni ad me.
” Come to me.

An instant later, Reg stood over him, gleaming balefully in the small room. Ethan opened the second book to the page on which borrowed spells were mentioned and held it up for the ghost to see.

“Have you heard of these conjurings?” he asked.

Reg scanned the page, his bushy eyebrows bunched. Looking at Ethan again, he nodded.

“This is what Ramsey is doing to me, isn't it?”

The ghost hesitated, and when at last he nodded it was with some reluctance.

“Something similar, perhaps?”

Yes.

“Do you know how I can stop him from casting these spells? Is there a way to deny him use of my power?”

He knew from Reg's forlorn expression that the ghost would shake his head.

“But this book—” He picked up the third text and riffled the pages until he found the correct one. “It mentions ‘precautions against such violation.' That must mean that there are wardings I can put in place, spells I can cast to keep him from using me in this way.”

Reg opened his hands.
I don't know.

“Very well,” Ethan said. “
Dimitto te.
” I release you.

Once Reg was gone, he reached for the first book once more and began to read the volume more closely from the first page.

*   *   *

He stayed awake for much of the night and read through all three of Janna's books. Though he found a few more pages on which borrowed spells were mentioned, most of these were passing references. He read nothing that told him how to protect himself from Ramsey. When at last he lay down to sleep, he was as frustrated as he had been before studying the texts, and only slightly more knowledgeable.

His sleep was fitful and he roused himself with first light so that once more he could pay a visit to the Paxton mansion. He followed the same circuitous route to the commissioner's estate, but while he avoided the barracks this way, he did nothing to fool Ramsey. Even as he approached Paxton's door, a spell growled in the earth beneath him. He knocked on the door, gazing back at the rope yard and then down the street toward Green's Barracks as he did. But he saw neither soldiers nor journeymen. It almost seemed that the captain was toying with him, casting the spells for the sheer purpose of scaring Ethan. Reg had appeared beside him, but he spared Ethan not a glance. He, too, was watching for soldiers.

To Ethan's relief, Paxton answered his knock before Ramsey could cast a second spell.

“Mister Kaille,” the commissioner said, clearly surprised to see Ethan on his doorstep once more. “I didn't expect you today.”

The commissioner was dressed in a black silk coat and breeches. Belatedly Ethan realized that it was Sunday morning and that Paxton and his wife would be on their way to church before long.

“No, sir. Please forgive the intrusion.”

“Do you have news for me?”

“I believe I do. I was hoping I might come in and speak once more with your servant.”

Paxton's expression darkened. “If you mean Louisa, I'm afraid that's impossible. She's gone.”

A wave of nausea crashed over Ethan. “Gone where?” he asked, though of course he knew what Paxton would say.

“I've no earthly idea. She stole away sometime during the night. When my wife and I awoke this morning, she had already gone and had taken all of her things. Her room is completely empty.”

“This is my fault,” Ethan said, removing his hat and raking clawed fingers through his hair.

“Your fault? What do you mean?”

He donned his hat once more and looked Paxton in the eye. “Louisa and Private Fleming were working together. Her tears yesterday were a ruse, as was her visit with her infirm parents. I believe she has the stolen items hidden in their home.”

“I'm deeply sorry to hear that,” Paxton said. “But in what way is this your fault.”

“I spoke to Fleming yesterday and wrung the truth from him. I should have called the sheriff straightaway, but I didn't think that Fleming would desert, nor did I believe that Louisa would run off. I assumed that I would have this chance to confront her.”

Paxton's frown had deepened. “I must tell you that I'm disappointed, Mister Kaille. Geoffrey Brower led me to believe that you were a skilled thieftaker. I expected better from you.”

“And you shall have it, sir. You have my word.”

“What will you do?”

“What is Louisa's family name?”

“Allen. At least this is what she told me.”

“And where is her parents' home?”

“She said it was in Medfield, but you have proved her false, Mister Kaille. Shouldn't we assume that everything she told me was a lie?”

“Not necessarily, sir. Sometimes a succession of small truths can conceal a larger falsehood. And Fleming mentioned to me that her parents' home was along the Middle Road.”

“I have little personal experience with such things and so have no choice but to place my trust in you again. But I do so reluctantly.”

“I understand, sir,” Ethan said, starting away from the door. “But I swear to you that your property will be found.”

Ethan didn't wait for a reply, nor did he tarry by the rope yard, though he could see that once more Ramsey's spell had drawn soldiers and journeymen into the ice-covered lane.

He left Hutchinson's Street at its south end, and followed Cow Lane down to Summer Street. Soon, he stood again before the entrance to Sephira Pryce's mansion. Afton opened the door this time, and glowered down at him.

“What do you want now?”

“I need to speak with Sephira.”

The brute set his jaw and Ethan thought he would refuse and send him away. But then he said, “Right then, wait here,” drawling the words. Though he closed the door, Ethan could hear him lumber through the house.

He pulled the door open again moments later and held out his hand. Ethan handed over his knife and his pouches of herbs. Sephira's man eyed these dubiously, but gestured for Ethan to enter. After shutting the door once more, he led Ethan into the common room, where Sephira stood before a blazing fire. She wore a dress of dark blue satin, rather than her usual breeches and waistcoat. He had to admit that she looked even more beautiful than usual. But while her garb was different, the amused, somewhat mocking expression on her face was all too familiar. Nap, Gordon, and Mariz stood nearby, looking far more grim than she.

“Ethan. What a surprise. You're starting to make a habit of this. Does your little friend with the tavern know how much time we've been spending together?”

“Good day, Sephira.”

“Have you come to speak with me, or with Mariz?”

“With you,” Ethan said. “I have a business proposition for you.”

She considered him briefly, then gestured toward the chair next to hers. Ethan removed his greatcoat and sat.

“A business proposition,” she repeated. “Explain yourself, and do it quickly, please; I was about to make my way to the meeting house.”

Of course; that would explain the dress. Ethan could hardly imagine Sephira attending church. He considered saying as much, but thought better of it.

“I was hired by Charles Paxton to retrieve some jewels that were pinched from his home.”

“Yes, I'd heard,” she said. “I hadn't yet decided whether or not to let you keep that job. Paxton isn't as wealthy as Josiah Wells, but he is a man of some means. I would have preferred that he come to me.”

Ethan smiled. “Well, then this should be rather simple. You can have the job. I'll even tell you where to find the jewels, so that you can collect the balance of what he owes me.”

“Why would you do this?”

“Because I have more important matters to which to attend. I can't take the time to retrieve Paxton's property.”

Sephira bristled. “And so you thought to give me your castoffs? Of all the impudent … I should have Nap and Gordon here beat you bloody.”

“Forgive me, Sephira. I phrased that poorly. Under most circumstances, I would gladly get the jewels myself, but I can't now. It's not that I have a better job; it's that my life is in danger, and I can't afford to leave Boston right now.”

This seemed to do little to mollify her. “We would have to leave Boston?”

“Aye. Paxton was robbed by a soldier named Jimmy Fleming, a private with the Twenty-ninth. But he was working with one of Paxton's servants. Her name is Louisa Allen. According to Fleming, she has the jewels hidden at her parents' home in Medfield. Louisa left the Paxton home last night—I assume that Jimmy is with her, though I could be mistaken. In any case, we haven't much time. She must know that Jimmy told me where she took the jewels; she won't remain there for long.”

“How much is Paxton paying you?”

“He gave me two pounds ten when I began my inquiry. Upon returning the jewels to him, he'll pay another four and ten.”

“Seven pounds,” Sephira said, raising an eyebrow. “You're learning, Ethan.” She picked up a goblet from a small table beside her chair and sipped her wine. “Still, I'm not sure it would be worth our time to travel all the way out to Medfield for a mere four and ten.”

“You want me to give you more?”

“I want you to
tell
me more,” she said, still holding the wineglass.

“I've told you everything that—”

“Not about Paxton and his servant. I want to know what or who has you so fearful that you would offer me coin we both know you need.”