Thieftaker (36 page)

Ethan drew his blade and stared at the girl for some time, wondering which spell he ought to cast. Either of the spells he had used on Jennifer Berson the last time he was in this building—reveal power, or reveal source of power—would tell him whether she had been killed by a conjurer. But Ethan wanted to find some way to learn more about the conjurer who killed her. Chances were he had masked his power, just as he had with the spell that killed Jennifer. Ethan needed some way to overcome whatever precautions the conjurer had taken. But how?

When at last it came to him, the idea struck him as so simple that Ethan laughed out loud.

“What?” Pell asked.

“I think I’ve thought of a way to overcome the concealing spells this conjurer’s been using.”

“And that’s funny?”

“It’s simple, and one of the oldest spells I know. I should have thought of it days ago.” He pushed up his sleeve and cut his arm. Then, as he had with Jennifer, he dabbed his blood onto her face, neck, and chest. “
Revela omnias magias ex cruore evocatas.
” Reveal all magicks, conjured from blood.

Pell inhaled sharply at the sight of Uncle Reg, whose glowing form suddenly appeared beside Ethan.

At the same time, the entire chamber came to life, as if Ethan’s blood flowed through the walls, the ceiling, the stone beneath his feet. The torchlight flickered, though the air remained still, and Ethan shuddered, as from a sudden chill.

“I felt that,” Pell said in a hushed voice.

Ethan didn’t answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the girl, saw the blood vanish from her skin. And then he caught just a glimpse of what he had been hoping for. The light spread from her chest, as it had when he cast the spell on Jennifer’s body. In mere moments, she was sheathed in that same silver light that had enveloped the Berson girl. But in the instant between the first glimmer of light, and the spread of that silver glow, Ethan saw a flash of color.

It was a rich golden yellow, the color of the sun’s first rays on the sands of a beach or the last glimpse of daylight in the western sky. Ethan’s first thought was that a color that beautiful should never have been used for killing spells.

“Did it work?”

“You didn’t see it?” Ethan asked.

“I see how she’s glowing,” Pell said. “Is that how she’s supposed to look?”

He frowned. “That’s how Jennifer looked after I did a similar spell.” He beckoned the man forward with a wave of his hand. “You saw the way the light spread over her body, beginning over her heart.”

Pell nodded.

“The spell I cast is supposed to reveal the nature of all conjurings that have been set upon her. That silver light…” Ethan shook his head. “That’s not a natural color for this kind of power. The silver is a masking spell, something the conjurer used to conceal his first casting. The first spell was yellow. I saw just a hint of it before the silver covered it over. That was the true color of his casting. It spread from her heart as well, and I think it would have covered her entire body, just as the silver does. She was used as the source for another killing spell.”

“By a conjurer whose power is yellow?” the minister asked, clearly trying to follow what Ethan was telling him.

“Basically.”

“But I didn’t see any color from your spell.”

Ethan smiled. “That’s because you haven’t cast a revealing spell. What I saw with that yellow was not really his conjuring, but the residue of it. All spells leave behind some trace of the conjurer’s power. They also leave some trace of the source used by the conjurer to make the spell work. There’s a spell to reveal that, as well.”

Pell rubbed his forehead. “Of course there is.”

“If someone were to cast another revealing spell on her now, my spell would show up as well.” He paused, then, anticipating the minister’s next question, “The residue from my conjurings is rust-colored.”

“Like your ghost?”

“My guide,” Ethan said. “Yes, like him.”

“But if the color doesn’t show up without a … a revealing spell, what’s the use of knowing that? Why does it matter what color this conjurer’s power is?”

Ethan looked at the dead girl. “That’s an excellent question. The truth is, it doesn’t mean much unless I find the conjurer and see his guide. As you’ve pointed out, the color will be the same.”

“Is there a spell that reveals what another conjuring was intended to do?”

“No,” Ethan said. “I’m afraid not.”

“So, you don’t know what the conjurer did with this girl’s life. Or with Jennifer Berson’s.”

“Not yet.”

But even as he said this, Ethan felt something tugging at his mind, taunting him, remaining just beyond his reach. He did know; the answer was right there in front of him. But he couldn’t remember what it was.

“Ethan?”

“There’s something…” Ethan said, shaking his head slowly.

Before Pell could question him further, they both heard footsteps on the stairs. The minister stared at Ethan, the look on his face like that of a child caught in a lie.

“Can you do anything about that glow?” Pell asked.

“I’d have to cast another spell,” Ethan told him. “And it would work too slowly.”

“Damn!” the minister said, sounding very unministerlike.

A moment later, Henry Caner entered the corridor. He was alone—a small grace—but judging from the look on his face, Ethan guessed that the rector would have ordered him hanged had there been men of the watch with him.

“What is this?” Caner demanded, his words echoing loudly in the crypt. “What have you done to her?”

Ethan didn’t flinch from his glare. “I’ve cast a revealing spell, Reverend, sir.”

“In my church? How dare you!”

“He had no choice, Mister Caner,” Pell said. “I gave him leave to do it.”

“You had no right, Trevor! And your decision might well get you dismissed from this church, perhaps from the ministry!”

“It’s not Mister Pell’s fault,” Ethan said. “I would have cast the spell even if he had demanded that I leave. To be honest with you, Mister Caner, the sanctity of your church was the least of my concerns. And it should be the least of yours, too.”

“Meaning what?”

Ethan pointed at the stone table. “She was murdered by a conjurer, the same man who killed Jennifer Berson and quite possibly two other people.”

“That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done here. One act of evil can’t justify another.”

“Evil?” Ethan repeated.

“I warned you when last we spoke that I wouldn’t continue to tolerate your … black arts. I ought to give you over to the sheriff. In actuality this time.”

“I won’t let you do that, Mister Caner.”

“What did you say?” the rector demanded of Pell, his chins quivering.

“You heard me, Reverend, sir. Mister Kaille is trying to find a murderer, a conjurer who uses spells to kill. If you can’t see the difference between his conjurings and those of this monster, then perhaps I should find another church in which to serve God.”

Caner glared at him, and then at Ethan. “You see? You’ve poisoned his mind, set him against me, and against the Lord.”

“I don’t believe I have. You heard him. He still wishes to serve God. Just not necessarily here.”

“What are you doing, Trevor?” Caner asked, as if he hadn’t heard Ethan. “Don’t you see that he’s a threat to all that you believe? Don’t you understand that his very presence here is an affront to the Lord?”

“I don’t believe that’s true, Mister Caner,” Pell said.

Caner recoiled. “You don’t believe that Mister Kaille has desecrated these grounds with his witchcraft?”

“I believe that the circumstances justify what he did.” The minister hesitated, but only for a moment. “And I believe it’s possible that his gifts come not from Satan, but from our Lord God.”

The rector gaped at him, his small mouth hanging open.

“We can discuss theology later,” Ethan said. “For now, I need to know as much about this girl as you can tell me.”

Caner continued to stare at Pell, his expression more sad than angry, his heavy-lidded eyes making him look weary.

“Mister Caner?” Ethan said.

“There’s not much to tell,” the rector said, still eyeing the young minister. “She was found near the wharves in the South End, by a man and woman who were…” He paused, shook his head. “Well, in any case, they found her and sought out a member of the watch. The girl’s mother is a widow, and they have little money. I fear the girl was working in the streets, if you follow.”

Ethan winced. She was too young to have been leading such a hard life.

“You say there have been four murders?” Caner asked.

“I believe so. This girl, Jennifer Berson, the young boy who died on Pope’s Day—Brown was his name—and another who was killed the day that Ann and John Richardson were hanged.”

“The boy was killed by witchery? I thought he was run over by a cart.”

“He was,” Pell said. “But after he died.”

Caner’s brow creased. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“I know you don’t,” Ethan said, feeling sympathy for the rector in spite of all that had passed between them. “These people were killed by a conjurer, who used their lives to lend strength to his spells. And these spells, I believe, were intended to control the behavior of others.”

To his credit, the minister didn’t dismiss these claims out of hand. But neither did he sound convinced as he asked, “Do you know this for certain, or is it conjecture?”

“I have some proof,” Ethan said. He indicated the girl. “You see that glow—”

“You did that,” Caner said.

“Yes, I did. I cast a revealing spell. What you see there is the mark of the conjurer who killed her. If this man had killed her with an attack, the silver glow would be concentrated wherever his spell struck her. Instead, it covers her entire body, because instead of hitting her, like a conjured weapon, the spell drew the life out of her. It used her to bend the will of another. Killing her wasn’t the aim of the spell; her death was the means to another end.”

“This is sorcerous nonsense!” Caner said. “For all I know, you’re concocting all of this to confound me!”

Ethan shook his head. “You’re wise enough to know I’m not. I can take that spell off of her. It would take another casting, but I could do it. Then you would be free to examine her for yourself and see that there isn’t a single physical mark on her. But I don’t think I have to. You’ve already seen her. You know that a conjuring killed her. And now you know what kind of a spell it was.”

The rector regarded him grimly, his lips pressed thin. “The only conjurer that I know of in this city is you, Mister Kaille,” he finally said, the word “conjurer” sounding awkward coming from his mouth. “If she was killed by witchery, chances are you’re the one who did it. I should call for Sheriff Greenleaf right now.”

“Then do,” Ethan told him. “If you really believe I did it, then you’re right: You should have me hanged. A killing spell…” He faltered, his eyes stinging at the thought of Pitch. “It’s a relatively painless way to die, but it’s murder nevertheless. If I had done this, I would deserve whatever punishment you could imagine. But I didn’t.”

Caner shook his head fiercely. “You offer no proof! Your denials mean nothing to me. You’re a witch!”

“I’m a speller who is trying to prevent another tragedy. Consider what I’m telling you, Mister Caner. This girl’s murder had an even darker purpose, just like the other murders this conjurer committed. He used her death to cast another spell. And while I don’t know for sure, I believe that all these murders are connected, that they have some larger purpose. That’s why you must trust me, even though I’m a conjurer. I’m the only person who can stop him.”

Again the minister stared at him; he looked thoroughly unnerved. Which did he fear more: Ethan, or his own ignorance in matters relating to “witchery”?

“What is it you want me to do?” Caner finally asked, surrender in his voice.

“Well, you can start by promising that you won’t have me hanged.”

Caner waved a meaty hand, either dismissing the notion, or accepting it without argument, Ethan wasn’t sure which. “What else?” the rector asked.

Ethan started to answer, but then stopped, the memory coming to him at last. It hadn’t been his imagination; there had been something. “I need to borrow Mister Pell,” he said.

Caner narrowed his eyes. “What for?”

“Yes,” Pell said, his eyes wide with surprise. “What for?”

Ethan grinned at his friend. “I need to watch two people, and I’m but one man. I told you before that you might make a fine thieftaker. If Mister Caner will grant his permission, we can put that notion to a test.”

Caner scowled at them both. Pell fairly beamed.

Chapter

N
INETEEN

E
than was more eager than ever to speak with Cyrus Derne, eager enough that he had abandoned any hope of contriving another meeting between himself and the merchant. Derne had decided to use his money and influence to protect himself from Ethan’s questions; Ethan would use his conjuring skill to slip past the men Derne had hired as guards.

From King’s Chapel, Ethan made his way back to the Derne house on Bennet’s Street to confirm what he already suspected. The chaises were gone. Derne had probably returned to his wharf. Ethan went there next. Along the way, he stopped in a deserted alley and cast the same concealment spell he had used the previous evening while walking from Elli’s house to the Dowsing Rod. Once more he knew that he risked alerting the conjurer to his whereabouts, and if Derne was Jennifer Berson’s killer, the merchant would have no trouble seeing through Ethan’s spell. But he would deal with that when the time came. The casting would at least allow him to get past the guards at the base of Derne’s Wharf, and whatever others the merchant had positioned between the street and the warehouse where he had his office.

As Ethan walked, he took care to tread softly. This was easy enough on the cobblestones of Boston’s streets, but when Ethan reached Derne’s Wharf, it became far more difficult. Like most of Boston’s wharves, this one was made of fill: solid refuse from shops and homes piled into wooden cribs and covered over with a blend of dirt and sand, of crushed seashells and rock. There wasn’t a man alive who could walk on fill without leaving an imprint with every step. Even after he slipped past the first guards onto the wharf, he had to creep along its edge, constantly watching for anyone who might come too close. Late in the day, he might have been able to reach Derne’s office quickly, but in the middle of the afternoon the wharf was crowded enough that people were constantly walking past in one direction or the other.