D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

It wasn’t Dunc he doubted-much to his own surprise-but rather the robbers themselves. Even without finding any trace of conjuring power in the burying grounds, he remained convinced that the robberies were tied in some way to spellers. Several of the graves had contained items that might have been worth something: hair combs, a cane with a brass tip and ivory handle; Abigail Rowan had been buried wearing a small brooch. Why would ordinary thieves work so hard to dig up graves but then leave behind these sellable items? And who, other than a conjurer intent on dark spellmaking, would mark every corpse?

But while he thought it possible that a spellmaker had robbed the graves, he couldn’t imagine who this person might be. He knew Janna wasn’t involved, and he doubted that Gavin Black, who lived near Murray’s Barracks, would be party to such horrors either. Gaspar Mariz, on the other hand, might very well have committed such a ghastly crime on Sephira’s behalf. Before long, Ethan would need to speak with him, although first he would have to figure out how to arrange a conversation without also involving Nigel, Nap, and Gordon.

“There you are!”

He turned. Kannice was crossing to the bar bearing two canvas sacks filled with fowl, vegetables, and fish. Her cheeks were flushed, and he could see corded muscle beneath the skin of her slender arms. She kissed him lightly on the lips and heaved the bags onto the bar.

“Kelf!” she called.

The barman emerged from the back.

“There’s flour and cream waiting at the market. It’s paid for, but I couldn’t carry it.”

“Course you couldn’t,” Kelf said. He glanced at Ethan and shook his head. “Wisp of a thing like her-I don’t know how she carries anythin’.” He lumbered to the door. “I’ll be back.”

Kannice carried one of the sacks into the kitchen.

“Do you need help?” Ethan asked.

“Don’t you start, too!” she called.

“All right.” He waited until she came back for the second sack. “Kelf mentioned that someone came in looking for me.”

“That’s right. A young couple, Darcy and Ruth Walters. Darcy said you knew his mother.”

Ethan felt an involuntary shudder run through his body. “Aye,” he whispered.

Kannice’s brow creased. “Are you all right?”

“What else did he say?” Ethan asked.

“Just that they needed your help.”

“I’m sure they do.” He drained his ale and headed for the door.

“Who are they? Who was his mother?”

“A conjurer,” Ethan said over his shoulder. “She died a fortnight ago.”

Patience Walters was a spellmaker of modest abilities who lived in New Boston until succumbing to pneumonia in mid-June. Ethan had gotten to know her only in the last year or two of her life, but he enjoyed her company. She was a diminutive woman with bright green eyes, a quick smile, and a soft, almost demure laugh. She liked to talk about conjuring-something Ethan didn’t get to do very often-and though she did not cast many spells in the last years of her life, she seemed to take great pleasure in asking Ethan questions about his spellmaking. He downplayed his own talent, often telling her that he knew of several spellers, including Janna, who could tell her far more about conjuring than he could, but each time she would wave off his protestations and ask him for another story.

Darcy had not inherited his mother’s abilities, but he and Ruth welcomed Ethan into their home, and often sat with him and Patience as they talked. Ruth had recently given birth to a son, Benjamin, whom they named for Darcy’s deceased father.

With all that he had seen this day, Ethan had little doubt as to why they wished to engage his services. Still, he was puzzled. Patience had been buried only a fortnight before in the Common Burying Ground, and Ethan had seen no disturbed graves there. He even convinced himself that because no one who had been involved in the old witch trials was buried there, the burying ground had been spared. He had attended Patience’s funeral, and so knew exactly where on the grounds she had been buried. Yet today he had been too distracted to think of seeking out her grave in particular. She had died so recently; if any graves at the burying ground had been robbed, hers would have been one of them. He berated himself for his carelessness.

The Walters house was a small brick structure on Lynde Street, near the West Meeting House, and only a short walk from the Dowser. Ethan covered the distance in as little time as his bad leg would allow, and knocked on the door rather more forcefully than necessary.

He had to wait but a moment before the door opened.

“Ethan!” Darcy said. “We didn’t expect you so soon.”

“I came as quickly as I could,” he said.

Darcy waved him into the house, and shut the door behind him. He was taller than his mother, although not by much. In other ways-the vivid green eyes, the oval face, the easy, open manner-he resembled her a good deal. He wore his dark hair in a plait and was dressed plainly in a white linen shirt and brown breeches.

Ruth sat by the window holding Benjamin in her arms, her long, wheaten hair reaching nearly to the floor, her round face pale and a bit pinched. Ethan hoped that she was well.

“Good day, Ruth.”

“Good day, Ethan,” she said, managing a smile that brought a hint of color to her cheeks.

“Kannice told me you were engaged in another inquiry,” Darcy said. “I’m sorry to take you away from that.”

“I’m not sure you are taking me away from it. Indeed, I think I know just why you sought me out.”

Darcy frowned. “You do?”

“Aye. I fear so.” Ethan hesitated. Darcy and Ruth might not know yet of the mutilations; he would want to present those tidings to them as gently as possible. Once more he wondered how Patience’s grave could have been disturbed; he had walked every path in the burying ground, and though he had failed to look for her headstone in particular, he had not noticed any disturbed graves. Perhaps whoever was responsible for the robberies was as brazen as he was cruel, and had struck in the middle of the day, in the hours since Ethan’s visit to the burying ground. This was the only explanation that made any sense to him. “Did someone come to tell you what had happened,” he asked, “or did you go out to the burying ground yourselves?”

Darcy regarded him the way he might a babbling lunatic. “The burying ground? Ethan, what are you talking about?”

“Your mother, of course, and the desecration of her grave.”

“What?” Darcy and Ruth said simultaneously, her voice so sharp that Benjamin began to fuss.

“Something’s been done to her grave?” Darcy asked.

“Isn’t that why you came to the Dowser?”

Darcy shook his head. “No. But if something’s happened-”

“Perhaps it hasn’t,” Ethan said. He should have been relieved, but instead he felt his apprehension increase. “Forgive me. Tell me what it is you want me to do.”

Darcy and Ruth shared a look. She had paled again.

“It is about Mother,” Darcy said. “She’s been dead and buried for two weeks now. But … but her shade is still here.”

Ethan gave an involuntary shiver. “Her shade?”

“Aye. In her bedroom.”

“And has it been here since the day of her death?”

Darcy glanced at Ruth again.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I first noticed her three days ago. I thought … I was afraid that I had imagined it, so it wasn’t until yesterday that I told Darcy.”

“Ruth is awake late at night more than I am. Because of Benjamin. And she wanders the house.”

Ethan nodded. He had encountered ghosts too many times to count. He saw Reg most every day. Shades did not usually frighten him. But this … A trickle of sweat ran down his temple. “Have you tried to speak with her? Do you have any idea why she’s come back?”