D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

“I’m sorry,” she said, draping her arms around his neck. She kissed him. “I’m not supposed to be the sort who gets hysterical over trifles.”

“This is hardly a trifle.”

She gave a little shrug. “Still. You can’t just up and leave Boston. I know that. To be honest, I can’t either.” A weak smile touched her lips. “Where would Tom Langer get his ale if not here?”

“Now, that is a fair question.”

She kissed him a second time and broke away, heading to the bar. “Anyway, I won’t mention it again.”

“I had thought of saying that you should go to your sister’s. I was going to offer to take you there myself. Once you were settled I would come back to continue my work. But I was afraid you’d be angry with me.”

She walked back to where he stood. “Not angry, really. It’s a kind offer, though I believe I can find my way on my own.”

“Would you consider going?” he asked. “I’d rest easier if I knew you were out of harm’s way.”

Kannice shook her head. “I’ve already lost one man to smallpox, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave you here to face this epidemic on your own. I’d rather be sick with you, than far away wondering if you’re all right.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure that’s completely reasonable.”

Kannice arched an eyebrow. “But?”

“But I appreciate it nevertheless. And I have no intention of letting either of us get sick.”

Her eyes went wide. “Can you…? I mean, does your…?”

For all their time together, Kannice had never felt comfortable speaking of his spellmaking.

“My powers don’t work that way,” he said. But even as he answered her, he found himself thinking back on a conversation he’d had with Janna the year before. He had gone to ask her, as he often did, if it was possible for a conjurer to do something that he assumed was impossible.

To which Janna had replied, reproach in her voice, “All the time you ask me if spells can do this or spells can do that. Haven’t you learned yet? Spells can do anythin’ if the conjurer castin’ them is strong enough.”

So why couldn’t he do this? Or if he wasn’t strong enough, why couldn’t Janna? He didn’t expect that she could guard them against the distemper indefinitely, but he also couldn’t remember hearing of a conjurer dying from smallpox in Boston, or even one being taken with the disease.

“What are you thinking?” Kannice asked him.

“That maybe I was too quick to say no.” He turned and started toward the door.

“You just got here,” she called after him. “Where are you going now?”

“To speak with Janna.”

“Don’t you want to eat first?”

“I’ll buy food from her. She tells me more when I do.” He smiled.

So did she. “You’ll be back later?”

“I promise.”

He walked to the Fat Spider heedless of his limp and the growing ache in his bad leg. As soon as Janna saw him enter, she raised a finger to warn him off of asking her questions. Ethan silenced her by holding up a shilling.

“Can I have some food and perhaps a bit to drink?” he asked, removing his hat, and taking a seat at a table near the bar. The tavern was mostly empty, but it smelled of fresh bread and one of Janna’s dark, spicy stews.

“You think you can come in here an’ buy my food an’ get all sorts of information out of me. Well, I’m tellin’ you, Kaille: I’ve got other things-”

“Which would you prefer, Janna? That I buy your food and get information from you, or get my information from someone else, and spend no money here at all?”

She glowered at him, her mouth twisting. But without another word she retreated into her kitchen to get him his meal. She emerged again moments later and placed a bowl and a round of bread in front of him.

“Ale?” she asked.

“Please.”

She filled a tankard and set that on the table as well. For a few seconds she stood over him. Then, with a huffed breath that signaled her surrender, she sat. “Go ahead an’ ask.”

“This stew is excellent,” he said, and meant it.

“I know that.”

Ethan took another bite and laid his spoon aside. “You’ve told me in the past that any spell is possible if the conjurer casting it is strong enough.”

“That’s right.”

“Are you afraid of smallpox, Janna?”

A smile crept over her face. “You’re gettin’ smarter and smarter, aren’t you?”

He felt his pulse quicken. “So, you do know how to protect yourself from it?”

“It’s not just a spell,” she said.

“An herb as well.”

She nodded, coy now. “A lot of them. I have a recipe I use.”

“Mullein?” Ethan asked.

“That’s one. There’s wood sorrel in it, too. And larkspur, windflower-the blossoms, not just the leaves-Saint-John’s-wort, sassafras, and…” She grinned again. “Well, a few others. I gather them all in a sachet and sell those. Each is good for one spell.”

“I need to buy some from you.”

“This just for you or for your woman, too?”

“Does it matter?”

She grew serious. “It matters how you use the sachet and how you word the spell. This is high magick, Kaille. Harder than most of your ordinary conjurin’.”

“But if it protects against-”

“It guards you from the pox, but it’s a matter of how long it lasts. An’ if there be two of you…”

“I need to go into the house of someone who just died of smallpox. And I might not be able to wait until it’s been thoroughly cleaned and smoked.”

She scowled. “That’s what I mean. That kind of foolishness will take a whole sachet by itself. These are not made to protect you from bein’ stupid, an’ they ain’t cheap.”

“How much?”

“Three crowns each.”

Ethan stared back at her before reaching for his ale. “Three crowns?”

“They take time to put together, an’ the windflower blossoms alone are worth almost half that.”

“If I didn’t go into the house, if I just used them to stay well during this outbreak, how long would a sachet last?”

Janna shrugged her bony shoulders, her gaze sliding away. “I can promise a fortnight. After that…” She shrugged again.

“Do these really work, Janna?”

She sat forward quickly, her expression so fierce that Ethan almost dropped his tankard. “You’re damn right they work!”

“I apologize,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, you shouldn’t have! You know me longer an’ better than just about anyone in this town. An’ you ask me if somethin’ I’m sellin’ is gonna work?” She shook her head. “You should know better.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He reached into his pocket. “I’d like to buy one, but one is all that I can afford right now.”

She nodded, her lips pursed. She wouldn’t look at him. “What are you goin’ to do with it?”

He didn’t answer right away. The truth was, a fortnight of protection for either him or Kannice was worth little. This outbreak would surely last longer than that; epidemics always did. But if this concoction of Janna’s, along with whatever spell she taught him, could keep him safe while inside the Tyler house, that might well be worth the money he would have to spend. If Mrs. Tyler’s ghost was there and could communicate with Reg.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Goin’ in that house is crazy. You know that. This is meant to protect you from getting’ sick when you’re goin’ about your business. But what you’re talkin’ about…”

“Will it protect me?”

She sucked at her teeth, nodded. “I think so.”

“All right.” He counted out the money and handed it to her.

She took it, dropped it in her pocket without bothering to count it herself, and walked behind her bar to the room in which she stored her herbs.