D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

When she came out again, she carried a small bundle wrapped in paper. Even before she handed it to him, Ethan he could smell the sorrel and mullein.

“The spell ain’t easy,” she said. “It has more than one part, an’ it has to be spoke just so.” She recited the conjuring to him in Latin a few words at a time, pausing between each section and inserting a word in English, so as to avoid actually casting the spell at that moment. Ethan repeated it back to her in the same way, and soon had it memorized.

When they had finished, Ethan reached for his hat and stood.

“You sure about this, Kaille?”

“Aye. I trust your herbs, and your spell.”

“But still, goin’ into that house might not be so smart.”

“When have I ever let that stop me?”

They both grinned.

“I really am sorry, Janna. About before.”

“I know. You be careful. Come back an’ buy more of my food.”

“I will.”

He let himself out of the tavern. The wind off the harbor had strengthened, but it did little more than stir the hot, sour air that had settled over the city. Ethan began the long walk back to the South End and Cornhill, where several of the people on Pell’s list had lived. He hadn’t gotten far, though, when he felt another spell rumble in the street beneath his feet.

He knew immediately that it was a finding spell. But rather than originating at Sephira’s house, like the finding spells Mariz had cast, this one came from farther off, though from a similar direction: the waterfront, to the south of the Battery, near Adams’ Wharf.

The spell rushed toward him, like a breaker sweeping over a beach. And when it reached him, it was nothing like the finding spells Mariz had cast: it was far more aggressive. This was no twining vine; rather it felt like hands reaching up out of the earth to grab at his legs. Just like in his dream. A heartbeat later, it was gone.

With Mariz’s spells Ethan knew what to expect. Usually the conjurer showed up within minutes of locating him. Sometimes Mariz was alone; other times he had the rest of Sephira’s toughs with him. But one way or another, when Ethan felt one of Mariz’s finding spells, he knew to expect a run-in with the Empress of the South End.

This spell promised another sort of confrontation. His previous encounters with Nate Ramsey had taken place in but a single day. Still, Ethan knew what Ramsey was capable of doing, and how he conducted his affairs. He didn’t think the captain would leave his ship to track Ethan through the city lanes. That spell had been a summons, and also a challenge.

Ethan’s good sense warred with his curiosity. He didn’t want to face Ramsey until he knew more about the spells the captain had cast and his purpose in returning to Boston. But for better or worse, Ramsey wanted to speak with him, and Ethan wished to know why. In the end, his curiosity prevailed. He followed Orange Street to Essex Street, turned eastward, and walked to the southern extreme of the South End waterfront. Upon reaching Windmill Point, Ethan halted and scanned the wharves and shipyards that projected into the harbor between the point and the South Battery to the northeast.

He wasn’t sure that he would recognize the Muirenn if he saw it moored beside other similar vessels. But he should have known that Ramsey wouldn’t waste Ethan’s time, or his own, by making him try.

Another spell pulsed, weaker than the previous one: an elemental spell, sourced in water or air. Ethan spotted an eagle wheeling above Tileston’s Wharf, the longest of the piers before him. It flew in lazy circles, its great wings held steady, its tail twisting in the wind. And then it faded from view: an illusion, conjured for his benefit. He followed the narrow harborfront lanes to the wharf and walked out onto the pier, eyeing each ship he passed.

Halfway to the end, he spotted a lone man standing on the deck of a pink. The man, whom Ethan recognized as Ramsey, marked his approach before disappearing from view. Ethan had checked his stride at the sight of him, but now he continued toward the ship. She was a small vessel, but clean and obviously well tended. She was tied between a pair of bollards, and sat light in the water. Whatever cargo she might have carried had already been off-loaded. Now that he saw her again, Ethan recognized the Muirenn . He wondered where Ramsey had gone, and went so far as to pull out the pouch of mullein he had bought from Janna. Warding himself would have been the prudent course of action. But the captain would feel the conjuring and would assume that Ethan had come looking for a fight. He put the mullein back into his pocket.

The ship’s gangplank was down, but Ethan paused at her prow, and called, “Ahoy, the Muirenn !”

“Ahoy!” came the reply. A moment later Ramsey appeared again. He stood at the rails amidships, holding a flask of what was probably Madeira and two cups. “You came.”

“I did. Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted.”

Ethan walked up the plank and hopped onto the deck just in front of the captain, who watched him with a faint, sardonic smile on his face.

The years had not touched Ramsey at all; he looked just as Ethan remembered. Tall, spear-thin, he had a long face and a dark, unruly beard. His eyes were pale and his grin exposed yellow, crooked teeth. He wore a white silk shirt and tan breeches, as he had the last time he and Ethan met.

Ethan proffered a hand, which Ramsey seized in a firm grip. An instant later he pulled Ethan into a rough embrace and thumped him on the back.

“It’s good to see you again, Kaille,” he said, the words colored with a faint Scottish burr.

Ramsey released him and Ethan took a step back. He couldn’t keep a smile from touching his lips even as his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Of course! Men like us-we don’t have many friends. We have to enjoy those we do have.”

“Forgive me, Captain, but the last time we met-the only time we met-we fought. We came close to killing each other. And you murdered two men I had been engaged to protect.”

“Aye, I remember. I also recall that you were not as keen on keeping those men alive after you heard my reasons for wantin’ them dead. And we were well matched, you and I. It’s not often that I find a conjurer who’s as skilled as I am.”

“That may be, but-”

“Leave it, Kaille. Friends, enemies. There aren’t that many people in this world who inspire passion in me one way or another. So stop arguin’ and drink with me.” He walked to a pair of barrels and sat, gesturing with the hand that held the two cups for Ethan to follow.

Ethan stared after the man, laughing to himself. He strolled to where Ramsey had perched himself and seated himself on the other barrel.

The captain filled one cup with wine and handed it to Ethan. After filling his own, he raised it. “What shall we drink to?”

“I believe we drank to your father last time,” Ethan said. “We should again.”

The look in Ramsey’s eyes hardened, but he nodded once and said, “Thank you,” as Ethan tapped the rim of his cup to Ramsey’s. They both drank.

“You look old, thieftaker. The years haven’t been kind to you.”

“I was thinking that you hadn’t changed at all.”

“Sure, I have,” Ramsey said. “I’m smarter now. Stronger, as well.”

“Is that a warning?”

“It’s a fact.”

“What brings you back to Boston?”

Ramsey let out a soft laugh. “That was direct.”

“It was a simple question.”

“I think we both know better.” He drank, nearly draining his cup. “I’m not ready to answer you. There’s more that I have to do, and I think you already know more than you’re lettin’ on.”