D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

Keeping his concealment spell in place, Ethan walked back down to Tileston’s Wharf. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but he wanted to know what Ramsey was doing.

Upon reaching the wharf, however, Ethan halted, his gaze sweeping over the pier. The Muirenn was gone.

He strode toward the bollards to which it had been moored, heedless now of making noise. There was no one on the wharf, and he had nothing to fear.

Or so he thought.

As he neared the bollards, he felt the brush of a conjuring on his face, neck, and chest, as if he had walked through a spiderweb.

He knew that feeling. Detection spell! he had time to think.

The blow caught him full in the chest, knocking him off his feet. He landed hard on his back, the air rushing from his lungs. He rolled over, tried to stand, but already he sensed that his vision was darkening. He collapsed to the ground again, and knew no more.

* * *

Consciousness lapped at his mind like gentle waves. The floor beneath him seemed to roll and he squeezed his eyes shut, fearing that if he opened them, his vision would spin. Sounds reached him-the familiar creak and groan of a ship-and he realized that he was asea.

“A concealment spell? A deserted wharf? You’re fortunate that we found you at all.” Ramsey’s voice.

Ethan forced his eyes open and saw the captain and several members of his crew standing over him. They were on the deck of the Muirenn . Torches burned in sconces mounted on the masts. “After a few minutes of searching, some of my men were ready to leave you there, to be trampled in the morning.” Ramsey squatted. “But I wouldn’t do that to you, Kaille.”

Ethan sat up, and found himself staring down the barrels of three flintlock pistols.

“Slowly,” Ramsey warned, straightening. “They probably won’t shoot you without me telling them to, but you wouldn’t want to take any chances.”

One of the men chuckled; the others leered at Ethan.

“A detection conjuring,” Ethan said, rubbing the back of his neck. His entire body hurt. “That was quite a precaution to take when your ship wasn’t even moored at the wharf anymore.”

Ramsey shrugged and took a drink from a flask of wine. “Not really. It was specific to you. Anyone else could have walked onto the wharf, and they wouldn’t have known I’d cast.”

“Why were you so interested in me?”

“What were you doing on that dock?” This last he asked with sudden intensity, and with none of his usual sardonic humor. He glanced at the men standing with him. “Leave us, lads. Our friend isn’t going anywhere, and I don’t imagine he’ll do anything too foolish.”

The men holding pistols lowered them, and all of the sailors moved off toward the ship’s stern. Ramsey extended a hand to Ethan. Ethan gripped it, and the captain pulled him to his feet. He braced his feet, enduring a moment of dizziness-a result of Ramsey’s spell, no doubt. As a younger man, he had spent much of his time at sea; already he could feel himself adjusting to the gentle pitch and roll of the vessel.

“What were you doing?” Ramsey asked again.

“I had planned to spy on you.”

The captain nodded and clapped him on the back. “I’ve always liked that about you, Kaille. Whatever else you might be, you’re honest.”

“How did you know to cast the detection spell?”

Ramsey laughed. “You had to come back, after what I said the last time we spoke.”

“But you had left. There was nothing for me to see. I don’t understand this, Ramsey.”

Ramsey found an empty pewter cup on a barrel, poured some Madeira into it, and handed the cup to Ethan. “I know you don’t. You’re not supposed to. Soon perhaps. But you must realize, even after you’ve learned everything there is to know, you won’t be able to stop me.”

Ethan sipped the wine, eyeing him over the rim of his cup. “Then there’s no danger in telling me what you intend to do.”

The captain flashed a wicked grin and took another swig from the flask. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“All right, how’s this?” Ethan said. “I can stop you, and I will. It’s not the hands and heads that are most important. I understand that now. And the mutilation of the feet-that was just something you did to draw my attention. Which means that on some level you want me to understand it all. But the key to it all lies in that symbol you carved into the chests of the cadavers.”

Ramsey gazed back at him, his grin had faded, though the ghost of it remained on his lips. His eyes gleamed with torch fire.

“What does it mean? Where does that symbol come from?”

The captain tapped his temple with his forefinger. “It’s one of my own. But go on. This is all very interesting.”

“All right,” Ethan said. He knew little else, but if he could keep Ramsey talking, he might learn something of value. And as long as they were speaking, Ramsey wouldn’t kill him. Or so he hoped.

“The ghosts you’ve brought back are yours to control. You haven’t done anything with them yet, but you have it in mind to.”

Ramsey shook his head, appearing disappointed. “You’re grasping now. You don’t know anything at all, do you?”

He should have known better than to allow himself to be goaded, but Ramsey had a way of twisting Ethan’s emotions, of turning them to his own purposes. “I know more than you think,” he said. An image of a ghost appeared in his mind: Patience Walters, her form suffused with that odd green glow. “For instance,” Ethan said, “I know that the ghost of a conjurer looks different from these other shades you control.”

Ramsey’s face fell. “What are you talking about? What conjurer?”

“The conjurer’s form hadn’t been mutilated,” Ethan said, ignoring the questions and thinking back on what he had seen at the Walters house. “There were no signs of decay, either. Nothing to indicate that the conjurer had been dead and buried. Whatever you’re doing affects conjurers differently.”

“What conjurer?” Ramsey asked again, his voice rising. Several members of the Muirenn ’s crew looked their way.

“I had thought you ignored this person’s grave because it wasn’t in one of the older burying grounds, where you did your dark work. It wasn’t with Cotton Mather, John Sewall, and John Cotton. That was intentional, wasn’t it? Violating the burying grounds where those who have persecuted conjurers are buried?” When Ramsey said nothing, he shrugged and went on. He was guessing now, still grasping at whatever came to mind. But Ramsey grew more agitated with every word he spoke, and Ethan sensed that he had stumbled upon a weakness in the captain’s planning. “I wonder now if you would have intentionally disturbed any grave belonging to a conjurer. I think not. That would have made all of this much harder. Isn’t that so?”

Ramsey lunged forward and grabbed Ethan by the collar. “Tell me who it was!” he demanded, his breath stinking of wine.

“I don’t think I will.”

All of Ramsey’s men were watching them now. Several of them had come closer. Ethan knew that he was taking a risk, but right now he was helpless, which seemed the greatest risk of all. He could use the mullein he carried, but he didn’t want to alert Ramsey to the fact that he had it. Mullein was valuable, a powerful herb; Ramsey would not scruple to take it from him. So he ignored the captain’s question, knowing that eventually doing so would infuriate the man.

“What do the dead give you, Ramsey? And what would a dead conjurer do to complicate matters?”

“ Who. Was. It? ” Ramsey said, shouting the words. He reared back and hit Ethan in the jaw.

Ethan sprawled across the deck, tasting blood. It took a few seconds for his vision to clear, and by the time it did, Ramsey was striding toward him.