D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

“ Tegimen ex cruore evocatum, ” Ethan said under his breath. Warding, conjured from blood.

Ramsey faltered in midstep at the pulse of power. “A warding,” he said. “All that to cast a warding?”

Ethan climbed to his feet, Uncle Reg beside him.

“You know a warding doesn’t help you if I decide to have my men shoot you and dump your body in the harbor.”

“Or if you have them cut off my head and hand and carve that symbol into my chest.”

“Just so.”

“I don’t think you’re going to do those things,” Ethan said, hoping he sounded confident.

“Who was the conjurer, Kaille?”

“Why are you so eager to know?”

The captain didn’t answer.

“I’m not going to tell you,” Ethan said, “because I don’t want you desecrating the grave and mutilating the body. I don’t want this person’s family to suffer as other Boston families are suffering.”

Ramsey slid his knife from its sheath on his belt. “I can make you tell me.”

“You can try.”

The captain stilled, like a wolf when it spots prey. “What are you going to do? Even if you could match my conjuring power-which you can’t, not anymore-you would also have to overpower my crew. I think we both know that’s not going to happen.”

“You’re right,” Ethan said. “But I’m still not going to tell you.”

“Even knowing that I intend to torture you?”

“Aye,” Ethan said, his heart starting to labor. “I’ll not trade my safety for the soul of a friend.”

“You’re scared,” Ramsey said. “I can tell.”

“That changes nothing.”

Ramsey regarded him through narrowed eyes. A moment passed, and another. He sheathed his blade once more. “I’ll find out,” he said. “I sense that this person died recently. And you told me that the body isn’t at Copp’s Hill, or the Granary, or King’s Chapel. That was something else that I did just for you, by the way. Only desecrating graves in burying grounds where men like Cotton Mather are buried. I’m glad you noticed; I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t.” He shrugged. “Anyway, that means this conjurer must be in the Common Ground. I’ll find the grave.”

Realizing that Ramsey wouldn’t torture him after all, Ethan felt something in his chest loosen, even as he cursed himself for revealing as much as he had about Patience.

“You and I could be great friends, Kaille,” Ramsey said, still watching him. “You’re honest, you have some courage, you’re handy with a spell. From what I gather, you spent a good deal of time at sea as a younger man. What do you say? I could use another mate to help me sail the Muirenn , particularly one who can cast.”

Ethan almost laughed away the offer. But a quick glance at the captain’s face told him that would be a mistake. Regardless of what had passed between them this day, and in their last encounter, Ethan had a feeling that his proposal was genuine. “It’s been a long time since I took orders from anyone,” he said, choosing his words with care. “Being a thieftaker may not seem like much, but it does allow me to be master of my own fate. I wouldn’t want to give that up.”

The captain nodded, the smile on his face turning brittle. “I figured you would say as much,” he said. He gave a piercing whistle. Two men scurried over to them. “Prepare the pinnace. Mister Kaille will be returning to Boston now.”

“Aye, Captain,” said one of the men.

They moved to the starboard ratlines and swung themselves over the rail.

“I can’t guarantee your safety once you leave this ship,” Ramsey said, gazing back toward the city. “You don’t want to be part of my crew. I understand that. But you also don’t want to get in my way.” He looked at Ethan. “I’ll kill you if I have to.”

Ethan had been threatened before, more times than he cared to count, by toughs and overconfident thieves, as well as by Sephira Pryce. But this threat, from this obsessed and unbalanced conjurer, struck him as different, as more chilling. Even Sephira, who was as dangerous a rival as he could imagine, often seemed to admonish him out of pique or wounded pride. But Ramsey spoke of killing him with calm assurance. Ethan heard no boast in the words, and he knew that Ramsey didn’t speak for effect. Whatever his true abilities as a conjurer, he believed he could overpower Ethan at will, and he seemed perfectly willing to do so.

“I’ve been asked to inquire into the desecrations at King’s Chapel,” Ethan said, “and to recover that which was taken. I have a job to do.”

“You had a job to do last time as well,” Ramsey said testily. “You were supposed to keep Forrs and Keller alive. You didn’t. You should know better than to make promises you can’t keep.”

Ethan proffered a hand, rather than continue to argue the point. “Thank you for your hospitality, Captain. Whatever our disagreements, I have always thought the Muirenn a fine ship, with an admirable crew.”

It was, Ethan knew, as fair a compliment as he could offer to a ship’s captain.

Ramsey hesitated before responding, but then he shook Ethan’s hand and muttered, “Thank you.”

Ethan handed him the cup of wine. “Permission to leave the ship.”

“Granted.”

Ethan walked to the rail.

“Kaille.”

He turned toward the captain again, had time to note the gleaming blade in Ramsey’s hand, and the welling of blood on his forearm.

“ Pugnus ex cruore evocatus, ” the captain said. Fist, conjured from blood. Power pulsed; the ship shuddered with it, magnified as it was by the water beneath them. A stooped, glowing figure appeared beside Ramsey.

And an invisible blow to Ethan’s gut doubled him over, stole his breath.

“It seems your warding didn’t work after all. Ignis ex cruore evocatus. ” Fire, conjured from blood. This conjuring thrummed as the first one had.

Ethan’s right shirt sleeve burst into flames, searing the skin on his arm, his shoulder, his neck. He dropped to the deck and rolled back and forth until he managed to extinguish the fire. Lying there, panting, he heard Ramsey take a step toward him.

“From what I’ve heard in recent days,” the captain said, “I gather that some conjurers in Boston are finding it difficult to cast their spells. Or rather, are having trouble making them work. I hadn’t understood all I heard, but now I see that it’s true. How else do we explain the fact that an otherwise competent conjurer, one who I saw ward himself, should be so utterly vulnerable to simple conjurings like these? Discuti ex cruore evocatum. ” Shatter, conjured from blood.

Ethan felt the pulse, heard the snap of bone. Pain exploded in his left arm, tearing a cry from his throat. He cradled his arm to his chest. He still had mullein in his pocket, as well as Janna’s sachet, but he couldn’t be sure the next warding he tried would work any better than his first, and he wasn’t sure what more Ramsey would do to him if he sensed that Ethan was trying to conjure again.

“Did you recognize that last one?” Ramsey asked. “You used it against me the last time we met. It’s not very pleasant, is it?” The captain squatted beside him. “You can’t fight me, Kaille,” he said, in the same tone he might use to discuss cod runs off the New England shores. “And you should know better than to defy me when I ask you a question. I’ve half a mind to kill you where you lie and throw you overboard. But I’m going to enjoy destroying you slowly, and watching your desperate attempts to stop me from following through on my plans. You stopped being my equal as a conjurer long, long ago. Soon, I’ll have rendered you completely defenseless, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to prevent it.” He started to straighten, but stopped himself. “Oh, and the next time you try to flatter me by complimenting my ship and crew, I’ll snap your neck. You were a navy boy for less than a year, and you weren’t on the Ruby Blade for more than a week before you mutinied. You’re not qualified to judge my ship or her men.”