D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

Patience’s corpse was not as far gone in decay as others he had seen in recent days, which actually made this worse. Her skin was mottled, blotchy, her body distended.

He hesitated to touch her, not only because he dreaded what he was about to do, but also because he didn’t know where to place his mark, or what mark to use.

“Get on with it, Ethan,” Diver said from several paces away.

Right. Steeling himself, he worked the corpse free of the burial cloth. Then he loosened the ties of her mantua and rolled the body onto its side so that he could reach her back. With his knife still in hand, he cut a symbol into her skin that was both similar to Ramsey’s and different: an inverted triangle with a line from each leg converging at the center of the top piece.

He didn’t wish to use blood for this conjuring; he didn’t like the idea of using blood spells on the dead. But he also didn’t think that mullein would be strong enough.

Mulling the decision, it occurred to him that he had a third choice: Janna’s sachet.

He pulled the gathered herbs from his pocket and held the bundle in the palm of his hand.

“ Tegi hunc corpus et spiritum contra magias, sit immune ab aliena auctoritate, ex herbis et signo meo evocatum. ” Protect this corpse and its spirit from magick, keep it free from the influence of others, conjured in herbs and this symbol.

The thrum of power from this spell seemed to make the earth tremble. Pell, who had conjuring blood in his veins and so could feel the conjuring as Ethan did, gaped at him. Ethan stared at his empty hand where Janna’s sachet had been, marveling at the potency of her concoction.

“Do you know if it worked?” Ethan asked Uncle Reg.

The ghost opened his hands.

“What does that mean?” Pell asked.

“It means he doesn’t know.”

“Who doesn’t know what?” Diver asked, looking from Ethan to the young minister.

“My spectral guide doesn’t know if the spell worked. We won’t know until Ramsey comes and desecrates the grave.” We might not even know then.

Ethan rolled the corpse back onto her back, retied her gown, fitted the burial cloth around her as well as he could, and put the coffin lid back in place, taking care to line up the nails with the holes they had been in. “Diver, see if you can find a rock.”

It took him a minute or two, but soon Diver had found a rock that was about the size of his fist. He tossed it to Ethan, who wrapped it in his waistcoat and used it to hammer the lid down until it sat square and was fastened tight to the coffin sides once more.

He climbed out of the grave and retrieved his spade. Diver grabbed his as well, and together they shoveled dirt back onto the coffin. When they had finished, Ethan smoothed the earth as much as possible, trying to make it appear that the site had not been disturbed since Patience’s burial. At last, he picked up his knife, which he had left on the ground when he picked up his spade, and wiped the blade on the grass. He hoped he wouldn’t have to conjure with blood until he had a chance to wash the knife properly.

The sun sat on the horizon, a great orange ball, and a cool wind, the first in days, had freshened from the east.

“I’m grateful to both of you. I couldn’t have done this alone.”

“I pray that it works,” Pell said.

Diver nodded. “I do, too.”

Pell walked toward the burying ground gate.

Diver lingered, however, looking uncertain. “I didn’t mean anything before. I just didn’t expect that you would … You surprised me, that’s all.”

“It’s all right, Diver. I’m sorry I got angry. To be honest, I was afraid of what I intended to do. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

“Well,” Diver said, “buy me an ale and all will be forgiven.”

They followed Pell, and Ethan put his waistcoat back on. As they reached the gate, he glanced back toward the gravesite. A fine, pale mist had settled over the grass and grave markers, looking ghostly in the gloaming. Ethan shuddered.

The three men walked back to King’s Chapel and returned the spades to the churchyard hut. After Pell bade Ethan and Diver good night and went into the chapel, the two friends made their way to the Dowser. Ethan washed the blade of his knife at a pump along the edge of Sudbury Street before entering the tavern and buying Diver an ale and a plate of oysters.

They took seats near the back of the tavern. Ethan sipped an ale of his own, but he had left his appetite in the Common Burying Ground. Diver didn’t appear to notice. He ate his oysters, drank his ale, and bought himself seconds of both.

Kannice had been in back when they walked in, but she saw them now and joined them at their table. She eyed Ethan as she sat.

“You don’t look well. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine. I had to do something earlier today that I hope never to do again. I’m still recovering.”

“What was it?”

He shook his head. “Truly, Kannice, I don’t even wish to speak of it. Perhaps I’ll tell you eventually, but not tonight.”

She cast a dark look Diver’s way.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Ethan said. “I forced him into it, not the other way around.”

She continued to glare at Diver, her lips pressed thin. Ethan thought she might find a way to blame his friend anyway. But she stood and draped her towel over her shoulder. “I’ll leave you.” She scanned their table. “You’re not eating?”

Ethan shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

“Are you sure you’re well?”

“Aye.”

He saw the doubt in her eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to say more. The truth was, he felt ashamed of what he had done and feared her reaction.

She returned to the bar, but she eschewed any banter with other customers. He could tell that she was worried about him, or angry with him, or some blend of the two.

“What are you going to do now?” Diver asked, talking around the oyster he had just popped in his mouth.

“I’ll be heading back to the burying grounds in another few minutes. I expect Ramsey will be there, too, and I want to see what he does.”

“To Patience, you mean?”

“To Patience, and to Missus Tyler. I believe he’s still gathering more shades to his cause.”

“You’ve been involved in some dark business over the years, Ethan, but this is the worst. I never thought I’d say this, but maybe Kannice is right: Maybe it’s time you found another line of work.”

“Maybe it is.”

“We could start a business together, you and I. I don’t know what we’d do, but we work pretty well together, and-”

“Leave it, Diver. It might be a good idea, but it’s not a decision I’m likely to make this evening.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Ethan drained his ale. His stomach felt hollow and sour; eating something probably would have been a good idea. Instead he pushed back from the table and stood.

“I have to go,” he said. “Again, my thanks for what you did today. I know it was…” He shook his head. “Unspeakable. I’m grateful.”

Diver shrugged. “Of course. Anytime you need help, you know where to find me.”

Ethan smiled, laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. He walked by the bar without stopping, but he tipped his hat to Kannice as he passed.

Once on the street, he attempted a concealment spell. He had to cast three times before it worked, which essentially defeated the purpose of the spell. Ramsey would know what he had done and would be watching for any sign of him. He dismissed Uncle Reg, and alone navigated the streets to the Common.

He went first to the Common Burying Ground, knowing that in a choice between the shades of Missus Tyler and Patience Walters, the latter was the greater prize by far.