D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

He wanted his father to live once more. And while it appeared that on this night the captain had done no more than summon the ghost of Nathaniel Ramsey the elder, Ethan feared he might well have the power to achieve his aim. If he could do that, might he also bring back others who were less benign? And to what degree would the reanimated dead be his to control, rather than free beings? Ethan couldn’t say which he feared more: a legion of the awakened dead under Ramsey’s power, or newly animated corpses wandering the world of the living without anyone controlling them. Both prospects terrified him.

Several of the silvery shades who had surrounded Ramsey from the beginning reached out toward the ghost of the conjurer’s father-Ethan knew not why. But at a sharp word from the captain, they snatched back their glowing hands.

Ethan heard Ramsey laugh.

“They want to touch him, Kaille!” he called. “They know that he will soon be alive, and they wish to be carried back with him to this realm. Should I grant them their hearts’ desire?”

Ethan did not answer, but instead began to creep back toward the burying ground gate. He didn’t wish to confront Ramsey here, alone; he needed time to consider what he had seen. Surely his father’s return was not Ramsey’s sole ambition, but it might well be the one that would allow Ethan to learn all that he needed to defeat the man.

First, though, he had to get away.

“Find him,” Ramsey said.

The shades turned as one and began to fan out across the burying ground, a glimmering wave breaking over grave markers and grass. Ethan didn’t know what they could do to him. He wanted to think that they remained too insubstantial to do him any harm, but he wasn’t willing to risk his life on that hope. He hastened toward the gate, repeatedly glancing back at the shades. They glided like buzzards-far faster than he could walk.

Still, he managed to reach the gate and the unpaved road beyond, before the ghosts caught up with him. He hurried to School Street, intending to take shelter in King’s Chapel if necessary.

But the shades halted at the boundary of the burying ground, lingering there briefly before drifting back toward Ramsey and the ghost of his father.

“Soon, Kaille!” Ethan heard the captain shout. “You can’t escape them forever! You can’t escape me forever!”

He should have returned to his room, and locked and warded the door. His hands shook and his heart was racing like that of an overworked horse. In all his years as a conjurer and a thieftaker, never before had he been stalked by an army of shades. He didn’t wish to repeat the experience any time soon. But neither was he ready to surrender this night to Ramsey. He had an idea, but he couldn’t act on it until he was certain that the captain wouldn’t find him out.

So once again he returned to the Common Burying Ground. He kept his distance from Patience’s grave, and he positioned himself near the Frog Lane entrance to the cemetery, so that he would have an easy path of escape if he needed it. And there he waited. He felt the thrum of another conjuring, followed by a second. He had to resist the urge to return to the Granary and see what Ramsey was doing. He held his blade ready, but as before, he didn’t trust himself to conjure, even for a warding.

Sooner than he had expected, his persistence was rewarded. Alone for now, unaccompanied by his shades, moonlight shining on his uncovered head, the captain sauntered into the burying ground and made his way to the grave of Patience Walters. There, he waited, leaning against a nearby grave marker, staring up at the stars. Occasionally, he glanced around, at one point staring straight at Ethan, his gaze lingering for so long that Ethan began to wonder if perhaps his concealment spell had failed.

Only when he heard voices approaching from behind did he understand. Ramsey’s men were approaching the burying ground from the waterfront, bearing spades and shovels, speaking in hushed tones. Ethan sidled out of their way and watched as they walked past him and into the cemetery.

He knew that they had come to violate Patience’s grave, and knew as well that he could do nothing to stop them. He was all too aware of his own powerlessness. He couldn’t escape the feeling that he had betrayed Patience, had abandoned her to this monster, without knowing for certain that the one precaution he had taken would work. She deserved better.

But though he could do nothing here, he believed he could strike a blow against the captain elsewhere. When he was convinced that Ramsey and his men would be occupied for some time, he slipped away and hurried back to his room.

Once there, he locked the door and barred it with a spell, which he cast three times, just to be safe. He lit several candles, unwilling to do in the dark what he had in mind.

When the room was light enough, he summoned Reg.

“I need to speak with Ramsey’s father,” he said. “Another summoning.”

The old warrior didn’t appear pleased, but he made no effort to dissuade him. Ethan wasn’t entirely certain that he could summon the shade of the elder Ramsey, but he didn’t believe that the son would make of his father’s ghost another foot soldier in his army of spirits. He wanted his father beside him, and he would never assume that he needed to control the old captain’s shade to keep it there.

Ethan removed nine leaves of mullein from his pouch, noting once more how quickly he was depleting the supply he had bought from Janna. His pouch was more than half empty.

Holding the leaves in his hand, he said in a clear voice, “ Provoco te, Nathaniel Ramsey, ex regno mortuorum, ex verbasco evocatum. ” I summon thee, Nathaniel Ramsey, from the realm of the dead, conjured from mullein.

The leaves vanished from his palm. His conjuring shook the building to its foundation, and a form suffused with soft green light appeared in the middle of the room.

Standing so near to the shade of Nathaniel Ramsey, Ethan could see what he had missed earlier in the burying ground: the son bore a striking resemblance to the father. He couldn’t see the color of the elder Ramsey’s eyes; they glimmered too brightly. But in the curve of the nose, the shape of the mouth, the tapering of the chin, he saw Nate Ramsey. Older, yes, and perhaps sadder. But it was the same face.

“I apologize for compelling you,” Ethan said to the ghost. “I wouldn’t have called you here without cause.”

Ramsey regarded him through narrowed eyes, his chin raised as in defiance. Ethan saw something of the son’s hauteur in the father’s expression. It occurred to him that summoning the spirit might well have been a mistake.

“Your son is awakening shades all over the city. He has desecrated graves, mutilated corpses. You know this, don’t you?”

The shade answered with a slow nod.

“Has he done all this because he wishes to bring you back? Is that his sole purpose?”

Ramsey looked away, first gazing toward Reg, and then looking at something Ethan couldn’t see. At last he shook his head. Something in his manner gave Ethan a shred of hope.

“You don’t approve of what he’s doing, do you?”

No.

“Do you want to come back? Did you ask to be awakened?”

No. The response was more pointed this time.

“What is it he wants, Captain Ramsey?”

The shade tapped a finger to his own chest.

“Aye, he wants you to live again. I understand that. But you indicated that there was more to his scheming. What else is he trying to do?”

Ramsey’s features hardened.

“You don’t trust me,” Ethan said. “You shouldn’t. I could claim to be a friend to your son, but the truth is I’m a thieftaker who has been hired to prevent the desecration of more graves, and to recover that which your son has taken from the bodies he’s mutilated. He and I met once before: He killed two merchants who had hired me to protect them. They were men you knew, men who treated you poorly and drove you to take your own life. Deron Forrs and Isaac Keller.”