D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

Without any other means of determining if they had, Ethan had no choice but to disrupt one of the detection webs himself. The first several times he did this nothing happened. Finally, on his fourth try, the spell took hold. He cast the second spell-the sleep spell-four times, hoping that at least one of them would work. He dared not test this one. When at last he was done, his arm was raw and tender.

His next task was far more serious. He needed to speak with Ramsey again, and he guessed that doing so would be next to impossible. But his memory of the captain’s illusion conjuring the night before gave him an idea. He removed his last leaves of mullein from the pouch-six of them in all-and held them in the palm of his hand.

“ Videre et audire, per mea imagine, ex verbasco evocatum. ” Sight and hearing, through my illusion, conjured from mullein.

He felt this conjuring in the wood of the stairway landing, and knew that Ramsey would feel it, too. In this one instance, that mattered not at all. Ethan closed his eyes and pictured in his mind the deck of the Muirenn , which he assumed he would find once more at Tileston’s Wharf. Within just a few seconds, he knew that the illusion of himself had materialized on the ship, for the vision he had summoned from memory gave way to a view that included members of Ramsey’s crew. He heard their voices, knew that they fell silent at the sight of him.

“I wish to speak with your captain,” he made the image say.

The men gave no indication that they were alarmed by Ethan’s conjuring; clearly they were used to spells.

After a few seconds one of the men said, “What if he don’t wish to speak with you?”

He and his friends laughed.

“He can tell me so himself. But I want to hear it in his words, not yours. And I don’t imagine he would want you making that choice for him.”

The sailor sobered. He whispered something to one of his comrades, who went belowdecks.

Moments later Ramsey emerged onto the deck with the second sailor in tow.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked. He surveyed his ship and the wharf before returning his glower to Ethan’s conjured image.

“I want to speak with you,” Ethan said through the illusion. “Not like this. Face-to-face. I’m asking for your permission to approach your vessel.”

“What is it you think we have to say to each other? You’re alive because you dared summon the shade of my father, and because your friend happened to arrive when he did. He still lives because he managed to produce his pistol while I was occupied with you. We’re at war, you and I. And our next battle will be our last. I promise you that.”

“Fine, Ramsey. We’re at war. Grant me a truce for one last parley.”

Ethan was certain that Ramsey would refuse and demand he remove the conjured image of himself from his ship. But he didn’t, at least not right away. “To what end?” he asked after some time. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing. I’m trying to save lives: yours, mine, and those of anyone unfortunate enough to wind up between us when next we meet. And I’m trying to save the souls of the dead you have disturbed. I have a proposal for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I should never have said what I did about your intent to bring back your father. That is your choice and his. It’s no business of mine. As I told you, I understood why you want him alive again.”

The look in Ramsey’s eyes had turned flinty. “Is there a point to this?”

“Use the power you’ve gathered to bring him back. If you need me to help you do it, I will.”

“What kind of help can you offer?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan admitted. He was growing weary. Illusion spells were not difficult, but speaking, hearing, and seeing through the image of himself made the conjuring that much more taxing. He couldn’t maintain the spell indefinitely, and he was all too aware of how little time he had to convince Ramsey of his sincerity. “I assume that bringing the dead back fully to the living world takes a good deal of power. I’m offering to let you use what power I possess to that end.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Once your father is back, you release the shades, return that which you stole from the graves, and leave Boston.”

The captain laughed. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“You’d have your father back. Between your last visit to Boston and what you’ve done in the past few days, you’ve avenged him. Forrs and Keller are dead. The families of Alexander Rowan and Bertram Flagg have been terrified by the shades of their dead. You even managed to desecrate the three burying grounds in this city where the men responsible for the persecution of Salem’s ‘witches’ are interred. You’ve done well, Ramsey.”

The captain’s grin appeared genuine.

“You have nothing more to prove,” Ethan said, pressing the small advantage he seemed to have gained. “Let us bring back your father, and the two of you can set sail again. You can leave behind the tragedies inflicted upon you by this town.”

Ramsey narrowed his eyes. “Why would you help me?”

Ethan saw no point in denying the truth. “Because I fear you and the damage you could do here. Because I enjoy being a conjurer, and don’t want to have my power taken from me. Because even if I manage to kill you, I’ll be dooming the souls that you control. And because, as you have said before, if we had first met under different circumstances we might well have become friends.”

“How do you know that I won’t accept your aid, and then refuse to uphold my end of our bargain?”

“I don’t. I’m offering you my trust. Mariz could have killed you last night. I told him not to. I’m hoping that small mercy might have earned me a modicum of goodwill.”

Ramsey regarded the conjured image of Ethan. On the wooden stairway above Henry’s cooperage, Ethan held his breath.

“You’re an odd man, Kaille. You’re stubborn to a fault, and your devotion to duty is foolhardy, at best. And yet, you can also be quite pragmatic, and even compassionate. I don’t know if that last is a weakness or an asset, but in this case it serves you well.” He hesitated for another few seconds before nodding. “Very well. I’ll accept your help, and when my father and I are together, we’ll sail.”

“You’ll forswear further acts of vengeance?”

“To be away from this city? With my father? Aye.”

Ethan smiled, and knew that his image mirrored his relief. “Good.”

“When do you wish to do this?” Ramsey asked.

“I’ll make my way down to the wharf shortly,” Ethan said. “If all goes as it should, you’ll be putting out to sea by this evening.”

“Very well.”

Ethan allowed the conjuring to end. Opening his eyes, he endured a wave of dizziness, and braced himself on the wooden railing outside his door.

Once he had his bearings again, he descended the stairs and walked out to Milk Street. He didn’t wish to keep Ramsey waiting, but he also knew better than to place all his faith in the captain’s word. Rather than face the man with no way to conjure except through blood spells, he hastened to Janna’s tavern, walking so quickly that his bad leg, which was still tender from having been broken by Ramsey the previous night, soon ached even more than usual.

Still, he begrudged every minute, knowing that Ramsey would already be questioning the choice he had made.

Upon reaching the Fat Spider, Ethan entered and crossed to Janna’s bar.

“Kaille,” she said, her tone sour. “What you want now?”

“I just need to buy more mullein from you, Janna.” He placed three shillings on the polished wood.

“That’s all?” She sounded suspicious. “No questions?”