D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

The sheriff watched him, seeming to read Ethan’s thoughts. “You say no, but there’s doubt in your eyes. What have you done, Kaille?”

“I’ve done nothing. If anything, I’ve done too little.” He related to the sheriff much of what had happened in recent days: the grave robberies, his confrontations with Ramsey, his encounters with the many shades. And, with some reluctance, he also shared with Greenleaf his belief that Ramsey was making himself more powerful and at the same time denying other conjurers access to their power. He knew that the sheriff would take this as proof that he himself could conjure, though he took great care to admit no such thing. He said nothing about Mariz, or about his battle with Ramsey the previous night.

“Why did Caner hire you? Why wouldn’t he have come to me first? Is it that he knows what you are, and therefore assumed that you would be able to commune with whatever demons and shades Ramsey unleashed?”

“I believe it was Mister Pell who encouraged the rector to seek my help. Pell is a friend and he has faith in my skills as a thieftaker, as well as in my discretion.”

“I see,” Greenleaf said, sounding smug. “So your friend thought he would throw a little coin your way.”

Ethan bristled. “I refused to let them pay me, Sheriff. I’m conducting this inquiry at my own expense.”

Greenleaf seemed disappointed by this. “Well, what brought you here today? And why were Miss Pryce and her men here?”

“I came hoping I could convince Ramsey to leave Boston. He is engaged in one pursuit which is both legal and harmless to the rest of us, and I told him I would help him with that if he would set sail, never to return. But when I reached the wharf, Sephira and the others were already here, and they were fighting with Ramsey’s crew. Sephira is protecting merchants who refuse to abide by the non-importation agreement, and Ramsey has been harassing those merchants. I believe Sephira hoped to impress upon him the dangers of pitting himself against her.”

“I’ve heard of incidents at several warehouses. Miss Pryce has been working for non-compliant merchants?”

“Aye, although I doubt she wants that known too widely.”

“And Ramsey has been working with your friends, the Sons of Liberty.”

“They’re hardly my friends.”

“You’ve worked with Adams in the past,” Greenleaf said. “I know you have.”

Arguing with the man was pointless. “I don’t believe Ramsey has been working with anyone. He has his own aims, and he cares for nothing else.”

The sheriff regarded Ethan with manifest mistrust. At last he said, “So Miss Pryce came here to stop him. And instead, Nigel was killed.”

Ethan took a long breath. Nigel is dead. “Aye.”

“How did he die?”

“I believe Ramsey used a spell against him.”

Greenleaf scowled. “You believe … Damn you, Kaille! You know he did! Why do you protect him?”

“I’m not protecting him. But anytime I speak to you of conjurers, you assume that I’m conspiring with them and you accuse me of being a witch. And I will not swing for Ramsey’s crimes!”

“Of course you won’t,” the sheriff said, the words laden with irony. “Would I be correct in assuming that you also won’t tell me more about this ‘harmless and legal’ pursuit with which you intended to help the good captain?”

Ethan glared at him, but could say nothing without either lying outright, or admitting that he was a conjurer.

“Do you also refuse to tell me where this ghost came from?”

Still Ethan held his tongue.

Greenleaf smirked. “I thought as much. And you wonder why I remain suspicious of you.” He strode toward the Muirenn , the regulars just behind him. “Come along. It’s time I had a word with Nate Ramsey, and I want you there with me.”

“He’s dangerous, Sheriff,” Ethan said, hurrying to keep up with him, Reg and the shade of Ramsey’s father following. “More so now than he was when he took his revenge on Keller and Forrs.”

Greenleaf didn’t slow. “So I gather. A man who can go up against Sephira Pryce and prevail is not to be trifled with.” He flashed a malicious grin. “But I’ve got a witch with me, so I ought to be safe.”

Ramsey still stood at the rail of his vessel, his arms crossed over his chest, the wind stirring his hair. He stared down at Greenleaf and Ethan, marking their approach. When they reached the base of the Muirenn ’s gangplank, he said, “The two of you. I won’t have soldiers on my ship.” Before Ethan or the sheriff could respond, he turned away.

Greenleaf and Ethan shared a look.

“Stay here,” the sheriff said to the regulars. To Ethan he said, “After you.” He indicated the plank with an open hand, and backed out of the way of Captain Ramsey’s ghost.

Ethan started up the incline. He thought of the knife on his belt and the pouch of mullein in his pocket. It was too late for him to cast a warding spell. Whether he cut himself or drew leaves from the pouch, the sheriff would see, and even if he managed to cast without drawing Greenleaf’s notice, Ramsey would sense the conjuring. He felt vulnerable, weak. His only protection was the ghost following him up to the ship. He wondered if Greenleaf had brought a pistol.

At the top of the plank, Ethan hopped onto the deck and found himself facing eight members of Ramsey’s crew, who had arranged themselves in a semicircle. All of them held knives, although with Ramsey standing behind them, fresh blood on his forearm, Ethan wasn’t sure their weapons were necessary.

A few seconds later, Greenleaf joined him on the deck. He eyed the men briefly before pulling a pistol from his coat pocket.

“You should put that away, Sheriff,” Ramsey said. “Someone could get hurt.”

“Tell your men to stand down.”

Ramsey’s eyes found Ethan’s and a mordant smile crossed his lips.

“Very well,” he said. “If that will make you feel better.” To the sailors he said, “Leave us.”

Most of the men moved to the stern. A few lingered; one of them had blood on his shirt: from his fallen comrade, no doubt.

“It’s all right,” Ramsey said. “They won’t be staying long.”

The last men joined the others at the rear of the ship.

“I thought you and I had an understanding, Kaille,” Ramsey said.

“We do.”

The captain shook his head. “We did. That ended once Pryce showed up with your friend and attacked my ship.”

“What friend?” Greenleaf asked. “Who’s he talking about, Kaille?”

Ethan kept his gaze on the captain. “Mariz, the bespectacled man who works for Sephira.”

“Since when are you friends with Sephira’s boys?”

“We’re not … It’s not worth explaining right now.”

Ramsey’s eyebrows went up. “I see. The truth is, Sheriff, this Mariz is a speller, just as I am, and just as Kaille is. But our friend here is too shy to say as much aloud.”

It was a measure of how much the sheriff hated and feared Ramsey that he wasted not even a moment to gloat over this tidbit.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Captain Ramsey, you are under arrest for the murder of Nigel Billings.”

“Am I? Tell me: Who saw me kill this man?”

“Sephira Pryce did,” Greenleaf said. “She is a respected and admired personage in our city, and she told me herself that you had done the deed.”

“I don’t doubt that she did. But what did she see, exactly?”

Greenleaf faltered. “Well … what did you see, Kaille?”

“I’ll tell you what I saw,” the captain said before Ethan could answer. “I saw Pryce’s man shoot my bosun dead. That’s right: Two men died today. Where’s the justice for me and my crew?”