D. Jackson - A Plunder of Souls

She pulled him toward an empty table, at the same time signaling to Kelf.

“Ale and chowder; that’s what you need.”

He should have been famished; he couldn’t remember his last meal. But all he wanted to do was sleep. He kept his mouth shut, though; Kannice had decided that he needed to eat, and so eat he would.

As he sat, she winced at something on the side of his face-a burn or bruise no doubt.

“This business with Ramsey-”

“Is over,” he said, hoping it was true.

“It is?”

“I think so. There was a fire at Drake’s Wharf. No one saw Ramsey come out.”

He didn’t go so far as to say that the captain was dead, and she didn’t ask.

“God forgive me for saying this, but I’m glad.”

“That’s a common sentiment.” He paused, as Kelf arrived with an ale and a bowl of fish stew.

“Anything else, Ethan?” he asked, the words running together.

“No, Kelf. My thanks.”

He began to eat, and found that he was ravenous after all. Just as Kannice had known he would be. “Gavin is dead,” he said between mouthfuls.

“The old sea captain? The one who could conjure?”

“Aye.”

“I’m sorry, Ethan. I know he was a friend.”

“Ramsey controlled him with a spell. Gavin lured us to the wharf, and tried to kill Janna.”

“Is she all right?”

“She’ll be fine.” He smiled. “She’s stronger than all of us.”

Kannice leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I’m not sure I believe that, but I’m glad she’s well.” She touched her lips to his, and he returned the kiss hungrily. “You’ll be staying the night?” she asked.

“I’d like that.”

She straightened. “Good. Eat up.” She flashed a coy grin. “I want to be sure you have your strength.”

It was a late night.

* * *

Upon waking the following morning, Ethan found that he had slept far longer than he intended. Kannice had already left her bedroom; he could hear her moving around in the great room, and could smell bacon and fresh bread.

He swung out of bed, inhaling through his teeth with a sharp hiss at the ache of his abused muscles. Gingerly, he pulled clean, unburnt clothes from Kannice’s wardrobe and dressed. Every movement hurt. His hat was gone, he realized, lost in the warehouse fire. He checked to be sure that he still had his knife and his pouch of mullein, and left the room.

As he neared the stairway that led down to the tavern, he heard voices from below: Kannice’s, and a second that he recognized as that of Sheriff Greenleaf.

“… Need to speak with him now!” the sheriff was saying, his voice rising.

“And I’ve already told you that he’s sleeping.”

“I’m here,” he said, descending the stairs. “What do you need, Sheriff?”

Greenleaf seemed to be alone, though even on his own he could still be intimidating. Kannice, however, didn’t appear to be the least bit frightened.

“We’ve been searching the warehouse, or what’s left of it. I want you to accompany me to the wharf, and answer a few questions.”

Ethan could tell that Kannice didn’t like this idea. Neither did he, but he doubted that he had much choice.

“Of course,” he said.

“And your breakfast?” she asked, with an arch glance at the sheriff.

“That will have to wait,” Ethan said. “I’ll be back before long.”

Greenleaf looked like he might challenge this last, but he kept his silence and gestured for Ethan to lead him out the door.

Once they were on the street, Greenleaf started toward the North End, his strides so long, Ethan struggled to keep up with him.

“Did you find Ramsey’s body?” Ethan asked, after a lengthy silence.

The sheriff, eyed him sidelong, but didn’t answer.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“His ship’s gone,” Greenleaf said.

Ethan faltered. “Damn.”

“Before they left the wharf, his crew unloaded a gruesome cargo.”

“Body parts.”

“Aye.”

“Skulls and hands.”

“You know a good deal for a man who just woke a short while ago.”

“I told you about the grave desecrations, and the shades Ramsey awakened. He stole those body parts so that he could bend the spirits to his will. If he left them, he has relinquished his control over the dead.”

“Or his men, recognizing that since Ramsey was killed they had no need to keep such foul bounty aboard the vessel, rid themselves of it before putting out to sea.”

“Tell me what you found in the warehouse.”

“When we get there,” Greenleaf said.

They covered the remaining distance in silence. It was another clear, hot day. Already Ethan’s shirt was damp with sweat, and his bad leg was hurting. They were still on Princes Street, some distance from the wharf, when Ethan caught the scent of smoke riding the soft harbor breeze.

As Drake’s Wharf came into view, Ethan saw that little remained of the warehouse. There were piles of charred rubble, and several human forms covered with burlap, but nothing remained of the walls. The adjacent buildings had mostly been spared, though the exterior walls of both were damaged.

“How many dead?”

“Six. Miss Pryce lost two men, but we don’t know who the others were.”

“One was Gavin Black,” Ethan said.

Greenleaf’s eyebrows went up. “Captain Black?”

“Aye.”

“Some claimed that he was a speller.”

“Is that so?”

Greenleaf rolled his eyes. “Was he working with Ramsey?”

Ethan didn’t wish to explain the control spells Ramsey had used, but neither did he wish to lie outright to the man, no matter how obscure the truth might have been. All he said was “Ramsey killed him.”

“So, that leaves three. One of them could have been Ramsey.”

“That’s possible.”

“Spit it out, Kaille. Why don’t you think that Ramsey is dead?”

“I haven’t said that I don’t.”

“No, but you seem unwilling to admit that he might be. What are you keeping from me?”

Ethan sighed. Despite sleeping away half the morning, he remained weary, and he found few things in his life more tiresome than his unceasing verbal jousts with the good sheriff.

“I’m not keeping anything from you. You found six dead, and we’ve accounted for three. Much of my memory of what happened yesterday evening is clouded, but it seems to me that Ramsey’s crew lost at least as many men as Sephira did, perhaps more. In which case Ramsey might not be one of those last three.”

“I see. And the gruesome cargo his crew left on the wharf?”

Ethan dared not respond to this question with as much candor. “That’s harder to explain,” he said, with intentional ambiguity. “It may well mean that Ramsey is gone, and his men want nothing more to do with his black arts. We can only hope.”

Greenleaf’s eyes narrowed. “You think he’s still out there.”

“I think he might be, yes. And wouldn’t you prefer that I believe he’s alive, and thus remain vigilant, rather than assume he’s dead and let down my guard?”

“Aye,” the sheriff said. “That I would.”

“Is there anything else, Sheriff?”

“No. As you say, I’ll be expecting you to keep watch, and to let me know if you find Ramsey, or even hear rumors of him. This is still your mess, Kaille, and I’ll hold you responsible until I see the man’s corpse.”

Ethan left him at Drake’s Wharf, and thought of going to see Alexander Rowan. He had asked Ethan to keep him apprised of the inquiry, and had hinted at offering Ethan a bit of coin for his trouble. On the one hand, Ethan was not yet certain that the inquiry was over, and even if it was, he remained convinced of what he had said to Reverend Caner the day it began: This was a dark business, and he didn’t think anyone should profit from it. On the other hand, he had ruined several shirts and a couple of waistcoats in the past several days. He would have welcomed a few pounds. He resolved to seek out Mr. Rowan in another day or two, when the emotions of the past week were not quite so raw.