A Plunder of Souls (The Thieftaker Chronicles) (42 page)

And perhaps sensing that this was his one chance to get away, Ramsey cut himself again. “
Ignis ex cruore evocatus!
” Fire, conjured from blood!

A great ball of flame, seething and swirling, the color of a setting sun, burst from his hand, soared upward and crashed into the warehouse ceiling. The flames spread as if fueled by oil, and smoke began to fill the building.

Ramsey sprinted toward the hole in the wall through which Sephira and the others had escaped.

Ethan slashed his forearm. “
Pugnus ex cruore evocatus!
” Fist, conjured from blood!

He needed only to knock the captain off balance, and this spell did. Ethan’s conjured fist struck Ramsey in the back and sent him sprawling onto the floor, his arms splayed.

Nathaniel Ramsey’s shade still had his knife out, and was stalking Patience’s ghost. Ethan thought that if he managed to destroy her, it might well return control of the other shades to Ramsey.

He cut himself again. “
Dimitto te, Nathaniel Ramsey, ex cruore evocatum.
” I release you, Nathaniel Ramsey, conjured from blood.

He didn’t usually use blood when dismissing spirits, but he feared that Captain Ramsey would resist a less powerful dismissal. As it was, at the thrum of power, the shade whirled toward Ethan, eyes blazing, and started in his direction. But the ghost had already started to fade; he was gone well before he reached Ethan.

Patience marshaled the other shades once more. Ramsey was back on his feet, but Mariz blocked his path to the opening in the wall. Janna and Ethan both stood between the captain and the door.

“You can’t win, Ramsey,” Ethan said, walking toward him.

“I don’t have to win. All I need to do is not lose.”

He backed away from Mariz, and at the same time carved another wound in his arm, which was already livid from all the spells he had cast.

He spoke a second fire spell, throwing the flame at another section of the ceiling. His knife flashed again, and he set the nearest wall ablaze. Twice more he cut himself and cast fire spells. The warehouse was fully engulfed now; flames roared, and black smoke filled the building, making Ethan’s eyes and throat burn. The heat was intensifying. The ceiling groaned; it would collapse before long.

And still Ramsey cast more spells.

“You’ll kill us all!” Ethan shouted at him.

“If I have to!”

“I can’t let you leave, Ramsey! Not unless you get your men to unload the body parts.”

“You do what you have to, Kaille. I’ll do the same.”

He cut himself yet again.

Before he could cast, Ethan spoke a spell of his own: a shatter spell that he hoped would break Ramsey’s arm and incapacitate him. But though his spell hammered at the captain, it didn’t fell him or break a bone, or keep him from conjuring another mass of flame, which he sent spiraling upward into the ceiling and through. Burning pieces of wood pelted down onto them all.

Janna coughed, clutching at her chest.

“Get her out of here, Mariz!”

“I don’t need—” Another fit of coughing cut off her objections.

“Patience!” Ethan called.

The shade faced him, her expression pained. She seemed to know before he spoke what he would say. She had been a gentle soul in life; now he would ask her to kill.

“He can’t be allowed to leave. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“
Dimitto omnes eorum ex cruore evocatos!
” Ramsey said, his conjuring interrupted by a paroxysm of coughing of his own. I release all of them, conjured from blood!

Ethan felt the spell, but the shades remained. It seemed that when the captain lost control of them, he also lost his ability to send them away.

Mariz and Janna had almost reached the door. Ethan had no desire to die in this inferno, but he had to be sure that Ramsey didn’t find a way out.

In that instant, though, with an unearthly growl and a shower of sparks and blackened, fiery wood, the center of the roof gave way. Another part of the roof nearer to where Ethan stood did the same. He heard Mariz and Janna calling his name, but he couldn’t see them, and he had no clear path to either the door or the gap.

Ramsey had cut his arm again and turned toward the nearest wall.

“
Discuti ex cruore evocatum!
” he shouted over the roar of the fire. Shatter, conjured from blood.

“Ramsey, no!”

No doubt he was trying to break the wall, to forge a path to safety. Instead, he brought down what was left of the ceiling, as well as the nearest walls. Ethan jumped back, stumbled over a fallen beam, which was blackened and still aflame, and fell, nearly landing on a pile of burning timber. Still, he saw Ramsey go down, saw fiery debris come down on top of him. He shouted the captain’s name, but heard no response.

Another section of wall caved in. Ethan scrambled to his feet. He couldn’t see much, and he could barely breathe. He felt the pulse of a spell and wondered if it had come from Ramsey, struggling to get free, or Mariz, trying to reach him.

He turned a quick circle, saw nothing but flame and charred wood. And Patience, beckoning to him. He ran toward her, and realized that she might well have saved his life. There was a path, barely; he could see no way through that wouldn’t leave him burned. But if he remained where he was, he was a dead man.

He cut his arm. “
Tegimen contra ignem ex cruore evocatum.
” Protection from fire, conjured from blood.

Though he felt the spell, he had no idea if it would work; he had never attempted such a conjuring. He pulled off his waistcoat, and wrapped it around his right arm. And with one last deep breath, he sprinted into the narrow gap Patience’s shade had pointed out to him.

Before he had taken more than a half dozen steps, he was convinced that he had made a grave mistake. He no longer could find the path he had spotted mere moments before. He could hardly see for the bitter smoke; his eyes stung and tears coursed down his cheeks. Heat clawed at him, searing every bit of exposed skin. He used his wrapped arm to bat aside burning planks that got in his way, but it seemed that flame and smoldering wood were everywhere.

I’m going to die here.

Every breath scorched his throat, his lungs. Still he fought on, but his heart labored in his chest, as much from grief as from fear.

Pushing through what had become a wall of burning wood, he abruptly found himself at the edge of the inferno. He stumbled into the open, cool air a balm on his face and neck, his hands and arms. He managed one more step and collapsed.

Strong hands grabbed hold of his arms and dragged him on, until the crackling of wood and the hissing of flames were lost to the soft lapping of waves at timbers. Ethan opened his eyes just as Nap and Gordon set him down beside Janna.

He croaked a “Thank you.” Neither man said a word.

“You need healing,” Janna said. She looked at him more closely. “At least I thought you would.”

“I cast a protection spell to guard me from the flames. I didn’t think it worked. I felt like I was on fire.”

“You’re bright red. But there’s no blisterin’ and no blackened skin.” She glanced up at his head and grinned. “Your hair didn’t even get singed. That’s some good conjurin’, Kaille.”

“Thanks,” Ethan said, looking back toward the burning warehouse. “Do you think he’s still in there?”

“Ramsey?”

“Aye.”

“I didn’t see him come out, and his men are still watchin’ for him. I think he’s dead. I hope he is.”

Ethan nodded, though he didn’t actually believe that Ramsey had died. Not yet. As long as Patience’s shade and the ghosts of the others lingered in the warehouse, Ramsey still lived, since his conjurings had awakened them. He watched the burning building for signs of the shades, but he couldn’t see for the smoke and flames. He knew only that Patience had still been there seconds before.

Men—laborers and sailors—had formed lines leading from the edge of the wharf to the burning warehouse, and were passing buckets of water to those nearest the flames. The building itself was too far gone to save, but there were warehouses on either side of it that needed to be protected. Ethan knew that he should get up and help douse the fire, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“You just rest,” Janna said, seeming to read his thoughts. “You’ve done enough.”

Sephira’s men, including Mariz, had joined the effort, as had several of Ramsey’s crew. It was odd to see them working together, so soon after they had been pummeling one another.

“I shoulda known that man would come around here eventually.”

Ethan twisted to follow the direction of Janna’s gaze. Sheriff Greenleaf had reached the wharf and was striding in their direction, a scornful look on his face. Several men of the watch walked behind him. Ethan knew that he would be searching for someone to blame for the fire and the additional deaths; without Ramsey here, the sheriff would lay on him responsibility for all that had happened.

“What did you do now, Kaille?” Greenleaf called while still several yards away. The man was predictable.

“I fought Ramsey,” Ethan said, making no effort to get up. “And I barely escaped the warehouse when he set it on fire.”

“You look none the worse for wear.”

“I was fortunate.”

“Aye,” the sheriff said, his voice cold. “It seems to me that you’re always fortunate. Some would call that coincidence. Others might credit your bonny luck to something darker.”

Ethan said nothing, but continued to stare up at the man.

“Where’s Ramsey?” the sheriff asked after some time.

Ethan pointed at the fire. “He’s in there.”

“He’s dead?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But surely if he’s…” Comprehension darkened Greenleaf’s face. He shook his head. “Damn you and your kind.”

“If it wasn’t for our kind, you woulda had to fight Ramsey yourself,” Janna said, her scowl no less intimidating than the sheriff’s. “How do you think that woulda gone?”

“Janna…” Ethan said, his voice low.

The sheriff stared down his nose at her. “You should watch yourself, woman. You keep saying things like that, and you may wind up with a noose around your neck.”

Her smile was so pleasant one might have thought they were discussing the sunset. “I ain’t never seen a rope that would hold me or a man brave enough to try to put one around my neck. And I sure don’t see one now.”

Even in the failing light, Ethan could tell that Greenleaf’s cheeks had reddened.

But the way the sheriff glowered at Ethan, one might have thought that he had spoken and not Janna. “Don’t leave,” he said. To the men of the watch, he added, “Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” He stalked off toward Sephira.

“You shouldn’t goad him like that,” Ethan said, his voice low.

“Why not? He ain’t gonna hang an old woman, and even if he tried, it wouldn’t work.”

“No, but he might hang me.”

“That wouldn’t work, either, now would it? Sometimes it seems like you forget you’re a speller.”

Ethan had to laugh.

Janna watched the sheriff and Sephira. “What do you suppose they’re talkin’ about?”

“I’m sure Greenleaf is looking for some way to blame me for all of this. And if Sephira is feeling less than charitable, she might just help him.”

“I don’t think so. I’m a good judge of people’s character, and I think you can trust her.”

Ethan almost laughed again. Yesterday she had hated Sephira more than anyone in the world. From the way she was talking now, one might have thought that they were old friends.

“I should have asked before, Janna. Do you need healing?”

She shook her head. “Mariz took care of me. I just need rest.”

Rest sounded good.

Greenleaf continued to talk to Sephira, though he looked less happy with every word she said. When he made his way back to where Ethan and Janna were sitting, he appeared so forlorn it warmed Ethan’s heart.

“You’re free to go,” he said. “Both of you.” He leveled a finger at Ethan. “But I want to see you back here tomorrow. This is still your mess, and I’m going to have more questions for you before long.”

“I’ll come back in the morning,” Ethan said.

He climbed to his feet, his muscles sore, his legs leaden. He had escaped the warehouse without serious burns, but he had been hammered by Ramsey’s spells again and again. He felt bruised, beaten.

Before he could walk away, Greenleaf said, “He couldn’t really be alive, could he?” He nodded toward the warehouse, which still burned. The flames had died down, but the embers glowed balefully in the twilight. “Look at that. If he was trapped in there, he would have to be dead. Even a witch can be burned.” He faced Ethan. After a brief silence, he said, “I want an answer, Kaille.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Could you have survived a fire like that?”

“No. But I’m not a witch.” And with that, Ethan turned from him and began the long walk back to the Dowser.

Chapter

T
WENTY
-
FOUR

Stepping into the Dowsing Rod was like returning home after a years-long voyage. Ethan was so relieved to be back in the tavern that his legs almost gave out beneath him before he reached the bar. Too late, he realized that while he had come through the fire relatively unscathed, his clothes had not. His waistcoat had been burned beyond hope of mending, and he had left it at the wharf. His shirt was blackened on the sleeves and stained everywhere else, and his breeches looked no better.

Before he could leave the tavern, Kannice spotted him and came out from behind the bar, concern etched on her face.

“You’ve looked better,” she said, taking his hand.

“Aye. I’ve felt better as well.”

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.