“Put down your weapon,” Ethan said.
Morrison whirled toward him and raised his weapon as if to fire. Mariz stepped behind the man, and kicked his legs out from under him. The soldier fell to the ice, the musket slipping from his grip. Ethan covered the distance between himself and the soldier in a single stride and kicked the weapon beyond Morrison’s reach.
Still on the ground, though now sitting, Morrison grabbed for his blade. For a half second, Ethan considered casting another shatter spell. But he didn’t wish to draw Ramsey’s attention if he could help it. Instead, as Morrison pulled his knife free of the sheath on his belt, Ethan kicked him in the side. The weapon flew from the soldier’s hand, its blade clattering on the street with the ring of steel on ice.
Gasping, the soldier nevertheless tried to get up. Ethan planted his foot on the man’s chest and shoved him down. The man grabbed Ethan’s leg with both hands.
“Don’t try it,” Ethan said, putting more weight on Morrison so that the lad struggled to draw breath. “There are two of us, conjurers both. Even if you were to throw me off, you’d die before you could get away or cast the simplest of spells.”
Morrison glowered. “Who are ya?” he said again, wheezing the words. “You came to the barracks before. Days ago. Isn’t that right?”
“Let go of my leg.”
The soldier remained still, except for his eyes, which darted from side to side, perhaps seeking some clue as to where Mariz stood.
Sephira’s man squatted beside him, grabbed a handful of Morrison’s hair, and laid the edge of his knife along the side of the soldier’s throat.
Morrison dropped his hands to his side.
“Show yourselves then,” he said, his voice still strained. “I’ll not treat with men I can’t look in the eye.”
Ethan and Mariz shared a glance. Sephira’s man appeared doubtful, and gave a small shake of his head. But Ethan wanted to see if Morrison recognized him. He nodded.
Mariz frowned, but then acquiesced with a shrug. He cut himself and said, “Fini velamentum ex cruore evocatum.” End concealment, conjured from blood. With the pulse of the conjuring, and the appearance of Mariz’s spectral guide, Morrison grew watchful and wary. Concealment spells did not wear off instantly, and so the soldier peered in turns at Ethan and Mariz, squinting, trying to see them more clearly.
When at last he was able to make out Ethan’s features, he could not conceal the flash of recognition in his eyes.
“Aye,” Ethan said. “You know me, don’t you? Ramsey has seen to that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
He was a better liar than Grant, but not by much. Ethan removed his foot from Morrison’s chest and motioned for Mariz to release him.
“Stand up,” he said.
Morrison eyed them both, but then climbed to his feet. He was several inches taller than both of them. Ethan could see that he was already thinking of possible routes to safety.
“You’ve been working for someone,” Ethan said. “A conjurer. You were given five pounds initially and promised more. The person who paid you said to watch for conjurers here in town, and to leave a missive somewhere when you found one.”
“I told you, I-”
Ethan stopped him with a raised hand. “Don’t lie to me, lad. I’ve no time for games, and even less patience. You weren’t the only one he hired, and I’ve already learned a good deal.”
Morrison glanced at Mariz again. Sephira’s man held his knife over his arm; it might as well have been a pistol, full-cocked and aimed at his heart.
Morrison huffed a sigh. “What is it you want to know?” he said.
“Let’s start with where you’re supposed to deliver your missives.”
“The burying ground on the Common. The old one with the granary.”
The Granary Burying Ground. It was almost funny. The last time Ethan and Ramsey fought, it was over the souls of the newly dead. They had faced each other in that cemetery. Had Ramsey found one more way to mock him?
“Where exactly?” Ethan asked.
“Just by the gate.”
“Are you to meet someone, or leave the messages and go?”
“I’m just to leave them.”
“Did you meet someone when you were first paid?”
“Aye. But he was no conjurer, at least not that I could tell. I think he was a sailor.”
Maybe Ramsey still had his ship after all, and so still commanded a loyal crew.
“Is there a signal of some sort, a way to let this person know that you’ve left word?”
“Aye. I’m to place the message at the base of a tombstone, one near the entrance, and then I’m to cast a spelclass="underline" a simple wardin’. I was told that my spells would be recognized and that someone would come an’ retrieve the message.”
“And how were you to be paid the balance of what you’re owed?”
Morrison shrugged. “They haven’t said yet. But they were good for the first five pounds; I expect they’ll pay me the rest.”
“What if they don’t?” Ethan shook his head, forestalling an answer. “Allow me: You believe that though they haven’t said as much, the people you’re working for are loyalists who seek to weaken the patriot cause. You were happy to be paid, but you would do this work for nothing if it meant helping to defeat Samuel Adams and his rabble. Isn’t that right?”
The way the soldier gawked at him one might have thought he had sprouted wings and flown in circles over the city. “How did you know that?”
“You’re not the only conjurer Ramsey hired.”
“You mentioned that name before. Ramsey. Who is he?”
“He’s no loyalist; I can tell you that much. He’s a merchant captain, a conjurer, and a madman. None of what you’ve been asked to do will help your fellow soldiers or hurt Samuel Adams and his allies. Ramsey wants vengeance. That’s all he cares about.”
“Vengeance on who?” Morrison asked.
“On me.”
“I don’t believe you,” Morrison said, narrowing his eyes.
“I don’t care. You’re going to help us find him.”
The soldier’s expression hardened. “And what if I don’t?”
“Then every man in your regiment will learn that you’re a witch.”
“I could do the same to you. To both of you,” he added with a quick look at Mariz.
“You could, but it wouldn’t prevent your court-martial, would it? You don’t have to do anything you wouldn’t otherwise,” Ethan said. “You’ll come with us to the burying ground, cast your spell, and be on your way. We won’t trouble you again, and you’ll have done nothing to violate the terms of your agreement with Ramsey.”
“What about a message? I’m supposed to leave one for him.”
“And so you will. We’re to be your message.”
Ethan could see that the soldier didn’t like this idea at all. He was eyeing the two of them again; Ethan thought he might be trying to determine if he could fight them off long enough to retrieve his musket.
“I’ve had a long night, Morrison,” Ethan said. “I was on King Street when your friends opened fire. And that was far from the worst part of my evening. If you so much as glance in the direction of your weapon, my friend and I will shatter every bone in your body, heal them all, and then break them again, one by one. Through no fault of your own, you’ve been drawn into a blood feud. Ramsey wants me dead, and I’m determined to kill him if I have to. Please don’t make me hurt you, too.”
The soldier hesitated but then nodded.
“Shall we make our way to the burying ground?” Ethan asked.
“I suppose.”
“Come along then.” Ethan turned to Mariz. “Walk behind us. If he takes a step in the wrong direction, snap his neck.”
Mariz turned to Morrison and smiled. “With pleasure.”
“What about my knife and musket?”
“It’s half past two in the morning. Leave them there; they’ll be waiting for you when we’re done at the burying ground.”
The soldier didn’t seem satisfied with this response either, but he fell in beside Ethan and they began the short walk from Wings Lane to the burying ground.