Treamount Street was crowded with people making their way home from the market and from their work. Carriages rattled past, and Ethan had to twist his body one way and then another to avoid others walking along the side of the lane.
As he walked, he spotted Mr. Caner walking in his direction. He lowered his gaze, hoping that the rector hadn’t seen him. The last thing he needed was for the minister to inquire as to where he was headed. He walked quickly, his head down, occasionally sending furtive glances in Caner’s direction.
And so at first he didn’t notice the carriage that halted just ahead of him. But then the door swung open and he heard a familiar voice speak his name.
“Kaille.”
Ethan stopped and looked into the carriage. Nigel leaned forward from his seat, staring out at him, smiling. He held a pistol, its hammer pulled back, its barrel aimed directly at Ethan’s heart.
Firearms were crude weapons, not known for their accuracy or reliability. But Nigel was only a few feet from him, and not for a moment did Ethan doubt that he would shoot if Ethan gave him the opportunity. No doubt only the crowd around them had kept him from pulling the trigger already.
“Go for yar knife, an’ ya’re dead,” the man drawled.
Ethan took a step back, then stopped, feeling something sharp pressed against his lower back. He glanced over his shoulder. Nap was behind him, knife in hand.
He took Ethan’s blade from its sheath, and said “Get in,” in a low voice.
People on the lane had started to take notice of them, and Caner had to be close by. For a moment Ethan considered shouting for help. But these were Sephira’s men; some on the street already seemed to have recognized them as such. No one would come to his aid if they thought for a moment that it might mean incurring the Great Lady’s wrath.
He searched again for anyone who might help him. But there was no one. He didn’t even see Caner anymore. Perhaps the minister had walked past without Ethan knowing it. Having no choice, he climbed into the carriage.
“Tha’s smart that is,” Nigel said, as Ethan took the seat opposite his. “It’s too bad y’arn’t always tha’ smart.”
Nap climbed in after him and sat beside his comrade.
Nigel pulled the door closed and rapped twice on the outside of the door. Immediately the carriage lurched forward.
“Where are we going?” Ethan asked.
The two men stared out their respective windows, saying nothing.
They followed the one lane a long way, until Ethan wondered if they intended to take him over the Neck, through the town gate and out into the country along the road toward Roxbury. If they intended to kill him and leave his body, that would be as convenient a place as any. But they turned to the west off Orange Street before they reached the gate, and turned a second time soon after. At last, they rolled to a stop. Nigel got out first and motioned with his gun for Ethan to follow him. Nap simply grinned, toying with Ethan’s knife.
A light rain still fell on the city, and the sky had begun to darken.
“Hello, Ethan.”
He knew that voice, too. Herself.
Ethan ignored her for the moment, and tried to get his bearings. In the gathering gloom, it took him a few seconds to figure out where they were. He could make out Beacon Hill in the distance, shrouded in mist, and closer he saw the Common Burying Ground. He thought they must be at the end of Pleasant Street, a deserted stretch of road that jutted into Boston Common. He noticed lines of ropewalks in the distance, but the workers had abandoned them for the night. Aside from a few cattle, there wasn’t another soul in sight. This, he realized, would also be a pretty convenient place for them to kill him.
At last, he looked at Sephira. She stood in the lane, flanked by eight men, including Gordon and the brute he had seen on the street the day before. Ethan glanced back and saw four more men standing with Yellow-hair and Nap.
“Sephira. We should really stop meeting like this.”
“Oh, I assure you,” she said, without even a hint of a smile, “this is the last time.”
Ethan stared back at her and pushed up his sleeves, knowing that he could scratch at his arms enough to hold off a few of her toughs, but not all of them. He heard Sephira laugh.
“You going to claw at yourself again, Ethan?”
“If I have to.”
“Oh, you’ll have to.” She held two fingers to her lips and whistled loudly.
Immediately her men stepped in front of her and spread to form a broad arc. Nigel and his men had done the same. Within moments Ethan would be surrounded. He searched for anything he might use against them, but didn’t see much. Although…
Deserted as it was, this part of the lane was rough and overgrown with weeds. Stooping quickly, Ethan grabbed two handfuls of grass, straightened, and scattered the stalks in a wide circle all around him.
“ Ignis, ” he said in a low voice. “ Ex gramine evocatus. ” Fire, conjured from grass.
Uncle Reg appeared, shining like the rising moon, his teeth bared.
Flames shot up around Ethan and the old ghost, throwing off enough heat to warm Ethan’s face and hands. There were a few spots where the grass hadn’t spread evenly, but Ethan pulled some more from the ground and filled the gaps, muttering the spell to himself. He would have to keep feeding it; the spell wouldn’t last forever. But it offered him some protection from Sephira and her men.
“We can wait,” she said. “You can’t keep that fire burning forever.”
“Can’t I?” he shouted back. But Sephira was right. His circle wasn’t wide enough to encompass that much grass, and what he had wouldn’t last more than an hour or two. And the more he pulled up, the closer he would have to venture to the ring of flame the next time he needed some.
He stooped again, picked up a stone that fit comfortably in his fist, and dropped it into his pocket, just in case. He also pulled up more stalks of grass, and watched for any slackening of the flames around him. Sephira and her men lurked just beyond the ring of fire, their faces glowing with the blaze, the heat making their features swim, so that they looked like Hell’s demons.
“You should have listened to me, Ethan,” Sephira called to him, sounding bored. She still wore the sapphire around her neck, and it glittered in the firelight. “You should have taken your money and found another Ezra Corbett to occupy your time.”
“I would have,” Ethan said. “But Berson asked me to continue my inquiry. He won’t be happy to hear that you’re trying to stop me.”
“You said you were done working for him!”
“Did I?” Ethan asked innocently. “I must have lied.”
He couldn’t see her well, but there could be no mistaking the hard set of her jaw, or the widening of her eyes. She said something to the man closest to her and immediately he began walking around the fire ring, speaking in low tones to the others.
Ethan realized that the flames were burning down in some places. He scattered more grass and spoke the spell again. Even as did this, though, two men suddenly burst through the ring from opposite sides, both of them shielding their faces with their coats.
One of them came through unscathed; the tail of the other’s coat caught fire. Making his decision in an instant, Ethan charged the first man, pulling the stone from his pocket as he closed the distance between them.
This first man had drawn a blade, and as Ethan stepped closer, he swiped the knife at Ethan’s neck, forcing him to duck. The man lashed out with his foot, aiming his kick at Ethan’s lowered head. Ethan threw up both arms to block the man’s foot, but was staggered by the force of the blow. He righted himself, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the second man had stripped off his burning coat and was now stalking him as well.
Ethan was in the middle of the lane now, too far from either edge to get at the grass. He tried to sidle to the right. But the man in front of Ethan cut him off and closed on him.