“I know. But Doctor Rickman can be trusted. You have my word on that.”
Janna regarded him solemnly. She might have been mad at him for asking these questions of her again and again, but she knew what his word was worth. “And what’s he doin’ with you?” she asked, turning her gaze on the doctor once more.
“He’s helping me with an inquiry. I’m still trying to figure out what was done with that powerful spell that woke us both up on Wednesday morn.”
She turned his way. “It’s not just that spell. There’s been plenty of magick the past few days.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “Some of it has been mine, but not all. Not nearly.”
She considered this, pursing her lips. “Thing about all those spells I mentioned-the ones that can revive a corpse, or make someone appear dead? — one man couldn’t do them alone.”
“Right,” Ethan said. “Because a dead conjurer would need to be brought back by another. He couldn’t raise himself.”
“That’s right. And neither could your man who’s just pretendin’ to be dead. If he looks dead enough to fool other people, he can’t just come back later on his own. He’d need help.”
Help. Simon Gant. Ethan closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. He could feel a headache building. “Aye,” he said. “He has help.” He looked at her. “You said there had been plenty of spells cast in the past few days. There will be even more if Osborne and Gant are working together.”
“Simon Gant?” she asked.
Ethan straightened, his eyebrows going up. “Do you know him?”
She regarded him with manifest disdain. “Is there a conjurer in this city I don’t know? I’ve known Gant longer than I’ve known you.” She shook her head. “But he’s not the one who’s runnin’ around Boston castin’ all these spells.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“He’s weak,” she said. “He can’t do much more than illusion spells.”
“Do you know that for certain?” Ethan asked, incredulous.
He saw doubt flicker in her dark eyes.
“Well, he couldn’t before, when he used to live here.”
“That was a long time ago, Janna. Seven years. I’ve learned a good deal about conjuring in that time.”
“Yeah, you have,” she agreed. “But it was more than him not knowin’ spells. He didn’t have the power.”
“I’ve encountered him twice now,” Ethan said. “And now that you say it, I think you might be right: He isn’t very powerful. He doesn’t like to rely on his conjuring abilities, either. But Osborne is alive again, or still. He and Gant are partners.” He reached for the ale, but thought better of drinking any more of it. His head had started to pound. Two conjurers were roaming the city, working together, both of them looking for the pearls, no doubt. No wonder it had seemed for the past several days that he was always one step behind. He was fortunate to have kept up with the men as well as he had.
Rickman ate the last of his bread and meat, still watching Ethan and Janna. Ethan tried to overcome the feeling of helplessness that had settled over him with Janna’s revelations about the spells. He felt addled; the worsening pain in his head had clouded his thoughts.
“You say Gant is too weak,” he said, his voice sounding thick to his own ears. “Or at least that he was. What kind of spells would be required to do the things you spoke of-restoring life to the dead, or simulating death? Could a conjurer do these things with blood spells? Or … or would it take something stronger?”
“Depends,” Janna said. “To fake a death and then wake a man. Yeah, that would be a blood spell. You could even maybe use an herb if it was powerful enough. Yew, maybe. Or linden. But to raise a man that was truly dead? That would take the death of someone or somethin’ else.”
Ethan had suspected as much. And, he realized, Janna was right in saying that a conjurer like Gant, whose abilities were limited, would be unable to cast such a spell. Any speller might choose to take a life in order to cast a spell, but that didn’t mean that he had the skill to master and use the power drawn from the life of his victim. A conjurer with limited skill could murder again and again to fuel his spells, and none of them would ever work.
Rickman had stopped chewing and was staring at the two of them. “You’re saying that the men who cast these spells might have … taken a life in order to work their witchery?”
“Aye,” Ethan said. “Unfortunately, it happens more often than you might think.”
The doctor swallowed, took a long pull of ale. “Have you-” Rickman shook his head. “Never mind. I would rather not know.” He drained his cup and placed it on the table. “We should be on our way, Mister Kaille. I want to find these men.”
“You a conjurer, too?” Janna asked him.
The doctor’s cheeks went red. “Well, no.”
“I didn’t think so. You’d best let Kaille here do the findin’.”
Ethan stood. “Let us be going, Doctor. Thank you,” he said to Janna. “I’m in your debt.”
She frowned. “You’re always in my debt.” She nodded toward Rickman. “Bring him next time you need somethin’. At least he buys my food and drink.”
“And fine food it was,” the doctor said.
Janna flashed a broad smile.
“I hope they let you open your place again soon, Janna,” Ethan said. “As soon as they do, I’ll come back and buy a meal and an ale.”
“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it.”
She smiled again at the doctor and then returned to her kitchen. Ethan and Rickman pulled on their coats once more and left the Fat Spider. The rain continued to fall, and the air had grown colder still. Ethan wondered if nightfall would bring the first snow of the season.
The two men didn’t say much as they walked back through the city toward Kannice’s tavern. Ethan noticed regulars standing in pairs and small groups, or patrolling the soggy streets in larger companies. With the rainfall, and the fact that it was late on a Sunday, there were far more men in uniform on Boston’s streets than there were workers or merchants.
“It has the feel of a garrisoned town, doesn’t it?” Rickman said.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Rickman gave him a sidelong glance. “Do you work with Samuel Adams?”
Ethan laughed quietly. “Hardly.”
The doctor recoiled. “Oh. Forgive me. I assumed, since you seemed to know so much about my dealings with him…”
“I’m sorry for laughing,” Ethan said. “Up until recently-until this occupation began, to be honest-I had considered myself utterly opposed to all for which Adams and Otis have agitated these past few years.”
“And now?”
Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know. This…” He waved a hand at yet another cluster of soldiers. “This changes things.”
The doctor eyed the regulars. “Yes, it did for me, as well.”
As they neared the Dowser, Ethan said, “Janna was right, you know. There’s not much you can do to help me find Gant and Osborne. I’m grateful to you for bringing Osborne’s disappearance to my attention, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave the rest of this to me.”
“I’ll leave the witchery-pardon me; the conjuring-to you. But I believe I can help in other ways.”
Before Ethan could answer, they came around the slow bend in Sudbury Street to within sight of the Dowser. At least a dozen regulars stood outside the tavern, with Sheriff Greenleaf and a man who looked suspiciously like Captain Thomas Preston standing at the fore of the company.
Ethan slowed.
Rickman muttered, “Damn,” under his breath.
“That’s him!” Greenleaf said, pointing their way.
The sheriff and captain strode in their direction, the regulars in lockstep behind them. Ethan and the doctor halted; Ethan had to resist an urge to flee.
“Are they coming for you or for me?” Rickman asked in a whisper.
“I assume they’re interested in me,” Ethan said.
“Why? What have you done?”
Ethan shook his head. “It doesn’t seem to matter.”
Preston stopped a short distance from Ethan, his sword drawn. The regulars had leveled their muskets at Ethan’s chest, rainwater dripping from their gleaming bayonets. Greenleaf didn’t stop until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Ethan. He was grinning; Ethan thought he must be enjoying himself.