Heart's Blood(19)

Pearl's hand slipped into Grey's as he watched them go. He looked down at her and smiled, elation filling him. "They're ascending. Becoming spirits."

"I know," she whispered, her eyes wide. "I can see them. Before, I felt-wait-" Her eyes somehow went even wider. "What's that?"

She tipped her head toward one of the lingering ghosts. "It seems to be . . . Is it-?" She squinted. "I can't see, exactly."

It seemed to be shrinking away from the crimson flow of magic. Grey could see more ghosts doing the same.

"Oh, now it's glowing," Pearl said happily.

It was, the ghost woman's harsh countenance softening as the magic soaked in. But only for an instant. The magic hit a barrier, or perhaps opened a cesspool of corruption, for the faint light was quickly drowned in a dark malevolence that ate the ghost from the inside out. Pearl gasped, and Grey turned her into his body, tucking her face against him so she couldn't see.

That were Mother Nan, a small voice whispered inside Grey's head. She owned the biggest house o' child-whores in all Lunnontown, an' she were mean wif it. Kilt me just that mornin' wif a iron pot t'my brain box. An' then Basher kilt her the same night for the same reason. 'Cause she didn't give 'im the money 'e thought 'e oughter 'ave.





8




THE LITTLE SPIRIT settled softly onto Grey's shoulders. Wisht Basher coulda done for 'er a little quicker. But then, Rodey weren't much nicer'n Nan. I likes it 'ere 'eaps better.

"I am happy to hear that." Grey watched the other ghosts shrivel and vanish as Mother Nan had, protecting Pearl from the sight. He didn't know what she could sense, but hoped he protected her from that as well. "I am Grey Carteret, conjurer. Who might you be?"

Pearl struggled to free herself, and since she didn't seem to be fighting to look at the still blackening ghosts, Grey released her, though he did keep a hold on her arms.

She looked up at him. "Who are you talking to?"

"A spirit. I am informed that these dark ghosts belong to the wicked, and are no doubt going to their just rewards, despite being murdered."                       
       
           



       

I knows 'oo you are, Mr. Magister, the spirit said. I'm Davy.

"A pleasure to meet you, good sir." Grey released his grip on Pearl. All the ghosts who were departing appeared to have done so. Fewer lingered than he would have expected. But then how long did sorcerous magic linger when innocent blood was spilled? And how long had it been since it was last cleaned up? Perhaps Ferguson's faint had good cause.

"This is my apprentice, Pearl Parkin. I'd like you to keep a particular eye on her, if you would. And on Ferguson, yonder. He is apparently quite sensitive to sorcery. However, we will be working conjury now." Grey wound the young spirit onto a sigil stick-his were pencils as well, with the sigils "come" and "stay" inscribed on the sides-and deposited him on Pearl's shoulders. Safer for both of them that way.

Ferguson seemed to be coming around, and Grey went to hoist him to his feet before Pearl did something hovery and fluttery and annoying.

"I think we've got that nasty pile of sorcery cleared out," Grey said to the young wizard as he walked him to the stairs and deposited him to sit there. "I'm going to do some conjury now, and won't be needing your par tic -u lar talents, so why don't you sit here out of the way and finish your recovery, all right? There's a good lad."

"Miss Parkin-?" Ferguson managed to fumble that much out of his mouth.

"Quite well. Impressively so. Did you know sorcery could assist ghosts over the edge to spirits? Neither did I. Rest now. Right." Grey turned his back on that annoyingly fresh, youthful face and his gaze lit on Pearl. The name fit her, didn't it. Matched her skin with its-

He pried his gaze from Pearl and nailed it to the covered bier that held Angus Galloway's body. He walked toward it, looking in his pencil case for the proper tool. Not pencils. They required too much pressure to make a mark. Ink was too permanent, though the Chinese ink blocks had made it much more portable. Ordinary chalk required almost as much pressure as a pencil, but the soft artist's pastel . . . perfect.

He would have to buy a new one soon. This one was down to the size of his smallest fingertip. He'd used them smaller, though. This one was big enough to hold.

Moving around to the head of the table, Grey tucked the case away. With one hand, he smoothed out the cloth that covered Galloway and the table. With the other, he drew his summoning sigil, "Come," surrounded by the power inflections and imperatives.

It suddenly became easier to rake the dull green color across the rough cloth. Pearl held the fabric stretched taut between her hands. She followed him to the foot of the table and did the same there. Did he need more sigils? Grey considered.

"Do you think Mr. Galloway was one of the ghosts who ascended?" Pearl stood behind his left elbow, as if fastened there like a dinghy bobbing along in the wake of a man-of-war.

"I don't know," Grey admitted. "Ghosts and spirits, when they have form, tend to look as they did in the prime of life. I've only seen Galloway like this." He gestured vaguely at the head end of the shroud. "Doubt I'd recognize him. Murder victims take some time to escape from their traps-the anger, horror, and fear created in their deaths. The worse the murder, the longer it usually takes. Angus Galloway could be trapped as a ghost for years. Centuries."

"Poor man," she whispered.

Grey wished he hasn't said that last bit. "Then again," he added, "perhaps your magic reached him." He paused. "I didn't know sorcery could lay ghosts. It's a good thing to know."

"If he's a ghost, and conjurers can't call ghosts, what are you planning to do?"

"It's not that conjurers can't call ghosts." Grey knelt to mark a binding sigil on the stone floor at the table's side, using ordinary chalk. "We simply don't. Because, besides being dangerous, ghosts are essentially useless. Their strength is consumed by the thing that traps them, whether anger, fear, grief, horror-their reaction to the circumstances of their deaths. They cannot be controlled-even self-control is beyond them. Nor can a ghost speak understandably to the living. I'm hoping our young visitor will translate for us. All right, old chap?"

Stunning, Davy said from his perch atop Pearl's head. Grey could just make out a wispy presence there, scarcely more than a thought and a voice.

"Don't overtire yourself, sirrah," Grey said sternly. "I have many spirits I can call upon for aid."

But I'm the one wot's 'ere, Davy retorted.

Grey copied the binding and control sigils on the other side of the table, stood, and put away his chalk. He removed his frock coat and handed it to Pearl. The fashion was no longer for so tight a cut that a man needed assistance to insert himself into and pry himself out of his coat, but the coat and its length could interfere with movement. He didn't know what actions might be required of him. Best to be ready.

He motioned for Pearl to step back, then reconsidered. "Pearl-Miss Parkin, do you suppose your ‘don't-look' spell might work on ghosts as well as it does on the living? Keep the ghosts from seeing what's there?"

She blinked at him, taking the idea and turning it over for inspection. "I don't know, sir."

"Perhaps this would be a good time to discover it. Invoke the spell, please. On yourself and Mr. Ferguson. And if you can find a way to include our new spirit friend, please do so."

"Yes, sir."

Grey folded his arms and waited, while Pearl crossed to the stair and stroked her thumb across Ferguson's hand. Grey couldn't help the fierce satisfaction that curved his lips. Though perhaps it was only that the cub objected to being essentially spat upon. Good.

She returned, coming so close that his arms unwrapped automatically, opening himself to her approach. She rose onto her tiptoes and he caught her arms to balance her, bending down to her upturned face. Only to hear what she whispered.

"Do you think if I know its name, I can more easily include this spirit in the spell?" she murmured.

"Why do you ask?" He wasn't particularly alarmed. She was his apprentice after all, and this wasn't exactly a guild secret. It wasn't something they bandied about, either. He wondered how she knew to ask.

"I can feel it. The spirit." She frowned. "I've never noticed spirits before. It feels peculiar. Being able to notice, I mean. The spirit doesn't feel peculiar. But you've never mentioned his name, or any spirit names, and I wondered if names were important."

"They are. Which is why a spirit's name is never spoken aloud. If you cannot ascertain the name on your own, I cannot give it to you."

"Oh." She frowned. "I can feel the spirit. But I can't hear it. Perhaps if I make my spell bigger, it can get inside."

Grey didn't think. He simply took her hand. She'd been able to see the ghosts ascend while holding his hand, so perhaps she could hear spirits the same way. "Try again."

I'm Davy! the little spirit shouted, and Pearl winced.

"Yes, I hear you quite clearly now," she said crisply. She looked down at her hand clasped in Grey's great paw.