Many conjurers found employment with merchant captains, who were less squeamish than others about magick and more inclined to see the value of having a speller with them on the open seas.
“I’ll find out what I can.” Greenleaf stalked off without waiting for Ethan’s reply.
Ethan watched him go, and then trod through the snow and ice to the waterfront. Kannice was right, he knew: Ramsey was not so careless as to let himself be found before he was ready for a confrontation. But Ethan couldn’t bring himself to give up looking for him. He stood at the base of Fort Hill, near the South Battery, and he stared out over the icy surface of the harbor squinting against the sun and examining each ship he could see. None was a pink.
He thought about walking back to Gibbon’s Shipyard, to begin his now-familiar route along the city shore, but his legs had grown leaden, and already the cold of the harbor breeze was carving through his coat. Instead, he made his way to Long Wharf and ventured out onto the pier as far as Minot’s “T,” from whence he could survey the harbor without walking such a great distance.
The dock was less crowded than it would have been had the waters around the wharf not been frozen solid, but still it bustled with sailors walking to and from their ice-locked ships and laborers carrying goods from warehouses to the city. Most of the men ignored Ethan, although a few eyed him, wariness in their stances and miens. Ethan soon realized that he could see little more from the wharf than he could from the streets that ran along the waterfront. After lingering on the pier for a few minutes, shivering within his coat, he made up his mind to return to the Dowsing Rod for the breakfast Kannice had wanted him to eat when first he woke.
But as he followed the “T” back to the main branch of the wharf, a spell rumbled in the wood beneath his feet. He knew without looking that Reg had appeared at his shoulder, diaphanous in the sunlight; he didn’t spare the ghost so much as a glance. He started to scan the water again for Ramsey’s ship, but stopped himself. Instead he looked back toward the street for some sign of Morrison or his blue spectral guide. He saw neither.
Someone near him shouted a warning. Ethan spun. Two laborers circled each other, fists raised, as others gathered around them. One of the men, the larger of the two, threw a wild punch; the other ducked under it and dug his fist into the first man’s gut. This laborer doubled over but then charged his foe. They grappled for several seconds, each trying to get the advantage. After a minute or two of this, they fell to the ground, still grabbing at one another, flailing with their fists.
The men around them cheered; Ethan thought he heard several of them wagering on the outcome. Not wishing to see either man hurt because of a spell that had somehow drawn upon his conjuring power, he waded into the growing cluster of men, pushed his way past those closest to the fight, and tried to pull the men apart.
Several of the spectators voiced their displeasure, but two sailors joined Ethan in trying to separate the laborers.
The larger man bled from his nose and a cut on his lip. The other had a scrape on his forehead, but appeared to have gotten the better of their exchange.
“That’s enough!” Ethan said, looking at each man in turn.
The smaller man held up his hands. “It wasn’t me that started it.”
Ethan looked at the larger man, who struggled to free himself from the grasp of the two sailors and renew his assault. His eyes had a glazed look; Ethan recalled Gordon’s appearing much the same way that night in Will Pryor’s room.
“Get away from here,” Ethan said to the smaller laborer.
“I work here, an’ like I told you, it was him that took the first swing at me. Tell him to go.”
Ethan couldn’t very well explain to him that the other man was under the influence of a conjuring. “I know it’s not your fault—”
A cry of pain and shouted warnings stopped him.
Ethan pivoted again. The big laborer had thrown off both of the sailors. One of them was on his knees, bleeding from a gash on his arm, the other lay still, a bloody wound over his heart.
The laborer swung at