by A. C. Cobble
Philip rubbed his chin. “That might work.”
“Oliver, do you really think this was sorcery?” asked Raffles, walking farther into the room and peering curiously at Oliver’s shoulder. “Because if it was, well, that still leaves the significant problem of an actual sorcerer on the loose, doesn’t it?”
“We know who it is,” declared Oliver, clenching his fist, trying to ignore the throbbing pain emanating from the bruised area.
“You do?” questioned the director. “What, ah… what can be done about this person?”
Oliver glanced at Sam and then at the softly snoring Thotham. “We’ll come up with a plan.”
“Are you sure about this, brother?” worried Prince Philip. “When we battled the Coldlands, we had entire battalions of soldiers. We had airships. We had red saltpetre bombs…”
“We’re sure,” said Sam. Her hands were still stained red with the blood of the footmen, but she’d cleaned her weapons and stood tall, fire in her eyes. “Prince Philip, my mentor and I have trained all of our lives to deal with a threat like this. It is what we are here for. This is what we do. We can resolve this situation.”
“Are you the one Bishop Yates sent with Oliver to investigate Countess Dalyrimple’s murder?” asked Director Raffles.
“I am,” confirmed Sam.
“We could ask the bishop,” suggested the director to Philip. “If he’s confident in this girl and her mentor’s ability, then I don’t see why you should not be confident as well.”
Prince Philip stood in the middle of the room, his gaze roving over the group before finally settling on Thotham. He looked concerned.
“We can do this, brother,” insisted Oliver.
“We’ll ask Bishop Yates what he thinks,” declared Philip. “If he agrees the girl and the old man are sufficient, you can pursue this. Otherwise, I’m bringing in Admiral Brach.”
“Fair enough,” replied Oliver, slightly shaking his head when he saw Sam’s mouth open in protest.
To Sam, to both of them, settling the score with Isisandra was personal. For Enhover, though, it did not matter whether the sorceress was taken down by an assassin-priest or by a fleet of airships and a carpet of bombs. Either way, the important thing was that the threat was ended.
“Thotham should accompany you to speak with the bishop,” suggested Sam.
Prince Philip eyed the old man skeptically then shrugged. “Fine. Wake him up. I’m going to see Yates now.”
The Director II
“The girl arrived safely in Derbycross?” asked Director Randolph Raffles before taking a long draw on his carved ivory pipe.
“She did,” confirmed his accomplice, the priest.
“You’re confident the situation will be resolved?” inquired a third man, leaning forward in his wing-backed chair, glaring at his two companions.
“As confident as I can be,” murmured the priest. “The assassin-priest Thotham is both experienced and skilled at what he does. The girl and Duke Wellesley have proven surprisingly resourceful as well. I believe they will prevail, though it is quite possible they do not all survive.”
The third man, the former soldier, frowned, sitting back and glancing between his companions. “The Dalyrimple girl has also proven to be more than we expected. Very surprising, given you said her parents were merely talented adepts. It appears you were wrong.”
“I was,” admitted Raffles, shifting nervously in his seat. “We’ve all made mistakes—”
“We all have?” interrupted the former soldier, his hand slapping his knee to emphasize his frustration. “Don’t put your careless errors on me. You two are the ones who have been foolish. The countess coming back here with that dagger, her husband leading Oliver right to the circle she’d fashioned underneath your noses, Captain Haines getting himself caught as well. Then that mess in Middlebury… This situation should have been addressed and ended the moment we learned what the countess had done. The offices of the Crown, the Church, and the Company should never have gotten involved.”
“If I recall correctly,” snapped Raffles, “it was you and your minions who failed to eradicate any trace of what happened in the Coldlands. You’ve had twenty years to tie up those loose ends. Tell me, how much longer are we going to wait?”
The third man grimaced. “We did not fail. Standish Taft was killed before he was able to share anything with Oliver or the girl. It was close, I admit, but our secrets remain safe.”
“There was no time to prepare in Middlebury,” grumbled the priest, shifting uncomfortably, glancing around the sparsely populated smoking room of the Oak & Ivy. He swallowed a mouthful of sherry then continued, “You’re right. Middlebury became a mess, and my man didn’t kill Thotham. He did prevent the old priest from finishing the ritual, though. Thotham is weakened. If he falls in the battle with Isisandra and the elder, we’ll have him.”
“If he falls,” responded the former soldier. He swirled his glass, half-filled with cognac, and stared into the amber liquid. “This argument is getting us nowhere. We’ve risen to where we are by looking ahead. It’s time we remember that. This situation is nothing short of a catastrophe, no doubt, but you’ve convinced me that whatever happens in Derbycross, the girl will be blamed for the deaths of her parents and the ensuing bloodshed. Hopefully, Oliver and the priests prevail and eliminate her for us, but if not, I recommend we act quickly to clean it up ourselves. Let us not risk a knife of the council getting the opportunity to question the girl.”
The other two men murmured assent.
Director Raffles confirmed, “If she survives, we will find and end her. Both of us.”
“Good,” acknowledged the third man. “Once she is dead, are we confident there will be no more open avenues of investigation? I’m concerned the girl seems to know more than the Feet of Seheht possibly could have taught. Both her and her parents were hiding their progress on the dark path. Was there a family tradition, perhaps, that they managed to keep under wraps?”
“I believe so,” admitted Raffles. “There was no sign her parents were capable of more than any senior adept in my organization. Whatever talents they had, they managed to hide until the countess arrived back in Enhover with the dagger.”
The third man sipped his drink and rubbed his chin. “Hathia and her husband are dead now. Once the daughter is dead as well, that root of knowledge will be gone from this world. I worry, though. If this root ran deep through the generations, it is quite possible the estate will be fortified by whatever geas her ancestors have left behind. Was it wise to send her there?”
Raffles coughed into one hand, nearly spilling the embers from his pipe in the other. “There was no time to send her anywhere else. She had to go somewhere. Her family’s estate was the only natural choice. Understand I had to act immediately. I had to get her out of the palace before Oliver confronted her. If he’d caught her, and she’d defended herself in the palace of the prince… King Edward himself would get involved. He’d have airships dispatched within the day to Ivalla to collect the cardinal and as many knives of the council as they could fit onboard. I couldn’t risk that. I had to act—”
“It’s not ideal,” added the priest, “but he’s right. A confrontation in the palace would ruin everything we’ve worked for.”
The third man grunted. “And who is this man who went with Isisandra? An elder in the Feet of Seheht, is it?”
“He is,” murmured Director Raffles, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “He is of little note, though.”
“He’s an elder, isn’t he?” snarled the third man before looking around the room and quieting. “He must have some skill if he rose to that position in your society, or are all of your minions entirely useless?”
“He, ah, he has a few tricks, but I do not think…” mumbled Director Raffles. He glanced at the priest before continuing, “He is an elder in the Feet of Seheht, and he has the skills required to hold such a position, but I believe the priest Thotham will be able to count
er him. Thotham’s apprentice, the girl, has also proven to be deadly. Between the two of them, they should be sufficient.”
“Should be,” growled the former soldier.
“We will ensure this ends,” stated the priest, “one way or the other. Until it is done, we will both be personally involved as much as necessary.”
The third man sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers and glaring at his two companions. “I’m the one who said we need to move on, so I will let this drop, but if we are to continue as equal partners in this endeavor, I expect better of you, gentlemen.”
“What needs to be done will be done,” declared Raffles. “I admit the Feet of Seheht needs tending to. When this is done, I will see to it. When the time comes, all will be in place.”
“He’ll have my support, and I’ve put in place procedures to ensure all communication to the Church in Ivalla will go across my desk,” claimed the priest. “Whatever happens in Derbycross, however the Council of Seven responds, we will know about it, and we will be prepared.”
“Good,” said the former soldier. Suddenly, he stood. “I’m leaving for Southundon tonight. See that you get things in order. When the dust settles from this little conflagration, we will speak again. One thing we have learned from Hathia’s contact with the great spirit, there are others pursing the dark path. I have my suspicions as to why the spirit acted as it did. I believe it is in league with another and has been since we started this journey. To succeed, we must work together, and we must move quickly.”
The two seated men nodded, and the third turned on his heel and strode out the door of the smoking room, ignoring the upturned eyes, opened mouths, and raised hands as members of the Oak & Ivy tried to get his attention.
“I wish he wouldn’t make his displeasure quite so obvious,” murmured the priest. “There are a dozen men in here who will be gossiping about this encounter, speculating on what we did to make him so angry. When I see Prince Philip on Newday, what am I supposed to tell him if he asks about it?”
“Prince Philip isn’t the one we need to worry about,” stated Director Raffles. He set his pipe down and sighed. “A trinity, equal partners, we all agreed on it. I’m afraid he does not always see it that way.”
“No, he doesn’t,” agreed the priest.
“We need him, though,” reminded Raffles.
The priest nodded but did not comment. There was nothing to say. They all needed each other if their plan was to work. If it was to work, Isisandra Dalyrimple had to be removed. She had to take the fall for the deaths of her parents, the deaths of the others. It was unfortunate, but such was the dark path to power.
The Priestess XIV
She looked at the old man, slumped in the chair, his head hanging between his shoulders, his breathing ragged and slow. His shoulders, gaunt and becoming more so, stuck out sharply as if the fat and muscle had evaporated. It was like he was boiling away, dissipating before her eyes.
She asked him, “Are you sure you can do this?”
“There’s no choice, girl,” croaked Thotham. “No choice except the one you won’t let me make.”
“No, I won’t,” she agreed.
“If we go after her, you’ll have to give me my spear,” complained the priest. “Without it, I may as well not be there.”
“I will not let you kill yourself,” declared Sam. She leaned forward, putting a curled fist on the table in front of him. “Thotham, I will not allow it.”
“It is my life, my choice,” said the man, his voice brittle like rusted iron.
“Take your spear from me, then,” she said. “If you can manage that, then you’ll have your choice. If you cannot manage it, then I expect your promise that you will not do this. You will not kill yourself. Thotham, promise me.”
His head stayed down and he didn’t stir. He couldn’t take the spear from her. He knew it, and she knew it.
She sighed and turned her gaze from her mentor to the array of weapons, artifacts, symbols, and potions arranged in neat rows on the table, everything she’d been able to recover from her apartment, her mentor’s sparse dwelling in the city, the local apothecaries, and Bishop Yates. Since the fight in the courtyard four days prior, she’d been mixing solutions, carving runes, and sharpening her knives.
She knew that in Derbycross, Isisandra would be doing the same. She knew that when it came down to it, most of this would be useless. The glass knife she’d used to scry Thotham was useful in that art but worthless in combat. The ouroboros they’d retained from the adventure in Archtan Atoll was useful to a sorcerer contacting spirits in the underworld but pointless for someone trying to stop them. Much of what they’d assembled was similar, useful only in specific circumstances. She sighed. It was all they had, so it would have to do.
Knuckles banged against the wooden door of the room, and she called, “Come in.”
The door swung open, and Duke slipped inside.
“Is it time?” she asked.
He rolled his shoulder, wincing as it moved in the socket. “It is. Raffles put up surprisingly little fuss, and I talked most of the crew into staying on with the airship, enough that they can get us to Derbycross. The crew is ready, and we’ve got the thing stocked as best as we can — swords, halberds, blunderbusses, cannon, shot, red saltpetre bombs, and some provisions. They’re hoisting the last of the wine up the airship bridge now. Then, we’re ready to fly when you are.”
“The wine?” questioned Sam.
“To celebrate after we kill her.”
“Not interested in capturing her anymore?”
Duke snorted. “Not after what she did to those footmen and what we found in her rooms.”
Sam shuddered. They’d never found the one servant Duke spoke to, but they found the rest of the girl’s staff dead inside of a circle. Smaller but eerily similar to the one they’d found in Farawk. It gave Sam little doubt as to who was behind the activities of the corsairs there. Her parents had likely started her on the path, and it was probably them who’d began the arrangement, but for years, the girl had been steeped in evil. It was time for it to end.
“We’re ready,” advised Sam. She stood and gestured at the array of objects on the table. “I’ve done what I can, but since we don’t know what she’ll throw at us…”
Duke nodded grimly. “We do what we can. If we fail, then Admiral Brach will have to finish the job.”
Sam clenched her fist, letting her knuckles crack with the pressure. “We won’t fail.”
“I don’t intend to,” agreed Duke. He looked over the table. “What is all of this?”
“She’ll have her surprises. We’ll have ours,” said Sam. “Help me pack all of this up.”
Grumbling to himself, Duke collected a large canvas bag from beside the table and started tossing items into it.
Sam shrieked and grabbed his arm. “That is fragile!”
He looked down at plain, gray river stone in his hand. “It is?”
Delicately, she took the stone from him and, shaking her head, instructed, “Pack gently. Some of these items are older than this palace. I’m not bringing a rock because I think it’s pretty. I’m bringing it because it’s a weapon.”
Duke looked dubiously at the rock in her hand, but he began packing again, slow and careful. Sam slipped the stone into a pouch on her belt and began helping him load their gear.
The airship twisted as it rose from the dock, the bustling city of Westundon falling away below them. Sam gripped the railing, peering at the shrinking city, hoping she would see it again.
“Come on,” said Duke, walking behind her. “We need to talk to Captain Ainsley, tell her about our plan.”
“Tell her and try not to get tossed overboard,” muttered Sam under her breath.
“What was that?” asked Duke.
“I said, ‘try to get this over with. I’m bored’. Enough of the chase, right? It’s time to finish it.”
Duke frowned at her but didn’t comment. He led them to the back o
f the vessel and they ducked into the captain’s quarters. The room was sparsely furnished, as Duke had just purchased the airship the day before, and the new captain had barely had time to discard her predecessor’s effects before they loaded the airship and took to the sky.
Captain Ainsley was sitting at the table with Thotham, watching the old man sip a cup of water, his eyes fixed on the table. She turned from Thotham as Sam and Duke sat at the table. “Is this where you tell me your mission is going to be dangerous?”
Sam coughed and glanced at Duke.
“It will be very dangerous,” acknowledged the nobleman.
Captain Ainsley chuckled. “Of course it’s going to be very dangerous. That’s why you purchased this boat from the Company and hired me away, right? The only reason you’d be doing that is because you’re up to something serious. What I meant was what kind of danger are we up against?”
“Sorcery,” replied Sam. “We’re going after an active sorcerer.”
“I see,” responded the woman, sitting back in her chair.
“You’re the bravest captain in Westundon,” claimed Duke. “That’s why I sought you out. We need you.”
“I thought it was because I had gambling debts and came cheap since the Company no longer needed me to captain the ship you bought,” replied Ainsley with a snort.
“Is that a jest?” wondered Duke.
“Ah, no…” replied Ainsley, rubbing a hand across her lips. “I’ll be honest, m’lord. I thought if I said no it would be a bad look, seeing as how you and the director were the ones asking. Couldn’t very well say no and expect another captain’s appointment with the Company, could I? If I’d known you were going after… after a sorcerer, I’m not sure I would have agreed. Not for the rate you were offering, at least.”