The Braffan ferries were owned and operated by the individual refinery owners, who used them to transport workers and supplies between the Braffan mainland and the islands where the refineries were located.
The ferries were wide, flat-bottomed boats that could be as small as thirty feet long or as large as eighty. Simple in design, each ferry was equipped with a mainmast, a mizzenmast, a small balloon, and one or two lift tanks, depending on the size of the vessel. A small fore wing and a larger aft wing were mounted on the hull, with airscrews located beneath the wings.
Rows of bench seats for the passengers took up about a third of the deck, with the remainder used for cargo. The helm was located at the front. Since the journey to the islands was short and the Braffan climate generally mild, the refinery owners made little provision for the comfort of their passengers, whose seats were in the open air, as was the helm.
Larger ferries required a crew of two to operate them, with one person at the helm and the other to handle the sails. Smaller ferries could be operated by a single person, such as the woman who had befriended Kate.
By the time Kate left, she had the name of a sailmaker who was hiring seamstresses, and a working knowledge of how to operate a ferry.
Kate hurried back to her lodgings to change clothes. She had been told that Threadneedle Street was in a fashionable part of the city, and thus the destitute young widow had to transform into a smart young woman of independent means. She wore a white blouse and a wine-colored waistcoat, a long skirt and a lacy petticoat. Over these she wore a wine-colored jacket, severely tailored with a slim waist.
She tucked a corset pistol in a reticule on loan from Amelia, pinned her blond curls into a bun, topped them with a small, plain hat, and set out for the address given to her in the note.
Kate had attended clandestine meetings before and was therefore looking for a man wearing a false beard in a church, or perhaps a cemetery or an alley. She was thus considerably startled when 16 Threadneedle Street turned out to be “Mrs. Lavender’s Chapeaux: Hats for the Discerning Woman.” Kate frowned at the sign and reread the note, thinking she must have mistaken the number. She had not. She was apparently meeting Sir Henry’s agent in a milliner’s shop, and there was apparently a real Mrs. Lavender.
Afraid of being late, Kate had arrived far too early, and she was forced to find some way to pass the time until the appointed hour. Threadneedle Street was, as the name implied, home to tailor shops, dry goods stores, bootmakers, milliners, and dressmakers. The sidewalks were crowded with well-dressed ladies and gentlemen of the local gentry, accompanied by their servants burdened with their employers’ parcels.
Kate strolled up and down the street, trying to remember to take small, mincing, ladylike steps, although she was certain everyone could tell she was nothing but a jackdaw in borrowed plumage. She tried to avoid drawing attention to herself by perusing the storefront windows, all the while keeping surreptitious watch on the milliner’s shop, seeing who came and went. Noting the well-dressed women going inside, Kate swore beneath her breath. She would have been far more comfortable meeting the agent in a dark alley at midnight.
When the clock struck the quarter hour, Kate drew in a breath, hesitated for a moment on the sidewalk, then opened the shop door and boldly walked in. A small silver bell attached to the door discreetly announced her entry. Kate paused, looking around in bewilderment, not knowing what to do.
She had never been in a hat shop, and she stared in amazement. The shop was filled with hats of all colors, sizes, shapes, and styles, decorated with all manner of flowers, frills, and feathers. The faint breeze created by her entry fluttered the ribbons and stirred the feathers, making the hats seem as though they were living things.
The shop was quiet after the bustle in the street; the air bore a perfumed scent. When two women holding hatboxes left shortly after Kate entered, she had to step to one side to give them room, and nearly knocked over a hatstand. A young woman in a subdued gray dress hurried to save her hats from destruction and to ask Kate if she could help her.
“I am here to see Mrs. Lavender,” Kate said.
The shopgirl nodded and vanished into a back room. Kate could only wait. She had no idea what to expect. A woman in her middle years, stout and dressed in black, emerged from a room in back and walked up to Kate.
“I am Mrs. Lavender, the proprietor,” said the woman. “How may I help you, madame?”
“I am looking for a hat with a red bird’s wing,” said Kate.
“Madame will be pleased to know our winter hats have just arrived,” said Mrs. Lavender. “Pray come with me and take a seat.”
She gestured to one of three dressing tables tucked away in the back. Kate sat down, feeling nervous. She had mentioned the red bird’s wing, as the note had told her. Kate could see Mrs. Lavender’s reflection in the glass and she watched her disappear into the back room. Wondering who or what might be lurking back there, she stealthily opened the reticule and touched the corset pistol to reassure herself.
Mrs. Lavender returned alone, however, carrying nothing more sinister than a white hat adorned with red ribbon, red flowers, and the wing of a cardinal.
“I presume Madame would like to try on the hat,” Mrs. Lavender said.
“Yes, please,” Kate murmured, not knowing what else to do.
Kate removed her own hat, now wishing she had taken more care with her appearance. Mrs. Lavender’s silver-gray hair was beautifully coiffed, whereas Kate had pinned her blond curls together in an untidy bun. She sat in front of the mirror, feeling silly, as Mrs. Lavender carefully placed the hat on her head, tied the ribbon under Kate’s chin, and stepped back with her head cocked to one side to admire the effect.
“Madame looks charming.”
Kate thought she looked ridiculous and tried very hard not to laugh. “I … uh … don’t think so.”
“I understand. Madame prefers something more simple and elegant. In green, I think.” Mrs. Lavender leaned down to untie the ribbon. As she did so, she said in a low voice, “The name of the ferry is the Elisha Jones, leaving from the Midtown Docks at three of the clock tomorrow afternoon.”
Kate started, blinked, and stared.
Mrs. Lavender merely smiled, plucked the hat from Kate’s head, and disappeared into the back room. A moment later the bell rang, two more customers entered, and the shopgirl went to wait on them. Mrs. Lavender returned with a simple dark green hat trimmed with a darker green ribbon and a hint of white feather.
“With her beautiful brown eyes, green is the proper color for Madame,” said Mrs. Lavender. “Begging Madame’s pardon, but she should never wear wine. The color washes out Madame’s lovely complexion.”
The two other women in the shop were laughing shrilly as they circulated among the hats. Mrs. Lavender deftly removed the pins from Kate’s hair and rearranged her curls about her face, completely altering her appearance.
Kate gazed at her reflection and was startled to see she looked almost pretty. Mrs. Lavender placed the hat on her head and Kate had to admit that the color green did suit her. She remembered the green silk dress packed away in her trunk. Morgan must have thought the color green looked well on her too.
“You are surprised to see me,” Mrs. Lavender was saying, talking under cover of the shrill laughter from the other customers. “I am not your idea of a spy.”
Kate flushed. “It’s just … I didn’t think … a hat shop…”
Mrs. Lavender smiled as she fussed with Kate’s hair. “My cover is actually quite perfect. As I explained to Sir Henry, women chatter like magpies when they are trying on hats. I found out about the crystals from the wife of an oligarch exchanging gossip with the wife of a refinery owner.”
Kate could understand that. “But how did you discover the name of the ferry? It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Mrs. Lavender, but this mission is of vital importance.”
“A new hat for the young bride of a dockworker of my acquaintance. His wife has expen
sive taste. Do you have everything you need? Are you well armed? I have quite a lovely Travian double-barreled pistol with the latest targeting constructs.”
“With a red bird’s wing?” Kate asked slyly.
Mrs. Lavender smiled and said briskly, “If you find yourself in trouble, come to me, day or night. I live above the shop. Take the stairs round the back. Six taps on the window. Count to twenty. Then six more taps.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lavender,” said Kate. “I hope that won’t be necessary.”
Taking off the hat, she gave it an admiring glance, then handed it back.
“I will put it in a box, Madame,” said Mrs. Lavender.
“Oh, no! I can’t accept it—” Kate began.
“My gift,” said Mrs. Lavender. “The color is most becoming. Good luck. And if I may give you a hint…” She took hold of Kate’s hands and held them to the light. “Next time you walk among the gentry, my dear, wear gloves. Your hands betray you. Women of quality have soft hands, not working hands.”
Kate remembered her mother’s hands—smooth and soft with pink nails and sparkling rings. She looked at her own hands: sunburned brown, rough, leathery. She hurriedly hid them in the folds of her skirt. Mrs. Lavender placed the hat in a box, shut the lid, and tied it with string.
“What you do is very dangerous, Mrs. Lavender,” said Kate. “If you were caught…”
“They would hang me.” Mrs. Lavender gave a pragmatic nod. “I have been a widow these past ten years, leading a very humdrum existence. I ran my shop, counted the day’s receipts, drank my tea, and went to bed. I have lived in Braffa for years, but I was born in Freya and I am a Freyan at heart.
“One day, many years ago, I overheard two women talking and realized I had just found out important information that might help my country. My late husband was a civil servant attached to the Freyan embassy here in Braffa. I contacted one of his old friends and passed on my information. I thought nothing more of it until the day, a month later, Sir Henry Wallace walked into my shop and said my country needed me. I have worked for him ever since.”
Mrs. Lavender handed Kate the hatbox. “My life is now so much more exciting and worth living. Good luck, my dear, and remember: six taps.”
“Count to twenty and six more,” Kate repeated. “I’ll remember.”
She bid Mrs. Lavender good-bye and left the shop, taking care to keep her hands out of sight as much as possible. She was laughing to herself, imagining what Dalgren would say when she told him he would have to carry a hatbox on his saddle, when she passed a meat pie street vendor and realized she had not eaten anything since breakfast and her stomach was protesting.
Stopping to buy a meat pie, Kate was astonished to see a familiar figure on the other side of the street, walking in the opposite direction.
“Pip?” Kate called. “Is that you?”
The man kept walking.
Kate took a closer look and realized she must have been mistaken. The man, wearing a tricorn, had the same distinctive shock of white-blond hair as Pip, but there the resemblance stopped. This man was wearing expensive clothes and he walked with an air of confidence, quite different from bumbling, clumsy Pip.
Still, he looked enough like her friend that she started to cross the street. Her way was momentarily blocked by a passing wagon and by the time the wagon had rolled on, the man had disappeared.
Kate shrugged. The sun was low in the sky. She was going to meet Dalgren in a field outside the city and she had several miles to walk before dark. Swinging her hatbox by the string, Kate put the incident out of her mind and continued on her way.
* * *
Thomas was looking into shopwindows, searching for his friend, who had unaccountably disappeared. Sighting him standing in a window, peering out into the street, Thomas glanced up at a sign hanging above the shop, bearing the gold mortar and pestle of an apothecary.
“Pip, here you are!” Thomas exclaimed, opening the door. “I had stopped to look for the address and the next thing I know, you had disappeared. Now I find you visiting the apothecary. Are you in desperate need of tincture of pennyroyal?”
Phillip shook his head. “Sorry. I thought I saw someone I knew and I didn’t want her to see me.”
“I take it by the pronoun you saw a woman. Do you know many women in Braffa?” Thomas asked, joining his friend. “Is she pretty? How did you meet her? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I didn’t want to have to answer a lot of damn fool questions,” said Phillip, smiling.
“Is she still there?” Thomas asked, refusing to take the hint. He peered out the window.
“I don’t see her. I must have been mistaken,” said Phillip. “She was someone I knew in the Aligoes, so I have no idea what she would be doing here.”
“You never told me you were in the Aligoes,” said Thomas.
“I have never told you a lot of things,” Phillip said in somber tones.
“You are being very mysterious,” said Thomas. “Did this woman steal your heart?”
“Heavens, no!” Phillip replied, laughing. “This particular young woman was far more likely to steal my wallet.”
He glanced at his watch. “We have ten minutes to reach the refinery offices before they close for the night.”
“Good God, you are right!” Thomas said, frowning. “We must run for it.”
The two young men dashed out the door and began walking at a rapid pace down one of the main streets of Port Vrijheid, dodging in and out of traffic.
“Are you sure this is the way?” Thomas demanded after he was nearly run down by a milk wagon.
“Yes. The offices are only a block from here,” Phillip answered. “But they own several refineries. Do you know which one we want?”
“I have the name, as well as our credentials. Remember, we are fabulously wealthy Estaran noblemen planning to invest our respective fortunes in the refining of liquid Breath.”
“Understood. And since we are prudent, fabulously wealthy young noblemen, we want to see for ourselves where our money is going,” Phillip added.
Arriving at the office door, they stopped outside to straighten their hats and catch their breath. Thomas started to open the door.
“Wait! I just thought of something!” Phillip said, dragging him back. “Why did we choose this particular refinery? We can’t very well tell them we came to steal their crystals.”
“Damn! That’s a good point,” Thomas said, thinking.
“We could say we took a fancy to the name—as one does when betting on a horse.” Phillip paused. “Why are you shaking your head? What is the name?”
“Refinery Number Two,” said Thomas.
Both of them laughed.
“I guess we had better come up with something else,” said Phillip.
TWENTY-SIX
Thomas and Phillip left Port Vrijheid late the next morning, traveling on one of the ferries. They had dressed with care in clothes that marked them as gentlemen of fortune and quality: knee-length coats in subdued colors, matching waistcoats, white shirts and cravats without frills, close-fitting breeches, and silk stockings.
“Our clothes say that we can afford the best tailors in Estara, while the absence of lace marks us as serious-minded investors,” said Thomas.
He and Phillip were the only passengers on the ferry this morning. They strolled about the deck, taking particular note of where and how the cargo was stored and discussing their upcoming mission in low voices.
“So serious-minded that we have a brace of pistols concealed beneath our dull gray waistcoats, two pocket pistols in our dull gray jackets, and powder and shot in our satchels. I hope they don’t search us,” said Phillip.
“They would not dare,” said Thomas. “To do so would be an unpardonable insult. We would be justified in packing up our imaginary money and leaving.”
“I am not so certain that would deter them,” said Phillip. “The owners quite obviously did not want us anywhere near Refinery Number
Two. You note they kept trying to persuade us to visit Refinery Number One.”
“Fortunately my lucky number is two,” said Thomas, grinning. “In the end, their greed overcame their caution. I like the fact that they tried hard to forestall us. I believe it bodes well for our mission. Our information is accurate. We will find the crystals at Refinery Number Two.”
“First we need to know how to operate a ferry,” said Phillip. “I happened to get a look at the helm as we were boarding. Seems simple enough, though I doubt even the lucky number two will be able to procure us this particular ferry.”
“I suppose one ferry works much like another,” said Thomas, shrugging. “We need to find out details about the docking procedure.”
“With particular emphasis on undocking,” said Phillip.
As the ferry neared the island, the ferry operator prepared to lock on to the docking arm. The two wealthy young investors came over to the rail to watch with interest and asked all manner of questions. The operator, accustomed to investors, answered the questions with long-suffering patience.
“Why use a docking arm at all?” Thomas inquired. “Seems a lot of trouble. Why don’t ships simply tether themselves to the dock in the usual manner?”
“To protect your investment, gentlemen,” said the operator. “Liquid Breath is a valuable commodity. Every pirate that sails the Breath would be dropping in for a visit if the refineries made it easy for them to steal the goods. As it is, the tankers that haul the liquid Breath and the ferries that haul the workers are the only ships in the world specially designed to clamp on to the docking arm.”
Thomas and Phillip inspected the arm with interest. Consisting of three long sections of brass-bound timber connected with multiple, jointed “elbows,” the docking arm ended in a large iron clamp. The operator explained that the arm could be extended or retracted by means of a series of pulleys threaded with heavy ropes, run by a motor powered by magic, much like the motors on ships that powered the airscrews.
They watched, fascinated, to see the arm reach out, grab the ferry, and haul it in to the dock.
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