Stephano understood. Miri was in one of her moods. He took a seat and tried to avoid coming under fire as Miri returned carrying a large pot in one hand and a spoon in the other.
“You’re having oatmeal,” she stated.
Stephano hated oatmeal, but he caught Dag’s warning glance and said meekly, “Oatmeal will be fine. Thank you, Miri.”
Miri sniffed and dug her spoon into the pot. Stephano reached out to pet the cat, who was curled up in Dag’s lap, dozing in the morning sunshine.
“How is the Doctor this morning?”
The cat responded to Stephano’s pat by purring loudly.
“Lazy beast,” said Miri scathingly.
She flung the oatmeal into the bowl and then pointed the spoon at Dag.
“I’ll have you know, Dag Thorgrimson, I found a mouse in the storage room this morning! Ran right over my foot. Mice running rampant all over the ship and that idle cat of yours sits there purring! He better start earning his keep, or I’ll throw him into the Breath.”
She shook the spoon at the Doctor, spattering him with oatmeal. The cat gave a startled meow and dashed for cover.
“She doesn’t mean it,” said Stephano.
“I do so too, mean it!” cried Miri, rounding on him. “The same goes for you, Captain Bloody de Guichen! We’ve flown all this way and for what?”
Miri slammed the pot with the oatmeal onto the table and answered her own question. “Gythe hearing demons. You stabbed and nearly killed. Dag lit on fire. My own boat attacked and almost sunk. What have you to show for it? Well?”
She stood in front of Stephano, hands on her hips, her red hair flaring in the morning sun, her green eyes blazing. Stephano shoveled oatmeal into his mouth as though his life depended on it which, with Miri in her present mood, perhaps it did. Dag had taken his own advice and was keeping his head down.
“I’ve a mind to hoist the sails and leave right now!” Miri continued, and Stephano could see that she meant it.
“I’m sorry this hasn’t turned out well, Miri,” he said, shoving what remained of the oatmeal around in the bowl. “We can’t sail today anyway. Not until the authorities complete the inspections and issue permits-”
“Permit!” Miri snorted. “As if I needed a blasted permit!”
Generally, Trundlers did not require permits. Having no nationality, they tended to come and go as they pleased; one reason Stephano was fond of conducting operations on a Trundler houseboat. But war with Freya loomed on the horizon, at least that’s what everyone was saying. Even Trundlers might find their lives changed during a time of war.
“Give me today to track down this last Alcazar, the one who’s the sailor,” Stephano pleaded. “If we don’t find him or it turns out he has nothing to do with the journeyman, then we can leave.”
Miri regarded him with narrowed eyes, then said coldly, “You have today.”
She grabbed up the pot and banged her way through the hatch. They could hear her stomping angrily down the stairs.
“She’s worried about Gythe, sir,” said Dag.
“I know she is,” said Stephano. “I’m worried, too.”
The door opened a crack. Rodrigo stuck his head out. “Coast clear?”
“She’s gone back to the galley,” said Dag.
“Did I hear Miri say we are leaving?” Rodrigo asked worriedly, coming out on deck. “We can’t leave yet. I have to pick up my new clothes at the tailor’s-”
“I don’t think now would be a good time to mention your clothes,” Stephano said. “Not unless you want to be wearing oatmeal instead of a hat.”
“So what’s the plan for today, sir?” Dag asked.
“Pick up my clothes,” said Rodrigo.
“You pick up your own damn clothes,” said Stephano. “Dag and I will go to the docks and ask if anyone knows this sailor named Alcazar. If not”-he shrugged-“we pack up and go home. And I tell my mother we failed.”
“She might be interested in the demons,” said Rodrigo. “And the green magic I’m not supposed to talk about.”
“Fine-you tell my mother we fled Westfirth because we were attacked by fiends from Hell riding giant bats,” Stephano said testily.
Rodrigo thought this over. “I see your point. She already suspects me of being a bad influence on you. She’d probably think I was luring you into opium dens.”
Stephano sat jabbing his spoon dejectedly into his slowly congealing oatmeal. Dag lured Doctor Ellington out from under the cannon with a bit of smoked fish. Rodrigo took a turn about the deck, trying to work up the courage to ask Miri to fix him a coddled egg when he came to a sudden halt.
“Stephano! Look there.” Rodrigo pointed to the end of the pier, where several men could be seen conferring. Four of the men were Trundlers, one of whom was Miri’s uncle, Ehric McPike. Ehric was talking with a well-dressed man wearing a long hunting coat, tall black boots, and a hat.
“Does that man seem familiar?” Rodrigo asked, frowning. “The one in the hunting coat. I have the feeling I know him from somewhere.”
“Yeah, me, too,” said Dag, squinting against the sun.
Stephano rose to his feet. He eyed the man and then said slowly, “That’s the count. From last night.”
“By God!” exclaimed Rodrigo, stunned. “You’re right! How do you suppose he found us?”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” said Stephano grimly.
Miri’s uncle and the count began walking down the pier in the direction of the Cloud Hopper. Dag reached for his musket. He had heard the story from last night, how Rodrigo and Stephano had fought off thugs to save some mysterious count and his lady.
“The love of my life,” Rodrigo said in melancholy tones.
“Fetch Miri,” Stephano told him, and Rodrigo hurried down below. He returned in a moment with Miri and Gythe, relating again the tale of the previous evening’s adventure, just in case they had forgotten.
“How are you this morning?” Stephano asked, smiling at Gythe.
Gythe was pale and wan. Her fingers danced in the air. She touched her ears and shook her head.
“She says the voices are gone,” Miri reported.
Gythe regarded her sister hopefully. Her fingers fluttered. Miri shook her head. Gythe sighed and walked forlornly away.
“She seems to be wanting to tell me something,” said Miri helplessly. “But I can’t understand her. I’m not sure she understands herself. Oh, Stephano, I’m so worried about her!”
“I am sorry, Miri,” Stephano said quietly, moving over to squeeze her hand.
“You better be,” Miri said, but she said it with a sigh and a half-smile and squeezed his hand back. He knew all was forgiven.
Ehric McPike accompanied the count, serving as his escort. The Trundlers bowed before no king, but they did have their own nation which was wherever a group of Trundler clans docked their houseboats, a tradition that had lasted for centuries. Many Trundler camps were as old or older than the cities near which they were established. Every so often, some enterprising person (such as the archbishop) endeavored to oust the Trundlers, terming them thieves and smugglers. Nothing came of these efforts, however. The archbishop was informed by the head of the constabulary that the Trundlers could not be told to leave Westfirth because they weren’t in Westfirth. They docked in the Breath. The city limits of Westfirth ended at the shoreline.
The Trundler camp had their leader and guards. Outsiders were viewed with suspicion and must be approved by a Trundler clan leader before they were permitted to enter the camp and then only with an escort. When the count and Miri’s uncle reached the Cloud Hopper, Ehric told the stranger to remain on the pier, while he boarded the Cloud Hopper. He kissed his nieces, and then turned to Miri.
“This man”-Ehric motioned at the stranger waiting on the pier with a jerk of his thumb-“says he has business with the captain. Will you receive him and take him into your care, Miri? Or should the lads and I escort him back to from where he came?”
The count stood quite at his ease on the pier. He gazed at the boats and their gaily colored balloons and the Trundlers going about their everyday business: hanging out laundry to dry, cooking, sweeping; all the while keeping a wary eye on the stranger in their midst. The count smiled at Stephano with the air of calm and cool self-confidence he’d displayed during the attempt on his life. Reaching up, he tipped his hat with a courtly gesture.
Stephano kept silent. The Cloud Hopper was not his boat. It was not his place to say who could come aboard or not.
“He can board,” said Miri. “We’ll see to him.”
“Shout if you need help,” said her uncle, as he took his leave.
Miri promised she would. The count came on board. He cast a glance at Dag, who stood stolidly on deck, his musket under his arm and Doctor Ellington on his shoulder. The count turned to Miri, standing on deck with Gythe at her side. The count’s eyes widened at the sight of Gythe, whose remarkable beauty tended to have that effect on most men. He spent a moment regarding her in silent admiration. Gythe did not notice; she never did notice men staring at her. Rodrigo saw, however, and he nudged Stephano.
“There’s hope for me!” he whispered. “Ask him about his lady friend.”
Stephano snorted and stepped forward. The count swept off his hat. He expressed his pleasure at meeting Miri and Gythe and thanked them for permitting him to come aboard.
“I have business with Captain de Guichen,” said the count, turning to Stephano with a bow. “Private business,” he added gently.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” said Miri. “Come along, Gythe. I need your help with the washing up. Try not to get yourself shot,” she added in a low voice, walking past Stephano. “I’m running out of herbs for my poultice.”
“Let us be grateful for small blessings,” said Rodrigo.
Miri and Gythe descended into the hold. Stephano knew quite well she had no intention of washing dishes. She and Gythe would both settle themselves on the stairs on other side of the hatch, where they could comfortably overhear the entire conversation. Stephano nodded at Dag, who stalked off to the bow, out of earshot, but within musket range. Stephano politely invited the count to sit down. Rodrigo brought up a chair and joined them, despite the fact that he had not been invited.
“You’re no count, are you,” Stephano said, as the stranger took a seat.
Rodrigo blinked. “What do you mean he’s not a count?”
“How very clever of you, Captain de Guichen,” said the stranger with that same cool and confident smile. “But then, the son of the Countess de Marjolaine would have inherited his mother’s brains.”
Stephano’s face froze as always when his mother’s name was mentioned.
“What is your name, sir?” he asked. “What do you want of me?”
The count reached into an inner pocket. Seeing Dag raise his musket, the count lifted a warding hand. He drew out a piece of paper, which he laid on the table.
“My name is Russo. Here are my credentials, Captain.” Monsieur Russo tapped the wax seal on the letter in an odd staccato rhythm, paused, then tapped it again. The seal was the King’s Rose, the official emblem of Alaric, King of Rosia. When the stranger tapped the seal, it began to magically change. The rose vanished and was replaced by a thorn, the emblem of a unit of elite undercover operatives tasked with protecting the king.
Stephano cast a glance at his friend.
“Is it genuine?”
“Quite genuine,” said Rodrigo. “The hand-tapping activates the magic. Monsieur Russo has to tap the seal in a certain way or the magic won’t work.”
“What does the Thorn want with me, Monsieur Russo?” Stephano asked.
“You and Monsieur de Villeneuve performed a valuable service to your king last night, Captain de Guichen,” said Russo, picking up the letter and returning it to his coat pocket. “I came to thank you.”
“I didn’t know I was helping the king,” said Stephano. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have.”
Monsieur Russo smiled. “Your mother told me you might be difficult.”
Stephano flushed in anger and rose to his feet. “If that is all you have to say, Monsieur…”
“You will be interested to know that I have in my care a certain missing journeyman,” said Russo.
Stephano shrugged. “Good for you. What has that to do with me?”
Monsieur Russo glanced around the boat, then said quietly, “Is the name Henry Wallace familiar to you?”
“I’ve heard of him,” said Stephano, shooting Rodrigo a warning look, ordering him to keep his mouth shut.
“Your mother told you about him, I assume.”
Stephano shook his head. “I’ve heard his name bandied about town.”
“I very much doubt that,” said Monsieur Russo with a dry chuckle. He grew serious, his face shadowed. “Henry Wallace is a dangerous foe. He is the man who kidnapped Alcazar. Two days ago, I managed to free Pietro Alcazar from Wallace’s clutches. Alcazar’s brother, Manuel, is a merchant seaman. We were to sail on his ship, the Silver Raven, last night. As we left the hotel, Wallace’s bully boys tried to grab Alcazar. You and Monsieur de Villeneuve thwarted that attempt.”
Rodrigo was bewildered. “Excuse me, sir, I don’t understand. We saved you and a lady-”
He stopped talking and stared, aghast. “No! Don’t tell me! That beautiful creature! I held her in my arms…” Rodrigo paused, then added, “I did think the dear girl weighed rather a lot…”
Dag, who wasn’t supposed to be listening, was seized with a violent fit of coughing. He turned his back to them, his shoulders shaking. Stephano ran his hand over his mouth and rubbed his chin to hide his grin.
Monsieur Russo frowned at them both. “This is not a matter for levity, gentlemen.”
“So you managed to escape from Wallace with our help,” said Stephano, regaining control of himself. “What happened? Why didn’t you leave Westfirth?”
“The closing of the port, of course,” said Russo impatiently, annoyed by the question. “You do know the port was closed, don’t you, Captain?”
Rodrigo was saying sadly, “I can’t believe it. The woman of my dreams is a man.”
At this, Stephano feared Dag was going to rupture something and he said hastily, “Just because the port is closed doesn’t mean you and Alcazar can’t leave Westfirth. You could travel overland to reach Evreux.”
“We could… if we were going to Evreux,” said Russo.
“Where are you taking Alcazar?”
“Somewhere safe,” said Russo evasively. “You do not need to concern yourself with our destination, Captain. The less you know, the better.”
“So how can I help you?” Stephano asked. “In case I am inclined to help you. Which at the moment, I’m not.”
“Alcazar is in a secure location being guarded by two of my agents.” Russo said, then shrugged. “Or at least I thought the location was secure. Last night, I caught sight of one of Wallace’s agents outside the house. This morning, I saw several more. We are surrounded. I need you to draw off Wallace’s men, while I take Alcazar to safety.”
“Where is Wallace?”
“I have no idea,” said Russo. “If I had to guess, I would say he is no longer in Westfirth. I received a report that an attempt was made on his life yesterday.”
Stephano exchanged glances with Rodrigo. This much of the man’s story was true.
“Then who is watching you?” Rodrigo asked.
“One of Wallace’s best men-a pudgy, nondescript little fellow. He goes by the name of Dubois. Do you know the name?” Russo asked casually.
“No, Monsieur,” said Stephano. “Should I?”
“I thought perhaps your mother might have mentioned him,” said Russo.
“My mother doesn’t tend to confide in me,” said Stephano dryly.
“You saw Dubois, though you probably didn’t notice him. He was in the cafe when you killed another of Wallace’s agents, a man named James Harrington. You knew hi
m as Sir Richard Piefer-”
“Good God!” Stephano exclaimed, astonished. “I remember. The pudgy fellow I took for a clerk. He ran over to see if Harrington was dead.”
Stephano eyed Russo. “But if that was this Dubois, he told me I had ruined his chance of finding Wallace…”
“Ah, he is clever, our little Dubois. He would say that to throw you off the trail.”
Stephano sat for a moment thinking this through, trying to sort out the tangle in which no one was who he-or she-claimed to be. “If this Dubois knows where you have Alcazar, why doesn’t he try to abduct him again?”
“He will-tonight,” said Russo. “He wouldn’t dare attempt to drag a lady out of a respectable house on a well-traveled street during the day. The neighbors would call the constables, all very messy.”
“How many men does Dubois have?”
Russo shrugged. “Ten or so. Maybe more.”
“Ten!” Stephano repeated and then he laughed. “You have a high opinion of me and my comrades, Monsieur. We are good, but not that good.”
“I’m not permitted to handle firearms,” said Rodrigo by way of explanation.
“I suggest you enlist the aid of the Constabulary,” said Russo. “Show them this document. I will leave it with you.” He handed over the letter sealed with the King’s Rose.
“You could show them the document,” said Stephano. “Commandeer a vessel and tell them to sail you and Alcazar to wherever you want to go. You’re on the king’s business.”
Russo quirked an eyebrow and smiled and adjusted his cravat. He appeared slightly embarrassed.
“He can’t,” said Rodrigo in sudden understanding. “Because the king doesn’t know it’s his business. His Majesty doesn’t know Alcazar was kidnapped.”
“His Majesty has so many cares,” said Russo gravely. “Your mother believes we should not add to them. This letter will be enough to convince the head of the Constabulary that you require his assistance. That and the name of Lord Captain de Guichen, son of the Countess de Marjolaine.”
“You mean my mother’s name will convince them to act,” said Stephano coldly.
“Your mother is held in high esteem throughout the world, Captain,” said Russo.
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