Storm Riders

by Margaret Weis

  “You have something more to say on the subject, Mr. Sloan,” said Sir Henry. “Speak freely. Admiral Baker is in our confidence, as always.”

  “Yes, my lord. Our agent has been a crafter for twenty years. She states in her report that she never saw anything like this. According to the crafters who were with her in the carriage, the glass bricks had been covered in magical constructs. They claimed the magical constructs on the bricks had been erased.”

  Sir Henry’s good mood evaporated.

  “Bosh!” Admiral Baker snorted. “Impossible.”

  “Not so impossible. The constructs on the watchtower at Upper Alten were erased,” said Sir Henry. “The constructs on my mansion were erased. But in those cases, the fiends attacked them with green fire.”

  “No one reported seeing flashes of green fire at the Crystal Market,” said Mr. Sloan. “Yet something caused the magic to fail.”

  Sir Henry thought of the astounding letter he had recently received from Father Jacob relating all he knew about the Bottom Dwellers, about contramagic, about the attack on the abbey, the destruction of the Royal Lion, the collapse of the watchtower. Slowly the pieces of the puzzle were coming together to form an extremely ugly and horrifying picture.

  Father Jacob had risked his life writing this letter, for if it became known he was corresponding with Rosia’s enemy, he would be executed for treason. Sir Henry appreciated this fact and had not mentioned the letter to Admiral Baker. There was really no need. Baker considered Father Jacob a traitor to his church and country and would thus refuse to believe anything the man said. Mr. Sloan knew, of course. Franklin Sloan knew everything.

  Sir Henry was roused from his musings by a polite cough from his secretary.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sloan, you have more news to report?”

  “Yes, my lord. When I came through the gate in the fence just now, I checked the magical traps. One was tripped.”

  “Only one?” Admiral Baker gave a dismissive sniff. “Must’ve been rats.”

  “I do not believe it was rats, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan stiffly. “I myself hired the crafter to place the magical traps according to my own specifications.”

  “The admiral was jesting, Mr. Sloan,” said Sir Henry, hastening to soothe his secretary’s ruffled feelings. He cast a glance at the admiral, whose suggestion that Mr. Sloan’s traps were of such a simplistic design that rats could set them off was offensive in the extreme.

  “Yes, damn it, man, don’t be so blasted serious,” said Admiral Baker, taking the hint.

  Mollified, Mr. Sloan proceeded with his report. “The crafter surrounded the gunboat with a clay slurry set with magical constructs. I activate the magic nightly. If anyone larger than a small child sets foot on the slurry, the magic retains evidence of an intruder.”

  Mr. Sloan led them to the starboard side of the gunboat and pointed to the ground. He passed his hand over the magical slurry. A part of the slurry began to glow red, revealing a partial footprint. Mr. Sloan pointed out several other areas where the intruder had stepped in the slurry.

  “How could someone break into the yard?” Admiral Baker asked.

  “He wouldn’t have to if he were an employee, sir,” said Mr. Sloan. “He had only to conceal himself until after closing hours.”

  “Astute reasoning, Mr. Sloan,” said Sir Henry. “What did our intruder want?”

  “Sabotage,” suggested Admiral Baker.

  The three men boarded the boat. They examined the helm, the steering, the rigging, the lift tanks, the balloons, the hull, the twelve-pound cannons, and the sixteen swivel guns. They found no signs that anyone had tampered with anything.

  “Maybe our intruder just wanted to get a look at it,” said Sir Henry, puzzled.

  “My lord,” Mr. Sloan called from a different part of the gunboat, where he had been examining the steel plates, “you need to see this.”

  He pointed to a spot on one of the plates. Sir Henry peered at it closely and muttered, “Damn and blast it!”

  “What is it?” Admiral Baker thrust his face near the panel. “I don’t see a goddamn thing.”

  “The damage here, sir,” said Mr. Sloan, touching the panel with his finger.

  The admiral peered at it, practically pressing his nose to the steel. He frowned, straightened. “Looks like someone threw acid on it. Why the devil would anyone do that?”

  “Admiral Baker’s description is most apt, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “I recall observing something similar when the demons attacked your house with their green fire weapons. Wherever the green fire struck them, the metal pots and kettles, pipes, and the downspouts looked as if they had been hit by acid. In those instances, the metal had almost completely dissolved.”

  “You’re saying a demon sneaked in here, blasted this panel with green fire, and left.” Admiral Baker shook his head. “Makes no bloody sense. Why wouldn’t he just blow up the goddamn boat?”

  “Because he was here to discover something far more important,” said Sir Henry. “He wanted to find out if this steel can withstand contramagic. We will inspect the other panels. Mr. Sloan, go fetch Alcazar.”

  Mr. Sloan left upon his errand. Sir Henry and Admiral Baker inspected every panel. They found no signs that any of the rest had been damaged.

  Mr. Sloan returned, accompanied by Pietro Alcazar, inventor of the magically enhanced steel. Formerly a journeyman at the Rosian Royal Armory, Alcazar had sought to sell his invention to Sir Henry, hoping to pay off gambling debts. He had sent Sir Henry a pewter tankard inscribed with magical constructs that strengthened the metal. Realizing the worth of this invention, Sir Henry had gone to Rosia personally to bring Alcazar to Freya.

  “Mr. Sloan says you wanted to show me something, my lord,” said Alcazar, wiping his grimy hands on a rag.

  A small, slender man of a nervous temperament, Alcazar was fond of his work, devoted to his family, and addicted to baccarat. Sir Henry had made Alcazar a wealthy man and also a virtual prisoner. Guards escorted Alcazar from his home in Haever to his workshop every morning and took him back to his home every night. Alcazar was not permitted to go near gambling dens, much to the relief of his family.

  “Look at this.” Sir Henry pointed to the melted spot.

  As Alcazar examined it his eyes widened. He stepped back, staring at the spot with evident dismay and confusion.

  “Did the steel melt?” Sir Henry asked acerbically.

  “It would appear so, my lord,” said Alcazar, flustered. “But that’s not possible.”

  “Yet it happened,” said Sir Henry grimly. “So apparently it is possible.”

  “I … I know, but…” Alcazar gazed at the panel in bewilderment. “It isn’t poss—”

  “Don’t say it’s not possible when it clearly is possible!” Sir Henry snapped. “Check the magical constructs present in that spot.”

  “My lord, the magical constructs are a part of the steel itself. The constructs would not show up as constructs per se—”

  Sir Henry glared, frustrated. “There must be some way to tell if the magical constructs in the steel have been broken or destroyed.”

  “Magic cannot be destroyed, my lord,” said Alcazar. “That is the first law—” Seeing the expression on Sir Henry’s face, Alcazar gulped and began again. “There … uh … might be a way. I can cast a spell that causes the constructs to glow faintly—”

  “Just do it!” Sir Henry said through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Sir Henry was not a crafter. He gestured to Mr. Sloan, who was a channeler, to keep a close eye on Alcazar, observe the experiment. Channelers could not build magical constructs themselves, but since they could channel the magic through the constructs, they had the ability to see them. Alcazar began swiftly tracing magical constructs over the steel. Mr. Sloan leaned close to follow the progress.

  Sir Henry and Admiral Baker stood nearby, waiting in silence. When the spell was complete, Alcazar and Mr. Sloan peered intently at the pan
el. Alcazar gave a little gasp. Mr. Sloan raised his eyebrows.

  “Well?” said Sir Henry.

  “The magic in that one spot is gone,” said Alcazar. “I don’t understand…”

  “Mr. Sloan,” said Sir Henry. “Can you confirm?”

  “Master Alcazar is right, my lord. When he cast the spell, the entire panel begin to glow, as one would expect. Except that one spot. It remained dark.”

  “There is the possibility…,” Alcazar said timidly.

  “What, damn it?” Sir Henry said.

  “You remember Monsieur Rodrigo, my lord. I was talking with him on board the ship about the magical steel. As you recall, it was his theory that inspired me—”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it!”

  “We got to talking about the theory of magic and Monsieur Rodrigo mentioned contramagic, how its constructs could erase magic. He said that’s what happened when the green beam of light hit the Royal Lion.”

  “And you never thought to tell me this?” Sir Henry demanded. He was pretending to be angry, since he had been eavesdropping on the two himself. As had Eiddwen …

  “The study of contramagic is evil, my lord,” said Alcazar, looking shocked. “I did not want to imperil my immortal soul. I told Monsieur Rodrigo I wouldn’t listen to such talk. He laughed. I didn’t think he was serious…”

  “Oh, he was serious, our Monsieur Rodrigo,” Sir Henry said grimly.

  He began to pace about the yard. Admiral Baker squinted at the panel. The rain had started again, but no one seemed to notice. Alcazar wiped his face with his sleeve and started to speak. Mr. Sloan, seeing Sir Henry absorbed in thought, shook his head.

  Sir Henry stopped his pacing, turned. “Tell me, Master Alcazar, did anyone hear you and Monsieur Rodrigo talking about contramagic?”

  “That’s what frightened me, my lord,” said Alcazar. “Monsieur Rodrigo wouldn’t keep his voice down. I was afraid someone would overhear and report us. A lot of people were on deck. My brother and his family and, of course, the sailors.”

  Mr. Sloan cast a sharp glance at Sir Henry.

  “You said Eiddwen was disguised as a sailor, my lord.”

  “True, Mr. Sloan,” said Sir Henry, his expression dark. “True. I fear this confirms my earlier suspicions.”

  “It’s not my fault, my lord!” Alcazar babbled. “I didn’t tell anyone! I kept quiet—”

  “No one’s blaming you. Get back to work!” Sir Henry snapped.

  Alcazar returned to his workshop, casting uncertain glances all the way, as though expecting to be struck from behind.

  “Eiddwen,” Admiral Baker said, astonished. “That thrice-cursed female?”

  “I told you she smuggled herself on board that blasted ship,” said Sir Henry. “I feared she might have eavesdropped on their conversation and now it seems I was right. She needs to know if she has reason to be worried about this magical steel shielding a ship against her demonic green fire. She wouldn’t dare risk coming back to Freya,” Sir Henry continued, thinking out loud. “She would assign the job to one of her confederates.”

  “The question is, how did they find out where we are producing the steel?” Mr. Sloan asked.

  “An excellent question,” said Sir Henry. “I will have a talk with Master Alcazar.”

  “Must have been a bloody great disappointment to the demon,” said Admiral Baker. “All that work for a smudge.”

  “He’s right, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan, struck by the admiral’s remark. “He fired at only one small portion on one panel. That wouldn’t prove much. He should have tested the other panels and yet he didn’t. Perhaps something happened to alarm him—”

  “Rats,” said the admiral, winking at Sir Henry.

  Mr. Sloan pointedly ignored the admiral’s jab. “There are tenement houses nearby, my lord, as well as two taverns. People are on the streets at all hours. The intruder could have seen or heard something that alarmed him and he fled.”

  “Either that or his weapon malfunctioned,” said Sir Henry.

  “An excellent suggestion, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “We must consider the possibility that the intruder left before he had concluded his experiment.”

  “And in that case, he will be back,” said Sir Henry exultantly. “Mr. Sloan, did you have the magical trap replaced? Or add any constructs to the fence?”

  “No, my lord. I thought perhaps you might wish to examine it before I summoned the crafters.”

  “Excellent,” said Sir Henry, rubbing his hands. “Don’t touch it. Leave everything as he left it.”

  “Are you daft, Henry?” Admiral Baker stared at him. “You sound as if you want the demon to finish what he started.”

  “That is precisely what I do want, Randolph,” said Sir Henry. “If he does, Mr. Sloan and I will be waiting for him.”

  Sir Henry gave Mr. Sloan his instructions for the evening’s “entertainment,” as Admiral Baker termed it. The secretary departed. Sir Henry and Admiral Baker walked over to the workshop to have their talk with Alcazar.

  “Damn sorry I can’t stay here to help catch your demon, Henry,” said Admiral Baker. “I have to return to the flagship to see that all is ready for the voyage to Braffa. You must promise to write with all the gory details.”

  “Let us hope there will be no gore,” said Sir Henry.

  “Damn it, man, have a little fun,” said Admiral Baker, slapping his friend on the back.

  The interior walls of the workshop were black with soot from the melting crucibles and the forge fire, where the smith was hard at work preparing the pig iron, limestone, canisters of purified gases drawn from the Breath, and a tank of the Blood of God. A young apprentice was cleaning the infusing chamber where the liquid metal would be carefully mixed with the gases. Alcazar sat on a tall stool at a large stone table, scrawling magical constructs on the stone. He would stare at them, shake his head, and rub them out in frustration.

  “What are you working on, my friend?” Sir Henry asked, sending his sharp glance into every corner.

  “A way to improve the steel,” said Alcazar eagerly. He was never happier than when talking about his inventions. “I was thinking—”

  Sir Henry interrupted. “Where is your other workman? The journeyman. I forget his name—”

  Alcazar glanced around vaguely and blinked. “You mean Brice? Isn’t he here? He must be around somewhere.”

  Sir Henry noticed the smith’s young apprentice avert his face and become immediately absorbed in his work. The apprentice was sixteen with a mop of red hair and freckles. He quaked at the sight of the famous spymaster bearing down on him.

  “Now, lad, don’t be frightened,” said Sir Henry in kindly tones. “Do you know where we might find Master Brice?”

  “N-n-no, m-m-my lord,” the young man replied, going white beneath his freckles.

  The blacksmith ceased his work and looked up. “Brice hasn’t been to work in two days, my lord.”

  Alcazar was amazed. “He hasn’t? Why didn’t you say something, Ronson?”

  “I did, sir,” said the blacksmith in long-suffering tones.

  “What do you know about this, my lad?” Sir Henry asked the apprentice.

  His tone was kind. The expression in his eyes was not. The young man quailed.

  “Master Brice said he had come into a … bit of money and … and if anyone asked … I was to say he was took sick…”

  He cast Sir Henry a pleading glance. “I didn’t think nothing of it, my lord! Brice was always goin’ to the prizefights. I thought he’d got lucky on a bet!”

  The young man was shivering with fear.

  Sir Henry sighed. “Calm down, lad. I am not going to skin you alive. Any time you hear of someone who works here coming into ‘a bit of money,’ inform me.”

  He and Admiral Baker exchanged glances. “Now we know how the secret got out.”

  Alcazar was bewildered. “What secret? I don’t understand.”

  “Your bloody journeyman is a bloody trait
or!” Admiral Baker shouted.

  “Oh, my God!” Alcazar almost fell off his stool. “I didn’t know, Sir Henry. You must believe me!”

  Sir Henry didn’t answer. He and the admiral walked out of the workshop. They didn’t speak until they had left the salvage yard and were waiting for the admiral’s coach.

  “That Alcazar’s a dunderhead,” said Admiral Baker at last.

  “He’s a genius,” said Sir Henry drily.

  “Same thing.” The admiral grunted. “How the devil did Eiddwen find out this Brice chap was working for Alcazar?”

  Sir Henry shrugged. “Easy enough. If I were Eiddwen I would have planted agents in all the shipyard taverns and guild halls with orders to keep their ears and eyes open. Sooner or later they’re bound to hear someone talk about strange steel or merchant ships being turned into gunboats. I hope Brice enjoyed his earnings as soon as he was paid. Eiddwen never leaves loose ends.”

  The admiral chuckled. Sir Henry reported the matter to the Haever constabulary, not going into detail, of course, but saying he had an interest in a man who had disappeared. Two days later, the constables informed Sir Henry that the body of a man answering Brice’s description had been found floating in the river, a knife in his back and a wad of banknotes in his pocket.

  21

  I am intrigued with the new constructs your man Alcazar has submitted for patent. In my experience, innovation more often comes from the independent crafter looking at a problem through a new lens, as my old mentor used to say, than from the constricted methodology of the guild hall. That said, you may be interested in seeing these latest submissions regarding improvements in firearms. As I did with the new guns with the rifled bore, I will pass this on to your man, Mr. Sloan.

  —Simon Yates, in a letter to Sir Henry Wallace

  While the admiral and Sir Henry were enjoying a meal of beefsteak and roasted potatoes at Sir Henry’s club, Mr. Sloan was inside a rag and bottle shop, purchasing two shabby peacoats such as were worn by sailors. He took the peacoats to what was known as a “sigil shop” located on a side street.

  A sign hanging outside the sigil shop featured six magical sigils connected in a circle. The six were the original six sigils first used by ancient man to create magic: air, earth, fire, water, life, death. The sign signified that the shop dealt in the business of making and selling magical constructs.