Miri breathed a sigh of relief and fixed her sights on the refinery.
“The landing could be a little rough,” she warned Rodrigo.
* * *
Stephano stood in the doorway of the storage room—the door through which he and Dag had entered—waiting for the signal. He couldn’t see either Dag or Sir Henry from his vantage point, but he knew where they were. Sir Henry, armed with two pistols, one in each hand, stood at the main double doors located in the center of the building, facing the lab. The doors opened onto the only large patch of bare ground on the island. The workmen had planted grass and even a few flowers. They called it “the yard.”
Dag was behind Sir Henry, pistol in hand. The sergeant stood nearby, holding the loaded rifle and several more pistols. Workmen with spyglasses were posted as lookouts, keeping watch on the enemy’s approach and trying to deterime the exact location of the second sharpshooter. Frau Aalder and her helpers were preparing the wounded for transport.
Across the yard was the laboratory in which the other sharpshooter had taken refuge. The lab was the second largest building after the living quarters and it, too, was made of stone. The building was rectangular in shape, with another, smaller building attached at the north end. Unlike the living quarters with their slit windows, the laboratory had been constructed with glass-paned windows on all sides to provide light for the workers.
Unfortunately, the windows gave the sharpshooter a variety of options. He could fire at the larger building directly across from him out of the east windows, at the scaffolding from the windows in the south, or at the pinnace, which would be coming in from the west.
Sir Henry wasn’t certain, but he believed the second sharpshooter was concealed in an L-shaped building situated at right angles from the laboratory. This building housed the refinery offices; its windows faced north, west, and south, looking into the yard. If the sharpshooter was in that building, he and his comrade would catch anyone venturing into the yard in a deadly crossfire.
Exactly what Stephano needed for his plan to work.
“We’re putting our lives into the hands of your sergeant,” Sir Henry observed to Stephano. “Is Thorgrimson that good?”
“He’s that good,” said Stephano.
He was in the storage room near the door that led to the yard, holding a brick in one hand and Rodrigo’s grenade-in-a-jar, as Dag termed it, in the other. He had stowed two loaded pistols in the pockets of his dragon coat.
Stephano waited impatiently. He hated these gut-twisting, palm-sweating moments before going into action.
Sir Henry shouted the signal, “For Freya!” and slammed his foot into the double doors, kicking them open. He and Dag burst out into the yard. Sir Henry fired his pistol at the Bottom Dweller in the lab, Dag shot at the windows of the office, then both men turned and ran, hoping to find cover before the sharpshooters could return fire.
Reaching the door, Dag took the rifle that the sergeant held out to him, and positioned the weapon at his shoulder. Sir Henry was near the door when one of the blazing green bullets struck him in the back. He pitched forward onto the grass.
“Keep down!” Dag shouted. “Where did that shot come from, Sergeant?”
“The window in the office, sir.”
Stephano waited until he heard gunfire, then shoved open the door of the storage room and ran to the window at the south end of the lab. He peered inside and saw long stone tables covered with glass bottles, coils of tubing, boxes, barrels, and the Bottom Dweller. He was in front of the east window, his back to Stephano, firing at Sir Henry and Dag.
Stephano smashed the window with the brick and tossed the grenade inside, hurling it as far into the room as he could. He made a mad dash to the storage room for cover and had managed to reach the door when the lab exploded in a shower of broken glass and splintered wood, smoke and flame.
Stephano dove for the open door as debris and cinders rained down. A chunk of stone hit him a bruising blow on the arm, knocking his pistol out of his hand. The magical constructs of the uniform coat protected him from serious harm and he was on his feet before the smoke cleared. Snatching up his pistol, he ran out into the yard to find Sir Henry lying facedown on the grass. He was swearing, so he was alive.
“Duck, sir!” Dag bellowed.
Stephano glimpsed the sharpshooter running out of the burning laboratory. Stephano swore and flattened himself, as Dag fired over his head. The bullet struck the Bottom Dweller in the helm, between the eyes. He pitched backward into the blazing rubble.
Stephano was on his feet again. They still had to deal with the sharpshooter holed up in the office. Stephano had hoped the smoke from the fire would provide cover for their movements, but the wind was out of the east, blowing the smoke away from them. He looked into the doors of the main building. Dag was nowhere in sight.
The sergeant pointed. “Look out! Office, sir! Lower floor!”
Stephano saw the glint of sun off the barrel of a pistol and fired at it, as he crouched down beside Sir Henry. He could see a smoldering bullet hole in the back of the man’s coat, between the shoulder blades. Blood trickled out around the hole and was oozing from the wound, but wasn’t pouring out in a torrent.
Sir Henry was twisting his head, trying to see.
“How bad is it? It hurts like bloody hell!”
“Thank your seamstress,” Stephano answered. “Your magic-laced coat saved your life. Can you stand?”
“I don’t plan to lie here the rest of the day,” Sir Henry said through gritted teeth. “Give me my pistol.”
Stephano shoved Henry’s pistol into his hand, thrust his own discharged gun into his pocket, and drew his dragon pistol. Both men aimed and fired at the office window, then Stephano helped Sir Henry to his feet and they ran for the doorway. A bullet whizzed between the two of them.
“I’ll keep him busy!” Stephano said. “You go get that wound treated.”
Stephano tossed his empty pistols to one of the workmen for reloading and grabbed two loaded pistols in return. Sir Henry ignored Frau Aalder’s horrified exclamations and picked up two more loaded pistols. He and Stephano fired from the doorway, neither of them hitting the Bottom Dweller, apparently, for another bullet smashed into the door.
A single shot rang out.
The Bottom Dweller’s horse pistol tumbled out of the window and landed on the ground. While Sir Henry and Stephano had been keeping the sharpshooter’s attention on them, Dag had slipped around to the rear of the building, entered, and shot the man from behind. Stephano left the safety of the living quarters and began running in that direction.
He had almost reached the office when he caught a glimpse of yet another Bottom Dweller darting out from the side of the building to shoot him in the back. Stephano tried to shift his stance, but he wasn’t going to be fast enough.
The Bottom Dweller aimed …
A pistol went off. Sir Henry fired at the gunman from the doorway. The Bottom Dweller staggered, but stayed on his feet. Stephano fired into the mouth of the helm at point-blank range. The sharpshooter toppled over and lay still. Dag came running out the door of the office.
“The one in there is dead. I heard a shot—” Dag stopped to stare at the corpse in amazement. “Where did that bastard come from?”
“He was hiding around the side of the building,” Stephano answered, mopping his face with his sleeve. He looked up overhead to see the pinnace bearing down on them.
“We need to be ready to load up the moment the pinnace lands.”
He looked around, assessing their situation. The lab was still burning, smoke rolling into the sky. Beyond the living quarters, out in the Breath, the Bottom Dwellers had elected to split their forces. The black ship was sailing toward the Sommerwind, while the bat riders escorting it broke off, flying for the refinery.
“Going to be a tight fit, sir,” Dag observed, looking at the pinnace and looking back at the small yard.
“If anyone can bring the boat down safely,
it’s Miri,” said Stephano. “Guide her in for the landing.”
He returned to the living quarters and found Sir Henry sitting on a chair, hunched over the back. He had removed his coat and shirt. Frau Aalder was probing the wound, washing it with soap and water.
“The bullet is still in there,” she reported. “It’s not deep. I can dig it out with a knife. I’m afraid it’s going to hurt.”
“Take it out,” said Sir Henry, grimacing. “I don’t want a damn contramagic bullet in my back doing God knows what to me! There’s a knife in my boot.”
He handed over the knife. Frau Aalder washed the blade, then leaned over Sir Henry.
“Miri’s coming in for a landing,” said Stephano. “We need everyone ready to go.”
Sir Henry started to say something, then yelped in pain as Frau Aalder began digging with the knife. Sweat rolled down his face. He clenched his fists and said a few choice words in Freyan.
“Got it!” Frau Aalder held out her hand. A flattened piece of lead, glowing faintly green and covered in blood, lay in her palm.
“Drop it in my coat pocket,” said Sir Henry. “I’ll want to examine it.”
Frau Aalder began to dress the wound, putting plaster over it and binding it with strips of cloth. Stephano noticed several other scars on Sir Henry’s body, including a scar from another bullet.
“Hazards of the spy trade, I suppose,” Stephano said to himself. He wondered, suddenly, if anyone had ever tried to kill his mother.
Grimacing in pain, Sir Henry drew his shirt over his head. Stephano helped him on with his coat.
“Miri … I look forward to seeing that fiery redhead again,” Sir Henry remarked. “And her beautiful sister.”
“I’m sure Miri will be pleased to see you,” said Stephano, grinning. “You shot down her boat. You might have a difficult time persuading her to let you on board the pinnace.”
“You could mention to her that I saved your life,” said Sir Henry.
“I could,” said Stephano. “Thank you, by the way.”
“Don’t take it personally, Captain,” said Sir Henry, smiling. “You are still a damn Rosian. I look forward to the day when we meet on opposite sides of the battlefield.”
“As do I, sir,” said Stephano.
He went outside to watch the pinnace descend. Miri was handling the boat deftly. Dag was there to help, but Miri had waved him off.
“Get out of the way!” she yelled.
“We could sure use their help, sir,” said Dag. He was gazing morosely at the three dragons, huddled on the small island, keeping watch, and keeping their distance.
“Why did they leave, sir?” Dag asked.
Stephano looked at the bodies on the ground, the smoke rising from the destroyed buildings. He looked down at the blood on his coat and at Dag, whose face was black from the gunpowder and smoke. He thought of Sir Henry, pale and tight-lipped, covered in blood and sweat, swearing as someone dug a bullet out of his back.
“It stopped being fun,” said Stephano.
41
Diplomacy is always my first choice; negotiating saves lives and money. If diplomacy fails, I try blackmail and bribery. And if that fails, nothing beats a flotilla of heavily armed war ships.
—Sir Henry Wallace
The pinnace slowly drifted down as Miri controlled the ballast from the helm. Looking up, Stephano was astonished to see Rodrigo leaning over the rail.
“Rigo! What are you doing here?”
“I’m being a hero,” Rodrigo called. He eyed Stephano anxiously. “What did you do to your face?”
Before he could answer, Miri yelled down, “I need to talk to you, Stephano! There’s a problem.”
“Of course. There’s always a problem,” Stephano muttered under his breath.
“Come find me!” he yelled and pointed to the living quarters. “I’ll be in there.”
“That’s going to leave a scar unless you take care of it!” Rodrigo called as Stephano hurried off.
Inside the building, Dag and Sir Henry and the sergeant were portioning out weapons and the last of their supply of powder and ammunition. There were seven pistols, counting his two and Sir Henry’s two. The sergeant had one, and Dag had two. The rifle was a different caliber than a musket and required specially sized bullets. Dag reported he had about a half dozen left.
Lord Bjorn sat near the table watching them load the pistols. He was pale and nervous, gulping and wiping his hand over his face. Frau Aalder and the workers stood ready to carry their wounded comrades on board as soon as the workers had tied down the pinnace.
Miri and Rodrigo entered the building, Rodrigo talking excitedly. Frau Aalder latched hold of Miri and the two began discussing the dispostion of the wounded. Rodrigo hurried over to the table where Stephano and the others were loading the weapons.
“You should have seen me, my friend!” Rodrigo said exultantly. “My balloon saved the boat. I—”
He stopped talking and stood staring.
“Sir Henry!” Rodrigo gasped.
“Monsieur de Villeneuve,” said Sir Henry, pouring powder into a pistol. He was moving stiffly, careful of his wound. “I am pleased to see you in good health.”
“I regret to say that I cannot return the compliment,” said Rodrigo, recovering himself. “I would be pleased to find you in the worst health possible.”
Miri heard the name. Her cheeks flushed crimson. Her eyes flared.
“You bastard!” she cried. “You shot down my boat!”
She lunged at the table, snatched up one of the pistols, aimed and cocked the trigger. Dag caught hold of her and wrested the pistol from her grasp.
“Why did you stop me?” Miri cried furiously.
“We’re letting bygones be bygones,” said Stephano. He glanced at Sir Henry and added drily, “He saved my life.”
“That’s no reason,” said Miri angrily.
Stephano looked at her, his eyebrows raised.
“You know what I meant,” she muttered.
She was breathing hard, and her green eyes remained fixed on Sir Henry. Her hand lingered near the pistols.
“You said there was a problem,” Stephano reminded her.
“We don’t have enough lift gas to make it back to the Sommerwind,” Miri replied, glowering at Sir Henry.
“My fault, I’m afraid,” said Rodrigo.
“What did you do?” Stephano demanded.
“He saved our lives,” Miri said. “But he used up the lift gas. Now we don’t have enough.”
“But there’s the Blood,” Rodrigo said eagerly. “These workers make the liquid form of the Breath here in the refinery. We can use that.”
“No, we can’t,” said Miri reluctantly.
Rodrigo stared at her in shocked dismay. “I don’t understand. Back on board you said—”
“I didn’t want to upset you, Rigo. The tank of the pinnace can only hold the gas.” She shook her head. “It can’t hold the liquid. I was thinking they might store spare lift tanks here. The ferries use them.”
“We had spare tanks,” said one of the workers. “They were stored in the laboratory.”
“That’s the building you see burning,” said Stephano. He eyed Rodrigo grimly. “Explain to me how you used up the lift gas.”
“Three Bottom Dwellers attacked us on the way here. Rigo saved us with a magical balloon. Yeah, I know it sounds crazy—”
“I used the same magical constructs Alcazar used on the pewter mug and Gythe used on the Cloud Hopper—only different,” Rodrigo explained.
“Rigo’s magic balloon requires lift gas,” Miri added. “If you don’t have any here, we’re not leaving.”
“Where are the bat riders now?” Stephano asked.
“The three that attacked us flew underneath this island,” said Miri. “Probably waiting for reinforcements.”
“They’ll be here soon,” said Stephano, with a glance out the window at the bat riders flying in their direction. “Apparently we’re str
anded. We need to prepare for an attack. We should move the furniture against those doors—”
“We’re not stranded,” said Frau Aalder.
Silence fell. The workers exchanged uneasy glances. Some looked away. Some shook their heads.
Lord Bjorn stiffend. “The work is secret, Frau Aalder. We have no authority—”
“Authority be damned!” Frau Aalder returned sternly. “What does it matter whether we tell them or not? As the captain said, the secret’s going to be in the hands of the fiends soon enough anyway. Do you want to escape or do you want to die here?”
Lord Bjorn was sweating, gnawing his lip.
“Well, my lord?” said Frau Aalder.
“I suppose we have no choice,” Lord Bjorn said bitterly.
“In the storage room are four barrels marked ‘salt,’” said Frau Aalder. “Inside the barrels are large chunks of silvery white crystals. If you drop one of these crystals in the lift tank, you will have more than enough lift to sail back to the ship.” Frau Aalder added with pride, “You would have enough to sail to Rosia and back.”
“The Tears of God!” Sir Henry Wallace said, regarding Lord Bjorn with narrowed eyes.
Lord Bjorn looked at him, gave a ghastly smile, and looked away.
“What do you think?” Stephano asked Rodrigo, who was looking thoughtful. “Is it possible to make a crystalized form of the Breath?”
“No,” said Miri, pursing her lips.
“Oh, most certainly,” Rodrigo said. “The idea has been around for years. The cost of producing the crystal form was always considered prohibitive.”
“The Tears of God,” Sir Henry repeated in a low voice, still keeping his gaze fixed on Lord Bjorn. “So the reports I’ve been hearing are true.”
Lord Bjorn cast Sir Henry an unhappy glance. “We discovered a method … needed Freyan funds for development … We were going to tell you—”
“Were you?” said Sir Henry in biting tones. “When were you going to tell me? After you transferred the crystals to that ship waiting out there? I wondered how you knew the name of that vessel. You called it the Sommerwind. You either have extremely good eyesight to be able to see that name from here or you knew the ship was coming.”
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