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 café when you killed another of Wallace’s agents, a man named James Harrington. You knew him 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.
Stephano was about to make some scathing remark when the door opened and Miri walked out onto deck. She came over to Stephano and dug her nails into his shoulder, his sore shoulder.
“I don’t trust this man,” she said coolly. “He knows too much about us.”
“I agree,” said Stephano. He eyed Russo. “I want to see Alcazar.”
“Out of the question,” said Russo shortly.
“I see Alcazar or no deal,” said Stephano.
Russo fixed Stephano with a cold and glittering gaze. “You are being asked to perform this service by your king, Captain.”
“Piss on my king!” said Stephano angrily. “Do we have a deal or not, Monsieur?”
“Dubois knows you—”
“He knows you and you came here without being seen. At least, I assume you weren’t followed.”
Russo gave a faint smile. “No, Captain, I was not followed.” He sat frowning, his hand absently tapping the king’s letter. Then he said abruptly, “Very well. I will take you to Alcazar.”
“You’re certain he’s a man? Not a woman?” Rodrigo asked plaintively. “A lovely woman, if a trifle on the hefty side?”
“Quite certain,” said Russo.
Rodrigo gave a heartfelt sigh. This was too much for Dag, who burst out with a roar of laughter.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
To the unrefined or underbred, the visiting card is but a trifling and insignificant bit of paper; but to the cultured disciple of social law, it conveys a subtle and unmistakable intelligence.
—Rodrigo de Villeneuve
HENRY WALLACE, ALIAS MONSIEUR RUSSO, smiled inwardly as he watched the captain’s team, the so-called Cadre of the Lost, make their plans to foil Dubois and prepare to accompany Sir Henry to meet Alcazar. Henry had not been pleased when the captain had set the condition that he must meet the journeyman, but for his own plan to escape Westfirth to succeed, Henry had been forced to give way. The meeting with Alcazar would do no harm and might prove to do some good. Henry was already consideri
ng how he might use this to his advantage.
The main danger had been that Stephano would recognize the name Dubois and know him to be the grand bishop’s agent, not Wallace’s agent as Sir Henry had claimed. But Dubois was a common name in Rosia, like the name “Smith” in Freya. Henry could always claim that his Dubois was not the grand bishop’s Dubois. His fears on this score were allayed. Stephano did not appear to have heard of any Dubois.
Lounging on deck, Henry watched Dag swiftly and expertly load a variety weapons. He watched Miri and the beautiful Gythe emerge from the hold wearing gray robes and white wimples, becoming Sisters of Mercy. He saw Miri tuck her corset gun into her stocking. The only weak link in the captain’s chain appeared to be Rodrigo de Villeneuve, who was coming along simply because he was bored and had nothing else to do until the tailor’s shop opened. Wallace made a mental note.
At last they were ready or so it seemed until Dag bent down to pick up the cat. He placed Doctor Ellington on his shoulder.
“Uh, Dag,” said Stephano, glancing sidelong at an amused Sir Henry, “you might want to have the Doctor remain aboard the boat.”
“I’m not leaving him behind to be poisoned again, sir,” Dag said stiffly.
“What do you mean by that?” Miri demanded, eyes blazing. “Are you accusing me—”
“No,” said Stephano quickly. “He’s not. We should be leaving.”
“We are going to stop by the tailor’s, aren’t we?” Rodrigo asked. “My new clothes—”
“Yes, yes, Rigo, not now!” Stephano herded everyone down the gangplank.
“Interesting associates you have, Captain,” Henry remarked.
“They get the job done,” Stephano replied shortly.
The Cadre split up. The “Sisters of Mercy” went off in one direction, while Henry led Stephano, Dag, and Rodrigo along a circuitous route that eventually took them up onto the rooftops, among the chimney pots of the building next door to the boarding house. He indicated that they were to jump from this roof to the next.
“Dubois and his agents will be watching the doors,” Henry said by way of explanation. “We can enter unobserved.”
Rodrigo stated that he would go first. He made the jump with ease.
“I have done a bit of roof-leaping once or twice before,” Rodrigo confided. “Comes in handy when a jealous husband is breathing down your neck.”
Dag, on the other hand, stood glowering down at the ground that was about four stories beneath them.
“I’m not built for jumping, Captain,” Dag said flatly.
Henry pictured the big man in his leather armor and helm attempting to scale the four-foot gap between buildings—with the added impediment of a cat on his shoulders.
“Dubois doesn’t know me, sir,” Dag added. “I could walk in the front door, take a look, see if I notice anything.”
This made sense and Henry agreed.
“Room number 116. Ground floor in the rear. We’ll meet you there.”
Dag and the Doctor departed, heading back down to street level. Henry and Stephano jumped the gap. Once on the roof, they entered through an access door, hurried down a dark staircase and into a hall. The boarding house catered to single men, no families allowed, this being stipulated by the building’s owner, who happened to be Sir Henry Wallace. Single men went to work during the day and tended to mind their own business at night.
“Quiet place,” said Stephano.
“I am fond of quiet, Captain,” said Henry.
He walked briskly down the hall that led to room 116. The numbers, in fading paint, were barely visible on the door. He knocked in a peculiar manner on the door and waited expectantly.
No reply.
Henry frowned slightly and knocked again, then called out to one of the two agents he’d left to guard Alcazar.
“It’s me, Brianna. Russo. Open the door.”
His agents had been up all night. They had probably fallen asleep. He drew out his key, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door.
“It’s Russo. I’m not alone—”
Henry came to a sudden halt. He stared in amazement so great he was momentarily paralyzed.
His two agents, the man and the woman, were dead. The man lay on the floor in a pool of blood. His pistol was at his side. He’d drawn it, but never had a chance to use it. The woman was sprawled in a blood-soaked chair, her vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. Both had been shot at point-blank range, the man through the head, the woman through the heart.
Rodrigo stood staring at the body of the woman. “Oh, my God! Is that . . . her? I mean him?”
Stephano grabbed his friend and shoved him back out into the hall. “Go fetch Dag. He’s coming in the front.”
Rodrigo didn’t move. “I don’t understand—”
“Go!” said Stephano.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” said Stephano in a grim voice, his gaze on the woman. “That’s Alcazar.”
Henry, in his first overpowering shock, had made the same mistake. The dead woman was wearing the same clothes as Alcazar; she had been of similar build, height, and weight. But she wasn’t Alcazar. Henry began to breathe again.
“No,” said Henry. “She’s one of my agents.”
“Then where—”
Henry pointed.
The apartment had two rooms: living area and bedchamber. The door to the bedchamber was shut. Henry indicated with a gesture that Alcazar might be in there with the killer. He drew his pistol. Stephano reached for his own pistol.
Henry motioned for Stephano to circle around to the left of the door. Henry kept to the right, a route that would take him past the dining table and the small white card propped up against the saltcellar. He palmed the card as he passed.
Dag entered, accompanied by Doctor Ellington, whose nose twitched at the smell of blood. Henry indicated with a jerk of his thumb that someone might be inside the bedroom. Dag nodded and moved silently to join Stephano. Rodrigo remained in the hall with his hands covering his ears.
Stephano and Dag and Henry stood together, pistols raised, hammers cocked. Henry looked at Stephano, who nodded. Henry kicked in the door and the three men ran inside.
The bedroom was empty. Henry glanced first at the window, saw it was shut, the curtains drawn. He breathed an inward sigh of relief.
“Alcazar,” Henry called, frowning. “It’s me, Russo.”
“I’m here,” quavered a voice.
“Where?” Henry demanded.
“Under the bed!”
“You can come out now,” Henry said. “You are safe. I have friends with me.”
“I would, but I’m stuck . . .” Alcazar said plaintively.
Henry rolled his eyes, muttered something beneath his breath. He lowered the hammer on his pistol and thrust it back into his belt. He and Stephano managed to disentangle and then drag Alcazar out from beneath the bed. The journeyman was in a pitiable state, shaking and trembling and barely coherent, for which Henry was grateful.
Alcazar claimed he had been asleep on the bed when he’d been wakened by the sounds of gunfire outside the door. He had been so terrified, he had rolled off the bed and crawled underneath it. He had no idea who had fired the shots. He’d heard the killer leave and close the door, but he’d been afraid the murderer would return for him, so he remained in hiding beneath the bed all morning. Alcazar had not seen the killer. If the killer had said anything, Alcazar had not heard it.
He nearly fainted at the sight of the bodies; particularly when he saw the woman in the same clothes he had been wearing. Rodrigo came to the poor man’s aid, pouring wine from a bottle he’d managed to locate for himself.
“Drink this, Madame,” said Rodrigo. “I mean, sir. I find this all frightfully confusing,” he said in a low voice to Stephano.
“Here are the keys to the room next door,” Henry said, handing the keys to Rodrigo. “Take Alcazar there and keep an eye on him, will you?”
Rodrigo escorted the quivering journeyman and the w
ine bottle into the adjoining apartment. Henry looked up and down the hall, then shut the door.
“Obviously the killer mistook the woman for Alcazar,” said Stephano. “But why would Dubois want to kill Alcazar? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Remember that this Dubois is an agent for Sir Henry Wallace. Perhaps Dubois was acting on orders. After the attempt on his life, Wallace considered Alcazar a danger, a liability,” Henry suggested. “Wallace ordered Dubois to kill him so that he wouldn’t talk.”
“Maybe . . .” Stephano did not appear convinced. “But if what I hear about Alcazar is true, the value of his discovery is beyond estimation. My mother has told me Wallace is not the type of man who is easily scared.”
“Far be it for me to argue with the opinion of the countess,” said Henry with a bow and a smile.
Dag, meanwhile, had been examining one of the bodies. “I know this man, Captain. He’s the Duke—a knifeman working for one of the bosses, a gent known as the Guvnor. Could be this killing had nothing to do with Wallace or Alcazar, sir. Could be a fight between rival bosses.”
An excellent idea. Henry wished he’d thought of it.
“I believe you are right, sir,” Henry said in admiring tones. “It is quite possible this man was involved in a gang. I knew nothing about him or the woman. I hired them on recommendation.”
“There’s an easy way to find out,” said Stephano. “If Dubois and Wallace’s other agents are still keeping an eye on this place, then Wallace wasn’t the killer. If they’re not there, it means they figure the job is over.”
Sir Henry agreed that this made sense. He locked the door to the room containing the bodies. Stephano sent Dag and Doctor Ellington to join Rodrigo keeping watch on Alcazar. Henry accompanied Stephano to the main entryway. Peering out the window, Henry scanned the street. He saw the two “Sisters” strolling slowly along the avenue. The nuns would stop every so often, studying the addresses on the houses, as though searching for a particular location.
“There,” said Henry, pointing. “In the alley. Those two men. The pudgy man in the hat and cloak, that’s Dubois. I don’t know the name of the other man, but I do know him to be another of Wallace’s agents.”
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