“You’re right,” said Stephano, watching out another window, keeping behind the curtain. “I recognize Dubois. He’s the man I saw in the café.”
“He’s probably come to find out from his agent if Alcazar is still in the building,” said Henry.
“So it wasn’t Dubois who killed your agents,” said Stephano.
“A gangland shooting, as your shrewd lieutenant surmised,” said Henry.
“You smuggle Alcazar out by going over the rooftops, the way we came in,” Stephano suggested. “We’ll keep on eye on Dubois.”
“You’ve met Alcazar, Captain,” said Henry dryly. “Picture that quivering mass of jelly leaping gaps and running across rooftops.”
“I see what you mean,” said Stephano. “Look there. Dubois is leaving.”
“His agent assured him Alcazar and I are still inside,” said Henry. “He’ll be going to make arrangements for our capture. You should follow him.”
“Miri and Gythe know what to do,” said Stephano complacently.
Miri and Gythe, in their guises as nuns, strolled along down the street after Dubois, keeping some distance behind him. He vanished around a corner and the Sisters disappeared after him.
“Excellent,” said Henry. “As we planned, you and your friends will dispose of the agent who is lurking across the street. You will enlist the aid of the Constabulary and take them to arrest Dubois. I will wait here for an hour, just to make certain we are in the clear, then I will take Alcazar to the ship I have waiting.”
“I’ve made a small change in that plan,” said Stephano. “I’m leaving Dag here with you and Alcazar. He’ll escort you to the ship.”
Henry frowned. “That wasn’t part of our arrangement—”
“Finding two of your agents dead wasn’t part of the arrangement either,” said Stephano grimly. “The killer might return. Dag comes in handy during a fight.”
Henry was silent, thinking this over.
“Very well, Captain,” he said at last. “As you say, your man might be of use to me.”
He and Stephano found Rodrigo and Alcazar sitting at the table, sharing the wine, deep in discussion about magic. Alcazar appeared to have recovered from his fright. He seemed relaxed in Rodrigo’s company, talking volubly.
Stephano told Dag about the change in plans. Dag agreed. He and the Doctor mounted guard near the door.
“I believe I will stay here with Dag,” said Rodrigo unexpectedly. “Monsieur Alcazar and I have a lot in common.”
Stephano was startled. “What about your tailor?”
“I can see him later,” Rodrigo said with a wave of his hand.
Henry eyed Rodrigo closely, wondering what was going on, not liking it. Everything Henry had heard about this man indicated Rodrigo de Villeneuve lived for wine, women, and song. He was certainly not a threat and, being Stephano’s best friend, might prove an asset.
“Your friend appears to be having a calming effect on Alcazar,” said Henry. “Perhaps he should remain.”
“I think the wine is having the calming effect on both of them,” said Stephano. “But Rigo can stay if he wants.”
Rodrigo poured out two more glasses of wine, one for himself and one for Alcazar.
“I suppose the cat is staying, too?” Henry said caustically.
Doctor Ellington had jumped down off Dag’s shoulder and was roaming about the room in search of food. Not finding anything, he took great interest in a mousehole in the wall. He settled himself in front of the hole and stared at it fixedly.
“See there, Captain,” said Dag, pointing. “Tell Miri. The Doctor goes after mice.”
“He just never catches them,” said Stephano. “Keep an eye on Rigo, will you?”
Dag nodded and settled himself in a chair by the door, his musket across his lap. Stephano departed, heading for the rooftop again. Rodrigo and Alcazar were deep in a technical discussion about magic. The Doctor was gazing hungrily at the mousehole.
“I’ll go take a look to see if there’s anyone watching the rear of the building,” Henry said to Dag, who silently nodded.
Henry walked into the bedroom. He went to the back window and, in the shadow of the curtain, drew out the visiting card, which was the type ladies leave when they make their daily calls on friends. The card was of expensive stock, elegantly engraved with a bit of knot work. A few words had been written on the back.
So sorry to have missed you, Henry. Another time, perhaps.
The note was signed: Eiddwen.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
For the love of all that is holy, just give me a straight-up, stand-up sword fight! I hate court intrigue and all the closet-hiding, eavesdropping, secret-liaisoning, lying, and manipulating, who’s-watching-who-watching-who bastards that bow and scrape and simper as they slip arsenic into your claret. You can’t tell your friends from your enemies from one day to the next.
—Stephano De Guichen
STEPHANO EXITED THE BOARDING HOUSE by the tradesmen’s entrance in the back of the building. Coming around the front, he saw without seeming to see the agent Sir Henry had pointed out. The agent was loitering in the shadows in an abandoned mews, leaning up against a wall. Stephano casually crossed the street. He had no reason to think he’d given the agent any cause for suspicion and he wasn’t worried about losing him. But when Stephano reached the mews and glanced inside, the agent was no longer there.
The thought: “You’re a bloody idiot!” flashed through Stephano’s mind.
Half-turning, he saw someone coming at him with a rush from behind. He ducked, and the truncheon that had been aiming for his head missed. Stephano drove his shoulder into his attacker’s body and both men went down onto the street. Stephano grappled for his assailant’s throat, planning to choke him into submission. Surprisingly, he met no resistance.
The agent was limp, unconscious. Stephano rolled him over to find that the agent had hit his head on the edge of the curb. Stephano examined him. His skull was cracked and bleeding, but he was breathing. Stephano took hold of the man by the shoulders and dragged him into one of the horse stalls and dumped him in the hay. He’d wake up with the world’s worst headache, but at least he’d wake up.
Stephano had been toying with the idea of questioning the agent at gunpoint, asking him for information about his boss. That was obviously no longer an option. Stephano left the mews. Looking back toward the boarding house, he could not see Monsieur Russo, but he figured he was watching. Stephano touched his hat and continued down the street, heading in the direction Miri and Gythe had taken as they followed Dubois.
The sisters had a good head start on Stephano, but Gythe would leave a trail for him. When he came to an intersection of two streets and needed direction, he looked about and almost immediately saw a ball of bright white light dancing among the lower branches of a flowering shrub. Known as “fireflies,” these sparkling balls were among the first magical spells taught to children, for they could be created by drawing a single, simple sigil on a bit of paper.
The fireflies have no particular use, other than to introduce children to the wonders of magic. (And entertain cats. Doctor Ellington was particularly fond of chasing them around the deck.) Fireflies do not generate heat and are not harmful. Those created by children generally last only a few moments. Gythe’s fireflies lasted hours, however. She could even cause them to glow different colors.
Gythe and Stephano had worked out a code, so that he or Dag or anyone else in the Cadre could tell by the number of fireflies what direction the subject had taken, or if Gythe and Miri had lost the subject, or if the subject had entered a building or jumped into a cab, and so on. Anyone seeing the fireflies flickering in a bush or sparkling in a gutter would merely assume that children had been playing with magic and would think nothing of it.
Stephano’s main worry was that Wallace’s agent, Dubois, would have taken a cab to his destination, in which case they would lose him. Stephano and Rodrigo and Gythe had tried to develop spells t
hat could be thrown onto the back of a cab in order to track it through the streets, but thus far they had met with only limited success. Traffic tended to obliterate or displace any sort of magical markers left on the pavement and if the cab was drawn by a wyvern and took to the skies they’d lost the person for good.
Fortune smiled on Stephano. Dubois walked back to his lodgings, which were not far from the boarding house. Miri and Gythe had no difficulty following him. Stephano followed the firefly directions and found the sisters sitting on a low wall—two weary nuns taking their ease.
“He’s in there,” said Miri, indicating a small inn in a residential neighborhood.
“For how long, I wonder,” Stephano said.
“Oh, he’s going to be there for some time,” said Miri complacently. “Gythe and I went inside to ask the landlord for a donation to our Home for Wayward Children. We heard this Dubois fellow tell the innkeeper to have his dinner sent up to his room. He also said that if anyone came asking for him, to send them in to him immediately.”
“Excellent!” said Stephano, and he added teasingly, “Did you get any money for your wayward children?”
Miri held up a coin. “I figure I’ve earned it,” she said with a wry smile.
“I’m truly sorry I brought all this trouble on you, Miri,” said Stephano ruefully. “Am I forgiven?”
“So long as you convince Dag I did not poison his cat,” said Miri feelingly.
Stephano leaned his head under Miri’s wimple and gave her a kiss, causing two women walking past to glare at him in shocked reproof.
“And now,” said Stephano, reaching into his jacket to give the dragon pistol a reassuring touch, “let us go ruin the dinner of Monsieur Dubois.”
Sir Henry Wallace watched with satisfaction as Stephano removed Dubois’ agent. Wallace still had a problem, however, in the form of Dag Thorgrimson. Henry had not counted on Stephano leaving the mercenary and Rodrigo behind with orders to escort Alcazar to the ship. Henry considered shooting Dag, but the mercenary’s competence in handling his weapons and the fact that he was holding a loaded musket forced Henry to dismiss that notion. He might try bribing him, but one look at Dag’s ugly, loyal face, his stalwart, soldierly mien, and Henry knew bribery was not going to work.
Henry sat at the table, half-listening to Rodrigo and Alcazar talk, considering ways to get rid of Dag.
After imbibing several glasses of wine, Alcazar had recovered quite remarkably from his fright. He and Rodrigo were discussing Alcazar’s job as a journeyman with the Royal Armory. Alcazar, aware of Sir Henry’s eye on him, had been careful not to mention anything regarding his discovery up to this point. But now the wine had gone to his head. He was chatting away happily when suddenly something seemed to strike him.
“I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but did you say your name was Villeneuve?” Alcazar asked.
“I did, sir,” said Rodrigo.
“Rodrigo de Villeneuve? The man who wrote the treatise on Magic and Metallurgy?”
“The same,” said Rodrigo, delighted. “Have you read it?”
“My dear sir,” said Alcazar with emotion, reaching out to clasp Rodrigo by the hands, “it was your brilliant theories that led me to my discovery—”
At the word, “discovery,” Sir Henry’s attention snapped back to the conversation. He fixed Alcazar with a hard, glittering stare that froze the words in the journeyman’s mouth and ended the conversation in mid sentence. Henry turned his attention to Rodrigo, who was humming a popular aria and accompanying himself on the table, running his fingers over the table as though it were a pianoforte. Rodrigo appeared to be completely self-absorbed, giving no indication that he had heard Alcazar’s babbling, much less understood the importance of what he’d said.
But Sir Henry was not fooled. He had caught the quick gleam of intelligence in the brown eyes and the smile of cynical amusement on the sensitive mouth.
“I do not trust you, Monsieur,” said Henry Wallace to himself, gazing at Rodrigo from beneath half-closed eyelids. “Captain de Guichen is not the type of man to have a fool for a friend.”
Sir Henry rose to his feet. He saw Dag shift his hand to the trigger of the musket.
“I’m only going to take a look outside,” said Sir Henry, and he walked to the window.
Several people were moving along the street. Sir Henry dismissed all of them as being unsuitable and eventually settled on a man dressed in shabby clothes who was walking slowly, peering at the houses, as though searching for an address. Henry summoned Dag.
“That man is one of my agents. I’m going to go speak to him. Remain here where I can summon you if I have need.”
Dag nodded silently and, putting down the musket and, keeping his hand on a pistol beneath his coat, took up his station near the entrance to the boarding house. Henry hurried outside and ran out into the street. He stopped the man by flinging an arm around the stranger’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry to detain you, friend,” said Sir Henry. “But there is a silver petal in this for you if you will stand here and converse with me a moment. How do you find the weather? I fear we may have rain this afternoon. There is a smell of thunder in the air. What do you think?”
“I think it is uncommonly hot, sir,” said the man, seeing the glint of silver in Sir Henry’s palm.
“An astute observation,” said Sir Henry. “Here is your money. Off you go.”
He clapped the stranger on the shoulder, then turned and walked back into the house, leaving the stranger to stare after him a moment, then shrug and continue on his way.
Sir Henry motioned Dag to accompany him back to the room where Alcazar and Rodrigo were pouring more wine.
“I fear I am the bearer of bad news regarding your friends, the two young women,” said Henry. “My agent brought word. Dubois discovered the two women were following him. He and his agents seized them and carried them off. Your help is needed at once.”
Dag’s face creased in worry. He scooped up Doctor Ellington, settled the cat on his shoulder, then reached for his musket.
“You coming, Rigo?” Dag demanded, glowering.
Rodrigo remained seated.
“Stephano told us to stay here,” Rodrigo said, playing a silent sonata.
Dag glowered. “You stay, then. God forbid you should get your clothes dirty.”
“Dag,” said Rodrigo quietly, “I think we should do what Stephano says.”
At this, Dag hesitated. He was clearly worried about the welfare of the women, but he was also worried about disobeying Stephano’s orders. Henry took charge.
“Captain de Guichen could not have foreseen this development. You should go help your friends, Thorgrimson,” said Sir Henry. “Monsieur de Villeneuve and I will remain here until you return.”
Dag looked relieved. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Dag,” said Rodrigo, his voice taking on a note of urgency. “You should stay. This man is—”
Sir Henry reached into his coat, drew a small stowaway pistol and, using his coat to shield the weapon from Dag’s sight, aimed the pistol at Rodrigo’s heart.
“This man is what?” Dag asked impatiently.
“—going to fetch another bottle of wine,” said Rodrigo.
Dag shook his head in exasperation and hurried out the door, carrying the musket. The Doctor rode on his shoulder, tail switching as he dug in his claws to keep hold.
Rodrigo glanced at the gun and smiled.
“You know who I am,” said Sir Henry.
“Although we were never formally introduced, I believe I have the dubious pleasure of addressing Sir Henry Wallace,” said Rodrigo.
“Your servant, sir,” said Sir Henry.
Alcazar was blinking at them both in drunken confusion. “Sir Henry? Who’s that? This man is not Sir Henry. His name is Russo . . .”
Henry gestured at Alcazar with the pistol and told him to shut up. Alcazar stared at the pistol, gulped, hesitated, then pushed himself up from the table.
Rodrigo looked after him, then looked back at Sir Henry.
“It is true, then. That journeyman, Alcazar, developed a formula for strengthening metal using magic. I theorized it might be possible, you know,” Rodrigo added, with a shrug, “But I never put my theories to the test. Too much bother.”
He hummed a waltz and ran his hands over the imaginary keyboard. Then he stopped, his fingers hovering. “That confounded theory is the reason you wanted to kill me!”
Rodrigo pondered this a moment, then continued his playing. “Stephano and I both wondered. We couldn’t figure out why anyone would go to such lengths to get rid of me.”
“When the countess figured out that Alcazar had succeeded where so many others had failed and that he was now working for Freya, she would have dug around until she discovered that treatise of yours, then put you to work to re-create the procedure.”
“Put me to work . . .” Rodrigo repeated the words with a soft chuckle. “Some things are impossible, sir, even for the countess.”
“Once Alcazar is back, we will leave for the docks,” said Sir Henry. “I will be requiring the pleasure of your company.”
“The harbor is closed,” Rodrigo observed. “The authorities will not allow your ship to depart. If you attempt to run, the shore batteries will open fire on your ship.”
“Not when I have a hostage on board. Captain de Guichen would certainly never permit a friend of his to come to harm, sir,” said Sir Henry.
“And how is Stephano to know I’m aboard your ship?” Rodrigo performed an intricate cadenza.
“Oh, he’ll know,” predicted Sir Henry with a smile.
Rodrigo thought this over and played a second silent sonata. “A mere former captain doesn’t wield much authority with the admirals of the Royal Navy.”
“Ah, but the son of the Countess de Marjolaine is not a mere captain, sir,” said Sir Henry.
Rodrigo sipped his wine and conceded that this was true. “We are sailing to Freya, I suppose?”
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