Then the world shook beneath his feet. Concrete cracked, steel rods buckled, wooden timbers snapped, stone ground against stone. The magic disintegrated. Sir Ander could hear the screams of the men crushed to death as the bunker’s walls and ceiling collapsed on top of them.
The guard tower began to sway. Men inside cried that it was going to fall and it did fall, before they got the words out of their mouths. Brother Barnaby was holding the wounded soldier in his arms, trying to drag him to a place of safety, a place that did not exist.
The ground split beneath Barnaby’s feet. The wall crumbled.
Sir Ander bellowed, crying out the monk’s name in helpless denial.
Barnaby looked up at him and gave a fleeting smile, then he disappeared in a cascade of tumbling stone. Sir Ander roared in anger and lunged across the shaking ground with some wild idea of saving the monk. The pavement began cracking beneath him. He knew it was hopeless. Swearing in anger, he ran back to Father Jacob, who was either unconscious or dead. Sir Ander picked the priest up in his arms and carried him through smoke and fire and a rain of debris across the battlements until they reached the Old Fort.
Sir Ander tried to go on, to carry Father Jacob inside, but his strength gave out. He laid the priest on the ground beneath a stone archway and collapsed beside him. He had no idea what was wrong with Father Jacob. He could find no wounds other than the bat bite. Yet Father Jacob’s breathing was shallow, his skin ashen and chill to the touch.
“Jacob,” said Sir Ander urgently, shaking him, trying to rouse him.
Father Jacob did not move.
Sir Ander shouted for help, and help came. The archbishop’s guards ran to his aid. They asked him about Father Jacob, about what had happened. Ander didn’t know. He couldn’t say. They asked Sir Ander if he was hurt. He shook his head. They brought a litter and placed Father Jacob on it and bore him to where the healers had established a makeshift hospital. They wanted to take Sir Ander with them, but he refused to leave and eventually they quit badgering him and went away, leaving him alone, crouched beneath the arch.
The ground had quit shaking, except for a rumble and tremor, like a body twitching in its death throes. Sir Ander wondered if the contramagic weapon was next going to fire on the Old Fort. If so, he was too exhausted, too numb to care.
All he could see was Brother Barnaby’s face as the monk realized he was falling to his death. There had been a little fear, and then a fleeting smile of faith and reassurance.
“God holds me in his hand,” Brother Barnaby had seemed to say to his friend. “Do not grieve for me.”
Sir Ander closed his eyes and felt the hot tears burn through his lashes. He gave a shuddering sob. How was he going to tell Father Jacob that the gentle monk who had come to him by a saint’s command was gone?
Chapter Forty-Two
Stephano is the soul of honor and valor. He is brave, intelligent, but he is not, I fear, very wise. Too often Stephano’s restless, reckless heart carries the day. Yet I would not change him! He was born of an illicit love that doomed both his father and myself, yet to my way of thinking, Stephano is proof that God has forgiven us. God gave Julian and me the greatest gift—our brave and noble son.
—Letter from the Countess de Marjolaine to Sir Ander Martel
A DAY AND A HALF HAD PASSED SINCE THE ATTACK on Westfirth. The Cloud Hopper had traveled far from the ravaged city, yet they could still see the smoke of burning—a smudge on the horizon, darker than the mists of the Breath of God. Ahead of them, the damaged merchant vessel carrying Henry Wallace, Pietro Alcazar, and Rodrigo was afloat and still sailing. But the Silver Raven continued to lose altitude.
“A slow leak somewhere,” Miri said. “Probably when the yard and rigging crashed into the mizzen balloon, it damaged the outer skin. Hard to repair when the balloon is at full capacity. They’re going to have to land soon and make repairs.”
“Land on what?” Stephano asked. “We’re in the middle of Nowhere.”
They were, quite literally, in the middle of Nowhere, this being a region in the Breath marked “Nowhere” on Trundler maps. Located off the western shore of Rosia between Westfirth and Caltreau, the shoreline for about five hundred miles was wild, desolate, and rock-bound, beautiful to look upon, but deadly if a ship sailed too close. Whipping curls and eddies of the Breath swirled among the crags and tossed against the cliffs. The bones of wrecked ships that had been caught in those eddies could be seen amidst the trees, a most effective warning to stay away.
Miri consulted a map. “The only place for the Raven to land would be somewhere in the String of Pearls Islands off to the northwest here.” She pointed to a mass of small, floating islands, the larger of which, numbering about a hundred, formed a rough circle that made them resemble a pearl necklace. The “pearls” were surrounded by innumerable small islands; too many to count and too unimportant to chart. Free-floating, drifting among the Breath, the islands frequently collided, causing widespread destruction and making them unfit for human habitation. A ship in desperate straits could set down on one of these islands and make repairs; far safer than risking a smashed hull against the cliffs of Nowhere.
“Raven’s altered course. Looks like that’s where they’re headed,” Dag reported, watching the ship through his spyglass.
“The way she’s leaking air, she’d best hurry,” said Miri.
“Good!” Stephano rubbed his hands. “Maybe luck is with us for once.”
“Spit!” Miri ordered, alarmed. “Spit over your left shoulder! Now! You’ve put the hex on us and you have to lift it!”
“Better turn so you’re not facing into the wind, sir,” said Dag, trying to keep from grinning.
Stephano rolled his eyes, but he did as he was told. He spit over his left shoulder. Miri then ordered him to swab the deck.
Stephano and Dag began to plan their assault. Miri voiced her opinions from the helm. Gythe sat in a deck chair, singing softly to the Doctor, who lay curled up in her arms. She looked pale and seemed troubled, but insisted she was fine. Stephano asked her if she had heard the voices again. She nodded. He asked if she wanted to talk about it. She shook her head.
“Gythe thinks about things,” Miri had said, when Stephano had urged her to force her sister to reveal what she knew. “Turns them over in her mind. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”
Stephano sighed in frustration. He was curious about the demon raid on Westfirth, wondering about the strategy behind it. The demons had displayed their capability of using awful, terrifying, mysterious power. But, analyzing the attack, he realized that the targets the demons had attacked had been easy, vulnerable targets of opportunity, such as the merchant ships. The demons had attacked major military targets, that was true, but only two—the shore battery and the Royal Lion. With the shore battery destroyed, the city of Westfirth had been left completely undefended. But instead of sailing in to finish the foe, set fire to the city, slaughter thousands, the strange demonic ship had vanished, disappearing into the Breath and taking the demon bat riders with her.
“Maybe all they wanted to do was spread fear,” suggested Miri and she added somberly, “Maybe that’s all they needed to do.”
“They could have attacked other cities at the same time,” Dag pointed out. “We have no way of knowing.”
Stephano had a sudden image of the demonic ship with its green-beam weapon firing on the floating palace. He could picture vividly the terrible destruction, the walls cracking, towers falling as the castle, its magic destroyed, plunged to the ground. He imagined the chaos, the terror of the helpless victims trapped inside. He thought of his mother and he felt a pang of fear and dread.
The feeling startled him and even angered him. He thrust it away and told himself to stop daydreaming. Given a fight between his mother and a demon, he would back his mother. She could take care of herself. She’d managed well enough thus far. Besides, he had the feeling—call it the instinct of a soldier—that Dag was wrong. The attack on Westf
irth had been isolated.
“I think it was an experiment,” Stephano said. “A test. To see if their weapon worked.”
“Then they must have gone back to Hell happy,” Dag said bitterly.
“Or maybe,” said Miri, “they were after Papa Jake.”
“All right, enough about demons,” said Stephano curtly, not liking the reminder the fiends were out there, hiding in the Breath, perhaps watching, listening. Undoubtedly waiting . . . “Our problem is how to free Rigo and rescue Alcazar.”
While the Cloud Hopper had been fending off demons, the Silver Raven had managed to rig her boarding nets. Stephano’s idea of boarding the ship while sailing the Breath was not going to work.
“It was crazy anyway,” was Miri’s pronouncement.
“Once the Raven lands, we’ll—” Stephano stopped. He had no idea what they were going to do.
“We’ve still got the same problem,” Dag pointed out. “Wallace is holding Rigo hostage. We fire at Wallace. He’ll kill Rigo.”
“You’re a crack shot, Dag. Could you shoot Wallace before he shoots Rigo?” Stephano asked.
“Maybe if I had one of those new rifled guns, sir . . .” said Dag, hinting broadly. “Otherwise. . . .” He shrugged and shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to chance it.”
“We could aim our cannons at them and tell them we’re going to kill everyone on board unless they surrender and hand over Rigo and Alcazar,” said Miri.
“There are little ones on that ship!” said Dag, shocked.
They had all seen the children playing on the deck. Judging by the fact that they often clustered around Alcazar, they assumed they were part of his family, perhaps the children of his brother, the sailor.
“You know I wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Stephano.
“I know that. But the crew and the captain don’t know you,” said Miri. “You could be a bloodthirsty monster. They’ll be scared out of their wits.”
“Wallace won’t let the captain surrender.”
Miri snorted. “There are forty of them and one of Wallace! He’ll do what they say.”
“He could just shoot Rigo,” said Dag.
“He won’t,” Miri argued. “Wallace knows that if Rigo dies, he’s a dead man. You would burn that ship.”
“I don’t like it. We’re taking a risk with Rigo’s life,” said Stephano, shaking his head.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but what else we can do?” Dag asked. “The Raven has a crew of forty. There’s just the two of us.”
“Not bad odds,” said Stephano with a half-smile.
“True, sir,” said Dag coolly. “But if the two of us launched an attack, Wallace might kill Rigo out of desperation. This way, at least we have a chance.”
“The Raven being crippled is a gift from God,” Miri said persuasively. “She’s a fast ship and we’re a slow one, and if she hadn’t been hit, she’d be halfway to Freya by now and we’d have no chance of catching her.”
“And you realize, sir, that if they get away from us, Wallace will have no more need of Rigo. He’ll toss him overboard,” said Dag.
“Much as many of us have wanted to do on occasion,” said Miri.
Their conversation was interrupted by the Doctor, who jumped onto Dag’s knee and from there to the table where he made himself the center of attention by sprawling out full length on top of the map. Stephano reached out to pet the cat, his mind on his trouble.
Gythe came over to stand beside Miri at the helm and made signs to her sister, who translated.
“Gythe says it’s a good plan. Rodrigo will do something to help us.”
“Good God! That’s just all we need,” Dag exclaimed, alarmed.
They looked expectantly at Stephano. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
“It’s not much of a plan—”
“As if our well-laid plans have worked out so very well this trip,” Miri said crisply.
Stephano gave in. “All right. We’ll make ourselves look bloodthirsty and menacing, as if we slaughter small children every day just for the fun of it.”
“We can do that, sir,” said Dag.
He picked up the Doctor and placed the cat on his shoulder and gently rubbed him under the chin.
Wispy tendrils of mist swirled around the Cloud Hopper as they followed the Silver Raven in her slow descent. The mist was not thick enough to block their view of the ship, and they kept up with her as her captain sailed over the coastline, trying to find a clearing in which to land his crippled ship.
Scientific minds theorized that the floating islands known as the String of Pearls had been formed by silt-laden water runoff from the continents interacting violently with the magic of the Breath and exploding, resulting in the formation of these floating landmasses.
This particular island was about twenty miles across, with a single mountain near the center. A massive upheaval centuries upon centuries ago had caused horizontal layers of the rock to shift so violently that they now jutted vertically into the air. The rocky sides of the mountains were devoid of all vegetation except a few scrub pine trees. The rest of the island was thickly forested. The trees were so dense that Stephano had no idea where the captain was going to find a safe place to land.
Fortunately for the sinking ship, a broad stretch of reddish-brown beach came into view. The Silver Raven made a rapid descent. The Cloud Hopper was close behind. Stephano could see Rodrigo, whose lavender coat was a colorful spot against the brown background of the ship’s timber. The merchant ship was traveling light this trip, and Stephano guessed that the only cargo she was carrying was Sir Henry Wallace and the journeyman who knew how to enhance metal with magic.
The Raven made a rough landing. They were forced to throw out their anchoring grapnels and slam her airscrews into full speed reverse to slow down, and the ship hit the ground hard in what must have been a bone-jarring, teeth-rattling landing. Miri touched the helm and the Cloud Hopper ran out her cannons. Stephano and Dag stood beside her swivel guns, smoke rising from the matches they were holding over the guns, ready to fire. The armaments transformed an otherwise small and inoffensive Trundler houseboat into a gunboat, capable of blasting the helpless merchant vessel into fragments of splintered wood.
Stephano had his spyglass trained on Sir Henry Wallace, who had his spyglass and was looking coolly back at Stephano.
Stephano felt his skin crawl. He had expected Wallace to look angry, thwarted, defeated. Instead, Sir Henry Wallace grinned. Stephano lowered the spyglass and picked up the speaking trumpet.
“Captain of the Silver Raven. You will immediately release two passengers, Monsieur de Villeneuve and Monsieur Alcazar. If you do not, we will blow your ship apart.”
The captain made a gesture that needed no translation, telling Stephano exactly what he could do with his demand.
“Dag,” said Stephano, grim-faced and tight-lipped, “show them we’re serious.”
“By being careful not to hit anything,” Dag muttered.
He was lowering the match to the fuse in the gunport when Sir Henry Wallace raised his hand and pointed toward the mountain.
“As if I’m going to fall for that old trick,” said Stephano. “Fire—”
“Stephano!” Miri cried, gulping. “It’s not a trick.”
The man-of-war sailed out from behind the mountain where the ship had been hiding. Her cannons were run out, her men standing beside them with smoldering matches over the guns’ touch holes. The man-of-war mounted thirty-two cannons to the Cloud Hopper’s two. Named the Resolute, the warship flew the Freyan flag.
Sir Henry Wallace removed his hat and made a bow. “A pleasure knowing you, Captain!”
And as if they had been waiting for the signal, the man-of-war fired on the Cloud Hopper.
On board the Silver Raven, Rodrigo watched in horror as the Trundler houseboat, struck by the cannon fire, burst into flame and fell precipitously from the sky. He could not see what became of the boat as it disappeared among
the thick trees. All he could see was a coil of smoke rising up from the vegetation.
Standing beside him, Pietro Alcazar’s face went white. “Those are your friends.”
“Yes,” said Rodrigo in a voice he didn’t recognize.
“I’m sorry,” said Alcazar and it sounded as if he was going to cry. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, quit whining,” said Sir Henry.
He rested a hand on Rodrigo’s shoulder and added coolly, “Don’t worry, Monsieur. The damage to your vessel looks much worse than it is. I told Admiral Baker to see to it that he cripple the boat, not blow it apart. I fancy the houseboat will be difficult to repair, especially given that there are no shipyards on this God-forsaken place. Still, Captain de Guichen is a most resourceful fellow. With your help, he’ll find a way to get off this island. Though you might be marooned here for some time, I fear.”
Rodrigo watched the smoke rising from the trees, then turned to Sir Henry.
“I don’t understand,” said Rodrigo, puzzled. “I thought you were going to throw me in the Breath.”
“Oh, I was, I assure you,” said Sir Henry. “But events have occurred that have led me to revise my plans. Come to my cabin.”
The man-of-war floated overhead, casting a shadow upon the Raven, whose crew was making her ready to sail. The damage to the vessel had been much more minor than Wallace had made it appear. The crew had already made the necessary repairs. They were waiting only for Sir Henry to give the orders to depart for Freya.
Sir Henry took Rodrigo to what had once been the captain’s cabin, but which had been given to him. The cabin was small and dark and smelled strongly of tobacco. Sunlight crept through a small porthole. The cabin was sparsely furnished with a desk and two chairs, a bed bolted to the bulkhead, and a large portmanteau.
“I would invite you to be seated, Monsieur, but this won’t take long,” said Sir Henry.
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