Shadow Raiders
Page 68
He walked over to the portmanteau, leaving Rodrigo standing in the middle of the cabin. Rodrigo could tell by the faint afterglow of magical sigils that the portmanteau had been bound by powerful spells, recently removed. Sir Henry inserted a key, lifted the lid, and took out an object. Shutting the trunk, he carried the object over to Rodrigo.
“Give this to the Countess de Marjolaine when you see her. With my compliments.”
He handed Rodrigo a pewter tankard.
Rodrigo regarded the tankard in dazed astonishment. He had been prepared to die and now he was being handed a tankard and told to take it to the countess. He couldn’t for a moment think what the elegant Countess de Marjolaine would do with such a lowly object as a pewter tankard when suddenly he realized what he was holding. He gave a soft gasp and looked at Sir Henry for an explanation.
“There’s a message that goes with it,” said Sir Henry. He was smiling, but only with his mouth. His eyes were cold, in deadly earnest. “Tell the countess: ‘The same green fire that sank the Royal Lion struck this tankard. As you can see, the green fire had no effect on it whatsoever.’ ”
Rodrigo blinked. The words meant nothing to him for a moment, jumbled up in his scattered thoughts. When he finally understood, he was so astounded he nearly dropped the tankard.
He looked at Sir Henry. “The demonic weapons had no effect on this tankard. Which means the magically enhanced metal Alcazar designed can withstand—”
Sir Henry waved his hand impatiently. “You should go, Monsieur. Your friends will be concerned for your safety. I am sure you are concerned for theirs.”
Rodrigo clasped the tankard tightly and walked toward the door. Once there, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
“You know what Rosia will do with this knowledge, sir. We will use it to attack Freya. Why are you giving this to us?”
Sir Henry was silent, his lips compressed, his expression dark. “Others look at the road at their feet. I look far ahead, Monsieur de Villeneuve, to the distant horizon. As Father Jacob and I stood together to fend off the demons, when your country and mine will one day stand back-to-back battling a foe intent on destroying us both. In that eventuality, I want my ally to be as strong as I am. And now, good day to you, Monsieur. Give Captain de Guichen my regards. I trust his little houseboat is not much hurt. Ah, and do accept my condolences on the death of your father.”
Rodrigo clutched the pewter tankard and left the stuffy cabin. Climbing the stairs, he emerged, blinking, into the bright sunshine. In the distance, the smoke was still rising from the Cloud Hopper.
Rodrigo did not bother to bid good-bye to Alcazar, who stared, openmouthed, at the pewter tankard in Rodrigo’s possession. The captain lowered the Raven’s gangplank, and Rodrigo walked down it onto the sandy beach. The merchant ship was making ready to set sail, filling the balloons with Breath from the barrels stored in the hold. The captain had deliberately released the air, allowing the ship to give the impression it was crippled. The Raven would be accompanied back to Freya by the man-of-war.
Once on the beach, Rodrigo considered going to find his friends. He took one look at the thick and impenetrable forest in which he’d most certainly end up lost, glanced down at his fine leather shoes with the silver buckles and his silk stockings and decided to sit on the beach in the shade of a tree and let Stephano find him.
Rodrigo sat on the beach, waiting to be rescued, and turned the pewter tankard over in his hands, studying its smooth, unblemished surface with wonder. He thought about the treatise in which he had postulated the idea of mixing metal with the Breath of God. He’d written the paper one night after imbibing a bit too much wine and submitted it for publication in a vain effort to keep from being tossed out of University. He had never imagined anyone would take his theory seriously. He thought about the green fire, the demons who wielded it, the destruction of the concrete bunker, the sinking of the Royal Lion, and how this tankard had survived unblemished, intact.
Two foes, standing back-to-back, defending against an enemy intent on destroying them both. Rodrigo believed Henry Wallace. The countess would believe him, too, though it might be some time—some considerable time—before he and the Cadre managed to make their way back to Rosia.
“And what will I wear when I do return to court? I never had a chance to pick up my new clothes,” Rodrigo wondered sadly.
The Silver Raven lifted up off the beach of the unknown, uncharted island and sailed into the Breath, scuttling along in the wake of the enormous man-of-war, a single gosling trailing after an overprotective goose.
In his cabin aboard the Raven, Sir Henry gazed out the dirty porthole to watch the ship make her ascent. Far below, among the trees, he could see the wreckage of the Cloud Hopper. They were close enough that he could make out Captain de Guichen and the mercenary battling the flames. The captain and his crew wouldn’t be going anywhere for a long, long while.
On the deck of the Raven, Pietro Alcazar was chatting happily with his brother and his brother’s wife. Sir Henry could hear him promising that he would give up baccarat, mend his ways.
Damn right Alcazar will give up gambling, Henry thought, amused.
The genius would have his every wish fulfilled. He would be provided with luxurious living quarters, the finest food and drink, the best tools and equipment, apprentices and journeymen to work under him. And he would be guarded around the clock; soldiers armed to the teeth escorting him, watching his every move.
Sir Henry Wallace yawned and stretched his long frame luxuriously. For the first time since he had opened that package and seen that pewter tankard, he could let down his guard. He crossed to the door, flung it open, and shouted for someone to bring him a bottle of wine from his private stock.
Hard to believe only a few weeks had passed, he reflected. It seemed a lifetime.
He sank into a chair and glanced with distaste around the cabin. He would eventually transfer to more luxurious quarters aboard the man-of-war, but Admiral Baker had been forced to wait two weeks here at the rendezvous point and was liable to be in a very bad mood. Henry would give him time to recover.
As he waited, Sir Henry thought about his wife and hoped she was well. He might be back in time for the birth of his child. He felt ridiculously pleased at the idea of holding his tiny child in his arms.
A sailor brought in a bottle containing the very fine wine he’d bought while in Westfirth. The Rosians might not be good for much else, but they knew how to make wine.
“Set it on the table,” he ordered the sailor, who placed the bottle on the table, along with a corkscrew and two glasses.
“Why two glasses?” Henry demanded. “Do you see anyone else, you dolt?”
The sailor stared at him stupidly, apparently not comprehending. Sir Henry dismissed the fool man with a wave. He opened the bottle and poured a glass of the red wine. The fragrance filled the cabin.
I will drink to Dubois, he thought, and chuckled.
The sailor had walked over to the door, but instead of continuing on out the door, the man shut it, locked it, and came back to sit down in the other chair. The sailor faced Sir Henry with cool aplomb.
The fellow was typical of his type, dressed in duck trousers with a loose fitting shirt, sunburned with bare legs and feet. He wore a sort of stocking cap over his head. Henry glared, outraged, but instead of withering beneath his fury, the sailor crossed his bare legs and held out his glass.
“What is the meaning of this, sirrah?” Henry sputtered with fury. “Get back to work before I have you flogged.”
In answer, the sailor drew off his cap and shook out his hair. Or rather—she shook out her hair.
Long black curls fell around her slender shoulders. A few tendrils trailed over her face. Her gold-flecked eyes regarded Sir Henry with amusement. She held out her glass, indicating he was to pour the wine.
“Eiddwen!” he gasped.
“Hello, Henry,” said Eiddwen.
Chapter Forty-Three
No mere female can compete with such a rival.
—Miri McPike
THE DAMAGE TO THE CLOUD HOPPER WAS SIGNIFICANT, but not as bad as it might have been. Either the gunners aboard the man-of-war were excellent marksmen or terrible shots, for their cannons could have pounded the houseboat to splinters. Cannonballs wrecked the starboard wing lift tank and smashed several large holes in the hull. In a freak accident, one of these balls struck the galley stove, scattering burning embers while, at the same time, splinters from the hull hit a barrel of flour. The combination of flour dust and burning embers resulted in an explosion. In an ironic twist of fate, one of Miri’s healing ointments turned out to be highly flammable and the entire galley was soon burning merrily. The wooden structure of the hull was set with constructs to resist fire and the blaze was contained, but the galley and everything in it, including all their food, was a total loss.
Stephano didn’t have time to think about their future during the frantic moment when he, Dag, Miri, and Gythe were engaged in a desperate battle to save their boat. The sisters filled buckets with water from a nearby lake and flung them on the flames, while Dag and Stephano worked to smother the fire and beat out glowing embers, sometimes with their feet. Stephano saw out of the corner of his eye the merchant ship, Silver Raven, sail off, escorted by the man-of-war. He did spare a moment—several moments—to wonder what had become of Rodrigo. Had Wallace killed him? Stephano considered this likely. Wallace had no use for Rigo anymore, so why leave him alive? Stephano was desperate and grieving and furious and he poured his emotions into saving the boat, since he couldn’t save anything else.
When at last the fire was out, Stephano stood gasping for breath and wiping sweat from his face that was black from the smoke. He and his friends stood in the water-soaked, singed, and flattened weeds and brush, staring in mute sorrow at the ruins of the Cloud Hopper. They watched the smoke rise from the smoldering remains of the galley and trail out the gaping holes in the hull, gazed at the shattered wing and the broken lift tank and listened in dismay to the hiss of the magical Breath they would need to lift them from the island leaking out of the tank. The hard reality of their dire situation began to sink into all of them, with the possible exception of the Doctor. Terrified by the noise and the fire, the cat had leaped from the burning ship the moment it hit ground and disappeared into the surrounding woods.
Stephano saw Gythe looking stricken and woebegone. He made an effort to smile and put his arm around her.
“The damage would be a lot worse if not for your magic,” he told her. “Your protection spells kept the fire from reaching the powder kegs and held us together long enough so that Miri could make a safe landing.”
Gythe gave him a brave smile and an impulsive hug. Foreseeing the difficult times that lay ahead for all of them, Stephano felt tears sting his eyes. Muttering that it must be the smoke, he hurriedly wiped them away.
Miri had stayed at the helm as the ship fell like a crippled bird, steering the Cloud Hopper as best she could to a small clearing formed by a large dome of rock thrusting up out of the wilderness, not far from one of the island’s many lakes. The landing had been bone-jarring. They had all grabbed hold of anything they could hang onto and ridden the tumbling boat down.
Stephano had heard wood cracking, flames crackling. He’d seen Dag go flying across the deck and heard Miri scream, more in heartbreak than pain at the loss of her beloved ship. They had all managed to come through it without injury, save for Dag, who had an enormous lump on his forehead and bruised ribs.
Stephano flung himself down wearily on the ground. Miri was still standing by the wreckage, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks, leaving trails in the grime that covered her face. Gythe put her arms around her sister, and both gazed sorrowfully at the ship that had been their parents’ only legacy.
Dag came over to sit down beside Stephano and held out a jug. Stephano could smell the sharp odor of calvados.
“Medicinal, sir,” said Dag.
Stephano hesitated, then said bleakly, “What the hell. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
He took the jug, put it to his lips, and swallowed. The liquor bit into his throat and filled him with warmth. He coughed and handed the jug back to Dag.
“You all right?”
“Mostly,” said Dag in dispirited tones. “Miri and I will inspect the boat, go over the damage and report—”
“No hurry,” said Stephano bitterly.
He was quiet a moment, watching the smoke. He took another pull from the jug. “I made a pig’s breakfast out of this job.”
“It wasn’t your fault, sir,” said Dag stoutly. “You couldn’t know that bastard would have a bloody warship waiting for him.”
“My mother warned me about Wallace. Father Jacob warned me. I should have listened to them. But I was so goddamn arrogant, figured I was so goddamn clever that I could outsmart him. Now the Cloud Hopper is in ruins and we’re stuck here on some godforsaken island with no chance of being found and Rigo’s . . . Rigo’s . . .”
Stephano couldn’t finish. He put his hand over his face.
“He’s not dead, sir,” said Dag, an odd note to his voice.
“You can’t know that,” said Stephano.
“Yes, I can, sir. Look there.”
Dag rose to his feet, pointing to three bright flares—lavender in color—bursting above the treetops.
“Rigo!” Stephano exclaimed in relief. “He’s alive!”
“And expecting us to go save his lazy ass, of course.” Dag grumbled, but he was smiling as he said it.
“We have no food,” Miri said, coming to report. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and ashes, but she was brisk and matter-of-fact. “I suppose there’s wild game—rabbits and deer and such—to be had around here.”
She glared at Stephano. Her green eyes glittered in the sunlight. “I should punch you in the nose.”
“I wish you would,” said Stephano. “I deserve it. I’ll find a way to get us out of here. I promise.”
“You will that,” Miri said fiercely. “And pay for the damage to my boat, too.”
“Of course,” Stephano said shamefacedly. “Miri, I’m so sorry . . .”
Miri didn’t answer. Instead she put her arms around him and hugged him close. Shaking back her red hair, she grinned up at him.
“Look at it this way,” she said, tears glimmering in her laughing eyes. “We are now the Cadre of the Truly Lost!”
Before he could clear the choking sensation out of his throat, Miri had slipped out of his arms and stood eyeing Dag and Stephano. “You both have burns on your arms and hands. Fortunately, a jar of my herbal mixture survived the flames—”
Dag cast an alarmed glance at Stephano. “Shouldn’t we go rescue Rigo, sir?”
“Yes, we should,” said Stephano hurriedly. “Bring your musket.”
Miri laughed and shook her head at both of them, then asked Gythe to help her haul out the spare sails to be used as makeshift tents. After a brief search, Dag found his musket and loaded it with powder and shot. Stephano retrieved his dragon pistol. Miri was draping sails over tree limbs to form leantos and Gythe was carrying blankets up from the smoke-filled hold when Doctor Ellington suddenly shot out of the woods, his fur standing on end, his ruff bristling, his tail three times its normal size, his green eyes wide. The cat leaped onto Dag’s shoulder.
“Something’s scared him,” said Dag, setting down his musket to soothe the terrified cat.
“Probably a mouse,” Miri remarked caustically.
Dag was about to make an indignant denial when Stephano ordered sharply, “Dag, don’t move!”
Dag froze, which was not easy, trying to hold the squirming cat in his arms.
“Don’t anyone move,” Stephano reiterated.
Hearing the urgency in his t
one, Gythe stopped dead on the deck of the wrecked Cloud Hopper. Miri ducked swiftly beneath a sail and peered out.
“What is it?” she asked in a hissing whisper.
“Look there,” said Stephano softly. “By the lake.”
Gythe and Miri slowly shifted their gaze. Dag was facing the wrong direction. He tried to see, but couldn’t quite manage without moving.
“What is it, sir?” he asked urgently. “Pirates?”
“A dragon,” said Stephano.
The dragon had apparently been having a cooling swim when he’d been disturbed by the Doctor coming down to the water for a drink. The dragon rose up out of the lake, water cascading from the head and body, which was about twenty-five feet in length, or so Stephano judged. The dragon’s scales were crystalline blue, darker than the water. His head was elegantly shaped, the jaw elongated, the nostrils wide, the eyes emerald green, close set, and glittering. His blue mane ran from a central point in his forehead down his neck, all the way down his spine, and onto the tail. He stood in the water, tail lashing slowly back and forth, stirring up waves.
“Maybe the dragon’s never seen a cat,” said Dag, who had managed to twist his neck in order to see.
“I don’t think he’s ever seen a human,” said Stephano.
“A wild dragon!” Miri exclaimed, awed. “No one knew such creatures existed anymore.”
The wild dragon lifted himself out of the water. Unlike his large, ponderous, and civilized cousins, this dragon was smaller, his movements quick and graceful. He kept his keen eyes on the humans. He was curious about them, not afraid of them.
“He doesn’t seem to feel threatened by us, sir,” said Dag.
“Perhaps because he can squash us like bugs,” said Miri.
The wild dragon fluttered his wings in the lake, like a robin taking a bath, sending water splashing high into the air in sparkling droplets. He emerged to stand poised on the shoreline, regarding them with narrowed eyes, his nostrils flaring at the unusual smell of humanity. He seemed uncertain what to do.
“He’s a young dragon,” Stephano said. His heart ached at the astounding beauty of the creature.