by Cory Barclay
Sybil sat down at the small table. “I’d rather they not call me anything. I don’t like, nor need, the attention.”
Daxton brought over a bowl of cooked eggs and set them on the table. “I reckon you don’t have a say in it, Beele. You are now the celebrated miracle-worker.” He thought about that for a moment, then declared, “Oracle. Seeress…” His eyes widened as he reached for an egg, “Ooh, how about Enchantress?”
Sybil shook her head, then picked out her own egg and peeled it. After she took a bite, she said, “I have greater things to worry about than fake epithets. We need to leave here as soon as possible, Dax.”
Daxton took another egg from the bowl, his face turning serious. “Of course, Beele. You’re right.” Then he grinned again. “But when we come back, this will be your future! Everyday, you’ll get to fight off these poor wretches with a broom. Maybe I’ll get you a magic wand!”
When they got to the ship and gave Georg the news about his daughter, he was understandably jubilant—though disappointed that he hadn’t been there to witness the miracle himself.
“It really wasn’t as big a thing as everyone’s saying,” Sybil told him.
“Nonsense,” joked Daxton. “I saw her hand turn orange when she ran it across Row’s arm. Saw it myself! Her fingertips sparkled!”
Georg’s mouth fell open. He looked at Sybil. “Is that true?”
“Of course not.” Sybil glared at Daxton, elbowing him. “He’s just being silly.”
A voice came from behind. “Your legend will likely grow as the days pass—especially if you don’t show your face to the townsfolk.”
They turned to face Corvin Carradine, their prisoner, seated at the bench by the gunwale, leaning back against the rail. The Silver Sun was slowly meandering up Norfolk’s coastline. With just four of them controlling the boat, it had taken longer than expected to row it out of the cove. But now they were gliding smoothly along the North Sea, their sails billowing in the wind.
“That’s how these things work, you know,” Corvin continued, resting one leg on his knee, completely calm and content despite being a prisoner on his own ship. “First you’re just an oddity—something rare. Then word spreads of your deed and before long your story becomes legend, then myth, then explodes into something far grander than anything close to reality.”
“How do you know what it was, or wasn’t?” Sybil spat out. “You weren’t even there,” she said, arguing just for argument’s sake, not really knowing why, other than to not give this charming man any comfort.
Corvin flashed her his dimpled smile. “Fair enough, my lady.” He shrugged. “That’s just been my experience.”
Daxton scoffed, waving him off.
Georg stayed silent. He wore the same smile on his face that had been plastered there since hearing the wonderful news about his daughter’s recovery. It was the first time Sybil had seen him happy since he’d rescued her months earlier from her imprisonment and near-execution in Trier. Soon after that, Rowaine had been shot and injured, her legs paralyzed.
Georg saw Sybil eyeing him. “It’s a father’s greatest fear,” he explained, “that his little girl will never walk again.”
Sybil rested her hand on the big man’s shoulder. “Regardless, you found her, Georg. You spent ten long years thinking she was dead, remember?”
Georg covered Sybil’s hand with his. “You’re right, Beele. I cannot take that blessing for granted. But still, I thought I’d crippled my own child.”
Sybil leaned over, resting the top of her head in the crook of his neck. It was cozy there. She felt protected. She gazed out at the clear blue waters and smiled. The sun sat high in the sky, showering them with uncommon warmth for autumn, its radiant rays glistening off the water’s surface.
He may be a drunk and a brute, but he’s the best drunk and brute I’ve ever known.
“Thank you, Beele,” Georg said in Sybil’s ear, in a voice so low only she could hear. She sensed him brushing off tears.
But rather than deny what she’d done, or continue making light of the miracle people thought she’d performed, Sybil said simply, “You’re welcome, Georg.”
As they glided on toward King’s Lynn, she snuggled in closer, watching the sparkling reflections of light spin off the waves.
By nightfall the Silver Sun had drifted past the delta of the Great River Ouse and was closing in on King’s Lynn harbor. When it reached the dock, Daxton remained at the helm while Georg and Sybil disembarked and Corvin stayed hidden below deck.
The plan that Georg and Sybil had devised took into account the untrustworthiness of both their prisoner, Corvin Carradine, and Guy, who’d sent them on this retrieval expedition.
The first part of their plan was to convince Guy to join them at the harbor, to witness for himself that the Silver Sun was indeed empty. They wanted to see the look on Guy’s face when he discovered that fact—if the ship was even his in the first place.
Georg and Sybil walked off the dock and headed for the Hanseatic League’s warehouse—not a far walk. Eventually they came upon the same sullen man sitting by the warehouse garage, eyeing passersby suspiciously. Giving him the same pass-phrase, the man allowed them entry.
Once inside, Sybil surveyed the dark surroundings carefully. Were there fewer torches lit this time than before? It seemed so. And where were Reeve Bailey’s barrels of textiles and linens? Last time, they’d been stored here in plain sight. Sybil’s suspicions grew. Maybe this was a bad idea, placing the goods in Guy’s trust while they embarked on their reckless rescue mission.
As Sybil scanned the rest of the area, her eyes met the man himself, standing across the way, his arms crossed, a blank look on his face. They walked up to him and stopped. Guy, beneath the light of a torch, continued to watch them for a long moment before speaking. It was quite unnerving for Sybil, who was glad to have Georg by her side.
Finally Guy spoke. “Is it done?” he asked, looking directly at Georg as if Sybil weren’t there. Under the circumstances, she didn’t mind. The cold, dark warehouse was bleak and made her skin crawl. She kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting the man who’d let them in to appear, but he didn’t.
“It is,” Georg replied
“And my goods?”
“Where are ours?” Georg asked, peeking skeptically around at the few barrels in sight.
Guy smiled. “Safely lodged in the back, awaiting your arrival. I had to make room for other goods being shipped here.”
Georg said nothing.
“Now,” Guy said, “where are my barrels? My sugar and tobacco?”
“First, I want to see the ledger,” said Georg.
Guy clicked his tongue and shook his head, raising one finger and wiggling it. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Sybil heard rustling behind her. She closed her eyes to focus better, then heard another sound, someone stepping on a piece of wood.
They weren’t alone.
“Georg,” she muttered.
“I know,” he said in a hushed tone.
Three men appeared from the shadows into the torch light, surrounding them. It was Sybil’s worst fear. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
“Bah!” Guy cried, throwing his arms in the air. “Not yet, you fools! I was just starting to have fun!”
His smile turned menacing.
“What is this?” Georg asked. “We had a deal.”
“Deals are made to be broken, you fool.” Speaking to the three men around them, Guy pointed to Sybil and Georg. “These are the two pirates I told you about. Thieves and killers from the dreaded Lion’s Pride. Now . . . where do I collect my reward?”
Georg calmly shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re raving about, man.”
Sybil glanced at the men surrounding them, suddenly realizing they weren’t Guy’s thugs at all. They were dressed in the liveries and armor of English patrolmen. They were town guards. With spears in hand and guns in their belts. Trained and dangerous.
Fortunately, mention of the Lion’s Pride didn’t seem to fluster them. Sybil knew that anxious men did stupid things—like accidentally pulling a rifle trigger.
“We’ll see about that,” Guy said to Georg, flapping his hands at the guards. “Take them to the docks—these thieves stole my goods! Let’s see what they’ve got on their ship.”
So Corvin Carradine was telling the truth.
Sybil raised her arms to show she was unarmed, then the guards led her and Georg from the warehouse to the harbor.
This despicable man. Having us return his stolen goods only to blame us to avoid our reward.
As they approached the docks, other traders and sailors gave the town guards wide berth as they walked their prisoners to the Silver Sun. Georg seemed unusually calm, though Sybil’s heart was pounding.
When Guy finally caught sight of the ship, he grinned, then rubbed his hands together. “Let’s see here,” he said, jumping onboard. He walked to the first hold, underneath the main mast, and looked in. His grin disappeared.
The hold was empty.
He crossed to the back mast and tossed aside the blanket covering the second hold.
Nothing in there either.
“What’s the matter?” Georg yelled sarcastically from the dock. “Can’t find what you’re looking for?”
Guy growled and clenched his fists, then thrust a finger at Georg. “Where in God’s name is my merchandise, rogue?”
Georg shrugged, giving him a blank look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”
Guy pursed his lips and sucked in his breath. Turning his fury toward Sybil, he screamed, “Where are the barrels, bitch?”
Sybil tilted her head, looking confused. Her heart was pounding in her chest so hard she thought it had to be visible to everyone. But keeping her composure, she said simply, “I’m just as surprised as my friend, sir. There must be some mistake.”
The three guards shifted their feet awkwardly, one of them saying, “Come now, Guy, what’s this all about? Did you drag us out here for nothing, again?”
“W-wait, wait,” Guy stuttered, waving his hands in front of his face. “They’re still murderers! They killed the captain of this ship—one Corvin Carradine. You must arrest them for that!” he yelled, his wicked smile returning.
The guards moved toward Georg and Sybil, their leather armor creaking. One of them muttered to the other, “Can we arrest them without a body?” To which that guard whispered, “Just do it—if you want to get paid. Let him produce evidence later.”
At which point another voice bellowed out from somewhere below deck.
“You can’t arrest them for something they didn’t do, gentlemen.”
And out walked Corvin Carradine, climbing up the stairs from the lower deck. He smiled, the moonlight shining off his handsome, confident face—making Sybil’s heart flutter, more from fright than attraction.
“You can’t arrest them for murdering me,” Corvin announced, “since, obviously, they didn’t.” He turned to Guy. “You dim, sad man,” giving him the most pitiful look Sybil had ever seen. Still nervous, she had to stifle a laugh.
Guy’s mouth fell open. He tried to think of something to say, his head swiveling from Corvin to the guards, then back again. With spittle flying from his lips, he screamed at the young captain.
“You bastard!”
The guards started to walk away.
Then Guy did something no one anticipated. His face red and the veins on his neck taut, he pulled a small dagger from his sleeve and charged at Corvin.
Sybil gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. With his dagger swinging wildly, Guy lunged as Corvin backpedaled. Then, at the last moment, Corvin sidestepped, and as Guy flew past, Corvin spun around and kicked him in the rump.
Guy cried out as the ship’s railing caught his momentum, but only partially, bending him at the knees the wrong way before flinging him over the side.
His flailing body hit the water with a loud splat. Several sailors and tradesmen watching from the docks let out a chuckle, some even clapping.
From atop the deck, Corvin hopped onto a barrel, his ego fueled by the crowd’s cheers. He bowed his head low, rolling out his arms like a royal jester. When he looked up, his piercing eyes aimed straight for Sybil.
She blushed.
“Do you believe me now, my lady?” Corvin yelled out to her. “That I’m not the bad guy here?”
Sybil nodded, then looked at Georg who was rolling his eyes.
To satiate the crowd, Corvin pointed to the man bobbing in the water. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is a bad, bad . . . Guy!”
The crowd clapped and cheered more, as the guards left the docks.
Georg stepped onto the boat as Corvin held out his hand to help Sybil on deck. When he flashed his smile again, her face turned a deeper red.
“Quite the performance, Herr Carradine,” Georg said to him once they were headed back down the river. A short while later, he asked, “So you’ll still help us with the ledger and the trade routes, then?”
Corvin, who’d never stopped staring at Sybil, nodded. Dramatically gesturing toward her, he said, “How could I ever say no to such a beautiful creature?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HEINRICH
Still recovering from the final stages of his illness, Heinrich Franz did not look forward to what Rolf had suggested he do. Sitting on his horse—who was trying to walk in circles, eager to be gone from House Charmagne—all Heinrich wanted to do was stay home and plan his wedding.
But he’d reluctantly agreed to Rolf’s suggestion.
“It would be a decent gesture to show both your future wife and the noblemen,” Rolf had told him. “Tour them around Bedburg.”
Initially Heinrich had been skeptical. “So they can spy on my defenses and military capability? I think not, old man.” He still firmly believed that Ludwig von Bergheim wanted him dead.
“No, no,” Rolf had explained. “You mistake my meaning. Don’t show them around Bedburg proper. Show them the villages. The ones you are granting to Baron Josef.”
Heinrich still didn’t like the idea. “I don’t enjoy watching that fat old buffoon openly gloat about his victory while I chaperone him around my territory.”
“You are receiving his beautiful daughter’s hand in marriage, Heinrich. You are a victor in this agreement as well.”
Heinrich had scoffed. “Beauty is a relative term, Rolf. I don’t find icy-veined, middle-aged women particularly beautiful.”
“Then perhaps prosperous is the correct term, my lord. She can bring great riches to Bedburg and greatly enhance your status in the eyes of Archbishop Ernst. After all, she’s the Catholic unifier he’s looking for.”
Rolf was no fool. He knew how to downplay what Heinrich saw as the negatives of the marriage by refocusing him on the positives. And by reminding Heinrich of “great riches” and the positive way he’d be viewed by Archbishop Ernst, he’d finally persuaded the man to agree to this “tour.”
So here Heinrich now sat, on this cold early morning, on his too-eager horse, still aching and sniffling from that madman’s nasty dream-stopping potion, waiting for his guests to arrive for their daylong journey.
By the time they arrived, Heinrich had managed to calm his horse down—so much so that he’d almost fallen asleep in the saddle while waiting. But when his steed heard the approaching hooves of other horses, it neighed and snorted, bringing Heinrich back to his senses.
“I told you to be here an hour ago,” Heinrich grumbled to the riders. Baron Ludwig Koehler sat stiff-backed on a brown mare that was nearly as lean as he was. Baron Josef Witten’s mount was an old black stallion. And his daughter, Lucille, rode an energetic colt. All three wore riding gear of the highest quality.
Anticipating correctly that they’d be overdressed for the occasion, and thus make excellent targets for roving criminals, Heinrich had ordered three soldiers from Bedburg to accompany them. The last thing he wanted w
as for his guests to be robbed by highwaymen in the very region they’d soon control.
Or maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
As the sun rose higher, brightening the sky from pale gray to soft pink, the four riders and their escorts left House Charmagne. Heinrich rode in front, directing the entourage onto the wide dirt road, then dug his heels into his horse’s hindquarters, bent his head forward, and broke into a gallop. At first the noblemen bickered, complaining that this was supposed to be a leisurely experience, but ultimately they followed suit, picking up speed to keep up with Heinrich.
They rode away from the sun, heading west toward Castle Bedburg. And when one of the castle’s spires eventually came into view, Heinrich turned the party southward.
“Our first stop will be Kirdorf, on the southern tip of Bedburg,” Heinrich announced, reining in his horse and slowing the group to a trot.
“Your young emissary told us there is much arable land around Kirdorf,” Baron Ludwig called out, pulling alongside Heinrich. As he did, Heinrich glanced at the man’s cramping hands, stifling a smile at his visible discomfort.
“Hugo is correct,” Heinrich said.
“What is the primary crop grown there?” Baron Josef asked.
“The plains and uplands around Kirdorf are usually good for rye and potatoes,” Heinrich said, though he had no idea what they really grew there. He’d have to ask Rolf.
Baron Josef shook his head. “That won’t do. My villages already have plenty of rye fields. I think I’ll change them out for oats, possibly beets.”
Heinrich frowned. Josef’s sanctimonious tone made Heinrich’s blood boil. “Do with it what you wish, Herr Josef,” he answered evenly.
The sun was just beginning to burn off the morning mist when they reached Kirdorf. The village was fair-sized, with a central thoroughfare wide enough to run their horses abreast. Riding to Heinrich’s immediate left was Lucille Engel, giving Heinrich his first chance to get a good look at her.
She was pretty. Blonde with barely any facial wrinkles, which he assumed was the result of never having worked a day in her life. She did, however, look extremely uncomfortable, likely because her corset was too tight for an afternoon ride. But more than that, she seemed uninterested, unimpressed. Which Heinrich understood. After living a lavish lifestyle in a beautiful townhouse with maids and butlers, it made perfect sense that a poor village like Kirdorf wouldn’t resonate with such a woman. Her father Josef, on the other hand, was showing a keen interest in the place, his eyes darting around in all directions. Heinrich could almost see the golden coins spinning inside his head.