Shadow Raiders

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Trundlers’ homeland was sunk when the seven kingdoms defeated the notorious Glasearrach Pirates in the War of the Pirate King. The Trundlers lived in a city on the opposite side of the island, and according to history, sided with and supported the pirates. The island had a terrible reputation as being a haven for murderers and worse. Some say Aertheum himself walked the hills and valleys of that fell place. The Church teaches that God’s hand dragged the island and all her people into the Breath. That was when the Trundlers who survived turned their back on Him.

“The History of the Trundlers” by Professor Angus McFarland

STEPHANO INDICATED HE WOULD ESCORT Father Jacob and Brother Barnaby to the Cloud Hopper. Stephano was uncomfortable in the presence of this black-robed priest with the intense, glittering eyes. Stephano believed in God, but not in his representatives here below. The Church had betrayed his father, and Stephano had never set foot in a house of worship since. He distrusted priests and didn’t like having to rely on them, especially a priest of the mysterious and powerful Arcanum and one with a Freyan accent no less.

But I would make a pact with the grand bishop himself if he could help Gythe, Stephano thought as they were waiting outside the yacht for Brother Barnaby to fetch his medicines.

“What is wrong with the young woman, sir?” Father Jacob asked.

“I don’t know, Father,” Stephano replied. “She has no visible wounds, yet when the demons were hurling that green fire at the boat, she was in terrible pain. Now she lies in a deep sleep from which we cannot wake her.”

“I trust we can help her, sir,” said Father Jacob. “Is this young woman by any chance a crafter?”

“My friend says Gythe is more than a mere crafter, Father. Rigo termed her a ‘savant.’ ”

“I myself am a savant,” said Father Jacob. “The green fire affected me much the same way. As you see, I am a little weak in the knees, but otherwise recovered. Ah, here is Brother Barnaby.”

Stephano said he was sorry disturbing the monk, who must be in pain from his own wounds. Brother Barnaby assured him that he was feeling much better and he was pleased to think he might be able to help. The three began the long walk down the hill toward the docks.

Stephano glanced sidelong at his two companions. He had already formed a favorable opinion of the monk, Brother Barnaby, though he considered the young man sadly naive, one of those God-smitten individuals who see a halo around the head of every living being. Still, there was no harm in this gentle monk and a great deal of good.

The young monk’s brown robes were torn and stained with blood. Stephano winced at the sight of the lash marks on the slender back. Brother Barnaby walked swiftly, his weariness and pain apparently forgotten in his concern for a fellow being, for he asked Stephano questions about Gythe as they walked and nodded his head in thoughtful concern. Looking at the dark-complected face, Stephano saw openness, honesty, caring, and compassion.

At one point, when Stephano was talking about Gythe singing, Father Jacob interrupted. “You say she doesn’t speak, but she does sing.”

“She sang the magic that protected our boat,” said Stephano, remembering that night on the Cloud Hopper when the magic danced and blazed before his eyes.

“Interesting,” said Father Jacob. “I was affected by the demonic green fire in a similar manner. Yet I am up and moving about, much to the dismay of Brother Barnaby.”

“You should be in bed,” said the monk firmly.

Father Jacob merely smiled and continued, “Yet your friend still suffers.”

“She was terrified by the demons,” said Stephano. He hesitated. In her worry for her sister, Miri had relieved Stephano of his oath to keep their secret. He felt uncomfortable talking about it, however. “This is not the first time she has encountered these fiends.”

“It isn’t?” Father Jacob asked in surprise.

“When she and her sister were young girls, their houseboat came under some sort of mysterious attack. Both their parents were brutally murdered. Gythe and Miri had been staying with their uncle. Gythe jumped on board before anyone could stop her, and she saw what was left of the bodies. We think she also saw the attackers.”

“She saw demons…” said Father Jacob.

“She seemed to recognize them when they attacked the Cloud Hopper,” said Stephano. “She suddenly became a little child again. Laughing and singing to herself. Nursery rhymes…”

“The sisters’ surname name wouldn’t be McPike, would it?” Father Jacob asked.

Stephano stopped dead and turned to stare at him. “Gythe and Miri McPike. How did you know that, Father? Do you know them? How?”

But the priest did not answer. He walked with his head bowed, his hands clasped behind his back, his black cassock flapping about his heels. Stephano asked again, this time with some impatience. Father Jacob still did not reply.

“Do not be offended, Captain,” said Brother Barnaby. “He is not deliberately ignoring you. He simply doesn’t hear you. When he is like this, he wouldn’t hear a cannon if it went off beside him. As to how he knows your friends, Father Jacob has been making a study of these strange attacks on the Trundlers.”

“So there have been more such vicious, brutal murders, Brother,” Stephano said.

“I fear so, sir,” said Brother Barnaby. He added with a frown, his usually mild voice hardening. “No one in power except Father Jacob pays attention because the victims are Trundlers.”

Stephano was more impressed with both the monk and the priest. “I hope you can help Gythe, Brother. I feel responsible for what happened to her. She and the others came on this accursed journey because of me.”

“You take a great deal of responsibility upon yourself, Captain.”

“You think God brought me here?” Stephano asked, half serious, half in jest.

“Sometimes we do not arrive at the place where we want to go, but where God needs us to be,” Brother Barnaby said with serene faith and confidence.

Stephano looked curiously at Father Jacob. He thought what an odd pair these two made: one whose heart was laid bare to all the world; the other watchful, keen, sharp, secretive, solitary, seeing all, telling nothing.

Father Jacob was pale, and his face was haggard from pain and fatigue. His strong jaw was set, his eyes bright and even now, while he was abstracted, he appeared keenly aware of everything going on around him.

A savant, Father Jacob had termed himself. One to whom magic comes easily, naturally, unlike Rodrigo, who had to work at the magic and mostly didn’t bother. For Gythe, magic was like the music she loved. She had a talent for magic as she had a talent for music. No one had ever taught her to play or sing; she had not studied with some great master at the University. She could not read the notes; she did not understand musical theory. Gythe cast magic as she played the harp-by ear, doing what she liked or, as in the protection spells, she acted instinctively, out of fear.

Father Jacob was different. He knew magic, understood magic. The magic was in his heart and his soul, yet also in his brain. He was disciplined, controlled, and that made him powerful and dangerous.

“But only to those with evil intent,” said Father Jacob.

Stephano gave a start, amazed and not at all pleased.

“Do not be alarmed, Captain,” said Father Jacob with a chuckle. “I cannot see into your head. I simply followed your thought process on your face. We were speaking of your friend as being a savant. I said I was a savant. You then began to compare the two of us, and I could see by the narrowed eyes and the dark glances you gave me that I come up short.”

By this time they had arrived at the docks-three large piers extending into the Breath. The large ships would dock at the piers, while smaller ships that flew primarily over land would tie off onto one of the tall wooden posts that had been built for that purpose on top of the cliff. Half a dozen buildings served to store cargo and provide lodging for sailors. All stood empty now.

The Cloud Hopper was docked at the far pier. The naval cutter had docked at the first pier, though “crashed” would be a truer description. The Suspicion’s crew worked frantically, trying desperately to find some way of keeping the battered ship from sinking. Father Jacob stopped, saying he needed to speak to the captain.

Stephano hurried onto the Cloud Hopper. Dag and Rodrigo were waiting for him.

“So a priest of the Arcanum is paying us a visit. This should be interesting,” said Rodrigo with a quirk of his eyebrow that Stephano knew all too well.

“It better not be,” Stephano said in warning tones. He was about to add more when Dag seized hold of his arm and dragged him off to the forecastle.

“That priest is from the Arcanum,” Dag said. His eyes were wide. His hand trembled.

“He’s here to help Gythe,” said Stephano, wondering what all this was about.

“Maybe not,” said Dag in a low voice. “Maybe he’s come for me.”

“Why?” Stephano asked, baffled.

“Because of… you know,” said Dag, his eyes cast down. “I’m going to Hell. Maybe he’s come to take me.”

Stephano heaved a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. He was feeling exactly the way he’d felt when he’d been desperately trying to control that blasted runaway horse. Some strange malady was affecting Gythe, an Arcanum inquisitor was coming aboard, Rodrigo was up to some sort of mischief, and now Dag-known for his courage and coolness under fire-had completely lost his mind.

Stephano gripped his friend’s arm tightly. “Dag, all Hell is breaking loose-literally. I need someone I can count on, someone to watch my back. I need you. Don’t let me down.”

Dag blinked at him and then gave a rueful, half-ashamed smile. “Sure, Captain. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

By now the monk was coming on board. Stephano hurried over to greet him. “Dag, this is Brother Barnaby. Take him down to Gythe, will you?”

Dag escorted the monk below to where Miri was keeping watch over her sister. Stephano went back to talk to Rodrigo, who was lounging against the ship’s rail, gazing at the priest.

“Whatever you are plotting, forget it,” said Stephano. “I want that priest on and off this boat without incident.”

“Trust me. It won’t be that easy, my friend,” said Rodrigo.

Father Jacob had gone first to visit the naval cutter, whose crew had been working feverishly to keep the ship from sinking. Their efforts had been in vain. The crew had given up the fight to save their ship and were now hastily unloading what stores and supplies they could salvage, hauling them down a gangplank to the dock. The dead still lay on the deck. The captain and sailors had not had time to tend to them.

Father Jacob waited until the sailors had rolled a barrel down the gangplank, then he boarded the ship and went to speak to the harried captain, who was the last man remaining.

“Father, you shouldn’t be here!” the captain said, seeing him approach. “Suspicion is sinking beneath us! She’ll go down any moment!”

“I came to say a prayer for your dead,” said Father Jacob coolly.

The ship was, indeed, sinking slowly beneath them. The crew on the dock were shouting for them to come off, they couldn’t keep the gangplank in place much longer. Father Jacob paid no heed. He went to stand in front of the row of bodies: the youngest, a powder boy, age nine; the eldest a grizzled veteran with a pegleg.

Father Jacob raised his voice in prayer. The crew on the docks fell silent. Hats off, they stood with their heads bowed. The captain removed his hat, held it over his breast. Amazingly, the ship remained steady. One of the sailors would swear later he saw God’s hand beneath it, holding it up.

“He’s got guts, that priest,” said Rodrigo.

Stephano grunted.

His prayer concluded, Father Jacob raised his hand in blessing, and then he and the captain literally ran for their lives across the faltering gangplank. The captain, the last to leave his ship, was standing on the gangplank when it gave way. He was saved from falling into the Breath by Father Jacob, who caught hold of him and dragged him bodily onto the dock.

Father Jacob spoke a few words of comfort and prayer to the sailors who had been wounded and lay on the ground on litters. The ship’s doctor, a healer, was busy among them. Seeing they were in good care, Father Jacob said a final word to the captain, who looked at him grimly and then shrugged and went back to work.

As Father Jacob walked toward the Cloud Hopper, he looked suddenly very tired.

“I wonder what that talk with the captain was about,” said Stephano.

“He put them under Seal,” said Rodrigo.

Stephano frowned. “What does that mean-being put under Seal?”

“That refers to the Seal of the Arcanum. Those men will be hauled off to the Citadel, kept locked up.”

“But why?” Stephano demanded.

“My dear fellow, you can’t have sailors roaming about the world claiming their ship was sunk by demons,” said Rodrigo.

“So that’s why he came with the monk,” said Stephano grimly. “He’s going to try to muzzle us. Well, he can’t. We have to get to Westfirth. We’ve lost time enough already. Which reminds me,” said Stephano, fixing Rodrigo with a stern eye, “I’m putting you under Seal. You are not to say a word about Alcazar or the duel or anything related to our job.”

“Stephano, you wound me,” said Rodrigo, offended. “You know that I am the soul of discretion.”

Stephano had no time to respond. In the absence of Miri, he had to greet Father Jacob as he boarded the houseboat. The priest stood looking about with a casual air that did not fool Stephano. He saw Father Jacob’s gaze go to the helm, the scorch marks on the deck, the damage done to the houseboat.

“Welcome aboard, Father,” said Stephano in not very welcoming tones.

He had a mind to confront the priest immediately, demand to know if they were going to be placed under Seal. He decided to hold his peace, at least for the time being. What was important now was Gythe.

“Rodrigo de Villeneuve,” said Stephano, introducing his friend, who came up behind him. “Father Jacob Northrop.”

Rodrigo gave a graceful bow and said, with a mournful air, “I owe my dismissal from University to you, Father Jacob.”

“Indeed?” The priest raised his eyebrows.

“Yes. It had to do with that book of yours, the Metaphysics of Magic: How Magic relates to Being, Knowing, Substance, Cause, Identity, Time, and Space. Our professor was expounding upon it and making a complete pig’s breakfast of it. When I pointed out where he had gone wrong in his thinking-if one wants to call it thinking-he ordered me to leave and never darken the door of his classroom again.”

“And were you right?” Father Jacob asked, his lip twitching.

“Oh, yes,” said Rodrigo. “That is what galled him.”

“De Villeneuve,” Father Jacob repeated the name thoughtfully. “I seem to recollect hearing something about an incident involving you and the grand bishop’s miter…”

“The man has no sense of humor,” said Rodrigo.

Father Jacob smiled. “I must go see how Brother Barnaby fares with his patient. But I look forward to hearing your views on the Metaphysics of Magic.”

He gave a friendly nod and was going below when Rodrigo said airily, “Or perhaps you and I could talk about a new theory I was thinking of writing about. I plan to call it, The Metaphysics of Green Fire Destroying Magic.”

Father Jacob stopped walking and turned to look back at Rodrigo.

“You know, Monsieur, that such a thing is not possible. Magic is the Breath of God and cannot be destroyed. You are talking heresy,” said Father Jacob.

The priest’s manner was not threatening. His voice was calm and his eyes mild, yet Stephano felt the danger, like lightning in the air. The hair rose on his arms, a shiver went down his spine. Rodrigo heard the danger. He glanced at Stephano, looked away, kept quiet.

“I trust, however,” Father Jacob continued, “you were jesting. You are known for your sense of humor, I believe.”

“No one takes Rigo seriously, Father,” Stephano assured him.

“That’s true,” said Rodrigo, gulping.

Father Jacob smiled. “I would have given a great deal to see the grand bishop’s miter go sailing about the dining room.”

He proceeded down below.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Father,” Stephano called after him.

He turned to Rodrigo, who was gazing after the priest with a certain amount of awe.

“What a terrible old man! I know exactly how people feel when they encounter a basilisk. Those eyes of his froze my feet to the deck.”

“Too bad he didn’t freeze your tongue!” Stephano said furiously. “Soul of discretion, my ass! I don’t know what you were talking about, but I’m guessing that if we weren’t going to be put under Seal before, we sure as Hell are now. I have to go. Just keep that mouth of yours shut!”

Rodrigo gave a doleful nod. Stephano dashed down the stairs to find Father Jacobs staring at a smeared puddle of blood on the floor. Stephano was sweating, and he realized he was still wearing his heavy flight coat. He took it off and tossed it on a crate.

“That blood belongs to a demon,” said Stephano, hoping to turn the subject away from Rodrigo. “I believe this particularly demon led the attack.”

“How do you know that?” Father Jacob asked curiously.

“He wore some type of knotlike device on his armor, and he was using whistles to direct the troops. He tried to board our boat. We think he was after Gythe. I shot him, but he didn’t die. Rigo killed him.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a body I could examine,” asked Father Jacob eagerly.

“Not anymore,” said Stephano. “The body was incinerated by the same green fire that destroyed our magic. Dag said it appeared to be generated by the armor the demons wore.”

“An interesting theory your friend, Villeneuve, has advanced,” said Father Jacob, staring fixedly at the blood. “Green fire destroying the magic.”

Stephano wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Relax, Captain,” said Father Jacob. “I am not such ‘a terrible man’ as your friend seems to think. Where is the young woman who is ill?”

“Gythe’s quarters are this way, Father,” Stephano said.

As they continued down the passageway, Stephano heard Gythe’s voice, singing softly. A chill went through him. She was singing a nursery rhyme. He found Dag standing in the doorway of the room where the sisters slept. His hands and face and uniform were black with gunpowder residue and red with blood, some of it his own. Doctor Ellington was curled up on Dag’s shoulder. Seeing the priest, Dag whipped off his hat and ducked his head, muttering something no one could hear. He flattened himself against a bulkhead, allowing Father Jacob to squeeze past him.

“A very handsome cat,” said Father Jacob, pausing to regard the Doctor, who was regarding the priest with slit-eyed dislike. The cat’s hackles rose, he sank his claws into the padding on the coat. “What is the name?”

Dag hastily reached up his hand to try to soothe the ruffled cat. “Doctor Ellington, Father.”

“Doctor Ellington,” Father Jacob repeated in admiring tones. He wisely made no move to pet the Doctor. “Interesting name. There’s a story involved, I’ll wager. I look forward to hearing it.”

Stephano and Dag exchanged grim glances. The priest sounded as though he intended to stick around for awhile.

Father Jacob entered the room with silent and measured tread. Stephano went in after him. The cabin was crowded. Despite having removed his coat, he was still sweating.

Gythe sat huddled in a corner, her knees drawn up to her chest, playing with some of Doctor Ellington’s yarn, twining the strands around her fingers to form a Cat’s Cradle and singing to herself in a high, shrill voice.

Brother Barnaby knelt down in front of her. “May I play your game with you?”

Gythe looked at him and laughed and held out her hands with the yarn twined around them to him.

Brother Barnaby took hold of yarn that was in the shape of the Cat’s Cradle, tugged at the crossed strings, and pulled them out from the center. He twined the yarn around his fingers to form the Soldier’s Bed. Gythe clapped her hands and then took hold of the yarn and plucked it off and held up the configuration known as the Candle.

Miri sat on the bed. Her face was drawn and strained with fear. Intent upon Gythe, she hadn’t heard Father Jacob enter. The priest kept his distance, silently watching, assessing.

“At least Gythe is conscious,” said Stephano.

“The moment the good Brother put his hands on her, she stopped twitching and moaning,” said Dag. “She relaxed and woke up and smiled. But when Miri tried to talk to her, she climbed out of bed and ran to sit in the corner.”

Miri heard them talking and looked around. Seeing the priest, she rose to her feet and stretched out her hand.

“Papa Jake!” she said, her voice breaking. “You’re here. Thank God!”

Stephano stared in astonishment. He dimly remembered hearing Miri talk about a priest who defied Church law by administering sacraments to the Trundlers. The nomadic people had been declared apostates, after openly rebelling against the Church centuries ago, following the deliberate sinking of their island homeland. Some wondered why the Trundlers wanted the blessing of a God in which they didn’t believe, but though they may have renounced their faith, they had retained a superstitious trust in the sacraments, especially those that marked passages in life such as baptisms, marriages, and the last rites.

A priest known affectionately as Papa Jake often visited the Trundlers to perform the rites. He was one of the few priests welcome among them, for he did not preach at them or harangue them or threaten them with hellfire and brimstone if they didn’t change their wicked ways.

Father Jacob greeted Miri in her own language, speaking soothing words of comfort. When she began to cry, he embraced her, patting her on the back until her sobs lessened and she grew quiet. Miri blinked her shimmering eyes and looked up at him.

“I am so glad you are here, Papa,” she said. Her clothes were stained and torn; her face smeared with tears and gunpowder. “You must say a prayer for Gythe. Give her your blessing.”

“We will all pray together,” said Father Jacob.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, including Dag and Stephano, and knelt on the scorched planks where the demon had died. Miri sank down beside him, her hands clasped, her disheveled hair falling about her shoulders. Dag hurriedly removed Doctor Ellington from his shoulder and dumped him on deck. The cat stalked out into the passageway. Stephano could see yellow eyes gleaming in the shadows. Dag, with some effort, managed to lower himself to his knees. He clasped his hands and bowed his head.

Stephano was the only one still on his feet, and he had the feeling Father Jacob knew it, though the priest had his back turned and his head bowed. Stephano joined the cat in the shadows of the corridor. He and God were on speaking terms, but Stephano was not yet ready to kneel to Him or anyone. He did bow his head and, in his heart, he joined in the prayer. Father Jacob spoke in the Trundler language, of which Stephano knew only a smattering. He couldn’t understand the words, but he could hear in the priest’s rich, mellifluous voice his compassion, his steadfast faith.

Stephano did not know what to make of the enigmatic Father Jacob.

The prayer ended. Miri rose to her feet, wiping her eyes and unwittingly smearing gunpowder residue across her face.

“Thank you, Papa,” she said, resting her hand on his arm. He put his arm around her shoulders and spoke a few soft words to her. She smiled and went to sit on the floor beside Brother Barnaby. Father Jacob assisted Dag to his feet. The big man’s face was flushed; he didn’t seem to know where to look.

“Thank you, Father,” he mumbled.

“Let us leave them,” Father Jacob said, herding Dag out into the narrow passageway where they encountered Stephano and the Doctor. The cat hissed at the priest. Dag made a grab for the cat. He missed. Doctor Ellington dashed into the cabin where Brother Barnaby was still playing Cat’s Cradle with Gythe, each of them taking turns forming the yarn into various configurations.

The cat ran to Gythe and, lifting his paw, began batting at the yarn. Brother Barnaby reached out to pet the Doctor, who arched his back beneath the monk’s touch and purred loudly.

“I’m sorry, Father,” said Dag, flushing even more deeply. “The Doctor’s making a nuisance of himself. I’ll fetch him-”

“The cat is trying in his own way to help her,” said Father Jacob, halting Dag. “Never discount love, no matter how small the heart that offers it.”

Miri accompanied them into the passageway.

“Papa, you look ill and tired. Don’t return to the abbey. You must spend the night with us.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said Father Jacob. “But I must report back. If not, Sir Ander will be certain to come looking for me.”

“We will see you tomorrow?” Miri asked.

“Oh, yes,” Father Jacob replied cheerfully. “You’ll be seeing a good deal of me.”

Stephano didn’t like the sound of that. Miri went to her sister and Brother Barnaby. Stephano and Dag escorted the priest to the top deck. The sun was sinking into the twisting coils of the Breath. The twilight was murky, unsettled. Wind gusts rose unexpectedly, singing in the rigging with a mournful sound that echoed Gythe.

The Suspicion was gone. The captain and crew of the sunken vessel were straggling up the hill to the abbey, carrying their wounded with them on litters. Rodrigo leaned on the rail, gazing down into the swirling mists that had swallowed up the ship. He looked up, saw Father Jacob, and looked away.

“If you please, Monsieur de Villeneuve,” said Father Jacob. “I am going to be returning to my yacht. I would appreciate it if you would walk with me.”

Rodrigo cast Stephano an alarmed glance.

“He can’t help you, I’m afraid,” said Father Jacob.

“I’ll just go… fetch my cloak,” Rodrigo said faintly.

Stephano, looking out into the inky sky, saw one of the two dragon brothers circling above the cathedral spires. “Do you think the demons will be back tonight, Father?” Stephano asked quietly.

“At a guess, I would say no,” said Father Jacob. “They found what they came for. Or rather, they didn’t find it, but they no longer believe it is here.”

“I don’t understand,” said Stephano.

“You’re not meant to,” said Father Jacob. “Just in case, you should move your boat near the abbey walls, close to Retribution. And your proximity to my yacht will save us time in the morning.”

“Time for what?” Stephano asked suspiciously. “Time to put us under Seal? I have important work to do in Westfirth. I give you my word of honor, Father, that none of us will say anything-”

“I accept your word, Captain,” said Father Jacob gravely. “You are Sir Ander’s godson. No more need be said on the subject. And, that reminds me, I have been remiss in offering you my sincere thanks. You saved the day, Captain de Guichen. You and our friends, Hroalfrig and Droalfrig.”

Stephano brushed aside the praise. “So we can sail to Westfirth?”

“You can sail, Captain, if you will permit us to accompany you,” said Father Jacob. “The Retribution needs extensive repairs. Master Albert says that the yacht can be taken under tow to the shipyards at Westfirth. I was thinking the Cloud Hopper could handle that job. The journey requires only a few hours, as I understand it.”

Stephano was not certain he wanted to spend even a few hours with Father Jacob. He needed to reach Westfirth, however, to pursue the hunt for information regarding the kidnapped journeyman, Alcazar-almost forgotten in the dramatic events of the past few days.

“Brother Barnaby can remain with Mistress Gythe,” Father Jacob continued. “I think that would be wise. The two have been through similar experiences. The demons spoke to him, as well.”

“You think the demons spoke to Gythe?” Stephano asked, astonished.

Father Jacob sighed and gave a grave nod. “I believe they did. They spoke to me. I didn’t answer, but I think she did.”

Stephano was doubtful, incredulous.

“You said the demon commander came for her, Captain,” Father Jacob explained. “Even though she was down below, locked in her cabin, the demon still found her. He was guided by her voice, as it were.”

“I will have to speak to Miri about towing the yacht,” said Stephano, troubled. “The Cloud Hopper is her boat. But I am certain she will be more than happy to assist you.”

“Excellent!” said Father Jacob. “I trust I will have the pleasure of seeing you and your friends later this evening after you’ve moved the boat. And now, Monsieur de Villeneuve, I await your convenience.”

Rodrigo pressed Stephano’s hand. “You will think of me from time to time, my friend, as I sit chained to the wall in some forgotten oubliette…”

“By far the best place for you,” Stephano said firmly. “If you say a word to him about Alcazar, I’ll chain you up myself.”

Rodrigo reached inside his coat. “I almost forgot. I found this. Dag says it’s a demonic grenade.” He held out the brass plate with the diamond to Stephano, who regarded it with disgust and made no move to touch it. “He says this is what the demons used to shoot off their green fire-”

Father Jacob swooped in with a flurry of black, plucked the brass plate from Rodrigo’s hand, and tucked it into the bosom of his cassock. The priest’s movements were so fast that Rodrigo stood staring blankly at his empty palm.

“A remarkable find, Monsieur,” said Father Jacob. He slapped Rodrigo on the shoulder. “Perhaps I won’t have you burned at the stake as a heretic after all.”

“He’s jesting, isn’t he?” Rodrigo asked nervously, looking back at Stephano over his shoulder. Stephano only waved and Rodrigo turned to the priest, “You’re jesting, Father, right?”

Dag sailed the Cloud Hopper to the abbey, landing the houseboat on the ground close to Retribution. Dinner was a somber affair and didn’t last long. Brother Paul insisted that he was well enough to go minister to the captain and crew of the sunken ship, who had taken refuge in the one stable that had not been burned. Father Jacob warned everyone to keep out of the cathedral, due to the extensive damage.

Droalfrig had flown off, at Father Jacob’s request, carrying urgent dispatches to the Arcanum. Hroalfrig’s wound was healing well. The dragon had offered to stay at the abbey, assist in its defense and make certain the sailors under Seal did not try to leave.

“The Arcanum will send a fast ship to pick up the survivors from the Suspicion and Brother Paul and take them to the Citadel for their own protection,” Sir Ander told Stephano. “Don’t worry. They will be treated well. They won’t be thrown into an oubliette.”

“Rigo has a vivid imagination,” said Stephano.

He had asked Rodrigo what Father Jacob had spoken to him about.

“He questioned me about Gythe and her magic and the demonic magic and my thoughts on it,” said Rodrigo. He paused a moment, then said, “He recommended most strongly that I keep such thoughts to myself. Then he asked if I would like to come to the Arcanum.”

“By God, if he tries to take you-”

“No, no,” said Rodrigo soothingly. “He wants to know if I’d like to become a priest.”

Stephano burst out laughing.

“Yes,” said Rodrigo. “That was my answer.”

Dag brought over his tools and offered to assist Master Albert with the repair work on the yacht. Stephano went to check on Gythe and found her lying asleep on the floor beside Brother Barnaby, who had also fallen asleep. Her head rested on his shoulder, her hands were twined around his. Doctor Ellington slept with them, his large furry body stretched out across the monk’s ankles. Miri kept watch over them all.

Stephano and Sir Ander had agreed to take turns on guard. Stephano took first watch. He had never minded guard duty. He liked being alone with his thoughts, and although he was bone-tired, he knew from experience that even if he went to bed, he would not be able to rest. He would relive the battle with the demons over and over, seeing it in his mind in bright flashes like strikes of lightning.

Hearing footsteps, he turned to find Father Jacob, his black cassock tinged with silver in the moonlight, coming toward him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said by way of explanation. “I didn’t want to disturb Sir Ander and so I thought I would come disturb you, Captain de Guichen. If you don’t object to some company?”

“Not at all, Father,” said Stephano politely. “My own thoughts aren’t very good companions.”

Father Jacob joined him in his pacing. They walked for a few moments in silence, then Father Jacob said, “I know you have a great many questions, Captain. You and your comrades are risking your life to help me without knowing why. I wish I could explain, but I cannot. It seems unfair.”

“I do have one question,” said Stephano.

“I cannot promise to answer it,” said Father Jacob.

“I know. But I’d feel better asking.”

Stephano paused, staring out into the Breath, where strands of mists were casting nets around the moon.

“Did the gates of Hell open this day, Father?”

The priest regarded Stephano intently for long moments. Then he turned his gaze toward the abbey with its shattered windows and blood-soaked ground and gave a soft sigh.

“That depends on your definition of Hell, Captain,” replied Father Jacob.