Shadow Raiders

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Ghosts are said to haunt the places they once loved so much they are unable to leave. If that is true, Westfirth is filled with ghosts from her past. Westfirth was the last Freyan city on Rosian soil to be conquered by her enemies at the end of the Black Fire War. The ghosts of the dead still walk the streets. The stone in the Old Fort still bears the scars. The city and people of Westfirth still remember and will always remember. The ghosts make it impossible to bring these people to God.

– Father Roger Lousea, Former Archbishop of Westfirth, in his letter of resignation to Grand Bishop Montagne

THE CLOUD HOPPERSAILED INTO WESTFIRTH with the Retribution in tow behind. As they entered the harbor, Stephano pointed out the famous landmark known as the Dragon Bastion, a fortress built on top of a mountain peak by the dragons of the Dragon Brigade. The Bastion had been occupied by the Brigade during the glory days when the dragons and their riders had guarded the city of Westfirth and its important harbor. Stephano stood at the rail, gazing at the walls of the abandoned Bastion, a place no one ever visited now, due to the long and arduous climb required to reach it. He pointed out its features.

“For the tenth time,” Rodrigo remarked.

“What does that mean?” Stephano demanded.

“Every time we sail to Westfirth, you regale us with the history of the Bastion,” said Miri.

“I, for one, find it most interesting,” said Father Jacob, who was currently a passenger on the Cloud Hopper. “I should like to visit there someday.”

With the Retribution in tow, the Cloud Hopper sailed past the Bastion and the Old Fort with its battlements and towers and shore batteries.

“We’re coming up on the dockyards, Captain,” Dag called from his position as lookout.

The Westfirth Dockyards, located near the heart of the bustling city, were crowded with ships. Though all insignia and emblems of the Arcanum had been painted over, the sight of a Trundler vessel towing a yacht was sure to cause comment and perhaps even arouse suspicion, especially given the damage suffered by the yacht. Sure enough, the moment the Cloud Hopper sailed into port, a white-painted boat with a green-and-gold pennant belonging to the harbormaster headed straight for them.

“Damnation,” said Stephano, coming to stand beside Dag. “I suppose we’ll have to stop?”

“Unless you want them shooting at us,” said Dag.

Miri set the airscrew to reverse and brought the Cloud Hopper to a halt. Father Jacob was standing at the rail, observing their entry into Westfirth. Rodrigo lounged against the rail, preparing for his version of “fishing.” Rodrigo had been oddly quiet, oddly subdued ever since his talk with Father Jacob. Stephano had been worried about his friend, but their arrival in Rodrigo’s favorite city appeared to be having a cheering effect on him. Brother Barnaby was still below with Gythe and Doctor Ellington. Stephano had been to check on them and was heartened to hear from Brother Barnaby that Gythe had spent a restful night.

Master Albert had been following the Retribution in his own boat. Sighting the harbormaster, he steered alongside the Cloud Hopper.

“I know this fellow,” Albert called. “He’ll have all manner of questions and he’ll expect to be paid well for not asking them.”

“Wonderful,” said Stephano grimly. “Here we are with a priest, a monk, a knight, two gentlemen, and a cat on board a Trundler houseboat-”

“Sounds like a joke I once heard,” said Rodrigo.

Stephano ran his hand distractedly through his hair. “And both the houseboat and the yacht have obviously been in a fight. This is going to cost us plenty. Rigo, where’s the cash box?”

“You know I never like spending money on bribes,” Rodrigo protested. “Plays merry hell with my accounting. I never know how to record it in the ledger.”

The harbormaster sailed alongside and requested permission to come aboard. Once on deck, he glanced about at the motley group assembled to meet him in considerable astonishment, his eyebrows almost flying off his head at the sight of a priest in the black cassock of the Arcanum.

“Who is the owner of this vessel?” the harbormaster demanded, trying to sound stern, though the sight of the dreaded black cassock was clearly making him nervous.

Miri came forward to proclaim herself the owner. Rodrigo reached for his purse. Father Jacob stopped them both by walking over to the harbormaster, putting his hand on his shoulder, and leading him off to the stern. They stood in hushed conversation. After a few moments, the harbormaster, hat in hand, walked up to Stephano.

“I am sorry to hear you were attacked, Monsieur,” he said. “These pirates are really getting out of control. I should lodge a strongly worded protest with His Majesty’s Royal Navy if I were you, sir.”

“Thank you, sir, I shall do that,” said Stephano politely.

“I hope you enjoy your stay in our fair city,” the harbormaster added, looking flustered. He started to say something more, cast a glance at Father Jacob, thought better of it, and made a hasty departure.

“You do come in handy, Father Jacob,” said Stephano, as they watched the harbormaster sail away.

The Cloud Hopper headed for the piers on the south side of the city where the Trundlers had established a floating community known as the Flats.

On the way, the Cloud Hopper prepared to part company with the Retribution, dropping off the yacht at the shipyard. Stephano stood on the deck of the Cloud Hopper, preparing to say good-bye to their guests. Now that the Cadre was safely in Westfirth, Stephano was eager to get on with the secret business that had brought him here-the search for the journeyman, Alcazar.

Stephano was surprised to find he was sorry to part company with his godfather. He had Miri to thank for that. She knew the story of Sir Ander, for Stephano had often expressed his anger at the knight. He had started up his rant again, prior to the knight boarding the Cloud Hopper.

Miri had stopped him cold.

“You were there to save Sir Ander’s life when the demon was going to kill him. He was there to save yours. Did it ever occur to you, Stephano de Guichen, that your father is looking down on both of you?”

Stephano gave serious thought to her words and determined that for his father’s sake, he would learn to forgive, if he could never forget. Stephano and Sir Ander had spent the time during the brief journey from the abbey to Westfirth getting to know each other. One barrier remained between the two of them, a barrier that could not be crossed-the Countess de Marjolaine.

When Sir Ander tried, once more, to speak of her, Stephano said quietly, “I do not wish to quarrel with you, sir. Let us therefore change the subject.”

Sir Ander did not mention Cecile’s name again, and the two parted on relatively good terms.

“I feel that I have come to know you, sir,” Stephano said, shaking hands. “I regret that I did not value your friendship as I should have all these years.”

“We will not let another thirty years pass until we meet again,” said Sir Ander. “That is for damn certain!”

The knight shook hands with Rodrigo, said a few words, and shook hands with Dag. Sir Ander sent Miri into fits of laughter by kissing her hand with a courtly bow, then he and Master Albert transferred to the Retribution to set about unhooking the towline and setting the yacht down in the shipyard.

Stephano was wondering if Brother Barnaby would stay with Gythe when he turned to see Brother Barnaby assisting Gythe to come up from below and walk out onto the deck.

Doctor Ellington led the way, bounding out onto the deck and strutted about proudly, his tail in the air, taking credit for everything from the defeat of the demons to Gythe’s recovery. Gythe stood blinking in the late afternoon sun, a shy and abashed smile on her face, sorry she had caused them so much trouble. She held fast to Brother Barnaby’s hand. Miri gave the helm to Dag and hurried over to ask Gythe if the air was too cold, if she wanted a shawl, something to eat or maybe a glass of wine…

Gythe shook her head and pointed emphatically to the brass helm, indicating Miri was to quit fussing and return to the helm, so Dag could assist with the Retribution. Miri kissed her sister and embraced her, then, wiping her eyes, went to relieve Dag.

Stephano embraced Gythe and then said a few words of heartfelt gratitude to Brother Barnaby, adding, “Is she going to be all right?”

Before Brother Barnaby could answer, Gythe punched Stephano in the arm and pointed indignantly at herself.

“I’m standing right here,” she told him silently.

“I’m sorry,” Stephano said, laughing. “Are you all right, Gythe? You gave us quite a scare, you know. We thought we were going to lose you.”

Gythe looked to Rodrigo, who was been leaning on the rail, now devoting himself to his favorite pastime whenever the Cloud Hopper came into port-fishing.

Rodrigo did not fish for fish. He fished for hats and wigs. As the Cloud Hopper was sinking down near the ground in order to dock, he would cast a line with a hook over the ship’s rail and endeavor to snag hats or periwigs with the hook, give them a yank, and snatch them from the heads of astonished pedestrians. He would always return the object with a wave, laughing heartily at the oaths and fist-shaking outrage.

But though Rodrigo was now engaged in his endeavor (much to the annoyance of Dag), Stephano noted that his friend did not appear to be enjoying himself as before. At times, a somber, reflective expression would come across Rodrigo’s face. He would gaze abstractly at nothing for long moments until someone would say something to divert his attention and then he would flash the same cheerful, careless smile.

Stephano mentioned his worry to Miri.

“Rigo’s like that cat,” she said, indicating the good Doctor. “He always lands on his feet. Remember, Stephano, he’s been through a lot. He had to stop that demon from hurting Gythe and he did a damn fine job.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Stephano. “For the first time in his life, Rigo is a hero.”

But when Stephano tried to praise him, Rodrigo passed off the incident by saying that he hadn’t done all that much.

“I merely gave the fiend a jolt,” Rodrigo had said.

Stephano let it go. But he still couldn’t help wondering what was wrong with his friend.

Gythe put her hand over her heart and then pointed at Rodrigo, who, at that moment, was reeling in a man’s curly wig.

Stephano understood her gesture. “He saved you from the demon. Don’t tell him how wonderful he is. He’s already insufferable enough. Which reminds me, do you have any idea why the demon would have come after you?”

Gythe turned to Brother Barnaby, asking him with a gesture to explain.

“I am not sure, but perhaps because she was singing the magic,” Brother Barnaby said. “None of you realized it. You thought she was singing nonsense songs from her childhood. On some level, she thought that herself, but deep down she knew what she was doing. She used her songs to try to keep the magical protection spells from failing as the demons bombarded it with the green fire.”

“How do you know this?” Stephano asked, skeptical.

“The demons spoke to me, as well,” Brother Barnaby replied. “I did not answer them because I couldn’t. But Father Jacob theorizes that with her singing, Gythe was able to speak to the demons.”

“What did they say to you?” Stephano asked Gythe.

She looked frightened and wrapped her hands tightly around Brother Barnaby’s arm and drew nearer to him. He placed his hand over hers and patted her soothingly.

“She doesn’t remember what they said.”

Or it was so horrible she chooses to not to remember, Stephano thought. He was sorry he’d asked.

“I had to go a long way to find her,” Brother Barnaby added in a soft, low tone.

Gythe gave him a wavering smile. She still bore traces of tears on her face; her clothes were stained, her hair wildly disheveled, falling over her face. Her blue eyes were soft and glistening, their gaze never straying long from the monk. Gythe touched her hand to Stephano’s mouth, indicating that the conversation was at an end. Tugging Brother Barnaby with her, she drew him over to where Rodrigo was throwing his line over the rail. He smiled at her.

“Glad to see you up and about, my dear.”

In answer, she took Rodrigo’s hand in hers, turned his hand palm up, and, using the tip of her finger, drew something in his palm. Then she closed his fingers over it and smiled and, bringing Brother Barnaby with her, went to the forecastle to join her sister.

Rodrigo blew her a kiss and went back to his fishing.

“She gave him a Trundler good luck charm,” Father Jacob said, coming up behind Stephano. “Your friend is greatly honored. The Trundlers do not bestow such charms lightly.”

“I would have said before now that Rigo was the last person to need a lucky charm,” said Stephano. “He’s always been Fortune’s favorite. Lately, though it seems Fortune’s turned against him.”

“On the contrary,” said Father Jacob dryly. “He’s extremely fortunate I am not taking him back to the Black Citadel. Not as a prisoner,” he added, seeing Stephano’s alarm. “I have been trying to persuade him to become one of us. He’s quite brilliant, your friend. Too brilliant for his own good.”

Stephano didn’t like that comment. He took it to be a veiled threat. He didn’t understand what any of this was about; he was in the deeps, way over his head when it came to magic. He was thankful beyond words that the priest was leaving the boat and he prayed to God and all the saints that he and Father Jacob would never meet again.

“You’d be wasting your time, Father. Rigo refuses to wear black. He says it makes his complexion look sallow.”

Father Jacob smiled, but the smile was inward, thoughtful, knowing, and it made Stephano uncomfortable. He quickly changed the subject. “I want to thank you, Father, for bringing Brother Barnaby to help Gythe-”

“God brought Brother Barnaby,” said Father Jacob, his smile warming. “I merely provided the means of transportation.”

He stood regarding the three of them. Miri was explaining the workings of the helm, to Brother Barnaby, who was asking questions and telling her about the helm aboard Retribution. Gythe had let go of his hand, but she had hold of a fold of the monk’s sleeve. She did not take her eyes from his face.

“He went into her darkness to find her,” said Father Jacob quietly. “He fought her demons and brought her safely home.”

“And now it’s time Brother Barnaby went safely home,” said Stephano, not sure he liked what he was seeing.

He turned to Father Jacob and held out his hand.

“Father Jacob, it has been a-” Stephano started to say “pleasure” but couldn’t quite get that word out. “It’s been interesting meeting you.”

Father Jacob shook hands. “I do not need to remind you, Captain, that you and your friends are under Seal.”

Stephano started to end the handshake, but Father Jacob placed his other hand over Stephano’s and held him fast.

“We will, please God, be leaving for the Arcanum soon. I value your judgment, Captain de Guichen. I value it highly. If you hear of anything you think I should know, seek me at once. Come to me day or night, either here in Westfirth or in the Black Citadel of the Arcanum. I will give orders that you are always to have access to me.”

Stephano was startled by the priest’s words and his earnest tone. Stephano did not know how to respond, especially since he had just been thinking he would be glad to see the back of this priest.

“Thank you, Father,” said Stephano, trying unsuccessfully to withdraw his hand. Father Jacob had a very strong grip. “But I doubt if I would ever come across anything of interest to the Church.”

Instead of letting him go, Father Jacob tightened his grasp. He drew near to Stephano and said in soft tones, “What you saw at the abbey, Captain, has nothing to do with the Church, nothing to do with bishops and kings, princes and politics. I believe it has everything to do with the survival of all we hold dear.”

His gaze shifted to Miri and Gythe and Brother Barnaby, to Rodrigo and his fishing line, to Dag and Sir Ander and Master Albert, who were conferring on board the yacht.

Stephano was startled and uneasy. There was no doubting the priest’s sincerity or the ominous import of his words.

“I’m not sure I understand, Father,” said Stephano, troubled.

“I hope you never do,” said Father Jacob. “God bless and keep you, Captain.”

Father Jacob let go of Stephano’s hand after a bone-crushing shake that left his fingers tingling. Calling out to Sir Ander to join him, he went to the forecastle to say good-bye to Miri and Gythe and retrieve Brother Barnaby.

The shipyard was located close to the docks. The yard was surrounded by warehouses, and there were a number of taverns on the Rim that catered to the dockworkers, stevedores, crafters, and sailors; many of whom had come loitering over, ale mugs in hand, to observe the yacht and freely speculate about what had happened to it. Men in the shipyard and Master Albert were shouting back and forth; the men telling him to drop lines so that they could guide the ship into the yard and bring her down without harm. He and Dag were uncoiling lengths of rope, getting ready to toss down the lines.

Stephano had nothing to do and he was thinking that a mug of cold ale sounded very good right about now when he heard a voice from the ground shout out his name. He looked over the side and saw Benoit come dashing out of one of the taverns, waving his cane in the air in one hand and what appeared to be a letter in the other.

Stephano’s first thought was that this sudden appearance of the faithful family retainer who was supposed to be hundreds of mile away, comfortably settled in front of the family fireplace, couldn’t be good. His second and even more alarming thought was that Sir Ander knew Benoit. The Knight Protector would recognize him, want to be reunited with an old friend, and introduce Benoit to Father Jacob.

So far, Stephano had managed to avoid any mention about the job they were doing for his mother. To give him credit, Father Jacob had not asked what two gentlemen were doing aboard a Trundler houseboat, but Stephano knew the priest was curious. Father Jacob was the sort to be curious about everything and would probe and prod until he found the answer, if for no other reason than to satisfy himself. Benoit was loyal and trustworthy, but he had always been fond of Sir Ander; God only knew what the old man might decide to tell him.

Rodrigo had also spotted Benoit. He was staring down, openmouthed, and appeared just about ready to call out a greeting. Stephano ran across the deck to collar his friend.

“Shut up,” Stephano hissed in Rodrigo’s ear. “Not a word! I’ll go see what’s up. You get rid of that goddamn priest!”

Rodrigo glanced over his shoulder to see Father Jacob chatting with Gythe and Miri.

“Will do,” Rodrigo said and hurried off.

Stephano looked over the rail. Master Albert and Dag had thrown down the lines. Men below had hold of them. Retribution was starting to sink. Sir Ander was just now starting to release the tow rope.

Stephano vaulted over the rail of the Cloud Hopper and landed in the driver’s compartment of the Retribution. He dashed past Dag, who stared at him in astonishment.

“No time to explain!” Stephano shot out of the corner of his mouth. “You never saw me.”

Dag nodded coolly, not in the least surprised that some new crisis had arisen, and went back to work. Stephano hopped down onto one of the wings and leaped to the ground below. The shipyard workers gave him some startled glances, but they were too busy trying to bring the Retribution down to pay attention to some mad fellow jumping off a boat. Benoit had been watching his progress and was following him on the ground, waving the letter in his hand.

Stephano caught up with him.

“Oh, Master Stephano, I’m so glad to find you,” cried Benoit, nearly weeping with relief. “I’ve been waiting and waiting-”

“Not here!” Stephano snapped and he seized hold of Benoit, almost lifting the old man off his feet, and hustled him into the nearest tavern. Benoit kept trying to talk and Stephano kept shushing him. The tavern had a few customers who glanced at Stephano and his companion without much interest and went back to their mugs and conversations. Dockyard taverns, unlike neighborhood taverns, were accustomed to strangers.

Stephano escorted Benoit toward a table in the back, away from any windows, and sat down in a shadowy corner. He caught the eye of the barkeep, held up two fingers, indicating they wanted two mugs of ale, and ordered Benoit to keep quiet until the ale was delivered and paid for.

“What are you doing here?” Stephano demanded, once they were alone. “What’s happened?”

“I was kidnapped, sir, the house was ransacked, and I have an urgent letter from your mother.”

“Good God!” said Stephano.

He had picked up his ale, but now he set it down untasted. He gazed gloomily at the letter, not eager to read it, certain that it meant trouble. There was no help for it. He picked it up, broke open the seal.

Benoit was indignant. “Didn’t you hear me say that I was kidnapped, sir? It was quite harrowing, I assure you.”

Stephano continued reading. “You appear to have survived.”

“Well, yes, that’s true, sir, but-”

“Who snatched you?”

“I couldn’t tell, sir,” said Benoit. “They dropped a gunnysack over my head.”

“What did they want?”

“A man asked me about your dealings with the countess.”

“What did you say?”

“That I was not in your confidence, sir.”

Stephano looked up from his letter. “Did they beat you, pull out your fingernails, and tie you to the rack?”

“I’m glad you find this funny, sir,” said Benoit stiffly. “As it turned out, the man made me sit in an extremely uncomfortable chair. I lost all feeling in my lower extremities.”

Stephano hid his smile. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt. What happened after you told them you didn’t know anything?”

“They put the sack over my head again and drove me back to the house. I found that in my absence someone had broken in. The place was a mess, sir. Furniture upended, books pulled off the shelves, Master Rodrigo’s undergarments strewn about-”

“I don’t want to hear about Rigo’s undergarments,” said Stephano. “Was anything stolen?”

“Not that I could tell, sir, but I didn’t have much time to look. I had only been home a short while, when I received an urgent summons from the palace. When I arrived, I was given this note and told to board a private vessel that I would find waiting for me. The vessel brought me here. I went to the Trundler village where you usually dock, but you weren’t there. I asked about, but the Trundlers claimed they hadn’t seen any sign of the Cloud Hopper. I heard from some sailors that there had been terrible storms in the Breath the last few days and, figuring you might have been delayed, I came here to wait.”

“You did well, old man,” said Stephano absently, his thoughts on the note.

“Thank you, sir. I assume I will be recompensed for the ale I was forced to buy during the last two days.”

Stephano looked up from his reading and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I had to have some explanation for why I was loitering about, sir,” said Benoit.

“I see. What happened to the money I’m certain my mother gave you to cover your expenses?” Stephano asked.

“Your honored mother was kind enough to provide me with money for my travels. But there is a matter of my food and lodging, sir,” said Benoit with dignity. “In addition I was forced to buy several rounds of drinks before I could induce the sailors to speak with me. Then there was the pain I suffered during my kidnapping. Did I tell you how I lost all feeling in my extremities? Then the mental distress when I feared you might be lost in the Breath and finally the joyful shock of discovering you were alive-”

Stephano grinned. “Yeah, you were in raptures. All right, you old rascal. Give your bill to Rigo.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. If you’re not going to drink your ale, sir-”

Stephano waved his hand and Benoit, who had already downed his, drank his master’s. Stephano ordered another round for both of them and, after the ale had been delivered, he read the letter again. Judging by the handwriting, the note had been written in haste and was short and to the point.

My son,

I trust you are in good health. Regarding that lost shipment of brandywine you were good enough to offer to try to locate for me, I have received information that it has arrived in Westfirth and is in the hands of a most notorious and dangerous band of smugglers. The shipment is of immense worth, though not at the cost of your life. I would urge you to abandon the search, but I know your brave and adventurous spirit and I fear you would ignore my wishes. If you insist on proceeding, please do so with extreme caution.

Stephano grimaced and shook his head. How like his mother. Warning him of the risk inherent in continuing the search for Alcazar and yet reminding him of the vital importance of locating the missing journeyman. Urging him to abandon his pursuit of information regarding the kidnappers and advising him to use caution when pursuing them. Telling him about the danger and not giving him the slightest hint what that danger might be.

Still, he reflected grudgingly, the letter also proved how well his mother knew him. He thought back, irritably, to Sir Ander saying he had his mother’s eyes. Stephano crumpled the note in his hand and dunked it in his ale. He watched the ink fade off the paper, mingling with the ale, turning the golden liquid faintly purple. He looked up to find Benoit regarding him intently.

“What now?” Stephano growled, in no mood to hear more about the old man’s extremities.

Benoit glanced about. The two of them were the only people in this part of the tavern. A group of young men, apparently students on holiday, had just entered and were raucously demanding service. He and Stephano could have shouted at each other and not been heard.

Benoit motioned Stephano near. “Your honored mother-”

“Quit calling her that,” said Stephano.

“-entrusted me with information she did not want to write down,” Benoit continued, ignoring the interruption.

Stephano tensed. “Tell me.”

Benoit whispered two words in Stephano’s ear.

“Henry Wallace.”

Stephano felt the tingle at the base of his spine run up his back and twist his gut.

“Do you know the name, sir?” Benoit asked.

“Unfortunately, I do,” said Stephano.

Sir Henry Wallace, spy master, assassin, was perhaps the only person in the world his mother truly feared. The countess had spoken of him only once, in connection with rumors of a failed assassination attempt against King Alaric who had been going to conduct a royal inspection of the mysterians damage done to the newly commissioned naval cutter, Defiant. Stephano had been with the Dragon Brigade then and there had been some talk of sending the Brigade in pursuit of the assassins. She had told him her belief that Sir Henry was involved and she had gone on to tell him what she knew of the Freyan spy master, whom she had met many years ago, when he had come to court in his capacity as the Freyan Ambassador.

Stephano dredged up the memory of his mother’s words. He had never heard her speak of any man the way she talked of Sir Henry.

“Henry Wallace is a man of superior intellect, rapier-sharp wit, and cold-blooded calculation. He is ruthless, clever, and cunning and a Freyan patriot to the core of his being. He hates Rosia and would sacrifice anything, anyone to see us lie crushed and defeated beneath the Freyan heel. His reach is long. He has spies in every court, agents hiding in every closet, and assassins underneath every bed.”

Stephano remembered he had been impressed, but he had wondered, if this man was so amazing, why he had failed in the attempt to kill the king.

He could see the countess standing in her room, twisting the ring on her finger. He could hear her bitter and enigmatic reply. “I am not certain he did fail. It is my belief that he wasn’t truly out to kill the king.”

As it happened, the Brigade had not been called up. The entire matter had been abruptly and mysteriously dropped. His mother had refused to discuss it and had forbidden him to ever refer to it. She had never again spoken of Sir Henry Wallace.

The fact that Wallace was mixed up in the disappearance of Alcazar drastically altered the situation. His involvement made it a safe bet that Alcazar had succeeded in his experiment. Stephano allowed himself to picture what would happen if such magically-infused metal were to fall into Freyan hands. Rosian ships firing every gun they had and doing little damage, as Freyan vessels pounded the Rosian Navy into kindling. The war would be over in a matter of days.

He looked back at how the events had unfolded after he’d begun his investigation into Alcazar’s disappearance and he could now begin to explain what had previously been inexplicable. The man with the slouch hat who had been lurking outside Alcazar’s apartment, the same man-the supposed Lord Richard Piefer-who had arranged the duel, murdered Valazquez, and tried to murder them must be an agent of Sir Henry Wallace. He had probably given instructions that anyone who took too great an interest in Alcazar was to be removed. That did not explain the other person who had been present at the duel, the person whose timely shot had saved Stephano’s life, but Stephano assumed now that this must have been an agent sent by his mother.

He pondered what to do now. First and foremost, he had to protect Benoit. He was angry at his mother. She had no right to get the old man involved in such a dangerous and potentially deadly affair.

“Were you followed here?” Stephano asked.

Benoit sat up very straight. His rheumy eyes flashed with indignation. “I should hope you know me better than that, sir!”

Stephano rested his hand over the old man’s. “I have no doubt you managed to shake off pursuit, but I need to know if you were pursued. Were you?”

“As a matter of fact I was, sir. A man followed me when I left the palace. I made sure I lost him before boarding the vessel that brought me to Westfirth. I have kept an eye out since, but I have not seen anyone take any particular notice of me.”

“Good. I want you leave Westfirth tonight and go back to-”

“Beg pardon, sir, your honored… that is to say your lady mother instructed me to return to her with word that I had found you. She was worried when she heard you had been shot-”

Stephano’s eyes narrowed, and Benoit suddenly ceased talking.

“How did my mother hear I was shot?” Stephano demanded.

Benoit buried his nose in his ale mug and pretended to be extremely interested in observing the tavern’s clientele.

“There was no one on the dock that day but you and the man who tried to assassinate me,” Stephano continued in grim tones. “And I somehow doubt that the assassin was the one who went and told my mother! Which means you’ve been spying on me for her!”

“A mother’s love, sir-” began Benoit in plaintive tones.

“Bullshit!” Stephano glowered and shook his fist. “I should wring your scrawny neck-”

Benoit suddenly leaped out of his chair.

“Good God, sir! Look who just walked in! Sir Ander Martel! Your father’s dear friend. I must go pay my respects-”

Sir Ander was entering the tavern, accompanied by Father Jacob, Master Albert, and Brother Barnaby. Father Jacob, he noted, was carrying an extremely large bundle. He saw that Sir Ander was being unusually watchful; he had his hand on his sword hilt and he was staying very close to Father Jacob.

The light outside was bright; it would take the three a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the dim light of the tavern. Stephano had already located another way out. Seizing hold of Benoit, Stephano hustled him, kicking and sputtering, to the back door which was behind and to the right of the bar, a good distance from the front door. He cast a few coins on the bar as he ran past. The barkeep gave them a bored glance as they made their hasty exit. He did not say anything or even seem much interested. In a tavern frequented by smugglers, customers bolting suddenly out the back were an everyday occurrence. So long as they paid their bill, they could fly up the chimney for all he cared.

The back door led to a storage room lit only by a single, filthy window. Stephano tumbled over a few barrels and bashed his knee on a packing crate before he reached the door. He thrust it open, peered out cautiously into a dingy side street. Seeing no one, he shoved Benoit, still protesting vociferously, through the door and after a glance behind, went after him.

Stephano had to take time to assure Benoit that he had met up with Sir Ander and that they were now the best of friends before the old man would calm down.

“I know you would like to visit with Sir Ander,” said Stephano, as he hurried Benoit down the street. “But trust me. Now is not the time. You have passage on a ship? You know where you’re going?”

“Yes, sir, your lady mother was kind enough-”

“Yes, yes. Then take your ship, go back to the palace, tell my ‘lady mother’ I am not dead, at least not yet. And you can add that I thank her for her concern, but I took a job and I intend to see it through. You understand.”

“Yes, sir,” said Benoit.

They stopped at a street corner. Stephano had to get back to the Cloud Hopper, which must be about ready to depart. He eyed Benoit, realized suddenly that the old man was, well, old. No one could call him frail, but he should be back home sitting peacefully in front of the family fire nursing his blasted extremities, not running down side streets and shaking off tails.

“I’m sorry as hell you were dragged into this, Benoit,” said Stephano ruefully. “Take good care of yourself going back to Evreux. Don’t get yourself kidnapped again or that gray head of yours blown off. You know that Master Rigo and I can’t manage without you.”

“I tremble at the thought of either of you attempting to do so, sir,” said Benoit with feeling. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve come through worse than this. I do, however, find myself a bit short of funds-”

Stephano had handed over all the money he had left and Benoit went safely on his way. Returning to the Cloud Hopper, Stephano found everyone waiting eagerly for his return. They crowded around him the moment he set foot on deck, demanding answers.

“Rodrigo told us you went after Benoit,” Dag said. “What’s he doing here?”

“Where is the old man?” Miri asked, peering fondly over Stephano’s shoulder. “Didn’t you bring him with you?”

“Your mother sent him,” Rodrigo guessed. “Something’s gone wrong. Or maybe I should say something else has gone wrong.”

Stephano cast a glance over the rail. The Retribution was now in the care of the shipyard. Crafters and carpenters were swarming over the yacht, discussing the repairs, making notes. He could see some of the crafters shaking their heads over the strange scorch marks. He wondered what Father Jacob had told them about the attack. Certainly not the truth.

‘I’ll explain everything later,” said Stephano. “For now, let’s just get out of here.”

Rigo put away his fishing gear. Dag went to clean and reload the guns. Stephano walked over to stand by Miri, who was once more at the controls, maneuvering the houseboat through the crowded shipping lanes of the harbor. The sun was setting, the light fading. Fortunately, the Trundler village was not far away. They would be there before darkness fell.

“Where’s Gythe?” Stephano asked, looking around in alarm. “She’s not sick again, is she?”

“Not sick as you mean,” said Miri. “Oh, Stephano, the worst thing has happened to her!”

“What now?” Stephano asked, alarmed, preparing for some new crisis.

Miri gave a deep sigh. “Gythe’s fallen in love with that monk!”