Shadow Raiders tdb-1 Page 45

  In an age where marriages were arranged for either monetary or political convenience, men and women of the noble classes often indulged in affairs. All parties knew what was going on; husbands knew about their wives’ lovers; wives knew about their husbands’ mistresses. The only rule was that the affair was to be conducted with secrecy and discretion so as not to compromise the family’s honor. Such an arrangement as Sir Henry had proposed was not at all unusual. The innkeeper of the Blue Peacock was accustomed to entertaining wealthy guests who gave false names and arrived heavily cloaked, veiled, and masked.

  Alcazar started to protest, but the expression on Henry’s face, especially the glint in the flat, cold eyes, caused Alcazar to shut his mouth and put on his petticoats.

  Sir Henry also changed clothes. He had that morning gone to the Blue Peacock dressed in the somber attire of a gentleman’s gentleman. Henry the Manservant had been soft-spoken, retiring, with lowered eyes, not daring to look upon his betters. Sir Henry the Rosian Nobleman wore a silk waistcoat, embroidered vest, tight trousers banded at the knee with velvet rosettes, silk hose, buckled shoes, and an overlarge, frilly lace collar. He applied a black goatee and mustache with spirit gum, put on a periwig, slid several flashy rings onto his fingers and, smoothing his mustache with the tip of his finger, transformed himself into the flashy and arrogant count.

  Henry spent the rest of the night drilling Alcazar how to walk in the voluminous silk skirt and petticoats and dainty shoes without tripping over the hem or turning an ankle. He showed him how to hold his fan in one hand and catch up his skirts in the other, then marched Alcazar ruthlessly up and down the empty room until he was satisfied that onlookers would take Pietro for a lady, albeit a clumsy one.

  The “count” and his “lady” arrived at the Blue Parrot at midmorning. They descended from a coach, decorated with a false coat of arms, and driven by one of his agents. The proprietor was on hand to greet them. The two were immediately whisked up to their suite of rooms at the top part of the inn. Alcazar stumbled over his petticoats while ascending the stairs. Sir Henry covered this by laughing boisterously and teasing his lady about imbibing too much champagne.

  Sir Henry’s Rosian was flawless, his accent unimpeachable, no matter what accent he chose to use. He could converse as a dockworker with a dockworker or discuss religion as a monk with the Archbishop of Westfirth and no one would guess he wasn’t who he claimed to be.

  Confident he had not been followed, Sir Henry did not grow complacent. He was far too skilled for that. But he did allow himself to relax a little, take some champagne with his breakfast, and reflect on the fact that the next few days should pass peacefully enough and then he and Alcazar would be on the way back to Freya.

  He lay down for a nap and rose refreshed in the afternoon. He changed his clothes and demeanor to those of Henry the Manservant, left the inn, and went to take his daily stroll through a quiet churchyard. The exercise cleared his mind; he ran over his plans and found no flaws. As he walked through the old, picturesque cemetery, he went to pay his respects to a certain grave.

  Sir Henry stopped, stared. The tomb was quite old and weather beaten. The carving was mostly worn off. The fragment of a name, “Henri,” was all that was visible. Lying on the tomb was a bunch of purple clover tied with a bit of black ribbon.

  Sir Henry stood gazing down at the clover for long moments, then, frowning, he walked on, his peace of mind shattered.

  James Harrington left Evreux heading for Westfirth on the afternoon of the day the Cloud Hopper sailed out into the Breath. Harrington had not been planning a journey to Westfirth. Quite the contrary, his orders from Sir Henry had been quite clear-he was to remain in Evreux. The arrival of a letter, however, caused Harrington to change his plans. A ship would be the fastest way to reach Westfirth, but there was not time to book passage. He acquired a seat on the post chaise-wyvern-drawn carriages that carried the mail to various locations throughout Rosia.

  The carriages had room for up to four riders and were the fastest way to travel overland from one point to another. The carriages stopped at posts along the way to change wyverns and deliver the mail. Mindful of the need for speeding the post on its way, the changing of the wyverns was accomplished with such rapidity that passengers were permitted to get out only to stretch their legs before the whip cracked and they were off again. Since the carriages were noted more for speed than for comfort, those passengers who took the post chaise generally did so because they needed to be somewhere in a hurry.

  Harrington arrived in Westfirth two days ahead of the Cloud Hopper. He took up residence in an inn and did as Sir Henry had taught him. He enjoyed the pleasures of Westfirth. Harrington frequented taverns and gambling dens, strolled along the docks, walked about the shops. He mingled with the crowds in the park and took a stroll to view the wondrous new cathedral, which was being built on the old church grounds. He bought a bunch of clover from a pretty flower vendor. He walked through an old cemetery and read the names on the tombs. Everywhere he went, Harrington struck up conversations, bought drinks for the patrons, surrounded himself with people.

  And everywhere Harrington went, either Dubois or his agents were right behind him, waiting for Harrington to meet with Sir Henry. Dubois knew Sir Henry by sight, of course, but Henry Wallace was a consummate actor who changed identity as often as another man changed his stockings. Wallace would never allow himself to be spotted on the street.

  “These places are too public for the two to meet. Harrington is letting Sir Henry know he’s in town,” Dubois told his agents. “He’s setting up the rendezvous.”

  Dubois had followed Harrington from Evreux in his own carriage, making certain he kept on the trail of his quarry by asking at every stop if they had seen a man matching Harrington’s description and, if so, what route he had taken. Dubois had arrived in Westfirth the same time as Harrington, tracked him to his inn, and then arranged with his most trusted agents to keep an eye on him around the clock while Dubois made a fast trip up the coast to visit the site of the massacre at the Abbey of Saint Agnes to speak to Father Jacob Northrup. When Dubois returned, he took the day shift himself.

  Dubois believed he now knew why Henry Wallace had risked his neck traveling to Rosia. Dubois had received a letter from the grand bishop relating the disappearance of a journeyman armorer named Pietro Alcazar, a journeyman rumored to have been working to develop steel infused with the power of the Breath. The day after the journeyman had not shown up for work, the Master Armorer had paid a hurried visit to the Countess de Marjolaine. She had subsequently summoned her son, Stephano de Guichen, who was known to be involved in many of her intrigues. Stephano had gone to Alcazar’s lodgings and had been seen by James Harrington. Some hours later, Stephano and his friend, Rodrigo de Villeneuve had been lured into a duel by Harrington in the guise of Sir Richard Piefer. Dubois arrived at the same conclusion as had his counterpart in spy craft, the Countess de Marjolaine: Sir Henry Wallace had come to Rosia to abduct Alcazar.

  Dubois did find it odd that Sir Henry had not yet left Westfirth with his prize. Why was Wallace still on Rosian soil? He must know that the hounds were on his trail and that every moment he remained brought him closer to the executioner. There were times when Dubois told himself that Sir Henry must have left. But, if that were true, why was James Harrington in Westfirth?

  “No, no, never doubt your instincts,” Dubois told himself as he sat reading his mail in a park next door to the inn where Harrington was staying. “The pieces fit. Sir Henry is here in Westfirth. He has Alcazar. And sooner or later James Harrington will lead me to him.”

  Unless the Countess’ son finds Wallace first. Stephano de Guichen and his friends were traveling to Westfirth. The murder of the poor pawn, Valazquez, had been hushed up: a tragic accident while loading a pistol… The Countess de Marjolaine had attended the funeral… The family was grateful for her support… Most grateful… No mention of Monsieur de Villeneuve or Captain de Guichen.

&nbs
p; Dubois had abducted Benoit, de Guichen’s family retainer, then searched the captain’s house. He had discovered from Rodrigo’s accounts that the countess had paid all of her son’s debts. Clearly, she had hired him to find and recover Alcazar. Benoit had claimed to know nothing about anything. He wouldn’t even admit to the fact that he worked for Captain de Guichen. Dubois had set the old man loose and then had him followed. He had been interested to hear that Benoit had gone immediately to the palace and then disappeared.

  Dubois sat in the park, reading a letter he’d received that morning from the grand bishop, all the while keeping a watch out for James Harrington. The letter informed Dubois that he was to listen for any strange rumors in connection with the tragic murder of the nuns of Saint Agnes.

  Particularly any rumor of demonic influence, the grand bishop had written in his own hand.

  “Well, well, well. Demonic influence!” Dubois shook his head. Having visited the site of the killings, he could well imagine that Hell in some form had taken part.

  Father Jacob of the Arcanum is on the scene, the grand bishop wrote in conclusion. Everyone involved will be placed under Seal.

  The bishop can rest easy then, Dubois thought to himself. No word will leak out. The Arcanum could be trusted to see to it that all were silenced. Strange, though, that the deaths of these nuns under such mysterious circumstances should happen while Sir Henry Wallace was on Rosian soil. Once again, Dubois tried every way he could to fit that particular piece into his puzzle, but Henry was the wrong shape and size. As much as Dubois wanted to think that Sir Henry was acting under “demonic influence,” he, like Father Jacob, could not see how the Freyan spy master was involved.

  Dubois folded the letter and thrust it in his inner pocket. He sat in the park, listening to the twitter of the birds, eavesdropping on conversations, throwing crumbs to the squirrels, and watching and waiting for Harrington to leave his inn.

  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…