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  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 bel
ieve 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-”

&nb
sp; 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-”