Shadow Raiders tdb-1 Read online

  “The priest could also use part of the fabric from Sir Henry’s coat for this spell,” Rodrigo was explaining to Stephano. “Anything that the person handled or wore on his body. The ‘needle’ makes the connection using latent magical energies-”

  “Of course it does,” said Stephano impatiently. “The question is, will it lead us to this man?”

  “It will,” said Father Jacob. “But the connection fades quickly, so make haste.”

  Father Jacob handed the device to the fascinated Rodrigo. Following the compass’ point, the four men walked swiftly to the end of the lane and found a trail of blood. Stephano had his pistol in hand, keeping watch for trouble. When they reached the alleyway, they came to a sudden halt.

  The light of the lantern shone on the body of a young woman, no more than fifteen or sixteen, lying dead on the street. Her throat was cut. Her blood ran in gruesome rivulets among the cobblestones. Rodrigo gasped and covered his mouth and turned away. Stephano gazed down in shock and horror.

  “The wraith!” Sir Ander exclaimed.

  “Poor child. The Warlock used her blood for his conjuration.” Father Jacob sighed deeply. “May God in His mercy take her to her rest.”

  He knelt beside the body and reached out his hand to close the staring eyes.

  “Did Henry Wallace do this?” Stephano asked, shaken.

  “No, Captain,” said Father Jacob, rising to his feet. His face was drawn. He seemed to have aged in the space of moments. “This is dark magic, blood magic-the work of the young man, the Warlock. He killed this girl, then drank her blood, and used her life force to create the wraith that attacked Sir Ander.”

  Stephano seemed stunned. “I can’t believe that anyone… Is that even possible?”

  “Sadly, yes,” said Rodrigo in muffled tones. He kept his eyes averted from the corpse.

  “We’ve seen this young man commit such murders before,” said Sir Ander, his voice burning with anger. “He seduces these young women and then makes them believe that by dying for him, they’re proving their love. You’ll note there is no sign of a struggle.”

  “Good God!” Stephano said softly. He swallowed hard.

  “There’s more blood down here, Father,” Sir Ander reported, flashing the lantern light about on the pavement. “Not the young woman’s. It might belong to the Warlock.”

  “How do you know it’s not her blood?” Stephano asked.

  Sir Ander squatted down. “See how the blood is smeared? Looks as if the person was shot in the foot. He was dragging his boot in his own blood. And here he trod in it. You can see bloody footprints. And so did Wallace. You can see faint traces of his footprints walking along behind. Probably holding a gun on the young man. I’ll follow them, see where they lead.”

  He continued down the alley, shining the light on the cobblestones.

  “I take it from what Sir Ander says that the two of you have been working to stop this Warlock,” said Stephano.

  “For many long months,” said Father Jacob.

  Kneeling beside the body, he began to pray. Rodrigo bowed his head. Stephano didn’t want to pray. He wanted to lash out, hit someone-God, maybe.

  Sir Ander was not gone long. He waited for Father Jacob to finish his prayer to make his report.

  “The bloody smear of the Warlock’s trail ends at the canal. Wallace’s prints continue down the street. Maybe he threw the young man into the Breath,” Sir Ander said hopefully.

  “I doubt it. Wallace took him hostage. If he’d wanted to kill him, he could have just shot him. With all the barge traffic, Wallace probably dumped him in a passing boat. There is something between Wallace and the Warlock, that much is clear.”

  “The Sorceress,” said Sir Ander. “We know she spent time in Freya.”

  “I fear you may be right, my friend,” said Father Jacob. He paused, then said, “And I believe I know how she and Wallace might be connected. We long suspected he had something to do with the attack on the Defiant.”

  Father Jacob started to stand, caught his foot in the hem of his cassock and staggered. Stephano reached out his hand to steady the priest. He was eager to start on Wallace’s trail, but there was something he needed to say first.

  “What will happen to this young woman?” Stephano asked, gesturing to the body.

  “Sir Ander and I will take care of the poor child,” said Father Jacob. “There is a convent nearby. The nuns will tend to her until we can learn her name and give the sad news to her family.”

  Stephano coughed, cleared his throat. “After seeing this… Well, um, I may have misjudged you, Father. I’m sorry if I’ve been.. .” He paused, uncertain.

  “An ass?” Rodrigo suggested.

  Stephano flushed. “Not exactly the word I was going to use in front of a priest.”

  Father Jacob smiled. “I understand, Captain-perhaps better than you think. May God go with you.” He held out his hand.

  “And with you, Father,” said Stephano. He accepted the priest’s handshake.

  Sir Ander lifted the young woman in his arms, cradling the lifeless body as gently and tenderly as a father. Rodrigo drew a lace-edged handkerchief from his pocket and laid it over the cold, pale, blood-smeared face. Father Jacob gave both Stephano and Rodrigo his blessing and told them to take the lantern.

  “We walk with God’s light,” said Father Jacob, as he fell into solemn step alongside Sir Ander.

  Stephano waited to see them safely on their way with their sorrowful burden, then turned back to the business of tracking Sir Henry.

  “I’m amazed,” said Rodrigo. “A priest blessed you, and you didn’t sneer.”

  “Because I have a feeling we’re going to need it,” said Stephano. “Let’s see if that compass-thingamajig works.”

  The compass worked, apparently, for it led them down the alley in the same direction as the faint trail of bloody footprints. When they came to the end of the alley, the compass indicated that Sir Henry Wallace had continued along Canal Street. Rodrigo walked on, delighted with his new toy, then stopped when he realized Stephano wasn’t with him.

  “Hey,” he said, glancing around. “What are you doing? Father Jacob warned us that the magical connection wouldn’t last long.”

  Stephano stood in the darkness that seemed thick and heavy with evil, hard to breathe.

  “You heard what Father Jacob said about this man, Wallace,” said Stephano. “The priest was serious. My mother calls Henry Wallace the most dangerous man in the world. She told me I should quit looking for him. Even she’s afraid of him.”

  The two were quiet, somber.

  “My mother does pay well,” said Stephano.

  “And on time,” Rodrigo said with a deep sigh. Looking down at the compass, he pointed. “Wallace went that way.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  In a city where “watch your back” means you get stabbed in the chest and you can’t even trust your own shadow not to kill you if the money’s right, the Blue Parrot is known for offering privacy, respectability, damn fine brandy, and a rear exit.

  - Dag Thorgrimson

  THE COMPASS LED RODRIGO AND STEPHANO down Canal Street. They turned left onto the Street of Saints, where the compass led them straight to an exclusive bordello known as the Dovecote. The trail ended on the walkway outside the bordello’s ornately carved and gold-leaf-trimmed door as they discovered when they walked past the house and continued down the street about a block. The compass did not react.

  “He must have taken a cab,” Rodrigo said, not knowing whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  “I don’t think so,” said Stephano. Turning around, he studied their location. “Cabs don’t frequent this street, at least not this early. He came here for a reason.”

  “To the Dovecote? You can’t be serious,” Rodrigo said, carefully tucking the compass in an inner coat pocket. “He’s been ambushed by demons, involved in dark magic and the murder of a young girl. A priest from the Arcanum knows he’s in Westfirth, and
Wallace decides to go play slap and tickle?”

  “If he’s a member, he would ask the doorman if he-”

  “-could make use of their carriage,” Rodrigo finished, catching up with his friend’s thinking. “That makes sense. I wonder if Dag’s friend is still the owner?”

  “We have the priest’s blessing,” said Stephano. “Let’s see if it’s worth anything. Do I look presentable?”

  “No,” said Rodrigo, twitching Stephano’s long coat in place to hide the fact that his trousers were grimy and blood-stained and shaking his head over the sorry state of his friend’s shirt. “But, then, you never did, so no one should be surprised.”

  The two retraced their steps back to the bordello and walked down the paved path that ran from the street to the entrance. The grounds were pleasant. They walked beneath the overarching limbs of graceful poplar trees and through a rose garden. The house was quiet at this time of evening with only a few lights in the windows. The women would be dressing, putting on their jewels and powder and perfume, preparing for the night’s work. In the back rooms, the owner would be preparing the tables for baccarat, dice, and other games of chance. The doorman stood in a well-lighted portico adorned with tubs of geraniums and lilies. He had been keeping an eye on the two gentlemen and, as they ascended the stairs, he advanced to meet them. He was a shortish man, almost as wide as he was tall with broad shoulders, arms thick with muscle, and no neck. He touched his hand to the brim of his hat.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said polite, but firm. “I fear you have made a mistake. This is a private club, for members only-”

  “Thomaso,” said Rodrigo warmly. “Don’t tell me you have forgotten old friends?”

  “Monsieur de Villeneuve!” the man exclaimed, looking at them more closely. “And Captain de Guichen! God bless my soul, but it is good to see you both. And to think I tried to send you away!”

  He shook his head ruefully, then gestured toward the door. “Come in, sirs, come in. Maudie will be so pleased. We were talking of you only the other day. We can never forget, Captain,” he added, his voice growing husky, “what you and your Cadre of the Lost did for us. We would have been the ones who were lost!”

  “I take it no one else has tried to run you out of business,” Stephano said, wincing slightly as Thomaso engulfed his hand in a grip that was a bit too heartfelt.

  “No, sir, no. Thanks to you and your friends. How is Dag? He didn’t come with you?”

  “He’s a trifle indisposed,” Rodrigo said. “Nothing serious.”

  “Ah, I see.” Thomaso grinned and looked wise. “Send him round when he recovers. Now, do come in, sirs.”

  “Sorry, Thomaso,” said Stephano. “Maybe another time. We’re looking for a friend of ours. We’re afraid he may be in trouble. He would have stopped by here in the last hour, perhaps asked for a ride-”

  “You must mean Sir Robert Beauchamp,” said Thomaso. “Your fears are right, Captain. Sir Robert said he’d been attacked by thieves.”

  Stephano and Rodrigo looked at each other.

  “The assassins found him,” said Rodrigo in grim tones. “Maybe we’re too late!”

  “I fear we are,” said Stephano. “Was Sir Robert badly hurt?”

  “Just a gash on his hand,” said Thomaso. “He didn’t stay long. He asked if we could give him a ride to his lodgings. Sir Robert’s a member of long-standing. Of course, I was happy to accommodate him.”

  “Just to be sure this is our Sir Robert, could you describe him?” Stephano asked.

  “A tall gentleman, well-spoken,” said Thomaso. “Freyan exile. Came here after the war. That’s about all I can tell you, Captain. I’ve never seen the man’s face. Like many of our members, he always wears a mask.”

  “Well, it seems he’s safe for the moment,” said Rodrigo.

  “Yes, but for how much longer,” Stephano argued. “The hounds are on his trail-”

  “If only we knew where he’s gone,” Rodrigo said helplessly. “We could warn him.”

  Thomaso looked from one to the other. “Generally such information is kept in strict confidence, but seeing that it is you, Captain, Sir Robert asked the driver to take him to the Blue Parrot.”

  “The Blue Parrot!” Rodrigo repeated in alarm. “They’ll be waiting for him!”

  “Thomaso,” said Stephano urgently, “we haven’t a moment to lose. Would it be possible for your driver to take us-”

  “Of course, sirs, of course,” said Thomaso. He summoned the page and ordered him to the stables.

  “The Blue Parrot is not far, Captain,” Thomaso said, when the carriage arrived. He assisted them to enter. “By the Masons’ Guildhall.”

  “Thank you, Thomaso,” Rodrigo called, as the carriage rattled away over the cobblestones. “You may have saved a life this night!”

  Stephano sat back in the seat, flexing his hand. “I’d forgotten that man’s handshake. I’ve lost all feeling in my fingers.”

  “You note I avoid personal contact,” said Rodrigo. “I’m glad he and Maudie are doing well. We’ll have to remember to tell Dag. So, now, what is our plan? Do we storm the Blue Parrot? If so, I must remind you that I’m not much good at storming.”

  “Don’t you find it odd that Sir Henry is still in Westfirth?” Stephano asked. “If I’d kidnapped a journeyman who’d made an astounding discovery that would revolutionize warfare, I’d be on the first ship out.”

  “Maybe Wallace knew that people would be searching for him and he’s lying low to wait for the furor to die down.”

  “Maybe,” said Stephano, unconvinced. “But now he knows that Father Jacob recognized him, and while he probably hopes the demons killed the priest, Wallace can’t count on it. He’ll have to leave tonight.”

  “Perhaps he’s already gone,” said Rodrigo.

  “Don’t sound so hopeful,” said Stephano. “Wallace went back to the Blue Parrot. Let’s say he has Alcazar stashed there. He has to pack up his things, collect Alcazar. That could take some time.”

  “If I am not mistaken, here we are,” said Rodrigo as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Too bad we don’t know what Wallace looks like. Thomaso’s description could fit almost any one.”

  “From what my mother told me, a description wouldn’t help,” said Stephano. “He’ll be disguised and he’d have Alcazar disguised, as well.”

  “Fine establishment, this Blue Parrot,” said Rodrigo, as they emerged from the cab. “A hotel suitable for intrigue, secret assignations, lovers escaping the eyes of jealous spouses. Not the sort of place one hides kidnapped journeymen.”

  The Blue Parrot was obviously a well-to-do establishment, catering only to the finest clientele. The windows of the upper levels were discreetly sealed and shuttered, while the windows on the ground floor were ablaze with light. The neatly painted sign featuring the bird for which the inn was named hung above the well-lit entryway. Through the windows, they could see serving maids bustling about in little frilly caps and white aprons waiting on elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen.

  “You’re right,” said Stephano, frowning. “Still it won’t hurt to ask-”

  He started toward the door. The scandalized Rodrigo dragged him back.

  “My dear fellow, you can’t possibly think you’re going to go bounding inside and demand to see the guest register?”

  “I was going to ask the landlord if he’d seen a man resembling Wallace’s description-”

  “And you would be escorted to the street and tossed out on your ear,” said Rodrigo.

  “So what would you do?” Stephano asked, exasperated.

  “Take a room,” said Rodrigo. “Wash off the gunpowder residue and have supper. I’m thinking a nice bit of fish, followed by broiled squab, new spring peas and a dry white wine, moderately chilled.”

  “You have to explain this bill to my mother,” Stephano grumbled.

  Sir Henry Wallace arrived at the Blue Parrot without incident. Ordinarily he would not have risked giving a carria
ge driver his true destination, but he was in haste and he had no reason to think anyone had followed him. He did take the precaution of ordering the carriage to drive around to the back alley and came in through the rear entrance. He opened the door to his room with his key and walked in, expecting to find Alcazar there, whining as usual.

  Alcazar was nowhere in sight.

  “Pietro?” Sir Henry called softly, looking about.

  No answer. The suite was empty. Swearing beneath his breath, Sir Henry searched all the rooms twice, even looking under the bed. He was trying to think what might have happened, when there came a timid knock on the door.

  Sir Henry flung open the door and found Alcazar in the hall. Henry grabbed hold of the journeyman and dragged him, stumbling, inside.

  “Where the devil have you been?”

  “I… I went to visit Louisa, my b-brother’s wife,” Alcazar stammered, shriveling beneath Sir Henry’s withering eye.

  “You went to visit?” Sir Henry said, his voice shaking with fury. “You left this hotel and went to visit your brother’s wife, who is undoubtedly under surveillance-”

  Alcazar went exceedingly pale. “I… I w-wore a hat.”

  “You wore a hat. God give me strength not to murder you,” said Sir Henry, his fists clenching.

  “I have good news, sir!” cried Alcazar faintly, backing into a corner. “The Silver Raven is in port. We can leave tomorrow…”

  “We’re leaving now, tonight,” said Sir Henry. “Go get dressed.”

  “But I’m already dressed-”

  “As a woman, you blithering idiot. You came here in petticoats. You’re damned well going to leave in petticoats.”

  The chastened Alcazar hurried meekly into his bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and began to wrestle with his corset. Henry blew out the lights, walked over to the window, parted the velvet curtain a crack and looked out onto the street. He was certain he had not been followed from the bordello, but that fool Alcazar, traipsing about the city in his blasted hat could have picked up any number of tails.