They left the city precincts behind, then picked up speed. Within two hours they headed toward the south shore and brought the canoe up against a dock. Justice made the canoe fast while the other two helped the Steward from the canoe and up to a woodshed set back from the river. Once they had him inside, they freed him from the chains. Justice came and got all the restraints, then headed off to sink them in various deep-river channels.
After he departed, Count von Metternin appeared with bandages and ointments. “It is good to meet you, Steward. You will be my guest for some time-until your wounds heal and even longer, I hope.”
The Steward looked at the three men, tears welling in his eyes, confusion and fear battling for control of his expression. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
“I gots me an idea.” Nathaniel shrugged. “But don’t you be worrying none about us. You’re a very important man, and saving you is going to mean a lot.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It is not important that you do, Steward.” The Count slowly began to wrap the man’s hands in clean bandages. “What is important is that the Prince does, and when the time becomes appropriate, he shall explain all.”
Bishop Bumble had been certain that Vlad had arranged for the escape, but his conviction died when he saw Vlad’s astonishment and anger at reading the message scrawled on the Armory wall. It outrages him as much as it does me.
The cleric offered a restrained smile. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Highness.”
Vlad distractedly waved a hand at him and moved deeper into the Armory’s front room. A message had been written in ink, clearly scratched there by fingers wrapped in an ink-stained cloth. The vandal had written, “The Croun has no ryte to tak no mans lyfe.” Vlad traced some of the letters in the air, then shook his head and turned.
“This is clearly your fault, Bishop.”
“What?”
“Don’t be coy. In your sermon, you laid the blame for Fox’s execution firmly at my feet. You know, you have preached against anti-Crown sentiments, and this time you went and stirred them up.” Vlad thrust a finger toward the message. “Do you know what I see here? Do you? Look closely.”
Bumble blinked. The anger on the Prince’s face, the anger in his voice, made no sense. “It is a message, yes, but I had nothing to do with it.”
“No? Is that how you spell right? Is that how you spell life? No, I bet not.” Vlad’s eyes tightened. “But in Richlan they do spell those words that way. Richlan, where your man Fox traveled before he went beyond the mountains. You thought all his settlements had been destroyed. Apparently not. Or he had sympathizers. Or your trial and plan for a grand execution brought people in, then you set them on me. How do you think this will look in a report to Launston? Have you thought of that?”
“How dare you speak to me in that tone!”
Vlad covered his face with his hands for a moment, then opened his arms wide. “Do you not know what you’ve done? Let me explain. You laid Fox’s death upon me. You made it a matter for the Crown. Now he’s escaped. The message is an anti-Crown message. Because it is anti-government, now I must act. I must call out troops and have them search. How do you think people will like that? The foment stirred up by this search will increase resentment. It is a spiral that will rage out of control. It cannot be stopped. It cannot.”
Bumble’s heart began to pound. He understood the Prince’s scenario. The idea that things could rage out of control-out of his control-sent a cold trickle through the Bishop’s guts. This was not the way things were supposed to go. “There must be something we can do.”
Vlad shook his head adamantly, but slowed the expression and looked up. “Did anyone witness the escape?”
“No.”
“And those who discovered it, what have they seen?”
Bumble shook his head. “Just that the guards were tied up and that the cell is empty.”
“Then it would be possible…” Vlad frowned. “No, you would never do it.”
“Do what?”
The Prince headed back toward the cell and waved the Bishop in his wake. “In the morning half-light, your men likely did not notice the magick circle and forbidden sigils painted there in the corner where Fox sat.”
“What sigils?”
The Prince lowered his voice, but stressed his words. “The ones Fox drew with his own blood. One of your men removed the muzzle so Fox could eat. Fox bit his own tongue, then used the blood to lick a circle and sigils. Then he spoke words and his Satanic master stole him away. The devil used imps to capture the guards to humiliate them and you.”
Bumble slowly nodded. “And we…”
“Not we, Bishop, but you discovered the method of escape. I was walking into the cell when you thrust me back and scattered the demons left herein. You cast them out, a legion of them, in a titanic struggle. Were I to tell that tale to Caleb Frost, and were you to deny it, in all modesty, of course, it would be believed.”
“Yes, yes it would.” Bumble looked back toward the front room. “And of the words on the wall? More deception?”
“Nothing a coat of paint won’t conceal.”
“But Fox is still out there.”
“I know, and a danger to us both, now.” Vlad’s expression sharpened. “I’ll send my best men after him. If Nathaniel and Owen can’t find him, he can’t be found. And if they do, gunfire will do for him what a bonfire would have. Like as not he’s headed west, toward what was once his empire.”
“Your plan has merit. I believe we can make this work.”
“It better.” Vlad nodded solemnly. “If it doesn’t, we both will be destroyed.”
Bumble hid a smile. In that, Prince Vlad, you are half right.
Chapter Forty-one
8 July 1767 Temperance Temperance Bay, Mystria
Clad only with his lover’s fading warmth, Ian Rathfield sat at his desk and slowly paged through the report he’d prepared for his superiors in Launston. He had, primarily, stuck to facts that were mission critical. Occasionally he offered insights into the nature of Mystria and Mystrians. Never did he allow himself to speculate about things he could not confirm.
“Could you not sleep?” Catherine Strake, wrapped in a bed sheet, entered the parlor. “You should come back to bed.”
Ian shook his head. “I wished to review this one more time. I guess I am trying to anticipate the changes Prince Vlad will suggest.”
“Whatever they are, you should make none of them.”
“Why not?”
“You know he will be sending his own report to supplement yours.” She rested a hand on his forearm. “You know he will do you no favors. His report will stress all the things that you did not see. He will diminish your accomplishments.”
Ian smiled. “You need not begin that again, Catherine. I have decided to acquiesce and append a copy of the Gazette story about the expedition to my report.”
“Good.” She drew over a chair and sat, leaning forward to again hold his forearm. “You must learn to avoid the mistakes Owen made, lest you be trapped here as he is.”
How could I see Mystria as a prison with you here? “I have agreed with you, darling, but I cannot avoid the fact that I have little or no recollection of parts of the expedition.”
“But you have done yourself injury, Ian, by understating what you have seen, and your part in the expedition. You were sent west to find Postsylvania and bring the people back. You did this, at great risk to yourself. And in the
