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!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Trundlers are a friendly lot so long as the sun is up. A floating village becomes a market, the houseboats
