market stalls, where all are welcome to come and spend your rosuns. When the sun sets, the Trundlers close up shop and raise the barricades. Trundlers do not take kindly to strangers and anyone not a Trundler is a stranger.
– Lord Captain Stephano De Guichen
BY THE TIME THE CLOUD HOPPERHAD SLIPPED into its berth alongside the other houseboats in the floating Trundler village, night had fallen. The Trundler houseboats had lit their lanterns and the glowing lights, dancing up and down or shifting from side to side with the rocking motion of the boats at anchor, made it look as if the village were populated by fireflies.
Even though most on board were “outsiders,” they were welcomed by the Trundlers. Miri’s uncle was leader of the McPike clan and well-liked by all except the McGonagalls, a clan with whom a feud had been raging for about three hundred years or so. Miri in her role as Lore Master was honored and highly valued, and Gythe was universally loved. Their entry into the Trundler village took on the aspect of a triumphal march. Running lights shining and lanterns lit, the Cloud Hopper sailed among the houseboats, with Miri calling out greetings to those they passed, asking about her innumerable relatives and whether they were “in town” and acknowledging invitations for her and Gythe to come visit.
Once they docked, Miri and her sister made ready to depart to pay their respects to their uncle, hear the latest news of the family, and make inquiries about the missing journeyman. Dag was also leaving the Cloud Hopper, to find out if any of his former underworld connections knew anything about Alcazar. Before everyone went their separate ways, Stephano called them together. He told them about his mother’s letter, shared with them what he knew about Sir Henry Wallace, emphasized the danger, and gave them a description of Wallace.
“My mother saw Wallace many years ago, so this description is probably not much good. And he’s adept at disguising himself. For what it’s worth, Henry Wallace is tall, slender in build, with finely chiseled features except for his nose, which was broken in his youth and did not heal properly. Pietro Alcazar is addicted to gambling and could possibly be found at the baccarat tables if he’s off his tether, which is unlikely. We want to know if anyone has seen either of these men or if anyone has been asking about them.”
He also told Miri and Gythe to find out if there had been any more attacks on Trundler houseboats and, if so, if those attacks had been similar in nature to the attack on their parents’ boat. Finally, he reminded them that they were all under Seal and that he had given his word to Papa Jake that they would say nothing about the demons. Everyone nodded solemnly at this.
Stephano watched Dag carefully arm himself, tucking two pistols beneath his coat and sliding a pistol and a knife into his boot.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Stephano asked, watching Dag assemble his arsenal. “Maybe I should go with you.”
Dag chuckled as he slid a second knife into his belt. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but you’d be more trouble than you’d be worth. You’re a gentleman born, sir, and you can’t hide it. The places I’m going don’t take to gentry. You’d end up in the gutter with your throat slit, your watch missing, and your pockets turned inside out.”
“You and Rigo can come with us,” said Miri. She cast a sidelong look at her sister, who was staring up dreamily at the stars. “You can help me take Gythe’s mind off Brother Barnaby.”
Stephano was about to agree, and he was startled to hear Rodrigo decline, claiming that he was going to bed; he had to be up early the next day.
“Early for what?” Stephano asked, astonished.
“My dear fellow, I have to see my tailor,” said Rodrigo, sounding shocked that he would even ask. “I have nothing to wear.”
“You have a chest filled with clothes,” said Stephano.
Rodrigo only smiled and shook his head. Miri rolled her eyes and whispered something to Gythe, who giggled. Dag snorted in derision. Picking up the Doctor, Dag settled the cat on his shoulder and descended the gangplank. He walked out onto the long pier that led to shore.
“You could come with us,” said Miri to Stephano, as the sisters were about to leave. “Uncle likes you.”
“He likes me now, since we’ve finally convinced him I have no intention of trying to worm my way into the McPike clan by wedding his niece,” said Stephano. “When do you plan to tell him about Dag?”
“When I’ve told Dag about Dag,” said Miri crisply. She glanced with concern at the back of the big man, who was walking away from them. Doctor Ellington’s tail stuck straight up, looking like a furry feather in Dag’s hat. “I hope he’ll be safe.”
“Worry more about anyone who tries to cross him,” said Stephano. “Thanks for the invitation. Give your uncle my regards. I’ll stay with Rigo.”
He had given his friend the sad news about his father; the countess had received confirmation from her sources that Ambassador de Villeneuve had been assassinated. Rodrigo had received the news with equanimity, going a bit pale, but only saying calmly that he was thankful to be no longer in doubt. Stephano remembered his own soul-searing grief over the death of his father and he had felt helplessly that he should be doing or saying something more.
“We could find a way to send you home for the funeral…” he had begun and then he had remembered. “Damn! You can’t go home. We’re under Seal. I promised Father Jacob we’d all remain here in Westfirth. Never mind the priest. If you want to go home, Rigo, you should go home.”
Rodrigo had smiled and shaken his head. “My dear fellow, have you forgotten that we spent days lost in the Breath? The funeral will be over and done with by now. I’m fine, really. Don’t worry about me.”
But Stephano was worried. Rodrigo loved Trundler gatherings. It wasn’t like him to miss one.
After Rodrigo had gone to bed, Stephano sat down with a bottle of wine given to them by one of their Trundler neighbors. He went over everything that had happened these past few days and made plans for what was likely to happen in the future.
Stephano did not worry about setting the watch. They were surrounded on all sides by Trundler houseboats. The Trundlers set their own watch over the entire village; they did not take kindly to strangers. For the first night in many nights, Stephano slept deeply and woke to the sun shining and the smell of sausages.
The morning of Chardus, the fourth day of the week, was a fine one, not a cloud in the sky. Even the mists had dissipated. Peering over the hull, Stephano could see quite a distance down to the dark and murky depths of the Breath below. Stephano thought of the demons that had come up out of those depths and he shifted his gaze landward, which provided a far more pleasurable view of the city of Westfirth.
He looked out over a veritable sea of gaily painted balloons. Trundler houseboats bobbed in the harbor, thin trails of smoke rising from their galleys bringing with it smells of fresh-baked bread. The morning was brightened by the laughter of children as they scrambled up and down the masts or jumped perilously from boat to boat in games of tag while parents called irritably for them to stop or they would break their fool necks or tumble into the Breath.
Beyond the Trundler village was the southern end of the city of Westfirth; a veritable forest of chimney pots. The two spires of the archbishop’s grand cathedral, currently under construction and covered in a maze of scaffolding, was a new and interesting feature on the skyline.
“A sign the Church is exerting authority in Westfirth at last,” Stephano reflected. “Or trying to.”
Like parents endeavoring to curb the excesses of a child they had ignored for many years, the Church was finding it difficult to alter the city’s bad behavior. The new archbishop was an energetic and zealous man, however; firmly determined to make his unruly city into a model of deportment.
According to Dag, who had returned to the Cloud Hopper in the early hours, the archbishop was not having much luck. Criminal organizations still flourished, operating brothels and gambling and opium dens, waging wars over territory and conducting running battles with the members of the Constabulary. A militaristic police force organized and financed by the Church, the Constabulary had replaced the corrupt and ineffective city guard and was doing its best to bring law and order to Westfirth. Theirs was an ambitious task. Smuggled goods were still being sold openly in the city market. The murder rate was so high the constables were forced to conduct a sweep every morning to gather up the bodies. The crackdown was having some effect.
“Watch yourselves when you’re in town,” Dag warned. “The Constabulary is well-armed, and they have a fondness for hauling people off to jail to make it look like they’re doing something useful.”
Dag had managed to run into a few people who still remembered him-some of them fondly. He had not encountered any trouble, though the same could not be said for the good Doctor, who had returned with a swollen
