– “Song to Love” by Rodrigo de Villeneuve
RODRIGO HELPED THE BLOOD-COVERED STEPHANO along the pier that led to the Cloud Hopper, which was docked at the end of a long row of Trundler houseboats. The other Trundlers eyed them curiously as they passed, but no one said a word; Trundlers believing strongly that every person has a right to secrets. If questioned by the constables, the Trundlers would have sworn they had never seen a wounded man walking past their boats, even as they were mopping up the bloody trail he left in his wake. Fortunately, Rodrigo and Stephano had managed to evade the constables and no one thought to come questioning the Trundlers about two men who had, according to witnesses, been of gentle birth.
Miri, Gythe, and Dag had returned from their own errands and were already on board the houseboat, making repairs. When the ever-watchful mercenary saw his friends come limping toward the boat, Dag threw down his tools and drew his pistol and went to cover them.
“Anyone chasing you?”
“Undoubtedly,” Rodrigo said cheerfully. “We seem to run into assassins at every turn. But no one is currently shooting at us, if that’s what you mean.”
Dag thrust his weapon back into his belt and helped assist Stephano on board.
“Good God, not again!” Miri exclaimed, glaring at him in exasperation. “What are you this time? Shot or stabbed or both?”
“Stabbed,” said Rodrigo. “It is my considered medical opinion that his wounds are not serious. He was attacked with a steak knife.”
“It was a sharp steak knife,” Stephano said, grimacing as Dag and Rodrigo eased him into the chair.
“So you got into a fight with a butcher, did you?” Miri said. “Set him down and let me take a look.”
Doctor Ellington strolled over to sniff at the blood. Dag, looking grim, gathered up the cat and tossed him down into the hold.
“It was that bastard who shot me and killed Valazquez and damn near sank the Cloud Hopper,” said Stephano.
He caught his breath as Miri began to peel back his blood-stiffened shirt.
“I hope that son-of-a-bitch looks worse than you do,” Dag said.
“Trust me, he does,” Rodrigo assured him.
Gythe hovered near Stephano. She touched Miri’s arm to draw her attention and began flashing hand signals.
“No, Gythe, dear,” Miri answered her sister’s silent communication. “I don’t think we need send for Brother Barnaby-”
“We most certainly do not,” said Stephano. “Oh, for the love of-Dag, stop her!”
He was too late. Gythe had caught up her skirts, run across the deck, and jumped off the boat onto the pier.
“She’s gone to fetch the monk,” Miri said. “She’s clean out of her mind over that man! Dag, go with her, will you? There’ll be no reasoning with her, but you can at least see to it that she comes to no harm.”
Dag thrust his pistol into his belt and ran to catch up with Gythe-not an easy task, for she was swift and light as a sparrow.
“Rigo, help Stephano down the stairs,” said Miri. “Put him in my bed.”
“He has all the luck,” said Rodrigo with a sigh and a languishing gaze. “Would that it were I who had been stabbed with a steak knife.”
“Keep up such nonsense and I’ll accommodate you,” Miri returned.
Stephano protested that he was feeling fine. Miri was adamant and ordered him into her cabin.
“You have to save me, Rigo. She’s going to put that stinking goop on me,” Stephano said in a low voice. “I avoided it the last time I was wounded because she didn’t have the ingredients. But she’s been shopping since then.”
“Yes, well, maybe next time you and your little friends will think twice about playing with sharp objects,” said Rodrigo.
Stephano sat down on the bed, still protesting. Miri ignored him and sent Rodrigo to fetch water. She took a mortar and pestle down from the shelf and began crushing leaves and seeds, whispering words in her own language as she worked to concoct her famous healing poultice.
“Did you find out anything about Alcazar?” Stephano asked, watching the proceedings with a gloomy air.
“Alcazar the baker has no brothers and his children are all daughters. Not a journeyman among them. The farrier is an orphan with no living relations. You were going to the docks to talk to the sailors. I don’t suppose you made it that far.”
“Rigo wanted to visit his tailor first,” said Stephano.
“As if that man didn’t have enough lavender waistcoats!” Miri said, sniffing in disdain, pounding the concoction vigorously.
“He ordered a suit of mourning clothes,” said Stephano quietly.
Miri stopped her work and turned to face him. Her voice was soft with pity and remorse. “There now! I had forgotten. His poor murdered father.”
“Don’t say anything to him, Miri. He doesn’t need us moping about.”
“I won’t. Still it must be hard-him not able to go to his own father’s funeral.”
Stephano shook his head. “All my fault.”
“It’s not, love,” said Miri, leaving her work to go comfort him. She rested her hand on his shoulder. “You know that.”
“I’d like to blame my mother, but it was my decision to come to Westfirth. And what good has it done us? We find out that Alcazar was most likely nabbed by Sir Henry Wallace and then I go and kill his agent, the one man who might have led us to Wallace. And now I’m not sure I want to find him or if I want him to find us. Even my mother fears him, and she fears nothing this side of Hell. Maybe we should give up, sail home.”
“As if you’d ever go back to your mother and tell her you failed.”
Miri gave Stephano a pat, then returned to her mixing, only to find Doctor Ellington with his head in the bowl and yellow poultice on his nose and whiskers.
“You wicked cat, get out of there!” Miri cried angrily, grabbing up a wooden spoon.
The Doctor saw Miri coming and lunged for safety. Miri made a swipe at him with the spoon, but missed. The cat landed on the deck, sneezed violently, and began rubbing frantically at his face with his paw. He sneezed again and dashed wildly from the room.
“You daft beast!” Miri called after him.
“Talking to me?” Rodrigo asked, wrestling with the water bucket and almost falling over the cat.
In answer, Miri put her arms around him, gave him a tender hug and kissed him on the cheek.
“What is that for?” Rodrigo asked, astonished.
“For being a daft beast,” Miri said.
She picked up the bowl and carried it over to Stephano, who was eyeing it grimly. “Bring the water over here, Rigo. And fetch the bandages.”
Rodrigo set down the bucket and, gagging, used his sleeve to cover his nose. Miri pulled off Stephano’s shirt and scooped up a glob of yellowish-gray goo.
“This is going to sting,” she warned.
“Don’t worry, Stephano” said Rodrigo in muffled tones. “You won’t feel a thing. The smell will knock you unconscious first.”
In the corridor outside the door, they could all hear the unmistakable sounds of a cat throwing up.
Gythe and Dag returned with Brother Barnaby late in the afternoon. Clocks all over the city were striking the hour of five when Miri and Rodrigo, who were entertaining Stephano, heard footfalls on the deck above. Stephano was sitting up in bed, playing a game of draughts with Rodrigo. At the sound of the monk’s voice, he grimaced.
“I’m already covered in yellow stinking goop. I don’t need God,” said Stephano irritably. “Send the monk away.”
“And hurt Gythe’s feelings? I will not and neither will you,” said Miri. “You’ll behave.”
“The good brother could say a prayer for Doctor Ellington,” suggested Rodrigo.
