Miri returned carrying a large pot in one hand and a spoon in the other.
“You’re having oatmeal,” she stated.
Stephano hated oatmeal, but he caught Dag’s warning glance and said meekly, “Oatmeal will be fine. Thank you, Miri.”
Miri sniffed and dug her spoon into the pot. Stephano reached out to pet the cat, who was curled up in Dag’s lap, dozing in the morning sunshine.
“How is the Doctor this morning?”
The cat responded to Stephano’s pat by purring loudly.
“Lazy beast,” said Miri scathingly.
She flung the oatmeal into the bowl and then pointed the spoon at Dag.
“I’ll have you know, Dag Thorgrimson, I found a mouse in the storage room this morning! Ran right over my foot. Mice running rampant all over the ship and that idle cat of yours sits there purring! He better start earning his keep, or I’ll throw him into the Breath.”
She shook the spoon at the Doctor, spattering him with oatmeal. The cat gave a startled meow and dashed for cover.
“She doesn’t mean it,” said Stephano.
“I do so too, mean it!” cried Miri, rounding on him. “The same goes for you, Captain Bloody de Guichen! We’ve flown all this way and for what?”
Miri slammed the pot with the oatmeal onto the table and answered her own question. “Gythe hearing demons. You stabbed and nearly killed. Dag lit on fire. My own boat attacked and almost sunk. What have you to show for it? Well?”
She stood in front of Stephano, hands on her hips, her red hair flaring in the morning sun, her green eyes blazing. Stephano shoveled oatmeal into his mouth as though his life depended on it which, with Miri in her present mood, perhaps it did. Dag had taken his own advice and was keeping his head down.
“I’ve a mind to hoist the sails and leave right now!” Miri continued, and Stephano could see that she meant it.
“I’m sorry this hasn’t turned out well, Miri,” he said, shoving what remained of the oatmeal around in the bowl. “We can’t sail today anyway. Not until the authorities complete the inspections and issue permits-”
“Permit!” Miri snorted. “As if I needed a blasted permit!”
Generally, Trundlers did not require permits. Having no nationality, they tended to come and go as they pleased; one reason Stephano was fond of conducting operations on a Trundler houseboat. But war with Freya loomed on the horizon, at least that’s what everyone was saying. Even Trundlers might find their lives changed during a time of war.
“Give me today to track down this last Alcazar, the one who’s the sailor,” Stephano pleaded. “If we don’t find him or it turns out he has nothing to do with the journeyman, then we can leave.”
Miri regarded him with narrowed eyes, then said coldly, “You have today.”
She grabbed up the pot and banged her way through the hatch. They could hear her stomping angrily down the stairs.
“She’s worried about Gythe, sir,” said Dag.
“I know she is,” said Stephano. “I’m worried, too.”
The door opened a crack. Rodrigo stuck his head out. “Coast clear?”
“She’s gone back to the galley,” said Dag.
“Did I hear Miri say we are leaving?” Rodrigo asked worriedly, coming out on deck. “We can’t leave yet. I have to pick up my new clothes at the tailor’s-”
“I don’t think now would be a good time to mention your clothes,” Stephano said. “Not unless you want to be wearing oatmeal instead of a hat.”
“So what’s the plan for today, sir?” Dag asked.
“Pick up my clothes,” said Rodrigo.
“You pick up your own damn clothes,” said Stephano. “Dag and I will go to the docks and ask if anyone knows this sailor named Alcazar. If not”-he shrugged-“we pack up and go home. And I tell my mother we failed.”
“She might be interested in the demons,” said Rodrigo. “And the green magic I’m not supposed to talk about.”
“Fine-you tell my mother we fled Westfirth because we were attacked by fiends from Hell riding giant bats,” Stephano said testily.
Rodrigo thought this over. “I see your point. She already suspects me of being a bad influence on you. She’d probably think I was luring you into opium dens.”
Stephano sat jabbing his spoon dejectedly into his slowly congealing oatmeal. Dag lured Doctor Ellington out from under the cannon with a bit of smoked fish. Rodrigo took a turn about the deck, trying to work up the courage to ask Miri to fix him a coddled egg when he came to a sudden halt.
“Stephano! Look there.” Rodrigo pointed to the end of the pier, where several men could be seen conferring. Four of the men were Trundlers, one of whom was Miri’s uncle, Ehric McPike. Ehric was talking with a well-dressed man wearing a long hunting coat, tall black boots, and a hat.
“Does that man seem familiar?” Rodrigo asked, frowning. “The one in the hunting coat. I have the feeling I know him from somewhere.”
“Yeah, me, too,” said Dag, squinting against the sun.
Stephano rose to his feet. He eyed the man and then said slowly, “That’s the count. From last night.”
“By God!” exclaimed Rodrigo, stunned. “You’re right! How do you suppose he found us?”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” said Stephano grimly.
Miri’s uncle and the count began walking down the pier in the direction of the Cloud Hopper. Dag reached for his musket. He had heard the story from last night, how Rodrigo and Stephano had fought off thugs to save some mysterious count and his lady.
“The love of my life,” Rodrigo said in melancholy tones.
“Fetch Miri,” Stephano told him, and Rodrigo hurried down below. He returned in a moment with Miri and Gythe, relating again the tale of the previous evening’s adventure, just in case they had forgotten.
“How are you this morning?” Stephano asked, smiling at Gythe.
Gythe was pale and wan. Her fingers danced in the air. She touched her ears and shook her head.
“She says the voices are gone,” Miri reported.
Gythe regarded her sister hopefully. Her fingers fluttered. Miri shook her head. Gythe sighed and walked forlornly away.
“She seems to be wanting to tell me something,” said Miri helplessly. “But I can’t understand her. I’m not sure she understands herself. Oh, Stephano, I’m so worried about her!”
“I am sorry, Miri,” Stephano said quietly, moving over to squeeze her hand.
“You better be,” Miri said, but she said it with a sigh and a half-smile and squeezed his hand back. He knew all was forgiven.
Ehric McPike accompanied the count, serving as his escort. The Trundlers bowed before no king, but they did have their own nation which was wherever a group of Trundler clans docked their houseboats, a tradition that had lasted for centuries. Many Trundler camps were as old or older than the cities near which they were established. Every so often, some enterprising person (such as the archbishop) endeavored to oust the Trundlers, terming them thieves and smugglers. Nothing came of these efforts, however. The archbishop was informed by the head of the constabulary that the Trundlers could not be told to leave Westfirth because they weren’t in Westfirth. They docked in the Breath. The city limits of Westfirth ended at the shoreline.
The Trundler camp had their leader and guards. Outsiders were viewed with suspicion and must be approved by a Trundler clan leader before they were permitted to enter the camp and then only with an escort. When the count and Miri’s uncle reached the Cloud Hopper, Ehric told the stranger to remain on the pier, while he boarded the Cloud Hopper. He kissed his nieces, and then turned to Miri.
“This man”-Ehric motioned at the stranger waiting on the pier with a jerk of his thumb-“says he has business with the captain. Will you receive him and take him into your care, Miri? Or should the lads and I escort him back to from where he came?”
