Miri and Gythe, in their guises as nuns, strolled along down the street after Dubois, keeping some distance behind him. He vanished around a corner and the Sisters disappeared after him.
“Excellent,” said Henry. “As we planned, you and your friends will dispose of the agent who is lurking across the street. You will enlist the aid of the Constabulary and take them to arrest Dubois. I will wait here for an hour, just to make certain we are in the clear, then I will take Alcazar to the ship I have waiting.”
“I’ve made a small change in that plan,” said Stephano. “I’m leaving Dag here with you and Alcazar. He’ll escort you to the ship.”
Henry frowned. “That wasn’t part of our arrangement-”
“Finding two of your agents dead wasn’t part of the arrangement either,” said Stephano grimly. “The killer might return. Dag comes in handy during a fight.”
Henry was silent, thinking this over.
“Very well, Captain,” he said at last. “As you say, your man might be of use to me.”
He and Stephano found Rodrigo and Alcazar sitting at the table, sharing the wine, deep in discussion about magic. Alcazar appeared to have recovered from his fright. He seemed relaxed in Rodrigo’s company, talking volubly.
Stephano told Dag about the change in plans. Dag agreed. He and the Doctor mounted guard near the door.
“I believe I will stay here with Dag,” said Rodrigo unexpectedly. “Monsieur Alcazar and I have a lot in common.”
Stephano was startled. “What about your tailor?”
“I can see him later,” Rodrigo said with a wave of his hand.
Henry eyed Rodrigo closely, wondering what was going on, not liking it. Everything Henry had heard about this man indicated Rodrigo de Villeneuve lived for wine, women, and song. He was certainly not a threat and, being Stephano’s best friend, might prove an asset.
“Your friend appears to be having a calming effect on Alcazar,” said Henry. “Perhaps he should remain.”
“I think the wine is having the calming effect on both of them,” said Stephano. “But Rigo can stay if he wants.”
Rodrigo poured out two more glasses of wine, one for himself and one for Alcazar.
“I suppose the cat is staying, too?” Henry said caustically.
Doctor Ellington had jumped down off Dag’s shoulder and was roaming about the room in search of food. Not finding anything, he took great interest in a mousehole in the wall. He settled himself in front of the hole and stared at it fixedly.
“See there, Captain,” said Dag, pointing. “Tell Miri. The Doctor goes after mice.”
“He just never catches them,” said Stephano. “Keep an eye on Rigo, will you?”
Dag nodded and settled himself in a chair by the door, his musket across his lap. Stephano departed, heading for the rooftop again. Rodrigo and Alcazar were deep in a technical discussion about magic. The Doctor was gazing hungrily at the mousehole.
“I’ll go take a look to see if there’s anyone watching the rear of the building,” Henry said to Dag, who silently nodded.
Henry walked into the bedroom. He went to the back window and, in the shadow of the curtain, drew out the visiting card, which was the type ladies leave when they make their daily calls on friends. The card was of expensive stock, elegantly engraved with a bit of knot work. A few words had been written on the back.
So sorry to have missed you, Henry. Another time, perhaps.
The note was signed: Eiddwen.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
For the love of all that is holy, just give me a straight-up, stand-up sword fight! I hate court intrigue and all the closet-hiding, eavesdropping, secret-liaisoning, lying, and manipulating, who’s-watching-who-watching-who bastards that bow and scrape and simper as they slip arsenic into your claret. You can’t tell your friends from your enemies from one day to the next.
STEPHANO EXITED THE BOARDING HOUSE by the tradesmen’s entrance in the back of the building. Coming around the front, he saw without seeming to see the agent Sir Henry had pointed out. The agent was loitering in the shadows in an abandoned mews, leaning up against a wall. Stephano casually crossed the street. He had no reason to think he’d given the agent any cause for suspicion and he wasn’t worried about losing him. But when Stephano reached the mews and glanced inside, the agent was no longer there.
The thought: “You’re a bloody idiot!” flashed through Stephano’s mind.
Half-turning, he saw someone coming at him with a rush from behind. He ducked, and the truncheon that had been aiming for his head missed. Stephano drove his shoulder into his attacker’s body and both men went down onto the street. Stephano grappled for his assailant’s throat, planning to choke him into submission. Surprisingly, he met no resistance.
The agent was limp, unconscious. Stephano rolled him over to find that the agent had hit his head on the edge of the curb. Stephano examined him. His skull was cracked and bleeding, but he was breathing. Stephano took hold of the man by the shoulders and dragged him into one of the horse stalls and dumped him in the hay. He’d wake up with the world’s worst headache, but at least he’d wake up.
Stephano had been toying with the idea of questioning the agent at gunpoint, asking him for information about his boss. That was obviously no longer an option. Stephano left the mews. Looking back toward the boarding house, he could not see Monsieur Russo, but he figured he was watching. Stephano touched his hat and continued down the street, heading in the direction Miri and Gythe had taken as they followed Dubois.
The sisters had a good head start on Stephano, but Gythe would leave a trail for him. When he came to an intersection of two streets and needed direction, he looked about and almost immediately saw a ball of bright white light dancing among the lower branches of a flowering shrub. Known as “fireflies,” these sparkling balls were among the first magical spells taught to children, for they could be created by drawing a single, simple sigil on a bit of paper.
The fireflies have no particular use, other than to introduce children to the wonders of magic. (And entertain cats. Doctor Ellington was particularly fond of chasing them around the deck.) Fireflies do not generate heat and are not harmful. Those created by children generally last only a few moments. Gythe’s fireflies lasted hours, however. She could even cause them to glow different colors.
Gythe and Stephano had worked out a code, so that he or Dag or anyone else in the Cadre could tell by the number of fireflies what direction the subject had taken, or if Gythe and Miri had lost the subject, or if the subject had entered a building or jumped into a cab, and so on. Anyone seeing the fireflies flickering in a bush or sparkling in a gutter would merely assume that children had been playing with magic and would think nothing of it.
Stephano’s main worry was that Wallace’s agent, Dubois, would have taken a cab to his destination, in which case they would lose him. Stephano and Rodrigo and Gythe had tried to develop spells that could be thrown onto the back of a cab in order to track it through the streets, but thus far they had met with only limited success. Traffic tended to obliterate or displace any sort of magical markers left on the pavement and if the cab was drawn by a wyvern and took to the skies they’d lost the person for good.
Fortune smiled on Stephano. Dubois walked back to his lodgings, which were not far from the boarding house. Miri and Gythe had no difficulty following him. Stephano followed the firefly directions and found the sisters sitting on a low wall-two weary nuns taking their ease.
“He’s in there,” said Miri, indicating a small inn in a residential neighborhood.
