figure out why anyone would go to such lengths to get rid of me.”
“When the countess figured out that Alcazar had succeeded where so many others had failed and that he was now working for Freya, she would have dug around until she discovered that treatise of yours, then put you to work to re-create the procedure.”
“Put me to work…” Rodrigo repeated the words with a soft chuckle. “Some things are impossible, sir, even for the countess.”
“Once Alcazar is back, we will leave for the docks,” said Sir Henry. “I will be requiring the pleasure of your company.”
“The harbor is closed,” Rodrigo observed. “The authorities will not allow your ship to depart. If you attempt to run, the shore batteries will open fire on your ship.”
“Not when I have a hostage on board. Captain de Guichen would certainly never permit a friend of his to come to harm, sir,” said Sir Henry.
“And how is Stephano to know I’m aboard your ship?” Rodrigo performed an intricate cadenza.
“Oh, he’ll know,” predicted Sir Henry with a smile.
Rodrigo thought this over and played a second silent sonata. “A mere former captain doesn’t wield much authority with the admirals of the Royal Navy.”
“Ah, but the son of the Countess de Marjolaine is not a mere captain, sir,” said Sir Henry.
Rodrigo sipped his wine and conceded that this was true. “We are sailing to Freya, I suppose?”
“Some of us are sailing to Freya, Monsieur,” said Henry gravely. “One of us, I fear, will be dropped into the Breath. After you are no longer of use to me.”
“Ah,” said Rodrigo. “Of course. If you don’t mind my asking, sir, was it this Dubois person who shot your friends in there?”
“A private quarrel,” said Sir Henry with an apologetic air. “I fear I cannot discuss it.”
Rodrigo dashed off a saraband. “You appear to have a vast number of enemies, Sir Henry.”
“Let us simply say that I will be extremely glad to leave Rosia, Monsieur de Villeneuve,” said Henry Wallace with feeling.
Alcazar returned. His coat had been hastily thrown on. None of the buttons were buttoned correctly and his collar stuck up behind his ears.
Sir Henry gestured with the pistol. “Time to go, Monsieur de Villeneuve. Take charge of this drunken idiot. Keep him on his feet.”
Rodrigo took hold of the unsteady Alcazar, who was green about the nose and mouth and continuing to mumble that he didn’t feel well. On their way out the door, Rodrigo stopped and turned to face Sir Henry.
“I was wondering…”
Henry thrust the barrel of the gun into Rodrigo’s ribs.
“Yes? What?”
“Could we stop by my tailor?” Rodrigo inquired. “It’s on the way.”
Stephano and Miri discussed their plans as they walked slowly toward Dubois’ lodging. A modest sign referred to this inn as The Ivy, an appropriate name considering that much of the brickwork of the three-story building was covered with green leaves and trailing vines. The inn housed few guests, apparently, for most of the windows to the rooms were closed and shuttered. One window belonging to a corner room on the second floor was open, admitting sunlight and fresh air, and providing an excellent view of the main street and a side street. Stephano kept an eye on the window of that room, but saw no one.
“You have that paper with the king’s seal Russo gave you,” Miri was arguing. “I think you should summon the constables and have them arrest this Dubois.”
Stephano shook his head. “By the time I found the Chief Constable and showed him the paper and convinced him the seal was real and the crisis was real and that I’m real and I’m who I say I am, he would have to collect his men and they’d have to march here, by which time Dubois could be on the move again and we’d never catch him. Besides,” said Stephano, checking to make certain his pistol was loaded, “I don’t exactly trust Monsieur Russo or his paper.”
“I gathered that when you left Dag with him,” said Miri. “What are we going to do with Dubois once we have him?”
“I will take him along to Monsieur Russo, collect everyone involved in the same room, hold them all at gunpoint, and see if we can sort this out,” said Stephano. “We’re going to make this apprehension quick and quiet. You and Gythe keep the landlord occupied while I speak to Dubois. Are you ready, Sisters?”
“We’re ready,” said Miri crisply. “Gythe, dear, time to feel faint.”
Gythe smiled and winked at Stephano. She put her hand to her forehead. Her eyes rolled back. She swayed on her feet. Miri cried out in alarm. Stephano lifted Gythe in his arms and carried her inside the inn.
“The sister has fainted,” he told the landlord.
“Sister Catherine is feeling ill from the heat,” Miri told the landlord. “Could she rest here a moment, Monsieur? This room is so lovely and cool.”
“Of course, of course,” said the landlord, hovering near. He turned to a servant. “Fetch some brandy for the sister. Take her into the parlor, sir.”
Stephano carried Gythe into a room off the main lobby and laid her gently on a couch.
“Thank you for coming to our aid, Monsieur,” said Miri.
Stephano bowed. “My pleasure, Sister. I happened to be here myself on business. Do you require my assistance for anything else?”
Miri assured Stephano that he was no longer needed. He turned to the landlord, who was hovering over the young and very beautiful nun, asking if she would like something to eat and shouting once more for the brandy.
“I came to see Monsieur Dubois,” Stephano said, interrupting. “What room is he in?”
“What? Who? Oh, room number 6,” said the distracted landlord.
Grinning, Stephano dashed up the stairs. He moved swiftly, treading softly. Entering the hall, he found the door with a brass number 6 nailed to it at the top of the stairs. Stephano gently tried the door handle and found it locked. He rapped on the door smartly.
“Who is it?” a mild voice called.
“Your dinner, sir,” said Stephano in servile tones.
He heard the shuffling of papers, footsteps, then the key turning. The moment Stephano heard the lock click, he kicked open the door and jumped inside, his pistol drawn and aimed at Dubois.
Stephano came to an abrupt halt. Dubois stood with his pistol aimed at Stephano. The two men faced off, each with a pistol aimed at the other.
Dubois suddenly recognized his assailant.
“Captain de Guichen!” Dubois exclaimed and raised his weapon, pointing the gun at the ceiling. Unfortunately, due to amazement or perhaps out of nervousness, Dubois inadvertently squeezed the trigger. The gun went off, blowing a hole in the plaster.
At the sound of the gunshot, cries and shouts came from below. The landlord was demanding to know what the devil was going on, and Miri was crying out that Sister Catherine had fainted once again. Stephano waved away the smoke, all the while keeping his pistol aimed at Dubois. Miri could be counted on to deal with the landlord.
“What is the meaning of this armed invasion, Captain de Guichen?” Dubois demanded with indignation.
“You can cancel your plans to kidnap Alcazar today, Monsieur,” said Stephano in pleasant tones. “Be so good as to inform your master.”
“Kidnap! Alcazar!” Dubois gasped. “My ‘master,’ as you refer to His Eminence, Captain, is trying to rescue Alcazar, not kidnap him.”
Stephano gestured with the pistol. “Interesting story. Too bad I don’t believe it. Come along with me, Monsieur Dubois, and we’ll sort all-”
He was interrupted by a scream from below and Miri’s we’re-caught-in-a-raging-storm-and-the-mast-is-falling bellow. “Stephano! Company!”
Footsteps pounded up the stairs.
“You bastard,” muttered Stephano, eyeing Dubois. “That shot you fired wasn’t an accident. It was a signal!”
Stephano turned halfway, just as a man with red hair and beard plummeted through the door and seized hold
