The man-of-war sailed out from behind the mountain where the ship had been hiding. Her cannons were run out, her men standing beside them with smoldering matches over the guns’ touch holes. The man-of-war mounted thirty-two cannons to the Cloud Hopper’s two. Named the Resolute, the warship flew the Freyan flag.
Sir Henry Wallace removed his hat and made a bow. “A pleasure knowing you, Captain!”
And as if they had been waiting for the signal, the man-of-war fired on the Cloud Hopper.
On board the Silver Raven, Rodrigo watched in horror as the Trundler houseboat, struck by the cannon fire, burst into flame and fell precipitously from the sky. He could not see what became of the boat as it disappeared among the thick trees. All he could see was a coil of smoke rising up from the vegetation.
Standing beside him, Pietro Alcazar’s face went white. “Those are your friends.”
“Yes,” said Rodrigo in a voice he didn’t recognize.
“I’m sorry,” said Alcazar and it sounded as if he was going to cry. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, quit whining,” said Sir Henry.
He rested a hand on Rodrigo’s shoulder and added coolly, “Don’t worry, Monsieur. The damage to your vessel looks much worse than it is. I told Admiral Baker to see to it that he cripple the boat, not blow it apart. I fancy the houseboat will be difficult to repair, especially given that there are no shipyards on this God-forsaken place. Still, Captain de Guichen is a most resourceful fellow. With your help, he’ll find a way to get off this island. Though you might be marooned here for some time, I fear.”
Rodrigo watched the smoke rising from the trees, then turned to Sir Henry.
“I don’t understand,” said Rodrigo, puzzled. “I thought you were going to throw me in the Breath.”
“Oh, I was, I assure you,” said Sir Henry. “But events have occurred that have led me to revise my plans. Come to my cabin.”
The man-of-war floated overhead, casting a shadow upon the Raven, whose crew was making her ready to sail. The damage to the vessel had been much more minor than Wallace had made it appear. The crew had already made the necessary repairs. They were waiting only for Sir Henry to give the orders to depart for Freya.
Sir Henry took Rodrigo to what had once been the captain’s cabin, but which had been given to him. The cabin was small and dark and smelled strongly of tobacco. Sunlight crept through a small porthole. The cabin was sparsely furnished with a desk and two chairs, a bed bolted to the bulkhead, and a large portmanteau.
“I would invite you to be seated, Monsieur, but this won’t take long,” said Sir Henry.
He walked over to the portmanteau, leaving Rodrigo standing in the middle of the cabin. Rodrigo could tell by the faint afterglow of magical sigils that the portmanteau had been bound by powerful spells, recently removed. Sir Henry inserted a key, lifted the lid, and took out an object. Shutting the trunk, he carried the object over to Rodrigo.
“Give this to the Countess de Marjolaine when you see her. With my compliments.”
He handed Rodrigo a pewter tankard.
Rodrigo regarded the tankard in dazed astonishment. He had been prepared to die and now he was being handed a tankard and told to take it to the countess. He couldn’t for a moment think what the elegant Countess de Marjolaine would do with such a lowly object as a pewter tankard when suddenly he realized what he was holding. He gave a soft gasp and looked at Sir Henry for an explanation.
“There’s a message that goes with it,” said Sir Henry. He was smiling, but only with his mouth. His eyes were cold, in deadly earnest. “Tell the countess: ‘The same green fire that sank the Royal Lion struck this tankard. As you can see, the green fire had no effect on it whatsoever.’ ”
Rodrigo blinked. The words meant nothing to him for a moment, jumbled up in his scattered thoughts. When he finally understood, he was so astounded he nearly dropped the tankard.
He looked at Sir Henry. “The demonic weapons had no effect on this tankard. Which means the magically enhanced metal Alcazar designed can withstand-”
Sir Henry waved his hand impatiently. “You should go, Monsieur. Your friends will be concerned for your safety. I am sure you are concerned for theirs.”
Rodrigo clasped the tankard tightly and walked toward the door. Once there, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
“You know what Rosia will do with this knowledge, sir. We will use it to attack Freya. Why are you giving this to us?”
Sir Henry was silent, his lips compressed, his expression dark. “Others look at the road at their feet. I look far ahead, Monsieur de Villeneuve, to the distant horizon. As Father Jacob and I stood together to fend off the demons, when your country and mine will one day stand back-to-back battling a foe intent on destroying us both. In that eventuality, I want my ally to be as strong as I am. And now, good day to you, Monsieur. Give Captain de Guichen my regards. I trust his little houseboat is not much hurt. Ah, and do accept my condolences on the death of your father.”
Rodrigo clutched the pewter tankard and left the stuffy cabin. Climbing the stairs, he emerged, blinking, into the bright sunshine. In the distance, the smoke was still rising from the Cloud Hopper.
Rodrigo did not bother to bid good-bye to Alcazar, who stared, openmouthed, at the pewter tankard in Rodrigo’s possession. The captain lowered the Raven’s gangplank, and Rodrigo walked down it onto the sandy beach. The merchant ship was making ready to set sail, filling the balloons with Breath from the barrels stored in the hold. The captain had deliberately released the air, allowing the ship to give the impression it was crippled. The Raven would be accompanied back to Freya by the man-of-war.
Once on the beach, Rodrigo considered going to find his friends. He took one look at the thick and impenetrable forest in which he’d most certainly end up lost, glanced down at his fine leather shoes with the silver buckles and his silk stockings and decided to sit on the beach in the shade of a tree and let Stephano find him.
Rodrigo sat on the beach, waiting to be rescued, and turned the pewter tankard over in his hands, studying its smooth, unblemished surface with wonder. He thought about the treatise in which he had postulated the idea of mixing metal with the Breath of God. He’d written the paper one night after imbibing a bit too much wine and submitted it for publication in a vain effort to keep from being tossed out of University. He had never imagined anyone would take his theory seriously. He thought about the green fire, the demons who wielded it, the destruction of the concrete bunker, the sinking of the Royal Lion, and how this tankard had survived unblemished, intact.
Two foes, standing back-to-back, defending against an enemy intent on destroying them both. Rodrigo believed Henry Wallace. The countess would believe him, too, though it might be some time-some considerable time-before he and the Cadre managed to make their way back to Rosia.
“And what will I wear when I do return to court? I never had a chance to pick up my new clothes,” Rodrigo wondered sadly.
The Silver Raven lifted up off the beach of the unknown, uncharted island and sailed into the Breath, scuttling along in the wake of the enormous man-of-war, a single gosling trailing after an overprotective goose.
In his cabin aboard the Raven, Sir Henry gazed out the dirty porthole to watch the ship make her ascent. Far below, among the trees, he could see the wreckage of the Cloud Hopper. They were close enough that he could make out Captain de Guichen and the mercenary battling the flames. The captain and his crew wouldn’t be going anywhere for a long, long while.
On the deck of the Raven, Pietro Alcazar was chatting happily with his brother and his brother’s wife. Sir Henry could hear him promising that he would give up baccarat, mend his ways.
Damn right Alcazar will give up gambling, Henry thought, amused.
The genius would have his every wish fulfilled. He would be provided with luxurious living quarters, the finest food and drink, the best tools and equipment, apprentices and journeymen to work under him. And he would be guarded around the clock; soldiers armed to the teeth escorting him, watching his every move.
Sir Henry Wallace yawned and stretched his long frame luxuriously. For the first time since he had opened that package and seen that pewter tankard, he could let down his guard. He crossed to the door, flung it open, and shouted for someone to bring him a bottle of wine from his private stock.
Hard to believe only a few weeks had passed, he reflected. It seemed a lifetime.
He sank into a chair and glanced with distaste around the cabin. He would eventually transfer to more luxurious quarters aboard the man-of-war, but Admiral Baker had been forced to wait two weeks here at the rendezvous point and was liable to be in a very bad mood. Henry would give him time to recover.
