drank off the wine in a gulp, then rang a bell to summon the monsignor.
Dubois left the palace the way he had come, passing through the small patio, out the hidden gate, and onto the street. Returning to his lodgings for a long overdue meal, he found an agent waiting for him.
Dubois eyed him. “You’re the one who has been shadowing Wallace’s agent, right? You sent me word that Harrington had arrived in the city a fortnight ago and has been keeping to himself.”
“Yes, sir. There has been a development. I dispatched news of this to you yesterday, but then I heard you had left Freya, so I feared you might not have received it.”
“I did not. What has happened?”
“Yesterday, Harrington, dressed as a common laborer, pretending to be a drunkard, spent the day in the neighborhood of the Church of Saint Michelle. He is back there again today, sir.”
“The devil he is!” said Dubois, startled.
“He was still there when I left. Sleeping on a bench with a wine jug in front of a statue of the blessed saint.”
“How very strange,” Dubois murmured, frowning. “Where is it?”
“Street of the Half Moon, sir. The church is at the southern end, near the bridge.”
Dubois sent his agent to keep an eye on the inn where Harrington was staying. Dubois ate his meal standing and ordered a fresh horse to be saddled. While dining, he wondered what to make of this news.
The Street of the Half Moon ran through a bustling neighborhood of shops, boarding houses, and private dwellings, most of them occupied by middle-class families. What could James Harrington, one of Sir Henry’s top agents, be doing lounging about Half Moon Street?
Mounting his horse, Dubois rode off to find out.
Chapter Four
Constructs are man’s way of safely controlling and harnessing magical energy. Formed of sigils connected by lines of magical energy, constructs supplement the natural properties of matter. For example, a strengthening construct set in a piece of leather armor can render the leather resistant to a sword strike.
It would seem that the same process should work using strengthening constructs in metal. But placing constructs in the metal during the forging process makes the metal unworkable. It becomes brittle and breaks. Armorers have always had to wait until the metal object is finished and then set the magical construct onto the metal’s surface. This process reduces the strengthening power of the magic and causes the constructs to become susceptible to damage and wear, which means crafters must constantly repair the sigils, glyphs, and lines of connection.
Armorers down through the centuries have long sought a means to combine magic and metal. Like turning lead into gold, most believe it to be impossible.
STEPHANO HAD MANAGED BY A GREAT DEAL of self-control to avoid running his rapier through the insufferable little twit of a secretary and been provided with funds for the work ahead. He was now free to leave the palace and he would have done so immediately, except he couldn’t find Rodrigo. After an hour’s searching, he and a footman discovered his friend in the music room, playing the clavichord in his usual whimsical manner for numerous laughing silk-and-satined, perfumed-and-rouged female admirers.
Rodrigo was a very talented musician and he could have won fame as a performer and composer if he’d worked at it. As with his crafting of magic, he couldn’t be bothered. Running his fingers over the keys, he played snippets of popular compositions, adding some of his own, interspersing his playing with lively tidbits of scandal and gossip.
Stephano did not want to enter the room, for he knew if he did, he’d be trapped into socializing. He stood in the doorway, making emphatic gestures until Rodrigo caught sight of him and ceased playing, much to the disappointment of the ladies. Rodrigo paid charming compliments, kissed all the bejeweled hands, made promises to dine with at least half of them, and at last escaped.
Rodrigo’s first question, the moment he and Stephano were alone, was, “Did you get the money?”
“I had to wait in my mother’s antechamber and hold my tongue while that bastard Emil informed me and everyone else in the room that my mother was paying my debts,” said Stephano, still fuming. “Then he made a grand show of counting out the silver! Even the footmen were snickering. And I wasn’t the one who insulted him! You were the one who sneered at him for being a fourth son!”
“True, but that’s not important. I am a third son and look how well I turned out. What is important is-did you get the money?” Rodrigo asked again.
“After I was thoroughly humiliated,” said Stephano grimly. “I have the letters of mark from our debtors, which are now all paid off in my pocket and fifty silver rosuns for our expenses.”
“Excellent,” said Rodrigo, with a sigh of relief. He ushered his friend through the long gallery of gleaming rosewood and black-and-white marble, decorated with landscape paintings by famous artists. At the end, a staircase led them toward an exit. “Now that we are in funds, I suggest we celebrate with a bottle of claret at some small, but elegant cafe, and you can tell me about the job.”
“I’ll tell you about the job on the way home so that I can take off this bloody cravat. I feel like I’m being strangled,” Stephano grumbled, tugging at the offending object.
A footman summoned one of the wyvern-drawn carriages. Once inside, Stephano explained the situation regarding the mysterious disappearance of Pietro Alcazar. Stephano kept his voice low, despite the fact that with the wind rushing in his ears, the driver was unlikely to hear anything short of a shout. The information was sensitive enough that Stephano did not want to take any chances. Rodrigo had to lean close to hear him.
At the conclusion, Stephano added, with a shrug, “The job seems simple enough. We search Alcazar’s rooms, report back to my mother, and no more debts.”
“The simplicity is what worries me,” said Rodrigo. “The countess is paying us a large sum for doing nothing more than instituting a search for some wayward journeyman? Doesn’t make sense. Your mother, unlike her son, is an astute businesswoman.”
“My mother is not paying us for the search,” said Stephano dryly. “She’s paying us for our silence.”
“Ah, of course. Well, as you say, a simple little job.” Rodrigo settled back in his seat.
“A simple little job,” Stephano echoed, as he thankfully pulled off the cravat.
Stephano and Rodrigo dismissed the carriage, changed into more comfortable (and less ostentatious) clothing and then walked to their destination-the lodgings of Pietro Alcazar, which turned out to be only a few miles from their dwelling. The Street of the Half Moon was located in the central part of the city of Evreux in a neighborhood that had once been fashionable, its large homes formerly occupied by wealthy merchants and minor nobility. As the city expanded and its population grew, the wealthy abandoned the city center, removing to the outskirts, away from the crime and noise and press of people. Since nature abhors a vacuum, less well-to-do people moved to Half Moon Street, taking over the large dwellings and turning them into boarding houses. Homes that had once housed a single family were now occupied by ten.
The residents of the Street of the Half Moon liked to pride themselves on their genteel roots. A worthy matron married to a greengrocer would tell friends she lived in “Lord So-and-So’s” mansion in a tone that implied she was His Lordship’s invited guest, staying a month or two for the hunting season.
A major thoroughfare, the Street of the Half Moon was crowded with horse-drawn carriages, cabs, wagons and riders. Wyvern-drawn carriages sailed in the air above the chimney tops and airships, with their colorful balloons, floated up among the clouds. People thronged the sidewalks, going in and out of the shops that occupied the lower floors of most of the buildings. Women sat gossiping on the steps. Children and dogs were everywhere. Cats curled up in windows, blinking sleepily in the midday sun.
The people of Half Moon Street were generally in a good mood, Stephano noted. The children were loud and
