“Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady.”
“Is there anything else?”
“No, my lady.”
Benoit finished off the brandywine, set the snifter on the table, and rose to his feet. The countess summoned Maria, who came to escort Benoit back through the servants’ passage. As the two were about to leave, the countess stopped them.
“Benoit, you said you have some means of communicating with my son? You know where he is lodging while in Westfirth?”
Benoit looked wary. “I might, my lady.”
“Relax, Benoit. I will not demand that you tell me. But I would appreciate knowing when you hear from him.”
“I will, my lady,” said Benoit, bowing once again, then exiting the closet in company with Maria.
Left alone, the countess blew out the lamp and stood in the darkness for long moments, twisting the ring on her finger, before leaving the wardrobe and going to her sitting room. Summoning her valet-de-chambre, Dargent, the countess told him to dispatch one of her agents to find out information regarding the mysterious Sir Richard Piefer.
Dargent left swiftly upon his errand, and the countess returned to the library. Sophia tried to rise as the countess entered, but the princess was hampered in this effort by the spaniel, which had once more planted himself on the hem of her skirt and refused to budge.
“Bandit, you are a bad dog,” said Sophia, scolding him by kissing him on the top of his head.
The countess languidly resumed her seat. “I am sorry I was absent so long, Your Highness. Now, tell me about the situation in Braffa.”
Sophia shooed away the spaniel, rose to her feet, and came over to stand before the countess to recite her lesson.
“Estara and Travia both claim the island nation of Braffa because of its valuable resource known as the Blood of God, which is a form of the Breath that has been transformed into a liquid and can be used to power airships. The grand bishop favors the claim of Estara over Braffa because the Church has more influence in that country. The king, my father, says that we have stronger ties to Travia and he favors their claim.”
“What about the city-state of Braffa?”
“The Braffan council wants to refuse both claims and remain independent.”
Sophia went on to describe how a city-state differed from a monarchy. As she was talking, the countess happened to glance down at the letter she had been about to read when she had been obliged to leave to speak to Benoit. The letter was from her principal agent in Freya. A name in the letter caught her attention. A chill came over the countess. She longed to read the letter, but she did not want to hurt Sophia’s feelings by dismissing her. Too often the girl had been told to “run along and play.”
“And what about our longtime enemy, Freya?” the countess asked. “Which side do they support and what role does the Blood of God and the Freyan Navy play in this dispute?”
Sophia’s eyes widened in dismay at the question. She bit her lip. Her cheeks flushed.
“The Freyan Navy? I’m not certain, my lady…”
“We talked about the Freyan Navy during our last lesson,” said the countess, and she added with a slight smile, “Perhaps some cakes and hot chocolate would help your thought process.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure they would!” Sophia cried, laughing and clapping her hands.
The countess rang a small silver bell and Maria appeared. The countess gave her order. Maria returned bearing a tray on which gold-rimmed plates of the finest porcelain bore small cakes decorated with sugared violets, bonbons, and spiced nuts. The tantalizing smell of coffee mingled with the aroma of hot chocolate.
“May I be hostess, my lady?” Sophia asked eagerly. “Mama never lets me pour. She fears I will spill on my gown.”
The countess said she would be honored if the princess would serve her. Sophia was delighted. She took her duties as hostess quite seriously, her first task being to remove Bandit from the chair on which he had jumped with the intent of helping himself to cake. Sophia laughingly asked him which he wanted and made him choose by holding his small nose over each cake. Once Bandit had made his decision, which he did by licking a cake before Sophia could stop him, the princess hovered over the cake tray, selecting the very best delicacies for the countess and arranging them attractively on the plate. After that, Sophia had to make a decision on which cakes she wanted. All this took a considerable amount of time.
While Sophia was thus happily engaged, the countess was at liberty to read her letter, which was written in code, made to appear as nothing more than two ladies exchanging the latest gossip in case the missive should be intercepted.
Our dear friend, Honoria, has not been in attendance at the royal Freyan court recently.
“Honoria” was her code name for Sir Henry Wallace.
Honoria’s unexpected absence is of great concern to her friends and has become the cause of much speculation. I have asked around, but no one knows where she is or what has become of her. I confess that I am quite worried and I know that you will be concerned, as well.
I will tell you what I know. Rumor has it that a short while ago Honoria received a mysterious package delivered to her by a merchant sailor. No one knows what was in the package, but after she received it, she departed at once for her estate. I have heard nothing of her since.
Now you know, my dear, that my curiosity is enough to kill any number of cats, and I decided to find out more about this mysterious package. I have a friend who is in the custom office and he was obliging enough to provide me with a manifest for the two merchant vessels that were in port at the time. A package recorded on the manifest was addressed to Honoria. The contents were described as: one pewter tankard! An odd gift for our elegant friend!
But here is a most strange coincidence that will amuse you. As I was reading the manifest, I came across the name of one of your friends. You happened to mention the name to me in your last correspondence: Manuel Alcazar, that merchant sailor from the city of Westfirth. Or was your friend Pietro Alcazar? I can’t recall. Perhaps they are relatives. Isn’t it funny that I should happen to run across his name on this manifest? A small world, as they say!
The following was added in a postscript, obviously written in haste.
I have just received news that is most shocking. It seems a small boat bound for Rosia has disappeared into the Breath in a dead calm. All hands are feared lost. This happened about the same time our dear Honoria vanished. You don’t suppose she was aboard? Ah, it is too dreadful to contemplate! Still, she has as many lives as the aforesaid cat. I will let you know the instant I hear more about our missing friend.
The countess allowed the letter to slip from her hands. She sat staring at a porcelain figurine of a shepherdess on the desk. She did not see the shepherdess, she did not see the room around her, she did not hear Sophia’s gentle voice.
“My lady, are you ill?”
The countess blinked and hurriedly left the dark streets and cul-de-sacs in which her mind was wandering. She had the impression this was the third time Sophia had spoken. The countess put her hand to her temple and gave a wan smile.
“I am sorry, Your Highness, but I fear that I am not feeling quite well.”
“Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?” asked Sophia in alarm, setting down the cup of chocolate she had been holding. “Can I fetch your smelling salts? Some wine?”
“If you could ring for Maria, Your Highness,” said the countess faintly. “I fear we will have to postpone our lesson for the day. Besides, Her Majesty the Queen will be wondering where you are. I would not have her angry at me.”
Sophia rang the silver bell. “I hope you feel better, my lady,” she said anxiously. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”
“I will be fine, Your Highness,” said the countess. “It is but a sudden indisposition.”
Sophia nodded, her eyes soft with concern. She gathered up Bandit and, with a fond look, left the countess’ chambers. When the countess could no longer hear the sound of the girl’s rustling petticoats, she turned to Maria.
