Stephano looked curiously at Father Jacob. He thought what an odd pair these two made: one whose heart was laid bare to all the world; the other watchful, keen, sharp, secretive, solitary, seeing all, telling nothing.
Father Jacob was pale, and his face was haggard from pain and fatigue. His strong jaw was set, his eyes bright and even now, while he was abstracted, he appeared keenly aware of everything going on around him.
A savant, Father Jacob had termed himself. One to whom magic comes easily, naturally, unlike Rodrigo, who had to work at the magic and mostly didn’t bother. For Gythe, magic was like the music she loved. She had a talent for magic as she had a talent for music. No one had ever taught her to play or sing; she had not studied with some great master at the University. She could not read the notes; she did not understand musical theory. Gythe cast magic as she played the harp-by ear, doing what she liked or, as in the protection spells, she acted instinctively, out of fear.
Father Jacob was different. He knew magic, understood magic. The magic was in his heart and his soul, yet also in his brain. He was disciplined, controlled, and that made him powerful and dangerous.
“But only to those with evil intent,” said Father Jacob.
Stephano gave a start, amazed and not at all pleased.
“Do not be alarmed, Captain,” said Father Jacob with a chuckle. “I cannot see into your head. I simply followed your thought process on your face. We were speaking of your friend as being a savant. I said I was a savant. You then began to compare the two of us, and I could see by the narrowed eyes and the dark glances you gave me that I come up short.”
By this time they had arrived at the docks-three large piers extending into the Breath. The large ships would dock at the piers, while smaller ships that flew primarily over land would tie off onto one of the tall wooden posts that had been built for that purpose on top of the cliff. Half a dozen buildings served to store cargo and provide lodging for sailors. All stood empty now.
The Cloud Hopper was docked at the far pier. The naval cutter had docked at the first pier, though “crashed” would be a truer description. The Suspicion’s crew worked frantically, trying desperately to find some way of keeping the battered ship from sinking. Father Jacob stopped, saying he needed to speak to the captain.
Stephano hurried onto the Cloud Hopper. Dag and Rodrigo were waiting for him.
“So a priest of the Arcanum is paying us a visit. This should be interesting,” said Rodrigo with a quirk of his eyebrow that Stephano knew all too well.
“It better not be,” Stephano said in warning tones. He was about to add more when Dag seized hold of his arm and dragged him off to the forecastle.
“That priest is from the Arcanum,” Dag said. His eyes were wide. His hand trembled.
“He’s here to help Gythe,” said Stephano, wondering what all this was about.
“Maybe not,” said Dag in a low voice. “Maybe he’s come for me.”
“Why?” Stephano asked, baffled.
“Because of… you know,” said Dag, his eyes cast down. “I’m going to Hell. Maybe he’s come to take me.”
Stephano heaved a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. He was feeling exactly the way he’d felt when he’d been desperately trying to control that blasted runaway horse. Some strange malady was affecting Gythe, an Arcanum inquisitor was coming aboard, Rodrigo was up to some sort of mischief, and now Dag-known for his courage and coolness under fire-had completely lost his mind.
Stephano gripped his friend’s arm tightly. “Dag, all Hell is breaking loose-literally. I need someone I can count on, someone to watch my back. I need you. Don’t let me down.”
Dag blinked at him and then gave a rueful, half-ashamed smile. “Sure, Captain. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
By now the monk was coming on board. Stephano hurried over to greet him. “Dag, this is Brother Barnaby. Take him down to Gythe, will you?”
Dag escorted the monk below to where Miri was keeping watch over her sister. Stephano went back to talk to Rodrigo, who was lounging against the ship’s rail, gazing at the priest.
“Whatever you are plotting, forget it,” said Stephano. “I want that priest on and off this boat without incident.”
“Trust me. It won’t be that easy, my friend,” said Rodrigo.
Father Jacob had gone first to visit the naval cutter, whose crew had been working feverishly to keep the ship from sinking. Their efforts had been in vain. The crew had given up the fight to save their ship and were now hastily unloading what stores and supplies they could salvage, hauling them down a gangplank to the dock. The dead still lay on the deck. The captain and sailors had not had time to tend to them.
Father Jacob waited until the sailors had rolled a barrel down the gangplank, then he boarded the ship and went to speak to the harried captain, who was the last man remaining.
“Father, you shouldn’t be here!” the captain said, seeing him approach. “Suspicion is sinking beneath us! She’ll go down any moment!”
“I came to say a prayer for your dead,” said Father Jacob coolly.
The ship was, indeed, sinking slowly beneath them. The crew on the dock were shouting for them to come off, they couldn’t keep the gangplank in place much longer. Father Jacob paid no heed. He went to stand in front of the row of bodies: the youngest, a powder boy, age nine; the eldest a grizzled veteran with a pegleg.
Father Jacob raised his voice in prayer. The crew on the docks fell silent. Hats off, they stood with their heads bowed. The captain removed his hat, held it over his breast. Amazingly, the ship remained steady. One of the sailors would swear later he saw God’s hand beneath it, holding it up.
“He’s got guts, that priest,” said Rodrigo.
Stephano grunted.
His prayer concluded, Father Jacob raised his hand in blessing, and then he and the captain literally ran for their lives across the faltering gangplank. The captain, the last to leave his ship, was standing on the gangplank when it gave way. He was saved from falling into the Breath by Father Jacob, who caught hold of him and dragged him bodily onto the dock.
Father Jacob spoke a few words of comfort and prayer to the sailors who had been wounded and lay on the ground on litters. The ship’s doctor, a healer, was busy among them. Seeing they were in good care, Father Jacob said a final word to the captain, who looked at him grimly and then shrugged and went back to work.
As Father Jacob walked toward the Cloud Hopper, he looked suddenly very tired.
“I wonder what that talk with the captain was about,” said Stephano.
“He put them under Seal,” said Rodrigo.
Stephano frowned. “What does that mean-being put under Seal?”
“That refers to the Seal of the Arcanum. Those men will be hauled off to the Citadel, kept locked up.”
“But why?” Stephano demanded.
“My dear fellow, you can’t have sailors roaming about the world claiming their ship was sunk by demons,” said Rodrigo.
“So that’s why he came with the monk,” said Stephano grimly. “He’s going to try to muzzle us. Well, he can’t. We have to get to Westfirth. We’ve lost time enough already. Which reminds me,” said Stephano, fixing Rodrigo with a stern eye, “I’m putting you under Seal. You are not to say a word about Alcazar or the duel or anything related to our job.”
“Stephano, you wound me,” said Rodrigo, offended. “You know that I am the soul of discretion.”
Stephano had no time to respond. In the absence of Miri, he had to greet Father Jacob as he boarded the houseboat. The priest stood looking about with a casual air that did not fool Stephano. He saw Father Jacob’s gaze go to the helm, the scorch marks on the deck, the damage done to the houseboat.
“Welcome aboard, Father,” said Stephano in not very welcoming tones.
He had a mind to confront the priest immediately, demand to know if they were going to be placed under Seal. He decided to hold his peace, at least for the time being. What was important now was Gythe.
“Rodrigo de Villeneuve,” said Stephano, introducing his friend, who came up behind him. “Father Jacob Northrop.”
Rodrigo gave a graceful bow and said, with a mournful air, “I owe my dismissal from University to you, Father Jacob.”
“Indeed?” The priest raised his eyebrows.
