on board a Trundler houseboat-”
“Sounds like a joke I once heard,” said Rodrigo.
Stephano ran his hand distractedly through his hair. “And both the houseboat and the yacht have obviously been in a fight. This is going to cost us plenty. Rigo, where’s the cash box?”
“You know I never like spending money on bribes,” Rodrigo protested. “Plays merry hell with my accounting. I never know how to record it in the ledger.”
The harbormaster sailed alongside and requested permission to come aboard. Once on deck, he glanced about at the motley group assembled to meet him in considerable astonishment, his eyebrows almost flying off his head at the sight of a priest in the black cassock of the Arcanum.
“Who is the owner of this vessel?” the harbormaster demanded, trying to sound stern, though the sight of the dreaded black cassock was clearly making him nervous.
Miri came forward to proclaim herself the owner. Rodrigo reached for his purse. Father Jacob stopped them both by walking over to the harbormaster, putting his hand on his shoulder, and leading him off to the stern. They stood in hushed conversation. After a few moments, the harbormaster, hat in hand, walked up to Stephano.
“I am sorry to hear you were attacked, Monsieur,” he said. “These pirates are really getting out of control. I should lodge a strongly worded protest with His Majesty’s Royal Navy if I were you, sir.”
“Thank you, sir, I shall do that,” said Stephano politely.
“I hope you enjoy your stay in our fair city,” the harbormaster added, looking flustered. He started to say something more, cast a glance at Father Jacob, thought better of it, and made a hasty departure.
“You do come in handy, Father Jacob,” said Stephano, as they watched the harbormaster sail away.
The Cloud Hopper headed for the piers on the south side of the city where the Trundlers had established a floating community known as the Flats.
On the way, the Cloud Hopper prepared to part company with the Retribution, dropping off the yacht at the shipyard. Stephano stood on the deck of the Cloud Hopper, preparing to say good-bye to their guests. Now that the Cadre was safely in Westfirth, Stephano was eager to get on with the secret business that had brought him here- the search for the journeyman, Alcazar.
Stephano was surprised to find he was sorry to part company with his godfather. He had Miri to thank for that. She knew the story of Sir Ander, for Stephano had often expressed his anger at the knight. He had started up his rant again, prior to the knight boarding the Cloud Hopper.
Miri had stopped him cold.
“You were there to save Sir Ander’s life when the demon was going to kill him. He was there to save yours. Did it ever occur to you, Stephano de Guichen, that your father is looking down on both of you?”
Stephano gave serious thought to her words and determined that for his father’s sake, he would learn to forgive, if he could never forget. Stephano and Sir Ander had spent the time during the brief journey from the abbey to Westfirth getting to know each other. One barrier remained between the two of them, a barrier that could not be crossed-the Countess de Marjolaine.
When Sir Ander tried, once more, to speak of her, Stephano said quietly, “I do not wish to quarrel with you, sir. Let us therefore change the subject.”
Sir Ander did not mention Cecile’s name again, and the two parted on relatively good terms.
“I feel that I have come to know you, sir,” Stephano said, shaking hands. “I regret that I did not value your friendship as I should have all these years.”
“We will not let another thirty years pass until we meet again,” said Sir Ander. “That is for damn certain!”
The knight shook hands with Rodrigo, said a few words, and shook hands with Dag. Sir Ander sent Miri into fits of laughter by kissing her hand with a courtly bow, then he and Master Albert transferred to the Retribution to set about unhooking the towline and setting the yacht down in the shipyard.
Stephano was wondering if Brother Barnaby would stay with Gythe when he turned to see Brother Barnaby assisting Gythe to come up from below and walk out onto the deck.
Doctor Ellington led the way, bounding out onto the deck and strutted about proudly, his tail in the air, taking credit for everything from the defeat of the demons to Gythe’s recovery. Gythe stood blinking in the late afternoon sun, a shy and abashed smile on her face, sorry she had caused them so much trouble. She held fast to Brother Barnaby’s hand. Miri gave the helm to Dag and hurried over to ask Gythe if the air was too cold, if she wanted a shawl, something to eat or maybe a glass of wine…
Gythe shook her head and pointed emphatically to the brass helm, indicating Miri was to quit fussing and return to the helm, so Dag could assist with the Retribution. Miri kissed her sister and embraced her, then, wiping her eyes, went to relieve Dag.
Stephano embraced Gythe and then said a few words of heartfelt gratitude to Brother Barnaby, adding, “Is she going to be all right?”
Before Brother Barnaby could answer, Gythe punched Stephano in the arm and pointed indignantly at herself.
“I’m standing right here,” she told him silently.
“I’m sorry,” Stephano said, laughing. “Are you all right, Gythe? You gave us quite a scare, you know. We thought we were going to lose you.”
Gythe looked to Rodrigo, who was been leaning on the rail, now devoting himself to his favorite pastime whenever the Cloud Hopper came into port-fishing.
Rodrigo did not fish for fish. He fished for hats and wigs. As the Cloud Hopper was sinking down near the ground in order to dock, he would cast a line with a hook over the ship’s rail and endeavor to snag hats or periwigs with the hook, give them a yank, and snatch them from the heads of astonished pedestrians. He would always return the object with a wave, laughing heartily at the oaths and fist-shaking outrage.
But though Rodrigo was now engaged in his endeavor (much to the annoyance of Dag), Stephano noted that his friend did not appear to be enjoying himself as before. At times, a somber, reflective expression would come across Rodrigo’s face. He would gaze abstractly at nothing for long moments until someone would say something to divert his attention and then he would flash the same cheerful, careless smile.
Stephano mentioned his worry to Miri.
“Rigo’s like that cat,” she said, indicating the good Doctor. “He always lands on his feet. Remember, Stephano, he’s been through a lot. He had to stop that demon from hurting Gythe and he did a damn fine job.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Stephano. “For the first time in his life, Rigo is a hero.”
But when Stephano tried to praise him, Rodrigo passed off the incident by saying that he hadn’t done all that much.
“I merely gave the fiend a jolt,” Rodrigo had said.
Stephano let it go. But he still couldn’t help wondering what was wrong with his friend.
Gythe put her hand over her heart and then pointed at Rodrigo, who, at that moment, was reeling in a man’s curly wig.
Stephano understood her gesture. “He saved you from the demon. Don’t tell him how wonderful he is. He’s already insufferable enough. Which reminds me, do you have any idea why the demon would have come after you?”
Gythe turned to Brother Barnaby, asking him with a gesture to explain.
“I am not sure, but perhaps because she was singing the magic,” Brother Barnaby said. “None of you realized it. You thought she was singing nonsense songs from her childhood. On some level, she thought that herself, but deep down she knew what she was doing. She used her songs to try to keep the magical protection spells from failing as the demons bombarded it with the green fire.”
“How do you know this?” Stephano asked, skeptical.
“The demons spoke to me, as well,” Brother Barnaby replied. “I did not answer them because I couldn’t. But Father Jacob theorizes that with her singing, Gythe was able to speak to the demons.”
“What did they say to you?” Stephano asked Gythe.
She looked frightened and wrapped her hands tightly around Brother Barnaby’s arm and drew nearer to him. He placed his hand over hers and patted her soothingly.
“She doesn’t remember what they said.”
Or it was so horrible she chooses to not to remember, Stephano thought. He was sorry he’d asked.
