“They will come from the ravelins on the north and west quickly enough,” muttered the airship’s pilot.
Miro reflected that the little Venetian, although barely older than himself, was already well on his way to becoming a crabby old man. “True enough, which is why we must still act swiftly.”
Virgilio shrugged. “So pull harder.”
Owen limped, stiff-legged, back to the staircase, and discovered one of the Hibernians rousing Matija Grabnar, who blinked groggily and swayed up to his elbows. “Damn, I thought I was dead.”
“I’m acquainted with that feeling. D’you think you can walk, lad?”
“Uh…yes. But not well.”
“Right. McDonnell, Jeffrey, move Mr. Grabnar up to the roof; he’ll be going with the balloon if they can manage it. Now, you other men who aren’t busy teaching Spanish artillerists how to dance the lever-action gavotte, get yourselves downstairs in a trice. Start spreading the powder kegs from the magazine, just as we planned. Remember, eight minute fuses. And mind you, listen for the whistle; you don’t want to be left behind.”
As Frank poked his head out onto the roof of the lazarette, Castro y Papas put a restraining hand on his shoulder: “No, stay low: the men at the ravelins will be scanning for targets.”
“In this darkness?”
Castro y Papas shrugged. “Even without torchlight, a silhouette might be seen moving against the night sky. It is unlikely, but are you so eager to take a chance?”
Frank kept his head down as Harry Lefferts came away from the battlements, scooping up the empty magazines and counting the people on the roof. “Well, that’s all of us. Nothing left to do here.”
“Not quite,” came Thomas North’s voice from the bottom of the stairs. “Do you have a captain Castro y Papas with you? Or has he-erm, become a permanent resident of the tower?”
“It is not my intent to be so,” Don Vincente answered, “but my intents count for very little this evening. Who asks?”
Before North could speak again, a smudged head popped up from the stairwell. “Going on a trip, Captain?”
Don Vincente beamed. “Ezquerra! I had prayed and hoped-hah! You lazy dog: sleeping when the invaders came, I’ll wager. Snored in your bed while the rest of us fought nobly. It is the only reason you would still be alive.”
“The captain’s perspicacity is undimmed by the chaos of this night.” Ezquerra’s voice grew more quiet. “You are leaving, then?”
“Ezquerra, I–I killed Dakis. I cannot go back.”
“Don Vincente, it seems that no living Spaniard has seen what you have done, so-”
“No, but I have seen it, and I will not lie. I must live with my shame. I only regret that my family-”
“-your family will mourn your passing, Don Vincente. Until such time as you decide to imitate Lazarus and come back from the dead.”
At first Frank did not understand, but the shine in Don Vincente’s grateful eyes made it all clear: Ezquerra meant to stay and claim that he had seen the captain die, bravely fighting for Spain. No disgrace would come upon House Castro or Papas, and no search would be mounted for a traitor against the crown. But in turn, that meant “Sergeant Ezquerra,” said Frank, “I think you should know something. I just learned that, in order to leave as few clues as possible, our rescuers plan to uh…damage the Castell de Bellver.”
“Indeed?” Ezquerra looked puzzled.
“Really damage it. As in ka-boom.”
Ezquerra’s eyes widened, then narrowed-and revealed to Frank, for the first time, how sharp a mind occupied the brain behind them. “How long do I have to exit the tower, Senor Stone?”
Frank looked over at Harry, who was waving for someone to come up the stairs quickly. Harry had evidently been listening to the exchange, though: “Call it eight minutes. At most.”
“Ah. Good. That will be sufficient.”
“For what?”
“For me to get down to the lowest level of the lazarette and go out through the eastern postern gate.”
“Ezquerra!” exclaimed Don Vincente “That is still a long drop to the bottom of the dry moat!”
“Indeed it is, Captain. But I am a man who knows the value of rope-and knows where some is located, in that very room. I am off.”
“Ezquerra!” Don Vincente called.
The round smudged head popped up through the hole again. “Yes? I am in something of a rush, Captain.”
“Ezquerra, I… vaya con Dios, my friend.”
“Captain, how unlike you to become maudlin! Besides, this is not farewell. I am sure to be a burden to you again some time in the future; the world is small, and our paths shall cross.”
“Much to my annoyance, Ezquerra. Now go.”
Ezquerra smiled. “Ah. Now, that is the true voice of my captain.” His head disappeared.
Harry was glowering at the people on the roof. Frank wondered why; he cocked a quizzical head at him.
Harry saw the gesture and shrugged. “We’re over capacity, now.”
“What? Why?”
“Because of him.” He pointed at Don Vincente. “And him,” he added, pointing at Matija, who groaned up the narrow stairs, pulled and pushed along by two of the Wild Geese. “God damn it, that’s a lot more weight than we counted on.”
Asher bristled. “I will not stand for your blasphemy, Captain Lefferts.”
“Okay, Doctor, maybe I shouldn’t take the name of the lord in vain. But maybe you should be putting the name of the lord to good use.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you ought to start praying.”
“Praying? What for?”
“A miracle. We don’t have enough lift to get everyone off this tower.”
As the balloon came down out of the clouds, Miro was surprised to see that they were only forty feet above the roof of the lazarette.
The very crowded roof of the lazarette.
“Holy Mary and Christ on a crutch,” breathed Sean Connal, “are all those people our passengers or a welcoming committee?”
Miro didn’t respond; he was too busy counting the upraised faces that were drawing closer every second. Frank, Giovanna, Harry, Turlough Eubanks, one of the Hibernians, Asher, a prisoner, Matija-wounded, it looked like-and another face that seemed strangely familiar, dressed as one of Asher’s assistants “Meir Tarongi!” Miro shouted, the headcount suddenly wiped from his mind.
“That’s me,” Meir shouted back up. “Just came to say goodbye and see what this fool contraption looked like. It certainly does suit you, high ears! Now, I’m off.”
“Meir-”
“No time for goodbyes; we said those already. Besides, you might not have enough room as it is.” Miro’s friend started down the staircase “Meir- shalom! ”
Meir turned. “Next year in Jerusalem, Ezekiel-wherever that might happen to be.” He gave a crooked smile and was gone.
“They’ve seen the bloody balloon!” called Anthony Grogan from an embrasure overlooking the ravelin.
“Then let’s show them some muzzle flashes,” answered Thomas North. “All rifles to the embrasures overlooking the ravelin and the barbican. Your targets are men with long muskets. Fire at will!”
A musket ball zipped past the airship’s gondola-which was fortunate, because the leather-and-wicker compartment would not offer much protection against bullets. “Drop the netting,” ordered Miro.
Sean Connal complied; he pulled two slip-knots free and cast the triple-weighted net fringes outward.
As the bottom of the gondola came down to the level of the lazarette’s battlements, a double-layered fishing net spilled out beneath it, suspended by two lines per side and one on each corner. Belaying lines led down into it from over the edge of the gondola.
“We’re supposed to get into that?” asked Frank.
“Impossible,” huffed Asher.
“Not at all, Doc,” muttered Harry, who grabbed the old man around the waist, and in two long steps, went leaping out between the merlons of the battlement and into the net, which swayed a bit. Asher, after making sure he was alive and was going to stay that way, began berating Harry mercilessly.
Frank looked at Giovanna. Her eyes were wide, and he saw a look on her face that he did not recognize at first, but then did: fear. His fearless Giovanna was every bit as terrified as he was to jump off a hundred-foot-tall tower into a fishnet. So there was only one thing to do: he reached out a hand toward her.