Sir Henry saw a group of men congregating down the block in front of the Masons’ Guildhall. The men were drinking ale and relaxing after a hard day’s labor. Such gatherings were commonplace and he gave them only a cursory glance and then dismissed them. No one else was about.
He left the window and went to pack his things in a portmanteau. He would give orders for the portmanteau to be delivered to one of any number of locations in the city, to be retrieved at a later date. Henry deeply regretted the loss of his leather satchel, but Alcazar had his satchel, in which he carried valuable notes relating to his experiment. Sir Henry buried the pewter tankard in the satchel under the papers and then went to wash off the blood and dirt and change into elegant clothes that suited the count.
He was putting on his white, gold-embroidered weskit when he heard the clatter of horse’s hooves and the sound of wheels rolling to a stop in front of the hotel. Henry parted the curtain for a look. Two men descended from the carriage and stood in the light of a streetlamp, conversing.
Sir Henry recognized them both. He let the curtain fall.
“Son of a bitch!” Henry muttered.
Coincidence might have brought Captain Stephano de Guichen to this hotel, but Sir Henry had learned long ago to never trust in coincidence. He had to assume, therefore, that Captain de Guichen was on his trail. Henry ran through his plans.
He had purchased tickets for himself and his “lady” for the evening’s performance at the Opera Bouffe. His coach, driven by his agent, was going to take them to the crowded theater. Inside the coach were two more of his agents, dressed as the “count” and his “lady.” Wallace and Alcazar would enter the coach, but his agents would enter the theater. They would mingle with the crowd, go into their box while the lights were up, wait until the lights went down, and then disappear. All the while Sir Henry and Alcazar would be boarding the ship and sailing back to Freya.
Wallace looked back out the window to see Captain de Guichen, and his friend Monsieur de Villeneuve entering the hotel. Wallace knew what they would do, which was what he would do. They would request one of the elegantly appointed tables in the dining room, eat supper, drink wine, and observe all who came and went. He did not fear that either of them would penetrate his disguise as the count, nor were they likely to recognize Alcazar in his face powder, rouge, and curling love locks.
“But should I take that chance?” Henry reflected, pacing the room, talking to himself. “We could leave the hotel by the rear entrance. I’ll have to order the coach to be brought around to the back and that will seem odd, but I can tell the landlord that my lady’s jealous husband is looking for her.”
About to summon the page to carry a message to his coachman, Henry once again looked out the window. The lamplighter had been making his rounds and the streetlamps shed bright pools of light up and down the block. Sir Henry’s eyesight was keen. He knew what to look for, and although the pudgy man in the long cloak and hat was careful never to step directly into one of those pools of light, Sir Henry saw him lurking near a doorway.
Henry drew in a hissing breath. “Dubois!”
The arrival of Dubois, the bishop’s agent, at the Blue Parrot was definitely not coincidence. Wallace now understood everything that had puzzled him. Dubois was the third man at the duel, the mystery man who had shot at Harrington. Dubois must have kept on Harrington’s trail, followed him to Westfirth, and stayed on him until Harrington had led him to Henry, undoubtedly at the cafe. The countess’ bloodhound and the bishop’s bulldog-both hot on Sir Henry’s heels and closing in for the kill. Henry hoped Harrington was suffering every torment Hell had to offer.
Two men joined Dubois. They spoke together for a moment, then the two men left, heading for the hotel’s rear entrance. So much for sneaking out the back.
Henry turned from the window. He had been in tough situations before, but nothing as dire as this. If he was caught on Rosian soil with the missing journeyman, he would be tortured for information (which he would steadfastly refuse to divulge) and then what was left of him dragged to a public execution. His queen would be seriously embarrassed and compromised. His agents left out in the cold. The work of many years would be for nothing. The cunning fox had been run to ground. Henry Wallace was trapped and cornered, surrounded by dogs panting to rip him apart. Worse even than losing his life, he would lose Alcazar and with him the opportunity to give Freya the power to crush her enemies.
Henry eyed the satchel containing the tankard thoughtfully, then he grabbed the tankard, thrust it into the portmanteau, closed the lid, and locked it.
“Alcazar! We’ve been discovered!” he said.
The journeyman came running out, half-naked, tripping over his chemise. He looked ready to faint.
“Don’t worry,” Henry continued coolly. “I’m going to get us out of this. I need you to place a magical construct on the lock.” He pointed to the portmanteau.
“What sort of construct?” Alcazar asked, trembling with fright.
“Something that will make the lock impossible to open for anyone other than the two of us. Put a spell on the trunk, as well, just in case someone should try to hack it apart with an ax. And be quick about it!”
Alcazar cast his constructs swiftly and assured Sir Henry that the trunk was now safe from any thief. He gave Sir Henry the key to breaking the magical seal, which was a short combination of finger taps and swipes, and hurried back to finish dressing. Henry stood frowning at the portmanteau.
“Was this my fault?” he asked himself. “I knew Harrington was likely to do something stupid. And I knew I should have taken Alcazar out of the country immediately. I understood I might well be walking into an ambush this evening and yet… What else could I have done? Harrington, with his charm and acting ability and skill with guns and sword, was the best man for the task. I could have forcibly removed Alcazar, but then the unhappy journeyman might have refused to work for the Freyan government and there is no way I could force him. Whereas now, I have him, his brother, and his brother’s family under my control.
“And I could never have anticipated going to a meeting with the Sorceress only to find my nemesis, Jacob Northrop, there. Nor could I have foreseen that I would be attacked by fiends from Hell. If I had it to do over again, I would undoubtedly do exactly the same. I have to leave the Blue Parrot now. I have to leave Westfirth this night. A ship is waiting for us. The only question is: how to slip past the dogs?
“My Lady Luck,” said Henry, “this is for you, you fickle female. Do I go out the front or the back?”
He took out a coin and flipped it. The coin landed on the floor. Henry picked it up, eyed it, and tossed it on the table as recompense for the maid. He rang the bell to summon the footmen to take away the portmanteau. He ordered it delivered to the merchant ship, the Silver Raven, and sent word to the agent who served as his coachman.
The Blue Parrot Hotel had been named for the large blue parrot that squawked loudly from its gold-gilt cage in the front entryway. The hotel was known for the parrot and for the beautiful marble staircase that flowed in polished and lemon-oiled majesty from the first floor to the lobby. Several pages stood at their post near the staircase, ready to rush to perform the guests’ bidding. The office of the innkeeper was off the lobby to the right. The small and elegant dining room was to the left. One of the amenities for the occupants of the dining room was to be able to watch the arrivals and departures of beautifully coifed and bejeweled ladies and silk-caped aristocratic gentlemen.
Rodrigo and Stephano had both obtained rooms. Within fifteen minutes, Rodrigo had endeared himself to half the maidservants and made bosom friends of the Boots. Rodrigo had explained their somewhat rakish appearance, lack of luggage, and the unfortunate state of Stephano’s trousers with a thrilling tale of having been set upon by highwaymen. He and Stephano had received sympathy and towels, copious amounts of hot water, and gossip about all the guests.