“Let her go, you bounder!” Rodrigo cried angrily.
In answer, the thug aimed a blow with his club at Rodrigo’s head. Stephano’s blade sliced through the meaty part of the man’s hand. He dropped the club with a cry, but continued to stubbornly hang onto the lady.
Stephano held his sword poised over the man’s arm. “Let go of her or end up minus a hand!”
The thug apparently decided Stephano meant what he said, for he let go of the woman and ran away. Stephano turned to see the count still fending off two attackers.
“Carry the lady to the coach, Rigo,” Stephano shouted. “I’ll help the count.”
Rodrigo endeavored to lift the unconscious woman, only to find the delicate beauty much heavier than he had anticipated. He staggered and nearly dropped her. “You are a sturdy little thing, aren’t you my love?” he said, gasping.
Unable to lift her, Rodrigo was forced to half-carry, half-drag the lady to the carriage. He shoved her hurriedly inside and turned to await developments.
“Go to your lady, my lord!” cried Stephano, coming to the aide of the beleaguered count. “I will hold them off.”
The count thanked Stephano in a few brief words, then jumped into the coach and slammed shut the door. Stephano shouted at the driver, who cracked his whip. The coach lurched forward and rushed off with such speed that the wheel narrowly missed crushing Rodrigo’s foot.
The instant the coach departed, so did the thugs, vanishing into the darkness, taking their wounded away with them. The piercing screech of whistles announced the coming of the constabulary. Rodrigo was standing in the gutter, gazing woefully after his lost love. Stephano seized hold of him and dragged him off down the street.
“But I haven’t finished my brandy-” Rodrigo protested.
“If we stay to be questioned by the police, you’ll be drinking your brandy in a jail cell,” said Stephano.
“Ah, good point,” said Rodrigo.
“Walk. Running looks suspicious.”
The two sauntered down the street, pausing as any curious bystander would pause to watch the constables race by. An officer skidded to a stop in front of them.
“Did you see where the thugs went, gentlemen?”
“That way, down the alley,” Stephano said, pointing. The constable touched his hat and ran off.
Stephano and Rodrigo continued along the street and were about to cross to the other side, when a small carriage came dashing straight at them, almost running them down. The carriage careened around the corner and was gone.
“Someone’s in a hurry,” remarked Rodrigo.
He and Stephano walked on, dispirited and downcast.
“This entire venture has been an unmitigated disaster,” said Stephano.
“At least we managed to save a damsel from assassins,” said Rodrigo. “That brute actually tried to drag her off!”
“Assassins would have just shot the count. Those men were trying to abduct him and the lady, as well,” said Stephano.
“I saw him say something to you. What was it?”
“Something about being in my debt. He gave a kind of chuckle and hoped someday I would realize what I’d done.”
“That’s a rather odd thing to say to someone who has just saved your life.”
“I might not have heard him right. It doesn’t matter,” said Stephano, shrugging.
“I guess not,” said Rodrigo. “Though it pained me deeply to see him drive off with the woman of my dreams. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what it was all about.”
“And I don’t suppose we’ll ever find Sir Henry Wallace,” said Stephano.
“Look at it this way, our luck can’t get any worse,” said Rodrigo.
“Don’t say that,” warned Stephano. “You’ll jinx us.”
Dubois had watched in disbelief as Captain de Guichen rushed in, sword drawn, to save Sir Henry Wallace from being captured by Dubois’ agents. Poor Dubois almost lost his faith that night. He was sorely tempted to ask God whose side He was on.
Dubois regained control of himself, however. He did not stay to wait for the constables to find him. He had two carriages stationed around the corner. He ran to one of them. Red Dog peered down at him from the driver’s seat.
“Follow that coach!” Dubois ordered, pointing. “Sir Henry’s inside. He’s probably bound for the docks. Find out what ship he’s sailing on and report back to me.”
Red Dog nodded, and within moments the carriage was whirling down the street in pursuit. Dubois climbed into the other carriage.
“The Archbishop’s residence,” Dubois told the driver. “And don’t spare the horses!”
Inside his coach, Sir Henry Wallace roused Alcazar from his fainting fit with a couple of smacks across the face.
Alcazar sat up and looked around. “Are we safe?”
“Yes, my love, thanks to your alluring charms,” said Sir Henry Wallace, laughing.
He was in an excellent mood. He thought back to Captain de Guichen coming gallantly to the “count’s” aid, helping him escape. Sir Henry leaned back in the seat and roared with mirth. Alcazar came near fainting again at the dreadful sound, but Sir Henry reassured him.
“Be merry, my friend. We are now on our way to your brother’s ship.”
Alcazar realized with a start they weren’t alone in the coach. Two people shrouded in black cloaks were seated opposite him. He shrank back into the cushions.
“Who are they?”
“The woman’s name is Brianna. She is a friend of mine. Brianna say hello.”
“Hello,” said the woman.
“The man is known as the ‘Duke.’ ” He is, of course, not a duke at all, but he looks well in evening attire.”
“Why are they here?” Alcazar asked, quivering.
He noticed, as they passed under a streetlamp, that the man and woman were dressed in the same clothes he and Sir Henry were wearing.
“Because I never leave anything to chance,” said Sir Henry. “And don’t start whining, or I’ll smack you again.”
He glanced out the rear window. He did not see anyone following them, but that didn’t mean much. Dubois’ agents were good at their jobs. Almost as good as his.
Henry sat back in the seat. He put his fingertips together, tapping them, thinking. When he arrived in Freya, he would hand over Alcazar to Mr. Sloan with orders to take the journeyman straight to the armory. Henry would travel to court, report the joyful news to his queen, and receive her praise and thanks. He would then go to his wife. She would be devastated over the loss of the manor house, but he would be able to assure her he would build her a new one, far grander than any other manor house in Freya.
He was thinking these pleasant thoughts; the rocking motion of the coach sending him into a half-doze, when he was awakened by a cannon’s boom.
Sir Henry sat straight up. He listened to the echoes of that single cannon shot dying away in the night and swore.
“What is wrong now?” Alcazar asked fearfully. “Is it war?”
Sir Henry Wallace sank back in the seat of the coach that was now taking him rapidly nowhere.
“The port of Westfirth has just been closed,” Sir Henry explained in dire tones. “From this moment, no ships can sail in. No ships can sail out.”
“Then we’re trapped!” Alcazar cried.
“So it would seem,” said Sir Henry.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Confusion, misdirection, greed, bright penny blindness-the art of the confidence man.
DUBOIS’ CAB SPED FROM THE FRACAS AT THE Blue Parrot straight to the Old Fort, the residence of the archbishop. In his morning meeting, Dubois had told the archbishop as much as he deemed the man should know about Sir Henry Wallace and the threat he posed. He had warned the archbishop that if Wallace eluded capture, the port would have to be closed. The archbishop had scoffed at such an idea.