Once more having shaken a tail, Henry drove the coach to his next destination. When the coach stopped, he ordered Alcazar to quit blubbering and get out. Alcazar looked around and saw with dismay that they were in a stinking, refuse-littered, festering street of one of the worst parts of Westfirth.
There being no streetlamps in this squalid section of the city, few people dared venture out after dark. Those who did had their reasons. The sight of an elegantly dressed “woman” descending from a coach brought unwelcome attention. Two rough-looking men approached her. Alcazar was mute with fear. Henry Wallace coolly drew out a monocle that when he touched it a certain way, began to glow with light. He held the light to his face. The two men halted, then backed away precipitously.
“Pardon, Guvnor,” said one man, nervously touching his hand to the brim of a filthy hat. “Didn’t know it was you.”
Henry ordered the driver to leave, then took hold of Alcazar by the arm and escorted him to what was popularly known as a rag and bottle shop. Henry drew out one of many keys he carried with him, fit it into the lock, opened the creaking door and shoved Alcazar inside. Henry followed, closing the door, leaving them in pitch-darkness, for the windows were shuttered. He told Alcazar to stand by the door, not to move.
Sir Henry drew out the glowing monocle and by its light, he wended his way among the stacks of refuse and broken furniture, cracked dishes, bags of hair, bottles, clothing, books, weapons, watches, and anything else that could be bartered or sold by those in desperate need.
The shop’s owner, hearing someone rummaging about, came down from his little room above the shop. He was clad in his nightdress and carried a candle in one hand and a stout club in the other.
Henry again allowed the light from the monocle to play upon his face. The owner stared at him keenly, gave a nod, and asked him in a whisper if he needed anything. Henry told him he required food and a bed for the night. The man went back upstairs. Henry continued on his way to a large portmanteau he kept stashed at the very back of the shop. He opened it, rummaged through coats, waistcoats, shirts, boots, hats, gloves, shoes, underclothes, and even handkerchiefs. Henry took off the driver’s clothes he was wearing and placed them in the portmanteau and then opened a small metal box. Henry shone his light on a quantity of letters, official looking documents and papers, all expertly forged. He selected those he required, then shut and locked the metal box.
Henry went back to Alcazar and thrust some clothes into his arms and told him to change. Alcazar was so happy to get out of his corset and petticoats and so exhausted by the events of the evening that he complied readily, without complaining, not even when told he would be spending the night in this ghastly place.
The shop owner returned with a large bowl containing some sort of meat floating in congealed gravy. Sir Henry ate ravenously. Alcazar, smelling it, queasily declined. The owner indicated a vacant room next to his own; they could spend the night there. He brought them blankets and pillows, which Henry spread out on the floor. He lay down on the blanket and stretched out comfortably.
Alcazar remained standing.
“Are there rats?” he asked fearfully.
“Big as dogs,” said Sir Henry.
After his exertions in aiding the count to escape his kidnappers, Stephano also spent a restful night. The combination of brandy and yellow goo sent him into a deep slumber. His shoulder was stiff and his thigh sore, but both wounds were healing well. He went to check on Dag and found him already up and eating breakfast.
“How are you this morning?” Stephano asked.
“Fine, sir,” said Dag, stolidly eating. “The burns weren’t serious.”
Stephano noted that Dag was sitting awkwardly, making certain his burned back did not come in contact with the chair.
“He’s not fine,” Miri snapped. “He’s going to have his bandages changed and more ointment this morning before he goes anywhere.”
She slammed a bowl down in front of Stephano and hurled a spoon in his general direction. He caught it on the bounce. Miri stalked off, going back to the galley.
“Bullets flying, Captain,” Dag advised. “Keep your head down, sir.”
Stephano understood. Miri was in one of her moods. He took a seat and tried to avoid coming under fire as Miri returned carrying a large pot in one hand and a spoon in the other.
“You’re having oatmeal,” she stated.
Stephano hated oatmeal, but he caught Dag’s warning glance and said meekly, “Oatmeal will be fine. Thank you, Miri.”
Miri sniffed and dug her spoon into the pot. Stephano reached out to pet the cat, who was curled up in Dag’s lap, dozing in the morning sunshine.
“How is the Doctor this morning?”
The cat responded to Stephano’s pat by purring loudly.
“Lazy beast,” said Miri scathingly.
She flung the oatmeal into the bowl and then pointed the spoon at Dag.
“I’ll have you know, Dag Thorgrimson, I found a mouse in the storage room this morning! Ran right over my foot. Mice running rampant all over the ship and that idle cat of yours sits there purring! He better start earning his keep, or I’ll throw him into the Breath.”
She shook the spoon at the Doctor, spattering him with oatmeal. The cat gave a startled meow and dashed for cover.
“She doesn’t mean it,” said Stephano.
“I do so too, mean it!” cried Miri, rounding on him. “The same goes for you, Captain Bloody de Guichen! We’ve flown all this way and for what?”
Miri slammed the pot with the oatmeal onto the table and answered her own question. “Gythe hearing demons. You stabbed and nearly killed. Dag lit on fire. My own boat attacked and almost sunk. What have you to show for it? Well?”
She stood in front of Stephano, hands on her hips, her red hair flaring in the morning sun, her green eyes blazing. Stephano shoveled oatmeal into his mouth as though his life depended on it which, with Miri in her present mood, perhaps it did. Dag had taken his own advice and was keeping his head down.
“I’ve a mind to hoist the sails and leave right now!” Miri continued, and Stephano could see that she meant it.
“I’m sorry this hasn’t turned out well, Miri,” he said, shoving what remained of the oatmeal around in the bowl. “We can’t sail today anyway. Not until the authorities complete the inspections and issue permits-”
“Permit!” Miri snorted. “As if I needed a blasted permit!”
Generally, Trundlers did not require permits. Having no nationality, they tended to come and go as they pleased; one reason Stephano was fond of conducting operations on a Trundler houseboat. But war with Freya loomed on the horizon, at least that’s what everyone was saying. Even Trundlers might find their lives changed during a time of war.
“Give me today to track down this last Alcazar, the one who’s the sailor,” Stephano pleaded. “If we don’t find him or it turns out he has nothing to do with the journeyman, then we can leave.”
Miri regarded him with narrowed eyes, then said coldly, “You have today.”
She grabbed up the pot and banged her way through the hatch. They could hear her stomping angrily down the stairs.
“She’s worried about Gythe, sir,” said Dag.
“I know she is,” said Stephano. “I’m worried, too.”
The door opened a crack. Rodrigo stuck his head out. “Coast clear?”
“She’s gone back to the galley,” said Dag.
“Did I hear Miri say we are leaving?” Rodrigo asked worriedly, coming out on deck. “We can’t leave yet. I have to pick up my new clothes at the tailor’s-”
“I don’t think now would be a good time to mention your clothes,” Stephano said. “Not unless you want to be wearing oatmeal instead of a hat.”