“So what’s the plan for today, sir?” Dag asked.
“Pick up my clothes,” said Rodrigo.
“You pick up your own damn clothes,” said Stephano. “Dag and I will go to the docks and ask if anyone knows this sailor named Alcazar. If not”-he shrugged-“we pack up and go home. And I tell my mother we failed.”
“She might be interested in the demons,” said Rodrigo. “And the green magic I’m not supposed to talk about.”
“Fine-you tell my mother we fled Westfirth because we were attacked by fiends from Hell riding giant bats,” Stephano said testily.
Rodrigo thought this over. “I see your point. She already suspects me of being a bad influence on you. She’d probably think I was luring you into opium dens.”
Stephano sat jabbing his spoon dejectedly into his slowly congealing oatmeal. Dag lured Doctor Ellington out from under the cannon with a bit of smoked fish. Rodrigo took a turn about the deck, trying to work up the courage to ask Miri to fix him a coddled egg when he came to a sudden halt.
“Stephano! Look there.” Rodrigo pointed to the end of the pier, where several men could be seen conferring. Four of the men were Trundlers, one of whom was Miri’s uncle, Ehric McPike. Ehric was talking with a well-dressed man wearing a long hunting coat, tall black boots, and a hat.
“Does that man seem familiar?” Rodrigo asked, frowning. “The one in the hunting coat. I have the feeling I know him from somewhere.”
“Yeah, me, too,” said Dag, squinting against the sun.
Stephano rose to his feet. He eyed the man and then said slowly, “That’s the count. From last night.”
“By God!” exclaimed Rodrigo, stunned. “You’re right! How do you suppose he found us?”
“That’s what I’m wondering,” said Stephano grimly.
Miri’s uncle and the count began walking down the pier in the direction of the Cloud Hopper. Dag reached for his musket. He had heard the story from last night, how Rodrigo and Stephano had fought off thugs to save some mysterious count and his lady.
“The love of my life,” Rodrigo said in melancholy tones.
“Fetch Miri,” Stephano told him, and Rodrigo hurried down below. He returned in a moment with Miri and Gythe, relating again the tale of the previous evening’s adventure, just in case they had forgotten.
“How are you this morning?” Stephano asked, smiling at Gythe.
Gythe was pale and wan. Her fingers danced in the air. She touched her ears and shook her head.
“She says the voices are gone,” Miri reported.
Gythe regarded her sister hopefully. Her fingers fluttered. Miri shook her head. Gythe sighed and walked forlornly away.
“She seems to be wanting to tell me something,” said Miri helplessly. “But I can’t understand her. I’m not sure she understands herself. Oh, Stephano, I’m so worried about her!”
“I am sorry, Miri,” Stephano said quietly, moving over to squeeze her hand.
“You better be,” Miri said, but she said it with a sigh and a half-smile and squeezed his hand back. He knew all was forgiven.
Ehric McPike accompanied the count, serving as his escort. The Trundlers bowed before no king, but they did have their own nation which was wherever a group of Trundler clans docked their houseboats, a tradition that had lasted for centuries. Many Trundler camps were as old or older than the cities near which they were established. Every so often, some enterprising person (such as the archbishop) endeavored to oust the Trundlers, terming them thieves and smugglers. Nothing came of these efforts, however. The archbishop was informed by the head of the constabulary that the Trundlers could not be told to leave Westfirth because they weren’t in Westfirth. They docked in the Breath. The city limits of Westfirth ended at the shoreline.
The Trundler camp had their leader and guards. Outsiders were viewed with suspicion and must be approved by a Trundler clan leader before they were permitted to enter the camp and then only with an escort. When the count and Miri’s uncle reached the Cloud Hopper, Ehric told the stranger to remain on the pier, while he boarded the Cloud Hopper. He kissed his nieces, and then turned to Miri.
“This man”-Ehric motioned at the stranger waiting on the pier with a jerk of his thumb-“says he has business with the captain. Will you receive him and take him into your care, Miri? Or should the lads and I escort him back to from where he came?”
The count stood quite at his ease on the pier. He gazed at the boats and their gaily colored balloons and the Trundlers going about their everyday business: hanging out laundry to dry, cooking, sweeping; all the while keeping a wary eye on the stranger in their midst. The count smiled at Stephano with the air of calm and cool self-confidence he’d displayed during the attempt on his life. Reaching up, he tipped his hat with a courtly gesture.
Stephano kept silent. The Cloud Hopper was not his boat. It was not his place to say who could come aboard or not.
“He can board,” said Miri. “We’ll see to him.”
“Shout if you need help,” said her uncle, as he took his leave.
Miri promised she would. The count came on board. He cast a glance at Dag, who stood stolidly on deck, his musket under his arm and Doctor Ellington on his shoulder. The count turned to Miri, standing on deck with Gythe at her side. The count’s eyes widened at the sight of Gythe, whose remarkable beauty tended to have that effect on most men. He spent a moment regarding her in silent admiration. Gythe did not notice; she never did notice men staring at her. Rodrigo saw, however, and he nudged Stephano.
“There’s hope for me!” he whispered. “Ask him about his lady friend.”
Stephano snorted and stepped forward. The count swept off his hat. He expressed his pleasure at meeting Miri and Gythe and thanked them for permitting him to come aboard.
“I have business with Captain de Guichen,” said the count, turning to Stephano with a bow. “Private business,” he added gently.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” said Miri. “Come along, Gythe. I need your help with the washing up. Try not to get yourself shot,” she added in a low voice, walking past Stephano. “I’m running out of herbs for my poultice.”
“Let us be grateful for small blessings,” said Rodrigo.
Miri and Gythe descended into the hold. Stephano knew quite well she had no intention of washing dishes. She and Gythe would both settle themselves on the stairs on other side of the hatch, where they could comfortably overhear the entire conversation. Stephano nodded at Dag, who stalked off to the bow, out of earshot, but within musket range. Stephano politely invited the count to sit down. Rodrigo brought up a chair and joined them, despite the fact that he had not been invited.
“You’re no count, are you,” Stephano said, as the stranger took a seat.
Rodrigo blinked. “What do you mean he’s not a count?”
“How very clever of you, Captain de Guichen,” said the stranger with that same cool and confident smile. “But then, the son of the Countess de Marjolaine would have inherited his mother’s brains.”
Stephano’s face froze as always when his mother’s name was mentioned.
“What is your name, sir?” he asked. “What do you want of me?”
The count reached into an inner pocket. Seeing Dag raise his musket, the count lifted a warding hand. He drew out a piece of paper, which he laid on the table.
“My name is Russo. Here are my credentials, Captain.” Monsieur Russo tapped the wax seal on the letter in an odd staccato rhythm, paused, then tapped it again. The seal was the King’s Rose, the official emblem of Alaric, King of Rosia. When the stranger tapped the seal, it began to magically change. The rose vanished and was replaced by a thorn, the emblem of a unit of elite undercover operatives tasked with protecting the king.
Stephano cast a glance at his friend.
“Is it genuine?”
“Quite genuine,” said Rodrigo. “The hand-tapping activates the magic. Monsieur Russo has to tap the seal in a certain way or the magic won’t work.”