HENRY WALLACE, ALIAS MONSIEUR RUSSO, smiled inwardly as he watched the captain’s team, the so-called Cadre of the Lost, make their plans to foil Dubois and prepare to accompany Sir Henry to meet Alcazar. Henry had not been pleased when the captain had set the condition that he must meet the journeyman, but for his own plan to escape Westfirth to succeed, Henry had been forced to give way. The meeting with Alcazar would do no harm and might prove to do some good. Henry was already considering how he might use this to his advantage.
The main danger had been that Stephano would recognize the name Dubois and know him to be the grand bishop’s agent, not Wallace’s agent as Sir Henry had claimed. But Dubois was a common name in Rosia, like the name “Smith” in Freya. Henry could always claim that his Dubois was not the grand bishop’s Dubois. His fears on this score were allayed. Stephano did not appear to have heard of any Dubois.
Lounging on deck, Henry watched Dag swiftly and expertly load a variety weapons. He watched Miri and the beautiful Gythe emerge from the hold wearing gray robes and white wimples, becoming Sisters of Mercy. He saw Miri tuck her corset gun into her stocking. The only weak link in the captain’s chain appeared to be Rodrigo de Villeneuve, who was coming along simply because he was bored and had nothing else to do until the tailor’s shop opened. Wallace made a mental note.
At last they were ready or so it seemed until Dag bent down to pick up the cat. He placed Doctor Ellington on his shoulder.
“Uh, Dag,” said Stephano, glancing sidelong at an amused Sir Henry, “you might want to have the Doctor remain aboard the boat.”
“I’m not leaving him behind to be poisoned again, sir,” Dag said stiffly.
“What do you mean by that?” Miri demanded, eyes blazing. “Are you accusing me-”
“No,” said Stephano quickly. “He’s not. We should be leaving.”
“We are going to stop by the tailor’s, aren’t we?” Rodrigo asked. “My new clothes-”
“Yes, yes, Rigo, not now!” Stephano herded everyone down the gangplank.
“Interesting associates you have, Captain,” Henry remarked.
“They get the job done,” Stephano replied shortly.
The Cadre split up. The “Sisters of Mercy” went off in one direction, while Henry led Stephano, Dag, and Rodrigo along a circuitous route that eventually took them up onto the rooftops, among the chimney pots of the building next door to the boarding house. He indicated that they were to jump from this roof to the next.
“Dubois and his agents will be watching the doors,” Henry said by way of explanation. “We can enter unobserved.”
Rodrigo stated that he would go first. He made the jump with ease.
“I have done a bit of roof-leaping once or twice before,” Rodrigo confided. “Comes in handy when a jealous husband is breathing down your neck.”
Dag, on the other hand, stood glowering down at the ground that was about four stories beneath them.
“I’m not built for jumping, Captain,” Dag said flatly.
Henry pictured the big man in his leather armor and helm attempting to scale the four-foot gap between buildings-with the added impediment of a cat on his shoulders.
“Dubois doesn’t know me, sir,” Dag added. “I could walk in the front door, take a look, see if I notice anything.”
This made sense and Henry agreed.
“Room number 116. Ground floor in the rear. We’ll meet you there.”
Dag and the Doctor departed, heading back down to street level. Henry and Stephano jumped the gap. Once on the roof, they entered through an access door, hurried down a dark staircase and into a hall. The boarding house catered to single men, no families allowed, this being stipulated by the building’s owner, who happened to be Sir Henry Wallace. Single men went to work during the day and tended to mind their own business at night.
“Quiet place,” said Stephano.
“I am fond of quiet, Captain,” said Henry.
He walked briskly down the hall that led to room 116. The numbers, in fading paint, were barely visible on the door. He knocked in a peculiar manner on the door and waited expectantly.
No reply.
Henry frowned slightly and knocked again, then called out to one of the two agents he’d left to guard Alcazar.
“It’s me, Brianna. Russo. Open the door.”
His agents had been up all night. They had probably fallen asleep. He drew out his key, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door.
“It’s Russo. I’m not alone-”
Henry came to a sudden halt. He stared in amazement so great he was momentarily paralyzed.
His two agents, the man and the woman, were dead. The man lay on the floor in a pool of blood. His pistol was at his side. He’d drawn it, but never had a chance to use it. The woman was sprawled in a blood-soaked chair, her vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. Both had been shot at point-blank range, the man through the head, the woman through the heart.
Rodrigo stood staring at the body of the woman. “Oh, my God! Is that… her? I mean him?”
Stephano grabbed his friend and shoved him back out into the hall. “Go fetch Dag. He’s coming in the front.”
Rodrigo didn’t move. “I don’t understand-”
“Go!” said Stephano.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” said Stephano in a grim voice, his gaze on the woman. “That’s Alcazar.”
Henry, in his first overpowering shock, had made the same mistake. The dead woman was wearing the same clothes as Alcazar; she had been of similar build, height, and weight. But she wasn’t Alcazar. Henry began to breathe again.
“No,” said Henry. “She’s one of my agents.”
“Then where-”
Henry pointed.
The apartment had two rooms: living area and bedchamber. The door to the bedchamber was shut. Henry indicated with a gesture that Alcazar might be in there with the killer. He drew his pistol. Stephano reached for his own pistol.
Henry motioned for Stephano to circle around to the left of the door. Henry kept to the right, a route that would take him past the dining table and the small white card propped up against the saltcellar. He palmed the card as he passed.
Dag entered, accompanied by Doctor Ellington, whose nose twitched at the smell of blood. Henry indicated with a jerk of his thumb that someone might be inside the bedroom. Dag nodded and moved silently to join Stephano. Rodrigo remained in the hall with his hands covering his ears.
Stephano and Dag and Henry stood together, pistols raised, hammers cocked. Henry looked at Stephano, who nodded. Henry kicked in the door and the three men ran inside.
The bedroom was empty. Henry glanced first at the window, saw it was shut, the curtains drawn. He breathed an inward sigh of relief.
“Alcazar,” Henry called, frowning. “It’s me, Russo.”
“I’m here,” quavered a voice.
“Where?” Henry demanded.
“Under the bed!”
“You can come out now,” Henry said. “You are safe. I have friends with me.”
“I would, but I’m stuck…” Alcazar said plaintively.
Henry rolled his eyes, muttered something beneath his breath. He lowered the hammer on his pistol and thrust it back into his belt. He and Stephano managed to disentangle and then drag Alcazar out from beneath the bed. The journeyman was in a pitiable state, shaking and trembling and barely coherent, for which Henry was grateful.
Alcazar claimed he had been asleep on the bed when he’d been wakened by the sounds of gunfire outside the door. He had been so terrified, he had rolled off the bed and crawled underneath it. He had no idea who had fired the shots. He’d heard the killer leave and close the door, but he’d been afraid the murderer would return for him, so he remained in hiding beneath the bed all morning. Alcazar had not seen the killer. If the killer had said anything, Alcazar had not heard it.
He nearly fainted at the sight of the bodies; particularly when he saw the woman in the same clothes he had been wearing. Rodrigo came to the poor man’s aid, pouring wine from a bottle he’d managed to locate for himself.