“An astute observation,” said Sir Henry. “Here is your money. Off you go.”
He clapped the stranger on the shoulder, then turned and walked back into the house, leaving the stranger to stare after him a moment, then shrug and continue on his way.
Sir Henry motioned Dag to accompany him back to the room where Alcazar and Rodrigo were pouring more wine.
“I fear I am the bearer of bad news regarding your friends, the two young women,” said Henry. “My agent brought word. Dubois discovered the two women were following him. He and his agents seized them and carried them off. Your help is needed at once.”
Dag’s face creased in worry. He scooped up Doctor Ellington, settled the cat on his shoulder, then reached for his musket.
“You coming, Rigo?” Dag demanded, glowering.
Rodrigo remained seated.
“Stephano told us to stay here,” Rodrigo said, playing a silent sonata.
Dag glowered. “You stay, then. God forbid you should get your clothes dirty.”
“Dag,” said Rodrigo quietly, “I think we should do what Stephano says.”
At this, Dag hesitated. He was clearly worried about the welfare of the women, but he was also worried about disobeying Stephano’s orders. Henry took charge.
“Captain de Guichen could not have foreseen this development. You should go help your friends, Thorgrimson,” said Sir Henry. “Monsieur de Villeneuve and I will remain here until you return.”
Dag looked relieved. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Dag,” said Rodrigo, his voice taking on a note of urgency. “You should stay. This man is-”
Sir Henry reached into his coat, drew a small stowaway pistol and, using his coat to shield the weapon from Dag’s sight, aimed the pistol at Rodrigo’s heart.
“This man is what?” Dag asked impatiently.
“-going to fetch another bottle of wine,” said Rodrigo.
Dag shook his head in exasperation and hurried out the door, carrying the musket. The Doctor rode on his shoulder, tail switching as he dug in his claws to keep hold.
Rodrigo glanced at the gun and smiled.
“You know who I am,” said Sir Henry.
“Although we were never formally introduced, I believe I have the dubious pleasure of addressing Sir Henry Wallace,” said Rodrigo.
“Your servant, sir,” said Sir Henry.
Alcazar was blinking at them both in drunken confusion. “Sir Henry? Who’s that? This man is not Sir Henry. His name is Russo…”
Henry gestured at Alcazar with the pistol and told him to shut up. Alcazar stared at the pistol, gulped, hesitated, then pushed himself up from the table.
“I don’t feel good,” he said and tottered unsteadily toward the bedroom.
Rodrigo looked after him, then looked back at Sir Henry.
“It is true, then. That journeyman, Alcazar, developed a formula for strengthening metal using magic. I theorized it might be possible, you know,” Rodrigo added, with a shrug, “But I never put my theories to the test. Too much bother.”
He hummed a waltz and ran his hands over the imaginary keyboard. Then he stopped, his fingers hovering. “That confounded theory is the reason you wanted to kill me!”
Rodrigo pondered this a moment, then continued his playing. “Stephano and I both wondered. We couldn’t figure out why anyone would go to such lengths to get rid of me.”
“When the countess figured out that Alcazar had succeeded where so many others had failed and that he was now working for Freya, she would have dug around until she discovered that treatise of yours, then put you to work to re-create the procedure.”
“Put me to work…” Rodrigo repeated the words with a soft chuckle. “Some things are impossible, sir, even for the countess.”
“Once Alcazar is back, we will leave for the docks,” said Sir Henry. “I will be requiring the pleasure of your company.”
“The harbor is closed,” Rodrigo observed. “The authorities will not allow your ship to depart. If you attempt to run, the shore batteries will open fire on your ship.”
“Not when I have a hostage on board. Captain de Guichen would certainly never permit a friend of his to come to harm, sir,” said Sir Henry.
“And how is Stephano to know I’m aboard your ship?” Rodrigo performed an intricate cadenza.
“Oh, he’ll know,” predicted Sir Henry with a smile.
Rodrigo thought this over and played a second silent sonata. “A mere former captain doesn’t wield much authority with the admirals of the Royal Navy.”
“Ah, but the son of the Countess de Marjolaine is not a mere captain, sir,” said Sir Henry.
Rodrigo sipped his wine and conceded that this was true. “We are sailing to Freya, I suppose?”
“Some of us are sailing to Freya, Monsieur,” said Henry gravely. “One of us, I fear, will be dropped into the Breath. After you are no longer of use to me.”
“Ah,” said Rodrigo. “Of course. If you don’t mind my asking, sir, was it this Dubois person who shot your friends in there?”
“A private quarrel,” said Sir Henry with an apologetic air. “I fear I cannot discuss it.”
Rodrigo dashed off a saraband. “You appear to have a vast number of enemies, Sir Henry.”
“Let us simply say that I will be extremely glad to leave Rosia, Monsieur de Villeneuve,” said Henry Wallace with feeling.
Alcazar returned. His coat had been hastily thrown on. None of the buttons were buttoned correctly and his collar stuck up behind his ears.
Sir Henry gestured with the pistol. “Time to go, Monsieur de Villeneuve. Take charge of this drunken idiot. Keep him on his feet.”
Rodrigo took hold of the unsteady Alcazar, who was green about the nose and mouth and continuing to mumble that he didn’t feel well. On their way out the door, Rodrigo stopped and turned to face Sir Henry.
“I was wondering…”
Henry thrust the barrel of the gun into Rodrigo’s ribs.
“Yes? What?”
“Could we stop by my tailor?” Rodrigo inquired. “It’s on the way.”
Stephano and Miri discussed their plans as they walked slowly toward Dubois’ lodging. A modest sign referred to this inn as The Ivy, an appropriate name considering that much of the brickwork of the three-story building was covered with green leaves and trailing vines. The inn housed few guests, apparently, for most of the windows to the rooms were closed and shuttered. One window belonging to a corner room on the second floor was open, admitting sunlight and fresh air, and providing an excellent view of the main street and a side street. Stephano kept an eye on the window of that room, but saw no one.
“You have that paper with the king’s seal Russo gave you,” Miri was arguing. “I think you should summon the constables and have them arrest this Dubois.”
Stephano shook his head. “By the time I found the Chief Constable and showed him the paper and convinced him the seal was real and the crisis was real and that I’m real and I’m who I say I am, he would have to collect his men and they’d have to march here, by which time Dubois could be on the move again and we’d never catch him. Besides,” said Stephano, checking to make certain his pistol was loaded, “I don’t exactly trust Monsieur Russo or his paper.”
“I gathered that when you left Dag with him,” said Miri. “What are we going to do with Dubois once we have him?”
“I will take him along to Monsieur Russo, collect everyone involved in the same room, hold them all at gunpoint, and see if we can sort this out,” said Stephano. “We’re going to make this apprehension quick and quiet. You and Gythe keep the landlord occupied while I speak to Dubois. Are you ready, Sisters?”
“We’re ready,” said Miri crisply. “Gythe, dear, time to feel faint.”
Gythe smiled and winked at Stephano. She put her hand to her forehead. Her eyes rolled back. She swayed on her feet. Miri cried out in alarm. Stephano lifted Gythe in his arms and carried her inside the inn.
“The sister has fainted,” he told the landlord.
“Sister Catherine is feeling ill from the heat,” Miri told the landlord. “Could she rest here a moment, Monsieur? This room is so lovely and cool.”