Hard to believe only a few weeks had passed, he reflected. It seemed a lifetime.
He sank into a chair and glanced with distaste around the cabin. He would eventually transfer to more luxurious quarters aboard the man-of-war, but Admiral Baker had been forced to wait two weeks here at the rendezvous point and was liable to be in a very bad mood. Henry would give him time to recover.
As he waited, Sir Henry thought about his wife and hoped she was well. He might be back in time for the birth of his child. He felt ridiculously pleased at the idea of holding his tiny child in his arms.
A sailor brought in a bottle containing the very fine wine he’d bought while in Westfirth. The Rosians might not be good for much else, but they knew how to make wine.
“Set it on the table,” he ordered the sailor, who placed the bottle on the table, along with a corkscrew and two glasses.
“Why two glasses?” Henry demanded. “Do you see anyone else, you dolt?”
The sailor stared at him stupidly, apparently not comprehending. Sir Henry dismissed the fool man with a wave. He opened the bottle and poured a glass of the red wine. The fragrance filled the cabin.
I will drink to Dubois, he thought, and chuckled.
The sailor had walked over to the door, but instead of continuing on out the door, the man shut it, locked it, and came back to sit down in the other chair. The sailor faced Sir Henry with cool aplomb.
The fellow was typical of his type, dressed in duck trousers with a loose fitting shirt, sunburned with bare legs and feet. He wore a sort of stocking cap over his head. Henry glared, outraged, but instead of withering beneath his fury, the sailor crossed his bare legs and held out his glass.
“What is the meaning of this, sirrah?” Henry sputtered with fury. “Get back to work before I have you flogged.”
In answer, the sailor drew off his cap and shook out his hair. Or rather-she shook out her hair.
Long black curls fell around her slender shoulders. A few tendrils trailed over her face. Her gold-flecked eyes regarded Sir Henry with amusement. She held out her glass, indicating he was to pour the wine.
“Eiddwen!” he gasped.
“Hello, Henry,” said Eiddwen.
Chapter Forty-Three
Stephano de Guichen’s own true love is the blue sky of dawn, the orange mists of twilight, and the wings of the dragon that carries him to freedom.
No mere female can compete with such a rival.
THE DAMAGE TO THE CLOUD HOPPER WAS SIGNIFICANT, but not as bad as it might have been. Either the gunners aboard the man-of-war were excellent marksmen or terrible shots, for their cannons could have pounded the houseboat to splinters. Cannonballs wrecked the starboard wing lift tank and smashed several large holes in the hull. In a freak accident, one of these balls struck the galley stove, scattering burning embers while, at the same time, splinters from the hull hit a barrel of flour. The combination of flour dust and burning embers resulted in an explosion. In an ironic twist of fate, one of Miri’s healing ointments turned out to be highly flammable and the entire galley was soon burning merrily. The wooden structure of the hull was set with constructs to resist fire and the blaze was contained, but the galley and everything in it, including all their food, was a total loss.
Stephano didn’t have time to think about their future during the frantic moment when he, Dag, Miri, and Gythe were engaged in a desperate battle to save their boat. The sisters filled buckets with water from a nearby lake and flung them on the flames, while Dag and Stephano worked to smother the fire and beat out glowing embers, sometimes with their feet. Stephano saw out of the corner of his eye the merchant ship, Silver Raven, sail off, escorted by the man-of-war. He did spare a moment-several moments-to wonder what had become of Rodrigo. Had Wallace killed him? Stephano considered this likely. Wallace had no use for Rigo anymore, so why leave him alive? Stephano was desperate and grieving and furious and he poured his emotions into saving the boat, since he couldn’t save anything else.
When at last the fire was out, Stephano stood gasping for breath and wiping sweat from his face that was black from the smoke. He and his friends stood in the water-soaked, singed, and flattened weeds and brush, staring in mute sorrow at the ruins of the Cloud Hopper. They watched the smoke rise from the smoldering remains of the galley and trail out the gaping holes in the hull, gazed at the shattered wing and the broken lift tank and listened in dismay to the hiss of the magical Breath they would need to lift them from the island leaking out of the tank. The hard reality of their dire situation began to sink into all of them, with the possible exception of the Doctor. Terrified by the noise and the fire, the cat had leaped from the burning ship the moment it hit ground and disappeared into the surrounding woods.
Stephano saw Gythe looking stricken and woebegone. He made an effort to smile and put his arm around her.
“The damage would be a lot worse if not for your magic,” he told her. “Your protection spells kept the fire from reaching the powder kegs and held us together long enough so that Miri could make a safe landing.”
Gythe gave him a brave smile and an impulsive hug. Foreseeing the difficult times that lay ahead for all of them, Stephano felt tears sting his eyes. Muttering that it must be the smoke, he hurriedly wiped them away.
Miri had stayed at the helm as the ship fell like a crippled bird, steering the Cloud Hopper as best she could to a small clearing formed by a large dome of rock thrusting up out of the wilderness, not far from one of the island’s many lakes. The landing had been bone-jarring. They had all grabbed hold of anything they could hang onto and ridden the tumbling boat down.
Stephano had heard wood cracking, flames crackling. He’d seen Dag go flying across the deck and heard Miri scream, more in heartbreak than pain at the loss of her beloved ship. They had all managed to come through it without injury, save for Dag, who had an enormous lump on his forehead and bruised ribs.
Stephano flung himself down wearily on the ground. Miri was still standing by the wreckage, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks, leaving trails in the grime that covered her face. Gythe put her arms around her sister, and both gazed sorrowfully at the ship that had been their parents’ only legacy.
Dag came over to sit down beside Stephano and held out a jug. Stephano could smell the sharp odor of calvados.
“Medicinal, sir,” said Dag.
Stephano hesitated, then said bleakly, “What the hell. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
He took the jug, put it to his lips, and swallowed. The liquor bit into his throat and filled him with warmth. He coughed and handed the jug back to Dag.
“You all right?”
“Mostly,” said Dag in dispirited tones. “Miri and I will inspect the boat, go over the damage and report-”
“No hurry,” said Stephano bitterly.
He was quiet a moment, watching the smoke. He took another pull from the jug. “I made a pig’s breakfast out of this job.”
“It wasn’t your fault, sir,” said Dag stoutly. “You couldn’t know that bastard would have a bloody warship waiting for him.”
“My mother warned me about Wallace. Father Jacob warned me. I should have listened to them. But I was so goddamn arrogant, figured I was so goddamn clever that I could outsmart him. Now the Cloud Hopper is in ruins and we’re stuck here on some godforsaken island with no chance of being found and Rigo’s… Rigo’s…”
Stephano couldn’t finish. He put his hand over his face.
“He’s not dead, sir,” said Dag, an odd note to his voice.