Stephano shifted his saber back to his right hand and turned toward the last demon, but he was too late. He could see the ax blade flash in the sunlight above his head. A pistol went off. The demon shrieked. The ax flew out of its hands and the demon toppled over. Stephano drove his saber into the twitching body, just to make sure it stayed down. He looked around to see that the man who had run to the rescue of the monks had managed to sit up long enough to fire. He was staring at Stephano in dazed puzzlement.
Stephano stood breathing hard, saber in hand, looking swiftly around for more foes. All was quiet. No sign of any more demons. Even the bats had flown off. He lowered his saber and went to the two monks. One of them, a younger man, had his arm around the older monk and was speaking words of comfort. Their robes were bloody and torn. Both of them had been beaten and whipped.
“Are you all right, Brothers?” Stephano asked.
“We are, sir, thanks be to God,” said the younger monk. His face creased in anxiety. “I will stay with Brother Paul. Please go to my friend.”
Stephano nodded and hurried over to tend to the man whose shot had saved his life. He was bleeding from a jagged, ugly wound that had split open his forehead. Stephano regarded the wound in concern.
“I fear your skull is cracked, sir. You should lie down.”
The man gazed at Stephano, blinking. Then he smiled.
“Julian?…”
Stephano started back, amazed.
The man sat on the ground, staring at him. “Julian…” he said again.
“Is your name Julian, sir?” the young monk asked.
“No,” said Stephano, lost in wonderment. “Julian was my father.”
A pistol lay on the ground where the man had dropped it. Stephano reached out and picked it up. He drew his dragon pistol and held the two sideby-side. One was the exact match of the other.
He had never met this man before, but he was as his father had often described him-brave and selfless and loyal.
“What is this man’s name?” Stephano asked.
“Sir Ander Martel. Do you know him, sir?”
“He is my godfather,” said Stephano.
On board the Cloud Hopper, Rodrigo sat on the bed at Gythe’s side, bathing her forehead and calling her name gently, hoping to rouse her. Doctor Ellington had jumped back on his shelf. Dag stood by the door, ready to repel another invasion. When he heard footsteps, he drew his pistol. Rodrigo, his eyes squinched shut, shielded Gythe.
But it was Miri who appeared. She stood in the ruined doorway, staring at the burn marks on the floor and then at Dag and Rodrigo.
Dag grunted in relief and lowered the pistol. “What’s happening topside?”
“The demons are gone,” Miri said wearily. “What happened here?”
Rodrigo sat up and Miri saw her sister. Dropping the pistol she had been holding, Miri ran to her. “Oh, Gythe! Oh, my God!” She knelt beside her and kissed her. “What happened? What is wrong with her?”
Rodrigo shook his head. “She’s been hurt by this strange magic.”
“What can I do?” Miri asked frantically. “I have to do something!”
“We could take her to the abbey,” Dag suggested after a moment’s thought. “Perhaps the nuns can heal her.”
Miri grasped the idea thankfully. “Yes, we’ll take her to the abbey!”
“Can the Hopper still sail?” Rodrigo asked.
“I hope so!” said Miri fervently. “I wasn’t on deck during the last attack. I ran down and shut the hatch.” She looked out the porthole. “At least we’re not sinking…”
“Always a good sign,” said Rodrigo gravely.
Miri rose to her feet. “I’ll go-”
“You stay with Gythe,” said Dag gently, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take a look.”
He started to remove Doctor Ellington from his shelf.
“You should leave the cat,” said Rodrigo. “He seems to soothe her.”
Dag nodded and placed the cat gently on the bed, then went up to investigate the damage. Doctor Ellington rubbed his head against Gythe’s limp hand, trying to make her pet him. Rodrigo watched anxiously, but she did not respond. He sighed and shook his head.
Miri sat down beside her sister and took over placing wet cloths on her forehead and tucking the blankets around her. Rodrigo dragged a rug over to hide the scorch marks, then climbed the stairs to join Dag at the forecastle. He was standing at the helm, his hands running over the sigils on the brass control panel.
Rodrigo looked up at the sails. They were intact, as was the balloon. He smiled sadly. Gythe’s final protection spell had held, kept the Cloud Hopper safe.
“The boat seems airworthy,” Rodrigo said. He ran his hand over the brass panel.
“We have suffered minor damage. The magic is still keeping us afloat. Some of the rigging lines burned and one of the yardarms snapped. We can run some plain ropes and control the sails by hand and splice the yard until we can replace it. Thanks to our girl, we fared better than they did, poor bastards,” said Dag, indicating the cutter.
The Suspicion was listing badly. Several sailors were working frantically to make repairs to the mast. Another group had laid out the bodies of the dead and carried the wounded below. The captain stood on deck, shouting orders. Hearing the Cloud Hopper’s propellers start to whir, the captain of the cutter looked up and saluted. Dag returned the salute and went to the helm.
“Looks like the abbey came under attack, as well,” Rodrigo said. “I’ve cobbled some magic together. We’ll see if this works. Any sign of Stephano or his dragon friend?”
Dag shook his head. Rodrigo bent to examine the deck. There were no bodies, only scorch marks like those below.
“Some sort of magic in their armor deliberately destroyed the corpses,” he reported. “Not a trace left behind. You started to say something about the boots.”
“They had claws sticking out of them,” said Dag. “Strangest damn thing I ever saw. One in back like a spur-”
“Now what have we here?”
Rodrigo squatted down. He found in the midst of the scorch marks what looked like a small round object, about the size and shape of a dessert plate, only made of brass. The brass plate was badly charred, but here and there Rodrigo could make out what appeared to be sigils, though they were like no sigils he had ever seen. In the center of the brass plate was a chunk of faceted crystal.
He reached out his hand and gave the brass plate a gingerly poke with the tip of his finger. Nothing happened. It didn’t burn him or jolt him. He poked it again and again it just lay there. He picked up the plate and turned it over and found more sigils on the underside. He examined these and could make nothing of them. He turned his attention to the crystal, studying it with the eye of one who had noted that Lady Katrina De Burg’s famous diamond necklace, reputedly worth a king’s ransom, was actually paste, starting a scandal that had rocked the royal court. Rodrigo raised his eyebrows.
“A diamond! Not a very good diamond,” he remarked to himself. “Poor clarity and color. But a diamond nonetheless.”
“What’s that you’ve got?” Dag asked curiously.
“I believe I have found some sort of fiendish frippery,” said Rodrigo. “A Hellish bijou. A demonic diamond.”
He held the brass plate out to Dag, who examined it with interest.
“This appears to be some sort of grenade,” said Dag.
Rodrigo backed nervously away. “How could you possibly know that?”
“I got a good, close look at those cannonlike weapons the fiends were using.” Dag ran his hand over his singed head. “A little too close. Singed off half my hair. I saw one of the fiends load something that gleamed like brass and was about this shape and size into the back of the cannon. My guess is that the crystal-”
“It’s a diamond,” Rodrigo pointed out.
“The diamond holds some sort of magical charge that sets off the green fire like the spark that ignites the gunpowder that fires a bullet. The sigils on the brass medallion surrounding the diamond might be there to focus the fire or protect the diamond or to keep the green fire from melting the cannon or all of that together.”