The most important part of any operation is a well thought out plan. I have sent you additional funds and several of the newly developed weapons known as “rifles” to assist you. You will notice that the rifles have slow curving grooves cut into the interior of their barrels. This “rifling” provides greater accuracy than targeting constructs, but does require some practice in order to use effectively.
– Excerpt from a letter from Sir Henry Wallace to his agent, James Harrington
GRABBING THE BUGGY WHIP, STEPHANO SNAPPED IT over the horse’s head, urging the beast on. The cab went careening down the road with Stephano rocking from side to side and bouncing up and down on the sprung seat. Glancing back, he saw Piefer still in pursuit, again taking aim with his rifle.
Stephano had nowhere to go. He lowered his head and hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. Then suddenly he had more to worry about than being hit by a bullet.
The road made a sharp curve to the right up ahead. The cab was heading into the turn at a frightening speed. The driver yelled that they were going to crash and hurled himself out of the side of the cab. The last Stephano saw of him, the driver was tumbling head over heels into a weed patch.
Stephano tried to slow the horse, but the creature was out of control. He had his ears laid back, his eyes swiveled wildly, and spittle flew from his mouth. He plunged on as Stephano braced himself. The cab took the corner on one wheel, teetered perilously for a moment, then righted itself, landing on both wheels with a bone-jarring jounce.
Stephano slapped the reins and snapped the whip, and they went rolling on. He looked back to see that Piefer’s driver, fighting to maintain control of a far larger carriage, sensibly slowed to make the turn. Piefer had fallen behind, but the two assassins mounted on horseback were catching up. These were the two who had been firing at him from the woods. Each brandished a pistol.
Stephano hoped they would shoot. He was a moving target, the odds were likely that they would miss, and once they had fired their weapons, they would have to reload. They would have a hard time pouring in powder and thrusting home a bullet while riding a horse at a full gallop.
Unfortunately, these men were too professional to make such a mistake. Holding their pistols in readiness, they spurred on their horses. They planned to catch up with the cab and simply shoot their victims once they were close.
Stephano faced to the front, keeping his eyes on the road. The horse was starting to tire, showing signs of being winded. The two men on relatively fresh horses would easily manage to catch the cab.
Stephano considered his options. They were grimly few. When his assailants arrived, he could jump from his seat onto one of them and knock the man off his horse. But that still left the other man and Piefer free to kill them.
The cab was heading into another curve, but this time Stephano didn’t have to worry about overturning. The weary horse had slowed his pace and they took the corner decorously. Rounding the curve, Stephano was startled to see that they had reached the outskirts of the city.
The road that led to the Church of Saint Charles was not much traveled. But the cab and those pursuing it were now going to be running into a stream of carts, wagons, horses, and pedestrians. The two assassins on horseback could weave their way through traffic faster than he could maneuver a cab.
Stephano looked over his shoulder again. Thinking the two assassins would increase their pace, he was surprised to see them dropping behind, apparently in response to some order from Piefer. They were conferring with him as he leaned down from the driver’s seat.
By Heaven, Stephano thought with elation, we might get out of this alive after all!
He arrived at an intersection. Several roads branched out from a single lane, all heading into the city. He needed to reach Canal Street, where the Cloud Hopper was docked. Stephano guided the horse onto the Street of Kings, a narrow thoroughfare that led into the heart of the city, as Rodrigo thrust open the trapdoor through which passengers communicated with the driver and shouted up at him.
“What are you doing? This street will be crowded at this time of day. You should take Cattle Market Road.”
“We like crowded streets,” Stephano shouted back. “The more people the better. Look behind us.”
“And get my head blown off?” Rodrigo asked, horrified.
“Just look,” Stephano yelled.
Rodrigo poked his head cautiously out of the carriage.
“They’re still there,” he reported. “They’re still chasing us.”
“Yes, but they’re not still shooting at us,” Stephano said. “They won’t risk firing into a crowd.”
At least, he hoped they wouldn’t risk it.
Rodrigo held up the pistol he’d recovered from the site of the duel and waved it in the air. “I found a hidden magical sigil on the firing mechanism! That’s what caused the gun to misfire! I told you I didn’t shoot it!”
Stephano thought the matter over as he continued to try to negotiate the cab through the traffic. Rodrigo had been meant to die in that duel. Valazquez had been supposed to kill him.
“Why in the name of all the saints and all the angels and God Himself would anyone go to this much trouble and expense to kill Rodrigo!” Stephano asked himself.
The Street of Kings was of one of the most heavily traveled roads in Evreux. Stephano was doing a fair job of driving the cab, and hoped he might actually be able to reach Canal Street when the horse decided enough was enough. Exhausted, in a bad mood, wanting only its stable and oats, the animal came to a dead stop in the middle of a busy intersection.
Stephano yelled and cajoled and plied the whip-to no avail. The horse stood with his head down, stubbornly refusing to budge. Traffic in all directions rolled to a standstill. Drovers with loads to deliver swore at Stephano and shook their fists. They were joined in their ire by the drivers of cabs and coaches and by their irate passengers. One drover even jumped off his wagon and came running toward Stephano with the idea of throttling him. Several pedestrians clustered about, attempting to deal with the horse, which added to the gridlock.
Stephano had no idea what to do. The carriage belonging to Piefer was caught in the snarl. But the two assassins on horseback were steadily pushing their way toward him.
Stephano flung the whip aside, dropped the reins, jumped out of the seat, and ran to the front of the cab.
“Get out!” he yelled at Rodrigo. “We’re walking!”
His friend stared at him in astonishment, wondering if he’d lost his mind, then he climbed out of the cab. Ignoring the swearing and irate shouts, Stephano and Rodrigo bolted for the sidewalk, which was now filled with interested spectators. The two elbowed and shoved and began to dodge and weave and push their way through the crowd.
Stephano looked back to see chaos had broken out in the intersection. The drover who had been going to fight Stephano was now taking on a fellow drover. Passengers were leaning out of the carriages. People were tugging on the horse. Traffic was backing up as far as he could see. Unless Piefer abandoned his carriage, he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. The two assassins on horseback were trying their best to edge their way through the confusion, but without much better success.
Stephano paused a moment to go over a mental map of the city of Evreux in his head, trying to figure out the quickest route to the Cloud Hopper, which was docked along one of the canals that ran through the city.
He noticed people stopping to stare at him, but he assumed this was because he was filthy from running through graveyards and driving a cab with a crazed horse, so he did not give it much thought. He was about to say, “We can continue down this street to reach Canal,” when Rodrigo suddenly seized hold of him and dragged him into a dark alley.
“Why did you do that? We can’t stop, they’ll catch us!” Stephano said, annoyed.
“You’re bleeding,” said Rodrigo, pointing to Stephano’s left shoulder. “You’ve been shot.”
Stephano looked down to see a large amount of blood had soaked through both his shirt and his coat. That was why people had been staring at him.
“I’ll be damned,” he said.
“You didn’t know you’d been shot?” Rodrigo asked, amazed.
“I was trying to control that demonic horse,” said Stephano. “And thank you so much for telling me. I didn’t feel anything until you said something. Now it hurts like Hell!”
“Let me look.”
Rodrigo gingerly pulled aside the bloodstained coat. Stephano winced and gasped at the pain.
“I can’t see anything except blood,” Rodrigo told him. “Your shirt is plastered against the wound.”
“That’s probably stopped the bleeding,” said Stephano, gritting his teeth. “Don’t pull it off, or it will start again.”
“How bad is it?”
“The bullet didn’t hit a major artery, or I’d be dead by now,” said Stephano. “I don’t think it broke any bones. But, damn, it hurts! Do you see an exit wound?”
Rodrigo looked behind him and shook his head.
“Then the bullet must still be lodged in my shoulder.”
“Can you keep going?” Rodrigo asked worriedly.
“I don’t have much choice,” said Stephano, grimacing. “Take a look into the street. See what our friends are doing.”
Rodrigo peered around the corner of the building. “The two killers are now on foot, looking for us. I see Piefer’s carriage, but I can’t see him.”
“He’s probably on foot, as well. We have to reach Canal Street. I don’t suppose this alley cuts through to the next street over?”
Rodrigo ran down the alley and returned to report. “It’s a dead end. But I did find this.” He exhibited a woman’s linen underskirt and a man’s wool coat. “Found these on a clothesline. Don’t worry. I left a silver piece in the woman’s stocking as payment.”
Rodrigo tore up the underskirt to use as a sling, which he wrapped around Stephano’s arm. He eased off Stephano’s bloodstained coat and draped the wool coat over his shoulder.
“Now you won’t draw so much attention.”
“We can’t stay here,” said Stephano, once his arm was bandaged. “Piefer’s men will assume we’re hiding, and alleys will be the first place they’ll look. Our best chance is out there, mixing with the people.”
Rodrigo took one more look into the street. He reported that Piefer’s men had split up, one taking the north side of the road and the other the south. He and Stephano plunged into the crowd. Traffic was moving on the street again, under the direction of a policeman.
Rodrigo stopped. “The police! We should report Piefer to the police!”
“And you’d be the one they’d arrest,” said Stephano grimly. “Dueling is against the law, which makes the death of Valazquez murder. The honorable Sir Richard Piefer would tell them you shot Valazquez, and we can’t prove that you didn’t.”
“My God!” Rodrigo cried, horrified. “I’m a wanted man!”
“I’ll talk to my mother,” said Stephano. “The countess will see to it that the right people are bribed and paid off and the murder is hushed up. She’s good at that sort of thing. We’ll add the cost in as a business expense related to Alcazar.”
“So you think this has something to do with Alcazar? But why do they want to kill me?” Rodrigo demanded.
Stephano’s mind had been grappling with this question; suddenly he had an answer.
“Because you are a crafter; a highly skilled crafter,” Stephano said. “And because someone knows you are investigating the disappearance of Alcazar, also a crafter. Someone knows this because they had a man watching Alcazar’s apartment…”
And then Stephano knew where he had seen Sir Richard Piefer.
“Piefer is Slouch Hat!” he said to Rodrigo. “That is why he had looked familiar to me! I remember thinking Slouch Hat looked like a jongleur, like a man who has been on the stage, an actor.”
“But then who is he and why was he trying to kill us?” Rodrigo asked, bewildered.
Stephano’s mind, once it got going, was now racing along. “Because Slouch Hat/Piefer was afraid you had discovered something related to Alcazar.”
“But I didn’t, except the possibility that Alcazar has ties to Westfirth…”
“Piefer couldn’t know that. He tried to kill you just on the possibility that you had learned something!”
“And poor Valazquez?” Rodrigo asked.
“He was just a cat’s-paw; a hotheaded young man who could be easily lured into fighting a duel. You were telling the truth, weren’t you?” Stephano said remorsefully. “You said you didn’t write those letters. I should have believed you.”
“I can understand why you wouldn’t,” said Rodrigo with a faint smile. “You are right. My life as a reprobate was bound to catch up with me.”
“As for the wretched Valazquez, he was supposed to kill you and, when he didn’t, Piefer killed him so that there would be no witnesses.”
“If Alcazar found a way to fully meld magic and metal, such a discovery would definitely be worth killing a few people,” said Rodrigo. He regarded his friend in concern. “You don’t look good. How are you doing?”
Stephano shivered. He was starting to grow feverish. “I’m all right,” he lied.
Rodrigo glanced behind. “We’ve been spotted. Piefer’s assassins are catching up. I believe that lane cuts through.”
The entrance of a small, narrow street was on the opposite side. They darted recklessly in front of a cab, forcing the driver to rein in his horse to avoid hitting them. He lashed at them angrily with his whip as they dashed past. They ran down the lane, not stopping to look, hoping that their sudden movement had caught the two assassins off guard.
At the end of the lane, Stephano had to stop. He could feel himself weakening. He leaned against a wall, shaking with chills.
“Not much farther,” said Rodrigo. “We’re on Canal Street. I can see the Cloud Hopper from here.”
“Just… give me a moment to rest,” Stephano said.
Rodrigo looked back down the lane.
“We don’t have a moment, my friend.”
Stephano sucked in his breath. “All right. Let’s go.”
He tried to take a step, staggered, and nearly fell. Rodrigo put his arm around his friend and half-dragged, half-carried Stephano toward the Cloud Hopper.
As the name implied, Canal Street bordered the largest, longest, and oldest of the canals. Originally natural formations-deep ravines that cut inland-the canals had been magically extended by crafters, who had used their magic to blast through the rock. Although the canals resembled waterbearing canals, these canals were filled with the Breath, not water, and were used by smaller craft to enter the city. Larger craft, such as the naval ships, were not permitted into the city at all, and had to dock at the wharf, which was some distance away.
Floating wherries and barges sailed up and down the canals, delivering passengers and goods to various parts of the city. Trundler houseboats, such as the Cloud Hopper, docked in the stalls, paying a fee for the privilege. The Royal Barge was there, ready for use. The grand bishop and many other nobles had their own private yachts, as these luxurious vessels were known. The yachts and the Royal Barge cruised the canals on fine nights.
Canal Street was lined with warehouses, taverns, and market stalls that sold goods fresh off the barges. Stevedores loaded and unloaded cargo. Vendors in the stalls shouted out their wares. Buyers went from stall to stall, examining the vegetables, the slabs of beef, and the fish fresh-caught in the lakes in the mountains.
Stephano and Rodrigo mingled with the buyers, going from stall to stall, making their way down the street to where the Cloud Hopper was docked.
“My poor friend can’t hold his ale,” Rodrigo remarked to those who stared as they stumbled past.
Canal Street was not as crowded as the other city streets, and Piefer’s assassins were closing in. Stephano kept going by sheer will alone; moving in a kind of pain-tinged daze.
He was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, when Rodrigo steered him to a halt. They had left the market area of Canal Street behind without Stephano even knowing it and were in a quieter area, surrounded by large warehouses.
“We’re here,” Rodrigo said, holding onto Stephano. “We made it. Well, almost.”
Stephano could see the Cloud Hopper tethered to the dock. The houseboat measured close to sixty feet in length, with a raised sterncastle and forecastle and a full lower deck. She had an upper and lower mast, along with an upper boom. Short wings extended out from the hull from just behind the curve of the bow and ending in front of the sterncastle. Airscrews, used for maneuvering, were mounted into the rear edge of each wing.
A refined and concentrated form of the Breath was stored in the balloons that were tethered to the mainmast and boom. The Breath in the balloons could be magically charged to create a much greater amount of lift than was present in the Breath naturally. The Breath was also trapped inside the lift tanks built into the hull at the base of the Cloud Hopper’s stubby wings. The lift tanks were wooden barrels with a thin iron lining set with protective magical constructs that allowed the tank to be pressurized, thus providing even greater lift capability. Cables connected both the balloons and the tanks to the helm-a brass panel inscribed with magical constructs. The helmsman could control the amount of lift in the balloons and the tanks, as well as the magical energy that powered the airscrews from this panel. Spare tanks built into the hull contained additional quantities of the gas, should the balloons tear or the tanks rupture.
To reach the boat, Stephano and Rodrigo would have to cross the boardwalk-a promenade made of wooden planks that ran the length of Canal Street. The boardwalk was a popular place for people to take a stroll on a fine Breadun afternoon. A fence running along the boardwalk protected pedestrians from tumbling (or jumping) into the canal. Piers led from the boardwalk to the stalls where the barges and houseboats were moored.
Today being a weekday, the promenade was empty. The Cloud Hopper was the only houseboat currently docked in this part of the canal. The entire broad expanse of boardwalk lay between Stephano and Rodrigo and the houseboat. They would be easy targets for Piefer’s assassins, who had drawn their pistols and were coming toward them.
Dag paced anxiously back and forth on the prow of the Cloud Hopper. Miri stood beside him, both of them worried. They had not yet caught sight of Rodrigo and Stephano, who were keeping to the shadows. And waiting on the promenade for news was Benoit.
“Dag!” Rodrigo risked a shout and waved. “We need help!” He pointed at the two assassins.
Dag heard, looked, and understood. He had obviously been expecting trouble, because he had his blunderbuss ready, propped against the ship’s rail. He picked it up and swiftly loaded it with shot and powder.
“There’s going to be gunfire,” he told Miri, his words booming through the quiet. “Tell Gythe to stay below with Doctor Ellington. You do whatever it is you do to get this boat airborne.”
“Do you need help?” Miri yelled back. She was a fair shot with a pistol, and Dag said she was the fastest person at reloading he’d ever known.
“No,” said Dag coolly. “There’s only two of them. I can handle it. You get ready to take us out into the Breath.”
“Mr. Benoit,” he shouted to the old man on the pier, who had been gesticulating wildly with his cane at the sight of Rodrigo. “I suggest you seek cover!”
Benoit hobbled over to crouch behind a large barrel of creosote that had been left on the pier. He drew an ancient pistol.
“Who am I shooting at?” he asked, squinting his eyes to see.
“No one!” Dag shouted, more frightened of the old man’s shaking hand than he was of the assassins.
Dag raised the blunderbuss to his shoulder and yelled at Rodrigo and Stephano. “Run for it! I’ll cover you!”
“One last effort,” said Rodrigo. “Can you make it?”
Stephano nodded. Dag took aim.
“Now!” Rodrigo said. He ran, and Stephano stumbled across the boardwalk.
A gate in the fence permitted access to the pier. The two assassins fired their pistols and Dag fired off the blunderbuss simultaneously. Rodrigo reached out his hand to open the gate. A bullet grazed it. Splinters flew. Rodrigo swore and snatched back his bleeding hand. He kicked open the gate and ran through it and onto the pier. Stephano stumbled and fell to the ground.
A peppering shot from the blunderbuss forced the two assassins to seek cover. Rodrigo ran back to grab hold of Stephano, who had managed to regain his feet. Miri lowered the gangplank. Rodrigo helped Stephano to cross to the Cloud Hopper.
“You’re bleeding!” said Miri to Stephano, and she put her arm around him.
“I’m bleeding, too,” Rodrigo said, holding out his hand.
Miri snorted. “Make yourself useful. Go cast off the line!”
Dag dropped the blunderbuss and drew a long-barreled pistol. The two assassins raised their heads. Dag fired, and they ducked back down.
“Cast off!” he yelled to Rodrigo.
Miri lowered Stephano to the deck, then ran over to the helm, which was located on the upper part of the forecastle. She stopped when she saw Gythe was already there, handling the controls.
“I told you to stay below deck!” Miri told her sister.
Gythe pointed at Stephano and then turned away. Miri regarded her in frustration, then decided that arguing would waste too much time. She went back to tend to Stephano.
Rodrigo ran along the pier to where a thick rope held the boat tethered to the dock. As he leaned down to take hold of the line, a bullet tore through the air where his head had been. Rodrigo dropped to the pier with a panicked howl.
“That was a damn fine shot,” said Dag, impressed. He looked around, puzzled. “Where did it come from?”
“Piefer!” Stephano gasped. “Everyone take cover!”
He grabbed hold of Miri and dragged her down beside him on the deck. Gythe crouched behind the protective shielding surrounding the boat’s controls. Rodrigo remained on the pier, hugging the wooden planks. Dag picked up another pistol.
“Dag, get down!” Stephano yelled. “Piefer’s using one of those new-fangled rifles!”
“Is he?” said Dag, adding wistfully, “I’d dearly love to get my hands on one of those!”
A bullet went zinging past his head. Dag had been keeping watch for the muzzle flash and, seeing it, he aimed his pistol and fired. Realizing he’d been spotted, Piefer ran out of the shadows.
“He’s on the move,” Dag called. “Cast off!”
“Are you sure he’s gone?” Rodrigo asked fearfully.
“Cast off!” Dag roared.
Rodrigo crawled on his hands and knees to reach the line, wrestled with it a moment, then managed to get it free. The Cloud Hopper started to drift away. Gythe steered the houseboat, keeping it close to the pier, and Miri yelled for Rodrigo to jump for it.
Rodrigo had just begun to run toward the gangplank, when one of Piefer’s men leaped up suddenly from behind the fence line and brought his pistol to bear, aiming for Rodrigo. Dag saw the danger, but he was reloading and there was nothing he could do except shout a warning.
A shot fired, coming from the vicinity of the creosote barrel. The assassin spun around from the force of the bullet and fell onto the boardwalk.
Benoit stood up, waving the smoking pistol and shouting defiantly, “Did you see that, sir?”
“You old fool, get out of here!” Stephano yelled. “Help me to my feet, Miri! He’s going to get himself killed!”
“He’s taking your advice, Captain,” Dag reported, keeping an eye on Benoit, who had left his creosote barrel and was making a dash for one of the warehouses. Dag added in admiring tones, “He can move damn fast for a cripple.”
Rodrigo raced across the gangplank. Dag heaved it in while Gythe sent power into the helm. According to the Church, channelers could touch God’s Hand as He sent magic flowing through the world and open themselves up to act as a conduit. Gythe could hear God’s voice like a song and draw His strength into herself and then direct the magical energy into the control panel’s constructs. The magical energy arced through the gas and caused the boat to begin to rise.
The Cloud Hopper’s two airscrews began to whirl; the sails billowed. Gythe turned the starboard airscrew to full ahead and the larboard screws to full reverse, swinging the bow of the boat toward the harbor. A strong breeze filled the Cloud Hopper’s sails and the boat drifted down the canal toward the harbor. Beyond was the vast expanse and pink-tinged mists of the Breath.
Piefer fired again as the Cloud Hopper began to put distance between them. Stephano was leaning against the rail, ignoring Miri’s scolding and her urgent attempts to make him go below. He saw the flash and heard the report and looked around anxiously. Piefer had missed apparently; everyone was safe.
The sail billowed and the houseboat gained speed. The gap between the ship and pier widened. As Stephano watched the Freyan lower his gun, he was back in the cemetery watching Piefer lower his pistol as Valazquez’s corpse, with its shattered bloody pulp of a head, sagged to the ground.
Sir Richard Piefer. Slouch Hat. Which was he? Who was he? A noble lord who could act the part of a drunken idler or an idler who could take the part of a noble lord? Whoever he was, he had the means and connections to hire spies and assassins and arm them and himself with rare and expensive rifles. Stephano stared at the Freyan, fixing his face in his mind.
“I don’t know who the Hell you are,” Stephano shouted. “But you and I will meet again. That’s a promise.”
The Freyan smiled at Stephano and shrugged with his languid grace. He thrust his pistol in his belt, tucked his rifle in the crook of his arm, and strolled off into the shadows.
Stephano’s strength gave out. He felt himself falling and had the horrible idea he was falling into the emptiness of the Breath, but Dag caught hold of him and lowered him down. He saw Miri’s frightened face, and he smiled to reassure her, and then he sank into a dark dream in which he was driving a hansom cab through the halls of the palace, trying to find his father…
Dubois had followed Harrington and the assassins as they were following Stephano and Rodrigo. Dubois had not taken part in the fight, for the crew of the Cloud Hopper seemed to have that matter in hand. He stood on the pier and watched the Trundler boat sail safely away. He recognized the big man, Dag, from the episode in the park, as well as the two pretty female Trundlers who manned and probably owned the boat. Dubois watched Harrington and his remaining assassin toss the body of their compatriot into the canal and then separate.
Dubois tailed Harrington back to his inn. Finding his own agent still on duty in a tavern across the street, Dubois gave him the sign that he was to continue to keep an eye on Harrington, and returned to his lodgings.
An eventful morning, Dubois thought, as he dined on roasted fowl and suet pudding.
While he ate, he read over a report, just delivered from the bishop, further detailing the incident at the Abbey of Saint Agnes where a hundred women of God had been murdered in a most horrible and gruesome manner. A lone survivor told a very strange story. Dubois didn’t know what to make of it. The thought occurred to him that the massacre at the abbey might have something to do with Sir Henry Wallace. Dubois couldn’t see for the life of him how a missing journeyman could be connected to this terrible tragedy, but he resolved to keep an open mind. Dubois considered paying the abbey a visit.
His meal finished, Dubois picked up the volume, A Crafter’s Guide to Metallurgy, poured himself a glass of port, and began to leaf idly through the pages. He had just finished drinking his wine when his agent arrived with news that Harrington had booked passage on a coach bound for Westfirth, leaving that afternoon.
“He is going to report to Sir Henry,” Dubois guessed, rubbing his hands.
He hastily packed a bag and made ready to travel. Before he left, he dashed off a letter and gave it to his agent with orders to deliver it immediately to the bishop.
The letter consisted of one sentence: Find out what happened at the Royal Armory!