He scanned the room, searching for her face in the crowd. He didn’t see her.
“Your Honor!” he blurted out. “The woman Mrs. Reine is talking about is the one responsible for the attack. She—”
“Mr. Landcross!” the magistrate bellowed. “You need to be silent!”
“That woman is the cause of all of this,” he went on.
“Really?” his lawyer spoke up. “I thought it was the German fellow, Volker Jäger?”
Pierce turned to him and clutched his fists. Why couldn’t the bloke just stay quiet?
“Remove him,” the judge ordered the guards.
The guards pulled Pierce out of the dock and began dragging him out the door. “She is a bloody witch who wants me dead!” he hollered. “She calls herself Mother of Craft!”
It took six soldiers for the task, and each struggled to do their job. Pierce kept trying to approach the bench and explain his side of things. After he was eventually dragged out, the trial continued.
The guards returned Pierce to the holding room for the remainder of the trial. Voices from other witnesses were barely understandable through the closed doors.
The armed guards posted at both entrances of the holding room were on high alert when someone entered through the side door. They relaxed when they saw it was Darius.
“What the bloody hell do you want?” Pierce grumbled.
“That was quite a show you put on out there,” Darius said, standing in front of Pierce where he was sitting on a bench with his chin resting on his folded hands. “Thanks to your rant, you’ve lost your chance to take the stand.”
“But it’s true,” Pierce stated. “Her name is Freya Bates.” He turned his attention on Darius. The man almost seemed to recognize the name. “Freya Bates. Do you know her?”
Darius’s eyes darted around the room as if searching for something. Eventually, he shook it off. “And why does she want you dead?”
Pierce wasn’t sure how to explain without sounding completely off his rocker. Still, Darius had experienced a thing or two in his life. Special kinds of entities were known to exist all over the world. Many carried mysteries that no regular human being could ever understand. Why should this be any harder to digest?
“She wants to create a djinn using the bloodlines from my child and hers, and the only way she can take command of it is if she’s the only living parent.” He shut his eyes and set his forehead against his shackled hands, which were folded together. “That’s why she had Frederica killed. She was the mother of our son.”
“The actress?”
“Aye,” he answered somberly.
“You’re truly grasping at straws, aren’t you?”
“I don’t expect you to believe me,” he said through a deep, crestfallen sigh.
“I don’t,” Darius put in icily. “And neither will the court.”
Darius marched off and slammed the door on the way out.
“Figures,” Pierce muttered.
An hour later, the guards led Pierce back into the courtroom. Once more, he stood in the dock before the magistrate. The jury had just finished deliberating and had filed inside. Judge Laird Spencer glared at Pierce as if daring him to speak. Pierce, hungry and exhausted, had no fight left in him to make even a peep.
“Have you reached a verdict?” the magistrate asked the jury.
The head juryman stood. “Aye, my lord. We have.”
“Speak it.”
“We the jury,” the bloke announced loudly as if reciting lines on a stage, “find the defendant, Pierce Landcross, guilty on all accounts.”
Some people gasped, while other chattered. Euan banged his hand once on the table. Pierce closed his eyes and sighed in despair. Their verdict wasn’t at all surprising, although it still left his chest aching from heartbreak.
“Then let it be stated,” said the judge to the clerks. “Pierce Landcross has been found guilty of railroad robbery and high treason. I shall now pass sentencing.”
Pierce already knew what was coming next.
“Mr. Landcross, for your crimes, I hereby condemn you to death by hanging. On the morrow, you shall be taken from the place from whence you came and there be taken to a place of execution, where you will hang by the neck until your body is dead. May God have mercy upon your soul.”
With a slam of his gavel, Pierce’s fate was sealed.
* * *
Euan Wood hurried out of the court building shortly after the judge departed from the courtroom. Outside, he searched around a moment before spying a black carriage parked on the side of the road. He rushed over to it and knocked.
“Enter, Mr. Wood,” came a female voice.
He opened the door and clambered inside.
“Take a seat,” commanded the woman with the violet eyes. “You lost, I see.”
“It wasn’t too hard, despite the bloke handing out questions for me to ask. He’s smart, that one. Pity what’s going to happen to him.”
“It is a good thing you are a bad attorney, Mr. Wood. That is why I chose you to represent him.”
He frowned. “Yes, well, since I have done as you asked and fumbled the case, will you please fix my, erm, condition?”
“You mean your impotency?”
His face flushed red. “Yes.”
“Fine.” She gazed out the window. “You are free to return to screwing your whores. Might I suggest you have your pox problem examined by a physician first before you do so?”
“Pardon? The pox?”
“Indeed. The virus has been inside you for a couple of days now. You should be experiencing symptoms soon. Good day, Mr. Wood.”
Unable to say anything, Euan exited the stagecoach and stood on the sidewalk. He watched the coach roll down the road. He suddenly felt an itch between his legs.
Chapter Seventeen
Refusal
Clover stared at the same black spot upon her paper for a long time. The inkblot at the end of her fountain pen had spread as far as it could extend.
Her thoughts drifted constantly to things other than her writing. She tried to put words down, but her worries kept taking her away from them.
Not long ago, she had written passionately in her newest manuscript about everything that had happened after leaving Reading, the time she spent with Kolt, and the heart-to-heart conversation between her and Archie. Of course, everyone’s names were changed.
Clover loved writing. It wasn’t a hobby or a way to pass the time. Writing had become fused to her very soul, and it had developed and changed with her throughout the stages of her life. During the dull and sometimes frightening moments in her childhood, writing had taken her to other worlds. As a child, she had staged herself as its protagonist, and it gave her a new existence each time she touched pen to paper. It wasn’t until she’d branched out and wrote The Adventures of Pierce Landcross that she really dug deep into her storytelling potential. She had found new ground and had strengthened her skills in difficult areas, such as dialog, simply by copying exactly what people around her were saying. It gave her enough confidence to submit the story to publishers, and when the books became a success, she’d gained empowerment.
In this dire moment, however, there was no escape. Sometimes, reality was much too daunting to overcome.
The night before, after Prince Albert had questioned her and her brother about Pierce, and then forced them to stay at the palace, she hadn’t been able to write a single word. Too many realities had clouded her creativity. She worried for Kolt and wanted to know where he was. He must be so distraught over the loss of his mother. Pierce had been arrested and was being tried today, and she and Archie’s own freedom hung in the balance.
A knock came from the hallway outside. She went to the door and opened it. The guards standing by her doorway kept a sharp eye on her as she stepped past them just enough to see a palace servant speaking to Archie a little farther down the corridor. Clover surmised he was a messenger bringing word about the trial.
As
the messenger spoke to him, Archie’s face grew grim and he bowed his head.
“What is it?” she demanded.
The men looked to her.
In a voice heavy with sorrow, her brother said, “The court found him guilty. He’s going to be hanged tomorrow morning.”
Clover drew in a long breath and held it in as she turned and retreated into her room. She gently closed the door, took several steps inside, and collapsed to the floor, weeping.
* * *
Robert and Penelope were quiet on the carriage ride home. They stared out of their own windows, holding hands and saying nothing. Robert was deep in thought.
If only there had been more time before the trial began, they might have had a chance. The Queen might have awakened and explained what really happened, or evidence might have surfaced to prove Pierce was innocent. There just wasn’t time for any of that.
Additionally there was another matter to concern them.
“Do you think Kolt will be at our house?” Penelope asked, breaking the silence.
“I doubt it. After I bring you home, I’ll go to the hotel where his mother was staying and hope for the best.”
“I cannot believe he’s Pierce’s son.”
Robert snorted. “I can. With Pierce, there is always a surprise. I must find Kolt, though, before that witch does.”
Penelope’s worried eyes betrayed her thoughts. She knew, as well as he, that Freya might already have him.
“I know,” he sighed softly. “I have to try, even if it’s too late.”
“You’re a good friend, Robert Blackbird. Not many would go to such lengths as you have.”
“I could have done more,” he admitted regretfully.
His eyes filled with tears. “I shall need to tell Pierce’s wife. He . . . he asked me to.”
Penelope stroked his cheek and started to cry with him. “And I’ll be by your side the whole way, my love.”
* * *
Chief Sea Wind made sure everything was in place. His coat had been pressed, the buttons polished. His hair was pulled back neatly with each feather in his hair tied in perfectly. His boots had no blemishes. In France, the young man, Nico, had taken their clothing in to be cleaned, for the chief needed to look his best if he was going to seek an audience with a prince.
By afternoon, the Ekta had dropped anchor at the Port of London. Her rudder was now repaired. Most of the crew stayed onboard to continue with the ship repairs while their chief came ashore.
He, his wife, Waves of Strength—dressed in her best buckskin gown—Sees Beyond, and Nico joining them. They walked through the streets of London. Naturally, people stopped and stared, gawking and talking amongst themselves about them. Eventually, the chief and the others were able to hail a carriage willing to take them, and soon after, they were let off at Buckingham Palace.
When they reached the palace gates, Nico stepped in and announced to the guards, “Captain Sea Wind of the Apache Sea Warriors here, seeking an audience with Prince Albert.”
* * *
Albert sat in his office, struggling to continue with his duties toward his country. It helped to learn Landcross had been found guilty, and at long last, would be put to death come morning. Not that he had doubted the jury’s verdict would be anything different. The thought had crossed his mind, however. Landcross was manipulative. Even Albert’s own wife had wanted the trickster to live, even though Landcross had attempted to steal from her and had left her tied to a chair.
Pierce Landcross was nothing more than a worthless thief who caused destruction everywhere he went.
Parliament was fed up trying to figure out ways to pay for the damages he’d caused. Once the trapdoor fell beneath Landcross’s feet, it would finally be over.
“Your Majesty,” called a servant at the doorway.
His head shot up from his work. “Is it my wife? Has she awakened?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but no.”
Albert’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach. His disappointment hardened his mood. “I’m busy,” he growled. “What is it?”
“Sir, there is a Captain Sea Wind here to see you.”
Albert thought a moment. “Captain Sea Wind? The commander of the Apache Sea Warriors?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Why?”
“He did not elaborate, sir. He wishes to speak to you.”
Albert was intrigued.
“He waits for you outside the gates, sir. What shall you have me do?”
“Let him enter. I shall receive him in the State Room.”
In the course of his life, Albert had met many types of people from all over the globe, but never had he met any of the Sea Warriors. He had to admit it was quite thrilling.
When he arrived at the State Room, he discovered not one, but three Indians, and a white man waiting for him. The men bowed, and the women curtsied humbly to him.
“Bonjour,” Albert greeted, knowing they spoke French. “Bienvenue chez moi.”
“Merci, monsieur,” said a tall man wearing a blue French sailor’s coat. “It is an honor to be here.”
“You must be Captain Sea Wind. I have heard a lot about you over the years.” He looked to the slender woman standing next to the captain, dressed in a white buckskin gown. “And you must be Mrs. Waves of Strength. A pleasure.”
“The pleasure is all mine, my lord,” she said with another curtsy.
Their civilized manner surprised him. They each had presented themselves accordingly. And although they were mostly dressed in their native clothing, their outfits were clean and odorless. The fair-haired young man with them even wore a suit that appeared brand-new.
“Would you care for anything?” the prince offered. “Coffee? Tea and biscuits?”
“Merci, Monseigneur, but no,” declined the captain. “However, may I request we speak outside? I do not do well inside closed quarters.”
Albert quickly understood. Their world was the great wide ocean, vast and without walls. As civil as they acted, they were still people of the sea.
“I see. Then let us speak in the garden, shall we?”
In the chilly, dull, late October afternoon, Albert walked alongside the captain down the path, cutting through the lifeless flowerbeds. The rest of the crew walked behind them with a pair of Royal Guards following.
“I do wish the flowers were in bloom,” Albert commented, walking with hands clasped behind him. “My wife loves the flowers.”
“I have heard about what has happened to your wife,” informed the captain. “I am truly sorry. We have prayed to the Great Spirit for her recovery.”
“I thank you, Captain Sea Wind. Your prayers are most welcome.”
“I understand that Pierce Landcross is being held responsible,” Captain Sea Wind said.
“He is. In fact, he was tried today and committed to death.”
The captain was silent for a moment. “I have also learned such things.”
Albert caught something in his poignant tone. “I detect remorse, good sir. I am fearful to ask. Is Landcross the reason for your coming to see me today?”
“It is. I have come to request that you grant mercy upon him.”
Albert stopped, as did the captain. Anger began building in his core—not at his dark-skinned guest, but at himself for not seeing this sooner.
“I should have assumed as much,” he grunted. “All right, Captain, enlighten me. Why should I spare the life of the man who attempted to kill my wife?”
“Because he did no such thing, my lord,” the woman who had introduced herself as Sees Beyond spoke up.
She approached him and said in English, “He has been set up by a witch named Freya Bates.”
“Ah, yes. I was told Landcross was thrown out of court for ranting on about some witch wanting him dead. Creative, I must say.”
“It is the truth, Your Majesty,” the young man named Nico Joubert proclaimed. “My cousin—”
“Your cousin?” Albert quickly asked.
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“Oui, Monseigneur. Pierce is my cousin. And I know he never wanted to harm anyone, especially not the Queen.”
“It is the witch who has cast a spell upon the Queen,” explained Sees Beyond. “Keeping her unconscious and quiet until Pierce is dead.”
“Are you saying my wife would say he is innocent?”
Sees Beyond nodded. “My spirits tell me so, yes, my lord. That is how I’ve learned about his capture, his trial, and his . . .” She stopped and took a deep, ragged breath as her emotions got the better of her. “. . . his sentencing.”
A tear rolled down her face, with more on the way—if she let them. Her mournful expression was both beautiful and tragic, and it could make angels weep.
“Your Majesty,” Waves of Strength broke in, stepping forward. “Believe me when I say that I do not care for Landcross.”
“Ah, finally, someone else who shares my sentiments towards the man.”
“Yes, we seemed to be in the minority in that regard. He shot me once, and personally, he annoys me.”
Landcross shot her? Albert thought.
“Yet, despite it all, he has saved our lives more than once. When it comes to those he cares about, he is selfless with his own life. He is a bastard, but a good bastard. I, too, ask for his freedom. Please, my lord, allow us to bring him home.”
Her coarse language did little to faze Albert. It was a lot for him to absorb, though. Spirits and witches. These were not normal things in his world. Regardless, he questioned to himself. Was this witch really keeping Victoria asleep? No, it was foolish thinking.
“Captain Sea Wind,” he said with respect. “I see you are an honorable man. You and I have fought the same fight regarding slavery, to which I personally pay you homage for your years of dedication to such a noble cause. But given that you are Landcross’s friend, I, therefore, believe you will say anything to persuade me to grant him his freedom. I am truly sorry, but his sentence of death shall be carried out. Excuse me.”
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