Third Starlighter (Tales of Starlight)

by Bryan Davis

  “Trust me. The men will come if they have a leader. When you meet Captain Reed as his newly adopted daughter, you just have to convince him of the truth.”

  “He believes me, but his heart is chained.” She picked up the sword. “His daughter is Orion’s prisoner. I have to find her and the other commanders’ children.”

  Dunwoody stroked his chin. “There aren’t many places he could keep them. The dungeon would be the obvious place, but he emptied every cell.”

  “I know. I was there not long ago. It was as quiet as a …” She looked up at him, blinking. “A rat.”

  “No, my dear, the idiom is ‘as quiet as a—’”

  “I know the idiom!” she hissed. “I heard something down there. I thought it was a rat, but maybe it wasn’t. I called, and no one answered, but maybe they were asleep.”

  “Or gagged. It seems that Leo is fond of that device. He prefers his prisoners to be silent.”

  “But he doesn’t know about them. Orion captured them to keep Maelstrom—” She snapped her fingers. “Orion emptied the dungeon so they could leave it unguarded, and no one would think there are prisoners within an unguarded dungeon. He did it to fool Maelstrom.”

  Dunwoody tapped the side of his head with a finger. “Excellent thinking. You learned what I taught you after all.”

  She batted the comment away. “So Captain Reed and I will rescue his daughter and the others, and we’ll have the leader we need.”

  “Then while you are amassing an attack force, I will take care of your father’s situation. We will go into hiding until you return.”

  She tilted her head. “How will you get him out?”

  “With a parting gift from Gregor.” Dunwoody lifted a metal ring filled with keys. “And I have a potion that will make even the most diligent guard snooze for hours, and he need only sniff it to succumb.”

  “That’s great, Professor, just great. I’ll leave it to you, then.” Marcelle crawled out and stood, shaking her arms and legs to straighten her oversized cloak. “How are you going to get to the palace?”

  Still under the gallows, Dunwoody peeked out. “I will wait until dark. Your father’s trial isn’t until tomorrow.”

  She attached the scabbard to her belt. The baggy cloak hid it beautifully. “When the battles are over, should I look for you in your escape tunnel?”

  “Yes. I have already stored enough food and water there to last for quite some time. If we run out, Gregor’s keys will allow for nighttime kitchen raids. We will be fine.”

  She extended a hand. “I’ll need the dungeon key.”

  “You might need more than that.” He detached a long brown key with a notched square end and gave her the ring. “I will take the palace’s master key. You take the rest.”

  She pushed the ring into her tunic’s pocket. “Do me one favor. I need a letter of marque to invade Dracon. Can you make a copy of one from the archives?”

  “Of course, but you would need the governor’s signature before you could use it to gather soldiers and provisions.”

  She pressed a thumb against her chest. “Leave that to me. Just have it ready as soon as possible.”

  “Very well. I will put it in the tunnel tonight. Look for it there.”

  “Thank you, my friend.” Marcelle pulled the hood over her eyes. “Pray for me.”

  Walking with her head bowed, she hurried around the palace and approached the guard at the front gate. With a peach-fuzz mustache and sandy hair tied in a ponytail, he looked familiar, one of the young men who had recently graduated from her training class. What was his name? Evan? Yes, it was Evan.

  As she drew near, Evan stood at attention. “What may I do for you, Miss?”

  Marcelle kept her head low and forced the same young-girl voice she used when impersonating Penelope. “I have an order here, sir.” She pulled the page from her pocket and extended it, her hand shaking. “I hope you can help me.”

  Evan took the note, unfolded it, and began reading. “Ah! As I suspected, you’re an orphan.” He gave her a convincing look of sympathy. “I am terribly sorry to hear about your loss.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Marcelle said, feigning a shattered voice. “You are kind.”

  “I will escort you to the lobby and summon one of the maids to take you to the society office.” After ushering her through the gate, he closed and locked it. “Come with me.”

  As she followed him on a gently winding path across the pristine lawn, she looked back and gathered in the sights and sounds of the village. Beyond the guard fence, people walked along the cobblestone streets, going about their business, some pushing carts filled with produce or books or household wares, others carrying hoes, shovels, or other farming implements. One man gnawed on a loaf during his noontime break. Children ran in circles around mothers as they strolled to market. Some smiled, some laughed, a few even sang. Most had likely witnessed her execution earlier that day, and now they went about their business as if nothing had happened.

  She turned again and focused on Evan’s ponytail as it bounced while he marched. It seemed that no one cared that Marcelle, daughter of Issachar the banker, had died. No one wept for her. No one wore a mourner’s cloak. What did her life mean to the townsfolk? If she could pass away in a violent death at the hands of a cruel tyrant while no one cared, what difference did it make whether she lived at all?

  After they ascended the stairs to the main entry, Evan opened the door, again standing at attention. She stopped in front of him and, closing the hood around her face, looked up into his eyes— gray and sincere under dark eyebrows. “Excuse me, sir. I was wondering if you could tell me something.”

  “Just ask, Miss. I will do my best.”

  She ran her finger along the jamb. Unlike much of the palace, this door and its surrounding framework had no marble, only wood and glass. “Did you see the execution this morning?”

  “I did. I went on duty shortly afterward.”

  “Did you know the woman?”

  Evan nodded. “She was my training teacher for a year, a stellar swordplayer, one of the finest in the land.”

  “Then I suppose you’re saddened by her death.”

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it. She was a bossy sort, hotheaded and temperamental. She sliced me up with her tongue more than a few times, if you know what I mean.”

  Marcelle blinked. How could she argue with his assessment? She often had been hotheaded in class. Sometimes student laziness brought out the worst in her. “Yes, I think I know what you mean.”

  “I feel bad for her father, though. He is a fine gentleman who has been ill of late. I fear that her passing will be a burden too heavy for his weakened state.”

  “I understand.” She kept her focus on his eyes. This might be a good time to get details she had forgotten to ask Dunwoody about. “When Marcelle’s father rushed in to try to save her, I could no longer bear to watch. Could you tell me what happened?”

  “It was extraordinary. I didn’t know the old fellow had it in him.” Evan began pumping his arms and legs. “He ran up the wood and through the fire, just like it was nothing. As soon as he jumped down to the stake, a wall of flames erupted around him and Marcelle. Then she exploded and disappeared.” He snapped his fingers. “Gone in an instant.”

  “Then what did her father do?”

  “Did you see the water barrel?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, he ran back and threw dipper after dipper on the fire. It was a tragic sight, really, a poor, grieving father working so hard for a lost cause. He cried so bitterly, nearly everyone cried with him, and since Marcelle was already dead, Orion did nothing to stop him. In fact, he called for two guards to help, and they kept pouring water until they doused the flames.”

  She lowered her head. “I know how her father felt.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Did Counselor Leo help put out the flames?” She looked up at him again. “Or was it too smoky for you to see?”<
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  Evan shook his head. “He seemed quite angry and left. I haven’t seen him since. It’s too bad, though. The governor made quite a moving speech about a father’s love for his daughter and—” He looked back at the main gate. “Someone’s waiting for entry.”

  “Oh. Well, I can find my way.” She looked through a palace window and pointed at a maid dusting a statue. “I’ll just ask her.”

  “Fine.” Evan lifted her hand and made ready to kiss it, but she pulled away.

  “I am an orphan!”

  “Oh!” Evan’s face flushed. “I forgot. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t!”

  She hurried inside and pressed her back against the nearest wall. That was close. With the cloak covering her hand, maybe he hadn’t noticed her frigid skin, but his lips would have.

  After the maid guided her to the society office, and after the clerk—a fat, bearded man with an overly cheery disposition—summoned Captain Reed, Marcelle sat on a cushioned bench in the corridor where she was told to wait for the captain to arrive.

  With early afternoon business taking place, this part of the palace had come alive with passersby—couriers hustling to and fro with message tubes; members of the nobility set walking with heads held high, skin perfumed, and dresses and waistcoats pressed; and guards of various branches marching from station to station.

  Marcelle studied the guards’ body language. With eyes wide and constantly glancing about, they seemed to be on alert, as if searching for something. But what?

  Finally, Captain Reed hustled down the corridor. Although he wore a soldier’s uniform, no sword scabbard slapped his thigh as he hurried. Only a sheathed dagger dressed his hip. Marcelle stayed seated, playing her part. An orphan such as herself probably wouldn’t immediately recognize the captain.

  He sat next to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. She drew back, but he held firm. “I am your prospective father.”

  “Okay.” She settled in her seat and summoned her little-girl voice. “I suppose it’s all right, then.”

  He touched the top of her hood. “May I?”

  She slid away. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

  “Very well. I will honor your grief.” He smiled, though his lips trembled. “Come. My sister will have a comfortable bed and a fine meal prepared by the time we get home.”

  “That sounds good. I’m terribly hungry.” As they rose together, Marcelle turned and faced him. “Captain, thank you for taking me in.”

  “You’re quite welcome.” His smile strengthened. It was lovely— genuine and fatherly. “They tell me your name is Ophelia.”

  She nodded and curtsied, clutching the hood in front of her face. The charade was working perfectly. It was time to pierce his heart. “What should I call you?”

  His lips trembled again. “If you would grant me the honor of calling me Father, I would count it a great blessing.” He quickly waved a hand. “But I understand if you decline. The pain of your father’s recent death is likely a horrible burden to bear.”

  She dipped her knee again. “I respectfully decline, Captain. Perhaps my heart will respond to your charity, and I will change my mind, but for now Father belongs only to one man.”

  “Of course. Of course.” He laid a hand on her back. “Come, Ophelia. I will take you home and—”

  “Wait!” Marcelle stopped. “Will I have any brothers or sisters?”

  A tear trickled down his cheek. “Yes. One brother and one sister. I am bereaved of a wife and another daughter.”

  “I’m sorry. Death of family members is the greatest of tragedies.”

  “Actually, my daughter is missing, which has proved to be an even greater torture, and my wife died three years ago of consumption. I now live with my sister.” His chin quivering, he seemed ready to say more, but he just pressed his lips together and nodded.

  “What a shame!” She pushed her hand into the cloak pocket and felt for the dungeon key ring. This might be the perfect time to get Captain Reed on her side forever. “I think I have a gift for you.”

  “There is no need—”

  “Oh, but there is.” She marched away toward the stairs. “Follow me.”

  * * *

  FOURTEEN

  * * *

  OPHELIA!” Captain Reed called. “Where are you going?” Marcelle didn’t look back. He would follow, and he wouldn’t try to stop her. A father grieving over a daughter wasn’t about to upset a new one.

  Holding the sword against her thigh, she scrambled down the stairs to the bottom level and hustled toward the rear exit. As she drew near, the guard at the door gave her a quizzical look.

  “It’s okay,” Captain Reed said, now only a few paces back. “She’s with me.”

  The guard opened the door and let Marcelle breeze past. Feeling Captain Reed closing in, she picked up her pace and headed straight for the dungeon. As she passed the burning stake, the odor of charred wood drifted by, raising the memory of her talk with Frederick. Soon he would believe her. Getting the army together was all that mattered now.

  When she arrived at the dungeon entrance, she fished out the ring and pushed the largest key into the lock in the trapdoor embedded in the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Captain Reed asked as he caught up. “And where did you get that key?”

  “From a friend.” She turned the lock, heaved open the door, releasing a loud squeak, and stepped down to the first stair. “I have something to show you.”

  His brow bent, he joined her on the stair. “It’s dark and dank in there. It’s no place for a girl.”

  “Exactly why we’re here.” As she continued down the stairs, she pulled the door, forcing Reed down with her. When the door dropped flush with the ground above, plunging them into darkness, the latch fastened, and she pushed the key ring back into her pocket.

  “Now that we’re down here, Ophelia, I hope you will explain yourself.”

  “I will.” She brushed her fingers against the wall. “We’ll have to find our way in the dark.”

  A spark appeared, then a flame crawled over the top of a torch. Captain Reed held the end, his face now illuminated by the rippling glow. “There is always a torch attached to the wall along with flint stones. I was assigned to patrol duty here in my younger days. I thought I would never have to come back.”

  “Let’s hope this is the last visit for both of us.” Marcelle took the torch and soft-stepped down the stairs.

  “Don’t go down there!” Reed’s heavier footsteps clopped from behind. “There are rats and other vermin.”

  “I know, and maybe something else.” She halted at the bottom of the stairs and lifted the torch, flooding the dungeon’s antechamber with flickering orange light.

  He hustled down the rest of the way. “Come, Ophelia, this is no place for—”

  “Captain Reed,” Marcelle said, reverting to her own voice, “haven’t you yet figured out that I’m not who you think I am?”

  He squinted at her. “You haven’t exactly acted like an orphan.”

  She shook her head hard, making her hood drop to her shoulders.

  Captain Reed gasped. “Marcelle! But how did you survive the—”

  “Never mind. Just trust me.” She waved the flame slowly from side to side, illuminating three corridors that led into darkness, one straight ahead and two angling to the sides. As smoke from the torch rose to the wood-beam ceiling and crawled back down the stone-and-mortar walls, she listened. The sounds she had heard during her previous visit here could very well have been rats, so the young prisoners might be anywhere. “Hello?” she called.

  As her voice echoed in triplicate, she listened again. A scraping sound reached her ears, then the distinctive clinking of chains from the center corridor.

  She waved the torch. “Let’s go!”

  When she reached the first set of doors, she pushed the torch between the window’s bars, but the small space wouldn’t allow a peek past t
he flame. “Hello!” she shouted. “Is anyone in here?”

  More clinking sounded farther down the corridor along with louder shuffling.

  “Give me the keys!” Captain Reed said, reaching out a trembling hand. “Hurry!”

  She withdrew the ring and dropped it into his palm. He rushed to the next cell, jammed a key into the lock, and flung the door open. Marcelle caught up and extended the torch into the cell. Nothing. Just empty manacles and chains hanging from the back wall.

  He leaped to the door across the hall and did the same. Marcelle’s torch again found nothing.

  After checking the next set of doors, a loud, rhythmic series of clinks sounded, then a matching series copied the cadence. A third joined in, then a fourth.

  Captain Reed ran to the door closest to the sounds and unlocked it. This time, he opened it slowly while Marcelle eased the torch inside. A girl about twelve years old sat against the back wall with her arms raised, her wrists shackled by manacles attached by chains. With one arm, she was beating the chain against the wall, her mouth gagged and her ankles bound.

  When the girl saw the flame, she stopped and squinted, then screamed into the gag as she pulled desperately against the chains.

  “It’s Ilana, the General’s daughter!” Pulling his dagger from its sheath, Captain Reed rushed inside. He sliced away the gag and sawed through the rope binding her ankles. “Don’t worry, honey! I’ll get you out of here!”

  “Oh, thank you!” she cried, tears flowing. “Thank you!”

  As he tried to unlock the manacles, Marcelle walked in, providing more light. “Do you know how many others are here?” she asked.

  Ilana shook her head. “I hear them, but I never see them.”

  Reed unfastened her left manacle and shifted to the other one. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  “Both. He gives me food and water once a day.”

  “He?” Marcelle asked.

  “Sometimes two other men come,” she said as Reed pulled the other manacle away from her wrist, “but the one I see most often is a man wearing a hood. It’s always too dark to tell much about him, only that he’s sort of tall.”