“Just so,” Dr. Karlavaegen said, sounding pleased. “And since the act of enchanting an object brings it more into harmony with its perfect self—as the Magus Plato taught in ancient times—it is only logical that it should appear as a different order of reality than its mundane counterpart. As sight is the most sublime and perfect of the senses, it is the only sense that thaumaturgy will reliably affect. So it is easy to determine a bespelled object due to its brightness and sharpness to the unaided eye.”
“So you can’t feel an enchantment, or smell it, or taste it?” Talitha asked.
Anise gave her sister a long-suffering look for asking such a stupid question.
“A science whose purpose is to redefine natural laws in a very small area is not one in which questions have yes-or-no answers,” Dr. Karlavaegen admonished. “All you will ever hear from me, or from any reputable teacher, is ‘generally’ or ‘rarely.’ And in this case—as a general rule—you are correct.”
* * *
In the comfort of the tree’s shade, Clarice gave Dominick a much-edited summary of Dr. Karlavaegen’s lecture. His intention had not been to teach the young princesses thaumaturgy, but to explain its underlying principles, for that was a skill that would be a great deal of use to them.
After studying the items for some time, Dominick had grudgingly agreed that the talisman and the watch looked distinctly different. “As if one is under strong sunlight, and the other is not. But if magic comes from God, how can it be used for evil purposes?” Dominick said, sounding frustrated.
“We, too, come from God, and our purposes are often ungodly, Dominick.” Clarice smiled, for she had asked the same question more than once. “Thaumaturgy is merely another of the noble arts—like medicine, or law, or astrology. As such, it can be turned to good purpose—or ill. Now”—she tucked away the watch and slipped the chain of the talisman over her head again—“here is another object. Tell me, is it enchanted, or not?”
“You ask a lot of me upon half an hour’s lesson,” Dominick grumbled as he held out his hand for her penknife. It was not magical, but it was beautifully made, and it took him a moment to pronounce it mundane.
“Correct. You make an excellent student despite my poor teaching. Now this.” Clarice placed her spellmatch into his hand.
“Magic, of course,” Dominick said promptly, rolling the slender cylinder between thumb and forefinger. “What is it?”
“Open it and see.” Clarice smiled at Dominick’s exclamation of wonder as the tip of the match burst into flame.
“What a handy thing,” Dominick said, smiling. “Why, it would be easy to light any lantern anywhere, no matter how strong the wind.” He gazed at her inquiringly, clearly uncertain what to do with it now. Clarice took the match and its cap away from him and doused the flame. The metal was still cool. She tucked the intricately made tube back into the pocket of her vest. I suppose, considering everything, I shall need to keep on the lookout for pickpockets while I am here, she told herself.
“Well then, are my tests done?” Dominick asked. “And do I gain my laurel and the title of ’Prentice Thaumaturge?”
“Even I do not have that, and I have not told you the whole of what I know yet,” Clarice said lightly. “But one more test, and I will happily rate you an Entered Apprentice.”
Her fingers were busy as she spoke, unpinning the jewel that she wore, well concealed, on the inside breast of her long, high-necked vest. She placed it in Dominick’s outstretched hand, keeping the object concealed until the last moment.
“This. Magic or not?”
“This is a jewel of great price,” Dominick said slowly, staring at it as if it might suddenly bite him. “It is not such a thing as I would look to see in the possession of a young man traveling upon his father’s indulgence.”
The moment Clarice had seen Dominick’s expression, she regretted the impulse to display the brooch that had been her parents’ parting gift to her. It had been foolish, and she could not decide whether she had done it because its enchantment would be a good test of her teaching—or because she hoped, somehow, that Dominick would guess what she did not dare tell him.
I must tell him something, for I can see that he is trying hard not to wonder how I came by it. “It was a gift. That isn’t either an excuse or a lie. It’s the truth. It is not an heirloom of any sort—so far as I know. It was given to me by the royal family of Swansgaarde. I’ve already told you I came from there. It is a very small country. I was very close to the princesses; we grew up together and shared tutors.”
So far everything she had said was the absolute truth, but she was very much afraid that Dominick’s next question, whatever it was, would force her to lie. Or to tell him the truth, which was not something she wished to do before weighing the consequences carefully.
The moment might have become an awkward, save for the approach of a young woman. She was barefoot, with a silver bangle around one ankle, and her skirt and shift were knotted at her hip, dragging the hemline of the garment perilously high. Her skin was a dark caramel color that owed nothing to the sun, and she wore her chestnut hair loose and flowing, rather than tidily braided or knotted up at the back of her neck as a respectable woman should.
Well, I suppose it is too much to expect a lady buccaneer—if that is what she is—to embrace respectability .
Dominick slowly got to his feet at her approach. To Clarice’s intense irritation, the woman stopped to brush her hair back from her shoulders, clearly striking a pose so Dominick could ogle her. The bracelets on her wrists glittered in the light.
“Can I…?” He took a breath and began again. “How can we help you, mistress?”
The woman smirked and took a swaying step closer. “Ah, it’s clear you’re a fine gentleman, not like some here.” She darted a speaking glance at Clarice.
“That’s nice to hear, but who are you and what do you want?” Clarice said sharply, resting her hand on the hilt of her saber.
“My name is Fleta, and my business isn’t with a boy too young to shave,” she said scornfully. “I’m here to speak to your fine, handsome young captain.”
I wonder who sent her, and how they knew to find us? Clarice thought. The chandlery is the logical first stop for any ship that comes here, and so it is a reasonable place to look, but that does not explain why she came looking for us. Clarice fought to control the flash of jealousy that even she knew to be irrational. As far as Dominick knew, Fleta was the only woman standing here right now. And any man, high-minded or low, was going to stare at someone like Fleta.
“Well, his fine, handsome young captain is right here,” Dominick said mildly. “And I’m all ears.”
“Perhaps we should go somewhere more … private … for our talk?” Fleta purred, taking another swaying step closer. The breeze brought Clarice the smell of Fleta’s perfume, something flowery and heavy.
“Oh, ah, actually, I don’t think so.” Dominick sounded a little harried now. “This is fine.”
Fleta pouted, folding her arms beneath her breasts. But to Clarice’s relief, she stopped where she was. “Think yourself too good for the likes of me, do you? Imagining you can come waltzing in here and charm the Lady—just as if she’d even look at someone like you!”
This is the second time someone has mentioned “the Lady,” Clarice thought. “This ‘Lady’—who is she?” Clarice asked. “Your sovereign?”
Fleta scowled at her. “You’ll find out. And you won’t like what you find.”
“Did you come looking for us for a reason?” Clarice asked. “Or just to be mysterious?”
“Do you let your cabin boy do your talking?” Fleta demanded, turning to Dominick.
“When my first mate says something I disagree with, I’ll be sure to speak up. I have nothing to say to you that cannot be said in front of him. And if your ‘business’ cannot be settled here and now, well … I have little interest in what I presume is your usual trade,” Dominick said coldly.
“Yo
u’ll regret your high-and-mighty ways!” Fleta said furiously. “Hear the Council’s word then! Captain Moryet is bid to appear at the House of the Four Winds to give an account of himself and his ship, tonight at moonrise. And you’d better be ready to spin a good yarn,” she added viciously. “Bring your pretty boy with you if you like. He’ll see some things he hasn’t seen yet, I’ll wager.”
“The—? Where—? Wait!” Dominick said, but it was too late. Fleta turned her back and stalked away. In a few moments she’d vanished into the trees.
“Excitable, isn’t she?” Dominick said with a sigh. Clarice saw him realize he was still holding her brooch. He held it out to her. “You wouldn’t want to lose such a precious keepsake.”
“Magic or not?”
“Magic,” Dominick said, smiling.
“You are an excellent pupil, young master Dominick, and are hereby raised to Entered Apprentice at thaumaturgy.” Clarice pinned the brooch back into its place. “I can’t imagine why she expected you to just go wandering off with her,” she added tartly.
Dominick raised an eyebrow. “I imagine she isn’t used to being told no when she makes that suggestion.”
Clarice raised an eyebrow. “I suppose not. But I feel her messenger skills leave a great deal to be desired. Where is the House of the Four Winds, and how do we get there?”
“As to that”—Dominick flung an arm over her shoulders and began walking back toward the chandlery—“I am certain our new friend Rollo Thompson will be happy to tell us everything we need to know.”
“Assuming we have the gold to pay for it,” Clarice said dryly.
7
SEEKING THE HOUSE OF THE FOUR WINDS
“THIS IS going to be a problem,” Dr. Chapman said.
He, Dominick, Kayin, and Clarice were gathered in the captain’s cabin. Kayin had a battered and sea-stained roll of parchment containing the list of Asesino’s original (alleged) supplies, with additional scribbled notes made by Geordie. Kayin and Clarice would be taking that back to Rollo Thompson tomorrow. When Thompson had learned of their summons, he had offered them the loan of a skiff, which meant she and Dominick could keep their appointment without bringing a crew to man the jolly boat.
Dominick had sailed it back to Asesino, which turned out to be a good thing, as the shore party had done as much shopping as drinking, and the jolly boat had been laden down with supplies—fresh fruit, bread, beef, ale, and tobacco—so the crew should not find a night spent aboard too much of a hardship.
Clarice had tried to talk Dominick out of keeping his appointment at the House of the Four Winds, but Dominick had pointed out that failing to appear would strip away what little protection they had. Right now the pirates were giving them the benefit of the doubt, more or less. Ignore the summons, and their masquerade would be over. Unfortunately, Clarice was unable to fault his reasoning, though she tried hard.
“We suspected something like this was coming,” Dominick said. “Captain Watson and Captain Harrison might have given us permission to drop anchor, but Dorado is too … orderly … for there not to be some form of government.”
“A government of pirates,” Dr. Chapman said bitterly. “And this House of the Four Winds taking a tenth part of their plunder to provide them with a safe harbor where they do not need to fear discovery.”
“Well, look at it from the pirates’ point of view,” Clarice said reasonably. “They don’t like being shot at—or chased—or hanged—any better than anyone else does. And whoever is running Dorado deserves some recompense for all the trouble he—or she—has gone to.”
“Spoken like a true pirate,” Dr. Chapman muttered.
“We can’t just bolt,” Dominick said. “You both saw the chain across the harbor mouth. If it was a matter of just sailing out, I think they would be guarding us more closely.”
Dr. Chapman gestured eloquently toward the window, where the Vile Vixen and the Horrid Hangman were clearly visible as they sat at anchor.
“Even so,” Dominick said, dismissing the ships. “Our only chance is to keep acting as if we belong here—and that means going to this meeting tonight. I’m sure it’s only a formality.”
“Oh, of course. What else could a meeting of pirates be? I am certain it will be so well mannered and civilized that you should bring a canister of tea along so we can all drink it,” Clarice said dourly. “Well, don’t think you’re going to this meeting alone. She said I could come. And I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Oh, thank God,” Dominick said, laughing with relief. “You’re a much better fighter than I am. Ah … not that this meeting will lead to fighting, of course. I’m sure we can continue to bluff them.”
“I don’t think that will actually be that hard,” Clarice said thoughtfully, propping her chin on her hand. She’d been letting the whole incident stew in the back of her mind since Fleta had flounced off, and a number of things had occurred to her. “Think. If you were, oh, the Queen’s Council in Albion, and you wished to take a message to someone, would you send someone like Fleta? She was far too easy to anger, and then she blurted out her whole message and went storming off.”
“We hope it was her whole message,” Dominick said.
Clarice nodded in agreement. “But even if it was not, consider. Wouldn’t it have been sensible for her—acting on the Council’s orders, or just in her own interests—to have found out everything about us she could? The best way to do that usually isn’t by snarling threats and storming off in a sulk. She could have smiled and spoken soft words and been sympathetic. Such winsome treatment has been known to induce gentlemen to offer up confidences,” Clarice finished dryly.
Dominick’s expression plainly showed he couldn’t decide whether to be insulted by Clarice’s opinion that flattery would make him give up his secrets, or impressed by her analysis of the matter.
I have been trained from the cradle to see the world this way, Clarice mused, against the day I might rule—or at least guide—Swansgaarde. Perhaps that will be enough advantage for us tonight.
“So you will give them a jolly tale, told in confidence,” Dr. Chapman said thoughtfully. “With just enough truth in it to—”
There came a frantic scrabbling at the door, and without waiting for permission Jerrold Robinson burst in. His face was white with terror.
“Oh, Cap’n!” he wailed. “The reverend has gone and escaped!”
* * *
Reverend Dobbs’s cabin was a bit larger than Clarice’s, and surprisingly neat—she had somehow expected Dobbs to be the same sort of sloven as his master.
It was also quite empty.
“Locked him in, just as you said,” Kayin said, gazing around in confusion. “Duff fitted a hasp for a padlock, and Rogerio gave me one of the padlocks off the arms chests for it. I kept the key around my neck—I gave it to Jerrold when we came aboard so he could take him his meal.”
“And I did!” Jerrold wailed. “Didn’t I go straight to Mr. Emerson and get his food, same as we have ourselves? See? The tray’s still here!” He pointed, as if to confirm his story, at the tin tray with the mug of watered grog and the bowl of congealing stew that sat in the corridor. “And then didn’t I unlock the door and say, ‘And here’s your meal, Reverend?’ And … he wasn’t here!”
“Well, he didn’t go out through this,” Clarice said, indicating the porthole. She could open it easily enough, but could not imagine fitting herself through it, and Dobbs was much larger. With the porthole for ventilation, the cabin had the luxury of a solid door—there were no slats, and so no possibility he’d been clever enough just to remove them and step out.
“And you had the only key?” Clarice asked.
Kayin frowned, as if her question were absurd in the extreme. “No,” he said slowly. “How could I? Mr. Emerson would be asking after it a dozen times a day to get into stores, or Dickon, if he was wishing to use the instruments, or young Miles, if he was to see to the chronometers.…”
“You mean ev
ery lock on this ship is keyed alike?” Clarice asked, barely able to keep the horrified indignation from her voice.
“Nearly,” Dr. Chapman said with a sigh. He produced a key that he wore around his neck upon a ribbon. “I have my own locks on the cabinets that hold my remedies.”
“And there is a strong room in the captain’s cabin which has its own key as well,” Dominick said, “but for the rest…” He shrugged in mute apology. “It does not matter if the key was easy to get. Someone would still have to have come and let him out.”
“And it looks as if somebody did,” Clarice said, shaking her head. “But where is he now?”
“If I were him, I’d have gone overside as soon as I could and swam for it,” Dr. Chapman says. “It’s not far, and the water is calm. We all know he’s got friends aboard, but there are damned few places a man can hide on a ship this size. For any length of time, at least.”
“I’ll go about and have a quiet word with some of the men,” Kayin said meaningfully.
“No,” Dominick said. “Whoever did it isn’t likely to say so, are they? All you’ll do is set them at each other’s throats. And spread panic, if they think Dobbs is ashore and spreading tales about us.”
“Well, isn’t he?” Clarice asked reasonably.
“Maybe,” Dominick said. “Or maybe he’s hiding down on the orlop right now, hoping to work some sort of mischief. He can’t imagine that telling a bunch of pirates that this is a ship full of mutineers and murderers is going to offend them.”
No, merely cause them to do I know not what, my dear, Clarice thought forlornly. I mocked Fleta for not trying to worm information out of us when I should have tried to do the same thing to her. If only there were some way to know where the wretched man has gotten to!
“We must hope—if it comes to it—that my skill at spinning a tale exceeds his,” Dominick said.
The House of the Four Winds: Book One of One Dozen Daughters Page 16
