The Seventh Sigil

by Margaret Weis

  “Then … you can’t save the palace?” Stephano was aghast.

  “The damage to the lift tanks is extensive,” Rodrigo said somberly. “I don’t know, Stephano. I have to think about it. You should go to your meeting. From what I hear, HRH doesn’t like laggards. I’ll meet you here—or on the ground, in case I fail to fix the magic.”

  “That’s not funny,” Stephano growled.

  “It wasn’t meant to be,” said Rodrigo.

  * * *

  A footman guided Stephano to the rooms occupied by His Royal Highness, Prince Renaud. Stephano had never been in this part of the palace, where the royal family lived and worked. He had never had any reason or inclination to come here and he wasn’t comfortable being here now.

  His Majesty, King Alaric, hated Stephano, who returned the favor. Alaric had goaded the Duke de Bourlet into rebelling and had then mercilessly crushed the rebels. His soldiers had killed the duke and captured Julian de Guichen, and then Alaric sent Julian to a cruel and agonizing death as a traitor. Stephano’s mother had managed to keep her son alive and even to gain him a commission as an officer in the Dragon Brigade. She had not been able to stop Alaric from disbanding the Dragon Brigade after only a few short years, forcing Stephano to resign or accept a reduction in rank and duty as a low ranking officer aboard a naval ship.

  Stephano followed the footman through the elegantly furnished, silent and empty halls. The king had sent his queen to the summer palace, along with her servants and ladies-in-waiting and other members of the nobility who had been encouraged to go with her.

  Stephano did not see the king, a blessing for which he was grateful. He was fairly certain he would have said or done something to get himself arrested again. The prince’s chambers were in another part of the royal quarters, some distance from the king’s. The footman handed over Stephano to the prince’s personal manservant—a sailor who served the lord admiral when he was aboard his ship, who had been transferred to the palace. Having expected to be forced to languish for hours in the antechamber, Stephano was surprised and pleased when the sailor took him immediately to see the prince.

  Entering Renaud’s study, Stephano felt that he had walked into the admiral’s quarters on board ship. Gone were the end tables, settees, love seats, and fainting couches generally found in any room in the palace. The few pieces of furniture in the room were utilitarian: desk, chair, chart table, bookcase. The floor was bare, all the carpets had been taken up. Paintings of landscapes and hunting scenes had been replaced by charts and maps. An enormous bay window provided the prince with a view of his ships on patrol in the skies around the palace

  Stephano felt at ease the moment he entered the room. He had not been disposed to like Prince Renaud, simply because he was King Alaric’s son. He was starting to think he had made a mistake.

  The prince had his back turned, and was staring intently at one of the large wall maps. The servant announced Stephano, who was faced with a quandary. Did he salute the lord admiral or bow to the prince? He didn’t think he could do both at once. He chose the lord admiral. Stephano stood stiffly at attention and saluted.

  “Lord Captain Stephano de Guichen—” Stephano began.

  The prince made an impatient gesture, cutting him off. “Tell me, Captain, will this friend of yours be able to keep the palace from smashing into the lake?”

  Stephano was taken aback. He had heard that the lord admiral was blunt-spoken, disliking what he termed “tittle-tattle.” Stephano had not expected him to be quite so blunt.

  “Rodrigo says the damage is extensive, Your Highness. He is not certain he can do anything to stop the fall.” He hesitated, not wanting to give advice to his prince, yet feeling he should say something. “The palace is in imminent danger of crashing, sir. Your importance to your country in this critical time cannot be overstated. Perhaps … if you were to return to your ship—”

  “I will not leave my father,” said Renaud. “And he will not leave the palace. He would not have people say that he basely fled in the face of danger.”

  As if the palace was listening, a tremor ran through the building. A map fell from the wall, and a flag on a stand behind the desk toppled over. Stephano grabbed hold of the back of a chair to steady himself. The prince, probably accustomed to the rolling of his ship, had no difficulty keeping his balance. He and Stephano tensely waited for calamity. After a few seconds, the palace righted itself.

  Stephano drew in a shaky breath; Renaud merely raised an eyebrow and gave a slight shrug. Stephano wondered how the prince could be so calm. He couldn’t imagine living day and night with the knowledge that at any moment your house might plunge to the ground and disintegrate.

  “You and your father should leave, sir,” said Stephano. “If anything happened, our country would be left leaderless during a time of peril. People would not think the less of either of you—”

  “Wouldn’t they?” Renaud demanded wryly. “Isn’t the captain supposed to go down with his ship?”

  “I’ve always said that was the waste of a good captain,” said Stephano.

  Prince Renaud’s upper lip gave a little twitch, which for him was tantamount to a smile. “I must say, I agree with you.”

  He walked over to pick up the flagpole, put it back in place. He ran his hand over the Rosian flag, bright with its red rose inside a gold sun that blazed on a field of white. He smoothed the folds.

  “I know you despise my father, Captain,” said Renaud abruptly. “Perhaps you have good reason. Still, you cannot say that he is a coward. He chooses to remain here so that the people will not lose faith in their monarch. I am certain you have heard the rumors around town that his grandiose palace is doomed—impossible to keep something like this secret. People are watching to see if their king will flee, if he will save himself at the cost of the lives of his subjects. They will see their king defiant, battling his enemies to the end.”

  Stephano said nothing, merely bowed. He had been rebuked, but not harshly. Renaud walked over to another map that was still hanging on the wall and motioned for Stephano to join him.

  “I hear you were in Braffa,” Renaud continued. He jabbed his finger at one of the islands. “D’argent says that you fought the fiends at this refinery. Tell me about the battle. The time will come when we will have to take back these refineries.”

  Stephano described the fight, and then he and the prince discussed the Braffan situation. The prince was especially interested to hear about Sir Henry’s armored gunboat, although he grimaced when Stephano mentioned the name of the Freyan spymaster.

  “I would give a great deal to see that man dangling at the end of a yardarm,” said Renaud.

  They next went on to discuss Fort Ignacio and Stephano’s plan to take the battle to the Bottom Dwellers.

  “I’ve been to see this fortress of yours,” said Renaud, adding, to Stephano’s amazement and displeasure, “I have a few ideas.”

  Proud of his plan, Stephano was prepared to dislike the prince’s ideas. But Renaud’s suggestions on repairing the fort proved to be sound; he brought up several problems Stephano had not foreseen and indicated how they might be solved. Stephano was grudgingly impressed.

  “You will not mind that I ordered the stonemasons and crafters to begin work already,” Renaud continued. “I have also sent along a barrel of the crystals, the Tears of God. Time is of the essence, Captain. I have information from a prisoner we captured that the Bottom Dwellers are preparing to launch an invasion fleet.”

  “Monsieur D’argent told me that you had taken one of these people alive, sir,” said Stephano. “Given the fact that they are ready to kill themselves rather than be captured, I am surprised that he talked.”

  “Actually we had trouble shutting him up,” said the prince drily. “He was eager to spew out his hatred. He told us proudly about his so-called saint’s plans for our destruction. You have seen their black ships. You know that one of them destroyed the Royal Lion with a single blast.”

>   “I saw the Royal Lion go down, sir,” said Stephano grimly. “A terrible sight.”

  “They have a fleet of those bloody black ships ready to launch,” said Renaud. “The fleet will target Rosia, destroy the coastal cities, then strike at Evreux, expecting to hit a population demoralized and in chaos after the fall of the palace.”

  “What about allying with Freya, Your Highness?” Stephano asked. “The Bottom Dwellers have no love for them, either. Perhaps we could combine forces: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  “Frankly I consider the enemy of my enemy to still be my enemy,” Renaud returned caustically. “The moment Wallace heard we were under attack, he would no doubt urge his queen to take advantage of our weakness and invade. Besides, I think Sir Henry has his own worries. The prisoner bragged that Freya would fall ‘without a shot being fired.’”

  Stephano made a mental note to send a warning to Sir Henry. Stephano would never admit it, but he’d developed a grudging liking for the man. Wallace was a patriot with an abiding love for his country. Stephano could sympathize and admire that.

  “The main problem that I see, Your Highness, is that we have no idea where to find the sunken island.”

  “I considered that myself, Captain. The island was here before the sinking,” said the prince, jabbing the location on the map with his finger. “I have consulted several scientists who study the Breath and they all agree that the island must have traveled straight down. The winds and currents of the Breath are not strong enough to have blown such an enormous landmass off course.”

  Stephano conceded that this theory seemed likely.

  “The scientists also agree that your descent be will dangerous, Captain,” said Renaud. “And extremely unpleasant. Our prisoner spoke of bone-chilling cold, impenetrable mists, the inability to catch one’s breath.”

  “If these people can survive the ascent, we can survive going down,” said Stephano.

  He thought back to the time the damaged Cloud Hopper had started sinking into the Breath. He remembered the cold, the dankness, the fog. He remembered himself and Dag, walking the deck, unable to see each other when they were standing face-to-face. The memory brought another thought to mind.

  “My lieutenant, Dag Thorgrimson, served in that fortress during the assault and he knows it well. You must have met him there, Your Highness. He was going to travel to the fort more than a fortnight ago.”

  Renaud shook his head. “The fortress was deserted when I arrived, Captain. No one was there.”

  Stephano was puzzled. “That is strange. I wonder what happened…”

  The prince shrugged. The matter was not his concern.

  “What about the Dragon Brigade?” Renaud asked abruptly.

  Stephano flinched. Touching that subject was like touching an open, bleeding wound.

  “The Brigade was disbanded, Your Highness,” said Stephano, adding coldly, “By your father.”

  “I am aware of that, Captain,” said Renaud impatiently. “You are understandably bitter, as are the dragons. Their help would be invaluable to us.”

  “It would, sir,” said Stephano. “I would go so far as to say the dragons might make the difference between victory or defeat.”

  “I cannot go to the dragons and formally ask for their help. Diplomacy and all that. You could go, Captain de Guichen. The dragons like you and respect you. They would listen to you.”

  “The dragons would be risking their lives, sir. I would need to offer them something.”

  “The thanks of a grateful nation wouldn’t be enough, I suppose,” said Renaud.

  Stephano grinned. He liked this man.

  “No, sir, I’m afraid not.”

  “Tell them the king is willing to discuss bringing back the Dragon Brigade.”

  “Only discuss, sir?” Stephano asked.

  “That is the best I can do, Captain. My father is not well. The threat to the palace came as a severe shock to him. I did not want to upset him by pressing him on this matter. And now I believe we have concluded our business,” said Renaud. He rang for the servant. “If you have need of anything, please contact me.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” said Stephano. “I will keep you informed of our progress.”

  He saluted. The prince’s sailor servant escorted Stephano from the royal chambers. As he was winding his way through the halls, Stephano noticed a room with the door partially opened. Curious, he glanced inside and was startled to see King Alaric. His Majesty was standing in front of a window, leaning his head against the glass, gazing down at the ground below. His face, seen in profile, was grim and gray.

  Alaric’s proudest accomplishment, the magnificent floating palace, the star that shone with his glory and greatness, was either going to fall out of the sky or be lowered ignominiously to the ground. This palace, with cracks in its walls, broken windows, toppled chimneys, squatting in the lake, would forever be his legacy. Perhaps Alaric was hoping the palace would fall and take him with it.

  Stephano gently and quietly shut the door. Alaric might have been a hated and detested foe, but every man had a right to keep his misery private.

  The prince’s servant escorted Stephano from the royal chambers and offered to take Stephano to his destination. Stephano preferred to be alone with his thoughts and dismissed the sailor, saying he must have duties to which he must attend. The sailor saluted and left him in a hallway. From there, he was on his own in the vast palace. Rodrigo knew every closet, every boudoir, every secret passage. Stephano was soon thoroughly lost. He wandered about, traversing corridors, walking down flights of stairs, only to find they were the wrong stairs and he had reached an exit. He had to retrace his steps.

  His mind was not in the palace. He was mentally inside the fortress, anticipating problems, working to solve them, and wondering what had happened to Dag, Miri, and Gythe. The last D’argent had spoken to them, they were intending to travel to the fortress, a journey that should have taken only a few days. He had assumed they were there and had not worried about them. Now he wondered what had happened.

  At last he found a corridor he recognized. His mother’s rooms were at the end of the hall. He went there, hoping to talk to D’argent, and found him closeted with the grand bishop’s agent, Dubois.

  Both men rose to greet him. Stephano noted that they had been speaking with their heads together, their voices low. He wondered uneasily what was going on.

  “Your meeting with the prince went well?” D’argent asked.

  “It did,” said Stephano. “I leave for the fortress this very day. Have you talked to Rigo?”

  D’argent shook his head.

  Stephano was uncomfortable. He wanted to talk to D’argent in private, but he couldn’t think how to convey his need. Both men were gazing at him, waiting for him to speak.

  “What is it, Stephano?” D’argent asked at last. “Can I help?”

  “I fear I am in the way,” said Dubois, starting to sidle toward the door.

  “No, wait,” said Stephano. “You have access to the Freyan court, Monsieur Dubois. I need to send a message to someone in Freya.” He paused, then said, “Sir Henry Wallace.”

  D’argent and Dubois exchanged startled glances and Stephano guessed immediately that Wallace had been the topic of their discussion.

  “I might be able to assist you, Captain,” said Dubois. “You do not need to write your message,” he added, as Stephano was starting to pick up a pen from the desk of the countess. “I have an excellent memory. What is your message?”

  Stephano explained how the prince had captured a Bottom Dweller.

  “The prisoner said that Freya would fall without a shot being fired,” said Stephano. “I don’t know what he meant, but Wallace should be warned. The man saved my life. It’s the least I can do.”

  “I will see to it that Sir Henry receives your message, Captain,” said Dubois.

  Stephano thanked him, bid farewell to D’argent, and departed. As he left, he heard Dubois say,
“Our information is confirmed.”

  So he wasn’t bringing them news at all. He should have known. He shrugged and hurried off, realizing too late he should have asked if they knew the way to the lift tanks. He wandered about until he bumbled into the kitchen. Here he enlisted the help of a scullery maid, who led him to the chamber where the lift tanks were located.

  He found Rodrigo crawling on the stone floor, drawing constructs with a piece of chalk. The engineers stood gathered around him, watching in respectful, if baffled, silence. Catching sight of Stephano, Rodrigo stood up and brushed himself off. His clothes were covered in dust, his hair straggled down his face and one cheek was smeared with chalk dust.

  “I have a solution,” he said to Stephano.

  “Thank God!” Stephano exclaimed.

  “You had much rather thank me, not God,” said Rodrigo. “I won’t be able to stop the palace from falling, but I can keep the constructs working so that we can lower the palace slowly and steer it clear of the lake.”

  “That is excellent news. You are a genius, Rigo.”

  “I know. How did you fare with HRH?”

  “I am to proceed as planned,” said Stephano cautiously, not wanting to talk with others present. “I’m leaving for the fortress today. I was hoping you could come with me.”

  Rodrigo shook his head. “I have to say here. I’m the only one who can do what I do. I may be here for days, in fact. If you could send Benoit with a change of clothes—”

  The palace shuddered and lurched, only a slight jolt this time, but enough to cause everyone to look exceedingly grim.

  “There is a lot to be said for a nice quiet prison cell,” Rodrigo remarked.

  “Rigo, saving Alaric’s palace isn’t worth risking your life—”

  “I’m doing my patriotic duty,” said Rodrigo lightly. “Sacrificing my pantaloons in the service to my country.”

  Stephano eyed his friend. “See to it that you and the palace and your blasted pantaloons survive.”

  “I’ll do my best,” said Rodrigo. “Give my love to Miri and Gythe, Dag and the Doctor. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”