by Guy Antibes
“Oh, it made my day to learn about Renall. You’ll have to determine what value my revelation about your brothers’ maternity has. I’m sorry I’m the bearer of that news. It is public record, though. As far as I know, the Featherwoods never hid it, if anyone wanted to know. I knew it and put it in my personal note to the King. Duke Goldfields obviously knew it—but then the cad would.”
A man entered the archive with a large box of papers. “Here are the dispatches for this week, Obed.”
Handy sighed. “My life has its tedious side.” He shrugged.
“I don’t want to monopolize your time, but I have one more question. It’s my initial reason for coming.”
“You’ve brightened my day by your very existence in the Archive.”
Sara couldn’t help but smile. “Why am I a Countess?”
“Forgive me, Sara. That’s my fault. I thought I’d resurrect the old title and it seemed to suit you—lots of mystery. The King suggested a baroness title, but you are the last Goldagle and he couldn’t exactly make you a Duchess while Hardwell holds the title, could he? That might come later if he dies without an heir. No, he came around to my thinking and I think you deserve it.” Handy took Sara’s hand and kissed it with the lightest brush of his lips. “You won’t disappoint me, will you?”
“If you knew all that I’ve done, you might not be so hasty.”
“Your life hasn’t been easy in the last year and a half, but you’ll get through it. I fear there are more trials to come in Shattuk Downs.”
Sara nodded. “I know. Unfinished business there and…” she took a deep breath, “unfinished business here. Goodbye, Obed.”
Sara wandered through the library reaching back into her memories, wanting to remember her mother carrying Seb or Enos. No images came. She knew Obed told her the truth. It cost her the revelation about Duke Northcross, but Sara felt obligated to give the man payment for all he had done and Handy dealt in secrets and obscure facts, not money. She wandered through the library until she found her butler.
“Sara,” Choster said. He sat at a table, littered with plans. “Here is what you came for. I have a few suggestions.”
She looked blankly down at the papers and then at Choster. “What have you got?”
“The army owns land adjacent to the University, separated by the River White. It’s a training facility that is not in use but contains a series of interconnecting buildings. Barracks, kitchens, classrooms, training rooms. Enough to start a Women’s College. See how close it is to the Library? That is if the Regents will allow your women to use it. It’s a perfect fit.”
“But what about all of this open space?” Sara pointed to large fields that were unoccupied on the southern side of the University. Outside of the army fort and the fields, houses and businesses surrounded the University.
“Do you think the University would give up their expansion land?” Choster said.
She thought back to the empty bookshelves and shook her head. “Never.”
“Right. You could support two thousand women on the army land and the University’s precious acreage would remain untouched.” He grinned, but with good reason.
The college wouldn’t have to build. Certainly an army barracks would require remodeling, but new buildings could come later once the institution had been established. They would just need a bridge or two. She clapped him on the shoulders.
“Countess!” He furrowed his brow in dismay at the familiarity and then grinned. “I guess that means it’s a good idea.”
“It certainly does. It’s been an amazing morning. I feel like training!”
“In the snow?” Choster said, grinning.
~
Grianna made a face. “Women in an army barracks? I don’t like the idea.” She looked over copies of plot plans that Sara had purchased from the University.
Sara pulled out another set of plans. The floor plan showed the barracks broken up into dormitory rooms. Choster said that two thousand soldiers used those barracks. If we had five hundred women in the College, we would be incredibly successful. So we plan for five hundred. Each woman has a room with a bed, wardrobe, desk, and a bookcase. There’s room for inside bathrooms and water closets, too.
“I lived in a room that had been cut down and it was more than sufficient.”
“Perhaps. You said these are training rooms?”
“Think of classrooms. Enough to get started, but we don’t need all of these stables or a number of these storage buildings. There are kitchens and we’ll have to build a bridge or two over the River White to the University. If something goes wrong with the chartering or if there’s a regent that won’t allow women at some later date, we have our own fully functioning facilities.”
“There is that. Politics can be a fickle thing.”
Sara nodded. “And it will be much cheaper and we’ll be more likely to persuade the Dean if he didn’t have to spend a florin.”
Grianna put her hand to her chin and looked at the plan that had both sites. “I suppose we can go with these. I was enamored with putting up beautiful buildings on the University’s open fields.”
“Politics can be a fickle thing, like you said. If we can get these unused barracks, then everybody wins. The army gets additional funds for idle lands, the Women’s College can start much, much earlier, and the University grounds remain untouched.”
“Will this delay the project?”
“It will speed it up because we won’t be constructing new buildings—just renovating. Choster is going to check on the army’s real feelings about the camp.”
“And who is Choster?” Grianna looked lost.
“I am, Lady Worthy.” He leaned over carrying a tray. “Would you like a piece of chocolate or a pastry with your tea?”
~~~
Chapter Fourteen
Abduction
Now that Grianna supported the army camp as the location of the college, Sara’s worries turned to the army. She lay in bed, with her hands behind her head, looking up at the ceiling. The clock struck three in the morning. Sara heard angry voices. She rose from her bed and opened her door. The silence deafened her from the house.
The secret door? She pressed the button and the voices came through louder. The voices didn’t come from the bedroom, but the bedroom door had been left open. She heard angry shouts that sounded like threats.
She crawled back to her room and slipped on her exercise pants. She pulled out the two velvet bags and loaded her gun, taking the bag with the balls and powder. She slipped her knife in her belt and she slipped the scabbard of her steel practice sword over her shoulder. It had no edge, but Choster had shown her that a well-placed blow could still hurt.
In bare feet, she slipped through the passageway and still heard the voices. She felt a breeze and went to an open window. A ladder led up to the second story window. She peered down to see two dark figures lying prone at the bottom.
The voices continued as Sara crept along the hallway. She turned a corner and quickly pulled back. A man stood outside of the door where the voices could be heard. West’s voice was not among them, however, but she heard Northcross arguing. They wanted him to put down his sword but he adamantly refused.
Where were his guards? Sara wondered how fast she could reload, but she had no time to experiment. She laid down three balls and three cartridges of percussive powder, and then carefully tamped down a cartridge, following it with the ball.
She peeked around the corner. The man who guarded the door held his head towards the opening listening to the conversation—more than an argument. Sara caught the words Shattuk Downs and the Grand Duke. These weren’t Red Swallow men, they spoke like soldiers. She put the barrel of her gun against the corner of the wall and aimed. The explosion threw her back along the hall, but she ran to where the gun lay and blew out the cartridge remains and carefully tamped down another cartridge and ball. A man stood over her. She lifted the barrel and fired.
Three more men ran out of the r
oom, dragging Duke Northcross with them. Sara didn’t have enough cartridges for them all. She slid her knife out of her boot and drew her sword.
“No Sara, don’t!” Duke Northcross said. “I’ll let you take me.” His head hung down.
Take him? Two of the men advanced on her. One quickly disarmed her while she attempted to defend herself as the other slammed the pommel of his sword down on her skull.
~
Sara rose from a bed in the darkness of the unused room so she couldn’t have been unconscious for long. The feeble lamp showed the figure of a man examining her gun. She could barely see with her head pounding. Her hands and feet were bound.
“You’re up, eh?” The grizzled face looked at her. He had the same look as Choster—a seasoned soldier. She had never beaten her butler and she realized she couldn’t win against these men. Sara’s hands and feet were tied.
Her captor looked over at Sara and said, “So, what is this thing?” He played with her gun, pulling back the hammer and then the trigger. The cartridge and ball that she had set aside lay on the table along with her velvet bag.
“It’s the gun that killed two of your men.”
He grunted. “We promised Northcross we wouldn’t kill you, but I was ordered to stay behind and make sure you were secure as soon as you woke up. You’re secure.”
Sara began to panic. “Where is Duke Northcross?”
“My friends are accompanying him on a trip. A long trip, since he’s needed far away. What are these for?” The man looked at the cartridge and ball.
“The cartridge contains explosive powder that propels the ball through the barrel.”
He slipped the cartridge in the barrel and looked at her. “Now what?”
“The tamping device. You push the cartridge to the end of the tube so the hammer will pierce the bag and start the explosion.”
“So it’s the piercing of the cartridge, eh?”
“It is.” Sara wouldn’t tell him the truth. “You have to make sure it’s seated properly, so you have to look down the barrel to make sure the tamper seats the cartridge really firmly. You have to give it a good hard whack right at the end… as hard as you can. I can’t always hit it hard enough.”
“You did well enough tonight,” the man said as he began to push the cartridge into the barrel. He turned the wick of the lamp higher and looked down the barrel. “Then what?”
“You load the ball and point it where you want the ball to go and pierce the cartridge with the hammer, sort of like a handbow.”
The man’s face gave her an ugly look. “You killed two of my buddies, so now I’m going to kill you with this thing.”
Sara shrunk back. “What about your promise?”
“Promises,” he spat on the ground, “not worth the breath they’re made with. One more good whack, you said?”
“No. The ball goes in before the powder.” She tried to distract him from the loading procedure with desperation guiding her every word. She thought of the men abducting her real father and let the anger build up inside.
“That’s not right. The ball has to go in last. You’re trying to trick me now you know what I’m going to do, aren’t you?” He laughed and it didn’t make Sara happy at all. “Give it a good whack, you said.” He got up and stood over the barrel and got out a dagger with a heavy pommel. “I think it’s seated, nice and proper.”
He checked the cartridge at the bottom of the barrel and slammed it down. Sara concentrated on putting a tiny ball of flame in the cartridge. “Ignite!”
The explosion deafened Sara. The man fell over backwards from the force of the bullet. Her would-be killer’s face was a ruin. He’d never threaten anyone again. Sara took a deep breath and dragged herself across the floor to the closet and through the door to the other side. On her way, the door’s bottom lip roughly scraped against her tender hip. Sara cried out in pain, but no one heard. With her bedroom door shut, she couldn’t get up to open it, so she pounded on the door with her bound feet and yelled.
“What happened?” Willa said as she struggled to get the door open with Sara in the way.
“They’ve taken Duke Northcross!”
“Who?” Willa began to untie her bonds.
“Maybe men from Shattuk Downs. They were professional soldiers. Tough men. Get Choster.” Sara struggled to get her hands free and then finished untying her feet. She rose and swayed on her feet. Her head pounded so hard she could hardly see while her hip began to ache as well. She looked down to see a spreading spot of blood on the side of her nightgown. She’d reopened wound.
“What’s this about the Duke?” Choster said. He wore a nightshirt over a pair of pants.
“In here.” Sara crept through the hidden door. The man still lay there, the explosion and the ball had done fatal damage to his face. Sara took his wrist and felt for a pulse. She didn’t expect one and dropped the limp arm.
“How did you kill him tied up as you were?” Willa said, her eyes locked on the gruesome sight.
“With my tongue.” Sara gave them both a grim look. “I gave him faulty instructions on how to load the gun.” She shivered as she told them a little lie. “He was going to kill me with it. Follow me.”
Two bodies still littered the hallway in front of Northcross’ bedroom.
Choster held the gun in his hands. “What is this?” He looked down at the bodies. “You did that with this?”
Sara nodded. “Ben Featherwood’s miners discovered a mixture of minerals that explodes when you hit it hard. It’s called percussive powder and that’s what Doctor Perry Hedge is working on. This is called a gun and it works.”
They walked back to the bedroom and Sara pulled out a ball and a cartridge. “This ball is propelled at high speed through this tube by the explosive power of the percussive powder that is in this packet. I killed these two men and then I stood to fight three men with swords.” Tears began to run down her cheeks. “They disarmed me in seconds and hit me on the head. I failed to save him—I let the Duke down.” She slid down the wall and began to cry. The entire episode had filled her with fear and failure as the immediacy of the situation wore off.
Willa stood above her and let her wail. Sara looked up through her tears and couldn’t stand her companion’s grim eyes.
“This is a soldier’s blade and well worn,” Choster said, picking up one of the dead men’s swords. He picked up Sara’s weapon. “You even went against him with a dull practice blade. What were you thinking?”
“I always won before,” she sniffled, “Why would this be any different? It was though. I’m not as tough as I thought.”
“You killed three experienced soldiers and lived to talk about it? I doubt if there’s another countess who could make the same boast,” Choster said.
Sara had to smile through her tears, “There aren’t any other countesses.”
“See?” Choster helped Sara to her feet. “I doubt if I can beat more than four men at a time.”
Willa folded her arms and gave Sara one of her squints. “You haven’t failed yet, though. Have you Sara?”
“The Duke has been taken!”
Choster took Sara’s weapons, but gave the gun back to her. “Those are worse than any handbow. It doesn’t matter how good of a swordsmen you are, that will defeat any of them. A great equalizer.”
Sara showed them how the secret doors worked by pushing the button in her bedroom.
“I’m sure that won’t be working when the Duke returns,” Choster said. “Get dressed. I’ll bring the Duke’s council here and we can discuss what to do in your sitting room. They probably already know about the secret passage and I’m sure the abductors are well away from the city.”
~
Sara took a bath and then let Willa re-stitch an inch of her hip wound that had opened up after she struggled to get in the bedroom. A bitter taste of failure coated her mouth and her soul. She had saved Grianna. Sara touched the bandage as she re-lived the night West invaded Grianna’s house. She wouldn�
�t have made it without Willa. This time her efforts didn’t save the Duke.
She realized that her only real victory had been escaping with Anton Rider from the Red Swallows in Dry River. Her prowess with her knife didn’t save the day, but her talent with flames did. In essence, her actions in Parth were made successful by her magic with a great deal of help from the gun that sat on her dresser.
She felt her confidence crumble to lie among the ruins of her personal life. The title of Countess and the stipend didn’t compensate for the emotional beatings she had to endure in Belting Hollow. Her eyes began to water up. Her life had been nothing but ups and downs since her mother died—personal triumphs offset with emotional tragedies. She still couldn’t go a day without thinking of her mother—a woman whose character had grown and grown since she had died. Vesty and Ben had caused her so much harm that her fists clenched involuntarily as she thought of them. The loss of the goodwill of Belting Hollow fell into a bottomless pit of sorrow, in her stomach.
She had let Northcross down in a moment of intense need. But the danger! The image of two men, prone, at the bottom of the ladder the intruders had used. At least the Duke’s kidnapping came at some cost to some of the men who abducted him so the men at the bottom of the ladder hadn’t died in vain.
She had cried enough tonight. She wiped away the tears. The past had become littered with painful events and the future still remained to be lived. She quickly created a floating ball of flame that bobbed in the center of her bedroom. At the right time, she’d use the magic again. It disappeared with a puff. Evidently the flame didn’t last too long, but bringing up the flame had driven out her anger. Now she felt like a hollow shell.
Willa returned and helped her dress while Duke Northcross’ staff assembled downstairs. Sara felt the lump on her head. She pressed her lips together and vowed to do whatever she could to save her real father.
