“You are a good man, Sir Ander,” said Father Jacob, sitting back in the carriage. “Just not a very practical one.”
Sir Ander made no reply. He grimly stared out the window. He knew Father Jacob was right, but he wanted desperately to be doing something to help Brother Barnaby. Instead he would be languishing at the Arcanum, spending his time sitting in a room watching Father Jacob turn pages.
The carriage continued rolling through the streets. Sir Ander sighed deeply, then said, “I forgot to mention something interesting Sergeant Hroal told me. He was talking about the wounds his brother received in the attack. He was hit by the green fire. The sergeant said something about ‘the roed.’ How the roed had a bad effect on dragons. Do you know what he meant?”
“The roed…” Father Jacob sat, musing. “I know that the word ‘raeg’ in the dragon language is equivalent to ‘magic.’ I would guess that roed is the opposite, meaning ‘contramagic.’ So that has a debilitating effect on dragons. That is interesting.”
He sat mulling this over. Sir Ander sat in silence. When they reached the shipyard he was relieved to find Master Albert and Angus McPike waiting for them. He could stop tormenting himself with thoughts of Brother Barnaby.
The yacht had been hoisted out of the shipyard by cranes and moved to the street. The wyverns, spitting and snarling and snapping at anyone who came near them, were hitched to the yacht, ready to fly. Master Albert reported that the swivel guns had been delivered and were safely stowed, to be taken out and mounted when needed.
Father Jacob said good-bye to Master Albert, shaking his hand warmly, thanking him for all his service and giving him his blessing.
“Albert, I have a question before we part,” said Father Jacob. “Those priests who disappeared when the cathedral was attacked. Were the bodies ever found?”
“Not yet, Father,” Albert replied. “The searchers assumed they would find the bodies beneath the rubble, but the crafters have shifted most of the rock and they weren’t there. Where they went is a mystery. Some are saying God took them straight to heaven.”
“I have reason to believe the bat riders took them prisoner, Albert,” said Father Jacob. “They are still trying to find the books mentioned in the journal. They know you read the journal. You may be in danger.”
“I wish to God I had never seen that journal,” said Master Albert bleakly.
“If you had not, we would be facing our doom,” said Father Jacob. “Your discovery gives us hope.”
Master Albert appeared unconvinced. He shook hands and departed. All this while, Angus McPike had been waiting patiently, leaning against the railing where they had tied up the wyverns.
Father Jacob beckoned to him. “Angus, my friend. I need a word with you in private. We’ll go aboard the yacht.”
“Let me go first, Father,” said Sir Ander.
He opened the door that led from the partially enclosed driver’s station, with its black lacquered walls and cushioned leather bench, and entered the yacht. All was as it should be. Their luggage was aboard, the trunks still sealed. A single room occupied most of the interior of the yacht, with small storage compartments in front and a larger one in the rear. The main room served as eating and sleeping quarters, the beautifully carved wooden walls concealing foldout bunks and secret compartments for weapons. Father Jacob came aboard, accompanied by Angus McPike.
“A fine boat, Papa Jake.”
“Thank you, Angus. Sir Ander, make certain no one is outside, then shut the door.”
Sir Ander returned to report that the only men around were those handling the wyverns. “The beasts are screeching so loudly I doubt if they would hear us even if we shouted.”
Father Jacob nodded. He was taking no chances. He spoke in little more than a whisper. “Angus, I need one of your clan to sail to Freya.”
“I’m your man, Papa Jake,” said Angus.
“I was hoping you would say that. The trip might be dangerous. King Alaric could declare war on Freya any day, which would mean the royal navy will blockade the Freyan ports.”
Angus shrugged. “Someone’s always declaring war on somebody, Papa. Wars don’t affect us Trundlers. What do you want me to do?”
Father Jacob smiled. “I need a letter delivered to a man in Freya. You must give it directly into his hands. No one else must see it. I think it likely you will find him at his house in Haever.”
Father Jacob handed Angus a letter sealed with red wax bearing his initials, J.N. Sir Ander saw the name on the letter and felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. His hands went cold.
Sir Henry Wallace.
Angus took the letter and tucked it into the leather belt he wore around his waist. “I’ll hide it away, Papa. They can tear the boat apart plank by plank and they won’t find it. Should I wait for a reply?”
Father Jacob shook his head. “That will not be necessary. Thank you, Angus. I am sorry to have to ask you to do this. I have money for your expenses. Sir Ander, you will find a bag of silver rosuns in that trunk—”
“Let it stay in the trunk,” said Angus. “For your kindness to my nieces, I owe you more than I can repay. A safe journey to you, Papa, and to you, too, Defender.”
Sir Ander waited until Angus had gone and then confronted his friend.
“Why are you writing to Sir Henry Wallace?”
“The less you know, Ander, the better.”
“Father Jacob, if they hang you they’ll damn sure hang me. I might as well know what for.”
“I told Sir Henry what I told the countess and Dubois. I let him know what I had discovered about the Bottom Dwellers and I added that they had tried to kill us with a contramagic bomb.”
“You sealed the letter with your signet ring and I suppose you signed it into the bargain.”
“I had to sign it,” said Father Jacob. “Henry Wallace has to know it came from me.”
“Good God, Jacob, if the letter falls into the wrong hands, you will be charged with treason!”
“Most likely,” Father Jacob said, his face grave. “I had to warn him, Sir Ander. It is my belief that the Bottom Dwellers have not declared war on Rosia alone. They have declared war on all mankind.”
He grew more cheerful, rubbing his hands at the prospect of the journey home.
“And now we should set out for the Arcanum. Do you want me to drive the wyverns?”
12
The navigation of ships through the Breath is fraught with difficulty due to the myriad small floating islands and large pieces of rock that can damage or even sink a vessel. Smaller ships elect to hug the coastline when possible during the day and land at night. This is why the nations of the world came together to maintain the buoys and fleets of tugs that work to keep designated trade channels open and safe.
—Principles of Navigation, Keith Shaw, sailing master, HMS King Godfrey
The Cloud Hopper had been sailing for two days, on course for Evreux. The three wild dragons were still following them, sometimes flying close enough to be within hailing range, sometimes flying so far in the distance they were barely visible through the mists, and sometimes disappearing completely.
The Cloud Hopper had left the Chain of Pearls and was now approaching an area known as the Dustbin, a debris field created when small chunks of the continental shelf broke off, were gathered up by the prevailing winds, and dumped into the Breath. The Dustbin was difficult to navigate even under the best conditions.
Miri intended to sail the Cloud Hopper through the Dustbin in order to catch the trade winds. They would lose some time, because they would have to land on an island at night. Flying through the Dustbin was going to be dangerous enough during daylight without attempting the voyage after dark. She hoped to make up the lost time and even gain some when the trade winds blew them swiftly toward Evreux.
Given the tricky maneuvering required to sail the Hopper safely among the debris field, Miri stated that she would be at the helm the entire time. She would not allow Gythe or Dag t
o spell her.
“If anyone sinks this boat, it will be me,” she announced grimly.
The voyage was tense. Not only were they going to have to navigate a treacherous debris field, Stephano and the others also had to safely navigate around Miri, who was in a bad mood and wanted everyone to know it. While standing at the helm, watching out for floating chunks of rock, she had time to think and to worry. Her thoughts fluctuated between her disastrous love affair and the potential disaster looming over the Cloud Hopper.
As to her love affair, Miri had offered Dag her heart and he had rejected her. Her pride was hurt and she told herself her heart was hurt, as well. Deep inside, she knew her heart was untouched. Dag had been right. She was frightened and bewildered and overwhelmed. She felt responsible for the lives of her friends. She was worried about the dwindling amount of lift gas, about navigating the Dustbin, about running out of food and water. She dared not let them see she was worried. She longed for someone to put his arm around her and let her hide within his protective care. Not wanting to admit such weakness to herself, she blamed Dag for “leading her on,” an accusation that was completely groundless. Dag had behaved like a gentleman. He was, in truth, the personification of the word. The knowledge that she was being unjust to him made Miri even angrier.
She raged at everyone, even the poor Doctor, who fled to the storage closet. The others tiptoed around her: Stephano was insufferably polite; Gythe looked at her with big, sad eyes; Rodrigo oozed charm; and Dag was meek and self-effacing. She detested them all.
On the end of the second day of their journey toward the Dustbin, the sails of the Cloud Hopper billowed as the boat felt the first effects of the trade winds. They picked up speed, scudding along through the mists, making good time. About midafternoon Dag sighted the Dustbin ahead of them, the debris dotting the mists, and Miri slowed the boat’s speed. Stephano and Dag stood at the bow, keeping a lookout.
“Island to starboard,” Stephano called.
Miri adjusted the air screws and steered the Cloud Hopper around it.
“Another to starboard; hold your course.”
An island appeared suddenly on the port side, looming out of the mist. Miri barely had enough time to react.
“Sorry, Miri, I didn’t see it,” said Dag.
“Keep a better lookout next time,” Miri snapped.
“I will, Miri,” said Dag meekly.
“And stop being nice to me!” Miri snarled.
Dag glanced at Stephano. Miri saw the look and cast an angry glance of her own at Stephano, warning him to keep his mouth shut. She knew she was being unreasonable, but he didn’t understand. None of them understood.
The Hopper was threading its way through the Dustbin when, late in the afternoon, the air screws stopped turning and the boat began to drift, moving slowly toward a large island, dead ahead.
“What’s wrong with the air screws?” Stephano shouted from his post at the bow.
“I don’t know!” Miri cried, her hands flashing over the helm without effect.
The air screws wouldn’t budge.
“It’s the magic!” Rodrigo called out. He pointed to one of the wooden shafts connected to the air screws. “The bridge spells I cast are weakening and—”
“Don’t stand there yammering, you fool!” Miri said through gritted teeth. “Fix it!”
Rodrigo opened his mouth, thought better of it, and went to work. He hastily drew a construct. Gythe leaned over his shoulder, guiding the magic through his patch with her hands. Stephano and Dag stood at the bow of the boat, watching the island come closer.
“Got it!” Rodrigo called triumphantly.
The air screws began to turn, and with a relieved sigh Miri regained control of the helm. The Cloud Hopper veered away from the island, still coming close enough to it that Stephano and Dag had to shove off the rocks with boat hooks. Once they were safe, Miri rounded on Rodrigo.
“What the hell went wrong, Rigo?” she demanded.
“The magical patch is only a patch, Miri,” Rodrigo explained. “Like any patch, it’s temporary. I didn’t realize how temporary.”
Miri glared at him. “Make it permanent!”
“I wish I could,” said Rodrigo. “Unfortunately, that’s not possible. It has to do with the constructs. They’re like a layer cake and when one layer falls—”
At the words “layer cake” Miri’s brows came together and she reached for the belaying pin she kept under the helm.
“Never mind,” said Rodrigo hurriedly. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Can you take care of it?” Stephano asked in a low voice, thinking Miri couldn’t hear.
Miri heard. She also heard Rodrigo’s answer.
“No,” he said bluntly. “The magic will keep breaking down. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I may join Doctor Ellington in the storage closet.”
Miri glanced at the balloon that was shrinking in size a little every day and sighed.
Instead of going to the storage closet, Rodrigo went around the boat to check all the patches he’d placed on the Hopper. He found a number that were either failing or on the verge of failing. He made repairs and Gythe kept the magic flowing.
Twilight tinged the Breath with pink and purple. Miri had been at the helm all day, refusing to relinquish it. She was bone weary. She hadn’t slept in nights. Catching herself dozing off, she told Dag and Stephano to find a suitable place to land.
When they came to one of the larger of the small islands, Miri adjusted the lift and the ballast and lowered the Cloud Hopper onto a slab of gray slate dotted here and there with red lichen and green moss. The island was otherwise bare, with not so much as a tree. The Cloud Hopper took up most of the space.
Supper was cheerless. They ate their rations in silence. Dag divided his own ration of meat and started to give part of it to the Doctor, who had come out of the storage closet to sit on Dag’s knee.
“No need to share your food,” said Miri in frozen tones. “You have to keep up your strength. I saved this for the cat.”
She brought out a dish of fish heads and other scraps and set it down in front of the Doctor.
“Thanks, Miri,” said Dag. Pausing a moment, petting the Doctor, he added in a husky voice, “Miri, I’m sorry. If there’s anything—”
“I’m going to bed,” Miri said, rising from the table, leaving her food untasted. “The rest of you had better do the same. We sail at first light.”
Dag and Gythe and Rodrigo went below. Stephano, standing first watch, remained on the bridge. Miri lay down in the bed, but she couldn’t sleep. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she went up on deck. Without speaking to Stephano, she checked the amount of lift gas left in the balloon. She was going to return to her cabin, but found Stephano standing in her way.
He took hold of her hand, twined his fingers through hers.
“You’ll always have me, Miri,” he said. “I know I’m not much, but I’m better than nothing.”
Miri laughed in spite of herself. She squeezed his hand tightly.
“No one else will have either of us, it seems,” she said ruefully. “I know I’m being a bitch. It’s just … Maybe I made the wrong decision, risking sailing through the Dustbin. Maybe we should have gone around—”
“We have the trade winds. We must be close to the shipping lanes. We’ll make it to Evreux. We have to. Rodrigo will never forgive us if he misses the summer season at court.”
Miri gave a grudging smile. “You always make me feel better. I guess I won’t murder you in your bed tonight.”
“I’ll hide the knives, just in case,” Stephano called after her.
Miri went below to her cabin. She moved quietly, feeling her way through the darkness, so as not to wake her sister. She sat down on the edge of the bed. The magic was failing. The balloon was shrinking.
We are near the shipping lanes. We have to be.
* * *
The night passed quietly. Stephano handed over the watch to Dag.
They made their customary exchange.
“Nothing to report,” Stephano said.
“That’s the way we like it,” said Dag.
Stephano went to bed. He was restless and hot and sleep eluded him. When he finally dozed off, he woke to a hand on his shoulder.
“Something you should see, Captain,” Dag whispered.
Stephano was awake instantly. He eased himself out of the hammock. Rodrigo was asleep in the other hammock, lying on his stomach, his arms dangling over the edge, breathing softly. He had stumbled out of bed once during the night to check on the magical patches, fixing any that were starting to fail.
Stephano pulled on his boots and met Dag on deck. “What is it?”
“To the north,” Dag said, looking through his spyglass.
Stephano put his spyglass to his eye, swept it over the horizon. Darkness filled the sky above and behind, but the sky ahead was lit by the pale, pinkish orange light of approaching dawn. He could see an island silhouetted in the soft light and another island farther beyond. And that was all. Clear skies. They were almost out of the Dustbin. He thought at first this was why Dag had brought him up on deck, then a flash of green light caught his eye.
“There!” said Dag, jabbing his finger.
Stephano shifted the spyglass. He watched for long moments, then lowered it. He could hear the faint boom of cannons.
“Flashes of green,” he said, lowering the spyglass. “Cannonfire. Bottom Dwellers attacking a ship?”
“Yes, sir, that’s what I thought,” Dag agreed. “Merchant ship to judge by the sound of the cannonfire.”
Stephano listened and understood what Dag meant. Gun crews aboard merchantmen were often poorly trained, since they very rarely had to fight. The cannonfire was sporadic, desultory. Once several guns went off almost together, probably an attempt at a broadside.
“Six pounders,” said Stephano. He paused, his head cocked. “That’s not cannonfire.”
“Swivel guns,” said Dag.
“I never heard of a merchant ship armed with swivel guns,” said Stephano.
Storm Riders Page 17
