Dubois stopped just short of head-snapping range. He looked at the harness and the saddles and noted that the leatherwork was quite fine, expensive, with no sign of military markings. Footprints in the dirt beneath the trees led to the gravel turnabout drive. The prints were of two sets of feet—two men wearing riding boots.
Dubois was intrigued. Two men had flown here on griffin back when they could have just as easily and far more cheaply hired horses or carriages. He could think of two reasons. The first, the men were in a hurry. Griffins flew extremely fast, almost as fast as dragons. The second, the men wanted to remain unobserved.
They might be thieves. He discounted that. Men who rode griffins were not here to steal the silver wine decanters.
Dubois would not have described himself as a man of courage. He often said he had too much sense to be courageous. He was not a gentleman, like Lord Captain de Guichen, and thus was not required to fight duels or stand his ground when someone was shooting at him. That said, Dubois was not a coward, either. He could be brave when bravery was required.
These gentlemen, whoever they were, had something to do with the duquesa. He needed to know what. Dubois reached into his coat, to the specially designed pistol sheath, and drew out the double-barreled pistol set with magical targeting constructs. He loaded the pistol and grabbed his dark lantern. Keeping to the deepening shadows, he made his way to the château.
The front entrance consisted of a set of double doors that must once have been very fine, but which exhibited the same lack of care as the rest of the structure. One of the doors stood ajar.
“You gentlemen entered with impunity,” Dubois murmured. “You have no fear of being discovered, for you didn’t bother to close the door.”
He did fear discovery, so he crept around the side of the château to the rear. Here he found the servants’ entrance. This door, far less magnificent than the front door, was locked. Dubois numbered lock picking among his many talents and he soon let himself in. He carefully and softly shut the door behind him.
A narrow entryway led to an enormous kitchen on his right, the pantry on his left, and another locked door farther down the hall. He wondered if that was the infamous wine cellar where the unfortunate man had hanged himself. The entryway was dark. The only light came from windows in the kitchen, and night was falling fast. Dubois stood quite still, held his breath, and listened.
He could hear at least one man tromping about on the upper level. A booming voice, the type that belongs to sailors or military men, said loudly and irritably, “We’ve searched every room of this bloody house. She’s not here. We should return to the Terrapin before someone sees the boat and reports us to the authorities.”
Dubois was startled. The man was speaking Freyan. Having spent considerable time in the Freyan court, Dubois was fluent in the language. He could not place the voice. The second man answered in a much quieter manner. Dubois could not make out what was said.
The first voice boomed out irascibly, “What the devil are we looking for now? I doubt if you’ll find the money you paid her.” He gave a rakish laugh.
The other man was silent. Perhaps he was not amused.
The two men started clumping down the stairs. Dubois realized they were descending to the ground floor. He ducked into the pantry. He opened the shutter of his dark lantern, flashed the light about, then slid the panel shut. The pantry was merely a pantry. The shelves were empty, nothing of interest. Dubois left the door open a crack and peered out into the hall.
The footsteps came closer and closer. Dubois saw lights flashing; both men were carrying dark lanterns. He heard them walking through the kitchen and then they appeared in the hallway directly opposite him. Dubois was so astonished he had to choke back an audible gasp.
He was looking right into the face of his old foe, Sir Henry Wallace. The man with Sir Henry was the pirate, Captain Alan Northrop, one of the most sought-after criminals in Rosia. Both had come expecting trouble. Sir Henry carried a pistol in one hand and the dark lantern in the other. Captain Northrop was holding a pistol and Dubois could see the butt of another pistol tucked into his belt.
Dubois gave an inward sigh of regret. He had spent much of his life pursuing Sir Henry Wallace, hoping to catch the Freyan spymaster on Rosian soil so that he could bring him to justice. Now he had him but he could do nothing. Dubois was far too sensible to think he could try to arrest Wallace and Northrop and survive the encounter. He might, however, learn something of value. He composed himself to listen.
“Here it is,” said Sir Henry, walking down the hall, out of Dubois’s line of sight. “Behind this door. It was once a wine cellar or so she told me.”
“That’s where the bastard hanged himself,” said Captain Northrop.
He remained standing in the entryway.
Sir Henry chuckled as he fiddled with the lock. “Afraid of ghosts, Alan?”
“It’s bad luck to go into a room where a man’s killed himself,” Alan said. “What did this Eiddwen of yours do in there, anyway?”
Dubois’s ears pricked. Eiddwen? Who was Eiddwen? Some relation to the duchess?
“She had turned the cellar into a laboratory. This is where she and her people constructed the green beam weapon. I came here to finalize the plans on the sinking of that cutter. She had demanded more money and after all the money I had already paid her, I wasn’t about to give her more without some idea of what she was doing with it. She brought me to this room to show me the green beam cannon, which was almost assembled. It was impressive, as you know. On the basis of that, I gave her the money.”
“Do you think she has more weapons like that stashed away down here?”
“Weapons, plans, who knows,” said Sir Henry. “We know she’s lived here recently. Maybe she left some clue as to where I can find her now.”
There was a clicking sound. The door opened with a creaking of rusted hinges. After a moment’s silence, Sir Henry said, with a catch in his throat, “God almighty…”
“What?” Captain Northrop demanded, raising his pistol. “What is it? A ghost?”
“Not a ghost,” Sir Henry replied. “Though I could almost wish it was. Come see for yourself.”
Captain Northrop walked with obvious reluctance toward the door to the wine cellar. Dubois lost sight of the two men and he risked opening the door a little wider until he had them in view.
“Good God!” Captain Northrop exclaimed. “Is all that…”
“Blood,” said Sir Henry. His expression was grim. “The stains are old, but there’s no doubt.”
“This is a far cry from gun schematics, Henry,” said Captain Northrop in a tone of revulsion. “I take it this gore wasn’t here when you were here.”
“No,” said Sir Henry.
“So what happened?”
“Blood magic rites,” Sir Henry said. “See the manacles on the walls? That’s where she kept her victims chained. In this isolated mansion, down here in the cellar, no one would hear the screams.”
“You’re certain it was Eiddwen who did this? They said the mansion was owned by some Estaran duchess. Maybe she did it.”
“More likely Eiddwen murdered her and stole her identity,” said Sir Henry. “Father Jacob told me Eiddwen was involved in blood magic. She worked with that apprentice of hers, the Warlock. Those murders in Capione were his doing and now we know she was involved. Some of those young people probably died right here.”
“I’ve seen men with their heads smashed to a pulp, their guts hanging out, the scuppers running with blood. And I never felt like puking until now,” said Captain Northrop. “Let’s get out of here.”
“This woman has made threats against my family. And I have no idea where she is!” said Sir Henry. “For all I know, she might be sneaking up on my wife right now…”
Dubois crept silently into the hallway. Both men had their backs to him. Northrop still held his pistol, but it wasn’t cocked. Sir Henry had lowered his gun.
Dubois cocked his o
wn pistol.
At the sound, Captain Northrop swore and raised his gun.
“Don’t move!” Dubois ordered. “Drop your weapons. What is the colorful Freyan expression, Sir Henry? ‘I have the drop on you.’ I could kill you both right now, but I won’t. I need information.”
Sir Henry and Captain Northrop exchanged glances. There wasn’t much they could do. One of them might fire a shot, but Dubois would most certainly kill the other. The two men gently laid their pistols on the floor.
“Now remove the pistol you have in your belt, Captain. And you, Sir Henry, the pocket pistol you carry beneath your coat. Place them on the floor as well.”
“Who is this bastard?” Captain Northrop demanded, doing as he was told. “He looks like a bloody clerk.”
“His name is Dubois,” said Sir Henry. “He works for the grand bishop of Rosia. His looks are deceiving. I consider Dubois my equal.”
“You honor me, Sir Henry,” said Dubois earnestly, with a little bow. “Keep your hands in the air, please.”
“Why are you here, Dubois?” Sir Henry asked.
“The rule is: The person with the gun asks the questions,” said Dubois. “This Eiddwen you talked about. What does she look like? Describe her.”
Sir Henry shrugged. “She’s about thirty-five years of age. Her appearance is quite striking. She has a mane of black hair and dark eyes and a dusky complexion.”
“All of which could be disguised with wigs and powder,” said Dubois. “Does she have a distinctive physical trait or characteristic?”
“It would help me, Dubois, to know why you want to know,” said Sir Henry, starting to grow annoyed. “You heard me say she has made threats against my family—”
Dubois pondered a moment, then said, “The Duquesa de Plata Niebla, the owner of this château, is at this moment in the royal court of Rosia.”
Sir Henry cast Dubois a sharp glance.
“The devil she is,” he said harshly.
“I don’t understand—” Captain Northrop began.
“You will, soon enough,” Sir Henry told him. “Is she alone or with someone?”
“She is with her nephew. A young man in his midtwenties, perhaps. He is handsome with a pouting mouth. He walks with a limp.”
Sir Henry’s brow darkened. “The bastard walks with a limp because I shot off his toe. What does this duquesa look like?”
Dubois described the duchess, adding, “She wears powdered wigs and her face is heavily rouged and powdered. She might as well be wearing a mask. That is why I asked about the physical trait.”
Sir Henry thought. “Eiddwen has a chipped tooth.”
Dubois sorted through his mental files and brought up several images of the duquesa. “Right incisor. The chip is small, noticeable only when she smiles.”
“You see, Alan, I told you Dubois was my equal,” said Sir Henry. “Yes, that is Eiddwen. Dubois, you and I need to have a serious talk and I find that difficult to do when the blood is draining from my arms. If you will allow us to lower our hands…”
“Kick your pistols toward me,” said Dubois.
Both men did as they were told. One after another, the pistols slid across the floor toward Dubois. He gathered them up and placed them in the pantry behind him, all the while keeping his own pistol trained on the two men.
“Very well, Sir Henry, I am all attention,” said Dubois.
“You are aware that I have no love for King Alaric. If I thought Eiddwen was in the royal palace merely to kill Alaric, I wouldn’t lift a finger to stop her. But I believe she is plotting something far more terrible, something that will have dire consequences not only for Rosia, but for Freya and the rest of the world, as well. You are familiar with Father Jacob Northrop?”
“I am,” said Dubois. He glanced at the captain. “I believe he is your brother, monsieur?”
Captain Northrop made no response.
“Father Jacob knew Eiddwen as ‘the Sorceress,’” said Sir Henry. “I knew her as the woman who tricked me into helping her build a contramagic gun. She took the weapon and my money and disappeared. I gave no more thought to her until I discovered she had sent her Bottom Dwellers to kill my wife. Then her Bottom Dwellers ambushed me in Westfirth, along with Father Jacob.”
“I know this to be the truth,” Dubois conceded. “I was in Westfirth at the time of the ambush. I was on your trail at the time. I very nearly caught you.”
“You gave me some extremely bad moments, Dubois,” Sir Henry admitted. “To continue, a short time ago, I received a note from Father Jacob. He told me everything he had discovered about the Bottom Dwellers, about contramagic, about the weapons they used. I connected this with what I knew about Eiddwen. I will not bore you with details, but we both have come to the same conclusion: Eiddwen is an agent of these Bottom Dwellers. She is skilled in magic, contramagic, and blood magic. She is intelligent, fearless, clever, cunning, cruel, and sadistic. And you say she is in the royal palace.”
“If you don’t believe Henry, take a look inside that wine cellar,” Captain Nothrop added grimly.
Dubois was deeply troubled. He knew Sir Henry Wallace, knew he could lie and lie well when it suited his purpose. Dubois did not think the man was lying now, though.
“And now, what do you intend to do with us, monsieur?” Sir Henry asked. “Since, as you say, you have the drop on us.”
“I will let you go,” said Dubois.
Captain Northrop started moving in the direction of the pantry to retrieve his guns. Dubois blocked his way.
“I will keep your pistols. A small memento of our meeting.”
“The devil take you, monsieur! I’ll be damned if I let some weasely clerk—”
Dubois pointed his pistol at the captain’s head. “I assure you, Captain, the weasely clerk will shoot you without hesitation.”
“Meet me at the griffins, Alan,” said Sir Henry. He gripped Captain Northrop by the shoulder and shoved him toward the back door. “I’ll buy you more pistols.”
“We will meet again, monsieur,” Captain Northrop vowed angrily.
He shook off Sir Henry’s grip and stalked out the door, slamming it with such violence that the wood cracked. Sir Henry smiled and shook his head.
“Alan always was a hothead. I have a piece of advice. Return to the palace. Find Eiddwen. And put a bullet in her brain.”
Dubois did not relax his guard. He held the pistol on the Freyan spymaster as he walked toward the door.
“A pleasure talking with you, Dubois. Give my regards to the grand bishop.”
Sir Henry Wallace walked out. Dubois stepped to the door and watched the two as they made their way by the light of their dark lanterns to where they had left their griffins. He wondered if they might wait to ambush him and decided in the negative. Sir Henry Wallace had been in earnest when he talked about this Eiddwen and the suspicion that she was plotting something world shattering.
The question was: What to do about her? All very well for Henry to talk about assassinating her, but then Dubois would never find out what she was doing in the palace. Were there more like her? Other agents? What was this Warlock doing with her? How was he involved?
“I could take her into custody under the authority of the grand bishop, but Her Majesty the queen would be furious over the arrest of her favorite, as would the king,” Dubois said to himself, frowning.
Relations between the king and the grand bishop had been strained of late. With rumors of the Freyan navy heading to Braffa and His Majesty and the grand bishop on opposing sides of the conflict, a quarrel between the two men over this duchess could very well land Rosia in the center of an armed conflict.
He knew that whatever he did, he would have to do it circumspectly. The thought came to him that he could take the Countess de Marjolaine into his confidence. She, too, had suspected there was something not quite right about the Duquesa de Plata Niebla.
Dubois took a fancy to Sir Henry’s pocket pistol and tucked it into his coat. He dr
opped the other weapons into an empty barrel and then, curious, he went to look inside the wine cellar.
He knew what to expect and yet he wasn’t prepared for the gruesome sight. Blood had stained the stone floor red. Blood covered the walls, especially in the vicinity of the manacles. The blood had even splashed on the ceiling.
Dubois took one long look, then said a murmured prayer for the souls of the victims and closed the door.
He walked back across the gravel drive to where he had left his horse. He did not use the dark lantern. He relied on the moon to light his way. Although he was fairly certain Sir Henry would not kill him, Dubois thought it best not to offer the Freyan too much in the way of temptation.
Reaching the tree line, Dubois was relieved to find the griffins were gone. He was glad to know he had judged Sir Henry rightly.
Dubois mounted his horse. He took one last look at the château. The building was gray and cold in the moonlight. Dubois rode away, thinking to himself that after all the dreadful deeds that had taken place inside that place, God would be more than justified in burning it to the ground.
Dubois was not an assassin. Unlike Sir Henry, Dubois had never killed anyone. Yet after viewing the wine cellar, he thought that if he should come upon Eiddwen, he might act upon Sir Henry’s advice and put a bullet in her brain.
32
Matters have gone from bad to worse in Argonne. The Duke de Bourlet has openly defied the king and gathers an army to defend the duchy. Julian de Guichen has proclaimed his loyalty to the duke. He marches with the armies, as does his young son, Stephano. All know the king has goaded the duke into this fight. He will attack them with the full might of the kingdom and the church. This rebellion is lost before it can ever begin. Perhaps you might still save your friend. Destroy this letter after you read it.
—Grégoire de Villeneuve, in a letter to his younger brother, Rodrigo, written at the time of the Lost Rebellion
The Travian merchant ship, the Sommerwind, sailed from Evreux, having taken on cargo, passengers, and one new member of the crew. Miri was the new crewmember, replacing the inebriated surgeon. Stephano and Rodrigo paid for their passage and were given the small cabin merchant ships often reserved for passengers. Gythe offered to help with repairing the magical constructs damaged by the contramagic fire and Rodrigo startled everyone by offering to assist her.
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