“Damn! You are right,” said Thomas, discouraged.
They continued to discuss the matter as they entered their lodgings and hurriedly put on more somber attire, suitable to attending holy services.
“We will need cloaks,” said Thomas, picking up his as they started to leave.
“It is hot as blazes! We will look ridiculous,” Phillip protested.
“If anyone asks, we can always say it might rain,” said Thomas.
Phillip sighed and picked up his cloak. They turned their steps toward the cathedral, which was located in the middle of Maribeau. Designed to be the center of attention, the single spire was visible from every part of the city. Phillip was intimately familiar with Maribeau, for he had visited the city on numerous occasions during his time as a Rose Hawk, and he led the way.
“I’m not really accustomed to walking about in broad daylight,” Phillip said. “Most of my work here took place at night. So what is the plan?”
“Consider this, Pip. If a person is going to be executed, who is the one person the guards will allow into the cell, permit to be alone with the prisoner?”
Phillip stared, aghast, at Thomas. “Oh, no! You are not thinking what I think you are thinking!”
“I think I probably am,” Thomas admitted.
“I draw the line at assaulting a priest to steal his robes.”
Thomas gripped his friend by the arm, digging his fingers in. “Pip, they are going to hang Kate! Have you ever seen a man hanged? During the war, I saw a soldier hanged for striking a superior officer. We officers had to be there to witness it. The executioner put the noose around the man’s neck, then released the trapdoor. If the victim is lucky, the fall snaps his neck. This poor bastard was not lucky. He hung there, kicking and writhing in agony, as the noose slowly choked off his life. I can’t bear to think of her—”
Thomas shook his head, unable to go on.
“We will save her,” Phillip said. “You can count on me.”
“I know I can,” said Thomas with a faint smile. “And if my plan works, we won’t have to assault anyone. Now, hurry. I want to be there when the service starts.”
The two quickened their pace.
* * *
Maribeau had been founded over one hundred years ago by Rosian settlers worried about Freyan expansion into the Aligoes with the establishment of Wellinsport. Now, Maribeau was the largest city in the islands, the cathedral the most imposing structure.
The original church building had been made of timber with a thatched roof. The burgeoning population soon outgrew the small church and when the Freyans in Wellinsport constructed a church made of stone, the Rosians would not rest until they had built a more impressive one.
Blessed with an energetic archbishop and an equally energetic order of monks intent on bringing God to the pirates, they used money derived from the manufacture and sale of gunpowder to the same pirates and paid vast sums to have marble shipped all the way from Rosia. The story goes that the townspeople came together to haul the marble blocks from the docks to the building site.
The cathedral was not as large as the grandest ones on the continent of Rosia, but with its simple and elegant design, white marble and dark cedar timbers, it was considered by many to have its own unique beauty.
Cathedral Square was a popular meeting place for the city’s inhabitants. Farmers came from all over the island to sell their goods in the market that was held in the middle of the square. The farmers were packing up for the day by the time Phillip and Thomas arrived and the two men had to navigate their way among the colorful stalls and dodge flocks of geese and chickens, children and handcarts.
The cathedral bell sounded the call to Vespers. The church doors stood open. People began leisurely making their way toward the church.
Thomas did not enter the cathedral, but continued past the main building to the rear where the monks of the order of the martyr Saint Guillaume had built their monastery. They ran a school for the teaching of crafting, and the school building was also behind the church. A high stone wall enclosed the monastery grounds and the school.
The wall was not meant to keep out intruders so much as to shut out the noise of the city and provide the monks a peaceful sanctuary to live and worship. It was an old wall, covered with trailing vines adorned with colorful flowers.
They passed a monk holding open a wicket gate as a stream of excited children flooded out into the square, glad to be released from school. The monk gave Thomas and Phillip a friendly nod as they passed. Several of the older female students gave them friendly nods, too, adding friendly smiles as well, for the two young men were clearly gentlemen, comely and well dressed.
Thomas received most of their attention. He was strikingly handsome, with black curly hair and blue eyes, a trait his mother claimed was part of the Stanford heritage. A scar on his cheek from the battle of San Estavan added a touch of romance.
Phillip was not as handsome as Thomas, nor was he as tall. He had a shock of blond hair bleached almost white by the sun and one blue eye and one green. His mouth was too wide, but that gave him a generous smile and made people want to smile back. He and Thomas smiled at the girls, who giggled and ran off.
Thomas eyed the wall. “I need to climb over that, sneak onto the grounds.”
“And what will you say when you are caught?” Phillip asked. “That you felt a sudden urge to become a priest?”
“I won’t get caught,” said Thomas. “The monks will all be attending Vespers.”
The two continued to follow the wall around to the back until they found a likely looking place to scale the wall. The vines were thick and tough and this portion of the wall was in deep shadow cast by the leafy branches of a nearby tree. Thomas removed his hat and his jacket and took hold of a vine with both hands. He immediately let go, winced, swore.
“Damn! Thorns!” He looked at his scratched hands, eyed the vines, then said, “Take off your cravat.”
Phillip understood his intention. He removed the cravat and handed the wide strip of cloth to Thomas, who took off his own cravat and wrapped them both around his palms.
“I’ll go. You stay here,” said Thomas.
“What do I do if someone comes? I look very suspicious, loitering around the wall,” said Phillip.
“Say you’re a botanist, studying the flora,” said Thomas. He took off his jacket and handed it to his friend. “Besides, no one will come. Everyone will be in church.”
He once more grasped hold of the vine and began to climb it. The climb was not easy. The thorns were tiny but wicked, and though his hands were somewhat protected, the thorns snagged his stockings and his shirt, and tugged at his hair. Small branches cracked and snapped underfoot, sounding as loud as gunshots. Fortunately the bell was still ringing and he hoped no one would hear.
Thomas reached the top and looked back down. Phillip stood below, anxiously watching. Thomas gave him a reassuring wave and looked from his perch into the compound. The monks kept a vegetable garden here, as well as pigs, to judge by the smell. From here he could see the monks filing into the church.
He located the dortoir where the monks lived, and fixed the position in his mind. Thanking Providence that the vine also covered the inside of the wall he’d climbed, he carefully shinnied partway down the vine, then dropped the rest of the way, landing in a tangle of undergrowth. He took a moment to locate a landmark that would guide him back to this section of the wall. A tree laden with sweet-smelling purple flowers stood not far from where he had landed.
He set out, circling around the garden and the pigs, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. While most of the monks and lay brothers would be attending Vespers, the infirm and the elderly would be excused from going, and Thomas did not want to take the chance of being seen.
He made his way swiftly past the abbot’s house, the bakery, and kitchen. He passed the stables and came at last to the rear of the compound. Here he found what he was seeking: a stream of fresh water.<
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The stream led him to the bathhouse and the laundry area, marked by large washtubs and poles strung with rope on which to hang the wet clothes.
Thomas hoped he would find robes hanging on the line and that he would not be forced to sneak inside the dortoir to pilfer them from the monks’ cells. He breathed a sigh of relief. Robes were neatly pinned to the lines, gently waving in the soft breeze. He selected two woolen tunics and two scapulars—the aprons with attached cowls that covered the tunics. Removing them from the line, he hurriedly folded them and tucked them underneath his arm, then made his way back through the garden.
He found the wall and spent a few tense moments searching for the tree with the purple flowers. Just when he was starting to panic, thinking he was completely lost, he found the tree. Hoping it was the right tree, he gave a low whistle.
Phillip whistled back.
“All clear!” he added, keeping his voice as soft as possible. “Did you find robes?”
“I did. Be ready! I’m tossing them over the wall.”
Thomas tied the two cravats he’d worn around his hands together, tightly knotted the makeshift rope around the monks’ tunics and scapular, then tried throwing them over the wall.
He missed the first time. The bundle struck the wall and tumbled down, nearly hitting him in the face. His aim was better the second time. The bundle sailed over the wall and disappeared.
“Got it!” Phillip called.
Thomas eyed the thorns on the vines, looked at the limbs of the purple flowering tree and decided for the tree. He broke one of the limbs about halfway up, causing his foot to slip, but he managed to hang on and hoisted himself onto the top of the wall.
Phillip stood below, watching anxiously. “Hurry up! Someone’s coming!”
Thomas dropped off the wall and landed with a jarring thud on the ground. He could hear voices drawing closer. A young man and a young woman came into sight, holding hands. They had eyes only for each other. Thomas hurriedly snatched up his hat and put it on, then struggled into his jacket. Phillip tucked the bundle beneath his cloak and pointed to the tree.
“A fine specimen of jacaranda,” he said loudly. “From which we derive logwood, used in dyes and for various medicinal purposes.”
“I don’t believe I have ever seen one with flowers quite that delicate shade of purple,” Thomas remarked.
The young man and the young woman realized they were not alone. The young woman blushed and quickly dropped the young man’s hand. Phillip and Thomas regarded them with vague smiles and went back to discussing the tree.
The young man doffed his cap, the young woman curtsied, and they continued down the path.
“I believe we interrupted a lover’s tryst,” Phillip said.
Thomas was watching the young couple. He guessed, by the ink stain on the young man’s index finger, that he was probably a clerk. The young woman was neatly dressed and wore a frilly cap; perhaps she was a maid. The two walked on, once again holding hands. For them, no one else existed, certainly not two men discussing logwood.
“I wonder if they know how lucky they are,” Thomas said. “I would give anything just to walk together in a garden with Kate, holding hands.”
“Kate is not the kind of woman who would walk demurely by your side, holding your hand,” Phillip commented. “She’s the kind of woman about to be hanged as a pirate unless we can stop it. You have twigs stuck in your hair.”
Thomas pulled out the twigs and the two left the monastery, heading back to their lodgings. Once they were out in the open in Cathedral Square, Thomas’s gaze was drawn to Fort Saint-Jean. The enormity of the task he had set for himself suddenly appeared insurmountable.
“What the hell am I thinking, Pip?” he said, discouraged. “We don’t know the guards’ routine. We don’t know where Kate is being held. We don’t even know where the prison is located! I don’t suppose you were ever inside?”
“Only in my nightmares,” said Phillip. “I came a bit too close to being locked up once. I do, though, know someone who might be able to help us.”
“That would be a godsend!” Thomas exclaimed.
“We will pay a visit to Louie. He was one of my contacts during the Rose Hawks days,” said Phillip. “He will have closed up his shop at this hour, but he lives behind it, so we should find him there—provided he hasn’t been arrested again.”
“Is that likely?” Thomas asked, startled.
“Unfortunately, yes,” said Phillip. “Poor Louie always found it hard to resist temptation. But perhaps he has reformed. You will need your purse. Louie’s services do not come cheap.”
Phillip led Thomas to a narrow, dirty street in an old part of the city a few blocks from the wharf. The shops in this part of Maribeau were small and dingy with an air of resignation about them, for they had long ago given up any ambitions of being prosperous and now seemed resigned to simply eking out a living.
The odor of boot blacking wafted from the workshop of a cobbler, who was out in the street in his leather apron, hanging up his shutters. He gave Thomas’s fine leather boots a wistful, admiring glance, then turned back to his work.
“Here is our destination,” Phillip said, stopping before a shop located at the end of the block.
A sign in the shape of an enormous key hung over the door. LOUIE’S LOCKS: MAGICAL AND MECHANICAL.
“Louie is a locksmith,” said Thomas.
“One of the best,” said Phillip.
Louie had already closed for the day, apparently, for the windows were shuttered and no one answered when Phillip knocked. They circled around to a side door where Phillip knocked again. A hatch popped open and an eye, remarkable for its shrewdness, peered out at them.
Phillip smiled. “It’s me, Louie.”
The eye narrowed, as though trying to remember, then suddenly vanished. The hatch shut and the door opened to reveal a short, slender, dapper man with sleek black hair. He ushered them inside. After a last glance outside, he shut the door again.
Louie opened his arms wide and embraced Phillip. “Master Pip! My dear friend! I am delighted to see you again, sir. Delighted.”
Louie shifted his shrewd eyes to Thomas. “And you have brought a friend. I do not recall meeting this gentleman before. Was he one of the…” Louie gave a delicate cough.
“A Rose Hawk? No, he was not. You may call him Master Tom,” Phillip replied, adding for Thomas’s benefit, “Louie and I do not stand on formality. We are on a first-name basis. We consider surnames to be superfluous.”
“I understand and approve,” said Thomas.
Louie made a bobbing bow and extended a hand that was so remarkable Thomas could hardly keep from staring. The locksmith’s hand was fine-boned and slender; its long, tapering fingers moved with delicate grace. Thomas had known ladies of the court who would have given half their wealth for such elegant hands.
After introductions, Louie politely asked if they would take tea with him.
“Thank you, but we are here on business, and as fate would have it, time is of the essence,” said Phillip. “Louie is the best locksmith in all of the Aligoes and perhaps all the world.”
“‘Locks mechanical and magical,’” said Louie, quoting the sign over the door.
“Louie is also renowned for his lock-picking skills. He put them to good use for the Rose Hawks when we needed to acquire information from Rosian officials who were so disobliging as to lock it away.”
“Those were exciting times, sir,” said Louie, sighing wistfully.
“A little too exciting on occasion,” said Phillip with a wry smile. “Unfortunately, Louie’s passion for locks tends to land him in trouble with the constables.”
“I cannot resist a lock, Master Tom,” said Louie. His eyes glistened at the thought. “Whenever a new lock is advertised as being ‘proof against housebreakers,’ I cannot rest until I have defeated it.”
Seeing Thomas look dubious, Phillip was quick to reassure him. “Louie is no common thief.”
“Indeed, I am not, sir!” said Louie, indignant at the mere suggestion. “I confess that once I have picked the lock, I do break into the house, but only to leave the housekeeper a note, along with my card, advising them that they have been defrauded by purchasing a worthless lock. I suggest that they come to me for a lock that I guarantee will resist all attempts to break it.”
“Except your own,” said Thomas.
Louie gave a modest smile and bowed.
Phillip said, “Unfortunately the constabulary cannot be made to see that Louie is performing a public service and they persist in arresting him for housebreaking.”
“I have my own special cell in Fort Saint-Jean overlooking the harbor,” said Louie with a certain amount of pride. “The warden and I have developed a friendship over the years. Often while I am serving my time, I perform various services around the prison for him.”
“Louie repairs broken locks, replaces warding constructs, and makes certain the magical damping magic is working,” said Phillip.
“Magical damping magic?” Thomas asked curiously.
“Certain cells are specially designed for prisoners who are crafters who could use their magic to effect an escape,” Louie explained. “The walls and the cell doors are covered with magical constructs intended to disrupt or dissipate any new constructs. Let us say that a prisoner wants to set the door to his cell on fire. If he tries, not only will the magic prevent him, it will rebound on him, causing him to burn himself in the process.”
“As you see, Louie is extremely familiar with the prison in Fort Saint-Jean,” said Phillip. “One might say he knows it inside out.”
Louie gave another of his bobbing bows, then shifted his shrewd gaze from one man to the other. “How may I be of assistance to you, gentlemen?”
“A friend from the old days is being held in the fort’s prison,” Phillip explained. “She is going to be hanged in the morning unless we can break her out. We already have a plan in mind. What we need from you is the layout of the prison and any information you can give us, such as when the guards change shifts and where her cell might be located.”
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