“Good God, Duchess! The Church has issued a ban against even speaking of contramagic, let alone writing about it!”
“So you are one of those who subscribe to the belief that contramagic is evil,” the duchess said.
“Magic is neither good nor evil,” Simon said impatiently. “Magic is!”
The duchess winked at him. “Let me know what you think of the book.”
“If the Church finds out you wrote this, they will lock us both in prison, Your Grace. Or worse!”
“I don’t think they burn heretics these days,” the duchess said, laughing.
Simon waved the book at her. “For you, they might make an exception!”
He smiled at the memory. He had, of course, read the book. He devoured it. He discreetly sent the duchess to find other books on the subject of the so-called evil magic, only to discover that they had all been confiscated by the Church.
In the process of studying the forbidden contramagic, Simon had come to realize that while he might not be able to use his legs to walk, he could use his mind to leap and soar and fly.
And now Simon was propelling his chair at a rapid rate of speed along the street that led to the harbor. His friends would follow, of course.
Simon grinned. He had left them little choice.
He was traveling several feet off the ground, but he could not yet see the harbor. Tall brick buildings blocked his view. He knew where he was, however, for he had visited the Naval Yard a month ago to instruct the Valor’s crafters, crew, and officers on how to best utilize the crystals known as the Tears of God.
The Valor was the first of the ships of the Expeditionary Fleet to be refitted. Randolph had wanted time to be able to test the crystals, see how the ship handled, make necessary adjustments. Randolph and his flag captain had planned to take the Valor out into the Breath only a few days from now.
Simon propelled his chair along the empty street, rounded a corner, and the lights of the harbor came into view. He could clearly see the Valor. The ship had been moved out of its berth and was now riding at anchor in the harbor, held in place by ropes attached fore and aft to two iron bollards. Those on board had lowered the gangplank and it was still in place for they were loading the ship with supplies. The Valor displayed her running lights, as well as masthead lights.
Her flag captain was ashore, but he would have detailed a small crew to keep watch under the command of a lieutenant. The crew would not be expecting trouble.
Simon dropped his chair to the ground and shut down the lift tanks to roll along the street, using the airscrews to propel the chair. The street ended at the pier. Simon kept to the shadows cast by the buildings and halted some distance from the ship.
The night air was crisp and cold. Beyond the lights of the Valor, the Breath was black. The very world seemed to come to an end. Simon removed a spyglass from one of the compartmented cabinets Mr. Albright had built into his chair and put it to his eye.
He assumed the enemy would come by boat, but he could see nothing. He lowered the glass and settled himself to wait.
“They will have to act soon,” he said, talking to himself as he generally did since he was usually the only person around. “They have planted instigators in the mob, they must worry that the people at the gate will eventually grow bored with yelling and throwing rocks and will head back to the grog shops. Either that or the marines will open fire, in which case the mob will flee.”
Simon heard the boats before he saw them. The faint hum of airscrews broke the silence of the night. He raised the spyglass and turned it toward the direction of the sound.
He saw three shore boats that had been painted black creeping toward the Valor. The boats did not have balloons and they had not raised their sails. They were relying on the airscrews alone. Their progress was slow, but steady.
“Now would be an extremely good time to arrive, Henry,” Simon remarked, twisting his head to look over his shoulder. He saw no sign of the patrol boat, and turned back to observe the enemy.
The three boats headed straight for the pier, taking care to stay in the shadows, avoiding the light that shone from the ship. The sailors keeping watch on board the Valor had not noticed their peril. They would probably not notice until they were under attack, and by then it would be too late. These men were armed and they had come to fight.
Simon considered his options.
“I need to alert the crew to the danger. I can accomplish that by means of magic, but I will have to reveal my position, which is precarious, for there is little cover close to the pier. Therefore the best way to achieve my goal is to take to the air.”
Simon waited until the three boats drew near the pier and men began jumping from the boat onto the dock. They were dressed all in black to blend in with the night, but he could tell by their bearing and their disciplined movements that they were soldiers. He counted six in the first landing party and guessed there would be equal numbers in the other two boats.
Someone gave a single command in a foreign language, which Simon recognized.
“Guundaran mercenaries,” he murmured.
The soldiers from the first boat crept soft-footed across the dock toward the Valor. As they drew closer, Simon could dimly see them in the reflected glow of the masthead lights on the wooden dock. The soldiers were armed with clubs and pistols.
Arriving at the gangplank, the first group came to a halt, waiting for their fellows in order to storm the ship in a rush that would overwhelm the small crew.
The first boat left, returning to the Breath, and the second boat sailed up to the dock. The soldiers jumped out and moved toward the gangplank. All was carried out in orderly, military fashion and almost total silence.
“That, at least, is going to end,” Simon said.
He glanced over his shoulder and was heartened to see the patrol boat, flying low, just managing to clear the steep roof of the Admiralty building. Simon could picture Alan standing on deck, eager for action, with Randolph beside him, fretting about his ship. Henry would be the cool head, advising them to proceed with caution.
The third boat was drawing near the dock. Simon adjusted the direction of his chair’s airscrews and propelled his chair into the air, relying on the sounds of the boat’s airscrews to mask his own.
The mercenaries jumped out of the third boat and ran to join their comrades. Their attention was focused on the ship. No one had seen or heard him.
Simon was pleased. He had been hoping for a chance to test his newest invention, one he called a “cracker” for it resembled the bonbons known as crackers—paper cylinders tied at each end with ribbon that emitted a sharp crack when pulled apart.
The cracker he had invented consisted of a glass rod, six inches long and an inch thick with a twist in the center. One side of the cracker was etched with magical constructs. The other was etched with contramagic. When the tube broke, the two energies would collide with force that Simon trusted would do more than crackle.
He ran his finger over the constructs he had etched into the glass, the magic and the contramagic. The cracker began to glow a faint blue at one end and green at the other.
He kept the glowing tube concealed so that no crafter would notice the light, and flew his chair until he was within range.
The last group of soldiers joined their comrades and stood waiting at the end of the gangplank for the order to attack.
Simon hurled the cracker.
Designed to explode on impact, the cracker hit the dock and blew up in a dazzling ball of blinding blue-green light. A concussive boom bowled over those unfortunate enough to be standing nearby.
Lights flared on board the Valor. Sailors shouted and ran to look over the rail. The mercenaries were thrown into confusion. Three lay unconscious on the ground. Most of the others were bleeding from cuts where they had been struck by shards of glass.
“Prepare for boarders!” an officer shouted, and the crew of the Valor ran to grab cutlasses and pistols.
Simon took out another cracker and began preparing the magic. Henry and his friends on board the patrol boat could now see what was happening and would hopefully increase their speed.
The mercenaries assumed that they had come under attack from the sailors on board the ship. They dashed up the gangplank, ready to fight the sailors who were running to meet them.
Simon flew overhead and dropped another cracker. It landed on the gangplank in the midst of the warring groups. The blast and blinding light momentarily incapacitated both friend and foe.
The mercenaries now realized that they were being attacked from the air. They looked up and spotted Simon. The Guundarans appeared considerably amazed by the sight of a man floating in a wheeled chair about fifteen feet off the ground, but they were professionals. Nothing rattled them for long. They raised their pistols.
Simon tossed a final cracker in their general direction, then turned the airscrews on full and made a rapid retreat. He heard shots, but he wasn’t particularly concerned. He was a moving target, barely visible in the darkness, and the soldiers were firing into the air.
He even performed some nice calculations as he fled regarding the trajectory of the deteriorating arc of a lead ball that is fired upward as compared to one fired in a straight line.
The patrol boat had arrived, and the Guundarans were now facing armed marines, swivel guns, and the cannon. The mercenaries were not being paid enough to sacrifice their lives in a hopeless cause, and they decided to retreat.
Their comrades in the waiting boats saw the danger and returned to the rescue. The mercenaries picked up their wounded and ran for their boats. The sailors from the Valor streamed down the gangplank and chased after them. The mercenaries made an orderly retreat, holding off the sailors with pistol fire as they boarded the boats.
The patrol boat had reached Simon. He looked up to see Henry anxiously gazing down at him and he gave an exuberant wave. He then looked back at the battle on the dock, where the Valor’s enraged crew was trying to seize the enemy boats.
Sailors and mercenaries were locked in close combat. The marines on the patrol boat had to hold their fire, for if they shot into the confused mass of men, they were likely to kill as many of their own as they would the enemy.
The mercenary boats eventually managed to take to the air. A few die-hard sailors intent on fighting to the last were forced to jump from the boats as they sailed off.
“After them!” Henry shouted and the patrol boat sailed off in pursuit.
Simon doubted it would catch them. The black-painted boats would undoubtedly sail off in different directions and would be nearly impossible to see in the darkness of the Breath.
Simon lowered his chair to the ground. A few moments later, Albright arrived in the carriage and landed near Simon. He jumped off the box before the carriage had stopped moving.
“Are you hurt, sir?” he gasped, rushing over.
“I am fine, Albright. Stop hovering,” Simon said. “You know how that irritates me. Go wait with the carriage. I will join you in a moment.”
Mr. Albright reluctantly returned to the carriage. The patrol boat had lost the mercenaries, as Simon had foreseen, and returned. Once the boat had docked, Henry and Alan and Randolph hurriedly disembarked.
Alan and Henry ran to Simon. Randolph ascertained that his friend was all right and then told them he was going aboard the Valor to check on his ship, adding that he would spend the night on board.
“I’m afraid I may have inadvertently injured some of your crew,” Simon told him. “Give them my apologies. I had not anticipated that the concussive blast created by the mixture of the two magicks would be quite so powerful.”
Randolph gaped at him, too astonished to even swear. He then stomped off, shaking his head and muttering.
Henry turned to Simon. “What the devil did you think you were doing running off on your own like that? You could have been killed.”
“You should have waited for us,” Alan added.
“By that time, the Valor would have been in the hands of the enemy,” Simon replied. “I calculated the risks and I was in very little danger. As a matter of fact, I rather enjoyed myself. I have been wanting a chance to test the crackers and I was pleased to find out they worked as planned.”
“Too bad the attackers escaped,” said Henry. “I was hoping to question them, find out if they are part of this plot to put the Pretender on the throne.”
“Which was, of course, why they had to escape. Once they saw that their venture had failed, they fled, even making certain to carry their wounded away with them so that they would not fall into your hands.
“These men were well-trained Guundaran mercenaries,” Simon added. “I think you may safely say they were part of Smythe’s secret army. We know from Mr. Sloan that Smythe employs such mercenaries. Smythe has troop carriers, undoubtedly converted merchant vessels. But he could use a warship and he would not find one such as Valor lying about unattended.”
Henry cast him a grim glance.
“Sorry, Henry,” said Simon. “I did not mean that remark the way it sounded. You had no way of knowing the Valor would be in danger.”
“Still, I should have foreseen it, posted guards,” Henry said.
“Are you two talking about this Smythe again?!” Alan said impatiently. “I trust one of you will tell me what is going on.”
Henry drew out his pocket watch. “It is too late to return home. Let us go back to Simon’s for a brandy and I will explain.”
Henry and Alan walked Simon to his carriage. Alan was in a jovial mood, exhilarated by the chase, teasing Simon about his inability to make an accurate throw. Henry was more somber. He thrust his chilled hands into his pockets.
“It’s all so outlandish,” he stated. “Secret societies, secret armies, days of retribution. Like one of Miss Amelia’s novels. Yet I should have realized the danger.”
“You’ve had a great deal to occupy you of late, Henry,” said Simon. “Will you tell Her Majesty?”
Henry shook his head. “She has not been well. I do not want to burden her.”
“I am on the job,” said Simon. “And so are you, Henry. If it hadn’t been for your informant, Smythe’s plan would have succeeded.”
“We will drink a toast to the tout,” said Alan, hoping to cheer his friend. “Given our good luck tonight, I suggest that tomorrow we each place a considerable sum on Candy Apple for the win.”
“We can use the money to pay the dockworkers,” Henry muttered.
THIRTY-SIX
Kate and Dalgren flew to Capione, a city in the southern part of Rosia. They were going to meet Miri and Gythe here, to make the cold and perilous journey Below. Once they arrived, they had to wait for Miri and Gythe to catch up.
Trundler houseboats were not known for their speed. They tended to “trundle” along at a leisurely pace, stopping in various floating Trundler villages along the way.
“They fly so slowly I’m afraid I’d fall asleep in midair,” Dalgren said to Kate.
Lord Haelgrund had provided Kate with a dragon saddle and helm. Stephano had loaned Kate a heavy leather coat specially designed for members of the Brigade.
“I suggest you and Dalgren keep to yourselves. Camp in the wilderness, avoid cities and towns,” Stephano had advised Kate. “You are still a fugitive.”
“At least none of the officers recognized me,” said Kate.
“Oh, yes they did.” Stephano had smiled.
Kate had stared at him, astonished. “But if so, sir, why didn’t they arrest me?”
“You were safe from arrest while you were in the Dragon Duchies. The dragons do not recognize Rosian law.”
“But when I am in Rosia they could arrest me—”
“Princess Sophia informed the officers that you were under her protection.”
“Her Highness never told me…” Kate had said.
“You had worries enough,” Stephano had said dryly. “I would not tempt fate, if I were you. The Rosian n
avy might not be looking for you, but bounty hunters are. The protection of a princess means nothing to them.”
Kate took Stephano’s advice. She and Dalgren packed supplies enough to last the journey and took care to land in remote fields, far from civilization. The two had time to talk and hear about each other’s adventures. That is, Dalgren heard about Kate’s adventures. He did not want to talk about what had happened to him.
“I have a lot to think about,” he said.
He was pleased and touched to hear his mother had attended the trial.
“I wrote to her,” said Kate. “I told her the verdict and how you are going to work to restore your name. We’ll fly to Travia to visit her when we return.”
“I am the cause of her estrangement from my father,” said Dalgren unhappily. “I brought shame and dishonor to both of them.”
“Your father brought shame and dishonor on himself,” said Kate.
But Dalgren only shook his head.
Kate, too, had a lot to think about. Miri had been intrigued to find out Kate was a ship’s crafter.
“Gythe and I are still working on our ship. You can help us with the magic. Read this,” said Miri, and she had handed Kate a slim volume.
Kate read the title, The Seventh Sigil: A Crafter’s Musings on the Marriage of Magic and Contramagic. Unholy Union or Sacred Alliance? The author was Rodrigo de Villeneuve. Kate recalled Amelia mentioning this book to Olaf.
Already daunted by the title, Kate opened the book and viewed its diagrams and sample constructs with considerable dismay.
“I am certain I will find this interesting,” she had said politely, being extremely certain she wouldn’t. “But why do I need to know how to use the seventh sigil?”
“Because it is what keeps us flying,” Miri had responded with a smile.
Kate had not understood, but she was deeply indebted to Miri for saving Dalgren, and so she had dutifully read the book. She had been surprised to find that she was interested in the subject and that she understood it.
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