Now that they were gone. Bandit growled menacingly from beneath the table.
The green and blue light vanished, leaving the room dark by contrast. Afterimages of green and blue danced in Phillip’s eyes, half blinding him. He realized he had stopped breathing and drew in a gasping breath.
“Good God!” he muttered, shaken.
He ran to make certain the assassins had truly departed and were not hiding somewhere. He opened the front door and saw the three of them piling into a carriage and driving off.
“That’s odd,” Phillip reflected, puzzled. “I would have expected them to have reinforcements.”
He waited and watched as long as he dared, but no one appeared. He returned to the dining room, worried about Sophia, only to find her and Rodrigo in an animated discussion regarding the magic.
Sophia was breathing fast and trembling with excitement. Her face was flushed, her eyes shining. “Did you see that, Rigo? You were right! Our spell worked wonderfully!”
“You have proven my theory, my dear,” said Rodrigo, regarding her with pride. “When used by a savant, magic can be combined with contramagic. You held the image of the seventh sigil in your head?”
“I did,” said Sophia. “It wavered at first, probably because I was so afraid that they would hurt Phillip. But I gained courage and the image grew stronger.”
“Please remember to make notes tonight before you sleep, while the spell is still fresh in your mind,” said Rodrigo. “I shall write a treatise—”
“I am sorry to interrupt, my lord,” said Phillip urgently, “but there is no time! Those men were professional killers, not the type to take defeat well. Is there a back way out?”
“The servants’ entrance,” said Rodrigo. “Through the kitchen. You two stay here. I will fetch your cloaks—”
“No time!” said Phillip.
He picked up his pistol, thrust it into his belt. He glanced at the pistols the men had dropped and saw that the green glow had died away. He could still feel the contramagic sparkling in the air, however, and he did not touch them.
Rodrigo lifted a lamp and led the way to the back of the house. Phillip and Sophia followed, with Bandit trotting along behind. They hurried through a maze of hallways.
“You saved my life, Sophia,” Phillip said softly, reaching out to find her hand.
She clasped him tightly and pressed close to him. “Sir Henry sent those men, didn’t he? Phillip, you must leave Freya! It’s not safe.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I will.”
“Promise me?” she whispered.
“I promise.” Phillip paused, then said, “What was it you wanted to tell me?”
Sophia hesitated. The next moment, she was in his arms.
“That I love you!” she whispered.
Phillip held her close and kissed her. She kissed him, and they clung to each other, arms entwined. Bandit dashed about them in circles and started to bark.
“Bandit, hush!” Sophia whispered, alarmed.
“I’ll carry him,” Phillip offered.
“Where are you two?” Rodrigo asked, coming back to find them. “I am love’s champion, but there is a time and a place.”
Sophia lifted Bandit and gave him to Phillip and they hurried after Rodrigo. They passed through the kitchen, down a flight of stairs, and arrived at a door.
Rodrigo doused the light.
“Let me go first,” said Phillip.
He handed Bandit to Sophia, then drew a pistol and stealthily opened the door. Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see a yard, small, but with several well-kept flower beds, and a walkway that led to an alley.
Phillip swept his gaze around the backyard and saw no one. The alleyway was dark and deserted.
He came back to see Rodrigo had found a cloak for Sophia hanging on a hook near the servants’ quarters.
“I don’t see anyone,” Phillip reported. Again he found that puzzling. “The alley will take you to one of the main streets. You can catch a cab from there.”
“Trust me, Your Grace, I am an expert on running down alleys,” said Rodrigo airily. “Although generally I am being pursued by enraged husbands, not assassins. What will you do?”
“I will wait here to make certain no one is following you, then I will make my way back to my inn,” said Phillip.
“Promise me you will leave Freya tonight,” said Sophia.
“I promise,” he said. “Word of honor.”
Sophia kissed him again, still holding Bandit, who took the opportunity to lick his face.
“Come, my dear,” said Rodrigo.
“Write to me!” Sophia said softly. “Let me know you are safe.”
“I will,” Phillip said. “Please go!”
Rodrigo guided her to the alley, keeping close to her, his arm around her. Phillip soon lost sight of them, but he could follow their progress by the dwindling sounds of Bandit’s barks. He kept watch until they, too, faded away.
He was still in danger and he needed to think, to decide what to do. That was difficult when he could still feel Sophia in his arms, still smell her lingering perfume, still see her smile.
He shook himself out of his blissful reverie and returned to the house. He closed the back door, picked up the lamp, and searched the lower level until he found what he sought in the housekeeper’s small sitting room: a desk and writing paper.
He sat down at the desk. He remained alert for sounds that the assassins had returned, although they must know that by now their prey would have fled.
Phillip wrote four words on a sheet of paper.
Discovered. Leaving tonight. Godspeed.
He folded the note and tucked it into his pocket, then doused the lamp and groped his way through the darkened house until he reached the front door. He retrieved his hat from the bust of the portly gentleman, took his cloak down from the clock, and let himself out.
The street was empty. Phillip left the house and walked down the sidewalk, avoiding the light of the street lamps. He kept watch, but no one followed him and no carriage with blackened windows came racing around the corner. He was still surprised the assassins had given up so easily. Sir Henry Wallace did not take kindly to those who failed him.
I might not be the only one leaving Haever in haste tonight, Phillip reflected with a grim chuckle.
He had a long walk ahead of him, but that gave him time to think. He left the quiet residential streets behind, entered the noisy streets of the tavern district. Coming across several enterprising young lads pitching coins against a wall, he asked if one would be willing to deliver a message.
One lad immediately presented himself.
“I’m your man, mister,” he said, and held out his hand.
“Here is the note,” said Phillip. “When you arrive at the house, ask for Thomas. Give it to him and no one else. Here is money to deliver it. You will receive more money from Thomas. This message is urgent.”
“Yes, sir,” said the boy.
“So urgent, I am going to send you in a cab.”
The boy grinned in delight and stuck his tongue out at his friends, who were jeering and called him a “toff,” saying next he’d be going to visit the queen.
Phillip put the young man inside a cab, gave the driver the address, and paid the fare to Sir Richard’s and back. As the cab rolled away, the young man waved out the window at his friends, who hooted derisively.
Phillip pondered what to do next. He was loath to return to his inn, in case the assassins were watching it. But he had to hire a griffin and they did not come cheap. Phillip had some money with him, but not nearly enough. He had hidden the rest of his funds in his room.
By the time he reached his inn, the church clocks were chiming two in the morning, and the inn was dark. Phillip concealed himself in the doorway of the building opposite and kept watch.
He waited for half an hour, shivering. The street remained empty. He could see no one lurking in the shadows.
Phi
llip made his way across the street, and entered the inn. The night manager slumbered at the desk. He woke, grumbling, and handed Phillip the key to his room.
Phillip drew his pistol and climbed the stair. He inserted the key in the lock and cautiously opened the door. He waited a moment, but heard nothing. No quick, indrawn breath, no cough.
He lowered the pistol, turned to shut the door.
The three men burst out of the room across the hall and were on him in a rush. One punched him an expert and savage blow to the gut, driving the breath from his body and doubling him over. He fell to the floor, gasping for air, helpless. One took the pistol from his limp hand. Another hauled him into his room and the third shut the door.
The men worked with swift efficiency. Two of them tied his hands behind his back, while the third prized open his jaws and poured liquid into his mouth.
Phillip recognized the bitter taste of opium and he choked and tried to spit it out. His assailant clamped his jaws shut, tipped back his head. The liquid trickled down his throat.
The men had only to wait for the drug to take effect. Phillip had a dim and awful awareness of being carried from the room and thrown into a waiting carriage.
After that, he knew nothing but horror.
FIFTY-THREE
The black ship and the troop carriers sailed north up the western coast in calm weather with a fair wind and headed east. When they neared the port city of Glenham, the troop carriers, under the command of Captain Martin, remained behind, anchoring on the coast within a day’s journey of the city. The soldiers were wearing Freyan uniforms, the ships flying Freyan flags.
Martin had left most of the Bottom Dwellers behind in the cavern to work on the green beam weapons, assembling and repairing them. The young people still required a crafter familiar with the seventh sigil to make the guns operational, but they were clever and skilled in crafting and Kate had no doubt that some would soon grasp the concept of the seventh sigil and be able to bring the green beam guns to life.
She determined the location of the cavern on the Freyan coast as best she could before she left, planning to warn Sir Henry to send a force to seize it and shut down the work. Perhaps he could help the young Bottom Dwellers to find new and better lives Above, employed in a more productive occupation.
As for Trubgek, he had disappeared. No one had seen him depart, but the griffin he had ridden was no longer around and everyone assumed he had left with it. No one missed him, least of all Kate.
The day before the Naofa parted company from the troop carriers, Martin visited Franklin on board the black ship. The two talked in Franklin’s cabin with the door shut. Kate loitered about the corridor to hear.
“When is Jennings supposed to arrive with your orders from the colonel?” Martin asked.
“We are to start keeping watch for him on the twenty-seventh,” said Franklin. “We might have to wait several days, depending on the weather. I assume you will receive your orders to march into Fort Glenham at the same time. I trust you will meet no resistance from the troops there.”
“We will probably be welcomed with open arms,” Martin said with a chuckle. “We come to reinforce them, after all. The fort will be in the hands of the Army of Retribution and none the wiser.”
“Godspeed your mission,” Franklin said.
“Godspeed yours, my friend.” Martin added in somber tones, “Lex Talionis.”
After parting with the troop carriers, the Naofa continued eastward, sailing only at night, for this part of the Breath was well traveled. Ships carrying lumber and iron ore plied the Breath from Glenham to Haever. Merchant ships arriving from Guundar and Travia also sailed this part of the Breath. The Freyan navy patrolled the coastline. Any ship, no matter what nation, would be highly alarmed by the sight of a black ship armed with a green beam gun prowling the Freyan coast. The Naofa hugged the coast by night, and went into hiding during the day.
Their progress was far too slow for Kate, who was growing increasingly worried about the mission of this Army of Retribution. She needed to reach Haever, to warn Sir Henry and then find a way to get word to Thomas.
Kate also was growing more and more uneasy about the green beam weapon and its intended use. She felt responsible, for she was the one who had brought the monster to life.
She could cripple the gun by reversing the seventh sigil, but her plans were thwarted by Franklin, who hovered over the weapon like a new mother over her firstborn child.
* * *
As the sun rose on the morning of the twenty-seventh day of the eleventh month, the black ship once again scuttled into hiding, anchoring on an island off the eastern coast of Freya.
This day was different, however. In the past, the black ship had taken refuge in secluded coves or tree-covered inlets. Today, Franklin anchored on an island known as Falcon’s Rock, about twenty miles from the coast, within a few hours of Haever.
Falcon’s Rock was well known, marked on all the charts, for it was the site of a famous shipwreck. HMS Falcon had crashed on the island in calm weather, for no reason that anyone could fathom, killing all hands on board. Kate recalled that Jennings was supposed to meet up with them on the twenty-seventh and she guessed Franklin had chosen this island so that Jennings could spot the ship from the air.
The day passed peacefully. Kate, as one of the crew, tried to rest during the day, for they would be awake all night making the perilous voyage along the coastline in the dark. But Kate couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, wondering how to sabotage the gun.
She had not been able to discover the weapon’s target or Franklin’s secret mission, but she could not banish the sight of the green beam blowing up the side of a cliff. Kate’s worries were interrupted by the lookout shouting, “Deck there! Griffin rider!”
“Jennings is back,” she muttered and hurried up on deck.
A griffin carrying a rider was circling above the ship, searching for a place on the shoreline to land. Franklin noted Kate loitering about the deck and turned to frown at her.
“Have you no duties, Private?”
“I would like permission to work on the magic on the helm while we’re anchored, sir,” Kate replied. “The helmsman was complaining he was having trouble with the rudder.”
Franklin gave Kate permission, then turned back to watching the griffin settle down on a large outcropping of rock near the shoreline.
Kate entered the wheelhouse and began to work on the constructs that operated the rudder. The helmsman had complained that the rudder was sluggish and slow to respond, so he would confirm Kate’s story. She was convinced that the fault was not with the magic, but with the rudder, which had been poorly designed. She wanted an excuse to hear and see what Franklin and Jennings had to say to each other, and working on the helm gave her reason to be on deck.
The rider dismounted, unpacked his gear, and dismissed the griffin, who flew off. As he approached the ship, Franklin stood waiting for him at the top of the gangplank.
“Corporal Grunnel, sir,” said the rider formally, removing his helmet. “Permission to come aboard.”
Franklin was startled. “Grunnel?”
“I served under you when we were in Bheldem.”
“Yes, I remember. It is good to see you again, Corporal, but where is Corporal Jennings? I am in need of a crafter.”
“I am a crafter, sir, as you’ll recall,” said Grunnel. “That is the reason the colonel sent me. He expected you would need assistance.”
Grunnel handed Franklin a leather pouch tied with string and affixed with a seal. “Your orders, sir. As for Corporal Jennings, he remained in Haever to assist Colonel Smythe—”
“Wait a moment, Corporal,” said Franklin, startled. “Are you telling me that Colonel Smythe is in Haever? I assumed he was still in Bheldem with the army. Why has he traveled to Haever? Has something gone wrong?”
“His Highness, Prince Thomas, secretly traveled to Haever,” said Grunnel. “He’s there now.”
Kate gave a
n audible gasp, then smothered it by putting her hand over her mouth. She was not the only one shocked by the news.
“His Highness in Haever!” Franklin was astonished. “He was supposed to remain in Bheldem until we secured the city. Did the colonel sanction this trip?”
“He did not, sir,” Grunnel replied. “The colonel was forced to leave Bheldem and travel to Haever posthaste. Our orders were changed. My brigade was stationed outside Haever, near Illwick. We had to break camp and set sail. We moved into the new barracks on Meek Street last night.”
“What reason did the colonel give for the prince’s actions?”
“Colonel Smythe passed it off as high spirits. Rumor has it that our colonel is none too pleased with the prince.”
“I can imagine,” said Franklin. “I know Colonel Smythe from our days in the marines. He is a man who does meticulous planning and would not like to have his plans overset. The prince has placed himself in peril and our plans in jeopardy.”
“We must act more quickly than we had anticipated,” said Grunnel. “And the colonel has added another mission. You will find the details in your orders.”
“When do we strike?” Franklin asked.
“Tomorrow night, sir,” said Grunnel. “The twenty-eighth day of the eleventh month. Lex Talionis!”
The corporal was enthusiastic. Franklin was not.
“Tomorrow!” he repeated angrily. “I do not know if we can be ready! My crew is new to handling a black ship. Even a seasoned crew would find our mission difficult, and not one of my men has ever sailed this type of vessel. I had hoped to have at least another week to train them!”
“No one is happy, sir,” said Grunnel, hastily tempering his enthusiasm. “Least of all the colonel. ‘God wills it,’ he told my commander. What happens if we don’t reach Haever in time, sir?”
“As I said, I know Colonel Smythe. He will have made contingency plans. I know he is counting on us, however. We will not fail him.” Franklin sounded resigned. “When you have stowed your gear, inspect the green beam weapon. If we are going into action tomorrow, I want to be damn sure it is in working order. I hope you have studied the seventh sigil.”
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