Privateer

by Margaret Weis

  “You can either walk inside, my lord, or I have orders to force you,” said the officer, polite, but firm.

  Sir Richard breathed hard, but he required only a moment to realize he had no recourse. He gave the officer an enraged glower and stalked into the room.

  “I apologize for the inconvenience, gentlemen,” the officer said. “I will be outside if you require anything.”

  He bowed and walked out, shutting the door behind him. Thomas heard a key turn in the lock and feet stamping, rifle butts thudding on the floor. The guardsmen were taking up positions outside the door. The two guardsmen in front of the balcony door stood facing them, rifles on their shoulders, their faces expressionless.

  Sir Richard tightened his lips. Anger flushed his cheekbones and two white dents appeared, one on either side of his nose.

  “Henry!” He choked on the name.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Henry placed one loaded pistol on the seat beside him, thrust another beneath his coat, and held one in his hand. Amelia had opened the reticule and brought out the curious little two-barreled corset gun. They both kept watch out the windows.

  He made plans. He would first see to it that the queen was taken to a place of safety. He decided on the ancient castle where the dragon Lady Odila had been murdered.

  Castle Lindameer was old and ugly, not a very pleasant place in the best of times, never mind that the blood of the dead dragon still stained the flagstones of the lower level.

  The castle had the advantage of being located in an isolated part of the country and was deserted the better part of the year, so no one would be in residence. It had been built centuries ago, during a time when castles were designed to withstand armies, not host a hundred guests for dinner and dancing. No enemy would think of looking for Her Majesty there, giving time for Henry to summon the forces he needed to defend the queen and his country.

  The carriage rumbled through streets that should have been clogged with cabs and wagons and carts, coaches and carriages. Henry saw a few vehicles, but those scurried off like rats diving back into their holes. The city had gone to ground, as Amelia had said.

  “Mr. Sloan is a hero, my lord,” Amelia commented.

  “He is,” said Henry, gruffly. “I will see to it he receives a knighthood for this. Did he say who shot him or why?”

  “He did not, my lord,” said Amelia. “He was barely conscious. I believe he was reserving his strength to talk to you.”

  The lights blurred in Henry’s eyes. He rubbed them and rode the rest of the way in silence. The carriage arrived at the palace at a little after thirty minutes past the hour of ten. Henry had feared they would arrive in the midst of a pitched battle and he was vastly relieved to find all appeared peaceful and quiet.

  The gate was closed, but that was customary. The palace guard were in position. Nothing was amiss except a drunken sailor engaged in an altercation with a guardsman.

  Henry opened the carriage door before the carriage had come to a stop and jumped out. Amelia remained inside, undoubtedly realizing that if she climbed out, Henry would not allow her back in.

  The guards recognized him and began to open the gate. The commander advanced to greet him with a smile that vanished when he saw Henry’s grim expression.

  “Is Her Majesty in the palace?” he demanded.

  “Yes, my lord,” the captain replied, startled.

  “Has the queen received any visitors this night? Anyone not known to you? Did any stranger try to gain entry?”

  “Her Majesty dined with the Princess Sophia,” said the captain.

  Henry brushed that aside. “Anyone else? A young man, black curly hair and striking blue eyes?”

  “No, my lord,” said the captain, mystified.

  Henry swallowed, then asked as calmly as he could manage, “Has my brother, Sir Richard Wallace, been here?”

  “No, my lord. The only visitor was the Countess de Marjolaine—”

  “The countess!” Henry repeated sharply. “Is she here? When? Was she expected?”

  “Yes, she is here and no, my lord, she was not on the list of visitors,” said the captain. “She arrived about twenty minutes ago in a wyvern-conveyed coach. The countess requested admittance, saying the matter was urgent. I had no orders to keep her out, and I permitted her to enter.”

  “Damn!” Henry swore.

  He jumped back into the carriage, then heard the guardsmen shouting at someone to halt. Henry looked around to see the drunken sailor running toward the cab. The sailor ducked beneath the arm of the captain who tried to stop him and seized hold of the door as Henry was shutting it.

  The sailor yanked open the door and tumbled into the carriage.

  Henry raised his pistol.

  “Get out or I will shoot you dead.” He cocked the hammer.

  “Stop, my lord!” Amelia cried frantically, reaching out her hand. “Don’t shoot! It is Kate!”

  “Kate!” Henry exclaimed, astonished.

  He would not have recognized her, for she had cut off her hair. Her face was flushed, smeared with grime and blood. She was wearing slops and a man’s calico shirt, her clothes torn and dirty.

  “Kate, what are you doing—” Amelia began.

  “No time, Miss Amelia!” Kate gasped. She turned to Henry. “You have to listen to me, my lord! They’re going to attack the palace! And they are wearing Freyan uniforms! So no one will know!”

  Henry recalled Mr. Sloan saying the same. He released the hammer, lowered the pistol, and leaned out the window.

  “Baxter, drive on! Close the gate after me, Captain!” Henry shouted as the carriage rattled off. “Do not let anyone in or out. Sound the alarm. The palace could come under attack at any moment! The assailants could be disguised as our own troops!”

  The captain stared at him, openmouthed. Henry fell back against the seat as the carriage plunged forward. Kate held on to the seat, swaying in the rattling carriage and trying to catch her breath.

  “Then you were warned about the black ship, my lord!” she said, relieved. “I am so glad!”

  “Black ship?” Henry repeated. “What black ship?”

  “The black ship with the green beam gun! It sailed over the palace walls only a few moments ago. I thought you saw it!”

  “Dear God in Heaven!” Amelia gasped.

  “Tell me what you know and be quick about it,” said Henry, feeling a tightness in his chest.

  “I was on board a black ship until a few moments ago when I managed to jump off,” Kate replied. “They have a green beam gun mounted on the forecastle and they intend to use it to knock down the palace. I did manage to disable one of the airscrews and that will slow the ship down and make it more difficult to steer. But it won’t stop them.”

  “Them! Who is ‘them’?” Henry demanded.

  “They call themselves the Army of Retribution, my lord,” said Kate. “I know it sounds as though I am mad, but there really is a black ship. It belonged to Miri and Gythe. I don’t suppose you know them, but they used it to go Below to help Father Jacob. This army stole it from them—!”

  Miri and Gythe and Father Jacob. Names floating out of the mists of the past. Henry stared intently out the window searching for a ship. Trees lined the lane leading to the palace. Their leaves almost all gone, they were skeletal, their bony limbs shaking in the wind. He saw no sign of a ship, but he saw moving shadows and pictured an army out there, trampling the dead roses and hollyhocks, taking up position behind marble cherubs and empty fountains. The carriage rocked back and forth. The horses’ hooves pounded.

  Henry stood up, swaying perilously, and rapped on the roof of the carriage. “Baxter, stop!”

  The carriage slowed.

  “Miss Amelia, I need someone to carry a message to Captain Northrop, warning them of the peril,” said Henry. “They are dining at the Naval Club. If you could find someone—”

  “I will go myself, my lord,” Amelia offered. “Godspeed, both of you.”

  She cli
mbed out of the carriage, slammed shut the door. Baxter slapped the reins on the backs of the horses and the carriage rattled on.

  Henry turned to Kate.

  “You said you were on board this black ship. Are you in league with them? Are you working for the Pretender?”

  A cannon boomed, followed by another and then a third. Kate flinched and looked out the window.

  “What is that?” she asked. “Are we under attack?”

  “Not yet. The guardsmen are sounding the alarm,” said Henry. “Turning out the palace guard. I asked if you were working for Thomas Stanford.”

  “No, why would I be?” Kate asked, but Henry saw her flush.

  “Because he is even now inside the palace plotting to arrest the queen,” said Henry.

  Kate stared at him in horror.

  “Inside the palace!” she gasped. “That’s impossible! Thomas would never—”

  “Thomas…” said Henry, grinding the name in his teeth. “You call him by his first name. You are on very familiar terms, it seems.”

  “I am not working for him, my lord!” Kate insisted. “He is a friend. I know him through Phillip—”

  “Another traitor!” Henry said angrily.

  “Please tell me, my lord. Is Thomas inside the palace?” Kate asked desperately. “He could be in danger!”

  “Danger!” Henry gave a bitter laugh. “That young man is in danger, all right! When I catch him, I will lock him in the darkest cell in the deepest dungeon in the strongest tower until he dies of rot or old age, whichever comes first!”

  “You are wrong, my lord!” Kate cried. “Thomas knows nothing about tonight’s attack. I heard the soldiers talking—”

  Henry sneered. “And yet, this night, he is inside the palace waiting for his chance to seize the throne.”

  Kate sank back against the seat. Her face was drawn and haggard. She grimaced, and rubbed her shoulder.

  “He doesn’t know anything,” she said.

  Henry snorted.

  The carriage was drawing near the palace and Henry opened the window to get a better view. The cold wind struck him in the face and cooled his temper. He again searched the sky for some sign of Kate’s black ship. He still could not see anything, however.

  What he could see was the countess’s elegant coach, emblazoned with the de Marjolaine coat of arms, brazenly parked in front of the palace.

  “As though she owns the place,” Henry muttered.

  The countess was wealthy enough to keep her own coach in Haever. She did not have to hire one. The six wyverns that pulled the large coach crouched quietly on the ground, patiently waiting. Cecile would not tolerate wyverns that shrieked and brawled.

  Henry smiled in grim satisfaction. The fact that the countess was here in the palace on the night the Pretender tried to usurp the throne was all the evidence he needed that Rosia was conspiring against Freya.

  “I will arrest that woman and Prince Tom! The Rosians will be humiliated! King Renaud will crawl to us on his knees!” Henry stated in triumph.

  Baxter shouted at the excited horses, dragged on the reins, and brought them to a clattering halt. Henry thrust two pistols into his belt, threw open the door and climbed out.

  “You are coming with me,” he said to Kate.

  “Damn right I am!” she told him. “You’re wrong about Thomas!”

  Henry ordered Baxter to wait for him. “Drive round back to the stables. If I have need of you, I’ll meet you there.”

  Baxter nodded and urged the weary horses to continue. Henry started toward the palace on the run, planning to order the guards to shut the doors and bar the entrance. He had taken only a few steps when he came to a startled halt.

  The orders he had not yet given had already been obeyed. The great doors stood closed. Armed guardsmen, rifles at the ready, lined the steps, barring entry, while additional guardsmen were setting up barricades.

  Someone caught sight of Henry and Kate; within seconds, they found ten rifles aimed at them.

  “Stand and be recognized!” one of the guardsmen shouted.

  Henry halted, his hands in the air.

  “Sir Henry Wallace,” he replied. “I am on urgent business to the queen! Where is your captain?”

  “Here, my lord,” said the captain, coming forward. “My apologies. We were ordered to take no chances.”

  “Who gave the orders?” Henry demanded.

  “The Countess de Marjolaine, my lord,” the commander replied, looking confused. “She said the queen was in danger. She showed us a writ with your name and your seal.”

  “Damnation!” Henry swore. “Open those doors!”

  The guardsman frowned at Kate. “Who is that with you, sir?”

  “An informant,” said Henry. “She comes with me.”

  He seized hold of Kate and ran up the palace stairs. Two guardsmen dragged open the heavy doors that were two stories tall, made of brass banded with iron and bearing the seal of House Chessington, with its two lions guardant on either side of a sun in splendor.

  The doors opened onto an enormous rotunda. The domed ceiling soared six stories above the floor. A grand staircase led to a mezzanine, where two more staircases branched off the first, one leading to the palace’s western wing and the other to the east.

  Huge glass globes in golden baskets floated above, lighting a scene of confusion. Palace guardsmen were setting up more barricades in front of the stairs and at the door. Harried-looking servants were dashing up the stairs and banging on doors, calling for the queen.

  The clocks in the palace began to chime eleven times.

  The Countess de Marjolaine paced back and forth in the center of the rotunda. Hearing the great doors open, she looked up and caught sight of Henry.

  “Thank God, you are here!” she breathed, and came hurrying toward him.

  “What the devil is going on?” Henry roared. “You forged documents—”

  “My lord,” Cecile said, cutting him off. “I had to get inside the palace. I have reason to fear the queen is going to be assassinated!”

  “Assassinated!” Henry repeated, stunned.

  “One of my most trusted agents sent word that the assassination will take place tonight. I came to the palace the moment I received the information to warn Her Majesty, but no one can find her! The servants are searching the palace. An assassin could have slipped past the guards—”

  “Not an assassin! The black ship!” Kate cried.

  Henry had forgotten all about her. Cecile was staring at Kate in amazement.

  “Captain Kate? What are you doing here?” She looked at Henry. “My agent feared a black ship might be involved.”

  Henry didn’t immediately respond. He didn’t know how these two women knew each other. They could be his enemies, his friends, friends of his enemies. He had a split second to make up his mind. He decided to err on the side of caution and turned to Kate.

  “Which direction was the ship headed?”

  “The west side of the palace, my lord,” Kate replied, pointing.

  “Her Majesty’s office is located in the west wing,” Henry said. He looked for the largest guardsman he could find. “You, sir! Run as fast as you can to Her Majesty’s office! If the queen is there, warn her to leave! If Her Majesty refuses, carry her out bodily!”

  The guardsman nodded and broke into a run. He was young and strong and he dashed up the stairs, taking them three at a time, without seeming to even breathe hard.

  Henry motioned to two more guards. “Keep this young woman in custody.”

  The guardsmen took hold of Kate and dragged her off. Henry ignored Kate’s frantic protests and turned back to the countess.

  “Tell me, my lady, is Thomas Stanford inside the walls of this palace?”

  “I know only that he was supposed to be here, my lord. He was scheduled to meet in secret with the queen. She was considering naming Thomas her heir. I questioned the servants, but no one has seen him.”

  Cecile was adept at keepi
ng her true thoughts hidden, and Henry was equally adept at reading the thoughts people tried to keep hidden. He noticed a furrow in the countess’s brow deepen in concern, her eyes grow shadowed.

  Henry decided that she was telling the truth, or at least as much of the truth as she ever told anyone.

  “I was told the Princess Sophia is here,” said Henry.

  “Her Highness was here,” said Cecile. “She dined with the queen at seven. The servants assured me that she has safely departed. I have sent my own people to escort her to my yacht, where she will be safe until I can take her away from Haever.”

  Henry regarded her grimly. “I must go to the queen. We both know that I cannot detain you, my lady, but I ask that you remain within the palace. I have a great many questions for you.”

  “Of course, my lord. I trust you will not mind if I speak to Captain Kate in the interval,” Cecile said. “She is a friend of Sophia’s.”

  Henry doubted they would be talking about Sophia, but he couldn’t take time to sort out whatever schemes the two were hatching. He ran up the stairs, taking them one at a time and having difficulty with even that. He was no match for the guardsman, who was already lost to sight.

  Henry had almost reached the top when he was aware that the countess had gathered up her skirts and was running up two stairs behind him.

  “Go back, Your Ladyship,” Henry told her when she caught up to him. “It is not safe.”

  Cecile gave a faint smile. “We are neither of us likely to die in our beds, are we, my lord?”

  Henry glared at her. He didn’t trust her, but short of pulling out his pistol and shooting her, he couldn’t stop her.

  They entered a gallery lined with windows that overlooked the palace grounds. The glow emanating from the magical stone walls lit the grounds, but only for a short distance, then the light made everything beyond darker by contrast.

  The interior wall opposite the windows was lined with famous paintings, most of them depicting griffins, either hunting or racing. Henry had often walked here with the queen, listening to her criticize the paintings, remarking that the artists didn’t know one end of a griffin from the other.

  “Her Majesty’s office is at the end of the gallery,” said Henry.