“Seems to me that you won that round, Mr. Prestley. So why the long, white face? They came, they threw their punches, they went home bleeding and empty-handed.”
Evis sat up with a long worn out sigh. “We caught them by surprise. That likely won’t happen again.”
“So come up with a new surprise.”
“I’ve only got so many, Markhat. I just used my best dirty little secret and we haven’t pulled away from the dock yet.”
Dutson came strolling out of the shadows. “Pardon me, Mr. Prestley,” he said, his expression a study in somber. “Your presence is requested in the wheelhouse.”
Evis rose. “Bright and early,” he said to me.
I winced. “Such language.”
“Dutson, cut him off for the evening. I need you sober.”
And with that, Evis was gone, blending easily with the shadows.
“I didn’t quite catch that last remark. Did you, Dutson?”
The man didn’t hesitate. “I believe he wished you a good evening, sir. Will you have a final beer before you retire?”
“Now that you mention it, I believe I shall. Dutson, you are a treasure.”
“So it is said, sir.”
Dutson headed for the kitchen. I watched the Queen’s crew tend to her nonexistent wounds, and I wondered if Evis was telling the truth about being out of explosive surprises.
I surprised everyone by rising with the sun, bathing, shaving, and feeding myself, and appearing on the Queen’s foredeck a good quarter of an hour before Evis or Stitches made an appearance.
Darla still lay abed. I’d left a note and a crude sketch of a rose. With any luck, she’d be less inclined to shoot me in my fundament when she did rise.
Stitches met me with a nod. She was in her customary black robe, hood over her face, sleeves concealing her hands. Nothing in her gait or posture suggested any injury.
“Good morning,” I said.
Greetings. I trust you slept well?
“I did. You?”
I am fully recovered.
Evis joined us, wrapped in black silk, his eyes hidden by spectacles. He made an odd, dry, rasping noise behind the wrappings and it took me a moment to realize he was yawning.
“Pardon me. Good morning. Ready to get this underway?”
“No,” I said and was ignored.
I shall raise the interface and prepare the inspectors and the wards.
“Let’s get to it, then.”
It only took them an hour.
A single hour, in which to erect a monstrous brass ring, a good twelve feet in diameter, at the land-side end of the Queen’s private dock. It took six straining Ogres to set the ring upright and get the chains that held it vertical secured in place. As soon as Stitches began attaching cables to the thing, the space it enclosed began to shimmer and flash, which scattered the Ogres and made me wonder what might happen if I tossed a pebble through the middle of it.
While Stitches and her little band of white-coated wand-wavers fussed over the odd desk-like affair to which they attached the ring cables, a pair of cargo wagons rattled up to the waterfront and began disgorging men and material. A festive golden tent was soon wobbling in the wind, tables and chairs were placed neatly beneath it, and finally an honest-to-Angels red carpet was stretched out from tent to dock to the foot of the ring, lest any of Rannit’s fabulously wealthy be forced to tread on mere stone or common cypress planks.
Another wagon rolled up and a bleary-eyed, yawning mob of musicians spilled out, blinking in the morning sun, and sorting out their horns and fiddles and drums. They soon took their places under a second, much smaller tent and began to tootle and strum and tweet as they tuned up their instruments and adjusted their ties.
Darla pulled up a chair beside mine. “Good morning,” she said. “Thank you for the flower.”
“Best I could do,” I said, stealing a brief kiss. “Looks like the show is about to start.”
She blinked at the sun and shaded her eyes with her hand. “What is that thing?”
“One of Stitches’s little toys. I assume it turns anyone who is less than pure of heart into marmalade.”
Evis joined Stitches at her desk, along with her staff. There was much pointing and nodding of various heads.
“Gertriss wants me to meet her in the casino when boarding begins,” said Darla. “She plans to wander around and pretend to talk and listen to as many private conversations as she possibly can.”
“Smart girl.”
“She’s actually just avoiding being alone with Evis by having me there.”
Stitches, Evis, and the crew of white-coats huddled behind the desk, all eyes on the brass ring. Stitches reached down and did something I couldn’t see.
The ring flashed, like a mirror catching the sun. Everyone in sight of it winced or turned away.
When I could see again, Evis was halfway to the tent, yelling at someone in a tuxedo, and Stitches had taken a seat while her crew milled around nearby with satisfied grins.
“They’ll work it out, hon.”
“I hope so. He makes her happy, even though…well. You know.”
I didn’t, but I nodded sagely. That seemed to suffice.
She smiled as the band struck up a dance tune so lowbrow even I recognized it. “So, what clever plan are you hatching today, husband, and how will it impact Dutson’s beer supply?”
“Hardly at all. I’m going to watch. Mingle if the whim carries me. Hopefully if assassins board, one will get careless and drop a dagger and a signed confession.”
“Let’s hope. Have you had coffee? I need coffee.”
“Me too.”
Darla rose and smoothed down her long skirt. “Back in a bit, then. If assassins show up save one for me. I haven’t forgotten my good red rug.”
“I’ll leave you the big one.”
Below, liveried Avalante staff were setting up a bar and an outdoor kitchen. Another tent went up, as festive as the first, and shortly after that the band began to play in earnest.
The first of many sleek black carriages arrived. Doors were held open. Trumpets were sounded. Salutes were thrown. A pair of tipsy old generals, their dress blues hanging off them and rendering their appearance more scarecrow than soldier, tottered down the red carpet and toward the shadow of the first tent.
Another carriage pulled in behind the first, and another after that, and soon the dock was swarming with well-heeled socialites and the polite but wary eyes of House Avalante.
Drinks were poured despite the youth of the day. The smell of sausages cooking wafted up briefly from the makeshift kitchen.
While the party found its feet and learned how to stumble, Evis’s gun crews busied themselves on the deck above me. No shouting or cursing this time, but in just a few minutes they erected three of the awful fast-firing guns that wounded a nightmare just a few hours ago.
The men covered the snouts of the guns with clean white linen sheets and took positions around them, hands clasped at the small of their backs, eyes on the crowd below.
If they let loose, I figured they could cut the dock itself in two after only a few seconds of firing. I hoped I wouldn’t see that.
Carriages were lined up as far as I could see by the time the sun climbed above the bluffs. As horses shuffled and snorted and the band played on, a pair of tuxedoed Avalante staff removed the velvet rope that separated the carpet beneath the tent from that on the dock, and Rannit’s rich and famous made their way-drinks in hand and luggage behind-toward the Queen.
Between them stood Stitches and her flashing brass ring.
The first of the Queen’s guests was the old general who’d been first under the tent. He drained his glass, threw it in the river, and stomped through the ring at such a pace his trio of servants had to hustle to keep up.