“What happened to this mysterious box?”
“I do not know, Your Grace, but a most curious incident occurred after Wallace arrived at his estate. The staff was told that Sir Henry was going to be conducting scientific experiments in the kitchen and they were not to be alarmed if they heard any odd sounds. Such experiments are, apparently, not unusual for Sir Henry.
“That night, the maid was awakened by what she swears were gunshots, followed by a loud explosion. The next morning the kitchen smelled strongly of gunpowder and was in such a mess, with pots and pans lying on the floor, that the cook threatened to give notice. The maid found several bullets, flattened, in the fireplace. Wallace left immediately afterward, telling his wife he was bound for Haever. He never arrived there. It took me two days to learn that he was no longer in Freya.”
“You think…”
“I think something important was in that box, Your Grace.”
Montagne grunted in agreement. “Did you find out where the box came from, anything about it? You said the man who delivered it was a sailor.”
Dubois paused for a sip of wine. He drank sparingly, preferring to have all his mental faculties unclouded by the fumes of the grape.
“All I could find out was that two merchant vessels had docked immediately before the box was delivered. One was from Travia and the second a free trader from the Aligoes Islands.”
“Which do you suspect?” the bishop asked.
“Free traders smuggle Estaran wine into Freya, along with other contraband. Given the fact that Estara and Travia are on the brink of war on the eastern frontier over Braffa-”
“But Freya is neutral in this conflict,” the bishop interjected.
“It is well known in Freya that you, Your Grace, support Estara in its claim of Braffa and that His Majesty, King Alaric, supports Travia in its claim-”
“Say, rather, that fiendish woman, the Countess de Marjolaine, supports Travia,” said the bishop.
Dubois nodded. “I noted the last time I was in the Travian court that it is crawling with her operatives. But, as I was going to say, this war between Travia and Estara over Braffa has resulted in a serious rift between Church and Crown here in Rosia. It might be very tempting to Wallace to heat up the fire under this cauldron, see perhaps if he can’t make it boil over.”
“To what purpose?” the bishop asked.
“Ah, who knows with Sir Henry,” said Dubois.
The bishop glowered. “Do I detect a note of admiration in your voice, Dubois?”
“One should never underestimate one’s enemy, Your Grace. I also have the highest regard for the Countess de Marjolaine.”
A rumbling sound came from the region of the bishop’s stomach. He placed his hand on his belly. “Bah! This news has made me bilious. Pour me a glass of wine.”
Dubois did as he was told, returning to set the goblet at the bishop’s hand. As he did so, there was a knock upon the door. The bishop gestured and Dubois crossed over to the door, opened it a crack, and received a book bound in red leather. He closed the door and once more turned the key. The bishop eyed the red leather book in Dubois’ hand.
“Where the devil is Wallace? I don’t like it when that fiend is on the loose.” Montagne gazed moodily into his wine goblet.
“That is what I am endeavoring to ascertain, Your Grace. That is why I asked to see who has been meeting with the countess.”
Dubois opened the red leather book somewhere around the middle and began to read. At the top of each page was a date. Below the date was a list of names. Dubois scanned several pages. The bishop watched hopefully, but his hopes were dashed when Dubois shook his head and closed the book.
“Nothing?”
“The usuaclass="underline" favor-seekers, courtiers. Only three are in any way remarkable. Yesterday, the countess met with the Master of the Royal Armory. This morning, she met with her son, Captain de Guichen-”
“What is so remarkable about that?” asked the bishop. He was in an ill humor and inclined to be petty. “She is his mother.”
“The two are not on speaking terms, Your Grace, though the countess does occasionally employ her son on sensitive business. And he did fight the Estarans prior to the Dragon Brigade being decommissioned. After he left, the countess was closeted for a long time with Lord Hoalfhausen, the Travian ambassador.”
“There, you see!” said the bishop in angry triumph. “That woman is meddling in this war, consorting with my enemies.”
“So it would seem, Your Grace,” replied Dubois. Disappointed, he tossed the book onto the desk. “Unfortunately, this tells us nothing regarding the whereabouts of Sir Henry.”
He rose to his feet and prepared to take his leave.
“Keep me informed, Dubois,” said the bishop. “May God speed your endeavors.”
“May He, indeed, Your Grace. And may He aid the labors of Father Jacob as he confounds the Warlock and discovers who murdered our Sisters in God.”
Dubois bowed, circled around behind the bishop’s chair, parted the curtain, and entered the closet. A glance over his shoulder showed Montagne sitting with his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. He picked up the goblet, drank off the wine in a gulp, then rang a bell to summon the monsignor.
Dubois left the palace the way he had come, passing through the small patio, out the hidden gate, and onto the street. Returning to his lodgings for a long overdue meal, he found an agent waiting for him.
Dubois eyed him. “You’re the one who has been shadowing Wallace’s agent, right? You sent me word that Harrington had arrived in the city a fortnight ago and has been keeping to himself.”
“Yes, sir. There has been a development. I dispatched news of this to you yesterday, but then I heard you had left Freya, so I feared you might not have received it.”
“I did not. What has happened?”
“Yesterday, Harrington, dressed as a common laborer, pretending to be a drunkard, spent the day in the neighborhood of the Church of Saint Michelle. He is back there again today, sir.”
“The devil he is!” said Dubois, startled.
“He was still there when I left. Sleeping on a bench with a wine jug in front of a statue of the blessed saint.”
“How very strange,” Dubois murmured, frowning. “Where is it?”
“Street of the Half Moon, sir. The church is at the southern end, near the bridge.”
Dubois sent his agent to keep an eye on the inn where Harrington was staying. Dubois ate his meal standing and ordered a fresh horse to be saddled. While dining, he wondered what to make of this news.
The Street of the Half Moon ran through a bustling neighborhood of shops, boarding houses, and private dwellings, most of them occupied by middle-class families. What could James Harrington, one of Sir Henry’s top agents, be doing lounging about Half Moon Street?
Mounting his horse, Dubois rode off to find out.
Chapter Four
Constructs are man’s way of safely controlling and harnessing magical energy. Formed of sigils connected by lines of magical energy, constructs supplement the natural properties of matter. For example, a strengthening construct set in a piece of leather armor can render the leather resistant to a sword strike.
It would seem that the same process should work using strengthening constructs in metal. But placing constructs in the metal during the forging process makes the metal unworkable. It becomes brittle and breaks. Armorers have always had to wait until the metal object is finished and then set the magical construct onto the metal’s surface. This process reduces the strengthening power of the magic and causes the constructs to become susceptible to damage and wear, which means crafters must constantly repair the sigils, glyphs, and lines of connection.