All this activity made the park an ideal setting for the sharing of secrets and intrigue. True privacy was difficult to come by in the city of Evreux, whether one lived in a hovel or a palace. Walls were thin. Rooms harbored closets to hide in, beds to hide under, curtains to hide behind. Neighbors eavesdropped on their neighbors. Servants were paid to betray their masters. Two people walking in the park, out in the open air, could carry on a confidential conversation and be certain that only the sparrows in the trees heard them.
Arriving at the park, Stephano went straight to the location where the Cadre generally met-a bench near the four gigantic oak trees that gave the park its name. He saw, without seeming to see, Dag wearing his mercenary uniform, in his usual place, sitting with his back up against one of the oak trees, teasing the cat, Doctor Ellington, with a piece of string. Knowing the string game amused his master, Doctor Ellington would play for a short time. When he grew bored, he would sit with his paws tucked under his chest and stare with enmity at his mortal enemy, the squirrels, daring them to come within range of his claws.
Miri and Gythe were established beneath another oak tree some distance from Dag. Gythe sat on a stool, playing a lap harp. Miri sang and collected coins in a basket from those who stopped to listen. Miri was dressed in colorful Trundler garb that she never wore except when she was performing: long, full skirt of bright red silk, with a black fringed shawl tied around her waist, a ruffled white blouse worn low to reveal her freckled shoulders. Her hair flamed in the sunlight, her golden earrings sparkled. She sang a bawdy song that had the gentlemen laughing and caused the chaperones to look scandalized as they hustled their young women out of earshot. Gythe wore a sky-blue skirt and plain blouse, her beautiful hair bound up in a scarf. As Stephano passed, he dropped a coin in the basket and Miri winked at him.
Stephano sat down on the bench and began to act the part of someone waiting impatiently for a meeting. He crossed his legs and uncrossed them. He looked at his pocket watch, rose to his feet, paced about, looked at his watch again, and sat down. He kept this up for half an hour, by which time he was no longer acting. He was truly impatient and growing annoyed and wondering what had become of Rodrigo. The sun was starting to slide into the mists of the Breath. The sky was glowing with oranges and purples. It would be dark within the hour, and the Cadre would lose their chance to get a good look at whoever was tailing them. When Rodrigo finally appeared, Stephano jumped to his feet and waved and shouted testily.
“Rigo! Over here! Where have you been?”
“There you are. I’ve searched all over. I found it,” Rodrigo called, waving a book he held in his hand. “The Crafter’s Guide to Metallurgy. One of my University texts. And there is something in here I think you will find very interesting.”
Rodrigo pointed to a page in the book. Stephano affected to read it.
“Well?” he asked softly.
“You were right,” Rodrigo said in a low voice. “After you left, the man waited a short time, then he followed you. I waited a short time, then I followed him.”
Stephano glanced around. “I don’t see him.”
“He watched you until you sat down on the bench, then he took off at a run. I’ve been waiting and waiting to see if he came back, but he hasn’t returned.”
“He probably went to report that I was in the park.”
“Report to whom? And why would anyone care where you are?”
“I don’t know. None of this makes sense.”
“So what do we do now?”
Stephano shrugged. “I will watch the crowds, and you will read this enlightening piece of literature.”
“Must I? This book brings back unpleasant memories of the lecture hall.”
“I’m surprised you have any memories of lectures,” said Stephano, resuming his seat on the bench.
“I attended lectures,” said Rodrigo, sitting down beside him. “It was the only place a fellow could get any sleep.”
Rodrigo handed Stephano the book. “You read. I will study the view.”
He leaned back, crossed his leg over his knee, and fixed his admiring gaze on a young woman, who was out with her chaperone. She blushed and raised her fan and turned away, and then peeped back at him from beneath the hood of her cloak.
Stephano tried to read, but he found the discussion of sigils and lines of magical energy every bit as confusing as he had when he was a boy with his tutor. Besides, it was growing too dark to read. With the sun setting, the crowds were starting to thin out, people going home to their suppers or to dress for the evening’s festivities. Stephano had not noticed anyone who remotely resembled the man in the slouch hat or the young man who had followed him to the park. Dag and Miri and Gythe had not had any luck either, apparently, for none of them had given him a signal.
Their “hunting expedition” appeared to be a wasted effort.
While Stephano sat on the bench pretending to read and Rodrigo flirted with pretty women and Doctor Ellington dreamed of chasing squirrels, the bishop’s agent, Dubois, was entering the Park of the Four Oaks himself. His day had been an eventful one.
Hearing news that James Harrington, one of Sir Henry’s agents, was on Half Moon Street, Dubois rode swiftly to that location. He arrived in time to find Harrington asleep on a bench beneath the statue of Saint Michelle. Harrington had covered his face with a slouch hat, but Dubois had no difficulty in recognizing him.
Dubois was fortunate to encounter a talkative priest and he established himself on the steps of the church, from which location he could keep watch on Harrington while pretending to listen to the priest discuss everything from aphids in his rose garden to the lamentable lack of funds in the poor box.
Nothing interesting happened on the Street of the Half Moon for a full hour, and Dubois was racking his brain, trying to figure out why Harrington was wasting his time here, when two men, dressed like gentlemen, stopped in front of number 127. The two men spoke to several children who were swinging on a gate, and one of the gentlemen offered the children a copper for information.
Dubois searched his mental files for the faces and pulled out two names: Lord Captain Stephano de Guichen, bastard son of the Countess Cecile de Marjolaine. The other was Monsieur Rodrigo de Villeneuve, son of Claude de Villeneuve, ambassador to Estara.
Dubois had excellent hearing, though he really didn’t need to strain his ears, for the two gentlemen did not bother to lower their voices. They were asking about a resident of this run-down boarding house, a man named Pietro Alcazar. Dubois searched his file for the name, but came up with nothing. He stored it away for future reference.
Dubois gave the chatty priest a coin for his poor box and strolled over to the statue of the saint, taking up a position behind it. He noted, as he did so, that Harrington was also taking an interest in the two gentlemen, adjusting the slouch hat over his eyes so that he had a better view.
Captain de Guichen and Monsieur de Villeneuve entered the courtyard in company with the children. The moment they went inside, Harrington rose from his bench and, keeping the hat pulled low, strolled over to the iron gate and stared intently into the dark courtyard.
Harrington suddenly tugged on his cap, then wheeled and ran down the street. At the same moment, Captain de Guichen emerged from the courtyard, his gaze following Harrington, who signaled to a cab that he had apparently kept in waiting.
“Dearie me, James, you are slipping,” said Dubois. “You let yourself be spotted. That was careless.”
Dubois briefly considered mounting his horse and trying to follow Harrington’s cab, but rejected that idea. His agents were in position outside Harrington’s lodgings, and they would pick up the trail. Dubois was intrigued by the fact that Captain de Guichen was taking an interest in this Alcazar fellow.