“I tell you, Stephano, I am innocent,” said Rodrigo, as they turned their steps toward home.
“I know, my friend, I know,” said Stephano, glad for the darkness that hid the sorrow on his face.
There had been one other witness to the encounter in the park besides Miri and Gythe and Dag. Dubois watched Valazquez and Harrington, in the guise of “Sir Richard Piefer” depart. Dubois had observed the signals between Captain de Guichen and the Guundaran mercenary (as Dubois judged from Dag’s clothes and military manner). Dubois had watched the mercenary gather up his cat and leave in company with the two young Trundler women. Dubois saw Captain de Guichen and his unfortunate friend leave the park.
After all of them had gone, Dubois walked over to the bench where Captain de Guichen and Rodrigo de Villeneuve had been sitting. He found the book they had left behind, forgotten in the turmoil. The title was embossed on the cover and he could just barely read the imprint of the letters in the sun’s dying glow: The Crafter’s Guide to Metallurgy.
Night’s shadows closed around Dubois, both figuratively and literally. He had the feeling something of immense importance was about to happen and he was groping about in the darkness, unable to see the danger that was perhaps right in front of him.
What game was Harrington playing? Why was he now disguised as a titled Freyan noble in company with the impressionable and not very bright youth, Valazquez, the son of the Estaran ambassador to Rosia? Why had Harrington, the instigator of the challenge, seen to it that the charge was made against Rodrigo de Villeneuve? Captain de Guichen was the threat.
Dubois could not figure any of this out, but he knew one fact for certain. Sir Henry Wallace was the thread that ran through all these seemingly disparate incidents and tied them together. Harrington was Sir Henry’s agent. Find Sir Henry. Find answers.
Arriving at his lodgings, Dubois collected the reports from his agents that were waiting for him. He glanced through them and tossed them irately in the fire. None were any help. He ate a quick supper, then went to his bed. He had to be up early.
Dubois had a duel to fight.
Chapter Six
Since the invention of the pistol, crafter armorers have been exploring magical means to make weapons more durable and accurate. Constructs are placed on the barrel to strengthen the steel in order to produce lighter weapons. Targeting constructs carefully set inside the barrel aid a pistol’s accuracy. These constructs are melded with others to provide basic protection from the elements, keep the barrel from rusting, etc. Because of the heat and energy generated during use, weapons that are enhanced by magic require yearly examination and repair of the constructs.
RODRIGO SAID NOTHING DURING THEIR WALK back to the house that evening. When they arrived, Stephano suggested they have a glass of wine.
“Since we’re once more in funds,” he added, trying to seem cheerful.
Rodrigo shook his head. “I’m going to my room.”
“Do you want company?” Stephano asked.
Rodrigo hesitated, his hand on the balustrade, then said quietly, “I have to write a letter to my father and mother.”
He walked slowly up the stairs. Stephano felt a choking sensation in his throat and turned away quickly. This letter would be a difficult one to write. Rodrigo was the youngest child, the spoiled child, the mischievous imp whose antics had delighted his fond parents who could never see a fault in their brilliant, talented son. And now he was telling them good-bye-forever. Stephano could not imagine how the terrible news of Rodrigo’s death would affect his loving parents.
He cursed stupid sons of barons and their equally stupid and gullible sisters and hung up his baldric, flung off his coat, and threw his hat at the bust of King Alaric. The hat fell on the floor and Stephano left it there. He entered the kitchen to find Benoit and young Beppe seated at the table, finishing up the remnants of a cassoulet of white beans and chicken.
Beppe leaped to his feet at the sight of Stephano and gave a salute. His dearest wish, since he had met Stephano, was to be a Dragon Knight. Benoit cast a glance at the hat on the floor and groaned and began to rub his leg.
“Don’t disturb yourself,” said Stephano caustically. “I’ll pick it up later. Beppe, I’m glad you’re here. I need you to run an errand.”
“Of course, Captain,” said Beppe, pleased.
Stephano dashed off a note to Miri and Gythe and one to Dag, telling them that he both hoped and expected that he and Rodrigo would meet them the next day at the Cloud Hopper and that the ship should be ready for travel. He warned them not to come to the house, as it was likely under surveillance, though he had no idea who was watching or why.
“Deliver these letters,” said Stephano, “and then go home. Here’s some money.”
“That’s a lot, Captain,” said Beppe, his eyes wide.
“I’m sure we owe you back pay,” said Stephano dispiritedly.
“Yes, Captain, thank you, sir.” Beppe started to leave, then turned back. “Is anything wrong, Captain?”
“No more than usual,” said Stephano, with an attempt at a smile. “Now run along.”
Beppe gave another salute and dashed off.
Stephano, knowing it would be useless to ask Benoit, went to the storeroom fetch his own beer. The barrel was once more full.
“How was court, Benoit?” he asked. “Any message from my mother?”
“Your honored mother the countess has heard nothing more about the matter at hand, sir,” said Benoit. “She bids you a safe journey.”
Stephano sighed and sat down. If Rodrigo survived, the Cadre would go to Westfirth to continue the search for Alcazar. The chance of Rodrigo surviving being highly unlikely, Stephano guessed he would spend tomorrow planning his friend’s funeral. He drank the beer, stared into the empty mug, then suddenly swearing viciously, he flung it at the fireplace. The crockery mug shattered.
Benoit eyed the remains. “I’m not cleaning that up.”
“Like I give a damn!” Stephano said savagely.
“What is wrong, sir?” Benoit asked. He rose to his feet without a trace of infirmity to face Stephano. “I have a right to know.”
Benoit had ridden with his master, Sir Julian, to the convent to bring home his newborn child. Sir Julian had placed the baby in Benoit’s arms and said, “Benoit, meet my son. Care for him as you do me.”
Stephano rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head in his hands and dragged his fingers through his long hair. His face was pale, haggard.
“Sir,” said Benoit, sounding fearful, “tell me-”
“Rodrigo’s very likely going to die tomorrow,” said Stephano.
“Oh, my God, sir!” Benoit grabbed hold of the edge of the table for support. “The king didn’t find out about-Master Rodrigo’s not going to be executed-”
“No, no, nothing like that,” said Stephano wearily. “A duel. A bloody, stupid duel.”
He described what had happened in the park.
“Master Rodrigo claims he’s innocent, sir,” said Benoit.
Stephano gave a wan smile. “Master Rodrigo always claims he’s innocent.”
“That’s true, sir,” the old man admitted. He set to work with unusual energy, filling the teakettle with water and placing it on the hob, stirring up the coals, adding wood to the fire.
“What are you doing?” Stephano asked.
“Fixing a honey posset for Master Rodrigo, sir. It will help him sleep. He will need all his faculties for the morning.”
“I doubt if his ‘faculties’ are going to be that much help,” Stephano muttered.
Benoit disappeared into the storeroom. He was gone several moments, then returned carrying a crock of honey and a small, dust-covered jug.