“We’ve got to make a run for the cab!”
“Wait!” Rodrigo cried and he darted forward to pick up the dueling pistol he had used. A bullet struck the ground. He snatched his hand back, then made a grab for the pistol, and ran, hunched-over, to Stephano, who glared at him.
“That thing’s useless!”
“I know!” Rodrigo gasped. He thrust the pistol into his belt.
Stephano gripped his friend’s arm. “Keep your head down! Use the tombstones for cover!”
Crouching low, they tried to blend in with the mists that were, unfortunately, starting to burn off, and dashed from one tombstone to the next. The bullets hit close, striking the tombstones, chipping off pieces of marble and sending the shards flying through the air. They took refuge behind a monument of a marble angel and stopped to catch their breath. A bullet struck one of the angel’s wings, knocking it off. Both ducked.
Rodrigo asked in altered tones, “Do you think what Valazquez said about my father being dead is true?”
“We’ll soon find out,” said Stephano. “The countess will know.”
Another bullet took off the angel’s nose.
Rodrigo was suddenly angry. “Why is he trying to kill us?”
“Damned if I know,” said Stephano, wiping the sweat from his face. He’d lost his hat to a bullet. “His friends are extremely good shots, though. They must be using those new weapons with the rifled bores. I’ve heard about them, but never seen one. They’re supposed to be more accurate than barrels that use targeting constructs. I’d really like to get a look at one-”
“I’ve seen quite enough, thank you!” Rodrigo flattened himself on the ground as a bullet slammed into the angel’s foot.
Stephano risked raising his head, hoping to see what had become of Piefer. The Freyan lord was nowhere in sight. Stephano didn’t know if his disappearance was good or bad. He shifted about to see if the hansom cab was still there or if the driver had fled. Surprisingly the hansom cab was still there. The horse didn’t like the gunfire, however. The animal was rolling its eyes and shifting nervously in the traces. Stephano was amazed the driver had not run off at the first sign of trouble. Or maybe he had fled and left the carriage behind.
“One last dash!” Stephano said.
Rodrigo nodded. The two jumped out from behind the angel and ran headlong for the cab. They were tense, expecting more bullets, but all was suddenly quiet.
“They’ve gone!” Rodrigo cried, elated.
Stephano shook his head. Men armed with such expensive weapons were most likely professionals. They weren’t about to give up this easily. Reaching the hansom cab, he found out why the driver had not taken off. He was crouched on the floor of the cab, his eyes closed and his fingers stuffed in his ears. Stephano grabbed hold of him.
“Don’t shoot me!” the driver wailed, flinging his hands in the air.
Stephano eyed the man, who was shaking all over. “He’s worthless. Get inside with him. I’ll drive.”
“Do you know how?” asked Rodrigo dubiously.
“I’ve flown dragons,” said Stephano. “How hard can driving a cab be?”
The hansom cab was a small two-wheeler, with room for only two passengers, both of whom sat directly behind the horse. The driver’s seat was on top of the cab, in the rear. The reins ran through two supports located at the front of the roof. Stephano climbed up onto the seat and took hold of the reins. Not certain what to do, he slapped the reins and shouted, “Giddy up!”
The horse was only too glad to leave and plunged forward with a jolt that almost sent Stephano flying off the seat and flattened Rodrigo and the howling driver against the cushions. The hansom cab careened madly down the road, swaying from side to side, rattling and shaking as Stephano grappled with the reins and tried desperately to gain some sort of control over the terrified animal.
Rodrigo, who was clinging to whatever he could find to cling to, leaned his head out to yell at Stephano.
“Where are we going?”
“The Cloud Hopper!” Stephano shouted back.
A bullet smashed into roof of the cab. Swearing with what breath he had left, Stephano glanced over his shoulder to see the black carriage racing after them in pursuit. Piefer was seated next to the driver.
Stephano had an excellent look at one of the new rifled guns. He stared straight down the barrel.
Chapter Eight
I am saddened to find the leaders of the Church focusing more on secular politics than on the worship of God. The grand bishop must now have his own personal army, his fleet of warships, his networks of spies… Young crafters do not practice their art for the glory of God, but for the glory of the grand bishop. It was with a heavy heart that I counseled His Majesty the King to break with the Church of the Breath.
DUBOIS WAS IN THE VICINITY OF THE CEMETERY well before dawn, in time to see Rodrigo de Villeneuve and Captain de Guichen arrive for the duel. Dubois was not on the grounds. He had taken up his position in a tree.
To look at Dubois, one might not think he was someone adept at treeclimbing. He had developed this skill over time, finding it useful to ascend to such perches where he could hide among the leaves, see without being seen. Dubois was also adept at climbing up trellises to sneak onto balconies or peep into windows, and he had become an expert at walking over rooftops.
Ensconced in his tree, shielded from view, Dubois settled himself comfortably. He straddled a broad limb with his legs and rested his back against the trunk.
His perch provided him an excellent view of the field of combat and the woods surrounding the cemetery. He was vastly interested to note the stealthy arrival of two other men in the woods. Both were strangers to Dubois. He watched the two slip through the mists and take up positions directly behind the cemetery wall. Both were dressed in long coats and tall boots and carried long-barreled muskets. Anyone seeing them would mistake them for two gentlemen hunting grouse.
Dubois reached into a pocket, drew out a collapsible spyglass and, extending it, put it to his eye to observe the two men more closely.
“Well, well, well,” said Dubois.
One man carried a large bore musket, while the other was armed with the new weapon known as a “rifle” for its rifled bore, which gave the shooter far better accuracy than smooth bore guns, even those with magical targeting constructs. An expensive weapon for shooting grouse. In addition, each man carried several pistols.
Obviously paid assassins, but who was paying them and who were they there to assassinate? Dubois could make an excellent guess. He reached beneath his coat to draw his own pistol, which he carried in a pistol sheath he had designed himself. Much like a sheath for a sword, the pistol sheath was made of leather attached to a strap that looped around his right shoulder. The pistol sheath allowed him to wear the weapon on his body, concealed beneath his coat, providing swift and easy access.
His pistol was double-barreled, operated by magic rather than flint. The two barrels were stacked one above the other with a single firing mechanism. The hammer and the strike plate each had deeply set sigils that sparked when they came into contact, separated by a small brass shield when the weapon was not in use. A lever near the strike plate allowed him to choose which barrel to fire. On top was a longer, lower caliber barrel, set with interlocking layers of magical targeting constructs, designed for better range and accuracy. Beneath it was a large bore barrel designed for stopping power.
The gun had been given to Dubois by the grand bishop. The weapon had been made especially in the bishop’s own armory, according to Dubois’ instructions. He checked the pistol, particularly the magical constructs, and found all was well. Not that there was ever any doubt. He invariably checked the gun before strapping on the belt.