Henry sat at the table in the small and wretched house behind the coffee shop, gazing out the window and seeing nothing.
Simon was with him, seated at a desk that he had complained was far too small, almost lost amid his maps and charts, old books that smelled of mold, new books that smelled of leather, and papers that had fallen off the desk and now formed drifts around the wheels of his chair. Absorbed in his work, Simon would not have noticed if a barrel of gunpowder had exploded underneath the window.
Henry had just completed a letter to the Countess de Marjolaine, the Rosian spymaster who had long plotted Freya’s destruction. The fact that he had written such a letter would forever brand him a traitor in the eyes of his countrymen—and his friends—if they ever found out about it. He enclosed Sophia’s note, sealed it, and thrust it into his pocket.
“You are in a dark mood,” Simon observed.
“We are in hiding, both of us wanted men with bounties on our heads. Our country is in dire peril and I have sent my family into exile. I believe I am entitled to my dark mood,” Henry returned.
“I have something that will cheer you,” said Simon. “Come look at my work.”
He rolled his chair away from the desk to give his friend room to see. Henry gazed down on a piece of paper covered with numbers in parentheses with other numbers trailing down the margins, as well as wavy lines, squiggles and blobs and, most mysterious, a crude face with puffed-out cheeks and pursed lips in the upper left-hand corner.
Simon regarded his work with pride. “What do you think?”
“If you will remember, my mathematics tutor at university gave me up as hopeless,” Henry said dryly. “I recall very little, but I am fairly certain algebraic equations did not involve this chubby chap with the cheeks.”
“The drawing represents the prevailing wind currents. These lines,” Simon stated, pointing, “indicate the strange behavior of the magical riptides, while these others are the unusual fluctuations in temperature at this particular location. Add other factors such as proximity to the mountain and my theory is confirmed!”
Simon slammed his hand down on the paper in triumph. “What do you think of that?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Henry said, thoroughly confused. “Which theory?”
Simon gave him an exasperated look. “The theory that I have been talking about for months, Henry! A pool of liquid Breath exists in the Aligoes and I have found the location.”
He tapped his finger on a map showing the Aligoes and a blob not far from a dot marked “Wellinsport”—Freya’s prosperous port city and stronghold.
Henry gazed down at the black dot, the lines, squiggles, and the blob, then shifted his gaze to his friend. “You are serious, aren’t you?”
“God’s balls, Henry, of course, I’m serious!” Simon stated, glaring at him. “What the devil do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Tallying up Randolph’s gambling losses?”
Henry stood frowning down at the equations.
“Think of it, Henry. If we could find this pool, we could refine the liquid Breath using my formula to develop it into the crystalline form,” Simon explained. “Other nations, such as Rosia, would be forced to buy the crystals from us to power their ships. Freya could become one of the wealthiest countries in the world. I’ve been telling you that for a month.”
“Forgive me if I sound skeptical—” Henry began.
“Since when are you ever anything else?” Simon muttered.
Henry pulled up a chair and sat down.
“If this pool is where you say it is, Simon, why hasn’t someone discovered it before now? A vast quantity of liquid Breath would be hard to miss. I’ve seen the pool in Braffa—a dazzling white light shining in the mists of the Breath. Damn hard to miss!”
“I theorize the pool would be located in the Deep Breath, which is why it hasn’t been discovered,” said Simon. “What people have noticed down through the years are the strange effects produced by the pool. The famous explorer, Robert Trame, wrote about these in his journal in the year three eighty-one. He noted sudden inexplicable fluctuations in temperature and the presence of dangerous magical riptides. He considered these phenomena to be anomalies, nothing more. Others have noted the same through the years, but similarly dismissed them. No one ever asked why such anomalies existed. I asked and I found the answer: a pool of liquid Breath.”
“You know where it is.”
“I know within a radius of a few hundred miles or so,” Simon replied. “I would like to be able to sail to the Aligoes to perform tests, narrow the field of search, but Alan says he can’t sail without orders—”
“He’s right, you know,” said Henry. “Besides, neither you nor I can leave Freya now. The situation is too dire.”
“I am aware of that and I have an idea. I spoke to Alan and Randolph. They know sailors who hail from the Aligoes and they are going to bring them to the Weigh Anchor tonight so that I may question them.”
“Good … good,” said Henry.
He should take the opportunity to tell his friends about the letter to the countess, but he rejected the idea. They would not understand that he was acting in his country’s best interests and he could not think of a way to convince them.
Simon regarded him with a frown. “Henry, I know you have far more urgent and important matters that demand your attention, but this discovery could save our country.”
“I appreciate your efforts, my friend, but we may not have a country to save,” said Henry. “And now I must try to decide what disguise to wear to visit the licentious and ever entertaining man-about-town, Rodrigo de Villeneuve.”
“I doubt Pastor Johnstone would be a welcome visitor,” said Simon, grinning.
“I believe I will go as Arthur Porter, the aging footman attached to a well-to-do family,” said Henry. “I will hire a suitable carriage so as to allay any suspicions.”
He put on the powdered wig and the velvet livery, assumed a supercilious and stuffy expression, and ordered the coachman, who was one of his agents, to drive him to Rodrigo’s house, which was located in a fashionable residential neighborhood near Clattermore Street.
Rodrigo made no secret of the fact that he was a Rosian, and Henry braced himself to face the wrath of an angry mob surrounding the house, hurling brickbats and insults. He was surprised and somewhat alarmed to find the street quiet.
He wondered uneasily if Rodrigo had been arrested.
When the coachman stopped in front of the house, Henry saw evidence that the mob had paid Rodrigo a visit: two of the windows were broken and the small yard was littered with garbage and shattered glass.
As Henry approached the door, he was further disheartened to see what appeared to be blood splashed on the front stoop, along with a large number of smashed slate roofing tiles, their jagged edges stained with blood.
He was wondering if he should summon the local constabulary, when he noticed a curtain in the front window twitch, as though a hand had slightly pushed it aside. Henry continued up the walk and was about to place his foot on the door stoop when the door opened a crack.
“I would keep back if I were you, my good man,” warned a sepulchral voice. “Not safe.”
Henry recalled that Rodrigo was an extremely talented, albeit considerably lazy, crafter, and he immediately surmised that he had placed some sort of magical trap on the door. He came to a dead stop and exhibited the note, saying in a haughty tone that matched his velvet jacket, “I am the bearer of an urgent message for Sir Rodrigo de Villeneuve.”
“Never heard of him,” Rodrigo said, and started to slam the door.
“The message is from my mistress, sir,” stated Henry.
The door remained open a crack.
“I don’t recognize the coach,” said Rodrigo. “Did Lady Rosalinda send you? No, wait. She was just married. I have it! The Countess of Hereford! Can’t be her, though. She’s gone to her estate in the country. The Baroness of Rathmore?”
Henry stiffened. “I will not bandy about my lady’s good name in public, sir.”
“No, no, of course not,” said Rodrigo. He thrust his arm out the door. “Just hand the note to me. Be careful. Don’t put your foot on the stoop. Wouldn’t want something nasty to tumble down on your head.”
Henry glanced down at the bloodstained slate tiles, looked up at the roof, and understood. Taking care not to touch the stoop, he reached across it as far as he could to hand Rodrigo the letter. Rodrigo took it, shut the door, and almost immediately opened it again.
He cast Henry a shrewd look. “Do I know you?”
“We have met at Her Ladyship’s house, sir,” said Henry.
“I thought so,” said Rodrigo. He shot a wary glance up and down the street. “Any signs of the rabble?”
“No one is visible at present, sir,” Henry replied.
“You had better come inside,” said Rodrigo, opening the door. “I don’t want to remove the spell. Beastly hard. Took me an hour to craft it. How are you at jumping?”
Henry managed to vault over the stoop. Rodrigo caught hold of him by his arm and pulled him inside the house. He promptly shut the door after him and stood regarding him with a smile.
“Unless I am mistaken, I believe I see Sir Henry Wallace beneath that frightful wig.”
Henry inclined his head.
Rodrigo gestured to the note. “I gather this is from the Princess Sophia. What is the meaning of this enigmatic message? Is she safe?”
“Her Highness is safe and in excellent care,” Henry replied. “Given the unfortunate circumstances surrounding some of our previous meetings, I asked her to write this note to let you know you can trust me.”
“Considering that the unfortunate circumstance to which you allude involved a pistol to my head, you will forgive me if I am somewhat hesitant to regard you as a boon companion,” said Rodrigo. “Why are you here, my lord?”
“The princess was supposed to accompany the countess to Rosia the night of the queen’s assassination, but Her Highness became trapped in the palace. She escaped and she is safe. She requires a bold and daring friend to convey that message to the Countess de Marjolaine and her brother, the king.”
“A bold and daring friend,” Rodrigo repeated. “Not finding that sort of person, you had recourse to me.”
“You underestimate yourself, sir,” said Henry. “The blood on the door stoop attests to the fact. I propose to smuggle you out of the country and put you on a boat bound for Rosia this night.”
Rodrigo frowned. “If you can help me escape Haever, why can’t you find a way to smuggle the princess out, as well?”
“Far too dangerous for Her Highness, sir,” said Henry. “All outbound ships are being searched. Princess Sophia is well known and even if I could disguise her, I could not disguise her little dog. She will not leave him behind.”
Rodrigo nodded in understanding.
“I am not convinced she would go if I could find a way,” Henry continued. “Her Highness is most reluctant to depart Haever. She is concerned over the welfare of a friend of hers—”
“His Grace, the Duke, Phillip Masterson,” Rodrigo said, nodding sagely. “Is he in some sort of danger?”
“I believe he is,” said Henry. “And so is our young king, Thomas Stanford. I would like you to convey this information to the countess.”
“You may rely upon me, my lord,” said Rodrigo.
“I was certain I could,” said Henry. “Tell Her Ladyship that Jonathan Smythe was responsible for assassinating the queen. He has made the king a prisoner and is planning to rule Freya in his stead.”
“You amaze me, my lord!” said Rodrigo, appalled. “Does the countess know this villain, Smythe?”
“Given that I know him, I would be much surprised if Her Ladyship did not,” said Henry dryly.
“Yes, of course,” said Rodrigo. “Peas in a pod, you two. Whose watching who’s watching who’s watching whom and all that.”
“To insure the king’s compliance, Smythe has taken Phillip Masterson hostage, as well as His Majesty’s parents, the Marchioness and the Marquis of Cavanaugh. Assure the countess that friends of the king, including myself, are working to save His Majesty and put an end to Smythe. I suggest her agents make certain the king’s parents are safe.
“Finally and most important, give this to Her Ladyship,” said Henry. He withdrew the letter from his pocket. “Deliver it directly into her hands. Do not trust it to a servant or anyone else.”
“I promise, my lord,” said Rodrigo.
“Read the letter and memorize the contents so that if you are forced to destroy it, you can still convey the message to Her Ladyship.”
“I understand,” said Rodrigo with unusual gravity. “I assure you, my lord, I am far more trustworthy than I appear. How am I to reach Rosia?”
“A man of my acquaintance operates what appears to be an ordinary fishing trawler on the River Woldrith. By making some adjustments, he can transform the trawler into a ship that can sail the Breath. He is quite reliable. He has done business for me in the past.”
“Fishing!” Rodrigo repeated, shuddering. He sank down in a chair. “Cod and flounder! I am to sail with cod and flounder.”
“There will be no fishing done while you are on board, sir,” said Henry in soothing tones. “You will be sailing the Breath.”
“But the stench!” Rodrigo cringed. “The smell of fish creeps into the wood, you know. Still, I am willing to make the sacrifice. I don’t suppose I could speak to the princess before I leave?”
Henry shook his head. “Best for all parties if you do not know her location. In case you are captured.”
“Torture and all that,” said Rodrigo with a sorrowful nod. “I am certain I should succumb at the mere sight of thumbscrews and reveal all I know and most of what I don’t. Where am I to be and when?”
Henry wrote down an address on a card. “Wait until dark to leave. I will send a conveyance to pick you up. Once you have arrived at the docks, look for the Lucy Lou. Captain Anderson will be expecting you. Will you be safe in this house until evening? I could convey you away in my coach now.”
“I must pack and that could take hours. Besides, I doubt those lads will be back,” said Rodrigo. “They were considerably disheartened when they saw their mates lying on the stoop with their skulls cracked open. Although,” he added in thoughtful tones, “I rather believe from the threats they issued that they do plan to return tonight to set fire to the place.”
“I will send an armed guard with the driver,” said Henry. “Thank you for undertaking this mission.”
“For king and country. The enemy of my something is my something. Can’t recall the quote, precisely, but if I could, I believe it would sum up the situation between you and me. Along with that other quote regarding strange bedfellows.”
Rodrigo opened the door. Henry cast a distrustful glance up at the tiles on the roof before stepping out.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you manage to topple those onto your unsuspecting guests?” Henry asked.
“Magical constructs to loosen them,” Rodrigo explained. “Magic to make them fly. Magic on the stoop. When I arm the magic on the stoop, a single footfall activates the sympathetic magic on the tiles on the roof. Up they go and down they come—smash.”
“Ingenious,” said Henry.
Rodrigo was pleased. “I originally designed them to deter those annoying do-gooders who come round to preach to one that I should repent my sins. The truth is, I enjoy my sins.”
Henry was thankful he had decided to leave Pastor Tobias Johnstone at home. “The carriage will be here at eight of the clock.”
“I will be dressed for the voyage in oilskins and a sou’wester—whatever that is,” said Rodrigo. He grew more serious. “Assure Her Highness she may rely on me. Please convey my love.”
The two men shook hands. Henry made an awkward leap across the stoop and managed to land on the sidewalk without breaking an ankle.
“The letter is delivered. What is done is done and, as Rodrigo would say, cannot be something something,” Henry reflected. “And now that I have betrayed my country, I can make amends by trying to save her.”