Margaret Weis - Shadow Raiders

Stephano smiled and shook his head.

“Douver hastened to Alcazar’s rooms,” the countess continued. “He found the front door had been forced open. Furniture was upended. There were signs of a struggle. Alcazar was gone and so was the tankard he had been going to show to the king. Seeing this, Douver came to me at once.”

“Why you?” Stephano asked, frowning.

The countess was exasperated. “You could hardly expect Douver to go to the king! What would the fool man say? That he had lied about the fact that he had created this new metal? That he had allowed the journeyman who did create it to be snatched out from under his nose? The king would think Douver had been lying all this time. He would lose his job, if not his head.”

“So he hoped you could get him back into the king’s good graces. Well, that should be easy for you, Mother. Just slip into His Majesty’s bed…”

The countess sat quite still. Her eyes were gray as a winter sky, her face expressionless. When she spoke, her tone was smooth and cold.

“There is a far more important consideration here, Stephano, as you would realize if you were not constantly occupied in hating me.”

Stephano realized he had gone too far. What she said was true. He was allowing his feelings to cloud his judgment. Beyond that, his remark had been unworthy of a knight and a gentleman.

“I beg your pardon, Mother,” he said quietly. “I should not have said that.”

The countess stood up and took a turn or two around the garden. She twisted the little golden ring on her finger. Stephano waited in silence, still feeling the sting of her rebuke. Her next question surprised him.

“Tell me, Stephano, if Alcazar had succeeded in producing steel that could be enhanced by the Breath of God, what would be the ramifications of such a discovery?”

“Astounding,” Stephano answered. “Cannonballs would bounce off our warships like hailstones. Armor could withstand bullets or, conversely, bullets could punch through ordinary steel. Such a discovery would make our military invincible. But that is assuming this Alcazar actually succeeded, and I don’t believe-”

“Someone does,” said the countess flatly.

Stephano was brought up short. He thought this over and now understood her concern. Alcazar had disappeared, perhaps not of his own free will. Someone had snatched him. The idea of such magically enhanced steel in the wrong hands was appalling.

“I need you to discover the truth, Stephano. Go to Alcazar’s lodging, search it, see what you can learn. You will be discreet, quiet, circumspect. No hint of what has happened must leak out.”

“Which is why you came to me,” said Stephano.

“I dare not trust any of my local agents,” said the countess, nodding agreement. “Not with something this important. Here is the address.”

She reached into her bosom and drew out a piece of paper and handed it to Stephano. The address was in his mother’s own hand, bold and firm: 127 Street of the Half Moon. He thrust the paper into an inner pocket in his coat.

“How flattering to know you actually trust me, Mother,” he remarked.

“I do trust you, Stephano,” said the countess gravely. “Do not let me down.”

She moved to the door and stood beside it, waiting for him to open it for her. The interview was at an end.

Stephano stood up, pressing his hand against his rapier to keep it from striking the bench. “One question. You mentioned Grand Bishop Montagne. Is it possible that he could have found out about Alcazar?”

“I thought of that,” said the countess. “I have made inquiries and am convinced that the bishop knows nothing. If his creature, Dubois, were in Rosia, it would be a different matter. Dubois knows, sees, hears everything. But Dubois is in Freya, attending the royal court. And now I really must go. I am late for a meeting with the Travian ambassador.”

Stephano opened the door, and the countess swept past him with a rustle of satin and the faint fragrance of honeysuckle.

“I hear Travia and Estara are hurling cannonballs at one another over which of the two nations owns mineral-rich Braffa,” said Stephano. “Rodrigo’s father is ambassador to Estara. He writes that the situation is grim.”

“They are both trying to draw us into the fight,” said the countess. “I won’t allow that to happen.”

“Shouldn’t King Alaric be handling this matter, along with his officially appointed ministers?” Stephano asked, grinning.

“His Majesty has far more important matters to concern him,” said the countess.

Stephano leaned near to say, “There’s not a twitch of your cobweb that you don’t feel, is there, Mother?”

“You’ve fought the Estarans. Do you want to do so again?” the countess asked, as they passed through the sitting room and into the library.

“I would not be given the chance, as you well know,” said Stephano caustically.

“May I remind you, my son, that you were the one who resigned the commission which I had managed to obtain for you,” the countess returned.

“And may I remind you, Mother, that I resigned after the king disbanded the Dragon Brigade and took away my command,” said Stephano heatedly.

“His Majesty offered you a post-”

“-as a lowly lieutenant on one of his new-fangled floating frigates. I am a Dragon Knight. If you think I would stoop-”

Stephano stopped to draw in a deep breath. He was not going to quarrel with her. Not that they ever quarreled. She was Breath-enhanced steel. Words, like bullets, could never penetrate her. He came back to business.

“If I find out what you need to know about this Alcazar, you will clear all my debts?”

The countess glanced at him. “I said I would. I keep my word.”

Stephano flushed. He hated to mention this next, but he had no choice. He did so with what dignity he could muster. “Rodrigo tells me that I am… er… rather short of funds right now. If you could advance me-”

“I have given instructions for you to receive the paperwork clearing you of your debt and I have provided money for expenses,” said the countess.

They had returned to the audience chamber. She remained standing. Business concluded, she was ready to be done with him.

Stephano bowed. “I will take my leave, then, Madame. I will be in touch. Who do I see about the money?”

The countess extended her hand for him to kiss.

“My secretary, Emil,” she said, adding, with a hint of a smile, “The young man you insulted.”

While Stephano was back in the antechamber, forced to endure Emil’s sneers while waiting for his mother’s money, one of the men he and the countess had been discussing was also being forced to wait. Only this man was waiting to clear customs, not waiting for an insufferable secretary.

For once, the countess’ spies were wrong. Dubois, the bishop’s “creature,” as the countess had termed him, was not in Freya attending the royal court. His ship had docked at the Rosian port at about the same time the wyvern-drawn carriage containing Stephano and Rodrigo had flown over the dockyards. If Stephano had looked down and Dubois had looked up, the two men would have seen each other.

Seeing Dubois would not have done Stephano any good, for he did not know the man. They had never met. Dubois knew Stephano, however. Dubois made it his business to know everyone who had anything to do with the politics of any of the royal courts.

Once he was through customs, Dubois-known by everyone simply as Dubois-did not waste time. He met with several men who were waiting on the dock for him. He heard their reports and gave them instructions. These meetings with agents concluded, he hastened to a nearby inn where he always kept a horse in readiness, mounted, and rode swiftly through the crowded streets, paying no heed to the curses of those he nearly ran down.