The Providence Rider (34 page)

Matthew decided on the biggest muffin in the basket. He took it and, gratified to find it was studded with chocolate chunks, chewed a big bite from it and then returned to his room to wait for the fall of night. Only behind the locked door did he break out in a cold sweat and suddenly have to lose his few bites of muffin and drink of lemon water in a rush of liquid over the balcony’s railing.

After midnight, when the castle had become tomb-quiet and even the Thackers’ bellows silenced, Matthew began to stir.

He left his room with a single stubby taper, walked quietly along the corridor and used the skeleton key to open Smythe’s room. Alas, the munitions master was not sleeping in this bed, but rather in the embrace of an octopus’s digestive system. He and Adam Wilson now shared the lowest of dwellings. Matthew continued out to the balcony, where he considered the drop of over twenty feet to manicured hedges in the garden. Were there fissures in the stone wall he might get his fingertips into? He shone his light downward. Yes, there appeared to be a few worthy grips, courtesy of years of earth tremors. It was this way or no way because for certain he could not risk the stairs and the front door.

He blew out the candle and put it into his coat pocket along with the tinderbox from his room. Then he eased over the balcony, and with the supple strength of youth and damned determination he began his careful descent along the cracked wall of Fell’s castle.

The night’s banquet had been another affair of seafood, salacious behavior from the two brothers toward the diminished-looking Fancy, drunken laughter from Sabroso at jokes no one had made, Aria Chillany’s body pressing toward Matthew and her breath reeking of fish and wine thanks to his returned ability to smell, Toy feeding Augustus Pons and their whispers and giggles like two schoolgirls sharing secrets, Minx silently eating her food without a glance at anyone in particular, and Mother Deare talking about how good it would be to get started back to England in the next few days. Evidently the group would be travelling on the ship
Fortuna
, another of Fell’s fleet of transports
.
Matthew thought that being cooped up with that bunch for nearly two months would be enough to make him dance down a pirate’s plank in a fashion that would win appreciative applause from Gilliam Vincent.

Two chairs had remained vacant at the table. “Where are those fuckers?” Jack Thacker had asked, his eyes bloodshot and whitefish foaming at the corners of his mouth. “Playing with—”

“Their sausages?” Mack finished, after which he tossed back a half-glass of wine so deeply-red it was almost black. Between the brothers, Fancy stared at Matthew for a few seconds, her eyes dark-hollowed and weary, before she looked away. She was like a fine animal that had nearly been broken, Matthew thought. Much more time with the brothers, and she would be used up and withered within. Still he had yet to see her smile or even attempt such. But what was there for her to smile about? If he could only get her alone for a few seconds, to tell her what he was planning…

Mother Deare said, “Mr. Smythe and Mr. Wilson are no longer with us.”

“What?”
Pons pushed Toy’s fork away. “Where are they?”

“The two gentlemen,” said Mother Deare, with a passing glance at Matthew, “have been identified as traitors to the professor.”

“Them
too
?” Jack’s mouth was a ghastly mess. “How many fucking traitors have there been at this party?”

“Too many,” Mother Deare replied, with a faint motherly smile. “The situation is now stable.”

“I think you should take a look at this one’s pockets.” Mack jabbed his knife in the direction of Matthew. “Turn ’im upside down and give him a fuckin’ good shake.”

“Not neccessary.” Mother Deare took a dainty sip of wine, her red-gloved hand huge upon the stem. “Mr. Smythe and Mr. Wilson have served their purpose, have been found lacking in loyalty and too prideful in their own powers. They were executed this afternoon. Didn’t anyone hear them screaming?”

“I thought it was Pons gettin’ his ass jabbed,” said Jack, and Mack laughed so hard the wine burst from his nostrils.

“Crude vulgarians,” Pons replied, with as much dignity as a fat man with three chins might summon. His eyes were heavy-lidded with disdain. He turned his attention to Mother Deare. “The…removal of Mr. Smythe and Mr. Wilson…quite sudden, it seems. I am to believe that they were both important assets—”

“He said, ‘
assets
,’” Jack chortled, and again his brother guffawed in appreciation of the most simple-minded tavern humor.

“Important
elements
,” Pons went on, “to the professor’s operations. For them both to be removed…doesn’t that bode ill for future plans?”

“‘Bode ill,’ he says,” was Mack’s comment. “Buck can’t speak a man’s English.”

Matthew had reached his fill of this particular meal. “Why don’t you two shut up? You look dumber than hell. Quit proving it by speaking.”

The expressions on the faces of the Thackers froze. Mack’s chin trembled a little bit, as the rage worked on him. Jack sopped a piece of bread in fish sauce and chewed it as if tearing out Matthew’s throat with his teeth.

“To answer,” said Mother Deare. “Yes, those two men were important. You hear me say ‘
were
.’ But there are always other talents in the organization to take their places. You can be sure the professor has planned for that beforehand. I am empowered to be the professor’s eyes, voice and hands in London, and to adjust persons into their proper places. To
promote
, so to speak. And I will perform that task to the best of my ability and for the best of the organization. Thank you for asking.”

“Pleasure,” said Pons, returning his mouth to Toy’s waiting fork.

Matthew continued his crawl down the wall of Fell’s castle. His right foot slipped in its search for a crevice, he knew he was in for a tumble so he flung himself off into space and headed for the hedges. They were fortunately not laden with anything sharp or stickery, and therefore he landed amid them with the most minor of scrapes. Then it was a matter of getting himself unentangled from them, putting his feet on firm ground and heading toward the road. There was a yellow moon just past full, the night held a slight breeze, and Matthew was in his element of silence and stealth.

He was only on his way across the gardens a moment or two when he knew someone was coming toward him from the left: a dark shape though moon-painted, a lithe figure converging upon him with little or no hesitation and a confident stride.

“Are you planning on walking the distance?” Minx asked quietly when she got close enough. She was wearing a hooded cape over her clothes, and again Matthew had to wonder if she had been last night’s visitor to his room.

“I suppose that was my plan, yes.”

“You need,” she said, “a new plan. Starting with a horse. Come with me.”

“Going where?”

“Going,” she answered, “to break into the stable, saddle our two horses and go do your task of exploding some gunpowder. That
is
the task, correct?”

“It is.”

“Then come on, we’re wasting time.”

“Minx,” Matthew said, “you don’t have to go with me. I can do this by myself.”

“Can you?” Though he couldn’t make out her face, he knew her expression would be wry, her blonde brows upraised. “I don’t think so. Come along, and you should be grateful I’ve arrived to save your legs and possibly your neck.”

“Two necks can be stretched by a noose the same as one. In fact, I’d imagine we’d
lose
our heads if we’re caught.”

“I agree. That’s why we
shouldn’t
be caught.”
Dummy
, was her unspoken comment. “Stop wrangling and come along.
Now
.”

On the way to the stable, Matthew asked Minx how she’d gotten out of the castle unnoticed, and the reply was: “I walked out the front door and spoke kindly to the servant standing there. I’m sure he thinks I’ve gone for a solitary stroll. Being unnoticed was not my goal…getting out was. Didn’t you leave by the front door?”

“No, I chose a more scenic way.”

“Whatever it takes, I suppose. There’s the stable ahead. Keep your voice low, we don’t want to spook the horses and have them announcing us.”

Breaking into the stable was as simple as Minx inserting the business end of a blade into a lock that secured a chain across the doors. The lock was broken, the chain removed, and though the horses within grumbled and stomped their hooves none let out any tell-tale whinnies. Minx and Matthew went to work saddling their mounts of choice, Esmerelda and Athena, and within a few minutes were out of the stable and following their moon-shadows along the road.

“I’m presuming you were smart enough to bring something to light a flame,” Minx said.

“A tinderbox and candle, yes.”

“I brought the same,” she revealed. “Just in case.”

“Very kind of you.”

Minx was silent for a while, as their horses trotted the road side by side. Then she said, “Perhaps you
are
a bit like Nathan.”

“How so?”

“Foolish. Headstrong. A man who dares the Devil, if you want the truth. And who makes others think they can dare the Devil, too.” She cast a quick glance at him from under her hood. “I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.”

“You can always decline the dare,” Matthew told her, “and turn back.”

“Oh no, there’s no turning back. But before I set foot on that ship, I am going to kill Aria Chillany. You can count on that, my friend.”

Matthew had no doubt she would at least try. Just as he must try to get Fancy out of the grip of the Thackers, in honor of Walker In Two Worlds. It seemed both he and Minx were daring their own devils today, and what devils they were.

The moon had sunk lower by the time they reached the skull-guarded road. “Not here,” said Minx when Matthew started to rein Athena in. He followed Minx perhaps another hundred yards, and then dismounted when she did so. Minx tied Esmerelda’s reins to a low shrub and Matthew did the same with Athena’s.

“Listen well,” Minx whispered as they stood at the edge of the dense thicket that protected Fell’s powderworks. “I don’t know what’s in there. Probably there are men up on watchtowers hidden in the trees. There may be bogs and quicksand. We don’t dare show a light. The guards would be on us like blood-hungry ticks. We have to move silently and cautiously, and if one of us gets into trouble there can be no shouting for the sake of both our necks…or heads, as you say. If we are separated and one is captured, there can be no talking even if it means…you know what it would mean.”

“I do,” said Matthew. His nerves were on edge, but his resolution firm.

“All right. Let’s go.”

Two words that meant:
this is the point of no return
. Matthew and Minx entered the thicket together, and within sixty seconds were facing a yellow-moonlit wall of leaves and thorns the size of a man’s thumbnail, on coiled stalks that snaked out in every direction. They spent some time trying to find a way around this obstruction, and yet had to enter the portion of it that seemed the most penetrable. Even so, it was a torment on the flesh and a hazard on the clothing. Matthew felt that if his coat snagged one more time it would fall in shreds from his shoulders. His stockings were ragged and his legs streaked with blood by the time they reached more hospitable forest, which wasn’t saying much. The ground became soggy, held together by massive clumps of tree-roots. Even Minx, for all her sure-footed confidence, tripped and fell into the muck several times, and as the bog deepened Matthew’s boots were almost sucked from his feet.

They had to stop and rest, for the exertion of travelling through this sticky slop was extreme. “Ready?” Minx whispered after a few minutes, and Matthew answered that he was. On her next step Minx sank into brackish water nearly waist-deep. She continued on, and Matthew followed with one hand guarding the cotton in his tinderbox from being soaked.

The moon descended. From the trees of this ungodly, fetid swamp there croaked, trilled, shrieked and buzzed the insects of the night. As Minx and Matthew progressed, great bubbles of noxious swamp gas bloomed up beneath them like hideous flowers and made such explosive sounds they feared it would be heard by any listening ear. But no torches showed in the darkness nor were there voices, and the two determined travellers slogged onward.

“Careful,” Minx whispered, “there’s a snake in the water to your right.”

Matthew caught the movement of something over there, but it veered away. One snake seen, probably dozens lurking around their legs underwater. What use was there to think of that? Matthew looked up and could see a few stars through the thick treetops. New York seemed as far away as those. But here he was, waistdeep in muddy filth with snakes aslither around his ankles, likely tasting the blood on his shins. Delightful. What he must concentrate upon was not falling into the water, and keeping the tinderbox dry.

The ground began to rise and the water shallowed. Minx and Matthew got out of the muck onto sandy earth wild again with vegetation, and as Matthew brushed a low tree branch something made a noise like the clicking back of a pistol’s hammer and—whether exotic bird or treefrog—the thing jumped for its life into the thicket.

“Stop,” Minx whispered, and Matthew instantly obeyed.

She reached out into what appeared to be another wall of vines and thorns. She pulled some of the foliage aside and pressed her hand inward.

“Stones,” she said. “We’ve arrived.”

Matthew felt for himself. It was, indeed, the fort’s outermost wall. Looking up, nothing could be seen of how high the wall was in the overhang of trees. But all was silent save the croak and hum of frogs and night-sprites, and in the distance the note of a bird making a sound like the fall of an executioner’s axe.

Now came the problem of finding a way in, and the problem-solver was in the dark. He followed Minx to the left, her hands entering the vines to search the stones. There were no windows, barred or otherwise, and no gate to be found. At last Minx stopped, pulled on a sturdy-looking vine that snaked down along the wall, and said, “This will have to do.”

“I’ll go first,” Matthew volunteered, and Minx let him. He started up along the vine, which swayed precariously but did not give way. Matthew’s boots afforded him traction on the stones, and after a climb of some thirty feet he reached the top and hauled himself over onto a parapet. Minx followed with admirable agility, and together they took stock of where they were.