Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 10] - Lanterns (27 page)

It was blandly said, but his eyes mocked her. "Madame is
comfortable," she lied defiantly. "You make the other appointment, yes?"

"But—no, ma'am. I have no time to waste. Your crystal seems
clear enough. Perhaps you did not look closely."

She forced her reluctant gaze to The Mystical Window Through
Time.
It was clear and gleaming. By the very force of his presence this
strange man had enhanced her psychic abilities.

The chink of coins broke through her astonishment. Monsieur
Gistel
had placed five guineas on the table, one after another in a straight
line. 'Five guineas!' she thought, and said, "Monsieur is also, I have
think, a psychic."

He shook his head. "I was a priest at one time. I am now many
things, and at present an art collector. But I will admit to a deep
interest in mysticism. You are rumoured to possess a genuine gift,
Madame. That is what brought me to you."

And five guineas was five guineas! "Do you desire that I look
into the past, Monsieur? Or is it your future that—"

An impatient gesture silenced her. He folded his hands on the
table.
They were well-manicured hands and so white that the black hairs stood
out in sharp relief. Leaning forward, his eyes seemed to bore into
hers. "I am interested in a certain work of art called
The
Sigh of Saladin.
I wish to know if, in fact, it exists."

She bent over the crystal for fear that she might betray her
excitement. She had at least part of the answer to his question. If she
could discover some more he might even add to his already enormous
largesse.

She gazed deep and deeper, the minutes ticking away while
Monsieur
Gistel waited in a tense and obviously hungry silence. Never had the
crystal seemed so clear. "Ah," she intoned in her best mystical voice.
"I see a knight… a knight in armour. From long ago. He comes home
bearing a gift for his bride. It is…
magnifique!"

"Then it really does exist! Can you see it? Where is it now?"

"I see a small picture wrought in… in gold and gems. Very old
and dirty. But beautiful still. It is there… at the manor house."

"Ah!" he said eagerly. "You mean Lanterns, yes? Well, go on,
go on! Whereabouts, exactly?"

Another interval of peering silently. She said, "Many have
search.
For centuries they seek. But no one has found. It… stands up straight.
And it is with… music. Alas, it is fading. I can no longer see."

She spoke truly. The bright clarity of the crystal had faded.
Monsieur Gistel continued to question her, but she replied erratically,
for now there was in the depths of her Mystical Window a swirling mist
that came very seldom and was invariably of great significance. She
held her breath, hoping she was to be given the location of the
treasure. Instead, she caught a glimpse of something that had nothing
to do with the legendary
Sigh of Saladin.
The
vision was brief but quite clear, and it made her very frightened
indeed.

"Did it work?" Diccon raced up the stairs and into the
northernmost
bedchamber and the table that had been set before the open window.

Vaughan turned, his eyes alight with triumph. "See for
yourself!"

A broad-based candle lay on its side in a tray that had been
the
breastplate of a suit of armour. The flame was extinguished but a thin
spiral of smoke hung on the air.

Diccon gave a whoop and clapped Vaughan on the back. "Did it
stay lit until after it landed?"

"Yes. I blew it out. Not much doubt that it will ignite the
powder,
but we'll have to take care not to use too much. Don't want to burn
down your—"

"Why are you playin' with the candle?"

The two men turned quickly.

The Scourge of the Spanish Main watched them from the doorway,
the
skull-and-crossbones drooping in one hand and a forlorn expression in
his blue eyes.

"Well, if it isn't Captain Detestable Dag," said Diccon with a
flourishing bow. "Lieutenant Vaughan told me you were going off to
scourge a few seas. Did you sink any merchantmen?"

"We din't go. Eric forgot."

The resignation in the small face caused the two men to
exchange a quick glance.

Arthur asked, "What're you doing, Sir G'waine?"

"Building a signal."

"Why?"

Vaughan said, "If thieves should come Major Diccon might need
help, and since he—"

"Diccon wouldn't need no help with thieves! He'd kill 'em all
dead!"

His dark eyes twinkling, Vaughan said, "Don't doubt it a bit."

"The thing is," said Diccon with a smile, "if there was a— er,
gang of the bounders, Detestable, even I might need help."

"
Even
you!" snorted Vaughan.

"Oh," said Arthur dubiously. "Well, how's a candle goin' to
help you?"

Diccon lifted the small impromptu shelf they'd fashioned on
top of
the table. "You see how the front of the shelf folds down unless I hold
it up?"

"Yes. Why has it got that long piece of string tied to it?"

"Because," Vaughan fed the string over a rough frame they'd
erected
across the desk and pulled it tight and the shelf was held securely in
place.

Diccon put the candle on top. "The string goes all the way
downstairs and we tie it around that big cauldron in the kitchen. So
long as it stays tight, the shelf stays up. But if someone bad should
break in, we'd only have to lift the cauldron or cut the string and the
shelf would fold down, dropping the candle onto the pan. Do you see?"

Arthur knit his brows. "It wouldn't make 'nuff noise to fright
a thief, I don't think."

"Quite right," said Diccon. "Only we'll have a thin line of
black powder under the shelf, leading to the far end of the table."

"Oh. So when the candle falls down, it sets light to the
powder? If
it's just a thin line it still won't make much of a bang, Diccon."

"No," agreed Vaughan. "But those will."

Arthur looked at the collection of intriguing packets on the
window end of the table, and his eyes became very wide indeed. "
Fireworks
?"

Diccon nodded. "Fireworks."

"An' the powder will catch 'em alight?"

Vaughan said laughingly, "We certainly hope so. If they all go
shooting out of the window, they'll be seen for miles and people will
come to help."

"Ooooh! Diccon, can we—"

"I'm afraid not, old fellow. But we'll have a show on Guy
Fawkes' Day, how's that?"

Arthur's face fell. "It's in November. An' it's a long way
from now."

Diccon knew that Vaughan's plans for the day had included
taking
Fanny for a drive. His eyes asked a question. Vaughan nodded and said,
"You're not forgetting that your doctor prescribed sea air? Why don't
you get to it? Mac can help me set that fallen block into the wall
downstairs and there'll still be time for my—er, activities."

"Thanks, Joss. Well, Detestable, will you take me along in
your galleon?"

His answer was a shout of joy and a crushing hug, and down to
the beach they marched, hand in hand.

Diccon was relegated to the rank of Bo'sun and when the
Detestable
Dag was safely aboard, he bent to his oars and, obeying the command of
the Scourge of the Seven Seas, sang heartily,

No matter your rank, you'll walk the plank
If you drift across
our bow!
So stay well clear of the buccaneer
Who's taken The
Brotherhood's vow!

Joining the chorus in a piercing scream, Captain Detestable
waved
the skull-and-crossbones flag with one hand while clinging to the side
of the rowing boat with the other.

Sing Ho for the Jolly Roger
flag!
Sing Ho for the
Spanish Main!
Daring and bold is Detestable Dag
You'll not see his like
again!
Yo… Ho!
No never his like again!

Pleased with their efforts, they laughed together, and Captain
Detestable exclaimed, "Oh, jolly good, Bo'sun!"

The wind was rising, and the rowing boat plunged into a
trough. Diccon slanted a glance at the lowering clouds.

Whether or not it is designated a "galleon" a small boat in
choppy
seas can play havoc with the strongest stomach, but although Arthur
gripped the side tightly, his eyes were bright with excitement. What
great fun it would be, he said, if they should be shipwrecked. On a
desert island.

"Great fun," agreed Diccon solemnly. "But I don't think there
is one nearby."

"Then let's go to one far-by!"

Diccon chuckled, but Arthur's face clouded. "He'd be sorry
then," he
muttered. " 'Specially if we wasn't found for days 'n days!"

In an attempt to alleviate that hurt, Diccon said, "If truth
be told
I suspect your brother saw weather blowing up and had enough sense to
stay on dry land."

"Then he could've taked me with him in the new coach." Arthur
scowled. "He told Etta he'd got to meet someone 'portant, but he din't
even say g'bye to me when he drove out. He'd forgot."

"Well
we'd
best not forget we're out
here looking for a prize. Keep your eyes open, Skipper!"

They sighted sails on the horizon and gave chase, but the
cowardly
East Indiaman fled before them. A large piece of floating driftwood
became a Portuguese pirate frigate and they gave her a broadside, then
boarded her and had just sent several members of her villainous crew on
a stroll along the legendary "plank" when the bow of the rowing boat
drove through a wave and a cloud of icy spray soaked them both. Arthur
shrieked exuberantly. Shaking salt water from his eyes, Diccon gasped,
"Whew! I'll be for it when Miss Marietta discovers I took you out in
heavy weather!"

"She won't mind. She's a good sport. D'you think she's pretty,
Bo'sun?"

A brief pause, then, "Aye, Cap'n. I do. Hold tight now, we
must turn about and make a run for our home port!"

Arthur had to use both hands to hang on this time, but he
showed no
sign of fear and when the boat was on a more even keel once more he
shouted, "Mr. Williard wants her for a wife. Would he be my uncle then?"

"No, old fellow. Your brother-in-law."

Indignant, Arthur exclaimed, "I don't want him for a brother
'law!" He considered, looking glum, then asked, "I 'spect
you
wouldn't like to have Etta for a wife, would you? She's nice. For a
girl, you know."

Again, Diccon did not at once reply, then he said rather
breathlessly, "Miss Marietta is—very nice. And I would."

"Oh. Well, are you goin' to?"

"I'm—afraid not. Here comes another big one!"

The big one successfully negotiated they headed in to the
calmer
waters of the little cove and Arthur persisted, "Why not? Etta likes
you better'n that old Mr. Williard. 'Sides, if you had her for a wife
you wouldn't go 'way, would you?"

Touched by this betraying question, Diccon smiled down into
the
small wet face, and the boy beamed back, then shouted, "There she is!"

Marietta was walking down the sands of the cove, her cloak
flying in the wind.

"Caught red-handed!" said Diccon, his heart giving its
customary leap at the sight of her.

Arthur teased, "You'll be for it now, Bo'sun!" He waved, and
howled, "Here we are, Etta!"

Shipping the oars Diccon jumped over the side and began to
haul the
boat up the beach. Marietta ran to help, then had to back away from an
incoming wave. "Oh, for a pair of your hip boots," she said, laughingly.

Arthur waved the skull-and-crossbones as Diccon lifted him
over the
side. "Ladies don't wear hip boots! You'd look funny, Etta. I'm Cap'n
Detes'ble Dag and we been pirates and we singed—sung, a pirate song.
Very loud. Bo'sun Diccon can't sing, but he's a good row-er. Are you
cross? Is he 'for it'?"

"He will be if you take a chill! You're soaked through!"

"Run all the way up to the manor," urged Diccon. "Please,
Captain Detestable. For my sake!"

"Oh, all right!" Arthur started off, then turned back. "Is you
goin' to ask her now?"

Marietta turned to look at Diccon curiously.

He felt his face burn, and said gruffly, "I'll let you know
when I
do. Off with you, brat, and tell the Lord of the Larder to get you warm
and dry and find something for you to eat!"

Chuckling, the boy trotted off.

Diccon hauled the boat higher up the beach. "I'm sorry he got
wet.
I'd not expected weather to blow up so fast, though Lord knows I should
have. This coast is famous for that very thing."

Marietta seized the starboard side and tugged mightily. "I
suppose my brother charmed you into overriding your better judgment."

"Well, he— Oh, have a care!"

She had tripped on her cloak, and he sprang to lift her as she
tumbled to the sand.

"What a fumble-fingers I am," she said, sitting up and tidying
her
skirts, her heart warmed because of the anxiety in his eyes. "No—don't
say it was your fault and that you should never have taken Arthur out
on the water in such weather. It was more than kind, and you cannot
know how grateful I am. The poor child was so disappointed when Eric
had to leave."

Diccon knelt there, drinking in her loveliness so close beside
him.
His voice a caress, he said, "You must know how fond I am of the boy.
He's a grand little fellow."

"Yes, he is, but I'm afraid he has taken you over and you must
not
let him impose on— Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, interrupting herself. "And
here I am come to impose once again, and ask if you were able to talk
with Eric. He said nothing of his visit to you, save that he covets
Orpheus."

"He's not the only one. Yes, we had a chat. Rather brief,
unfortunately. I tried to drop a few hints, but he doesn't know me yet,
after all, and I've no wish to seem too avuncular. Too
soon."
She looked at him sharply, and he added a fast, "I think he's rather
shy of this awesome old chap."

"Yes." She said ruefully, "He's awfully young, even for two
and twenty. It seems to me that I was older at that age."