Kaldar turned to the windshield. Three riders approached. Two hulking men wearing bonded chain mail, lighter than steel but just as good at stopping a sword slash: veekings. Each carried an axe on his back and wore a solid, heavy sword at his waist.
The third man hung back, riding with natural ease, as if he were sitting on a couch in his living room. He wore leather and a rete—an odd hybrid of a jungle hat and a standard traveler’s hat, one side bent up and boasting a merlin feather. The dark barrel of a long-range rifle protruded over his shoulder. He rode with one leg up on the saddle, and another rifle with a shorter, wider barrel rested on his knee.
“Who’s the musketeer?” Audrey murmured from behind him.
“That’s a Texas sharpshooter. See that short barrel? When he primes it, it splits on the sides and spits out a ball filled with shrapnel and charged with magic. It’s like lashing three or four grenades together and tossing them into a crowd.”
“And the Vikings?”
“They aren’t Vikings. They are the veekings. They’re pagan, they own Canada, and they live to kill. You’re looking at thirteen hundred years of martial tradition, forged by a religion that tells you if you die in battle, your afterlife will be glorious. Their blades are magically augmented. They’re a problem in a fight, especially if there is more than one.”
Kaldar turned and lost his train of thought.
He had forgotten about the green dress. A beautiful moss green, the gown hugged Audrey, sliding over her curves like water. Elegant, pleated at the bottom, the dress was cinched by a length of pleated fabric that wrapped around Audrey’s waist, sliding diagonally from right to left, supporting her breasts, twisting at the neckline, and flaring up to clasp her left shoulder. She’d curled her hair and lifted the golden red mass up and away from her face, leaving her neck bare. She looked . . .
She looked . . .
“Earth to Kaldar,” Audrey hissed.
A knock sounded throughout the cabin.
“Hide in the tulip trunk, love,” he whispered.
She moved toward the back of the cabin, melting into the shadows. A moment later, the latch on the trunk’s lid closed.
Kaldar nodded. Gaston swung the door open and leveled a short-range repeating crossbow at the closest veeking. The seven-and-a-half-foot-tall man sized Gaston up. Gaston bared his teeth.
“Invitation,” the giant man said.
Kaldar passed the rolled-up scroll over. The veeking looked at it for a moment. “Who should we announce?”
“You shouldn’t,” Kaldar said. “But when your master asks, you should quietly tell him that George and Jack Camarine are here, requesting a short respite from their journey. They’re accompanied by Master Olivier Brossard, their tutor, and a groom.”
The veeking peered at them. “Morell de Braose extends his hospitality. You are welcome to the main keep. A kareta will be sent for you and your belongings.”
“Splendid,” Kaldar said.
Five minutes later, a kareta drew up parallel with the wyvern. Sleek and aerodynamic, the vehicle resembled a small bullet train, with its ornate sides painted bright turquoise. The door swung open, and the operator, a slight dark-haired woman, stepped out. The back and side doors popped open, rising up like the wings of an insect, revealing eight comfortable seats inside and a space for the baggage, segregated by a folding wall.
Gaston proceeded to load their trunks, making sure the tulip trunk went in to the side with plenty of room. Kaldar paused by the kareta with a slight bow. George emerged from the cabin, looking slightly inconvenienced, and proceeded into the vehicle. Jack followed. The younger boy had the most priceless expression on his face: halfway between boredom and apathy. Perfect.
“Secure the wyvern,” Kaldar told Gaston. “Be sure to join us before dinner. I have some instructions.”
Gaston inclined his head.
Kaldar took his seat by the exit. The doors descended, the driver climbed into the front, separated from them by a sliding panel of metal mesh, and the kareta was off.
Kaldar cleared his throat. A moment later, the folding wall slid aside soundlessly, and Audrey took a seat next to him. He reached over and carefully adjusted her hair, sliding a large ornate barrette into it.
She looked at him.
“Transmitter,” he mouthed, and tapped the small square of silver clasping the edge of his ear.
The kareta carried them over the bridge, under two barbicans, and into the bailey. The doors opened. Kaldar stepped out and extended his hand, with a bow. Audrey put her fingers into his and carefully exited. The driver blinked.
“Thank you for the ride, Master Brossard.”
“My pleasure, my lady.”
The boys emerged.
“This is the place?” George raised his eyebrows.
Jack shrugged. “I’ve seen better.”
“Manners, children.” Kaldar held out a quarter crown to the driver. The woman decided to stop puzzling over Audrey’s sudden materialization and took the money.
A man emerged from the double doors of the keep. Impeccably dressed, old, and grizzled, he paused before them and bowed. Precisely the kind of butler an old blueblood family would hire, Kaldar reflected. Morell de Braose was very concerned with appearances.
The butler straightened. “My lords, my lady. Please follow me.”
HE had lost his mind, Audrey decided, moving next to Kaldar at a leisurely pace as they followed the old man through a corridor. The polished green granite floor shone like a mirror. The wall alcoves displayed statues and paintings. She had no time to look closely at them, but she bet they were originals.
She barely had enough Weird knowledge to pass on the street without drawing attention to herself. Navigating the Weird’s crème of society was way beyond her comfort zone. No doubt Kaldar had another brilliant and idiotic plan, and she couldn’t even ask him about it because they would be overheard.