“You’ll be breaking up the fleet,” Jean-Claude pointed out. “The next attack may be more direct.”
Kantelvar said, “If he was going to meet us in the deep sky, first he’d have to know where we are.”
“He found us before,” Jean-Claude pointed out.
“He found the mirror,” Kantelvar said. “Distances and directions in the Argentwash, the space between mirrors, are not analogous to those in the mundane world. And even if our enemy knew where we were, he would have to have a fleet capable of reliably confronting the royal navy’s most elite squadron. Anything they don’t outgun they can outrun.”
“Be careful,” Isabelle said. “You still have a promise to keep to me.”
Kantelvar bowed to her. “Of course, Highness. Builder keep you.”
“Until the Savior comes,” Isabelle replied.
After Kantelvar shuffled off to harangue the captain into giving him a launch, Isabelle dragooned her ladies and Jean-Claude to look for Marie. They found her belowdecks in the kitchen store, tangled in netting. Isabelle’s heart was in her throat as she ordered Marie cut loose. Like a fish caught in a net, she would have kept squirming, trying to complete her last directive, until she died of exhaustion.
Isabelle took her back to her cabin and kicked everyone else out while she did an inventory of Marie’s wounds. She had a dozen ligature marks from being tangled in the net and bruises from being bounced around. Those would have to be carefully monitored. She would not have Marie developing abscesses or gangrene, not when she was so close to being saved.
When that was finished, she let her ladies back in and suffered herself to be soaped, scrubbed, patted dry, corseted, gowned, powdered, painted, manicured, coiffed, gloved, and perfumed. Her handmaids exerted themselves to make it appear as if she had never been near a sabotaged skyship on fire, as if they could make the whole event unhappen. It was a perfect waste of an hour that could have become several hours had not an invitation arrived for Isabelle to join the fleet captains in conference.
Isabelle brushed her skirt as if to smooth out her dread of being trapped in a room with so many strangers all used to getting their own way. She was happy to have been invited—it showed they did not discount her completely—but she prayed she wouldn’t be asked to contribute. No matter how many times she reminded herself this was not her father’s house, she could not shake the conviction that any point she made would instantly become the one everyone condemned.
The junior officers’ cabin had been fitted with a table, which, being inadequate to the purpose of seating all present, only made the place more stuffy and crowded. She joined Captain Santiago at the head of the table. Don Divelo took up most of one wall by himself, owing to his alarming girth. Vincent and Jean-Claude had flattened into the corners behind Isabelle. The captains of the three remaining escorts and a few of Santiago’s officers were arranged around the other two sides of the table.
Santiago concluded his report, “… no structural damage. Santa Anna’s skyworthiness was not compromised. I see no reason to transfer Princesa Isabelle to another ship.”
“Because the enemy knows she is on this one,” Don Divelo said. “Clearly your precautions were inadequate.”
Santiago’s swarthy face grew red at this insult to his competence, but before his temper got the better of his tongue, Jean-Claude interjected, “To say that Isabelle’s security was inadequate underestimates the resourcefulness and determination of our enemies.”
“The musketeer is most wise,” Santiago said.
Perhaps offended by Jean-Claude’s defense of the captain, Don Divelo drew himself up as if about to deliver a lecture, but Jean-Claude spoke first. “What I want to know is how that mirror got aboard this ship. It’s not one of Isabelle’s.”
Santiago shouted for the boatswain, who stepped in smartly and looked rather puzzled when the question was repeated to him.
He said, “It showed up at the docks with the rest of la princesa’s things. The manifest said ‘paraphernalia.’ It was not specific to each item, so we loaded it.”
“So the enemy has an agent in Windfall,” Jean-Claude said.
“There’s nothing we can do about that now,” Vincent said. “The mirror is smashed. The plot is foiled. We must turn our attention to threats in front of us.”
“Because whoever is behind us is just going to give up,” Jean-Claude said dryly.
Captain Santiago broke in, “On my life I swear no one else will board this ship, nor will any of my men betray la princesa. They are all known to me.”
Vincent said, “What do you imagine the enemy will do now their sabotage has failed? Howl into the wind?”
“We won’t know unless we ask,” Jean-Claude said. “Don Divelo, I understand you are a sorcerer of great refinement.”
The ambassador’s silver eyes gleamed at this compliment, and he settled slightly. His feathers were still ruffled, but he no longer seemed inclined to squawk. “I am no Cerberus Cortez, but my skills are adequate.”
Jean-Claude said, “I have heard that you can walk through the glass as if it were an open doorway and you have guided many important people safely through the Argentwash.”
Divelo made a dismissive gesture with his fingers, but his voice was clearly pleased. “I have only done my duty.”
Jean-Claude said, “It so happens that I have need of a great sorcerer.”
Divelo’s expression grew wary. “To what purpose?”
“I need you to take me to l’?le des Zephyrs, so I may track down whoever put that mirror aboard this ship.”
Don Divelo sniffed. “What you ask is accounted a high honor amongst Aragoth’s most faithful servants, not something to be handed out lightly to a clayborn Célestial.”
Isabelle tugged at her veil, a nervous habit. She’d been hoping to avoid becoming involved in this conversation, but Jean-Claude’s idea was a good one.
Steeling herself, she said, “I would ask it as a favor.”
Divelo’s whole expression brightened and he steepled his child-sized hands. “A favor for you, Highness, is an honor for me.”
Isabelle kept smiling, though if history was any guide, repaying this favor would cost her dearly. She should have pointed out that helping her was a favor to Príncipe Julio, assuming she could speak for him. Should she try to renegotiate, or would that simply make her look more a fool?
She looked to Jean-Claude for reassurance. To her relief, he touched the brim of his hat in salute.
Vincent protested, “Your Highness, with all due respect, Jean-Claude is known to be … inconsistent. Perhaps I should go to l’?le des Zephyrs to make these inquiries.”
Isabelle’s chest was tight, but this needed to be her choice. “But I would feel much safer with you and your men here guarding me. Besides, Jean-Claude knows everyone in Windfall.”
Vincent frowned at Jean-Claude but said, “You have a point.”
In truth, Isabelle didn’t like sending away the only person on board she truly trusted, but no one else was so well equipped to discover the traitor on l’?le des Zephyrs.
CHAPTER