Quinn considered. “Send the north and west pickets to watch that gap. Have them signal if it closes. South can join east at the pass.” Gramwell nodded and made more notes.
“When do we use our bottled weapon?” asked Robert.
“I want it in Tegann’s cistern by the second night. There’s a banquet planned then, and that’ll be a good diversion.”
“So who’ll scout it?” said Casseck. “The quartermaster? It’s logical for him to be concerned with where the water comes from.”
“We’re sending Starling.”
Cass exchanged glances with Rob. “Is that wise?”
“It makes perfect sense,” said Quinn. “She can take a tour and ask lots of foolish and innocent questions, and if she bats her eyelashes, all of them will be answered.”
Rob frowned. “I think you’re overestimating her charms.”
“You didn’t see her tonight,” said Cass. “She had two young men wrapped around her finger in a matter of minutes, and I don’t even think she was trying.”
Quinn bristled. “Is that supposed to be a comment on something else?”
“Not at all,” said Casseck mildly. “Just supporting your decision.”
Quinn almost wished Cass had tried to talk him out of it, but it was too late anyway; she’d already told Mouse she’d do it. “Let’s move on to other ways to make a stand. Whether or not the sickness works, and whether or not it works in time, we have to find ways to take out as many of D’Amiran’s people as possible.”
“Poison?” suggested Gramwell.
“I doubt we can get anything before tomorrow,” said Quinn. “We’ll have to watch for it in our own food, however. Make sure everyone knows.”
“How about a fire?” said Casseck. “Tegann Fortress is almost entirely granite, which will give us safe places to hide. At the very least it causes panic and burns supplies.”
Quinn nodded. “I like it. How much oil do we have?”
Cass shook his head. “Unfortunately, not much. We can pinch some at Tegann.”
“Alcohol,” suggested Rob.
“All we have is wine and ale,” said Gramwell. “They aren’t strong enough to burn.”
“No,” replied Rob with a grin. “But we do have the Stiller brothers.”
The prince ducked out of the meeting a few seconds later and returned shortly with Privates Gregory and Tim Stiller, who came from a large family of Brewers and Stillers in northern Crescera. They drove equipment wagons and were steady, reliable soldiers, despite having been disciplined several times for distilling their own liquor in camp. The captain’s sudden interest in their skill startled them.
“How much pure alcohol can you get from, say, a barrel of wine?” he asked.
The brothers exchanged nervous glances before Tim answered. “Maybe a fourth of a barrel, sir, but much of that is useless.”
“Useless?”
“Poisonous, sir,” clarified Gregory. “Not good for drinking and highly flammable.”
“More flammable than drinkin’ spirits?”
“Yes, sir.” Gregory nodded. “Burns real sneaky, too. The flames are damn near invisible. Drinkable spirits burn much brighter. It’s how we test it.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Quinn said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Starting fires is exactly what I want it for. How long does it take to distill?”
“A barrel’s worth, sir? Six hours, minimum.”
“Excellent. What would you need to build a distiller tonight?”
The brothers looked at each other again, reluctant to speak. “We, ah, don’t need anythin’ we don’t already have on hand, sir,” Tim finally answered.
Quinn eyed them. “All right, then. Get on it.”
45
SAGE TOOK CARE with her appearance the next morning, making a true effort to blend in with the ladies. Ash watched from his seat on the wagon as one of the young men from the night before, Bartholomew, came to see her off. Casseck walked past and punched Ash on the foot, and the sergeant scowled and kicked back at his friend. Remembering what Ash had said last night, Sage turned a dazzling smile on the young man holding her hand. He helped her into the wagon, and she gave her traveling companions a smug look. Talk about that, she thought.
Had it not been for the gray curtain of fog wrapping the landscape, Sage might have enjoyed the scenery. But the hours dragged on as the wagon bounced and sloshed through the mud. Her dress became spattered and damp from choosing the seat closest to the rear gate, but she could see Ash driving the wagon behind her. A few times he caught her eye and smiled.
The weapons were out again, and the tension in the soldiers was worse than the day they reached Underwood. Sage twisted her hands in her lap until the raw spots from holding reins began to bleed. If she’d realized what was happening sooner, would they have had time to make a plan to escape? She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was her fault they were now walking—willingly—into the snare because there was no alternative. She looked back to Ash, feeling guilty, and he shook his head a little as though he knew what she was thinking.
Whether or not it was her fault, she would do anything now to help him—them.
The weather made for slow going, and they arrived at Tegann at sunset—over two hours later than they’d hoped. Sconces set around the fortress spread their light in wide, hazy orbs. Their host, Duke D’Amiran, approached the matchmaker in the rapidly fading light and offered to have supper trays and hot water brought to the ladies’ rooms so they wouldn’t have to dress up and wait to eat. Sage allowed Lieutenant Gramwell to help her down from the wagon and looked around, hoping to observe something, anything, that might be useful. But she could barely make out the shapes of the walls or buildings. Only the inner gate could be distinguished, looking like the mouth of a creature ready to devour them whole. She shuddered.
As befitted her rank among the women, Sage waited until all were ahead of her before following on to the guest wing off the main keep. Ash walked behind her, carrying her trunk. When he set it down in her room, she moved to help him scoot it against the foot of the bed. He leaned close to whisper, “The cistern is in the southwest quadrant if you want to get lost there tomorrow.”
Sage glanced back to the open door behind them. “Can you do me a favor and wash my clothes?” He looked at her in confusion, and she clarified, “My breeches and such. They’re all muddy from riding.”
He nodded, and she quickly opened the trunk and pulled out a bundle from near the bottom. Ash took it and winked. “They won’t smell nearly as nice, though.”
“That’s just as well,” she said, relieved he seemed to have forgiven yesterday’s slight.