Isabel led them out of the estate quickly and quietly. Hubert’s first impression of the young woman had been incomplete, to say the least. She was young, yes, with the naivete that entailed. And she seemed to trust too much in her father’s schemes. But she was clever nonetheless, and had a commendable streak of independence.
Their path out of the Garibaldi estate took them through narrow corridors and servants quarters, eventually depositing them at a small postern gate to the sturdy wall that surrounded the Duke’s manor. There was a single guard posted at the gate, and he nodded wordlessly at Isabel when they passed.
Isabel led them down the city streets. Agrippa seemed to know where they were headed, at least very roughly, but only Isabel knew the precise location of “Dewdrop House.”
Hubert sidled up between Leona and Agrippa.
“That route seems a vulnerability,” he murmured. “I expect we should remember it, and keep an eye on it.”
“Yes,” Leona nodded. “And only one guard?” She shook her head, and Agrippa clucked his tongue in disapproving agreement.
Isabel glanced at them. Clearly she had heard. “You may be right,” she admitted. “It is—well, it makes it easier to leave without father noticing. But I suppose, given the circumstances, we should take steps to better secure that gate.”
“You think?” Leona said, rolling her eyes. “Two guards minimum. Four is better. Two can investigate if they hear or see something, and two stay put in case it’s a distraction.”
“I’ll tell father,” Isabel said.
“Unnecessary,” Hubert said. “That’s what we’ve been hired to do, after all. You should concern yourself with matters of the heart, and leave security to us.”
Isabel gave him a funny look, but then she turned her face forward again. She led them in silence after that. Hubert let his eyes wander as they walked. Better to keep an eye out for trouble, of course. But mostly, he just wanted to watch the folk of the city.
Spatalian city-states tended to be some of the most densely populated urban environments Hubert had seen in his years of travel. Even considering this, Tarraconesis was distinctly crowded. Nobles were flocking to the city for Isabel’s wedding. Common folk followed, hoping to partake of the various traditions of hospitality and generosity that attended such a ceremony. And countless merchant caravans seemed to have arrived as well, chasing the crowds and their coin.
Thousands of people have arrived in the city in the last few days, Hubert realized. If even a small fraction of them are assassins, we’ll be up to our ears before week’s end.
It felt suddenly foolish to be out in the city, just the four of them. He kept this thought to himself. Isabel was still dressed simply, without the finery of a noblewoman. And it was unlikely that whoever wished her dead would send more assassins so soon after the first—it was entirely possible they had not yet even received word of the first group’s failure.
So Hubert let himself relax. Some distance away he saw a large retinue of armed men riding down a boulevard, insulating what seemed to be a nobleman in the center of the column. The men flew a banner that looked familiar. Hubert tried to place it.
He nudged Leona, and nodded at the riders. “That banner. Carthaginesis?”
Leona squinted at the banner. “Yeah,” she finally said. “Pretty sure. South-east, across the river, right?”
Hubert nodded. “I passed through their lands on the road here, though we didn’t visit the city itself. That fellow has a lot of guards.”
“Sergius,” Isabel said from a few paces ahead. “Princep Sergius Anthimus, heir to the city-state. One of my guests.”
“And one of our suspects?” Hubert asked.
Isabel nodded. “I suppose so,” she said. “He’s a snake. I have never liked him, but his father and mine are old friends and even older foes. I don’t think they have any reason to want me dead, but—”
“Never can be too careful,” Hubert said. Isabel frowned, but she nodded.
“They’re headed to the palace?” Leona asked. “Or—the manor. Whatever it is. Your house.”
“No doubt,” Isabel said.
“Will it be an issue, us being absent?” Hubert asked.
“He is late,” she said, shaking her head. “We expected him two days ago. Father will be a little annoyed when I’m not there to greet him, but it should be fine. The attempt on my life is reason enough, and I wouldn’t want to receive him anyway. Come, this way. Not much further.”
True to her word, they reached Dewdrop House a few minutes later. It proved to be a large inn, occupying a structure Hubert thought might have once been a Cassaline tenement a few centuries ago. It was a sturdy building, more brick and stone than timber. They were admitted and quickly brought up two flights of stairs to Juan’s private quarters.
He opened the door readily when they knocked. Too readily for Hubert’s taste—what if they had been more assassins?
The assassins are after Isabel, he reminded himself.
The young lovers embraced, and kissed for a considerable time. Hubert found it endearing, and even moreso when they seemed oblivious to his attempts to get their attention by pointedly clearing his throat.
Agrippa finally interrupted them by putting his hands between them and separating them bodily. “I must tend his wounds, yes?” he said to Isabel. She nodded, stepping back and letting the medico do his job.
“Ow!” Juan hissed a moment later. Agrippa just clucked his tongue disapprovingly as he undid the bandages and examined the wounds more closely.
It had scarcely been six hours since Agrippa made the dressings, but even so he seemed to relish the chance to take more time with Juan’s injuries. Hubert wasn’t surprised. The work done in the tavern would have been, effectively, a battle dressing. The sort of hasty triage a medico did when he was pressed for time and had to get through as many wounded as possible. Now Agrippa no doubt felt he had all the time in the world. So it was to be expected that Agrippa would unpack his tools, wash his hands in Juan’s water basin, and begin cleaning and dressing the wounds anew. He seemed to decide that another one of the slashes warranted stitches after all.
“That hurts!” Juan complained. “You’re poking me!”
“Yes,” Agrippa said. “I am piercing your flesh repeatedly with a needle. That’s what stitches are.”
“It hurt less in the tavern.”
“That was the epinephrine. The thrill of battle dulls pain even as it heightens other senses. Without it, you must face the pain alone. If you are still, it will hurt less, and the stitches will be better. I can have Leona hold you down, if that helps.”
Juan glared, and shook his head. Isabel stepped forward and held the young man’s hand. Agrippa shrugged and resumed his work.
“Why are these people here anyway, love?” Juan asked Isabel.
“My father hired them,” she said. “New bodyguards.”
“Bodyguards? Why?” Juan asked.
“The assassins, Juan,” Isabel said.
“Assassins? They were just ruffians. Bravos,” said Juan. “Assassins wear dark clothes and strike at night.”
“Do they?” Hubert asked, amused. “I would say that any man hired to murder an unwitting victim is an assassin of sorts, Juan. Bravos, yes. And assassins too.”
Juan scrunched up his face in some mix of pain, annoyance, and confusion. “Well, they’re dead anyway. Why do you need more bodyguards?”
Isabel sighed. “Father thinks more attempts may be made, my love.”
“Oh,” Juan said. He hissed as Agrippa pulled the stitches tight, tied them off, and snipped the excess.
“There,” the medico said. “Now you are done. I should change the bandages again soon, however, for the best effect.”
“You will,” Isabel agreed. “I would like to keep visiting him anyway.”
“Of course you would,” Hubert said, smiling. “Speaking of… shall we give you some privacy?”
He was amused to see Isabel blush slightly, even as she nodded. “Thank you,” she said.
Leona had already swept the suite while Agrippa worked. She gave Hubert a nod and moved to the door. Hubert followed, while Agrippa took a few extra moments to clean up his kit.
“Surprised you didn’t ask to join in, Hubey” Leona murmured once Hubert joined her in the hallway.
Hubert chuckled. “All in good time, my dear,” he said. There was no doubt that Isabel and Juan were both exquisite physical specimens of humanity, of course. Hubert expected such a dalliance would be quite the experience. “They’ve had a trying day, we’ve only just met, and Juan is hardly operating at his peak.”
“Oh, those things stop you now?” Leona asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Not necessarily,” Hubert admitted, snorting in amusement. “But all of them together ought to give any reasonable man pause. Maybe if this was my last chance at such an experience I would risk it. But I’m sure a better opportunity will show itself, if I simply exercise some patience.”
Leona shook her head, laughing. “If anyone can manage it, Hubey, you will.”
She always had such faith in him. He reached out and hugged her with one arm while they waited. “It’s so good to see you again, my dear,” he said. She shuffled her shield to her other hand and returned the one-armed embrace.
Agrippa emerged a few moments later, and they lounged in the corridor together. Isabel and Juan remained secluded in their room for quite a while, but the time passed quickly in the hall. Hubert sometimes wondered how he had become such fast friends with such different people. On the way here, he’d even wondered if the reunion would fizzle out compared to his expectations.
But Leona and Agrippa shared Hubert’s sense of humor, despite them each having their own particular sensibilities. They also shared his curiosity and interest in study—though the subjects of their studies were obviously quite different. He knew Leona did not think of herself as possessing a sharp intellect, but she had learned more of warfare in a couple years than most seasoned fighters Hubert had met.
Whatever the reasons, it simply felt right. Standing there in a hallway with the two of them, there was no place he would have rather been.
Isabel emerged from the room eventually. Her hair was a bit more mussed, and her skin glowed with a telltale flush, but she looked mostly as she had before.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Shall we step back inside? It may be worth discussing a few things,” Hubert said. Like whether or not this marriage is as foolish as it appears, and the merits of following your heart.
“Not today,” Isabel said. “Juan is sleeping. And anyway, father will be expecting me, with Sergius’s arrival. There is… planning to be done. But I would like to visit Juan again soon, if you will help?”
Hubert grinned. “Of course, dear!” he said. “Gladly.”
Isabel gave him a demure smile. “Thank you,” she said. “Then we should go.”
And so they did. Now that they knew the way, Leona took the lead on their journey back to the Garibaldi estate. They remained vigilant, though they drew little attention in the streets and they saw nothing particularly suspicious.
By the time they returned to the estate, Sergius Anthimus had already been received. They did not meet him, as he’d already retired to one of the private rooms set aside for the high nobles of neighboring city-states. Isabel ended up doing the same, retreating to her own room, and the Duke indicated he expected only one of the three of them to remain at her side at all hours. That gave them time to settle into their own quarters, and time to fetch their effects from Lady Giovanelli’s estate.
Hubert saw Wilberforce settled into the Garibali stables, and unpacked his most valuable cargo into the quarters he’d been assigned. In particular, he unpacked his alchemical tools onto what was supposed to be his private supper table.
He’d used up a flask of dragonfire on the road, and he had a feeling such weapons would be needed in the days ahead. He took stock of his alchemical supplies—he didn’t have much, but he had enough. He worked late into the night, carefully mixing reagents until he had successfully filled another clay pot with the appropriate solution.
At least, he hoped so. Every alchemical mixture was volatile. Unpredictable. Alchemy was as much art as science, and Hubert knew well that there were some steps in the process that were especially difficult to measure in hindsight.
The only true test of an alchemical pot was to use it, but field testing dragonfire was too dangerous to do effectively. All he could do was trust in his eyes, his hands, and his instincts. He had a good feeling about this one.
He carefully packed the clay container into the empty spot on his bandolier. With luck, he wouldn’t test it any time soon. But he expected that might be too optimistic.
A knock on his door told him his turn to watch Isabel had come. It was Agrippa outside, not Leona as he’d expected.
“Agrippa? I thought I was to fetch you when I was done,” he said.
Agrippa smiled. “Leona said she knocked twice, and you did not answer. We assumed—” Agrippa craned his neck to peer around Hubert, and nodded in self-satisfaction. “Yes, exactly that. You were working. She fetched me instead.”
Hubert blinked. Oh. “Sorry. I must have lost track of time. I thought it was only a couple hours.”
Agrippa laughed. He didn’t even bother to remind Hubert that his sorry was unnecessary. Hubert smiled. Agrippa knows well how one can lose himself in stimulating mental work, of course.
He embraced his friend, and he left to take his watch with Isabel. The Princeppa was sleeping when he checked on her. He remained vigilant until Leona came to relieve him a few hours before dawn, and he returned to his room to catch a few hours sleep.
His lost time at the alchemy table resulted in lost sleep. But he had gone with little sleep many times before, and the older he got the less sleep he seemed to need. It would be fine.
It’s not fine. Hubert yawned.
A couple hours of sleep was pushing even his current tendencies, and he felt lethargic as he stood near Isabel. She was meeting with a tailor to put the finishing touches on her wedding dress. Normally Hubert would find such a discussion fascinating—he was only passingly competent at patching clothes, and had never learned the full scope of skills a tailor or seamstress possessed. But instead his mind wandered and he yawned again.
He tried to keep his eyes on the door and windows, but it was difficult to focus. It was a blessed relief when Isabel said they were finished, and dismissed the tailor. She met Hubert’s eyes, and smiled thinly.
“Brother Hubert?” she asked. “We have a few hours until my next commitment… I was wondering if perhaps we could go see Juan again?”
Hubert laughed. He couldn’t help it. Young love, and perhaps more importantly young lust, knows few limits. “Of course, my dear,” he said. “We should collect at least one other of my friends, though, if we’re leaving the estate.”
Isabel agreed. Leona and Agrippa were both easily found, and soon all four of them were out on the streets again. Hubert felt his sleep-addled mind clear once they were out in the sun and the crowds. They passed hawkers selling street food and trinkets, as well as performers juggling and singing for copper charity.
Down one street, however, a crowd caught Hubert’s eye. It was denser than the others he’d seen, and even at a glance he sensed something was off. The crowd’s energy lacked the exuberance of most he’d seen. The voices he heard from that direction were loud in a different way than the usual cacophony. He heard anger coloring their shouted words.
“Pardon,” Hubert said to the others. “I need a moment… I’ll catch up with you at Dewdrop House, alright?”
“Danger?” Leona asked.
“No, dear. Not to us, anyway,” he reassured her.
“Then what?” Agrippa asked, his tone concerned.
“I’m not quite sure. It’ll be fine, I trust. But… just a moment, please. I’ll explain when I catch up,” Hubert said.
He didn’t wait for any further questions. He just gave them all a quick smile of reassurance, then ducked away and hurried down the street towards the angry crowd.
As he grew closer, he could make out more details. He realized he was approaching a market square, but the crowd wasn’t shopping. Instead he saw scores of people forming a thick crowd around some sort of elevated platform in the center of the square. Likely a place for criers or other authorities, but as he grew closer Hubert realized that the man standing on the platform was dressed in the finery that marked him as a priest of Torath. The man was animated, shouting as loud as anyone, his hands flailing emphatically with each word.
Hubert saw only one other person on the platform with the priest. A woman, not dressed as a nun but rather clad in simple peasant attire. She wasn’t shouting with the crowd, however. Her mouth was drawn in a thin, tight line.
Hubert saw the priest gesture at the woman as he continued his sermon. Hubert was growing closer, but he was still far enough that most of the words were indistinct. There was one word he could make out at such distance, however.
Witch.