"Are there no leaders among them? None who can help me?"
"A colleague wrote to me earlier this year," said Keller. "He lives in Belvitsa, some leagues upcountry. He mentioned rumors of one individual, something of a firebrand."
"Can you put me in touch with your colleague?"
"I should like to put myself in touch with him. Old Kasperl and the Bear will have to go to ground, as far as possible from Marianstat. The Fingers are delightful in their own peculiar way, but not as a permanent address."
"The roads, of course, will be watched."
"Closely. Except for one. An excellent highway, it may get us clear of the city. From that point, it will be up to us. I say 'us' because I suggest we travel, together."
"Agreed," said Torrens. "But this highway?"
"At our door. The Vespera. Since we cannot walk it, we shall have to sail it. Since we have to sail it, we require a boat. As for the boat-"
"Take the children's?" Torrens frowned. "It's their only means of livelihood."
"Although by trade a journalist," said Keller, "I nevertheless decline to rob children. Our water rats might row us beyond the city and put us ashore well upriver. Money, I think, might induce them."
"No doubt," said Torrens, "but my purse is gone."
"Sparrow has it. I saw her with it. Let me convince her to part with it. I shall appeal to her better nature, to her sense of honor, of which she must have some remaining trace."
When Sparrow and Weasel came back, Keller sat them down in front of him. "Water rats, I shall ask you a question. Are you thieves?"
"No," piped up Weasel, "but I'd like to be."
"I'm no thief either," said Sparrow. "I never had the luck."
"Even so," Keller went on, "I believe you have a purse of money belonging to this gentleman. In effect, you stole it from him."
"Did not!" cried Sparrow. "It's my pickings. I found it."
"Yes, you found it. In his pocket," said Keller. "Now, pay attention to my reasoning. Had you taken it from a dead man, that would be one thing. Since he was very much alive, that's something else. That is stealing."
"I shan't give it back."
"You shall keep it," Keller agreed, "but under different conditions. This gentleman and I have urgent business upriver. Were you to row us a certain distance, the purse would be quite honorably and honestly yours-to pay our passage and to compensate you for your hospitality. You may not understand the finer points of my logic, but-"
"We'll take you," said Sparrow. "Why didn't you just come straight out and ask?"
"So much for logic." Keller sighed. "So much for honor."
15
Some nights after his hint of new work for Theo, Florian led him to a wine merchant's warehouse near the market square. The merchant himself unbolted the door and motioned them down a flight of steps. In the cellar, behind a wall of vats, a space had been cleared to provide a large, low-ceilinged room. On a trestle table were candles and wooden boxes. Stock was pacing back and forth while Zara and Justin rummaged through the boxes. Rina had just set down a wooden plank.
"My children," declared Florian, "greet your architect and artificer." He bowed to Theo. "Youngster, you are no longer an apprentice, but master."
Theo had no idea what Florian was talking about. His eyes fell on a pile of lumber and odd bits of ironware. It was a press-the fragments, rather, of several presses.
"Cabbarus makes it his business to close print shops," Florian said. "We make it our business to open them. At least one, so far. When the king's officers tear down a press, we salvage a few pieces, like little birds picking up crumbs."
"But-how? How did you manage to bring all this here?"
"That doesn't matter," said Florian. "The question is: Can you put it together?"
"I don't know." Theo was staggered at the work needed. "Each press is a little different. It's not just cobbling one piece to another. I don't know. But, yes, I'll try."
"Do it," said Florian. "If you want anything, you'll have it."
"Like the phoenix!" cried Stock. "Like the legendary bird that rises from its own ashes, this press will rise from its own rubbish heap."
"Leave off," said Zara. "If you mean to work, stay. If not, go to Jellinek's."
The bulky poet seized a sheet of paper from the table. "I shall set to work immediately. I have some verses in mind. They shall be the first offspring of our mechanical phoenix. The original laid only a single egg, but we can hatch thousands."
"Your verses can wait," said Florian. He glanced at Theo. "When our young friend first came here, he told me something in private. If he agrees, I think now it should be made public. The killing of an innocent man by Royal Officers should not be kept a secret."
Theo, still puzzled, nodded and Florian went on. "I suggest you write an account of your master; why they destroyed his press and, indeed, destroyed him. Set it all down, exactly as it happened. Print it. We'll get it into as many hands as we can. The people of West mark will have another example of how Cabbarus goes about his business."
Theo agreed willingly. From then on, he worked at three occupations. Days, he sat in the tavern and drafted letters for his customers. Evenings, he labored over the press in the warehouse. Afterward, far into the night, he tried to write his account.
It was not as easy as he had supposed. Anton had been as much a father as a master to him. He found himself thinking more of his own upbringing than what had happened that night in Dorning. He tried to see Anton through the eyes of a stranger: a provincial tradesman who had seen little of the world beyond his shop, whose life was in the books he printed. He remembered Anton reproaching him for wishing to have Cabbarus by the throat. Yet, the man had fought furiously to defend his press. Trying to define Anton, he tried to define himself. None of it, however, was useful to his pamphlet, and he began all over again.
The press, meanwhile, took shape little by little. He had chosen Zara for his devil. She was sharp-tongued but quick-witted and, by trade a dressmaker, clever with her hands. Rina and Justin sorted the hodgepodge of type: a tedious job but, since it was for Florian, neither complained. Stock did the heavy work, grumbling that he was a poet, not a pack mule.
When the press at last was ready-Stock had insisted on naming it The Westmark Phoenix-Florian treated them to a supper at Jellinek's: a double celebration, since Theo had finished his pamphlet and Florian had praised it. While Stock declaimed verses and Justin nodded over the remnants of the feast, Florian left the table at a signal from Jellinek. Returning shortly, he drew Theo aside and led him to the cubicle next to the kitchen. Luther was waiting. Of all Florian's friends, he was least seen and least known to Theo. A graying, leathery man older than the others, he could have been a wheelwright, stonemason, or artisan of some sort. His clothes were damp and travel-stained.
"Luther has come up from the south," said Florian, "by way of Nierkeeping. You may be interested in what he can tell about some friends of yours."
"I've never been to Nierkeeping," said Theo. "I have no friends there."
"I think you do." said Florian. "Your former colleague. Whatever he's calling himself at the moment, Luther's description matches what you told me."
"There was a girl with him," cried Theo. "Mickle-"
"And still is," said Luther. "A half-size fellow, too. They're both in the town lockup."
"Why?" Theo's heart sank as quickly as it had leaped. "What have they done?"
"I don't know," said Luther. "They're better off than the other one. He's in the middle of the market square. Locked in a cage."
"What for?" Theo seized Luther's arm. "What are they doing to him?"
"From what I gather, punishing him for some kind of mischief. He's been caged up for a couple of days. They aren't even feeding him."
"I have to go there. Zara can manage the press."
"-When we first met," said Florian, "I recall you seemed delighted to be rid of the fellow."
"He wasn't in trouble then. Mickie
's there, too. And Musket. I have to get them out."
"You can't," said Luther. "Nierkeeping's full of troops, for one thing. For another, the town's in an ugly mood. You wouldn't last a minute."
"I can't stay here and do nothing. There must be some way. I'm going. I'll take my chances."
"I won't let you do that," said Florian.
"Won't let me?" cried Theo. "No one's going to stop me. Not even you."
Theo was astonished at his own words. No one spoke that way to Florian. Nevertheless, he stood his ground and looked him squarely in the face.
Florian half smiled. "You're more a hothead than I supposed. No, I won't let you. That's to say I won't let you go alone."
"You'll help me, then?"
Florian's gray eyes had a light in them. "As I think of it, a visit to Nierkeeping might suit all of us very well. We could profit from a breath of country air." He glanced at Luther.
"It could be profitable, as I was telling you," replied the artisan. "Large risk, but large gain."
"We'll do it," said Florian. He turned to Theo. "But I'm afraid we can't leave immediately."
"When? How soon?" Florian grinned. "Within the hour. Would that stretch your patience beyond bearing?"
"I'm in your debt," said Theo. "I'll make it up to you. I give you my word."
"Accepted and valued," said Florian. "Go and tell the others."
16
Theo huddled under the straw in the back of the wag on. The moon was down, the sky beginning to pale. Justin, beside him, was curled up and sleeping soundly. In front, Florian held the reins lightly, allowing the horse to make its own pace. Zara, dressed as a peasant woman, drowsed with her head on his shoulder. She had insisted on going with them so Rina, under protest, had stayed in Freyborg: to keep an eye on the press and await any urgent word from Florian. Stock and Luther had ridden ahead on fresh mounts. Theo marveled that Florian had set all in train so quickly. It was, he understood, part of the business of being Florian. He was grateful.
He had tried to thank Florian, who shrugged it aside as if the journey were, in fact, only a jaunt through the countryside. For a while, so it appeared. The wagon rattled along dirt roads with flat, stubble fields on either side. Morning, when it came, was bright and crisp. There was an air of holiday, with Florian in the best of spirits.
They reached a paved road and, later, a finger post pointing toward Nierkeeping. Instead of following it, Florian turned off and drove into the woodlands covering the swelling hills.
When Theo ventured to ask why, Florian only replied, "Leave that to me. For the moment, all you need to do is enjoy the view. It's one of the most beautiful parts of the country. The nobility have their summer estates and hunting lodges hereabout. And a few rustic cottages, with all the comforts the rustics themselves never see. It amuses the nobles to play at being peasants. I wonder if they'd be equally amused if the peasants took it into their heads to play at being nobles."
Soon after, Florian pulled up the wagon in the yard of a cluster of buildings screened by woods. The main house was of timber, with a high-pitched roof. Several horses occupied the stables; two more stood tethered near a stone-sided well.
Stock was sitting on a barrel by the door. He jumped off and hurried to the wagon. Justin and Zara climbed down and went directly inside, seeming to be familiar with the place.
"You have visitors," Stock announced to Florian. Theo followed them into a long room with white plaster walls and a huge fireplace. Luther was there, along with half a dozen men Theo had never seen before. Some wore hunter's garb, with game bags over their shoulders; others, the rough jackets of farm laborers. Fowling pieces and muskets were stacked in a corner.
Two men sat at a plank table, the remains of a meal in front of them: the younger, ill-shaven and glum looking; his companion, white-haired and with one arm in a sling. Both were grimy, their clothes tom and burr-clotted.
The company warmly greeted Florian, who waved a hand and turned his attention to the men at the table. The younger stood up.
"My name is Keller. We have certain acquaintances in common. Thanks to them, we were put on our way here. Though I have to tell you, sir, you are devilish hard to find."
"I'm glad of that," said Florian. "For my own sake, if not yours. I would have preferred meeting Old Kasperl in easier circumstances."
"You know of me, so far from Marianstat?" Keller's glum expression turned into a delighted smile. "I take that as high praise.
"My traveling companion," Keller went on, "looks like one of his own patients. How that came about he shall tell you himself: Dr. Torrens, formerly court physician, presently an exile-as long as he manages to stay alive. As for the unlikely association of a scrivener with a physician, you may wish to know-"
"I should rather know why a courtier is here at all."
"I can answer that very simply," Dr. Torrens said. "I take it for granted that you despise Chief Minister Cabbarus as much as I do. You know, certainly, that Augustine is now hardly able to rule and may never be. What you do not know, since you are not close to the inner workings of the court, is that Cabbarus schemes to make himself Augustine's adoptive heir. For these six years, the chief minister has been king in all but name. Now he seeks the title as well as the power." Instead of sharing the doctor's outrage Florian made a small gesture. "King Augustine or King Cabbarus? To me, Doctor, kings are one and the same."
"You cannot believe that!" cried Torrens. "Do you see no difference between a monarch and a tyrant? The chief minister has been a disaster for the country. As king, he will be still worse. At court, the only one who dares oppose him is Queen Caroline. Her life may be in danger as a result. Cabbarus will let no one stand long in his way. He has banished me, he has tried to have me murdered. But I will not leave the kingdom. I seek honest men to join me and support the queen's cause, to bring force to bear-"
"Let us understand each other," Florian broke in. "You are correct on two counts. We are honest men here. Our opinion of Cabbarus matches yours. As for supporting your cause, I see no reason. We intend, Doctor, to support our own."
"Whatever that may be," said Torrens, "it is less urgent than putting an end to the influence of Cabbarus. The villain must be brought down, without delay, whatever the cost. There is no other way to preserve legitimate monarchy."
"Preserve it?" returned Florian. "Preserve a power fixed by an accident of birth? Unearned, unmerited, only abused? You have been sadly misled, Doctor, if you come to me for that. Legitimate monarchy? The only legitimate rulers are the people of Westmark."
"That, sir, is a dream. I do not share it with you. There are abuses; I do not deny it. They must be corrected. But not through destruction. If I have a patient with a broken leg, I mend the leg. I do not bleed him to death. I do what is possible and practical."
"So do I," said Florian. "You urge me to join you. Let me ask: How many troops do you command? How many weapons?"
"None," said Torrens. "And you?" He gestured toward the stack of firearms. "If that is your arsenal, it does not impress me."
"We hope to improve it within the next twenty-four hours. Our resources are modest, but only a beginning. Now, Doctor, if you will excuse me, we have plans to make."
As much as Florian had spoken bitterly and angrily against the chief minister, Theo had never until now heard him oppose the whole monarchy. The idea stunned and excited him. The sheer daring of it was only what he might have expected from Florian. He suddenly understood his willingness to make the journey to Nierkeeping. The man's boldness dazzled him. It also horrified him.
"You're going to attack the town!" cried Theo. "You said you'd help my friends."
"So I will," Florian said. "Did you imagine we'd simply stroll into Nierkeeping and ask politely to have them set loose?"
"No. But not this way. There's going to be blood shed."
"That's certain. Some of ours. Some of theirs. As little as possible, but no avoiding it. Yes, youngster, it may end with killing. We'd be
a band of innocent idiots if we didn't expect it. You want your friends. My people want guns. We'll do whatever we must. Will you?"
Theo did not reply. Florian looked at him and said quietly, "It's very simple. Are you going with us or not? You need our help, but we need yours if my plan has any chance of working."
Theo turned away. He had tried to kill the Royal Inspector in the heat of anger, unthinking. What Florian asked of him was something calculated, accepted in advance. Yet he could not bring himself to abandon Mickle, or even Las Bombas and Musket. He tried to guess what Anton would have done. He could not. He had no answer, nor could any answer have satisfied him; and that, more than anything, tore at him. Finally, without speaking, he nodded his head.
"You'll get through it," said Florian. "The first time is the worst."
Stock, meanwhile, had brought a wooden chest to the table and had begun taking pistols from it. Florian handed one to Theo, who drew back a little.
"It won't bite you," said Florian.
"I don't want it."
"Take it, even so. You may not want it, but you may need it. Do you know how to use one?" Theo shook his head. "Go along with Justin, then. He'll show you."
17
It was still dark when they left the farm: Theo and Justin, Stock and Zara in the wagon; Florian and the rest of the company on horseback. A short distance from town, Zara halted in the shadow of a gravel embankment. Florian embraced each one, and they parted there Florian to lead his men into Nierkeeping from another quarter, Theo and the others to go the rest of the way on foot.
Justin strode out eagerly, urging them to speed their pace until Zara told him to be quiet. Stock yawned and grumbled at being abroad in the dregs of the night.
Once within the town limits, no one spoke. Theo clenched his jaws to keep his teeth from chattering. The chill of the hours at the thin edge of daybreak had seeped into his bones. The pistol butt drove into his belly at every step. Following Luther's directions, they passed through a winding lane and soon reached the square. In the middle of it stood a narrow cage hardly taller than the shape inside.