The black carriage rolled along a wooded road, opening into a beautiful view of the Bay of Tarago. Ships without number lay at anchor here, the city lit brightly along the water's edge in the early evening. Luis, the newly engaged driver what destination the Heroes had in mind, and soon headed for El Caballo d' Oro, saying that he knew the inn well. On the road, Asgard had exhausted every possibility of pulling, twisting, prodding and sliding every feature of the carriage, in the hope that it might disgorge more money. She was finally dissuaded, with some little difficulty, from slicing the upholstery to search for Vendel notes, complaining that the upholstery had been spoilt by blood anyway, so what was the harm?
At the inn, as Henri requested four fine rooms and a place for a servant, music could be heard from the ballroom-- music that sounded strangely familiar. Simultaneously, Quinn grinned broadly, running into the ballroom, and Henri went pale. The guitaristas could now be clearly heard playing-- and singing-- the chorus of Escaping Casa Blanca, the very song that Quinn had penned a few short weeks ago, and had traded with musicians in Falcon's Point soon after. Henri frantically ran through what he could remember of the lyrics in his mind, trying to remember if Quinn had kept his promise to leave Henri's name out of the story, and eyed the main floor of the inn frantically, counting exits and the number of stout sailors and burly laborers near each one.
Quinn entered the ballroom singing, receiving at first glares, then an invitation, from the players. All present cheered at the tale of Montaigne in Defeat, and laughed at the description of desperately scratching Musketeers unable to do more than watch their powder stores explode as the song's narrator sailed away. Asgard and Cecil acquired dinner and drinks; Henri directed servants and luggage upstairs and steeled his resolve for a trip back down stairs. Nerves warred with hunger, until hunger frankly triumphed.
Dinner was delightful, far surpassing the House of Greasy Mutton of their previous repasts, and the music continued to buoy the spirits of the workers of Tarago as Quinn led the guitaristas in The Battle of the Wall, and set fists pounding tables in time to the chorus. People kept smiling at the Heroes, bought them drinks (no doubt an honor due their uniforms), and presented an air of great hospitality.
Then as though at some hidden signal the musicians bowed, scooped up their takings, and departed along with nearly all of the audience. Several well-dressed Dons remained, and new patrons filed in along with new musicians. Servants clearing dishes reported that the second shift of shipwrights was just leaving for the shipyards, and the day shift was taking their now well-deserved rest. Drinks were ordered anew, though the wine cellar featured only Castille's finest vintages, with a few bottles from Vodacce. Nettled, Henri asked if any Montaigne wines were left at all, and gripped the table in alarm as the servant laughed, shook his head, and added, "but you'd know that better than I, wouldn't you, monsieur?"
A new cheer went up as a curious wheeled chair was pushed into the ballroom, in which an older man, finely dressed, rode as though at the helm of a Man o' War. The servant suggested that if the Heroes wished to drink Vodacce wines, they'd need to ask Don Octavio, for all the bottles were his own private stock. Henri nodded dumbly, Quinn smiled and agreed, Cecil finished eating, and Asgard ran her eye over the distinguished gentleman.
The mayor of Tarago was more than happy to split a bottle with his guests, welcoming the Heroes to town and assuring them, to the delight of several and the horror of one, that their reputations had preceded them. Henri made a bit of conversation, then excused himself for a quiet cigar on the balcony of the ballroom. Quinn proposed a toast, asking the Don to join him in a drink "por el Rey, por el Castillo, y por los todos." Don Octavio drank his toast off, then absently wiped the sweat from his temple in a slow curving sweep. With recognition now made, Quinn absorbed all the information he could of Tarago's best places to eat, things to see, the status of the Rose and Cross house that Sr. Basquez was still building, and ended by accepting an invitation to the bull ring the day after next.
Henri let the smoke drift on the evening breeze, as something lifted his spirits considerably. A crowd of men, rather commonly dressed, and none too carefully kempt, was sweeping toward El Caballo d' Oro, and at the twin crests of this wave were two men in particular, each holding in his arms a magnificent fighting cock. Fine tails, powerful thighs, sharp eyes marked these as birds to be reckoned with-- true champions among their kind. He returned to the table, nodding absently to Quinn's report of their engagement at the arena, and straining to catch what he could of the negotiations currently under way.
Don Octavio spotted the birds with equal delight, and both he and the other Dons pitched with great fervor into boasting of the finery of each fighting cock, analysis of their several strengths, and an assessment of the outcome of battle between them. The rest of those present shared their opinions amongst themselves, neither daring to contradict their nobles nor willing to be found without a carefully considered oration of their own on the science of battle. As discussion grew warm, Henri found himself betting first on this bird, then on that, weighing odds, wagering on times and strokes, and before he knew it, was fifty Guilder notes the lighter, and the proud possessor of ten different markers.
The owners of the two combatants wished at this point to withdraw and fight their battle on the morrow, but by now the blood of the room was up. Certain words had been used, significant looks had been given, and an affair of honor was to be settled. The center of the room was cleared, all fought for a clear view, and Henri found himself at the very edge as the birds were introduced, brought to differences, and released.
They eyed the room, caught sight of one another again, and the battle was on. Leaping, slashing, striking now with beak and now with claw, each tore at the other to mild effect, and these few drops of blood made them the angrier. Henri could suddenly think of nothing but the Aldana swordsman he had met in San Cristobal, then looked at the red claws of one of them stamping the floor with his mark. Tucking his gloved hands further under his arms, he seemed to hear the beast crow, "This arena is mine now. I've blooded it, and now I shall appear where I will, shall strike where and when I will." In a flash the final blows were landed, and owners dashed to separate the pair, so that the loser might recover and fight again. Time was called, the strokes were counted, and Henri found himself some seventy-five Guilders the richer than when he'd started. After such a night, sleep brought a cap to what had finally been a fine day.
The morning found the Heroes standing in a long line, waiting to enter a cantina warmly commended as Tarago's finest place to breakfast. Workers downed heaps of food and marched off to continue building the new Armada. The quartet watched and waited, and Henri turned to follow a particularly aromatic tray with his eyes, when he felt a tickle at his pocket. Fearing the loss of his winnings, his hand instead found something extra: a small folded paper, with words in purple ink:
The Livery Stable. Noon.
After a magnificent meal, a tour of the town brought them at last to the stables. Luis found himself on retainer as driver, as a young boy approached. Informing the Heroes that the horse they wanted to buy was ready for inspection, he then led them to an office, where Don Octavio welcomed them once again. After few preliminaries, he requested the Heroes help with an important matter, if they were willing. Mutual friends had recommended them to him as capable and discreet, and their help was needed once again.
At their firm and rapid pledge to do what they could, he outlined what was needed: the Alcalde of Barcino was to be replaced, by an agent who would be more sympathetic to his country. The current Alcalde was to be brought back out of Occupied Castille for questioning, quietly, quickly, and carefully. A Montaigne Lord would most easily pass through this territory, and his staff would no doubt pass with him. There would be several weeks until imposter was ready to assume his role, and in the mean time, the Don asked that they consider themselves the guests of Tarago.
Henri mused out loud that he was proud to help, and that six months ago he would have laughed if he'd been told what he would be doing soon. The mayor gazed out the window of the offices.
"Six months ago, señor, I was walking."
The next day brought the pageantry of the arena. The Heroes joined Don Octavio in his box, being presented to his inestimable wife Doña Leandra Guzman y Cordova, and took in the entertainment of the afternoon. After the preliminaries, the star of the arena rode in: Alicia Zaneta de Lazaro. Cecil looked to Henri, recalling her presence at the party in San Cristobal. Henri cleaned out the stall of roses, delighted to see the fiery matadora take the sand. Her first adversary was huge, black and brown, with short, thick horns. He cast his eye about, then spun toward her, with a burst of power as she whirled aside. Splinters and plaster flew from the wall of the arena, and he tore his horns free, looking for his opponent once again. Cries of appreciation began to ripple through the stands, and a chant of "Let him go! Let him go!" began to build. At a nod from Doña Leandra, the matadora stepped behind the wall, and attendants opened the gate. The bull cast about in vain, then trundled out of the ring, seeming to strut as he did so. Doña Leandra explained to the stunned Quinn that he was being sent to pasture, for his display of courage and strength. Another bull, she promised, would be brought for the final event.
This one, smaller, younger, darker, was a bit more tentative. He saw himself challenged, looked again as if in disbelief, then charged forward. Alicia whirled aside, her back to the bull, passing him several times behind her. After his sweat began to flow, she proceeded to drive in the picks, to shouts of delight. Finally, she drew a long, sharp sword, curved slightly at the tip, and began to stalk her partner. The crowd grew quieter, the cheers dimming to hushed silence as she stepped forward. She swept in, between his horns, leaning over his forehead, her sharp grunt of effort sounding clear in the air as she sank the blade in to the hilt, piercing the bull's heart. He stepped past her with a slight toss of his head, went to a knee as the crowd exploded in sound, and crumpled to the sand.
Roses filled the air of the arena, as Alicia drank in the applause. Henri caught her eye, saw her eyebrow rise in a wry expression as he lofted a rose toward her and saw it caught. As she rode from the ring, he asked if it were possible to speak with the matadora, with whom they had shared a previous entertainment in San Cristobal. Doña Leandra graciously escorted them to the cameras of the performers.
As they discussed the upcoming performances of Sra Zaneta in the Ducado of Gallegos, Quinn recalled that they'd met a Lady of Gallegos at the ball-- Doña Ximena, a horsebreeder of no little fame. Alicia glowed at the mention of the Gallegos steeds, asking if Quinn rode. The Knight allowed as how he had seen it done, and spent time sitting on a horse, but had no real skill. The matadora countered that one should be taught properly, by one who knows what she is doing. Henri saw his opening, and struck.
"You know, Quinn, if you are indeed fortunate, perhaps you might be taught be a true mistress of horses, to ride with skill and pleasure... " He smiled.
As his suggestion was seized and acted upon by Alicia, Quinn narrowed his eyes, thinking of a certain ethereal maiden of Avalon, and thanked the Montaigne with perhaps the first lie in his career as a Knight. Henri bowed slightly and assured his friend that this was the least he could do in return for the fame that Quinn had heaped upon their names in the past weeks.
The game was suddenly interrupted by shouts from without. Peering out to the pens, the Heroes saw a gate swinging loose, a man lying pale and bloody on the ground, and another bull, out and stamping angrily. With entreaties to the Doña to stay in safety, the Heroes raced toward the scene. Quinn cleared the gap above the bull in a prodigious leap that seemed impossible. Cecil ran to the gate of the pen, casting about for a weapon. Henri willed his leaden feet to move, and ran to catch up. He found Alicia there ahead of them, stamping and shouting to draw the bull away from his injured handler. He surged toward her, then whirled on Cecil, who ducked behind the gate just inches ahead of angry horns. Henri drew his sword, steeling himself to draw the bull away from the matadora and see if he could hit that same spot whereby she had dispatched the other bull so recently. In a heartbeat, the bull raced toward her as she stepped to one side, flew past her and back into his pen, Cecil slammed the heavy gate shut, and leaned his back against it.
Quinn began to shout a warning, and Henri finally found his legs moving again, dashing up to lock the gate latch and tug Cecil away as the bull smashed against the wood from the other side. With a nod of thanks, the matadora ordered bandages and hot water for the injured groom, whom Quinn and Henri restored to a semblance of health. The groom trailed his free hand along the stonework of a wall laid down in the days of the Numans, when men had fought each other in ages past for the delight of their senators.
"I don't understand, good señors... I locked that pen myself,
on my name, I did! How did the beast get out?"