When the Heavens Fall (24 page)

“Thank you, Mr. Winslow.” Fairfax leaned forward, and a light came into his eyes. “A month ago a man came to me with some startling news, which I did not believe at first. He said that my daughter had not been killed, that she had been taken captive by the captain of the band of pirates. The man who came to me freely admitted that he was one of the crew.”

“My first thought was natural enough, that he was out to get money from me, but I listened to his story. There were points in his story that I could verify easily enough. I began investigating, and I found out that, as far as I can determine, he is telling the truth. His name is Francisco Diaz and his story amounts to this. That same pirate chief Jaspar Mendoza who attacked the ship on which my daughter sailed is now a man of some wealth, but is still searching desperately for respectability. My agents have discovered that the young woman who he calls his daughter appeared sixteen years ago almost magically. Her description would fit our daughter perfectly. Blond hair and blue eyes. Not a drop of Spanish blood in her. And that is why, sir, I wanted to see you.”

Brandon was completely mystified. “To see me, Lord Fairfax? Why would you want to see me?”

“Because I need someone who is crafty, determined, and absolutely fearless.”

“Your agents must know my reputation.”

“Those are all good qualities for my purposes.”

“Then you also know that I am immoral. Your agents probably told you that as well.”

“Indeed they did. Including your bad experience in the military and the fact that now you are a cheating gambler living with gypsies and certainly headed one day for the noose.”

“True enough. But why are you telling me these things?”

Sir John leaned forward, his eyes sharp and eager. “I want you to go to Spain and bring my daughter back.”

Brandon laughed. “Well, there are two problems. The first is it probably can't be done, and the second is I'm not the man for a noble gesture. Whoever goes for you will probably lose his head after being tortured to near death.”

“Yes, I'm aware of that, but I think you'll agree to go.”

“I won't take your money, Lord Fairfax. It's an impossible thing you're asking.”

“Are you aware that I'm a member of the queen's council?”

Brandon stilled. “Yes, I am. I've heard my father speak of you several times.”

“My daughter is eighteen years old now. My wife and I want her back, and you are the man to go and get her. I will pay you well for the task, but perhaps this will be more of an incentive for you to undertake the mission.”

Brandon watched as Fairfax pulled a paper out of his inner pocket and handed it to him. “What is this, my lord?”

“It is a list of men and women and even children who are going to be arrested and in all probability burned at the stake if they do not relent and accept the Catholic way.”

Brandon ran his eyes down the list and suddenly straightened. One name jumped out at him

“My uncle's name is on this list!”

“Yes. That's why I'm here.”

Brandon felt a coldness creeping over him. His eyes flicked up to meet Fairfax's. “You're telling me you can save him?”

“I can't promise that I will save him permanently, but I can…protect him for a time. I can have his name taken off this list. I have that much influence with the queen. I'll have to lie, of course, and your uncle will have to do some cooperating.”

“I doubt he'll do it.”

“In any case, that's the proposition. It will be up to you to talk sense into your uncle. But I'll do my part.”

“How soon are these people to be arrested?”

“Some of them will be arrested by nightfall. If you agree to accept this charge, I must hurry back to the palace so as to use my influence with the queen. She owes me a favor.”

Brandon considered, but he knew what he had to do. “I think it's a fool's mission, Lord Fairfax, but I will do my best.”

He stood up and Brandon stood with him. They shook hands. “I accept your word, Winslow.”

“Then you are a fool. Even you said you knew I was a liar and a cheat.”

“I believe your father is Stuart Winslow, and he is a man of honor. Your uncle is Quentin Winslow, a man whose honor nobody doubts. Some of that must be in you, Brandon Winslow. I only hope you can use your less sterling qualities to aid you in freeing my daughter. We'll have to make careful arrangements.” His smile was chilly. “To see that you are not apprehended and your head chopped off.”

“That wouldn't be so bad, but to be burned alive…I don't want anyone I care about to face that—including myself.”

Lord Fairfax hesitated. “You realize, Winslow, that she'll be well guarded. You'll die if they catch you trying to kidnap her. I don't know how you will do it, but I'm putting my hope in you and God.”

“I don't know God, Lord Fairfax, but for once in my life I am going to offer myself to him as I do to you.”

“I pray that God will reward you for your bravery. Come, then. Get your things together and we'll leave at once. I'll go to the queen, secure more time for your uncle, and then we will meet some of my men at the estate. There we will formulate your plan.”

“I'll be ready in an hour.” Brandon wrote a quick note for Lupa, gathered some of his clothes, went downstairs, and found an ornate carriage waiting outside the inn, his horse tethered
behind it. Brandon climbed into the carriage and sat down across from Lord Fairfax

“I'm ready.”

As Brandon approached the outskirts of Dover several days later, the snow was swarming into miniature tornadoes with the breath of the wind. He had not yet been able to absorb the shock of his meeting with Lord Fairfax and had paused only once on his way back to Dover to think about what he had agreed to do in two weeks' time. Even now his mind seemed to buzz as if filled with swarming bees. He pulled his horse to a halt and stared at the city before him. He noted that snow had covered the rooftops and every sharp angle was now a soft, rounded curve. The trees were rounded too, molded into foreign forms by the snow. The sun brought forth a glitter so that Dover seemed like a city of tiny flashing diamonds beside a wash of blue sea

His thoughts went to the life he had led since meeting Lupa. As always disgust filled him when he considered how futile his life had become. He had struggled to find a way to change his life, to get away from Lupa and the life that he had been leading. He had often struggled with the temptation simply to ride away and leave everything behind, including Lupa, but could never see where he was to go. Now, as he sat looking at the city, he felt a surge of hope for the first time in years. Deep down he longed to find a trace of honor in himself, despite the life he had been leading, a reason to hold his head high again

“Come on, boy, let's go.” Despite his misgivings about the life he led with Lupa and Rez, he still owed them a debt. They had saved his life. And Lupa, God bless her, loved him, despite all his faults. He could not walk away without at least saying good-bye

Brandon rode into town, noting the strange snow-driven silence that cloaked the world, and brought his horse to a stop before the Anchor and Albatross Inn. As he dismounted, a hostler came out of the stable across the street

“Stable your horse, Mr. Winslow?”

“Yes. Grain him and rub him down, Paul.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a coin, added another. “I've ridden him far of late, so be good to him.”

“Aye, sir. That I will.”

Tiny flakes of snow stung Brandon's face like miniature needles. Reaching shelter in the inn, he pulled off his hat and cloak, shook them out, and hung them on a peg. Moving to the huge fireplace, he held out his hands to the warmth

“So you're back, are you, Master Winslow?”

Brandon gave the innkeeper a faint smile, “Yes, Jones, I am.” He had grown to know Byron Jones fairly well. In his youth, Jones had been a fighter and brawler in inns, and he bore the scars of his ancient battles: his nose was crooked, one eye drooped, and large gaps between his teeth could be seen when he smiled. He was still, even at the age of fifty, a formidable man and did not need to hire anyone to keep order at the Anchor and Albatross

“Will you be having something to eat, sir?”

“Yes, whatever you have.”

Jones nodded. “Yes, sir. I'll get you something very good.” He started to speak again, then seemed to cut off the words. “I'll get your food, sir,” he muttered. Brandon wondered what was on the man's mind. He put the matter out of his own, and when he was thawed out, he went over to a table in a corner and sat down. The room was illuminated by lanterns and candles, and there were only four customers, two of them sitting at a table and two sitting alone. He sat alone and facing the fireplace, deep in thought, until Jones brought him a trencher full of smoking meat. “Got some hot punch for you, sir.”

“Looks good, Jones.”

Brandon started to sample the punch and then glanced up. He saw a wrinkle in the innkeeper's brow and knew that something was on his mind

“What is it, Jones?”

“Well, sir, I was wondering how Miss Lupa is doing.”

“Lupa? Why, I've been gone for a few days. Why are you asking about her?”

Jones wiped his hands on the filthy apron that hung from his waist and shook his head. “You ain't 'eard then, 'ave you, sir?”

“Heard what?”

“Well, she's been hurt, sir. Hurt pretty bad, so I hear.”

Brandon straightened up. “Hurt how? What happened to her?” He saw Jones hesitate and then snapped, “Out with it, man. What's wrong with her?”

“Well, sir, I ain't one to carry tales, but in this case you might ought to know. She was—with a man, and they 'ad some kind of argument, and the man stabbed her.”

Brandon stilled. With another man? She hadn't…Not since…He looked up. “Is it bad?”

“Right bad, so Rez said. Sorry to give you bad news, Master Winslow.”

Brandon leaped to his feet and grabbed his cloak and hat. He did not go for his horse but ran down the street. When he got to the tiny house he had purchased for Lupa, he found Rez standing in the middle of the room

“What is it, Rez? How is she?”

“The doctor's been with her, Brandon.”

“What did he say? How did it happen?”

“She was drinking with a pretty bad man, and they had some sort of fight, and he pulled a knife and stabbed her.”

“What does the doctor say?”

Rez lowered his head and fumbled at his jerkin. Brandon
could see that he was badly shaken. He grabbed Rez's shoulders. “How is she, Rez?”

“The doctor says she can't live.”

The news struck Brandon like a blow, bringing with it a sharp sense of guilt. He had not been here…He had been unkind to her…“Is she conscious?”

“At times. She just lost too much blood, the doctor said, and she can't make it.”

“I should never have left!”

Rez said, “Well, don't hold it against her about the man. She missed you, Brandon, and she needed someone.” He suddenly broke down. Brandon flinched

When he got into the bedroom, he was shocked. Lupa was lying flat on her back. Her face was pale as parchment. He took a deep breath and a few unsteady steps to the side of the bed. He took her hand. “Lupa, can you hear me?” he whispered

Lupa's eyes opened, but she did not seem to see anything. A shudder went through her. She turned her face to him, and recognition came. “I'm dying, Brandon,” she whispered

“No, you're not dying!”

“Yes, I am.”

Brandon wished desperately that his uncle or one of his parents was there to speak to her. “Call on God and confess your sins, Lupa.”

“No. There's no mercy for me. I'm going to die. I'm going to hell.” She suddenly arched her back and with a surprising show of strength screamed, “I'll be burning—burning—burning!”

She would not stop. Rez came in. He said nothing to Brandon. He leaned over and whispered something to Lupa in Spanish, and she stopped then began to cry

Brandon kept her hand in his and sat there as miserable as he had ever been in his life