Carris stirred. His eyelids fluttered open.

“Easy, kid. I’m Markhat. Tamar hired me to find you. I’m sure she told you that.”

He was trying to find his limbs, probably to swing them at me. I knew I had a few minutes. Witherspoons don’t wear off all at once.

“I came to the Timbers to break you out. I would have, too, if you hadn’t clobbered me. I’m not working for your father. Or for Fields. Just Tamar. Congratulations, by the way. Tamar’s a good kid.”

He found his tongue and worked it over dry lips.

“What. Are you. Doing here?”

“Making sure you live through the vows. Japeth Stricken didn’t die in the fire.”

“Who?”

“The man who took you. He’s got an old beef with your father. He might decide to settle up by ruining your wedding.”

“How do I know. You. Aren’t here to do the same thing?”

“Because I sat here for half an hour watching you nap and didn’t cut your throat once. Look. Tamar hired me. Mr. Tibbles gave his approval. Your father has tried twice to kill me. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“So Mr. Tibbles likes you, does he?”

“Ha. The little rodent would tear my head off if Tamar ever let him out of that basket.”

He moved in his chair, flexing his fingers working his jaw.

“So you’re Markhat. Tamar did speak of you.” He managed a sheepish grin. “I suppose I should apologize for hitting you.”

“You were half-crazy with shock and fever. Forget it. Let’s just get you married, shall we?”

He stuck out his good hand.

“Agreed.”

I shook it. He didn’t knee me in the groin again. I counted that as a sure vote of confidence.

“What do we do next?”

“We get you something to drink,” I said. “Walk you around a little. That Witherspoon has got you feeling good now, but you’ll stiffen up if you stay still too long. How many did you drink, by the way? And where did you get such a thing?”

He stood, with little help from me.

“Tamar called a horse doctor,” he said. “An old Army vet. He gave me two, said drink the first one on the way here and the second one only if I was wounded again and on the run. How’d you know about Witherspoons?”

“Former Army myself. Never drank one. Saw it done, though. Can you walk?”

He took a step forward and nearly toppled. I caught him and held him while he sorted out his feet.

It took a few tries, but he managed it.

“Next, you’ll dancing,” I said. He managed a laugh.

“We’d better take this easy. Look. Let’s just walk over to the fireplace. The warmth will feel good.”

And that’s what we did, for the next hour. Walk a little, rest a little. Father Wickens kept up prayers and occasional lectures, ignoring the hoots of laughter and sneers that often broke out at his back.

Snippets of what he said reached us, though. And, contrary to the things I’d heard other priests say down through the years, the Father was actually making sense.

“It’s a miracle,” I muttered.

“What is?” asked Carris.

“Nothing. Forget it. I’m new at this marriage business. What happens next? When will we actually start mingling with the guests?”

Carris pondered this. “Have you been counting chimes?”

“Nope. I heard a couple. Might have missed one or two.”

“We’re down here for five chimes. Then we go to the chapel. We stand assembled behind the Curtain of Grace.”

“Where are the guests, during all this?”

“In the Chapel too. Out in the pews. We’re behind the Curtain. No one can see us yet. The Brides come in, and assemble on the other side of the curtain, facing the guests.”

“Any chance of a last-minute swap?”

That caught the sharp ears of Father Wickens, who shot a withering glance my way.

“And then?”

“The doors are closed and sealed. No one is allowed inside after the brides line up.”

That part I knew. If anyone planning mayhem was going to slip in, they’d have to do so before that.

“The Curtain is raised. We face the Brides. The Father reads some more. Then the brides turn. Each groom takes his bride’s hand. One by one, the couples walk up the steps, to the altar, under the Bell. We put the rings on their fingers. Then, one by one, the couples go up and exchange vows. The bell starts clanging out noon. If everything is timed right, everybody kisses their bride on the last stroke of the Broken Bell.”

I nodded. The plan was for Darla and I to just mouth the words and fail to kiss. That would leave us single at the end of the ceremony, but close enough to Tamar and Carris to lift a sword, should harm come their way.

The ring in my pocket was just a surprise. I was hoping it would take the edge off a sham wedding after waiting for a real one for so long.

“That leaves us a couple of hours before the festivities,” I said. “How are you feeling? Going to make it?”

“Damned right I am.”

Missing an ear and a finger, barely able to stand without wobbling, and there he was, daring the fates to try and knock him down again.

He was a Lethway, all right.

“So, who are you marrying?” he asked.

“Oh no. Not me, kid. I’m just here to keep you safe, and my bride-not-to-be is doing the same for Tamar.”

“Darla Tomas, you mean? Tamar told me all about her. Says you two were meant for each other, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

“Women will talk. Pardon me a moment. Got to see a kid about some firewood.”

Indeed, the lad who’d led me into the bosom of the father church was heading toward the fireplace, a stack of dried oak in his arms.

“Let me help you with that, kid.”

He grinned and split his load with me. A battered silver flask peeked out from amid the faggots.

“Thanks mister,” he said. “By the way, I reckon you ain’t heard, being cooped up down here. But something is happening on the Brown.”

He spoke in a whisper, and for that I was glad.

“Trouble?”

“Looks like. Big, black cloud hanging over the river to the North. Moving against the wind. I reckon it’s them foreign wand-wavers, saying we’re coming, and we don’t aim to leave.” He looked suddenly grim. “Looks like you picked a real bad day to get hitched, mister.”

“Looks like.” I found a coin for no good reason. “You got a safe place to hide, kid?”

He took it. “Safe as any, I reckon. Good luck to you and your lady. You might not talk like one, but I reckon you’re a gentleman, all the same.”

And then he was gone.

Carris came wobbling over, a question on his face.

“Bad news?”

“It isn’t good. Black cloud coming down the Brown. Sounds like somebody’s idea of a grand entrance.”

He just nodded. There wasn’t much to say.

I wondered where the Regency lay, and if Gertriss and Evis and Buttercup had managed to reach the shore. Buttercup was an Old World banshee-surely the mere sinking of a steamboat wouldn’t do more than get her wet?

I cussed and opened the flask and emptied it, right there in plain sight of Father Wickens and a dozen collected holy grooms.

I didn’t think any Angel worth her wings would begrudge me that one small comfort.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I’d been right about the chimes. Two had indeed sounded. I counted three more. As the last tone faded, Father Wickens called us to gather close around him.

We did. Carris was walking better, and his eyes were clear. Worried, but clear.

I stuck a short plain dagger in his hand as soon as all eyes turned to the good Father. He took it without a word and put it in a pocket.

“Gentlemen, the time has come. Please line up in this order-Woesmith. Grant. Selby.”

He rattled off names. Grooms and groomsmen parted with ribald jokes and punches back and forth.

Carris was next-to-last, by arrangement. I took up the rear.

“Gentlemen,” said the father quietly, when we were arranged to his satisfaction. “These are troubling times. War and wrack may well be loosed upon us, before this day is done. For that, I am sorry, because no couple deserves to begin their journey together through such fearful times.”