by Maria Grace
Laconia sniffed his fingers, his palm. Unsatisfied, Laconia curled himself around to sniff the back of Easterly’s hand, his wrist and halfway up his arm. Laconia smelled everything as long and deep as wise men read contracts. How could he understand so much with just his nose?
Finally, Laconia ducked his head under Easterly’s hand. He obliged by scratching behind Laconia’s ears. A propitious start, indeed.
“Sit, sit.” Easterly trundled toward his desk, piled with charts, maps and journals. “So how have you taken to sea life, young Laconia? Does it agree with you?” He gently moved the dragon perch aside, hand lingering briefly on the black crepe, and sat down.
Wentworth sat on the unpadded wooden chair nearest the desk, Laconia perched on his lap.
Laconia licked his thumbed paw. “Quite well, thank you. It is everything my Friend promised it would be.”
“The men quite dote on him. They think him quite lucky.” Wentworth scratched behind Laconia’s ears.
“Is that so? I am not surprised, black … cats … especially the many-toed variety are particularly welcome.” Easterly leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest—a man waiting to be impressed.
“There is a great deal more than luck involved, sir. I think you know that.” Wentworth nudged Laconia. If he was going to speak his mind, now might be his only chance. He probably did not realize how unusual it was for a tatzelwurm, much less a wyrmling, to be given an audience with a man of Easterly’s rank.
“Mrrooow. Indeed, he is right. Good fortune requires a great deal of careful intervention.” Laconia unwound his tail from Wentworth’s waist and sat up very tall and straight, like a young man testing for lieutenant, and stepped on to the desk.
“And what kind of intervention might that be?” Easterly asked.
“Are you aware of how many marine dragons, and bird-type dragons one encounters on the seas?”
Bless the man for keeping a straight face! “No, tell me.”
“You sail regularly?” The tip of Laconia’s tail flicked, the way it did when he was about to pounce on a mouse.
“Quite regularly. On those voyages, I have seen only a few bird types and fewer marine dragons than I can count on one hand.”
“Then you are not a good observer.”
“See here young … Laconia! I did not invite you here to insult me.”
“I mean no insult to you. I only make an observation. My Friend can attest that we see many more marine dragons than you describe, sometimes even daily.”
“Forgive me, sir, but he is correct.” Wentworth stroked the ruffled fur along Laconia’s spine. “I did not believe it myself, at first, but Laconia has introduced me to scores of marine wyrms, herds of hippocampi like my brother Croft’s friend White—”
“Herds? White is not a rare sort of creature?” Easterly’s eyes went wide. Now he was paying attention!
“Hardly, no, sir. They travel in large groups, like horses on land, but they are shy and generally stay away from ships. White is of an unusually friendly disposition.”
“I say, that is remarkable.”
“That is not all.” Wentworth leaned in. “We have met serpent-whales of many shapes and sizes—”
“Wait, sizes? Serpent whales, there are minor serpent-whales?”
“Indeed, curious, and often very friendly, and helpful creatures.”
“You have been conversing with them?” Now they had him!
“Regularly. That is what brings us here. I—we—have a proposal.” Laconia chirruped, head cocked.
“You have my attention, do go on. Tell me more about your conversations with these sea dragons. What have they told you?” Easterly’s voice was level, but he was chomping at the bit for more.
“It is not just what they have told us, but what we have told them.” Wentworth permitted the edge of his lips to rise just a mite.
“We have told them about the Pendragon Treaty.” Laconia’s tail swept across the desk, careful not to disturb the clutter.
“The Treaty? That seems quite forward, even beyond the bounds—”
“Dragons have asked. Many are interested in the Treaty and the protections it offers.” Wentworth shrugged. Should it be this much fun to bait the man? Probably not, but it was gratifying to see him distracted from his loss.
“They are? I had no idea ...”
“Many have found themselves harried by various vessels. They would welcome relief from the interference and perhaps even some protection.” Laconia purred softly. “Not to mention the territory battles fought with one another ….”
“Many we have spoken to want to know more about the possibilities. The Laconia has acquired something of a name on the seas, and dragons seek us out now. Often.”
“That did not take long. You have been sailing together only a few months.” Easterly stroked his chin.
“That should tell you something, no?” Wentworth said.
“And the men on your ship, what do they say to all these odd experiences?”
“Those who do not hear simply see what Laconia tells them to see.”
“You are that persuasive?”
“Mrrooow.” Laconia flicked his tail happily. “What is more, these dragons are often ready to share information with us, tell us where good fishing is or storms to avoid.”
“We think, perhaps, they might be encouraged to tell us more than that. They might be able to help us find prize ships, even locate the enemy.”
“You want them to be spies for us? That is an outlandish idea, even coming from a tatzelwurm.” Easterly snorted and waved off the notion, but it was a little half-hearted.
Laconia spring-hopped closer to Easterly, landing in the middle of a map, fur standing on end, growling. “You doubt me. We have followed their information. The most recent prize ship is the result.”
Easterly gaped at Wentworth.
“He speaks the truth. I admit, I thought it rubbish when I first heard, but I am convinced it is worth pursuing.”
“You are a very young dragon—we are not in the habit of trusting younglings with serious matters.”
“You are when it is necessary.” Laconia’s tail lashed, knocking papers off the desk.
Easterly crossed his arms over his chest, tucked his chin, and frowned, but it seemed a forced expression. “No, I cannot support this notion. Neither of you is a trained diplomat. We cannot risk it, there is too much at stake. We can hardly manage the landed dragons in the Kingdom. There are no less than three significant estates in jeopardy—at least Kellynch is hibernating—or we think he is—and not an imminent danger …”
Kellynch? Kellynch was a dragon estate? And the dragon was hibernating? How had he not been aware? Had Edward known when he was made curate at Monkford?
“… then there is the possibility of unknown dragon tunnels leading who knows where—”
“You are too late. It has already begun.” Laconia bared his fangs just a little. “If we stop speaking to them now there is no telling how they will react to the insult.”
“Sir, recall, we are dealing with dragons, not men. Their notion of diplomacy is far different to ours. If you think about it, they opened the discussions, not us. A serpent-whale asked me about the fabled Pendragon Treaty. We had said nothing. But then we realized the potential of what had begun. Consider what it could mean to England to have an alliance with sea dragons.”
Easterly scrubbed his face with his hand. “I cannot agree to what amounts to negotiations with foreign powers without the approval of … perhaps the king himself!”
“We are not nearly at that point! Just give us approval to seek their assistance in finding prize ships and to watch for incursions by the French. We will not count on their assistance, but we can see if it is even feasible. Simply allow us to test the waters.”
“And you—” Easterly point to Laconia, almost touching his nose with his fingertip, “You, young wyrmling, you believe you are equal to such a great task?”
Laco
nia looked over his shoulder at Wentworth. “My Friend trusts me. I owe him everything, and I would not allow him to come to harm.”
“Oh, bloody hell! The whole notion is daft as a bag of bugs, but my late Friend regularly had ideas of the sort. And they were nearly all sound.” Easterly threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. “For his sake, and to honor his memory, I give you leave to talk to these sea dragons and learn what you can. But promise them nothing from the Order, not yet. Do not commit to anything bigger than you, Wentworth, can deliver yourself. If you make me regret this, it will be the end of your career. Are you willing to risk that?”
Laconia turned to face Wentworth, great gold eyes wide and focused. Tatzelwurms were flighty and unreliable. No person of sense trusted one with anything significant, much less a career.
But Laconia was different. Even so young, he was stable, stalwart, and completely trustworthy. What was more, in just a few short months, he had given Wentworth back a part of his soul that he thought irrevocably lost. How could he not trust Laconia after that?
“I am willing sir. You will not regret this.”
Chapter 7
August, 1809
The next three weeks in Bath were … what was the best word to describe them? Interesting? Memorable? Challenging? Difficult?
After her admission into the Order, Father was invited to attend an official ceremony to mark the occasion. He refused.
Mrs. Smith and her husband attended, having been given a special dispensation to permit them to become her sponsors to the Order, at least temporarily, until such time as her father accepted his responsibility. That would easily be years, or not at all. Thankfully, the Smiths understood and were ready to accept the possibility.
Since they were not Dragon Keepers themselves or even Friends, they could offer her little in the way of actual guidance. But they would not regret their choice. She might not have left school with an understanding of the classical languages, but she had been taught history, geography, French, and Italian. If she could learn those, she could learn whatever the Blue Order required. Especially considering how accommodating they were in identifying the books she would need most and arranging for them to be sent to Camden Place.
Father, on the other hand, was not nearly so pleased. A whole trunk full of books that would have to return to Kellynch with them would be highly inconvenient when the luggage cart had been nearly full when they arrived. Elizabeth would have new gowns to take back with them. Surely, all those books were not necessary, were they?
The Undersecretary’s call, or rather calls, as it took three before Father was “in” to receive him, were even less appreciated, involving much shouting. Anne could hear the animated discussions quite clearly despite being in the ladies’ sitting room on the floor above Father’s office. So, this was what it meant to enjoy—or perhaps endure—the preternatural hearing Blue Order members had that allowed them to perceive sounds that others could not. At least it was only her who could hear what was going on –the servants should not be privy to hearing their master dressed down so very eloquently.
Irresponsible, unscrupulous, vain, lazy, and selfish—words no one else dared use with Father were spoken—or yelled, with abandon. It was difficult to say that Mr. Wynn was wrong, not when he supported each claim with so very much damning evidence. Father did at least agree that Anne would have the role as junior Keeper—whatever that meant—but that he would not have her putting on airs she did not deserve because of it. Naturally. Mr. Wynn did not find the attitude pleasing and ended his call with a final warning to see that the Dragon Keeping on Kellynch improved. It probably fell upon deaf ears, despite the volume at which it was delivered. Mr. Wynn was not admitted to Camden Place after that.
He did, though, send an additional box of books and a handwritten journal written by a junior Keeper on another estate some fifty years ago. On first glance, it appeared to be written in great detail, far more than any of the books she had read offered. While appreciated, it made it difficult not to wonder how much of the practice of Dragon Keeping was accurately recorded in all those published tomes and how much of it was actually passed from one generation to another by word of mouth. All things considered, though, it was quite possible Father had already passed to her everything he knew.
Merciful heavens! At least with the Smiths, she would not be alone.
The drive back to Kellynch passed with Father and Elizabeth remarking upon the social success their visit to Bath had been. Thankfully, they kept each other occupied with recounting their engagements and required nothing of Anne but to nod occasionally as Mary tried hard to insert her own observations into the discourse.
So much needed to be done to undo the years of neglect at Kellynch. Mr. Wynn had strongly suggested that since Kellynch was hibernating, she needed to begin by attending to the minor dragons of the estate and then try to estimate how much longer Kellynch would be sleeping. The former was fairly straightforward, the latter unfortunately was not.
The day they returned and the next, Anne had to supervise unpacking and manage several issues with the servants that Elizabeth simply did not want to bother with. The following day, she rose early. The rest of the family was still keeping town hours; even so, she rushed through her ablutions to be certain she could make her escape.
She headed to the west side of her mother’s garden where the fairy dragons often played. The little gossips and snoops, the fairy dragons should be an excellent source of information on the current minor dragons inhabiting Kellynch.
The sun peeked just above the horizon with barely light enough to permit her to walk. The cool, slightly damp morning air embraced her, soothed her. Dew-laden grasses and flowers kissed her muslin skirts, leaving them cold and clinging to her ankles. It probably would have been a good idea to have brought a shawl, but she would just have to make do. If she walked a little faster, she would be warm enough.
Odd. How she had not noticed the border of many-colored snapdragons along the garden’s western edge? Mama liked all sorts of flowers as much as she liked little puns. Surely this one had been intentional, given how the fairy dragons frequented the flower bed.
“Pray come out, little ones, I have come to talk to you.”
“It is true! It is true!” The voice overhead was high and shrill, like the voice of a songbird, if such a creature could speak.
Anne squinted and scanned the garden. There above her, three of the tiny creatures hovered, their usually vivid colors muted by the wan morning light.
“You spoke to us! You know our true nature!” Was it the largest one speaking?
“What are we going to do? What are we going to do?” Two smaller ones flew circles over her head.
“Whatever do you mean? You are becoming twitter-pated for nothing.” That voice was familiar. Very, very familiar.
Anne’s face turned cold. No! That was not possible.
The larger one swooped above Anne’s head and toward a large hardwood tree shading a small white wooden gazebo. “She knows nothing of our kind. Nothing of the Blue Order. We are all in grave peril, very grave. She is surely a danger to us.”
“Her father is a member of the Order, a lazy disreputable one, but he is. For all his failings, he will not allow harm to come to dragonkind on his estate. Of that I am entirely certain.” That familiar voice again, from behind the tree.
“He is no Keeper. Look how he has managed the territory,” one of the little ones scolded.
“Simply being lazy and selfish does not make one a danger. I will see to it myself; all will be well.” Lady Russell? That voice sounded like Lady Russell! “Her mother was a great friend to dragons. There is no doubt her daughter will be as well. I shall teach her; you need not fear.” Lady Russell communed with these creatures, too? Like Mama did?
Was it possible? There was someone sensible who could help her? Something very much like hope rose in her breast. She rushed toward the gazebo to find Lady Russell.
Long stalks a
nd twining vines conspired to slow her, but the foul things would not prevail. She broke through the garden clutter into a small clearing around the tree and gazebo. The fairy dragons dove in and out of the tree branches, wings flapping a little wildly.
Where was Lady Russell?
Anne peeked around the wide tree trunk. A tall, brightly blue bird with an impossibly long neck turned to look at her. What was that? The tail—long and elegant—resembled both a peacock in color and an ostrich in the fluffiness of the feathers. It stood nearly as tall as she. The beak was sharp and curved like a hawk’s, and the eyes huge and glittering, with the longest eyelashes imaginable. There were no creatures like that on the estate. Possibly not anywhere.
It turned to her and looked her in the eyes. “Good day, Anne.” It spoke in Lady Russell’s voice.
Everything turned cold and dark, and the ground rushed up to meet her.
Anne opened her eyes and screamed. Dark, sparkling eyes stared down at her over a long vaguely yellow beak.
“That is hardly a way to greet me. But I suppose you are not well. Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” the enormous bird asked in Lady Russell’s voice, turning its head this way and that.
Anne sat up and scrabbled back through the dirt, head and shoulder throbbing where they had struck the ground. “What are you?”
“Whatever do you mean by that? That is no way to speak to your old friend.” The creature extended its wings slightly as though perching hands on hips.
“Get away from me! I have never seen you before.”
“Of course, you have.”
“You sound like Lady Russell, but you are not her. Leave me alone!”
“Of course, I am, just as you have always known me.” The voice changed subtly, rasping against her flesh like a whetstone on steel.
Anne cringed and covered her ears. “Stop that!”
“Stop what? I am Lady Russell. Stop looking at me that way. Now get up, and let me take you back to the house. I knew I should have called upon you when you returned from Bath. I had a feeling you were unwell.”