Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

As they left the stables to return to the palace, Smythe dismissed Thomas, saying he and King Ullr had business to discuss.

  “I believe Your Majesty has a fitting with the tailor for a new suit of clothes,” said Smythe, and added in a loud and snide aside to King Ullr, “You know these young men, sir. Concerned with nothing but their own looks.”

  Ullr watched Thomas walk off, and then continued on with Smythe. Ullr must be confused now, wondering which Thomas was which. Was he the Thomas of the strong and defiant handshake or the Thomas who meekly swallowed insults from his chancellor?

  Thomas thought of advice the Countess de Marjolaine had once given him. “Be open to your friends and a puzzle to your foes.”

  Thomas completed his dressing and left to join the royal dignitaries and members of the nobility who were planning to walk from the palace to the cathedral in a solemn procession to mark their respect for the late queen.

  Thomas saw Sir Richard among them, his arm still in a sling. He glanced at Thomas. Thomas glanced at him and Sir Richard walked on. He was the person in charge of the committee dealing with the matter of war with Rosia. Nothing more needed to be said.

  Smythe accosted Thomas on his way out the door.

  “There has been a change in plans, sir,” Smythe said. “I was planning to accompany you back to the palace in the royal carriage. King Ullr has most graciously asked me to accompany him in his own carriage to continue our conversations. His Majesty might be offended if I refuse.”

  “We certainly would not want to offend King Ullr,” said Thomas.

  He was grateful to Ullr for relieving him of Smythe’s odious presence and confounded the king by being exceedingly cordial to him when they took their places in the forefront of the line of mourners.

  * * *

  Kate left Amelia’s house early, for her friend had warned her that the streets would be clogged with people and she needed to make certain she arrived in time. She walked to the intersection of Market and Harley streets without much difficulty and located the statue of King James in the park.

  She had been instructed to stand on the corner of the street opposite the statue, but the crowds were already five and six deep. Kate could not get near the street and realized in dismay she would be fortunate to even catch a glimpse of the carriage as it rolled by, much less carry out her important task.

  She was preparing to try to push her way to the front when a large, burly man tapped her on the shoulder. He had the look of a pugilist, for his nose had been broken numerous times and was spread over much of his face. He wore no jacket, even in the cool weather, but he was wearing a hat, which he politely doffed.

  “Allow me, mum,” he said, and before Kate could say a word, he took hold of her elbow and led her through the crowd.

  He walked ahead of Kate, towing her behind him like a dinghy. People receded before him and then flowed in behind her, all seemingly by accident, for no one even glanced at her. The man deposited her at the curbside, near the gutter.

  “Here you are, mum. Don’t you stir. You’ll have a grand view from this spot. His Majesty’s carriage will pass only a few feet away. I won’t be far if you have need.”

  He posted himself behind her, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest.

  Kate had arrived an hour early and the waiting seemed interminable. She fidgeted, stamped her feet to keep warm, and tucked the nosegay beneath her cloak to protect the violets from the chill. At last the church bells in the cathedral began to toll, marking the moment of the interment, when the queen’s coffin was laid to rest next to those of her husband, son, and little grandson.

  The crowd fell silent and bowed their heads. The man standing behind Kate solemnly removed his hat and leaned forward to whisper, “The king and members of the royal court will leave the cathedral shortly, mum. That’s when you will see His Majesty. He will be riding in an open carriage with guards mounted behind, so you must be quick.”

  Kate clutched the flowers, her heart beating fast, and waited.

  EIGHTEEN

  The funeral service in the grand cathedral was beautiful, melancholy, and solemn. The day was raw and chill and gloomy, as befitted a funeral. The cathedral was crowded and those unable to find places inside thronged the streets. Standing at the front, Thomas looked out over a sea of black that rustled, stirred, coughed, and wept. He spoke the queen’s eulogy, then knelt beside the casket to bid a silent farewell to Queen Mary, remembering the look in her shrewd eyes the day she had asked him why he wanted to be king.

  She was interred in the family vault, the last of the family of Chessington. Thomas reflected on his own mortality, as one does at funerals, and he was in a sober, contemplative mood as he entered the carriage for the procession back to the palace, where he would be hosting royal and noble guests at a reception.

  He rode in an open carriage, black trimmed with gold, drawn by two black horses. A coachman in a gold-trimmed black uniform sat at the front with two footmen in matching uniforms at the rear behind Thomas. People lining the route to the palace shouted well wishes as he passed. Now that the funeral was over, they could in good conscience take pleasure in cheering their new king.

  The female population of Freya was particularly interested in him, for he was handsome and he was unmarried and he was king. Every shopgirl, barmaid, and farmer’s daughter could indulge in the harmless fantasy that he might see her in the crowd, fall in love at first sight, and make her his queen. Young women lined the route, waving handkerchiefs, calling out to him and throwing flowers.

  Thomas looked at the people counting on him to rule over them and he was overwhelmed and daunted by the responsibility. He held the lives of these people in his hands: the shopgirl and the shop owner, the laborer and farmer, the boys who ran alongside the carriage, the elderly men and women who had once stood on these streets to cheer the late queen’s grandfather. His people, in his care. He had promised Queen Mary.

  The procession wound slowly through the streets. The royal guards riding in front kept the carriage moving, at one point breaking ranks and guiding their horses into the crowd, as the driver brought the carriage to a halt.

  Thomas tried to see what was happening. “What is going on, Barkley?”

  “An altercation has broken out, Your Majesty. Do not be concerned. The guards are dealing with it.”

  But the crowd lining the sidewalk overwhelmed the guards and surged toward Thomas, calling his name and shouting. The guards riding behind his carriage attempted to reach his side, but the people blocked their way.

  The coachman had all he could do to manage the excited horses. The footmen mounted on the rear of the carriage were more ornamental than useful, for they could only sit and gape as one smitten young woman rushed toward the open carriage.

  She sprang onto the step and leaned inside to thrust a nosegay into Thomas’s face.

  He drew back, startled, then realized something about her was familiar. He looked more closely and recognized her hazel eyes with the golden flecks and the cluster of “dishwater blond” curls beneath a crepe-covered hat.

  “Kate!” Thomas gasped in disbelief.

  “You have friends!” Kate told him breathlessly. “The code is in the flowers! You will hear from us!”

  Thomas took the flowers, hardly knowing what he was doing. Despite what Sir Richard had promised, he had believed himself friendless and alone, and then suddenly here was Kate, clinging to the side of his carriage, giving him violets and hope.

  Their fingers touched. He tried to hold onto her, but she jumped off the carriage and landed in the street where a large, burly man grabbed hold of her and whisked her away just as the guards arrived. A wave of black crepe washed over them and swallowed them up.

  Thomas heard Smythe shouting about assassins and turned to see him jump out of Ullr’s carriage, ordering the guards to find the young woman. They rode their horses into the crowd, using the flat of their swords to beat people back, which only served to increase the pandemonium.<
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  Thomas watched all this in a daze. Kate had been with him one moment and gone the next. He wondered if she had been real and looked down at the violets she had given him. They were real enough.

  “Your Majesty!” Smythe appeared at the side of the carriage and tried to yank open the door.

  Thomas hurriedly thrust the nosegay inside his jacket.

  “Drive on!” he shouted to the coachman.

  The man plied the whip, and the carriage lurched forward. Smythe tried to cling to the side of the moving vehicle, but he was forced to let go or risk tumbling off. Thomas glanced back to see him swept away by the crowd.

  The sun broke through the clouds. Thomas could smell the scent of the violets and feel the nosegay pressed against his heart. He longed to search for the note hidden among the flowers, but he did not dare, not while he was the object of so much attention. He waved at the crowd and the people cheered him and his spirits rose.

  When the carriage arrived at the palace, Thomas had to exert all his self-restraint to receive the bows and congratulations of the staff who had lined the drive to greet him. He had to endure the fawning of courtiers whom he heartily wished were at the bottom of the Breath. Finally, after what seemed eons, he was able to make good his escape and reach his room.

  He dismissed the servants, locked the door, and took out the nosegay of violets tucked inside an ornate silver posy holder. Thomas removed the flowers, inhaled their fragrance, and searched for the note.

  He found it wrapped around the green stems. Opening the small note, he eagerly read the words.

  You and P.M. are not alone. Tom and Kate stories Gazette. Code word: dragon. Read sentence that follows for important information. H.W.

  Thomas was disappointed. He had been hoping the note was from Kate, but he knew her handwriting and this was not her large, untidy scrawl. The writing was firm, neat and precise. The initials: H.W. Henry Wallace.

  “Pip was right. He told me to be vigilant, that Wallace would find a way to get in touch,” Thomas reflected.

  He knew Smythe frequently had his room searched. Thomas memorized the note, then burned the paper and stirred the ashes, mixed them with water, and threw them in the slop jar. Going to the study attached to his bedchamber, he selected a book from the shelf—a thick tome on the history of the ancient Imhruns—and pressed the violets between the pages. This done, he replaced the book and wondered what to do with the posy holder.

  He remembered a gift his mother had given him when he attended boarding school. Constanza always suspected the servants of spying on her, and she had warned Thomas not to trust them. To that end, she had given him a wooden valet with a false bottom.

  Thomas had been seven at the time. He had been quite taken with the trick box. He had shown all his friends and they had once hidden a beetle in the false bottom to spring on the unsuspecting headmaster.

  Now that he was older, he could appreciate the fine handiwork. The box was lovely, made of small blocks of wood arranged in an intricate geometric pattern. When Thomas touched three of the blocks in a certain order, a tray would slide out of the bottom.

  He had not used it in years and he had difficulty remembering which three to touch and in what order. After several hits and misses, he found the right combination. The tray popped out. He placed the silver posy holder inside and then had to try to remember how to close it. This done, he replaced the box on his nightstand and rang the bell for the servants.

  As his valet was assisting him with his jacket, Thomas said coolly, “I failed to receive my copy of the Haever Gazette this morning. I left clear orders for the paper to be delivered daily with my breakfast tray.”

  The valet looked startled, as well he might, for Thomas had given no such orders. The valet could not very well contradict the king, however. He stammered his apologies and promised he would attend to the matter. He would deliver this morning’s paper at once.

  Thomas smiled inwardly, completed his dressing, and went downstairs to prepare to receive his guests and sit through an interminable dinner. He was immediately accosted by Smythe in company with King Ullr.

  “I have been extremely worried about your safety, Your Majesty,” said Smythe. “The guards tell me a woman tried to attack you. I attempted to enter the carriage to be at your side in case of another attack, but before I could do so, you ordered the coachman to drive off.”

  “I regret I did not see you in the confusion, sir,” said Thomas. “I also feared assassins and I ordered the coachman to leave the scene immediately.”

  “Did you get a good look at this woman, sir?” Smythe demanded. “Can you provide me with a description.”

  “She was dressed all in black,” said Thomas helpfully.

  King Ullr laughed.

  Smythe cast him a sour glance. “As you are aware, Your Majesty, every woman in Haever is dressed in black this day.”

  “Then I wish you luck finding her, sir,” said Thomas.

  “You make too much of nothing, Chancellor,” said King Ullr. “A handsome young man such as His Majesty draws young women as a flame draws moths. I have experienced similar incidents myself. A young woman once threw herself into my arms while I was reviewing my troops. A pity the guards could not detain the wench for questioning, but so be it.”

  Smythe wanted to continue to talk about the episode, but King Ullr apparently felt enough had been said and he changed the subject. “Your Majesty, may I present the new Guundaran ambassador to Freya, Baron Rupert Grimm.”

  Rupert Grimm. Thomas heard Phillip’s voice warning him. “Rupert Grimm is a Guundaran spy.”

  Thomas greeted the baron, who wore a great many medals and sported a magnificent red beard.

  Immediately after the dinner had ended and the guests had departed, Thomas pleaded fatigue and retired to his room. He feared Smythe would insist on accompanying him, but again he was grateful to King Ullr, who insisted on conversing with Smythe in private.

  Thomas found a copy of the Gazette lying folded on the nightstand. Informing the servants he had no further need of them, he picked up the paper and hurriedly searched for the story.

  He located it toward the middle, identifiable by the title, “The Adventures of Captain Kate and Prince Tom” by Miss Amelia Nettleship. The story was accompanied by a woodblock illustration of Prince Tom and Captain Kate. The two were standing back to back, apparently about to fight some dastardly foe.

  Thomas swiftly scanned the page for the word “dragon.” When he found the first instance of the word, he read the sentence that followed.

  The Marchioness had been confined to the house due to illness. The countess assured Prince Tom that his mother had recovered, though she was still under confinement to insure she did not plot mischief.

  Thomas understood and he sighed in relief. Smythe had been threatening to kill his mother if Thomas did not cooperate. The countess had found out, perhaps from Sir Henry, and acted to set them free, although she was still keeping an eye on Constanza. Thomas could imagine his mother’s fury.

  He continued reading until he found the next “dragon,” and read the sentence. It seemed to make little sense.

  The baron’s fleet was on the move.

  “What baron?” Thomas asked aloud, perplexed. “What fleet?”

  He decided that he needed to read the sentence in context and went back to read the entire story, smiling at Amelia’s florid style, which landed Prince Tom, Captain Kate, and her dragon, Dalgren, in one improbable peril after another.

  The baron, the dastardly Baron Osterhoff, was the villain of the piece. The description of the baron was quite detailed down to the dueling scar on his chin. Thomas stopped smiling. The baron was King Ullr.

  Thomas read on and again came to the word dragon. Kate knew that if she was ever in desperate straits, she could trust Jennings.

  “Jennings…” Thomas repeated to himself, mystified.

  The only Jennings he knew was a corporal who served under Smythe. Thomas couldn’t beli
eve at first it was the same man, and then he thought back. Jennings had gone to the Rose Room to find Sophia and Kate and they had both escaped.

  Thomas was dubious about trusting anyone, however, and he determined that he would have to be very desperate indeed before he trusted Corporal Jennings.

  As Thomas strung together the sentences, they began to make chilling sense.

  The “baron’s” fleet was on the move.

  King Ullr had been building up his fleet for years, taking advantage of the fact that his country had not been directly threatened by the Bottom Dwellers and had, for the most part, remained out of the war. He might be plotting to strike a blow either in Freya or at Freyan interests abroad such as Wellinsport, one of the most prosperous cities in the Aligoes.

  The serialized tale concluded with a sentence clearly intended to entice the reader into picking up next week’s edition of the paper.

  Prince Tom resolved to find a way to uncover the baron’s nefarious plot.

  Thomas laid down the newspaper. He knew a way to find out what Ullr was planning: he could use the painting of King Godfrey. But the idea of spying on the man was still repugnant to him. He decided he would try to learn what he could by being around him, watching him, listening.

  * * *

  Two nights later, Thomas was in his office, working late, reading through a report from one of his ministers regarding the Estaran situation in the Aligoes. Estara had one major port in the Aligoes, San Artejo. The Estarans were interested in acquiring more territory and had been squabbling with the Rosians over a contested group of islands about halfway between the Rosian port of Maribeau and San Artejo. The agent reported that the Estarans were sending more ships to the area, which meant the Rosians would be doing the same.

  Having recently served with the Freyan navy in that part of the world, Thomas was familiar with both Maribeau and San Artejo and read the report with interest. By the time he had finished, the clock had struck ten times. He rubbed his eyes and was thinking of his bed, when a servant arrived to announce that Smythe requested an audience.