Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

  Alan ordered the helmsman to set a course that would take the ship around Upton Point and went back to his cabin. He removed the sealed orders from the safe and laid them on his desk, then kept impatient watch for the sight of the familiar landmark.

  An hour later, the promontory came into view. Alan sliced through the wax with his knife, opened the packet, and read.

  “I am ordered to sail to Wellinsport to engage the Rosians and prevent them from capturing the city. I’ll be damned,” Alan remarked. “So we are going to war with Rosia.”

  He poured himself a drink, then replaced the orders in the packet, which was lined with lead, and prepared to toss it overboard into the Breath.

  Thinking of his friend, Alan shook his head. “This will be a blow to Henry. Just as well he’s unconscious.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  After long wrestling with his conscience, Thomas finally made up his mind to spy on King Ullr. Now that he had decided, he was impatient to proceed. He had the means to do so through the portrait of King Godfrey, but what he lacked was opportunity. He needed to find a time when the king was meeting with Baron Grimm in order to discover what the two were plotting.

  The baron was not a guest at the palace, but he was a frequent visitor. He came almost daily, arriving at various hours. And though Thomas watched him closely, he never saw him enter King Ullr’s private chambers. They seemed only to exchange pleasantries or speak of inconsequential matters. Yet Grimm was Ullr’s agent. They must be meeting in Ullr’s chambers in secret. Thomas needed to know when and he decided this could be an opportunity to see if he could rely upon Corporal Jennings.

  Thomas had deliberately developed a habit of roaming about the palace. He took long walks both inside and outside, letting it be known he was trying to learn his way around. He once blundered into a servants’ closet on the third floor near the Godfrey Suite, completely by accident, or so he said, much to the delight of the maids.

  Smythe had reluctantly agreed that Thomas could ride his horse daily, even though that meant venturing outside the palace. He was always attended by members of the palace guard, either mounted on horseback or accompanying him on griffinback. The guards were there to keep him safe, but Smythe had also informed Thomas they had orders to see to it that he did not leave the palace grounds.

  As he had hoped, the servants and the palace guard became accustomed to his ramblings, his showing up in odd places at odd times. He happened to overhear one of the maids say to another in pitying tones, “Poor lad. Restless as a caged bear, he is.”

  Every day, at about noon, Jennings made his rounds of the palace, checking that all was secure and receiving the reports from the guards. Thomas decided that a “chance” meeting with the corporal in the hallway would not look suspicious. This day, as he walked the long gallery at noon, he paused to admire some of the paintings that lined the walls.

  Thomas observed Jennings coming down the hall just as the clock was chiming twelve. The corporal was still wearing a sling on his arm from the wound he had suffered in the Rose Room.

  Thomas feigned to take no notice of him, but stopped to gaze at a display of weaponry dating back to the Sunlit Empire that was mounted on the wall. Hearing footfalls, he glanced around.

  “Ah, Corporal Jennings,” Thomas called, summoning him with a gesture. “You are just the man. I have a question. I have heard that you are familiar with weaponry of this ancient period.”

  “Warfare of that period happens to be an interest of mine, Your Majesty,” Jennings replied.

  Thomas gestured to one of the weapons on the wall. “I have made a bet with one of my ministers. I say that this is a pike. His Lordship maintains that it is a spear.”

  “I fear you will lose your bet, sir,” said Jennings. “The pike is similar to a spear, but much longer. A soldier requires two hands to wield a pike, whereas he needs only one hand to throw a spear.”

  Thomas took down the pike from the wall and hefted it. “How is it carried?”

  “Place one hand here, sir,” said Jennings, moving close to Thomas to demonstrate. “And the other hand there. Thus, you see, you may now use the pike to thrust at the enemy.”

  Thomas did as he was told and said in a low voice, “I need to know the next time King Ullr meets privately with Baron Grimm.”

  Jennings’ eyes flickered, but he said only, “Do not hold your hands so close together, sir. There, that is better. That is the proper grip.”

  “Thank you, Corporal,” said Thomas. “I will let you return to your duties.”

  “Allow me, sir.”

  Jennings took the pike from him and replaced it on the wall. Thomas was cautiously pleased with the encounter. Jennings had been quick-thinking and prompt to act, agreeing to undertake the assignment without wasting time asking questions.

  Thomas waited to see the outcome.

  Later that day, he was taking a fencing lesson when he saw Jennings walk over to stand by a window and gaze out, as though admiring the view. As he was leaving, one of the leather gloves that he had tucked into his belt fell to the floor. He walked off without noticing he had lost it.

  Thomas ended the lesson, removed his mask, and handed his foil to the instructor. Mopping his face with a towel, he walked over to the window and bent down to pick up the glove.

  He discovered a note tucked inside.

  Tonight. Eleven. Office.

  Thomas handed the glove to a servant to return to Jennings and destroyed the note.

  He dined with several members of the Travian cartel that evening. He had expected Smythe to join them, but he did not appear.

  Thomas thought his absence odd, for Smythe rarely let him meet with anyone on his own. After his guests had departed, Thomas went to Smythe’s office, hoping to learn more. He was pleased to find Corporal Jennings alone, loitering about, almost as though waiting for him.

  “I have been searching for Chancellor Smythe, Corporal,” said Thomas. “No one seems to know where he has gone or why.”

  “He was called away last night, sir. He said the matter was urgent, but he wouldn’t say what. As far as I know, he has not returned,” Jennings said.

  Thomas retired to his private quarters, puzzling over what urgent matter could be keeping Smythe away and thinking that whatever it was, he was undoubtedly up to no good.

  He left orders that he was not to be disturbed. He had carefully laid his plans, but whenever he thought about the disagreeable and shameful task he was about to undertake, his heart failed him.

  He opened the book in which he’d placed Kate’s violets for reassurance. The faint, lingering fragrance brought a vivid memory of Kate bounding onto his carriage and thrusting the flowers into his hand. She seemed bathed in sunlight, her hazel and golden eyes laughing for the thrill of the adventure and probably at the astonished look on his face. He could feel the warmth of her touch as their hands met.

  “She is counting on me, expecting me to do my part. They are risking their lives to save the country they love,” Thomas murmured. “How can I face them and tell them I failed them—failed my country—because of some code of conduct from the Gentleman’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness?”

  He returned the flowers to the book and was replacing it on the shelf when a servant knocked, requesting admittance.

  “I left orders not to be disturbed,” said Thomas, irritated.

  “I have the tea Your Majesty requested,” the servant replied.

  Thomas was about to say he had not requested tea, then realized that if he had not, someone else had, and there must be a reason.

  The servant entered carrying a silver tray with a silver tea service and placed the tray on a table. He poured the tea, then departed, shutting the door behind him. Thomas picked up the tea cup and looked beneath the saucer, then lifted the teapot and found nothing. As he was unfolding the linen, a note slid out and fell to the floor.

  He opened it and read:

  Smythe returned to the palace early this morni
ng and would not say where he had been. I spoke to his carriage driver, who said he had driven Smythe to a tavern known as the Weigh Anchor where Smythe expected some well-known criminal to be arrested. Smythe planned to have the man conveyed to Offdom Tower. As it happened, however, a riot broke out at the tavern and the criminal escaped. Smythe exited the carriage and was gone for some time. When he returned, he was in a black mood and ordered the driver to return to the palace.

  The note was not signed, but Thomas had no doubt it was from Jennings. He held the note in his hand and considered telling Jennings about the Godfrey portrait and sending him to spy on King Ullr. Jennings had offered convincing proof of his loyalty.

  Thomas was mindful of the teachings of his instructors at the Estaran military academy, who had impressed upon him that if there was something of vital importance to be done, he should trust no one to do it but himself.

  He burned the note and summoned his valet.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The clock in Thomas’s bedchamber struck half past the hour of ten. He had changed out of his evening attire into more comfortable clothing and told the valet he would have no more need of his services.

  “You may retire for the night,” Thomas said.

  The man gave Thomas a knowing look and said, with an insinuating smirk, “I trust Your Majesty has a pleasant evening.”

  Thomas smiled and winked. “I have been told it is my duty to help entertain our foreign visitors.”

  The valet dutifully laughed. Thomas dismissed the man, knowing he would rush to immediately report to Smythe that Thomas was involved in some sort of illicit romantic liaison.

  He hung a bull’s-eye lantern beneath his jacket and buttoned it over the lantern, then left his chambers through what the Lord Chamberlain referred to as the “family door.”

  The first night Thomas had spent in the royal chambers, the Lord Chamberlain had escorted him around the multitude of rooms and had shown him the “family door,” a private entrance and exit that had been installed during the time of King Alfred.

  “The king liked to sneak out of the palace to go carousing with low friends,” said the Lord Chamberlain. “Since his time, all our monarchs have made use of it. King Godfrey smuggled his mistress, Lady Honoria, into his bedchamber. Queen Mary, God save her, used the door to sneak down to the kitchen to raid the pantry.”

  The Chamberlain shook his head in fond amusement. “I always told Her Majesty that she could ring for the servants to bring her anything she wanted to eat at any hour. Queen Mary would tell me in that sharp manner of hers, ‘But how the devil do I know what I want to eat until I have had a good rummage through the larder?’”

  The Lord Chamberlain went on to further state that since Thomas was a young man with a young man’s “appetites,” he would undoubtedly find the door extremely useful.

  “The door leads into the servants’ passages. You will find those rather confusing at first, sir, but you will soon learn your way around.”

  Thomas had learned his way around on his rambles and had memorized the route to the third floor and the servants’ closet where he had startled the maids by bursting in on them.

  Fortunately, the palace would be deserted at this time of night, since Smythe had closed up most of the guest rooms, complaining that the upkeep was a waste of money. The only guests staying in the palace at this time were King Ullr and his retinue. Among these were several ladies from Guundar, who had made it known to the handsome young king that they would be open to receiving late night visits.

  Accustomed to the Estaran court, Thomas was familiar with how such amorous games were played, and he flirted with them and indicated he was open to all possibilities. If Smythe heard of his flirtations, he would probably be glad his profligate king was pleasantly occupied, for then he could do as he wanted without interference.

  When Thomas reached the third floor, he concealed himself in a shadowy alcove to keep watch on the entrance to the Godfrey Suite. As the clocks throughout the palace chimed eleven times, the punctual baron arrived to keep his appointment with Ullr and was immediately admitted into the Guundaran king’s presence.

  Thomas entered the servants’ closet and shut the door behind him. The door did not lock, but he was not worried that someone would find him. The servants would not return to work until just before dawn. He lit the bull’s-eye lantern by pressing on a magical construct and flashed the light about the closet, finally locating the wall with the three coat hooks.

  Thomas stood in front of the wall and, feeling rather foolish, spoke the three words in order: “Albert, Godfrey, Mary.”

  He was not certain what to expect—if anything—and he was startled by a bright flash of blue light and the loud “snick” as of a lock clicking. A door in the wall swung slightly ajar, just wide enough for him to squeeze through it.

  The passage was dark as the Deep Breath and almost as cold. The ceiling, walls, and floor were made of stone and thick with dust. Thomas flashed the beam of light around and saw that the hall was narrow and straight, with no curves or turns. He padded soft-footed along it until he reached the end—an alcove shrouded by a velvet curtain.

  Thomas shut off the lantern and stood in the impenetrable darkness, listening. He could hear voices, as clearly as if he was standing in the room. He recognized both of them: Ullr’s deep, smooth voice and Grimm’s husky gruffness.

  They were speaking in Guundaran. Thomas’s mastery of that language had improved from being around his Guundaran guards, who found it amusing to indulge Thomas in his desire to learn their native tongue.

  Thomas stealthily drew aside the curtain and saw two holes that must, he knew, correspond with Godfrey’s eyes. He put his own eyes to the holes and gazed through the portrait. He could see King Ullr and the baron sitting at their ease before the fire, enjoying the potent liquor made from potatoes, for which Guundar was justifiably famous.

  “—working out far better than we had anticipated,” Ullr was saying.

  “Your ‘dear friend’ has no suspicions you are using him?” the baron asked with a smile.

  “None whatsoever,” said Ullr with satisfaction. “Smythe is as susceptible to flattery as a young girl attending her first ball. I tell him God wants him to save Freya from this heathen young king. I blather on about how Stanford plans to hand the country back to the corrupt priests of Rosia, and Smythe eagerly gulps down the lies.”

  “Your Majesty speaks to him as an equal,” said Grimm, slightly frowning.

  “All part of the plan. I even told him that he and I must be distantly related. ‘It is obvious, sir,’ I said to him, ‘that the royal blood of Guundar flows in your veins.’”

  Baron Grimm laughed uproariously at this notion.

  “Meanwhile, he serves my purpose,” Ullr continued. “I have promised him my full support for his war against Rosia. I warned him of a Rosian plot to seize Wellinsport and attack Sornhagen.”

  “Sornhagen?” Grimm was alarmed and Thomas knew why. Sornhagen was a Travian stronghold in the Aligoes, and the Travians were allied with Guundar, which was the only major nation in the world that did not have a port in the Aligoes. If the Travians lost Sornhagen to Rosia, Guundar would be cut out of the lucrative trade in the Aligoes. “Is this true, sir?”

  “No, of course not, Baron,” said Ullr, slightly frowning at his agent’s gullibility. “The Rosians are already squabbling with Estara, plus they know better than to offend the Travians, who could play havoc with Rosian finances by refusing to do business with them.

  “I devised this ruse as a means to remove the threat of that iron-plated ship, the Terrapin. Smythe reacted as I hoped, and he dispatched the Terrapin to Wellinsport to confront the Rosians.”

  “Is Your Majesty certain this Terrapin will not interfere with our plans to seize Wellinsport?” Grimm asked.

  “She will be vastly outnumbered. I have given orders for our ships to capture her, for I would give a great deal to possess the only operational iron-plated ship
in the world. If that is not possible, however, they are ordered to sink her.”

  Thomas was chilled. At Smythe’s behest he had signed those orders, that were now sending the Terrapin and her crew into an ambush. And what did Ullr mean about seizing Wellinsport? He hoped the king would expand on that subject, but Baron Grimm was still talking of iron-plated ships.

  “What of the other two ships with the magical steel plating, sir?”

  “They are languishing in the Royal Naval Yard for lack of funding,” said Ullr. “But I look forward to the day when they, too, will be flying the Guundaran flag.”

  “Smythe is eager for war with the Rosians,” Grimm stated. “I cannot understand why, except perhaps to prop up his puppet-king. The Rosian Dragon Brigade will tear the Freyan fleet to pieces and scatter them about the Breath.”

  “Smythe believes he can defeat the Rosians,” said Ullr, sipping his drink.

  “The man has the brains of a goose.” Grimm gave a dismissive snort.

  “On the contrary, Baron, he is right,” said Ullr.

  Grimm stared, incredulous. “You cannot be serious, sir.”

  Ullr appeared to enjoy astonishing his agent. “Smythe salvaged one of those black ships used by the Bottom Dwellers and outfitted it with a green-beam gun—one that has been modified and does not require blood magic.”

  “Modified?” Grimm frowned. “How can such a fiendish device be modified?”

  Ullr shrugged. “He went on about the Seventh Sigil. Not being a crafter myself, I cannot explain. But we will know soon enough if his modifications will work. Smythe is sending the black ship, the Naofa, to attack the Dragon Brigade headquarters in Maribeau in the Aligoes. I have alerted our agents and ordered them to observe this weapon in action and report back to me.

  “I hope it does work,” Ullr added coolly. “For I have acquired five of them.”

  Baron Grimm gaped at the king. “How is that possible, sir? They were all destroyed!”

  Ullr permitted himself a rare smile. “So I thought. But it occurred to me that if Smythe had one, he might have more. I asked him, but he was uncharacteristically tight-lipped on the subject. His aide, one Corporal Plackton, keeps a mistress with expensive tastes. The man is deeply in debt and was happy to provide me with all the information I wanted, including the location of the guns. Smythe kept them hidden away in a cave in northern Freya. I sent our troops to seize them and I am now refitting five of our ships to make use of them.”