Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

“Especially at night when they can’t see much,” Kate added. “The lookouts will be half-asleep. We will wait until the boat is at the opposite end of the palace grounds, then Dalgren will fly us over the wall as Sir Henry had planned. If for some reason the patrol boat does see us, they’ll only see a dragon.”

  “Freyans are terrified of dragons. What if they fire at him?” Amelia asked.

  “A little ball like an eighteen pounder won’t hurt him,” said Kate.

  Sophia raised an eyebrow, as if she wondered what Dalgren would say to that. She knew better than to argue, though. She had drawn a map of the palace interior as best she could remember, and she and Kate tried to re-create the route they had taken through the secret passages. They soon gave up.

  “Maybe Bandit remembers,” said Kate, throwing down her pencil in frustration.

  The spaniel wagged his tail, indicating he would be helpful if he could. Sophia rewarded him with a tea cake.

  “What did you find out about Offdom Tower, Miss Amelia?” Kate asked.

  Amelia had spent the day at the library, doing research. She referred to her notes.

  “No prisoner has ever successfully escaped from the tower, which is reputed to be the most secure fortress in the world.”

  Kate and Sophia regarded her in dismay. Amelia shook her head and continued.

  “The tower is four stories tall with cellblocks on three levels. A staircase tower attached to the main building provides access to these levels. The warden and his staff live in rooms on the ground floor. The cellblocks on levels two and three are no longer in use, since the construction of the prison at Hampstead. The upper level contains only four cells, which historically have housed prisoners of noble blood, such as King Frederick. He was the most famous prisoner at Offdom Tower, though there have been others. I will not bore you with their names.”

  She flipped a page. “The staircase tower provides the only access to the cellblocks. Each cellblock is secured by a door leading off the staircase. Soldiers guard the entrance to the tower, as well as the doors to each cellblock. The staircase has no windows and is protected by warding magicks, although these were allowed to lapse when the cellblocks were closed down. If a prisoner does manage to escape his cell, he can make his way to freedom only by means of the staircase, and it can be sealed off from the rest of the prison, so that the prisoner is trapped inside.”

  “Bloody hell!” Kate said.

  “I fear I must relate worse,” said Amelia. “The magical warding constructs on the cell door are notorious for being extremely complex, requiring a magical key to open them. If a crafter attempts to dismantle them without the key and makes even a single miscalculation, the magic resets and locks the door for twenty-four hours, during which time no one can enter, not even with the key.

  “I endeavored to find more information on the constructs. I searched for a diagram or even the name of the original crafter, thinking that I could study his or her workmanship. I found nothing.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Sophia.

  “Sophia, you are a savant,” said Kate. “You’re the best crafter I’ve ever seen.”

  Sophia shook her head. “I am familiar with warding constructs like these on the door to the Jewel Tower in the palace at Everux. Picture this table covered with a myriad of magical sigils that make up myriad constructs. In order to work, each construct is dependent on the constructs before it as well as those that come after it. Not only that, they are designed to work in a certain order. Hidden within the constructs is a magical ‘keyhole’—a single construct that causes a cascade of magic when it is activated with the key. Only then will the door open.

  “As a savant, I could see the magical constructs. Given enough time, I might be able to solve the puzzle. But that could take days. And if I were to guess and make a mistake—”

  “The door would lock for twenty-four hours,” said Kate. “There must be a way! We are so close! We can’t let Pip die!”

  “I will continue my research tomorrow,” Amelia offered. “We should not yet relinquish hope.”

  But she didn’t sound hopeful. Sophia picked up Bandit and buried her face in his fur.

  “Don’t give up, Sophia,” said Kate. “If I have to, I’ll force the guards at gunpoint to open the damn door!”

  Sophia raised her head. “Not even that will work. All the guard has to do is touch the wrong construct and the door will lock.”

  “And once that happens not even the guard could open it,” said Amelia. “No matter how many guns you have aimed at his head. There’s a reason no one has ever escaped.”

  * * *

  The next day, Amelia left for the library to continue her research. Sophia tried to recall as much as she could about the warding constructs on the door to the Jewel Tower. Kate left to go talk to Dalgren.

  The dragon had moved to a different cave after the incident with Trubgek and he had laid magical traps around the cave to alert him if anyone was trying to sneak up on him.

  He had told Kate how to find the cave and she had to remember where he had placed the traps in order to avoid them. That wasn’t easy, for dragons have the ability to manipulate their surroundings with their magic. Dalgren had left marks on the stones to warn her when she was nearing a trap and she had to keep careful watch as she climbed among the rocks. What appeared to her to be solid ground could be an illusion concealing a deep pit, while touching the wrong boulder to steady herself could trigger a rock slide.

  She navigated her way safely through the traps and found Dalgren resting on sun-warmed rocks, napping after his midday meal. She tickled his snout with a weed until he snorted and woke up.

  Several days ago she had explained their predicament to him, how they could not find Sir Henry and were thus forced to scrap their original plan. She had told him she and Sophia were devising a new plan, which caused him to gloomily shake his head. He had too much experience with Kate’s plans.

  The first thing he said when he saw her glum face was, “I knew something would go wrong.”

  Kate explained the intricacies of the warding magic as Sophia had described them. As Dalgren listened, Kate saw his nostrils twitch and his eyes crinkle in a grin that caused smoke to puff out from between his fangs.

  Kate stopped her explanation to glare at him. “This is not funny, Dalgren! They’re going to kill Phillip unless we can free him!”

  “It is funny,” said Dalgren smugly. “All your talk about sneaking into towers and secret passages and silencing guards and magical keys. You don’t need any of that.”

  He lifted his head, preening himself, and said loftily, “You have me.”

  Kate didn’t know what he meant at first and then she understood.

  “I do have you!” she said, affectionately rubbing his snout. “And what would I ever do without you.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  When Thomas read the single word “Yes” in the Agony column of the Haever Gazette, he was elated. He eagerly looked forward to hearing about the plans, but he had to contain his impatience to read the next installment of the escapades of Captain Kate. During that time, he kept close watch on King Ullr and, more importantly, Baron Grimm.

  Ullr continued his friendship with Smythe. Thomas had been trying to make up his mind whether or not to tell Smythe that Ullr was using him as a cat’s-paw. Thomas doubted if Smythe would believe him, but he felt he must at least try to warn him.

  He brought up the subject when Smythe entered his office to bring him the usual round of reports and documents that required his signature. Smythe indicated which ones Thomas needed to sign and waited with ill-concealed impatience as he read through them.

  They were almost finished when a servant arrived bearing a calling card on a salver. “Admiral Randolph Baker requests an audience, Your Majesty.”

  Smythe picked up the calling card, glanced at it. “Did this admiral say what he wanted with His Majesty?”

  “No, sir,” the servant responded.

  Smythe tossed t
he card back onto the salver. “His Majesty cannot meet privately with every admiral in the navy. We would be besieged. Send him away.”

  Thomas could have countermanded Smythe’s order and requested that the admiral be shown into his office. He had never heard of the man, however, and he needed to talk to Smythe about Ullr.

  Thomas gestured and the servant departed.

  “You met with King Ullr this morning,” Thomas said, signing the last document. “What did the two of you discuss?”

  “Nothing that need concern Your Majesty,” said Smythe.

  He gathered up the pile of documents and prepared to leave.

  “I do not trust that man,” Thomas said, detaining him. “King Ullr seeks to extend his power, as we see when he maintained he was Braffa’s friend and declared Braffa a ‘protectorate.’ Now he comes here claiming to be our friend. Mark my words, he is intent only upon furthering Guundaran interests to the detriment of our own.”

  Smythe listened with an unpleasant smile, then said coldly, “May I remind Your Majesty that King Ullr warned us of a Rosian plot to invade Wellinsport, which we have countered by dispatching the Terrapin.”

  Thomas had to bite his lip to keep from telling Smythe that the “Rosian plot” was nothing more than a ruse to lure the Terrapin into an ambush. Smythe would scoff at him and he had no proof. He dared not reveal how he had found out.

  “King Ullr is a king,” Smythe was saying, his lip curling in a sneer. “You could take lessons from him. As for our meetings, I am negotiating your marriage with a wealthy Guundaran princess.”

  Smythe leaned over the desk. “If you wonder why I do not include you in my meetings with King Ullr, let me make it plain. You are the one I do not trust, Thomas Stanford. You do the bidding of the Rosians. You served in their navy. You engaged yourself to their witch of a princess. You are the lover of the Countess de Marjolaine—”

  “That is a lie!” Thomas cried angrily, slamming his hands on the desk.

  Smythe regarded him with disdain. “The Rosians are heretics. Their profligate nobles wallow in sin and gluttony and leave the poor to starve. Their priests are abominations. They are in league with the dragons, the spawn of the Evil One, who intend to destroy us.”

  Smythe drew himself up. “With the help of King Ullr, I will destroy the dragons and crush Rosia into the dust. After my victory, I will have no more use for you. I will denounce you for the traitor you are and I will give glory to God when you mount the executioner’s block and the axe falls and your severed head rolls about in the muck. I will rule Freya, then. As God has long intended.”

  Thomas stared at him in shock so great he was robbed of speech. He had never imagined this man could be consumed by such hatred for him.

  “Have I your leave to go, sire?” Smythe asked with contempt.

  He made a sardonic bow, turned on his heel, and left the room before Thomas answered.

  Two days later, Thomas retired to his chambers, leaving orders he was not to be disturbed, and eagerly read the latest Captain Kate story in the Haever Gazette. He read the story carefully and found his instructions couched amid the captain’s heroic escapades following the word “dragon.”

  Kate and Prince Tom were to meet in the garden beside the sundial on the first night of the month at the stroke of one. After that came the words: Kate and her dragon carried Prince Tom and his friend to freedom.

  Thomas wished that happy ending could come true. He thought longingly of escaping the palace, escaping Smythe. He sighed and read on.

  They wore evening attire. And the last, They came armed.

  No hours in the history of mankind had ever passed so slowly as did the hours of those next two days. Thomas went through the motions of his daily routine as though he was one of those mechanical figures that popped out of the famous Travian clock every hour on the hour to strike a gong.

  Sleep was difficult, for his restless mind was intent on keeping him awake. He would need his strength and his wits, however, and he fatigued himself as much as possible during the day, so that sleep would finally overtake him at night.

  The day dawned at last, as days will do, no matter how distant they seem. Thomas was awake to watch the sun rise. He was filled with nervous energy and anticipation and he hoped to be able to avoid Smythe, for fear he could not conceal his emotions.

  Unfortunately, Smythe and King Ullr chose this morning to apprise Thomas of the fact that he was now engaged to be married to Princess Wilhelmina Rostoff of Guundar.

  “Your Majesty is fortunate,” said Ullr. He handed Thomas a miniature portrait of the woman in question. “The princess is considered to be the most beautiful woman in Guundar, as well as one of the richest.”

  Thomas glanced at the portrait. “I have met the princess. The painting does not do Her Highness justice.”

  “Indeed?” King Ullr seemed surprised. “I was not aware.”

  “We met in the Estaran court,” Thomas said, adding dryly, “I was four years old at the time. Her Highness was twenty.”

  Ullr shrugged. “Her Highness is some years older than Your Majesty, that is true. But she is a woman of vast experience in the realm of international politics and foreign affairs. She will be a true helpmate, able to advise and provide wise counsel.”

  “Indeed, sir, I have heard of the princess’s vast experience and of her affairs,” said Thomas. “The latter are notorious.”

  “Spiteful rumors, I assure you, sir. I make allowances for your youth and inexperience,” said Ullr. “I suppose you would prefer marrying a female pirate.”

  Thomas managed to keep the smile on his lips, but only because his facial muscles were paralyzed. He remembered Phillip warning him that Ullr would have spies watching him, but he could not believe they could uncover the secrets of his heart.

  He recovered himself enough to try to turn the conversation back to the engagement. Smythe had been quick to notice Thomas’s change of countenance and he frowned and turned to Ullr.

  “I fail to take your meaning, sir,” he said. “What is this about a female pirate?”

  “I was merely making a jest,” said Ullr. “I refer to the romance stories of the clever Miss Nettleship in your newspaper, the Gazette. Don’t you enjoy those, Chancellor?”

  “I do not, sir,” said Smythe harshly. “The Reverend Blackthorn teaches that fiction is a sin in the eyes of God, for it is filled with lies and serves no virtuous purpose.”

  Ullr seemed amused. Thomas said something about looking forward to meeting the princess and rose to his feet, indicating the audience was at an end.

  After they were gone, Thomas sank back in his chair.

  Night could not come fast enough.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The morning of the mission, Kate and Sophia dressed as servants, putting on the black twill dresses and white aprons they had “borrowed” during their escape from the palace. Amelia insisted that they be accurate down to the last detail, so they put on black stockings.

  Amelia was a proponent of serviceable shoes and managed to obtain lace-up black boots with low heels that were a relatively good fit. Kate and Sophia arranged their hair beneath frilly caps and wrapped up for warmth in plain ankle-length black cloaks Amelia had purchased from a pawn shop.

  Kate had sewn secret pockets inside the bodices of the black dresses, for she planned to carry Amelia’s watch to keep track of time, as well as the journalist’s most prized possession, her pocket pistol with the two barrels.

  “Please remember: do not stand anywhere close to me with a pistol when I am casting the spell,” Sophia warned. “I’m going to be using contramagic.”

  “Trust me, I’ll keep my distance,” said Kate.

  “Why such precautions?” Amelia asked, ever curious.

  “As you know, Miss Amelia, pistols like yours are manufactured with magical constructs that light the gunpowder,” Kate explained. “Contramagic plays merry hell with the magic and can set off the gunpowder, essentially turning your pistol i
nto a small bomb in my hand.”

  “Interesting,” said Amelia as she jotted down details in her brown notebook. “Now that the church has removed the ban on contramagic, I should write a series of articles on the subject.”

  “Most people still believe contramagic is evil,” Sophia pointed out.

  “Then it’s time they learned differently,” said Amelia with a sniff.

  Sophia did not carry a pistol, preferring to trust to her magic. She tucked several small net bags resembling scented sachets into her pockets. The bags did not smell of lavender and rose hips. Kate sniffed at them and sneezed.

  “What is in these?”

  “Flour and pepper,” said Sophia. “I learned this spell from Rodrigo. He used a variation of it to save Phillip when assassins broke into the house while we were at the dinner table. Rigo had to act quickly, and the only ingredient he had available was salt, which happened to be handy. I have since made refinements. All I have to do is add magic, contramagic, and the Seventh Sigil to the mix and these should work extremely well.”

  Kate sneezed again and agreed.

  “Now all we have left to do is pack your picnic basket,” said Amelia.

  The pawn shop again provided a large straw basket with a lid. They packed two dark lanterns; a jug of the potent Trundler liquor, Calvados; two balls of tightly wound wool coated with paraffin; a coil of rope; a black silk mask such as those worn by revelers; and two griffin-rider helms. Amelia frowned over the liquor.

  “Kings do not drink Calvados,” she said.

  “This king does,” Kate said, smiling at fond memories of her time together with Thomas in the Aligoes. “And we need a liquor with a strong odor.”

  The afternoon sun was bright, the day clear and cold. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed twice as the cab Amelia had ordered arrived.

  Sophia bid good-bye to Bandit, kissed him on his head, and promised him tea cakes if he was good while she was gone. She attached a lead to his collar and left him in the care of Amelia.

  “If something were to happen to me, you will take care of him, won’t you, Miss Amelia?” Sophia asked.