“Bandit, do be good,” Sophia pleaded.
The dog paid no attention to her, but continued to dash at Simon’s chair and bark frantically.
Simon bent down, looked the dog in the eye, and said sternly, “Stop!”
Bandit froze in mid-bark, flopped down onto the floor with a whimper, and laid his head between his paws.
“Albright, the dog is hungry,” said Simon. “Take him to the kitchen and feed him. He might enjoy some of your stewed chicken from last night. Possibly more than I did.”
Sophia attached Bandit’s leash and handed it to Albright. He departed with the dog, who willingly trotted along with him, keeping a wary eye on Simon until he was out of the room.
Simon bowed from his chair. “Welcome to my home, Your Highness. I am Simon Yates. Forgive me if I dispense with further formalities, but we must decide what to do regarding this situation.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Master Yates,” said Sophia. “I have read with interest many of your articles on the scientific principles of magic.”
Simon was pleased. “I have heard that you are an extremely talented savant. I look forward to discussing my theories with you. But now, Miss Amelia, I need details. First, how did you locate my house? Albright assures me it is difficult to see from the air.”
“Not for a dragon, sir,” Amelia said. “I asked Kate to ask her friend, Dalgren, to do some investigating for me.”
“Ah, of course.” Simon nodded. “I should have guessed. Albright mentioned seeing a dragon, but I thought he had been nipping the Aqua Vitae. How did you know where to tell Dalgren to look?”
“Like many people in Haever, I watched Welkinstead come under attack that terrible night. Most people speculated the house had fallen into the Breath, but I did not think so. I made calculations based on wind speed and the prevailing currents of the Breath and I determined the house might have come down over land in this area. You have done a very good job of hiding it, I must say.”
“Albright deserves the credit for that,” said Simon magnanimously.
“When Sophia and I entered the woods, we searched for signs of a trail and saw tracks of wagon wheels. We followed those.”
Simon nodded. “Diligent investigating, Miss Amelia.”
“Thank you, sir. Coming from you, that is high praise.”
“Tell me about your encounter with the soldiers,” Simon instructed.
“I had hired a pony cart and Sophia and I were driving along the toll road when we were stopped by a troop of Guundaran mercenaries. The commander asked where we were going and if we had seen your famous house. He had been given information that it had crashed somewhere in the area. I told him we had not seen any house that was not where it was supposed to be. He looked quite put out. He said he and his men had been tramping about the fields for days, no one had seen the house, and he was starting to think he had been sent on a wild goose chase.”
“He did not recognize Her Highness?” Simon asked.
“He was looking for a house, not a princess,” Amelia said with a smile. “Sophia kept the hood of her cloak pulled low over her face and he did not evince interest in her. He asked what we were doing in this part of the country. I said we were visiting my mother in Carlin, a town not far from here. He appeared satisfied with my answer and allowed us to depart.”
Simon nodded. “Well done, Miss Amelia. I would venture to say we do not need to worry about being discovered, at least not for a while. The longer the house is on the ground, though, the greater the risk. But this is not your only bad news.”
“We need to show you what Thomas discovered, sir,” said Amelia.
She drew her notebook from her reticule and handed it to Simon. “The king has been doing some investigating of his own. I have written down all the pertinent details of what he uncovered.”
Simon flipped rapidly through the notebook, seeming to devour whole pages with his eyes in seconds and muttering to himself. “Invading Freya. Yes, I had surmised that. Black ship, green-beam gun, Dragon Brigade. Nothing to be done there.”
“Kate is going—” Amelia began.
Simon raised his hand. “Do not interrupt. King Ullr. Five green-beam guns … Seventh Sigil … replace blood magic. Remarkable.”
He tapped the notebook on the page with the note about the green-beam guns. “These guns Ullr has acquired are the greatest threat to our people, the threat we must find a way to counter. I wonder … If I designed my own gun…”
He sat in silence, thinking. Amelia and Sophia exchanged glances and kept quiet. Albright returned from the kitchen with Bandit, who was now his new best friend. The dog gave Simon a wide berth and took refuge beneath Sophia’s chair.
“You know you are not are safe in Freya, Your Highness,” said Simon. “You should sail back to Rosia. I am acquainted with the owner of a ship who could smuggle you out of the country.”
“Everyone seems intent on getting rid of me,” said Sophia, smiling. “My friends are risking their lives to fight for Freya, and while I am not Freyan, I have close ties to this country.”
Simon nodded his head. “I thought you might say that. Judging by the heightened color in your cheeks you are in love—an emotion that is responsible for nine-tenths of the irrational decisions made by otherwise rational human beings.
“You are in a precarious position, ma’am. These soldiers may not be inclined to tromp about the woods, searching for a house. That said, these Guundarans work for Smythe. He must have reason to believe I am in the vicinity and he will not stop looking. I cannot promise you will be safe here.”
Sophia reached down to stroke Bandit’s silky ears. “As you say, sir, they are searching for you, yet you do not flee.”
She clasped her hands and regarded him earnestly. “I cannot compel you to allow me to remain as your guest, Master Yates, but I would be deeply grateful if you would. I can earn my keep.”
She glanced about the entry hall. “I noticed when I came in that some of the magical constructs on the walls have been damaged. I could assist you in repairing them—”
“You are a savant!” Simon struck himself on the forehead. “Where are my brains? Are you familiar with the workings of contramagic and the Seventh Sigil?”
“I am,” said Sophia. “My friend, Kate, taught me.”
“Excellent. Albright, arrange for rooms for Her Highness and Miss Amelia.”
Mr. Albright gave a cough and appeared highly distressed.
“What is it, Albright?” Simon demanded impatiently. “You have leave to speak.”
“Her Highness is a not a crafter-for-hire, sir,” Mr. Albright said in a rebuking undertone.
“I will enjoy helping, truly, Mr. Albright,” said Sophia. “I want to be of use!”
“You heard her, Albright. Soldiers are searching for Welkinstead. We are not safe on the ground. King Ullr has five green-beam guns. We will be needed to assist in the battle. Now, while you are dredging up clean linen and airing out the guest rooms, I will escort Her Highness to the lift tanks—”
Mr. Albright took a stand on the side of chivalry. “Her Highness and Miss Nettleship have walked on foot through the wilderness, sir. The ladies require rest and refreshment.”
Simon regarded him with a frown. “You imply, Albright, that a vigorous walk requires women to imbibe cucumber sandwiches and then lie down with cold compresses over their eyes. Errant nonsense. My studies indicate that whereas men are physically stronger, women are hardier. Observe Her Highness and Miss Amelia. Aside from a few mud stains and a generally dirty and disheveled appearance, neither of them appears to be on the verge of collapse. As for you, Albright, you have been talking a great deal too much.”
Albright did not wither beneath this barrage. “I beg your pardon, sir. I will prepare the guest rooms, provide water and clean towels, and then I will make tea.” He fixed Simon with a cold look. “We are out of cucumbers, but I will fix sandwiches with the remainder of the chicken.”
He departed
in high dudgeon. Simon regarded him with interest.
“I believe you have turned Albright’s head, Your Highness. He has not spoken that many words together in a year. And now, ladies, I should think ten minutes would be sufficient for washing up, drinking tea, and eating a sandwich or two. If Your Highness has no objection, I will call you ‘Sophia.’ Saves time. What did you do with your pony cart, Miss Amelia?”
“I left it at a farmhouse. I told the farmer I was visiting my mother and she had no place to house the horse. I paid him to give the animal room and board for a fortnight.”
“Well done,” said Simon. “I’ll be in the cellar working on the lift tanks. I expect you to join me shortly, Sophia. Albright will show you where to go. Ten minutes.”
Simon whipped his chair around and floated down the steps. Bandit dashed after him, barking all the way.
THIRTY-THREE
Hugh Fitzroy, Earl of Montford, second in line for the throne after Thomas, sent back a cold response to Smythe’s humble request for a meeting. Hugh had deigned to see him, but he made it clear he was conferring upon Smythe a vast favor that he did not deserve, given that Smythe had kept him a prisoner in his own manor ever since the death of the queen.
Smythe was pleased. A man of principle would have told him to go to hell. The fact that Hugh had readily agreed to meet meant that everything Smythe had heard about the man was true. Hugh Fitzroy was much like his father, King Godfrey. He was venal, ignorant, and cunning. Such men were generally easy to manipulate.
Hugh and his younger brother, Jeffrey, now Bishop of Freya, were Godfrey’s illegitimate sons, the products of a scandalous affair with a married woman. Godfrey had acknowledged his bastards, provided them with fortunes and titles. He would have named Hugh his heir over his legitimate daughter, Mary, if Henry Wallace had not convinced him that such a move would have resulted in the downfall of the monarchy.
Hugh’s brother, Jeffrey, was a gentle, self-effacing man who had found refuge from humiliation and scandal in the church. The Reformed Church of the Breath allowed its ministers to wed, and Jeffrey had married young. He and his wife had one daughter, Ann. He had made peace with his half sister, Queen Mary, by sending his daughter to be raised at court. Ann had become a favorite of the queen’s and was now the wife of Sir Henry Wallace.
Smythe would have had Jeffrey placed under arrest, as well as Hugh, but the church was a powerful force in Freyan politics and Smythe was not yet prepared to open a war on that front. Smythe had investigated, and deemed Jeffrey harmless. The bishop did not live in Haever, nor did he have much to do with his daughter or her family. According to reports, Jeffrey kept his eyes fixed on heaven and left worldly matters to his underlings. Smythe contented himself with placing the bishop under surveillance, having him watched day and night.
Not surprisingly, Hugh had been Godfrey’s favorite son. He had made his fortune in iron. He controlled all aspects of iron production from mining to milling. He had made no secret of the fact that he despised his half sister, Mary, and believed that by rights he should have been king. Hugh had been confounded to discover that Thomas Stanford had a better claim to the throne than he did. He had tried to drum up support among the nobility to oppose Stanford, but he could not fight the powerful men and women who belonged to the Faithful, and he had sullenly given up.
Smythe traveled to Hugh’s estate in Chadwick to meet with him. Upon his arrival, he spoke briefly to the captain of the guard of the troops deployed outside Hugh’s mansion, which was as large as a palace and furnished with all the taste and elegance of a high-class brothel.
Hugh kept Smythe waiting, of course. He sat without moving in an uncomfortable chair in the antechamber for an hour, patient as a sniper, until a servant came to fetch him.
Smythe entered the room behind the servant and wondered if he had walked into a museum by mistake. The study might have been labeled: THE HISTORY OF IRON THROUGH THE AGES. The vast room was a monument to iron, featuring all the products produced by Hugh’s ironworks, from carriage wheels, barrel hoops, pistols and rifles to a replica of a bridge and a full-size twenty-four-pound cannon.
Hugh stood at one of the windows with his back to Smythe to let him know he was affronted. When the servant announced him, Hugh glanced over his shoulder, glowered at him, and greeted him with a grunt.
Smythe meekly swallowed the insult and walked over to join him.
“Damn fine view,” Hugh remarked.
Smythe looked out on the chimneys of a smelting plant belching forth smoke. Hugh inhaled a lungful of air.
“Smell that. Know what that is, Smithee? No, of course you don’t. It’s success.”
Smythe set his jaw. He had been introduced to Hugh at the queen’s funeral. The earl knew perfectly well how to properly pronounce his name. By calling him Smithee, Hugh was being deliberately antagonistic, hoping to make Smythe angry, put him at a disadvantage.
Smythe had learned self-control from his reverend father, who had quoted the Scriptures while beating his son with a stick. He was proof against such tactics.
“You are to be congratulated upon your success, my lord,” Smythe said, bowing.
Hugh was clearly determined to be offensive. “Why the devil are you here, Smithee? Come to gloat over your prisoner? Or maybe you’re going to lock me up in Offdom Tower. Oh, sorry, I forgot.” Hugh grinned unpleasantly. “You don’t have a tower. A dragon knocked the damn thing down.”
Smythe gritted his teeth and reminded himself of his objective.
“I have come to apologize, my lord,” Smythe said humbly. “My officers must have given you the wrong impression. I did not place Your Lordship under arrest. I placed the soldiers here for your protection.”
Hugh sneered. “Protection! From what?”
“Your Lordship knows of Sir Henry Wallace. I believe he is married to the daughter of your brother.”
“Wallace?” Hugh said, his demeanor changing. He seemed uneasy. “What has he been saying about me?”
Hugh was a tall man, heavyset, with a red face and red-veined nose, who was said to like his port. He was accustomed to using his bulk and height to intimidate, and he crowded Smythe into a corner. “Wallace told you I wanted him to assassinate Elinor, didn’t he? That’s a damn lie! I asked him to do me one small favor, to see to it the woman didn’t press her claim to the throne. I meant only that he was to offer her money, that sort of thing. Instead Wallace twisted my words, made it sound like I wanted him to break her neck. I had to chuck him out.”
Hugh stared at Smythe, unblinking. Smythe had learned over the years that when someone holds your eyes with his gaze, he is trying to keep you from seeing the truth. Smythe smiled inwardly. So Hugh had wanted Wallace to assassinate his half-sister. Good to know.
“How did Wallace react, my lord?” Smythe asked.
“He was damn offensive,” said Hugh. His puffy eyes crinkled with cunning. “So you are telling me that the soldiers are here to protect me from Wallace. He wouldn’t dare harm me. The man is a coward. He spent his life hiding behind Mary’s skirts.”
“But if King Thomas had ordered him—”
Smythe abruptly stopped talking, as though he had inadvertently said too much. He tried to cover his mistake. “I have taken up too much of Your Lordship’s valuable time. The troops are here to protect you and your family, my lord. I am sorry for any misunderstanding. I admire you immensely and I want to be on terms of trust and friendship with Your Lordship.”
“Wait a damn minute,” said Hugh. “What was that you said about King Thomas ordering Wallace? Ordered him to do what?”
“I did not mean that the way it sounded, my lord—”
“You’re a damn liar, Smithee!” Hugh glowered at him. “Tell me the truth. What the devil is going on?”
Smythe cast a glance at the door. “The servants, my lord…”
Hugh walked across the room, flung open the door, and yelled, “Get out! The lot of you!”
He slammed the door shu
t. “There. Now we can talk.”
He sat down in a chair near the fire and pointed to a chair for Smythe. Once he was settled, Hugh reached for the decanter that was always close to hand. “A glass of port?”
“Thank you, no, my lord,” said Smythe. “My faith prohibits me—”
“Your misfortune, not mine.” Hugh drained the glass in a gulp. “Now talk.”
“His Majesty heard a report that Your Lordship planned to challenge his right to rule in court.”
Hugh thrust his chin out. “What if I did? Now that Mary’s dead, I should be king. The only reason I’m not is because the Rosians conspired to put this Stanford puppy on the throne.”
“I must say I admire your courage, my lord,” said Smythe. “The truth is, our young king fears that if the matter does go to court, he will lose. His Majesty was alarmed to hear of your challenge. He has spoken openly of sending you into exile or…”
Smythe hesitated.
“Or what?” Hugh growled. “You think he means to have me killed.”
“I cannot believe His Majesty capable of such a heinous act, my lord. Still, given the king’s close connections with the Rosians and secret meetings he held with Wallace, I deemed it better to be on the safe side. I sent troops to protect you and I issued a warrant for Sir Henry’s arrest. He was apprehended in a low drinking establishment. I was hoping to force the truth from him, but he was shot while attempting to escape.”
“Good.” Hugh grunted, nodding in approval. “About damn time someone shot him.”
“Unfortunately, I have reason to believe Wallace survived, my lord,” Smythe said. “The king still considers you a threat.…”
Smythe did not finish his thought, leaving the rest to Hugh’s imagination.
Hugh may not have been overly imaginative, but he was clearly worried. His face was flabby and he paled beneath the flush of the strong drink. He poured himself another glass of port and again gulped it down.
Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs) Page 32