Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

  The windows in the upper stories were dark and shuttered. Lights shone in the lower level, probably the servants’ quarters. Henry and Phillip both pounded on the front door and yelled Sir Reginald’s name.

  Light flared in a window on the third floor. A large and imposing man wearing a nightcap flung open the sash and aimed a fowling piece at them.

  “Fair warning!” he bellowed. “I am a crack shot.”

  Henry stepped back so he could be seen. “Sir Reginald! I have come to warn you about your bank! The Guundarans—”

  Sir Reginald slammed shut the window and they heard his voice booming through the house. A frightened-looking servant opened the door, and Sir Reginald came thundering down the stairs in his nightdress, still armed with the fowling piece.

  “That you, Wallace? I thought so. Even under all that grime, I recognized that hawk’s beak of yours. What’s this about my bank?”

  “The Guundarans have landed a force of three hundred elite troops on the Indigo Road. They intend to rob your bank, my lord. I believe they know about the gold. I have sent the militia to guard it. If you could open it and allow us inside…”

  Sir Reginald didn’t wait to hear more. “First the damn Guundarans lob shells at us and now they’re robbing my bank. Wait here. I’ll put on some clothes and fetch the keys.”

  He returned a few moments later, armed with the fowling piece and carrying a set of large brass keys on a ring. “Tell Lady Dawson I’m going out,” he informed the servant in the same tone he might have used to say he was dining at his club.

  “My wife and the rest of the family have taken refuge in the wine cellar,” he remarked, as they set off down the street. “Damn Guundarans and their rockets! Shaking the ground and disturbing the sediment. Wine won’t be fit to drink for a year.”

  He frowned at Phillip. “You look familiar, sir. Do I know you?”

  “Name is Pip, my lord,” said Phillip. “I used to clerk for the viscount.”

  “Rum bastard, that viscount,” said Sir Reginald. “Never trusted him.”

  He eyed Pip with suspicion, then scowled in anger as a rocket screamed overhead and crashed down not far away. “Damn Guundarans.”

  Sir Reginald was an imposing figure, tall and broad, bluff and self-assured. He had arrived in Wellinsport forty years ago at age twenty, with nothing except the determination to make his fortune. Upon discovering that the island had no bank, he had decided to start one. The Bank of Wellinsport had begun life in a single dreary office with a safe the size of a hatbox and was now one of the largest and most respected banks in the world.

  Sir Reginald set off at a brisk pace, holding the fowling piece in the crook of his arm and walking vigorously. Rockets screamed overhead or crashed down around them. Henry and Phillip cringed and ducked. Sir Reginald glared into the sky and shook his fist at the Guundarans.

  They entered the business district, which was usually deserted this time of night; the law offices, money lenders, and real estate agencies generally closed and shuttered and guarded by the constables walking their beat. This night, however, the constables were battling fires and assisting the wounded. Several of the braver owners had taken it upon themselves to risk the rockets to secure money and valuable paperwork.

  Sir Reginald turned down the street where his bank was located. Someone had shot out the street lamps, and between the night and the smoke they could see very little. Their boots crunched on broken glass. They came to a halt, their way impeded by crowds of enraged citizens erecting barricades and blocking the street with an overturned carriage and piles of refuse.

  Some of the men and women were armed with clubs and broom handles, while others were amassing bricks and stones to be used as projectiles. Henry noticed groups of young men manning the barricades all dressed the same, wearing slouch hats, open-necked shirts, and shabby suit coats. They were armed with pistols, knives, and clubs, and gave every appearance of knowing how to use them.

  “They are the unsavory side of Wellinsport,” Phillip observed. “Members of the street gangs. They have long plagued Wellinsport, operating protection rackets and engaging in petty thievery, purse snatching, and fighting.”

  “What is that rum lot doing here?” Sir Reginald grumbled. “They don’t care about this city or its people.”

  “But they do enjoy a good brawl,” said Phillip.

  Several people manning the barricades recognized Sir Reginald and gave him a cheer as they opened up the barricade for him and his companions. A soldier directed them down the dark street where they could see flashes of lantern light and hear sounds of activity coming from the bank. They arrived to find Mr. Sloan and several constables assisting soldiers to unload weapons from a large wagon.

  “We are here with Sir Reginald, Mr. Sloan,” Henry called. “Where are Captain Rader and his troops?”

  “Manning a barricade on the main road, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “He suggested that they engage the enemy to slow their progress and then fall back. I concurred. We shot out the street lights and blocked all the streets surrounding the bank. You will require light, Sir Reginald. Allow me.”

  Mr. Sloan handed his dark lantern to Sir Reginald. Henry prodded the banker, who had stopped to stare at the soldiers hauling swivel guns and canisters, rifles, cases of ammunition and powder, and other supplies out of the wagon and stacking them in the street.

  “We need to gain entry into the bank, my lord,” Henry reminded him.

  Sir Reginald grimly nodded his head and unlocked the heavy door, which was made of oak, banded and studded with iron, and covered with magical constructs.

  “This door was designed by a master locksmith, a fellow named Louie. Has a business in Maribeau.”

  “‘Locks magical and mechanical,’” Phillip quoted with a smile.

  “You know him? Figures,” Sir Reginald said, snorting. “Louis is a damned Rosian, but a good locksmith. He designed this lock especially for me. It’s both a manual and a wizard lock. The key controls the magic that controls the key. Can’t have one without the other. Genius.”

  He started to fit the key into the lock, then glared at Henry and Phillip.

  “I’ll thank you gentlemen to avert your eyes! Especially you, Pip, or whatever fool name you call yourself.”

  Phillip grinned and winked at Henry. The two of them left Sir Reginald to open his magical and mechanical lock, and went to assist Mr. Sloan, who was directing the distribution of the weapons and supplies.

  “You and Captain Rader have accomplished a great deal in a short amount of time,” said Henry.

  “We had help, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “When we arrived at the militia headquarters, we found a large number of irate Wellinsport citizens attempting to break inside. We feared at first they planned to loot the armory, but we soon discovered they wanted to take up arms to fight the Guundarans.”

  Henry examined the collection of weapons. “Swivel guns! Excellent. Where would you suggest we mount them, Mr. Sloan?”

  He craned his neck, peering up at the top of the building. “The roof, my lord.”

  Sir Reginald bellowed out that he had unlocked the door. He opened the bank and Henry and Phillip and Mr. Sloan trooped inside.

  “The vault is below ground,” said Sir Reginald. He indicated stairs that led to a subterranean level. “I had to blast a hole in the bedrock to build it. Locked and wizard-locked. Damn Guundarans won’t break into my vault!”

  “No, they’ll just blow it open with a couple of barrels of gunpowder,” Phillip offered helpfully.

  Sir Reginald regarded him in horror. Before he could splutter in outrage, Mr. Sloan shouldered past him, carrying a swivel gun. The pimple-faced young soldier trailed after him, lugging bags filled with canisters.

  “I see you have an aide-de-camp, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry.

  “I asked Captain Rader if the lad could serve in that capacity, my lord. Given that he almost shot himself with his rifle on the way here, I deemed he will be safer with me than
manning the barricades.”

  “Kindly done, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry.

  Sir Reginald pointed toward the stairs and told them how to access the roof. Some of the citizens who had been manning the barricades offered to help protect the bank. Highly gratified, Sir Reginald distributed weapons, handing rifles to those who could shoot and telling others to assist by reloading. He drove out several of the “toughs” who had tried to enter the bank, jeeringly offering to help keep the money safe.

  “Does the roof provide a view of the harbor, my lord?” Henry asked.

  “Best view in the city,” Sir Reginald boasted. “You can see the harbor and the channel.”

  “I need to see what’s become of Alan,” said Henry as he assisted Phillip in carrying rifles and ammunition up the stairs. They emerged onto the roof where Mr. Sloan was directing the placement of the swivel guns on the parapet.

  Seeing that his secretary had the defense of the bank well in hand, Henry looked in the direction of the harbor.

  “Any sign of the Terrapin?” Phillip asked, joining him. “I thought I could hear cannon fire.”

  Henry shook his head. “Too damn dark, and I left my spyglass on board the Rose. I can see flashes from cannon muzzles, but whether the cannons are theirs or ours, I have no idea.”

  He turned away in frustration to speak to Mr. Sloan.

  “What do you think of our chances of saving the gold?”

  “We can hold our position for some time, my lord, but not indefinitely,” Mr. Sloan replied. “Not against three hundred well-armed troops.”

  “Wellinsport will not give up without a fight,” Phillip predicted, taking up a rifle. “The battle will be a bloody one.”

  Henry looked out over the city. Fires were burning, and by the light of the city’s own destruction, he could see the people of Wellinsport preparing for battle, taking to rooftops, manning barricades, arming themselves with whatever came to hand.

  “I am proud of our people,” said Henry. “Proud to be a Freyan.”

  “Me, too, sir,” said the pimple-faced young soldier in a quavering voice.

  Henry clapped the lad on the shoulder and took up a rifle. He looked back out into the harbor, trying to see what was going on.

  Somewhere out in the firelit night, Alan and the Terrapin were all that stood between this city and disaster.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Alan stood on the deck of the Terrapin observing through his spyglass the two newly arrived Guundaran warships that had now taken up positions to block the Neck. The three other Guundaran ships were already in the harbor at the governor’s invitation. If Henry was right—and Alan was chagrined to admit Henry had been right—the sheep had invited the wolves into the fold.

  Those ships were too far away for him to see, but he had to assume the worst.

  Speaking of the worst, he shifted his attention to the two forts guarding the harbor.

  The gun batteries of Forts Godfrey and Alfred were always manned. Although Freya was not at war with Guundar, the arrival of three Guundaran warships should have raised alarm. The forts would have run out the guns just to remind the Guundarans to mind their manners.

  A few lights burned in the windows of both forts, but otherwise they were dark and silent. Alan could see no signs of life and that, for him, was the most telling sign of all. The Guundarans were now in control of both forts.

  “If I were the Spuds, I would have at least run out the guns to keep up the pretense,” Alan remarked to his second-in-command, who also had his glass trained on the forts.

  “No imagination, sir,” said the lieutenant dismissively.

  The two Guundaran warships loitering about the harbor were the sixty-eight-gun Hoffnagle and the sixty-eight-gun King of Guundar, the flagship.

  According to Phillip’s information, those two warships had orders to sink, capture, or burn the Terrapin. With one hundred and thirty-six guns to his twenty-four, the Guundarans must expect to accomplish their mission without breaking into a sweat.

  The hour was approaching midnight and all was well. The citizens of Wellinsport slumbered, unaware of their danger. The moon rose, full and bright, silvering the mists of the Breath. Alan had been waiting for moonrise. He snapped shut the glass.

  “If you were the commanders on board those two warships and you had no imagination, Mr. Hobbs, what would you expect the Terrapin to do?”

  “I would undoubtedly expect us to maintain our position, sir. We are not at war with Guundar.”

  “And if we were at war?” Alan pursued.

  Hobbs smiled. “As captain of a Guundaran warship, I would be aware of your exploits as a Rose Hawk and know you to be devious and dangerous, sir. I would not trust you. Meaning no offense, sir.”

  “Indeed, I take that as a compliment, Mr. Hobbs,” said Alan, grinning. “Set a course for the King of Guundar.”

  The lieutenant relayed the orders to the helmsman. The wind was favorable. The Terrapin carried all the sail she could manage and flew toward the flagship. Alan ordered the ship to be cleared for action and for a boarding party to stand by. He had the crew hurriedly paint the ship’s boats, sails, and balloon black.

  “I will take command of the boarding party, Mr. Hobbs. You will remain with the ship.”

  The lieutenant looked disappointed.

  “Do not fret, Mr. Hobbs. You will have your share of the fighting,” Alan assured him. “I will wager any amount you like that those three ships in the harbor are packed with troops preparing to invade the city.”

  The lieutenant smiled, restored to good humor.

  The Terrapin continued on course, flying straight toward the Guundaran warship.

  “It is my duty to remind you, sir, that the Guundarans have not committed any overtly hostile acts,” said Lieutenant Hobbs. “If we attack them first, they will be able to claim we are the aggressor—”

  The lookout bellowed, his cry taken up by many others on board the Terrapin.

  “The Spuds are launching rockets, sir!”

  Alan at first thought they were firing on his ship, but as he and everyone on board the Terrapin watched the fiery trails soar upward and then arc downward, he realized they were shelling the city. They could hear the sounds of explosions echoing across the Breath.

  Some of the crew began shouting in outrage. The officers immediately silenced the outburst.

  “I believe that counts as a hostile act, Mr. Hobbs,” Alan remarked.

  “Indeed it does, sir,” said Hobbs grimly. “Do we alter course?”

  “No, Mr. Hobbs,” said Alan. “Straight for the King of Guundar.” And God knows I wish that bastard, Ullr, was on board! Open the gun ports on the starboard side and run out the guns as though we intend to rake them with a broadside. Do not load the guns, however. I want the crews prepared to run the guns in again immediately on my command.”

  Hobbs issued the orders. The crews opened the gun ports and the guns rumbled out. Alan lifted his spyglass to survey the activity on the King of Guundar. He thanked the Guundarans for choosing a night with a full moon for their assault.

  “Can’t have their soldiers bumbling about in the dark as they slaughter women and children,” he muttered.

  “We will turn the moon to our advantage, sir,” said Hobbs. “I imagine that our ship shows up quite well, bathed in moonlight.”

  The lookouts on board the King of Guundar would be able to see the Terrapin’s gun ports opening, the starboard side bristling with cannons. Alan hoped to lure the captain of the King of Guundar into tacking his ship and running out his guns, preparing to counter their broadside with one of their own.

  Those on board the Terrapin who had no immediate duties were intently watching the King of Guundar.

  “She swallowed the bait, sir,” said Hobbs.

  Alan waited until he was certain the ship was committed to the action and opened her gun ports. He did not change course, but continued sailing straight toward them. The Guundaran captain would not find this unusual
. He would expect him to alter course at the last possible moment, though perhaps he would be starting to grow a trifle worried.

  The moon rose higher into the sky. The warships in the harbor continued to rain rockets down onto the city. Alan gave a brief thought to Henry and Phillip and Mr. Sloan. He hoped they had sense enough to stay far away from Wellinsport, hunker down some place safe until the shelling stopped. Knowing those three, however, Alan could guess that they would be in the thick of the battle. He could do nothing except wish them well and try to put an end to the bombardment.

  He kept an eye on the Hoffnagle, which was having a conversation with the King, signal flares from both ships bursting in the air. Alan could not read the signals, but he could guess that the two were planning to sandwich the Terrapin, catching her between them and attacking from both sides. The warships had come to Wellinsport with orders to ambush the Terrapin, and they were eager to either take her as their prize or watch her sink into the Breath.

  “You are in charge while I am gone, Mr. Hobbs,” said Alan. “You know what you need to do.”

  “I do, sir,” said the lieutenant. “Good luck to you.”

  “Good luck to us all,” said Alan. “The devil’s own luck,” he added to himself. He looked around to locate the best of the ship’s crafters. “Mr. Henderson, you are with me.”

  Lieutenant Hobbs gave the order and the gun crews leaped into action, straining to heave in the guns and slam shut the gun ports. Alan joined the men in the boarding parties in three of the ship’s boats.

  Alan now had reason to curse the bright moonlight. They had oiled the airscrews to insure they would operate as quietly as possible. Still, he feared a sharp-eyed lookout on board the Hoffnagle might spot them.

  The three boats lifted off the deck of the Terrapin, sailed into the mists, and glided toward the Hoffnagle. The Terrapin continued straight on course toward the King of Guundar.

  “And now, gentlemen,” Alan said to the crew of his boat, “you will see a wondrous sight.”