Spymaster
Page 15
“I hope you are right, my lord,” said Captain Bastian, sounding dubious.
The Victorie was now within hailing distance, and her captain shouted something in fluent Rosian.
Captain Bastian scowled. “I don’t speak that infernal language. What the devil is he saying?”
“He wants you to shut down the airscrews and prepare for boarding,” Henry translated.
The captain flushed in anger. “Tell him I will be damned—”
A large, hulking body slowly flew over the ship. Henry looked up to see the belly of the dragon. The beast was almost as long as the ship. Sunlight glittered on the iridescent green scales and shone through the membrane of the wings. Red eyes glared down on them.
The dragon roared, revealing razor-sharp fangs, and flexed his claws.
The Rosian captain on board the Victorie was shouting.
“He says if you don’t surrender, the dragon will attack,” said Henry.
Captain Bastian told him what the Rosians could do with their dragon.
As if the beast had heard, the dragon started spitting gobs of fiery drool onto the deck, setting any number of small blazes.
“Someone put those out!” Captain Bastian roared.
The sailors ran to obey, all the while watching the dragon. Most of the sailors had served in the Freyan navy, many under Captain Bastian. They had seen action and were not easily frightened, but none had ever fought a dragon. Undoubtedly every one of them was picturing being turned into a human torch.
“I think you should do as the Rosian asks, Captain,” Henry said. “Many of your men are on the verge of jumping overboard.”
“I suppose I have no choice,” Captain Bastian muttered. “Goddamn Rosians!”
He gave orders to reduce the flow of magic to the airscrews and the balloon, slowing their speed, but not bringing them to a full stop.
The Victorie sailed over to join them, guarded by the dragon, who flew in large, lazy circles overhead. Henry noted Miss Nettleship observing the creature with intense interest, that same smile on her lips.
Henry raised his glass to look at the dragon’s rider. He could not tell much about the rider, other than that he was wearing a long leather coat and a leather helmet—standard issue for those serving on the Dragon Brigade. Helm and coat would both be covered with magical constructs to protect the rider from magic, bullets, and flame.
“My lord, forget the dragon for a moment,” said Captain Bastian. “Cast your eye on the crew of the Victorie. Doesn’t that captain appear to be a bit youthful? I know the Rosians are lax and slipshod, but one would expect a naval captain to be over the age of fifteen.”
Henry turned his glass to the ship to observe the Rosian captain. He was not perhaps fifteen, as Captain Bastian had said, but he was certainly very young. His double-breasted, gold-buttoned uniform coat was too large through the shoulders, causing the gold epaulets to sag, and his high black boots were too big. He nearly tripped over his feet when he walked.
Henry swept his glass over the rest of the crew. They were a scruffy lot, clearly unaccustomed to wearing uniforms, for they were fidgeting with the sleeves and tugging at the collars. One was actually barefoot.
Henry’s suspicions were further confirmed by the sight of Amelia hastening onto the quarterdeck, her reticule wildly swinging from her arm, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
Henry turned to the captain.
“Those men are no more in the Rosian navy than I am,” Henry told him. “They are pirates. Or rather, I believe the word you would use, Miss Nettleship, is ‘corsairs.’”
“Dragon Corsairs, Sir Henry,” Amelia stated in triumph. “And that is Captain Kate! What a surprise!”
“Isn’t it,” said Henry, smiling.
ELEVEN
Kate took off the helm she was wearing to gain a clearer view of the crew of the Pride of Haever. From her vantage point on Dalgren’s back, she surveyed the deck below. She focused particularly on the captain and a man standing beside him on the quarterdeck. The man was dressed in civilian clothes. He must be the passenger, Henry Wallace. And there was someone else, a woman.
Kate wondered who she was, for she hadn’t been listed on the manifest. Perhaps she was the captain’s wife. Kate didn’t give the woman any more thought.
Thus far, Kate’s plans were going well. The captain had shut down the airscrews and lowered the sails. He couldn’t bring his ship to a complete stop in the middle of the channel, but Pride had slowed enough that the crew of the Victorie could take the prize. Akiel was in command of the boarding party. He and the sailors Greenstreet had sent to fill out the crew stood at the rail, grapnels in hand, waiting to board.
Kate uncoiled the rope that was a standard part of every dragon rider’s equipment and attached it to the saddle, knotting it as Olaf had taught her. Dragon riders often had to climb down ropes as their dragons hovered in the air, and she and Dalgren had practiced this maneuver. Because Kate had swarmed up and down ropes since she was a child, she had been confident she could manage.
But as the rope tumbled down, wildly swinging in the breeze, Kate gulped. Climbing down a rope onto a broad expanse of open field was far different from trying to hit the deck of a moving ship floating in the vastness of the Breath.
The Pride of Haever had appeared enormous until she thought about trying to land on it. Now she looked down into what seemed a jungle of masts, sails, yardarms, rigging, and the tops of two large balloons. The main deck looked smaller than the kerchief she had tied around her head. If she missed her footing or lost her grip, she wouldn’t just suffer a few bumps and bruises from a hard fall. She would end up dead at the bottom of the world.
“Take me closer, Dalgren!” Kate called.
“I can’t fly any closer!” Dalgren returned, his voice grating. “My wings will get tangled in the rigging or shear off the balloon stays!”
He twisted his head to regard her with anxious eyes. Smoke puffed out from between his clenched teeth. He was as nervous as she was.
“You don’t have to board!” Dalgren shouted. “Let Akiel handle it!”
Olaf stood beside Marco, peering up at her. The sailors on board the Victorie were waiting for her. She could see Akiel craning his neck, watching. Her descent down the ladder was the signal for them to fling the grapnels and board the ship.
Kate clutched the saddle with both hands, her palms sweating inside the heavy leather gloves. The Pride’s captain and the man, Wallace, were also gazing up at her. They would know she was afraid. She imagined them smirking.
Drawing in a breath, Kate relinquished her grip on the saddle and released the safety straps that held her in place. She shifted in the saddle so that both legs were hanging over the dragon’s flank, and grabbed hold of the rope. She then exhaled and drew in another deep breath. Gripping the rope, she pushed with both feet off Dalgren’s flank, propelling herself clear of the dragon’s body, and leaped.
Kate dropped through the air. The rope settled against Dalgren and she caught her breath with a gasp. She steadied herself, then began to climb down hand over hand, keeping her feet clear, as the sailors had taught her when she was a girl. She was wearing a dragon rider’s long, split leather coat and the tails flapped in the wind. Her confidence grew as she descended. Seeing Dalgren watching anxiously, she gave him a reassuring smile.
Akiel shouted the command and the sailors on board the Victorie threw their grappling hooks and dragged the Pride close to the Victorie, then climbed over the rail, landing on the deck of the captured ship. Kate trusted Akiel to supervise the boarding party. She had to concentrate on reaching the deck safely before the strength in her arms gave out. As it was, she lost her grip, but fortunately managed to land on her feet on the main deck.
Kate took a moment to recover, calm her fast-beating heart, and revel in the realization that she was standing on board a ship she had captured. She looked around to see her crew carrying out her orders, rounding up the Pride’s crew and officers and
marching them belowdecks.
She could hear a lieutenant swearing in Freyan, referring to “stinking Rosian turds.” Kate was elated; her spirits soared. The crew of the Pride believed they had been attacked by Rosian privateers. Marco was on the Pride’s quarterdeck, accepting the captain’s surrender, while Akiel held the male passenger, Wallace, at gunpoint.
The Pride of Haever was her prize. Kate pulled out the battered bicorn hat she had stuffed into a pocket and jammed it on her head, turning the brim to wear it “fore and aft,” as the expression went, to hide her face. She would introduce herself as “Captain Henri Rossini” of the Rosian privateer Victorie.
Kate’s voice was naturally low, and she could make it gruff. With her height and with her body concealed beneath the leather coat, she could easily pass for a man long enough to escort Wallace down to the hold, put a gun to his head, and demand that he tell her where to find the gold.
She waved to Olaf, who had remained on board Victorie, manning the helm, performing the tricky task of keeping the two ships close, but not so close that he risked damage to either one. Olaf couldn’t take his hands off the helm to wave back, but he gave her a grin.
Kate rapidly ascended the ladder leading to the quarterdeck and noted that Akiel, by contrast, was looking grim. Kate raised an eyebrow, asking what was wrong. Akiel shook his head and jerked his thumb in the direction of the woman.
Kate sighed. She should have foreseen that the woman would be a problem for Akiel. Like many sailors, he believed the presence of a woman on board a ship was bad luck. Kate had pointed out to him that she herself was a woman, but Akiel had argued that Kate was different. She was not a woman, she was a captain. Kate could not see the logic in this, but if Akiel could, she was fine with his reasoning. Maybe now Kate could prove to him that he had no cause to believe in such a silly superstition.
Kate cast the woman a fleeting glance, long enough to note she was wearing a brown skirt and jacket and a hat, and she was carrying an umbrella and a reticule.
Kate paused. Something about that ensemble seemed familiar. Kate looked at the woman more closely and her elation seeped out of her, leaving her emotions as flat as a punctured balloon.
“Bloody hell!” Kate muttered.
The woman advanced, holding out her hand. “Captain Kate, how good to see you again. And I will be able to meet your crew and your dragon. How exciting!”
Akiel and Marco were both staring at Kate in astonishment.
“How does she know you?” Marco mouthed.
Kate didn’t have time to explain.
“Keep an eye on both the captain and the passenger!” she ordered Marco. “Don’t let them interfere! Akiel, come with me.”
Grabbing hold of Amelia’s arm, Kate marched her over to the rail. The captain took a step, thinking to stop her, perhaps believing she was going to shove Amelia overboard. Akiel made a gesture with the pistol and the captain halted.
“Don’t you dare harm her!” he shouted.
“Shut up!” Kate growled. She turned to Amelia and lowered her voice. “What are you doing on board this ship, Miss Amelia? Your name wasn’t on the manifest!”
“I came to see you, Captain,” Miss Amelia replied. “Sir Henry Wallace was so kind as to invite me and pay for my passage. Your stories have been an immense success, you see, and I want—”
“Sir Henry Wallace! Did you tell him about me?” Kate gasped.
“Oh, yes, my dear captain. Sir Henry is extremely interested in your adventures. He did me the honor of reading my stories, you see, and he—”
Kate wasn’t listening. She suddenly put the title before the name and remembered Alan talking about a friend—Sir Henry. His surname was … Kate groaned and clutched at Amelia.
“Does this Sir Henry Wallace know a man named Captain Alan Northrop?”
“The privateer?” Miss Amelia smiled. “Why, yes. The two are best friends.”
Kate stared at her in dismay, then turned to Akiel.
“This is Miss Amelia, the journalist who wrote the stories about me, Akiel. Take her to her cabin, lock her inside, and stand guard.”
Akiel was shaking his head in protest. “A woman on board a ship is bad luck, mum. I have always said so. You should not go through with this. We should leave this ill-fated vessel at once.”
Amelia was adding her protest to his. “I assure you, Captain, I am not concerned about my own safety. I would enjoy watching you in action—”
Kate silenced them both.
“Akiel, that was an order,” Kate said.
“Aye, mum,” said Akiel, sounding glum. “You should know that the captain gave Marco his parole so long as you do not harm anyone. Also that I took this pistol from the other gentleman. He was carrying it inside an interior pocket.”
Kate gave an absent nod, trying to think what to do. Akiel escorted Amelia, still protesting, belowdecks.
Once Amelia was out of sight, Kate took off her hat, which was hot and now useless, and flung it to the deck. She would have to think of some way to keep Sir Henry from telling his friend Alan, and, failing that, devise an explanation to give Alan about why she had pirated a Freyan ship. But she would worry about all that later. Right now, she had to concentrate on what was important: the gold.
Kate walked over to Henry. She took her time, closely observing him, judging how to deal with him. She tried to remember what Alan had said about his friend, but she hadn’t really been paying that much attention. She had been admiring Alan.
Henry did not appear in the least afraid. He regarded her with an air of calm detachment, a faint smile upon his thin lips. He was a tall, spare man in his late forties with a long, aquiline nose and narrow face. He wore typical traveling clothes for a gentleman: coat, waistcoat, shirt, and trousers in a light gray linen suitable to the climate. His clothes were not ostentatious, no lace cuffs or cravat. His waistcoat was plain, not embroidered.
Yet Kate knew something about men’s clothes from her father. Morgan had always dressed well. She remembered her father saying, “If you’re going to borrow money from a chap, you need to look as though you can pay it back.”
Henry was wearing clothes that were expensive, elegant, and covered in powerful magic.
Those who were crafters and gifted with the ability to use magic—about one-third of the world’s population—could see magical constructs. Since almost every object in the world, from tea cakes to palaces, was constructed using magic, constructs tended to be ubiquitous.
Kate was not surprised to see the faint traces of magical constructs covering his coat. She was surprised to see the nature of the magic. Generally, magical constructs were used to keep the fabric from wrinkling or the lace from fraying. The magic on Wallace’s coat essentially turned his clothes into a suit of armor. These constructs would deflect the blade of a knife or the tip of a sword, possibly even repel bullets.
“What have you done with Miss Nettleship?” Captain Bastian demanded angrily. “She is not to be harmed!”
“Precisely the reason I ordered my friend to keep her safe,” said Kate. “I give you my word, Captain, that I will not harm her or anyone else on board this ship, so long as everyone cooperates.”
She had brought several pistols, carrying them on her baldric and in the pocket of the leather coat. Drawing a pistol, she pointed it at Wallace, aiming for his head, not at the coat with the magical constructs.
“I am Captain Kate. Miss Amelia tells me that you know my reputation from the stories in the newspaper, Sir Henry. You should know, therefore, that it will be in your best interest to accompany me to the ship’s cargo hold.”
“I will gladly go with you, Captain Kate,” Henry replied. “Though I confess I do not understand why.”
“I will be happy to explain, my lord,” said Kate. “Start walking!”
She gestured with the pistol for him to precede her to the hatch that led down to the hold, which was on the lowest deck of the three-deck ship. As they went, Kate looked around,
taking stock of the situation. She had brought her own helmsman, not trusting the helmsman aboard the Pride. She needed to make certain the magic that kept the ship afloat continued to flow. Other members of her crew were attaching a towline, preparing to tow the Pride back to Freeport.
Dalgren continued to hover over the ship. His shoulders must be growing stiff. She signaled that all was well, and Dalgren gratefully rose on the breeze, flexing his wings and aching shoulder muscles. He began to circle the ship, looking fierce, his mere shadow menacing.
“We’ll take that lantern with us,” Kate said, gesturing for Wallace to pick it up.
The two descended into the bowels of the ship, Kate keeping her pistol aimed at the back of Wallace’s head. He was being extremely cooperative, and that was making Kate uneasy. While she didn’t want to have to pistol-whip Alan’s best friend, she thought that he should at least appear more reluctant to surrender the gold.
When they reached the orlop deck, Kate located the hatch that led to the hold and found that an unusual amount of care had been taken to keep the hold secure. Generally a padlock was thought sufficient. In this case, the hold was locked with both a padlock and magical warding spells. Such an abundance of caution could mean the hold contained a fortune. Or it could mean that the captain simply wanted to keep his crew away from the whiskey.
Observing the lock, Henry shook his head. “We have reached the end of our journey, Captain. I do not have the key.”
“What we are reaching is the end of my patience, Sir Henry,” said Kate. “I have only to look at the magical constructs on your coat to know that you are a man who does not trust his fellow men. You are responsible for a fortune in gold that is stowed in the hold. You would have the key to open this lock.”
Henry regarded her with interest. “Miss Nettleship was right when she described you as a keen observer, Captain. As regards the contents of my luggage, I fear you will be disappointed. I brought with me a change of clothes and some books. Nothing more.”