Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  The brothers had nothing in common except their looks, both having long, thin faces and long, thin, aristocratic noses. Richard was slightly taller than Henry and had thinning hair. Henry still had all his hair and hoped to keep it.

  The dinner was unremarkable, as Henry had foreseen, but the claret was a pleasant surprise, turning out to be excellent. The brothers exchanged family news during the meal, with Richard asking after Lady Ann’s health and expressing his hope that all went well with the birth, while Henry asked after Sarah, Richard’s wife, and the three daughters and their husbands.

  After dinner, they discussed the family financial affairs. Their mother’s family had always held interests in the wool trade and real estate. She had left her considerable shares to her two sons. Richard had taken over the management of the various businesses. Apparently the businesses needed someone dull and staid to run them, for he had made them extremely profitable, even expanding into wool manufacturing and becoming a partner in an estate agency. Henry was grateful, for he received a percentage of the income, and he did his best to appear interested.

  Henry proposed that they have their port in a room where they could talk in private. Richard suggested the game room, since few members ever went there.

  “Backgammon too strenuous?” Henry said teasingly.

  Richard gave him a puzzled look. “I fear I don’t know what you mean, Henry.”

  “It was a jest. Moving the pieces about,” said Henry. “Strenuous…”

  “Ah, I see,” said Richard. “Most amusing.”

  Henry poured the port.

  “What did you want to discuss?” Richard asked.

  “Her Majesty has invited several Travian dragons to take up residence in Freya,” said Henry. “She will be leasing royal lands to them, so the matter need not come before the House of Nobles for a vote. There’s bound to be some discussion, however, and I was hoping you would be able to smooth any ruffled feathers.”

  Richard had been raising his glass to his lips. He paused, lowered the port without drinking, and stared at Henry with astonishment and consternation.

  “Dragons! Living in Freya!”

  “Way up north,” said Henry, with a wave of his hand. “Way, way up north in the Bennenfall Mountains inside the Tristfell Woods. No one will ever know they are there.”

  Richard was exceedingly grave. “You say these dragons are from Travia. Her Majesty cannot sign a treaty with a foreign nation without sanction from the House.”

  “Her Majesty isn’t signing a treaty,” said Henry. “Her Majesty is leasing land owned by the Crown.”

  “The members will not view it in that light, Henry,” said Richard. “We Freyans do not like dragons and with good reason, considering the numbers of our people these beasts have killed over the centuries. Remember the ancient Imhruns…”

  “The hell with ancient Imhruns!” Henry exclaimed, losing patience. “I am not worried about the ancient Imhruns. I am worried about the deplorable state of the treasury!”

  He lowered his voice. “We must do something, Richard, or the country will go bankrupt! The dragons are willing to pay an enormous sum for the privilege of residing here, and we need the money!”

  “And so we are to sell our souls,” said Richard.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be so dramatic!” Henry stated. “The way you are acting, you would think Her Majesty had invited the Evil One to take up residence in the palace! Dragons are not coming to Freya to feast on us. They are coming to fill the royal coffers with gold!”

  Richard sat motionless in his chair, gazing, frowning, into his untouched port.

  “Well? Will you help?” Henry asked, giving his brother a nudge.

  Richard blinked, rousing himself.

  “I will consider the matter,” he said. Placing the glass on the table, he rose to his feet and extended his hand. “Sorry that I cannot stay longer. I have a meeting with a client. I will be in touch, Henry. Wilson will show you out.”

  Henry gazed at his brother’s back as he left the room.

  Meeting with a client! The Old Chap never meets with clients. Something I said struck home, Henry reflected. I believe it was the mention of the royal coffers. Richard may be old and dull and boring, but he is a shrewd businessman. He will see reason.

  * * *

  Richard Wallace left the club, but he did not go to meet a client. He returned to his home, where he locked himself in his study, telling his wife and the servants he was not to be disturbed. He remained in his study long after everyone had gone to bed. The only other person still awake was his confidential valet, Henshaw, who waited below in case he was needed.

  At about one of the clock, Richard rang the bell and Henshaw appeared.

  Henshaw had been with Richard for nigh on twenty years, having taken over the position of valet from his father upon the elder Henshaw’s death. He fit into Richard’s family well, being short and gray, though certainly not dull.

  Richard wrote a few words on a sheet of paper, then handed it to the valet.

  “Commit the message to memory. As usual, if anything should happen, you must destroy this paper and deliver your message in person.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Henshaw.

  He read the message, which was startling enough to cause him to raise his eyebrows.

  “I see you understand,” said Richard. “Thus you know how vital it is that this be delivered with all haste.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Henshaw replied. “You may count upon me.”

  “I have done so for twenty years, Henshaw,” said Richard. “You should be aware that since our plans are now in motion, the danger increases.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  Richard dropped hot wax on the envelope, then sealed it with an old ring made of silver he kept concealed in a box in a desk drawer. The seal was that of a forget-me-not and held special significance. Richard inserted the letter into a leather pouch along with several other letters relating to the family business and handed the pouch to his valet.

  “The usual travel arrangements, Henshaw,” Richard told him. “Here is money for the journey. Place the letter directly into the hands of the marchioness. Repeat the words of the message to me.”

  “‘The ancient evil has come to Freya. The prophecy is fulfilled. Make ready,’” Henshaw quoted.

  “Excellent,” said Richard. “And now, I am going to tell you the nature of the ancient evil, which I dare not commit to paper. Our queen, the descendant of traitors, has committed the treacherous act of inviting Travian dragons to live in Freya.”

  “Dragons!” Henshaw repeated, shocked. “Why would Her Majesty do such a mad thing?”

  “Gold,” said Richard, glowering. “She trades Freyan blood for gold. You may assure the marchioness that my information is reliable. My unscrupulous brother told me the news this very night. Given the way he preened himself, I have no doubt this was his idea. And now you must be off. Godspeed, Henshaw.”

  The valet bowed, tucked the leather pouch under his arm, and left.

  Alone in his study, Richard sat down at his desk and began to write. He would be here all night, sending coded letters addressed to various people in all parts of Freya and around the world. Each letter began with the words “To the Faithful,” and, when he was finished, he sealed each with the graven image of the forget-me-not.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Kate sailed away from the Aligoes without a backward look. Her only regret lay in leaving behind the old Barwich Rose. She and the crew hauled it onto land in Kate’s Cove, hiding it among the trees, and covered it with tarps. She felt as though she were leaving a part of herself behind, for the Rose had been her home. She had laughed and played on the Rose, learned to sail the Rose. Her father’s body had been laid out on the deck of the Rose.

  Kate and Olaf held a private ceremony bidding their ship farewell. They also had to bid Akiel farewell, for he was staying in Freeport to run the Perky Parrot in Olaf’s absence. Kate had tri
ed to persuade Akiel to come with her, but he had refused.

  “The climate does not suit me, mum,” said Akiel. “And I am still wanted in Freya for murder. Besides, the customers would miss my cooking. And do not worry about the Rose. I will take good care of her.”

  Most of Freeport turned out to bid farewell to Kate, including Trubgek. Amelia was the one who first noticed him. She interrupted Kate, who was laughing with friends, and drew her aside.

  “Look there, Captain,” said Amelia in a low voice, pointing.

  Kate saw Trubgek standing at the back of the crowd, his empty eyes fixed intently on her. She shivered in spite of herself, and abruptly cut short the celebration, ordering all the visitors off the ship and Marco to set sail.

  The Victorie left Freeport Bay and sailed into the Trame Channel. A day’s sailing with a fair wind carried them into the open Breath.

  The ship was escorted by Dalgren, triumphantly flying overhead. Since the dragon would have to rest during the five-day voyage to Freya, Olaf had added a “perch” to the ship’s stern, relating how he had seen the dragons of the Dragon Brigade land on Rosian ships.

  Olaf reinforced two spars with magical constructs, then mounted them on the ship’s stern, one on the port side and one on the starboard. The spars extended twenty feet out from the stern of the ship. He covered those with planking, forming a platform on which Dalgren could land, so long as he landed gently. From there, he could walk—carefully—onto the deck.

  Kate enjoyed the journey to Freya, secure in the knowledge that she held letters of marque. Her one disappointment was that she didn’t encounter any fat merchant ships to take as prizes. When they sighted the coastline of Freya, the crew lined up at the rail to cheer and Kate poured Calvados for everyone.

  She carried a mug to Amelia, who was talking to Dalgren. The dragon was relaxing on the deck, his wings flat against his sides, his feet curled under his chest, his tail wrapped around his body so that the tip was even with his snout. He had been discussing something with Amelia, something serious, by their attitudes. Amelia smiled to see Kate and offered her congratulations, though she refused the Calvados. Dalgren looked subdued.

  Kate placed her hand on his neck. The dragon had been lying in the sun and his glittering scales were warm to the touch.

  “We’ve done it, my friend!” she said with a little tremor in her voice. “We are home. The first of our dreams has come to pass!”

  Dalgren shifted his right leg out from beneath his chest so she could sit on his front foot. Amelia had walked over to the rail to admire the view.

  Kate knew Dalgren was pleased for her. His eyes warmed and she could see the glint of his fangs in what for him was a smile. But something was troubling him. She could tell that, as well, by the wrinkle in the scales of his forehead and the twitching of his tail.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  Dalgren drew in a breath. “I’m not going to Freya—”

  “Not going!” Kate repeated, shocked. She jumped off his leg to face him. “You have to go, Dalgren! You are part of us! You and me. Dragon Corsairs. I can’t do this without you!”

  “Calm down and let me finish,” Dalgren growled. “I didn’t say I was never going. The Victorie has to go in for refitting and the work won’t be finished for at least a month. During that time, you need to find someplace safe for me to live.”

  Kate heard the emphasis on the word “safe.” She glanced over at Amelia, who was gazing at the city of Haever, just emerging from the mists of the Breath.

  “This has something to do with what Miss Amelia said about Freyans not liking dragons, doesn’t it?”

  “Freyans hate dragons,” said Dalgren, his scowl deepening. “I’ve enjoyed this journey. I have missed being able to fly in the sunshine. I don’t like having to go back to skulking about in the night. I’ll have to go into hiding when I’m in Freya, just like I did in the Aligoes.”

  “Not for long,” said Kate, trying to persuade him. “The area around Barwich Manor is mountainous and filled with caves and for the most part, no one lives there.”

  “For the most part,” repeated Dalgren in gloomy tones.

  “Besides, if people did see you, what could they do to you?”

  “Shoot me,” said Dalgren bluntly.

  “Birdshot,” Kate scoffed.

  “And how would you like to be peppered with birdshot?” Dalgren demanded. “First it’s a farmer shooting at me and then it’s the hunt club, only they would be hunting me, not a fox. Then they would call out the militia.”

  Kate stood regarding him in sorrowful silence. “Where will you go? Back to Rosia?”

  “You know perfectly well I have no intention of ever returning to Rosia,” Dalgren said grimly. “I am planning to fly to Travia. I have an uncle who lives there.”

  “How did you come by a Travian uncle?” Kate wondered. “I didn’t think Rosian dragons would lower themselves to mate with Travians.”

  “My uncle was a bit of a rogue. He was the family disgrace before I came along,” said Dalgren, his upper lip curling back in a grin. “He not only mated with a Travian dragon, he had the effrontery to become extremely wealthy. My family despises him. Also, while I’m in Travia, I’m going to do some work for Miss Amelia.”

  “What work?” Kate asked uneasily.

  “I am investigating the dragon Coreg,” Amelia answered, returning to join the conversation, thereby proving that she had been eavesdropping. “We discussed this.”

  “You discussed it. I think we should just forget Coreg,” Kate said, annoyed. “He belongs to the life that’s behind me.”

  “I have a story of international scope, Captain,” said Amelia. “I do not intend to let it drop.”

  “Then don’t involve me,” said Kate.

  “I do not plan to, Captain,” said Amelia. “I have confirmed from various sources that Greenstreet once lived in Travia and it is logical to assume that he and Coreg met there. At least that is a place to start. Dalgren is going to find out what he can about him.”

  “That should be easy,” Dalgren added. “The dragon population in Travia is relatively small. If he lived there, my uncle and his friends might remember him.”

  Kate said nothing more while Amelia was around, but once the reporter left, returning to her cabin to finish her packing, Kate expressed reservations.

  “I don’t think it’s safe to go asking about Coreg, Dalgren. You and Miss Amelia should leave him alone.”

  “Coreg threatened me, as well as you,” Dalgren said. “Maybe I can find out something that will help Miss Amelia put the dragon out of business. Don’t worry. I’ll make a few inquiries. That’s all.”

  Kate shook her head. “I still don’t like it, but I don’t suppose I can talk either of you out of this. When are you leaving?”

  “Tonight, after dark.”

  “I will miss you,” Kate said, rubbing his snout. “Don’t be gone long. Send me a letter now and again. I’ll be staying with Miss Amelia.”

  “She has told me where to send the mail,” said Dalgren. “My uncle keeps a scribe. Several scribes, actually.”

  “I’ll let you know when I find a nice, comfy cave,” Kate promised.

  “Where I’ll have to hide,” Dalgren said bitterly.

  “Not when I become lady of the manor,” said Kate. “You will be under my protection. Lord Dalgren of Barwich. You will be invited to take tea in all the finest homes.”

  “I may never come back,” said Dalgren with the glint of a fang.

  * * *

  Kate counted sailing the Victorie into the Freyan port city of Haever as the proudest moment of her life. She wished her father could have seen her. She had not been back to Haever since she was a girl and she was interested to see what had changed and what had not. She remembered being fascinated by the famous flying house of an eccentric duchess as a child, and she laughed to see it almost directly overhead, drifting above the harbor.

  She and the crew spent a f
ew days in Haever. She had to report to Sir Henry and finalize the details of their agreement, including their deal regarding Barwich Manor.

  She now was the owner, or at last half owner, of the estate. Sir Henry presented her with a chirograph—a legal contract done in triplicate and then cut in half, with each half having serrated edges. Both parties to the contract received a copy, secure in the knowledge that the contract could be verified by fitting the two halves together.

  “The Crown owns the other half of the manor,” Henry explained. “I propose that you serve as a privateer for Freya for a term of three years and, at the end of that time, if your service has proven satisfactory, Barwich Manor will be yours—free and clear.”

  Kate deposited the chirograph in a metal box along with the piece of paper that said, “Fight for your dreams.” She put warding magical constructs on the box and then secreted it in the trunk along with the green silk dress. She sat for long moments with her hand on the box, reveling in her happiness—a feeling that had not come often in her life.

  The next day, she sailed the Victorie to a shipyard Henry recommended, for refitting. The yard was going to upgrade the control constructs and replace the outdated lift tanks that had relied on the Breath of God, converting them to use the more efficient liquid. Parts of the hull also needed replacing, as did a good amount of basic cordage.

  Since Olaf was convinced that the work on Victorie could not be completed to his satisfaction unless he was there to supervise, he took a room in a boardinghouse near the shipyard, where he could spend the day telling the workmen how to do their jobs.

  Kate was able to pay him and Marco and the rest of the crew what she owed them and give them a month’s shore leave.

  She longed to visit Barwich Manor, but she kept putting off her return to her childhood home. She moved in with Amelia, who owned her own house, a modest dwelling chosen because it was within walking distance of Print Street, a section of Haever where the major newspapers of the day had their print factories and offices.