Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  Henry blamed himself. He could not help feeling that he had bungled this situation badly. In this he was in agreement with the queen, who likewise blamed him and told him so on a daily basis.

  The furor had started with an anonymous letter, published three days ago in the Haever Gazette following the successful vote in the House of Nobles to permit the dragons to live in Freya. The letter detailed every atrocity committed by dragons against Freyans from the time of the Imhruns down to the Siege of Denar and concluded with the prophecy of the mad priest: the seventh sigil and the return of the ancient evil (dragons), and heralding the return of the true king. The letter was signed “The Faithful.”

  The next day, people could talk of nothing else. Lurid illustrations of marauding dragons holding screaming infants in their slavering jaws were splashed across the front pages, side by side with illustrations of Prince Tom standing upon the neck of a dead dragon. Trade unions called upon their members to strike. The Fundamentalist Church spoke out against the dragons, denouncing them from the pulpit, calling them “minions of the Evil One.”

  “Fulfillment of the prophecy! The return of the ancient evil!” Henry raved to Simon. “These so-called Faithful must be lunatics. As if any rational person would believe such a thing.”

  “Quite the contrary, Henry,” Simon said seriously. “These so-called Faithful are really quite clever. Whether they truly believe in the prophecy or not, they are playing upon the fear and loathing of the populace in regard to dragons to advance their cause.”

  “Her Majesty is going to speak to the House of Nobles in the next hour. She will explain her reasons for inviting the dragons, reassure the people that the beasts will live in the northwest and they will be of no threat to anyone,” Henry said. “Hopefully that will quiet the unrest.”

  Simon was doubtful. “I am not certain Her Majesty should make that speech, Henry. I know inviting the dragons was my idea, but then I had no idea we would be playing into the hands of those who want to put Thomas Stanford on the throne. Perhaps you could suggest to the dragons that they might wait a year, let all the furor die down.”

  “The dragons would be deeply affronted,” Henry said. “More to the point, their first payment is already in the royal coffers. Or rather, it was in the coffers. We have spent it. Have you found out anything more about these Faithful? Who the devil are they? They took the bait we dangled in regard to Phillip. We leaked word that he was interested in joining the pretender’s cause and someone recommended him to Stanford. Can’t we figure out who?”

  “I had several leads, but they all came to nothing,” Simon had replied. “These people are extremely careful. Not surprising. They have remained hidden for over a century. Did you talk to your brother about what Phillip reported in his letter, that there are members of the House of Nobles who belong to the Faithful?”

  Henry was grimly amused. “I asked the Old Chap about the Faithful. Richard was deeply offended that I would even suggest such a thing. He tut-tutted all through dinner. ‘Secret societies! A lot of poppycock. No respectable gentleman would dream of sneaking off to midnight meetings in cellars.’ And so on and so forth. He is no help.”

  “Yet he knew about the dragons, Henry,” said Simon, frowning. “You told him. And then there is the name: Richard. The Freyan noble backing Thomas is known as ‘Sir Richard.’”

  Henry regarded Simon in amazement. “You are not seriously suggesting the Old Chap is plotting to overthrow the queen! We are talking about Richard! My brother, who has never taken a risk in his life. He refuses to eat blancmange for fear it will make him dyspeptic! As for telling him about the dragons, by the time I had told Richard, the matter had been discussed with the Privy Council and other members of the House of Nobles. Any number of people knew about it.”

  “I suppose you are right,” Simon said. “Still, it can’t hurt to talk to him again, ferret out what your brother knows about these Faithful. He might know something and not know he knows it.”

  “That sounds like Richard,” Henry said. “And now I must leave for the House.”

  Her Majesty addressed a session of the House of Nobles. Members of the House also spoke in favor of the dragons, including Sir Richard Wallace. Unfortunately the few who did favor the dragons were drowned out with jeers and hissing.

  Henry retreated to his office, where he could think about all this, but managed only to give himself a splitting headache. He was writing instructions to his agent in Braffa—yet another headache—when a breathless office boy tumbled in through the door. “One of your servants is in the front hall, my lord. You are urgently requested to return home.”

  Henry knew at once that Ann was going into labor. He dashed out of his office in such haste he forgot his hat. He had given his driver orders to keep the carriage in readiness, so he did not have to waste time hailing a cab. Henry had not counted upon the streets being thronged with rioters, however. He sent the coachman to find a wyvern-drawn carriage and was forced to wait, pacing the sidewalk, until the man returned with one.

  Henry leaped inside, ordering the driver to make all haste, promising to pay him double his fare. As the carriage flew over the streets of Haever, Henry looked down on the crowds that seemed to be growing larger with each passing day. He knew this furor would soon die down. The Travian dragons were moving into the caves that had been readied for them to live in until they could build their own dwellings. When people realized that the dragons hadn’t eaten anyone and that no villages had been set on fire, the people would eventually forget about them. Even anarchists had to eat and feed their families. Eventually the rioters would leave the streets and go back to work. But that was small comfort now.

  Henry just had to be patient, wait it out.

  The coachman had some difficulty landing the wyvern in front of Henry’s house, due to the number of carriages belonging to physicians, healers, and midwives which lined the street. More were arriving every moment.

  Henry jumped from the coach when it was still three feet off the ground, dashed up the walk, and burst through the front door, nearly knocking down the footman. Henry found the royal physician inside the entryway, putting on his hat and asking for his cloak.

  “Sir Reginald! Why are you leaving? What’s wrong?” Henry gasped, assuming the worst.

  “Congratulations, my lord,” said the physician. “You are the proud father of a beautiful little girl.”

  Henry blinked, stupefied. “It’s over?”

  “One of the fastest and easiest deliveries it has been my pleasure to attend,” said Sir Reginald.

  “How is my wife?” Henry asked anxiously.

  “Sitting up in bed and drinking a cup of tea, my lord,” Sir Reginald replied.

  Henry seized his hand and nearly wrung it off his arm, then ran up the stairs, two at a time. He paused outside the bedroom door to calm his emotions, then softly opened it and peeped inside.

  Ann was nursing the baby, singing and rocking her. Hearing Henry, she looked up and smiled at him.

  “Come meet your daughter,” she said.

  “My Mouse, you quite amaze me,” said Henry, going to her. “You did not give me time to pace the floor and tear out my hair.”

  Ann laughed. “I knew you would not survive another long delivery, Henry. So I kept it short.”

  “Thank you for your consideration, my dear,” said Henry.

  He bent over to kiss her and smoothed back her hair, whispering how much he loved her. He admired the baby, who had fallen asleep.

  “Let me hold her,” said Henry.

  Ann relinquished her, and Henry walked about the room, gazing down with wonder at the child in his arms. He pointedly ignored the nurse, who hovered in the background, eager to swoop in to rescue her charge.

  “The midwife tells me the people are rioting again today, Henry,” said Ann worriedly. “Are things very bad? Sister Mabel says the queen has been warned not to leave the palace.”

  Henry touched the baby’s soft cheek with h
is finger and kept walking, pretending he hadn’t heard.

  “My beautiful daughter,” Henry said. “She takes after you, don’t you think so, my dear? Which is much better than taking after her father.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Henry,” said Ann. “Sister Mabel—”

  “—is a gossiping old busybody,” said Henry. “You are to concentrate on recovering your health.”

  “My health is fine. I’ve had a baby, Henry. I didn’t fall down a flight of stairs,” said Ann, smiling.

  They were interrupted by a soft knocking on the door.

  “Begging your pardon, my lord,” said the maid, “but Mr. Sloan is asking for you. He says the matter is urgent.”

  “Tell him I will join him in the library,” said Henry.

  He gave the child into the care of the nurse and walked to the bed to kiss his wife again. “You must rest, my dear.”

  “On the contrary, I was thinking of going for a gallop in the park,” said Ann. Seeing Henry’s startled expression, she added with a laugh, “I’m teasing, my dear. Go save the nation. I will read the latest installment about Captain Kate. I am dreadfully afraid for her. Last week the story ended with her ship caught in a wizard storm, sinking into the Breath, as she was fighting off rival pirates.”

  “My guess is that she will live to see another installment,” said Henry.

  Ann made a face at him. “You promised you would bring the captain to tea, my love. I want to meet her.”

  Henry reiterated his promise and went down the stairs. He used the library for confidential meetings for several reasons. The library was located at the rear of the three-story house and had no windows. The four walls were lined, floor to ceiling, with books that helped to deaden sound. And Mr. Sloan had covered the door in magical constructs. Any one putting an ear to it would receive a nasty jolt.

  “I have a daughter, Mr. Sloan!” Henry announced, throwing open the door.

  “God be praised, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “How is Her Ladyship?”

  “Splendid. Sitting up, reading the newspaper, and drinking tea,” said Henry, shaking his head in admiration. “Women are marvels, Mr. Sloan.”

  “Indeed they are, my lord. Have you chosen a name for your daughter?”

  “We have named her Mary Violet Louise, after our queen, my mother, and Lady Ann’s mother.” Henry grew somber. “Speaking of the queen, how is the situation in the street?”

  Mr. Sloan carefully shut the door before replying.

  “Not good, my lord. The police have thus far managed to keep the mob away from the palace. The rioters began hurling paving stones and bricks, breaking windows in the Foreign Office and nearby storefronts. The police are now attempting to disperse the crowd.”

  “Which means there will be beatings and arrests and that will make the people angrier still,” said Henry. “It is a good thing Alan and Randolph are not here. I can hear them now, gloating and saying, ‘I told you so!’”

  Henry shrugged. “But what is done is done. No going back.”

  “Very true, my lord. One thinks of the old adage regarding ‘spilt milk.’”

  “Now, what do you have for me, Mr. Sloan? Good news for a change, I trust.”

  “I believe it might be very good news indeed, my lord. A message arrived by griffin courier from your agent in the Braffan capital,” said Mr. Sloan, handing Henry a letter. “I deemed you should see it at once.”

  Henry scanned the first part and looked up, astonished. “According to this, Mr. Sloan, the Braffans have five barrels containing the Tears of God in their possession, despite assuring us and King Ullr that the crystals had been lost.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Henry continued reading. “‘The Braffans claim to have stumbled upon the crystals hidden in a storage room. I can believe that. The late, unlamented Lord Bjorn tried to do the same, hiding the crystals away, intending to sell them on the black market.”

  Henry read through the report twice. “The Braffans intend to hand over the crystals to King Ullr as a ‘neutral third party.’ Ha! Neutral, my ass! Forgive the strong language, Mr. Sloan.”

  “You have been under a great deal of mental stress lately, my lord. I make allowances.”

  “Five barrels of crystals could keep our fleet sailing for months!” Henry said. “According to our agent, ‘the Braffans plan to conceal the crystals on board a ferry in the belief that no one will think to look for them on such a humble conveyance.’ These Braffan oligarchs are incredibly naive, Mr. Sloan.”

  “And particularly inept when it comes to keeping secrets, my lord,” Mr. Sloan observed. “Your agent did not appear to have any trouble discovering this one.”

  “One of the many drawbacks to an oligarchy, Mr. Sloan,” said Henry. “The more people who are entrusted with a secret, the less likely any of them are to keep it. I fear, however, that our enemies may also find out about the crystals. We must move fast.”

  “You could send Captain Northrop and the Terrapin to Braffa,” said Mr. Sloan.

  “I don’t want to involve the navy in the capture. Alan and Randolph would like nothing better than to attack the Guundarans and provoke a war.”

  Henry crumpled the letter and handed it to Mr. Sloan, then began to pace back and forth across the library floor. Mr. Sloan picked up what appeared to be a pencil box from Henry’s desk, placed the letter inside, closed the lid, and then activated a construct on the underside of the box. Moments later, a small curl of smoke was all that was left of the letter.

  Henry stopped pacing.

  “This will be a perfect job for our new privateer. Send a message to Captain Kate, Mr. Sloan. Tell her I will meet her at the shipyard.”

  * * *

  Kate joined Sir Henry the next day at the shipyard where Victorie was being refitted. He inspected her ship and expressed his pleasure at the progress of the repairs. He and Kate walked up and down the boardwalk as Henry explained the job.

  “Are you familiar with Braffa, Captain?” Henry asked.

  “I am, my lord,” said Kate. “I visited Braffa with my father.”

  Morgan had gone there to investigate the possibility of smuggling the liquid form of the Breath, only to conclude he couldn’t make any money at it. The costs of hauling the liquid would far outweigh what he could make selling it on the black market, especially at that time when only a few ships were able to use it. Kate did not mention that to Sir Henry, however.

  “Unfortunately, Victorie is not yet ready to sail, my lord,” Kate continued in disappointment. “I am still waiting on the new lift tanks.”

  “Your ship will not be required, Captain,” said Henry. “This is a mission for you and your dragon, Dalgren.”

  “Then we can leave upon the instant, my lord. Well, perhaps, not on the instant. Dalgren is holed up in a cave in Barwich. With all the unrest over dragons in the city—”

  “Yes, yes, I understand,” said Henry.

  Seeing his expression darken, Kate wisely changed the subject.

  “What is the assignment, my lord?”

  Henry explained how the Braffans had discovered five barrels of crystallized Breath, how they planned to hide them on board a ferry and then transport the barrels to a waiting Guundaran ship.

  “What I need you to do is locate the ferry with the barrels on board, capture it, and deliver the crystals to Captain Northrop aboard the Terrapin. I will provide you with the rendezvous site.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  “How long will it take you to journey from here to Braffa?”

  Kate did some fast calculating. “Six days, my lord. How much time do we have before they ship the crystals?”

  “My agent estimates a fortnight,” said Henry. “The crystals were discovered on a refinery island located some distance from the mainland and there is apparently some sort of problem with their recovery. Once you reach Braffa, you will make contact with my agent, who will provide you with more information. Here is a map of one of t
he refineries. There are several and I do not know where the crystals are located, but the refineries are all configured the same. Mr. Sloan will furnish you with money for your journey.”

  Henry regarded Kate intently. “I cannot overstate the importance of this mission, Captain. I do not exaggerate when I say that the very survival of our navy and, by extension, our nation depends upon the acquisition of these crystals.”

  “I understand, my lord,” said Kate, impressed with the seriousness of his tone. “Dalgren and I will not let you down.”

  Henry smiled. “I have faith in both of you. You must not say a word of this to anyone, not your friend, Olaf; not even Miss Amelia. She can write of your heroics after the crystals are safely upon Freyan soil. My lady wife tells me your stories are more popular than ever. When you come back, she would like to have you over for tea.”

  * * *

  Kate returned to the house she was sharing with Amelia and was relieved to find that her friend had gone out. Amelia had a way of asking questions that crept up on a person, and Kate often found herself revealing more than she intended. Amelia had a left a note saying she was out on the street, interviewing the rioters.

  Kate hastily packed a valise, taking what clothes she thought she would need, two pistols, a pocket pistol, and a knife. She had to pack light, because she would be flying by griffin to Barwich Manor to meet up with Dalgren, who had only recently returned from his visit to Travia.

  Once there, she did not plan to linger. She could still see Trubgek standing with his hand on the wall; still feel her house starting to collapse around her.

  * * *

  Amelia returned home from the office of the Haever Gazette, where she had gone to hand in another story on the rioters and to pick up her mail. She found the note from Kate, saying that she was going to be gone for several weeks.

  “She has a job from Sir Henry,” Amelia guessed. “Good for her. And good for him. The poor man needs something to take his mind off this ridiculous turmoil over dragons.”