Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  Sitting down at her desk, Amelia began to sort through the mail, which was plentiful. She had letters from readers praising her work and wanting to know why she couldn’t write faster. She had invitations to speak at various gatherings, which she generally declined as they took up too much time. Those went into the wastebin.

  One envelope was different from the others and she regarded it with interest. The address was written in the style known as “copperplate,” generally used by secretaries and scribes. Most intriguing, it was postmarked “Travia.” There was no return address.

  Miss Amelia opened the envelope and extracted the letter.

  I spoke to a relative of the Talwin clan, who says you are seeking information on a dragon known as Coreg. I can tell you about him. I am in the process of moving to Freya. Do not attempt to contact me. He is having me watched. I will contact you.

  The letter was signed with a single name: Odila.

  Amelia recognized the name at once. Odila was the name of the grande dame of the Travian dragons, and since Dalgren came from the Talwin clan, Amelia assumed that his uncle had been spreading the word. Glancing at the postmark and noting that the letter had been sent two weeks ago, she guessed that Odila could well be in the country right now.

  “Good,” Amelia remarked in satisfaction. “Now I am getting somewhere.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Phillip sat in the tavern El Chancho Feliz, sipping sherry—a drink he detested—while he waited for Thomas.

  The two had not seen each other since they had returned from visiting the marchioness. They had been accustomed to meeting daily, but lately Phillip had been avoiding Thomas, figuring if he wasn’t around him, he couldn’t spy on him.

  Thomas had sent a hasty note arranging for the two to meet today, saying that he had something urgent to discuss. Phillip could not very well refuse. He was uneasy at the prospect of seeing Thomas, wondering if he had somehow discovered the truth. Phillip didn’t know if he dreaded such an outcome or secretly longed for it.

  He could not decide upon a course of action. He had been arguing with himself about this since he realized that he was conflicted about spying on Thomas. At first Phillip thought he would carry on with his mission. Sir Henry Wallace was also his friend, had been a loyal friend for many years, and Phillip didn’t want to disappoint him. He argued that Henry had a duty to perform: He was a patriot, fighting to save the country he loved.

  But then Phillip would argue that he also had a duty to his country, and that duty was to the true and rightful king, which as far as he could tell was Thomas. Perhaps worst of all, Phillip had a duty to himself. His actions were reprehensible, dishonorable, unworthy of a gentleman.

  “But then what do I do?” Phillip would ask himself. “Go skulking back to Freya? Hand myself over to the Estaran authorities? Throw myself in the Breath?”

  The internal conflict would generally end with him swearing and lying awake most of the night, staring at the ceiling.

  Phillip whiled away the time this afternoon by reading an outdated copy of the Haever Gazette. He had arranged for the newspaper to be delivered to him. Since he was a Freyan, no one would consider this suspicious. The newspapers usually arrived with the mail about two weeks late.

  This paper contained news about the rioting over the dragons in Haever. Phillip read the queen’s speech to the House of Nobles and how the House had passed a bill to support Her Majesty in the matter of the dragons. He frowned over the anonymous letters discussing the prophecy and foretelling the return of the true king and shook his head at the lurid illustration depicting the Evil One riding a dragon landing on the palace grounds.

  He smiled to read a small paragraph on the society page:

  We announce with much pleasure the arrival of a little daughter at the home of Sir Henry and Lady Ann Wallace. We understand that Her Ladyship and daughter are doing nicely and we offer them our hearty congratulations.

  While Phillip was reading, he was also listening to the conversation of several young officers in the tavern, hoping to glean information.

  Not surprising, most of their talk involved women and horses, with a great deal of boasting about the merits of both. Today, however, they were talking about King Ullr of Guundar and his “protection” of Braffa, a move that had angered the Estarans as much as it had angered Henry. King Miguel of Estara had worked extremely hard to “protect” Braffa himself and he was outraged at the betrayal.

  “Mark my words,” Hugo was predicting. “Our next war will be with Guundar.”

  “Can’t come soon enough,” said several others, and they drank a toast: “Confusion to Guundar!”

  The clocks in the church towers chimed four. Thomas was late by half an hour, which was unusual. Phillip had just taken another sip of sherry when someone jostled his elbow, causing him to spill sherry on his uniform.

  “What the—” Phillip looked up to see Thomas.

  “Damn!” Thomas said contritely. “I’m so sorry, Pip. I’m clumsy today. Now you’ll have to go change.”

  Phillip was about to say the stain wasn’t bad and he didn’t need to bother when he saw Thomas wink at him.

  “I’ll come with you,” Thomas offered, adding in a low voice, “We need to talk.”

  Phillip paid his bill and the two left the tavern. Thomas walked at his side, telling him about a ball he had attended the previous night.

  “You should have been there, Pip. I met my future wife,” Thomas said offhandedly.

  “What?” Phillip was so startled he didn’t watch where he was going and stepped in a puddle, completing the ruin of his trousers. “You met the princess? Is the marriage all arranged?”

  “Just about. The princess traveled to Estara with the Countess de Marjolaine, who is handling the negotiations. My mother had reservations regarding her. It seems that the Princess Sophia is quite intelligent. She attends university. She is a magical savant and has even written a thesis on something to do with contramagic. My mother does not approve of educated women, but she has concluded that once the princess is married with children in the offing, she will put such nonsense out of her head.”

  “My dear fellow, you astound me!” said Phillip. “Never mind your mother! You met this young woman, danced with her. What is she like?”

  “I could do worse,” said Thomas. “The princess is pretty in a pale, nondescript way. She dances well and knows the proper bons mots that enliven the rigors of a quadrille. She is fond of dogs and owns a spaniel named Bandit. She did not say anything too intelligent, for which I was grateful, for then I would have had to dazzle her with my own intelligence.”

  “You damn her with faint praise,” said Phillip.

  “Do I?” Thomas asked, smiling. “I don’t mean to. She is really a very nice girl. It’s just…” He fell silent.

  “You’re not madly in love with her,” said Phillip. “But how do you know you could not love her? You have met her only once and that was at a ball. People are never themselves at balls.”

  “True. And, as I said, I could do worse for a wife,” said Thomas, shrugging. “Where were you last night?”

  “Believe it or not, I was studying,” said Phillip. “The Blackfire War. The Estaran historians have a unique view of it. And might I point out that this is not the way to my hall.”

  “That is because we are not going to your hall,” said Thomas.

  He led the way through the iron gates of a cemetery. As the two walked among the tombstones, Thomas glanced around to make certain no one was in earshot, then said, “I have just come from a meeting with the secretary of the navy.”

  Phillip raised an eyebrow. “You are in the army.”

  “I served in the navy before going into the army. I am supposed to become familiar with all aspects of military science. But that’s not what I want to talk about. You have heard about the crystals known as the Tears of God.”

  “I know a little about them,” Phillip replied cautiously, not wanting to reveal too much un
til he knew what was going on. “The crystals are produced at the Braffan refineries. They act like liquid Breath and keep ships flying.”

  “One crystal can replace six lift tanks filled with liquid Breath,” said Thomas. “A warship can fly for months on a single crystal.”

  “Oh, come now,” said Phillip. “I know better than that.”

  “Well, perhaps I do exaggerate,” said Thomas. “Maybe a dozen crystals are required. The fact remains that the crystals are of immense value.”

  “What of it?” Phillip asked. “The last I heard, all the crystals were destroyed by the Bottom Dwellers when they captured the refineries.”

  “The Braffans and King Ullr would have us believe they were destroyed,” said Thomas.

  “Some still exist?” Phillip asked.

  Thomas paused to glance again around the cemetery. Three elderly women dressed all in black had entered and were placing flowers on a fresh grave.

  “Come over here,” said Thomas.

  He and Phillip walked along a path and ducked beneath the swaying branches of a willow.

  “An agent in Guundar reported that when the Braffans were rebuilding one of the refineries, they discovered five barrels of crystals that had been stored in an underground bunker. King Ullr has laid claim to the crystals. He plans to have them transported to Guundar for ‘safekeeping.’”

  “Whereas the Lord of the Admiralty believes the crystals would be far safer here in Estara,” said Phillip wryly.

  Thomas grinned. “The Braffans are planning to smuggle the barrels out of the refinery on board a ferry. His Lordship has asked for two volunteers to seize the ferry and take possession of the crystals to keep them safe. I immediately volunteered myself and I said I had a trusted friend who would join me—His Grace the Duke of Upper and Lower Milton.”

  Phillip didn’t know how to respond. The word “trusted” made him cringe. He felt like crawling into one of the graves to join the other worms. He loved the idea of joining Thomas on what promised to be a dangerous and exciting mission, but he also knew that he was duty-bound to immediately inform Sir Henry. And he knew that whatever he decided, he couldn’t in good conscience allow Thomas to keep on thinking he could trust the man who was betraying him.

  Phillip stood in irresolute silence long enough for Thomas to take note. His manner grew cool. “If I misjudged you, Pip, I understand…”

  Phillip needed a reason to explain his silence and he said the first thing that came into his head.

  “I want to go,” he said. “I think it would be great fun. But why are you working for the Estarans, Tom? You are not their king. You should take the crystals for yourself.”

  Thomas looked so amazed at this suggestion that Phillip had to smile.

  “For myself!” Thomas repeated. “Why would I want them?”

  “To transport your army,” Phillip explained. The more he thought about it, the more his offhand suggestion made sense. “The troop carriers would need to be refitted to make use of the crystals instead of liquid Breath, but I suppose this could be done without a great deal of trouble or expense.”

  “If I go to Freya, it won’t be at the head of an invading army!” Thomas said, frowning.

  “Of course not,” Phillip hastened to reassure him. “But from what I know of Hugh, King Godfrey’s bastard son, not to mention the queen’s Rosian sister, you would be well advised to make it known from the outset that you are serious about taking your rightful place on the throne.”

  “I am an officer in the Estaran army,” said Thomas. “I have taken an oath of allegiance.”

  “You are a Freyan prince thinking of the welfare of your people,” Phillip argued. “We Freyans are your people, Tom. Not the Estarans.”

  Phillip had not intended his words to sound quite so earnest and sincere; he was beginning to think he meant them.

  “I never thought of it that way,” Thomas said, struck by his argument.

  Phillip did some quick calculating. “You wouldn’t have to steal all the crystals. You have about two thousand troops, plus equipment. That means twelve transports. Now figure one or two crystals per transport and you need only twenty-four crystals. We could always say a barrel broke open and the crystals spilled. If a few crystals end up in our pockets, no one will notice.”

  Thomas said nothing, but he seemed intrigued.

  “King Miguel is your mother’s cousin,” Phillip continued, making this up as he went along. “He backs your cause because he wants a strong ally when you become king. I do not think he would begrudge you a few crystals.”

  He had said the last in a lighthearted tone and he expected Thomas to laugh. Instead, Thomas regarded him intently, his gaze troubled. “My people,” Thomas repeated. “You said I have a duty to my people.”

  “Well, yes,” Phillip conceded. “But I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant,” said Thomas, cutting him off. His expression darkened. “I have a duty to my people to be king. And you are right. I am failing them.”

  Phillip was uneasy. “Tom, I never said that—”

  “Hear me out, please, Pip,” said Thomas earnestly. “Because of our discussions, I have been doing some serious thinking about the role of a monarch.”

  Phillip knew this from his eavesdropping, but he couldn’t let on. He therefore looked amazed.

  Thomas gave a faint smile. “Astounding that I should have a serious thought in my head, isn’t it? What you said about King Miguel and what he wants made me realize something. All these people—from my mother to these so-called Faithful—who conspire to put a crown on my head want something. And do you know what that is? They want me to sit on my throne like a good boy and keep my mouth shut.”

  Phillip tried to placate him. “Tom, I don’t think—”

  “Take these blasted crystals,” Thomas continued, his anger growing. “The Lord of the Estaran Admiralty wants me to risk my life for his navy. King Miguel doesn’t want an ally. He wants a puppet. My father wants me to advance his cause to rule Bheldem. Captain Smythe wants me to keep out of his way. The Rosians want me to marry their princess and my mother wants to rule Freya. Tell me I am wrong.”

  “Tom, it is not my place to tell you anything,” Phillip said, embarrassed, although he had seen and heard enough to know that these statements were undoubtedly true.

  “You have already told me what I needed to hear—that James wasn’t a very good king,” said Thomas. “I have been reading up on my unhappy ancestor. The poor man let people twist him and turn him until he didn’t know if he was on his head or his heels. By the time he realized others were in essence wearing his crown, he didn’t have the strength or the courage to take it back.”

  “So you are going to keep the crown,” said Phillip, smiling. “And say the hell with all of them.”

  “I must let them all know that when I am king, I will be king,” said Thomas. “I am going to astonish my mother and my father and Captain Smythe. We will steal the crystals, by God, and I will keep them—all of them!”

  Phillip was caught up in the enthusiasm, caught up in his own admiration, caught up by destiny.

  “By God, we will!” he vowed.

  “Excellent!” said Thomas, clasping his friend by the hand. “We have time only to pack a change of clothes and load our pistols. We leave this night for Braffa.”

  As they left the cemetery, politely doffing their hats to the three elderly women in black, Phillip understood that, cost him what it would, he had made his choice.

  He also understood the cost would be dear.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Kate and Dalgren flew to the Braffan coastal city of Port Vrijheid, a journey that took them several days. Dalgren had never been to Braffa, but he was pleased when Kate assured him that he didn’t have to hide. The Braffans were tolerant of dragons visiting their islands. The Dragon Brigade had helped to drive the Bottom Dwellers from the Braffan refineries and the Braffans remained grateful.

  Dalgren took up reside
nce on top of a cliff, much to the ire of a pair of eagles, who had their nest on a mountain peak only a few miles from the dragon. Generally dragons did not like sleeping out in the open, but since Braffa had no suitable caves and the visit was going to be short, Dalgren made do with what he could find.

  While he was resting from his long flight, Kate arranged a meeting with Henry’s agent. Following his orders, she left a nosegay of violets on a certain grave in an old cemetery. The next day she returned early in the morning and found a single rose on the grave with a note twisted around the stem. The note read: 16 Threadneedle Street, quarter past the hour of four of the clock in the afternoon.

  Ask for Mrs. Lavender, read the note. You want a hat with a red bird’s wing. Since the meeting was in the afternoon, she had time to go down to the harbor where the ferries docked. She needed to inspect them, learn how they handled, what routes they sailed, and find out if anyone knew anything about barrels of crystals.

  Acting on her instructions, Mr. Sloan had procured, among other things, a well-worn black dress, threadbare black cloak, and bonnet, as well as clothes for a fashionable young lady. Kate was not Morgan’s daughter for nothing.

  This morning, dressed in her widow’s weeds, Kate went from ferry to ferry, presenting herself as a grieving young widow hoping to find work to support herself now that her husband was gone.

  Ferry owners were kind to her, although they were sorry to tell her they were not hiring. Midday was approaching and Kate was beginning to think her ploy was not going to work, when she was hailed by an older woman who came running up behind her.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear you saying your good man died in the war, dearie,” said the woman. “I lost my own Hans to them fiends. I run the ferry now that he’s gone. You poor thing. You look bone-tired. I can’t give you work, but I can give you a cup of tea.”

  The woman invited Kate on board her ferry. They shed a few tears over their lost husbands, then cheered up and drank their tea. Kate said she had grown up on ships and started asking questions about her host’s work. The woman was glad to explain.