“Supper,” Ulin called without turning around.
The gambler struggled forward and caught up with him. “Hold it, boy! You dragged me all the way to Flotsam for this? What about your promise of safe conduct?”
Ulin drew himself up to his full height and coolly cocked an eyebrow. “I’d say-considering the cost, aggravation, physical labor, and time spent getting you here-you’re lucky she didn’t cut you down on the spot. Believe me, when the townspeople find out you are here, you will be safer in the jail. I will talk to her and the city council.”
“You told me the town thought I was dead. I never imagined Lucy would come all this way to identify my body.”
Ulin was not moved. “Well, she did, and now she’s seen it. I have fulfilled my promise to her. What you do now is up to you.” He left Kethril standing on the wharf with his guards, staring morosely at some distant point only the gambler could see.
Notwen looked up at his tall friend and back at the man on the wharf. “He came rather easily, didn’t he?”
“For a man facing a noose, he came a little too easily. Maybe he has something up his sleeve besides cards. A day or two in the city jail won’t hurt him.”
“No.” Notwen brightened with his inevitable optimism. “Well, that’s good. Maybe you can help me build a new steam engine before you go.”
Ulin walked slowly, trying to adjust his long-legged pace to the gnome’s shorter legs. “Notwen, just how much do you know about that red dragon?”
“Fyremantle?” Notwen said nervously, tugging at his wet shirt. “He’s a greedy, egotistical minion of the Red Queen.”
“What was he doing here today?”
Notwen’s face paled, and he sputtered a few words before he could answer. “He probably came to remind us about the taxes. He does that sometimes just to keep us upset and frightened.”
“Will he come again before Visiting Day?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. He has to collect from other villages in this area.”
“What else do you know?” Ulin stopped and bent over so he could look at the gnome eye to eye. “You have an investigative mind, Notwen. I am certain you have studied this beast.”
“OnlyalittleheterrifiesmeheissobigIcan’thelpit!” Notwen cried.
“I know,” Ulin said softly. “He terrifies me, too. But slow down and try to tell me.”
The gnome twisted his shirt into a knot. Slowly the words came out as Notwen turned his focus on his knowledge instead of his fear. “Fyremantle is over 250 feet from nose to tail. He is one of the youngest of the red dragons in this realm and one of the stupidest. I’m not sure why Malys puts up with him, except he is in terror of her. He is also greedy, cruel, obnoxious, over-bearing”-Notwen’s nervousness fell away as he warmed to his subject-“destructive and merciless. We suspect he has several lairs around this region, but no one knows where.” He paused and met Ulin’s gaze. “Do you think we can find some way to beat him?”
Ulin straightened and leveled a thoughtful gaze at the smoke from the warehouse fire still curling up to the blue sky. “It’s something to think about. We need to talk to Lucy and the city council.” He started to walk again, and Notwen had to hurry to catch up. “We’ll start at the Jetties. We can talk to Aylesworthy, change our clothes, and have some food. If I don’t eat something soon that doesn’t smell of fish, I cannot be held responsible for my actions around people who annoy me.”
The fire was nearly out in the warehouse, and the waterfront was beginning to return to normal. The people of Flotsam hated dragons, but they were used to the comings and goings of the great beasts. They faced the aftermath of a dragon visit with efficiency and resignation. Ulin guessed Lucy was in the crowds helping where she could, and knowing her as he did, he thought it better to let her work off her anger in useful labor. She would find him when she was ready to talk.
He felt a tug at his sleeve to get his attention. Notwen cleared his throat and looked rather embarrassed. “Um, Ulin, if I tell you something else, will you promise to still help me with my engine?”
Now what? Ulin thought. “If I can.”
Notwen ground a toe in the dirt. “Well, there are these … no, come with me. It’s time you knew about the underground.” He took Ulin’s sleeve and tugged him away from the docks.
Ulin’s eyes narrowed. More secrets? Wordlessly, he followed Notwen toward an old, weather-worn, two-story inn by the road that ran parallel to the wharf. The inn had a stone face of rough-cut granite pitted and patched from years of hard use and a wide porch where the regulars liked to sit to watch the boats in the harbor. A swinging sign over the door identified the inn as the Brown Pelican.
No one sat on the porch that afternoon, and the swinging doors were closed and barred. Notwen glanced in a window then trotted around to a side door that opened easily under his hand. He took Ulin through the empty common room, down a flight of stairs to the basement, and into a storeroom similar to the one in the Jetties.
Ulin was not surprised when an entire rack of wine bottles swung neatly out from the wall and a man wearing a bartender’s apron walked through the opening into the room. What startled him were the dozen or so men, a few women, and two children who followed the innkeeper. Everyone nodded or waved to Notwen and welcomed him back. Several greeted Ulin as they passed.
The innkeeper stepped aside to let the others pass. “Notwen, what’s happening up top? My boy says one of the warehouses is on fire. Is the dragon gone?”
“Burned to the ground,” Notwen said sadly, “and two fishing boats, too. Fyremantle left a little while ago.”
“Blasted worm. Wish someone would do something about him. He’s more of a pest than Malys these days.” The innkeeper shook his head with the resignation born of years of disaster. “Oh, well. Say, he didn’t eat the sheriff this time did he? I kinda like her.”
“No,” Ulin replied dryly. “She’s on the wharf fighting the fire.”
“Good for her. Glad to see a little dragon trouble won’t put her off. Come back sometime, and I’ll give you an ale on the house.” He waved jovially and went upstairs to reopen his tavern.
“That dragon killed the previous sheriff?” Ulin asked with deceptive coolness.
The gnome scooted into the opening. “Yes,” his voice trailed up from a long, narrow staircase.
Gritting his teeth to contain his annoyance, the young man hurried after him. He had to duck his head in the staircase to keep from cracking his skull on the low ceiling. Rough-hewn stones served as stairs in the passage down, but there were no handrails. The only light came from two oil lamps set in niches in the wall.
Notwen waited for him at the bottom of the stairs, two lanterns in his hands. He handed one to Ulin. “This is one of our safe rooms.” He held up his lantern so Ulin could see. “We have rooms like this under many of the inns, the city hall, three of the shops, and several other buildings-usually the ones that have survived for many years.”
Ulin walked slowly around the room, letting his curiosity take over from his anger for a few minutes. The room was floored with stone and walled with something that looked like stucco. It was not spacious, but it looked big enough to hold twenty or thirty people in a pinch. It had some benches against the wall and shelves that held candles, more lanterns, jugs of water, and other odds and ends. The air was cool and very damp, and Ulin caught the strong smell of mildew.
“Come on this way,” Notwen called. He went to a stone door at the opposite end of the room and pushed it open. “These can be barred in an emergency,” he explained to Ulin. “It leads to what used to be the old sewer system.” He trotted into a tunnel that stretched out before him and vanished into impenetrable darkness. Ulin followed more carefully, for his lanky height did not fit as well as the gnome’s in the low stone passage. The smell of damp and rot was stronger here, and stagnant puddles covered parts of the floor.
When Ulin’s hand touched the walls, his fingers came away slick and wet.
“
There’s a lot of water down here,” he commented.
Notwen glanced back, his face pale in the weak light. “Seepage. We’re very close to the harbor here, and I haven’t found anything yet that will stop the moisture from coming in. Here the problem is water. At the other end of town, it’s sand.”
Ulin’s mind went back to some of his journeys-to Palanthas, to Sanction-and a distant memory surfaced to brighten his thoughts. “Have you tried concrete?”
Notwen’s ears perked up, and he slowed until he was walking beside Ulin. “Yes, but I could never get a mix I liked. It either cracked or wouldn’t stay in place.”
“In Sanction the dwarves used a mix to line a cistern. Maybe that would help you.”
“Oh! Do you remember what it was?” Notwen asked eagerly. “Did it have any special ingredients or spells or something?”
Ulin laughed, and his voice echoed down the long tunnel. “No. No spells. Only good common sense and some useful ingredients. Can you get some volcanic ash?”
“Ash? Of course! What a wonderful idea!”
They continued along the tunnel discussing combinations of sand, lime, and ash and the chemical wonders of concrete. The old sewer ran straight and true and was joined or bisected by other tunnels, some as old as the original system, some newer and in better condition. They did not meet anyone else, but Ulin saw many signs of recent traffic, including footprints, a broken bottle, and a dropped loaf of bread.
“Where do all these tunnels go?” he asked Notwen when the subject of concrete had been thoroughly covered.
“They run under Flotsam and connect most of the safe rooms. Any time a dragon appears, most of the people come underground. It’s the only way this town has survived. We have storerooms and an armory and even a place for a few animals.” He broke off, took a deep breath then went on. “These were the tunnels the thieves used to reach the treasury. They expanded one near the city hall and went that way to move the boxes.”
Ulin felt his anger stir again. “Were you ever going to tell us about this, or was the council just going let Lucy take her chances with a dragon?”
Notwen sighed. “I’m sorry, Ulin. Really. We would have brought you down here if it was necessary. Unfortunately, we have to be really careful. The people around here know these tunnels are our only chance, but outsiders don’t. If Malys found out about this, she would blow this town apart.”
Ulin grudgingly accepted that. He knew the red dragon well enough to realize Notwen was right. “So what happened to the previous sheriff?”
The gnome tugged at his beard and did not answer at first. Finally, he told Ulin. “Fyremantle took exception to something he said and ate him. It was too bad, really. Sheriff Gorlain was a nice man.”
“What did the man say exactly?”
“I think it was ‘Fat chance.’ ”
“I’ll remind Lucy not to say that.”
The tunnel came to a junction. Notwen turned right and went down a short passage that ended at another stout door. When he opened it, Ulin discovered they had come to the secret room beneath the Jetties. The room was empty, so they climbed through the barrel into the storeroom and went upstairs to the kitchen. That room was empty, too, although a fire burned in the stove and pots hung over the gleaming coals.
Ulin and Notwen suddenly stiffened, for they heard what sounded like wails. Soft rending cries and hard voices filtered through the door and goaded them onward. Notwen yanked opened the kitchen door. Together they ran toward the common room where the sounds were emanating.
In disbelief they saw Bridget prostrate on the floor, her body racked with uncontrollable grief that tore out of her throat in unending cries of heartbreak. Aylesworthy and Cosmo knelt beside her trying vainly to comfort her. Challie sat in a chair close by, her shoulders slumped and her clothes filthy with mud, smokestains, and what looked like blood. She glanced up when Ulin and Notwen came in, and her usually dour expression crumpled into unaccustomed tears.
“He’s dead,” she said dully. “Pease is dead.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Master Aylesworthy closed the tavern in the Jetties early that night to hold a private wake for Pease. The city council came, as well as the Vigilance Committee, many members of the Vigilance Force, the Silver Fox, Ulin, Challie, Lucy, Notwen, and many of Flotsam’s kender. Pease had been popular in town, even for a kender, and his death was a blow to them all. Only Bridget did not come out of her small room, for Lucy and Notwen had been forced to give her a syrup to ease her hysterics and put her to sleep. Cosmo sat by his friend’s mother and watched her until sleep softened the ravages of her grief, then he came downstairs and sat silently by the bar.
Food was served and toasts were made. Challie told the assembled mourners how she and Pease had taken cover in the warehouse when Fyremantle landed on the dock.
“He was trying to take me to the tunnel under the Brown Pelican,” she said, “but the dragon came faster than we thought. He attacked the fishing boat before we could get there, so Pease ducked into the warehouse. He was going to go out the back door the moment the dragon left the dock. Then the boat crashed into the building and timbers and wreckage fell all around us.” Challie’s voice tightened in her throat. “I was closest to the door. Pease pushed me toward it just as a huge timber crashed on him. I tried to get him, but he was pinned and bleeding so badly. He told me to run. Suddenly the place burst into flames. Someone saw me in the door and dragged me out … but we couldn’t get Pease.” The disbelief was still plain in her voice, and her grief was still very raw. She raised a mug of cider and drank a toast. “He annoyed me endlessly, but I’d give anything to have him back.”
The others raised their glasses as well. One of Pease’s friends brought out a small lap harp and began to play a lament. Someone else produced a recorder and added accompaniment. Soon the kender had a group in the corner of the room playing drums, the harp, the recorder, and a lute. Before long, the laments ended and the music changed from grief to the celebration of a life. Pease would have loved it.
By unspoken agreement, no one discussed the tax crisis or the internment of Kethril Torkay in the city jail. That, they decided, could wait for later.
Shortly after the music started, another person came into the Jetties. She stood for a moment in the doorway then made her way to the table where Ulin and Lucy sat. Heads turned as she passed, and by the time she reached the table, all eyes were on the lovely sirine.
Giggling at some private joke, the sirine took the extra chair and sat down close to Ulin. “I cannot stay long, I have to go back to the water soon, but I wanted to tell you how wonderful it has been to meet you.” It was difficult to tell from her body position and her voice whether she was talking to Lucy or Ulin.
The sirine had met Lucy earlier in the day, and while Lucy had been less than thrilled to know her father had sired other children, she had not been surprised. In fact, she found herself liking the friendly, free-spirited aquatic woman-as long as she did not try to compete for Ulin. A mischievous sprite of a thought popped into Lucy’s head, and she found herself scanning the room for Lysandros. Sure enough, he was standing near the bar keeping an eye on their table. She gestured to him to join them.
The debonair resistance leader came willingly and took a chair next to the sirine. While Lucy made the proper introductions, Ulin leaned over and whispered something in the sirine’s ear. Her fair face brightened, and like a daisy turns to the sun, she tilted her scantily clad chest toward the half-elf and began to hum something soft and captivating, a tune Ulin remembered all too well. The captain curiously turned at the sound. “Cripes,” he said and fell into the spell of her glorious green eyes.
Lucy looked at Ulin and winked.
The wake was beginning to mellow in the late hours of the night, when Lucy and Ulin, the members of the city council, Lysandros, and the Vigilance Committee gathered by ones and twos in the back of the common room. Aylesworthy closed the bar and shooed everyone else out. He had to che
ck three times before he found all the kender, and it took a while to check their pouches and pockets for loose spoons, mugs, other people’s pouches, and knickknacks that had been “found” or “accidentally picked up by mistake.” Finally he was able to pour a fresh pitcher of ale and join the meeting at the back of the room.
While the innkeeper closed the tavern, Challie took two of Lysandros’s guards to the city jail to fetch Kethril. By the time everyone was settled in chairs and ready to begin the meeting, the magistrate had returned with the prisoner bound at the wrists and chained at the ankles. The tall, fastidious gambler looked less than pleased to be hauled ignominiously before such a large group, but he did his best to hide it.
“A mug of your best spring ale,” Kethril called heartily.
The innkeeper made no move to get it. “That’ll be one hundred steel pieces,” he demanded, his heavy features stiff with displeasure.
The gambler sighed heavily and turned back to his daughter. “Lucy … I … we got off to a bad start this afternoon. I want to try again.”
She gazed at some place over his shoulder. “Why?”
Her abrupt answer took him aback. He didn’t know what to expect from this daughter any more. She had become a woman in his absence, and a strong one at that. “You traveled a long way to get here. I thought we could get to know each other again.”
Lucy’s fingers tightened around her mug, but her distant expression did not change. “I came here for my mother’s sake, not yours. She was under the mistaken impression that you were dead. Believe it or not, she was devastated.”
Kethril’s handsome face assumed an expression of sadness mixed with regret. “Ah, your mother. She was a beautiful woman.” He tried to pull out a chair with his foot to sit down at the table.
“Don’t.” Lucy’s refusal was adamant.
Her father looked from her to Ulin, who merely shrugged, and back again to Lucy. “My dear, I-”
Her eyes abruptly focused on his face with the sharpness of a spearpoint. “Do not call me that. I am the sheriff of this town, not some wench you can charm. Now that we have you here, you are to stand trial for the theft of Flotsam’s annual taxes.”
Dragon's bluff c-3 Page 23