Tearing off her skirts and petticoats, Verity stood in her shirtwaist and trousers, which she chose to wear rather than knickers. Trading her dainty slippers for sturdy boots, she covered all with her shell-lined hooded cloak, containing the relevant stories from her Aunt Ephemera’s archives and the dragon beads gathered from the Dragon Vitia’s lair. She stuck the note in the little pocket Madame Marsha had put in the trousers.
Glancing out the narrow window, Verity saw someone running down the garden path, cape swirling in a satisfactorily dramatic fashion. She turned to run down the stairs. She would have preferred sliding down the banister, but that would attract unwanted attention.
The long-legged queen took the steps three at a time, and she was down the corridor, out the door and into the garden in probably less time than it had taken to write the note. The ghost cats swarmed ahead of her. At length, she spied the lone figure she’d seen from the window scurrying ahead of her.
“Fiona! Wait!” she cried.
The girl never hesitated, but kept running. Daylight fled rapidly this time of year and although she had seen her quarry through the castle window moments before, the shadows closed over the path. By the time she reached the drawbridge, Verity saw only a flicker of dark cloak by torchlight before losing her quarry to the shadows, but she continued her pursuit, glad the bridge was not yet raised for the night. She was so intent on catching up to a seeming ally that she was unaware of the many gleaming slitted eyes watching her from the battlements, though she was aware of their muttering.
The ghost cats took the lead, streaming together in a pale phosphorescent vaguely furry scarf toward the old cemetery outside the castle grounds, filled this night with stony moon shadows. The dead held no particular threat for Verity, and she followed the cats. She saw her former schoolmate standing watchfully among the stones.
“Fiona?” she asked from a few feet away, softly and calmly so as not to cause alarm. The woman’s head lifted, and she turned to face Verity. “Wait a minute! A word, please.”
Her quarry, huffing and puffing, gasped, “I—don’t—think that’s a—very good—idea. Clever of you to heed my note, but never mind me, just you keep on going. They have plans for you, you know, those lords of the council. Unsavory plans. I want no part of such doings, nor of the other things some of their lordships try to tell me are required of a typist. If I’m going to put up with that, I can make a better living of it at home.”
“You’re well out of here then. I had no expectation of undying loyalty from the lot at the castle, though they’re a bit grimmer than I’d hoped. Thanks for the warning. But how did you come to be there?”
“After Papa died, my mother wasn’t far behind him. They left me nothing but a pile of debt, though Papa did make provisions for the Sisters of Useful Commerce to take me in and teach me a trade, which as you can see, they did, teaching me to operate a typewriting machine. Unfortunately, I can no longer remain at the castle.”
“Why not? I’d be glad of an ally.”
“Lord Eustus has taken an interest in me. The last three girls he took an interest in ended up on the streets.”
“Which one is that?”
“The scrawny one with the very bad breath and the wild eyes.”
“Oh, him.” Verity remembered a man who looked to be in his late seventies with eyes that seemed to be trying to burn through her clothing. She’d been too preoccupied to pay him much notice but come to think of it, he was creepy, repulsive and no doubt frightening to a smaller woman. Her fleeting impulse to pick him up by the scruff of the neck, using as few fingers as possible, and toss him into the moat had not been inappropriate. Next time, if there was one, she’d do just that and appoint a new minister in his place. “I might be able to protect you, but I agree it would be easier if you were elsewhere. I’ll walk you to the train.”
“Thanks.”
“And as we walk, explain to me why you think I should run.”
“They are planning to kill you, of course. I heard them. They didn’t even bother to lower their voices. They’re all in on it. They think they can make a puppet queen out of Malady Hyde. Why did you bring her with you, anyway?”
“It was my mother’s idea.”
“Mother’s! Why?”
“I don’t know. She said something about keeping your enemies close enough to slip something into their food or drink.” Verity grimaced. “But she seems to have reckoned without the knife in my back. Bit of a mystery, my mother, and I begin to think that’s a good thing.”
The train depot took up an entire city block, only part of which was the ticket office and waiting area. The rest of the area was cross-hatched with tracks that ultimately carried passengers in three different directions with many feeder tracks leading to places like mines and large farming enterprises. Verity had ridden from the Queenston station, which was the farthest south, to the Ablemarlonian border and beyond, into Glassovia to the east and Fort Iceworm to the north. Fort Iceworm was home to the Seashell Archives and the archivist, Verity’s Aunt Ephemera.
She supposed if her loyal council didn’t kill her first, her reign would take her to the western coast as well. Her old school was there, but she hadn’t been able to see much of the rest of the area, although she had once had a visit with another aunt who lived in a home built on the site of her famed great-great-great-Aunt Sybil’s legendary gingerbread cottage. Aunt Epiphany was some sort of doctor. Verity found her nowhere near as interesting as their mutual ancestress was supposed to have been, Great-Aunt Sybil, according to the shells, had possessed the gift of being able to tell people’s fortunes. Not the future or the past, but what was happening with others at the present moment, which had all sorts of handy possibilities. When asked about her own gifts, Epiphany had answered truthfully but vaguely. “Insight, dear girl. I have great insight.”
Verity’s dragon bead and shell necklace rattled between her skin and her clothing. The ghost cat that had been following Fiona mewed silently, put its paws on Verity’s knee, and looked up at her as if to say, ‘What are you waiting for?’
“Goodbye. Thank you for trying to help, but look to your own safety. I’ve typed some missives for their lordships that speak of their real plans for you.” She shuddered. “I repeat, run. And now I must do the same. Come with me.”
“They’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Verity said, wincing at the twist of pain above her right eye. Dumping the liveliest of the beads and shells into her hand, she handed them to Fiona and thrust the necklace into her pants pocket. “These belong to you. Wear them. I don’t know what kind of protection they’ll give you, but it’s inherited power and it ought to be good for something. The cat goes with them. You do see the cat?”
“Yes, of course. I can’t seem to get rid of it. Better take it with you. It might get hurt.”
“I doubt it. It’s the ghost of a familiar to one of your magical ancestors. It should help protect you. Besides, I have plenty of others.” She glanced down at the milling, mewling translucent clowder clustered around her trouser legs. “Good luck.”
She watched from the shadows as Fiona swept into the station then, after only a few minutes, out again, whereupon she ran to the platform for a train already beginning to huff and choo. She was no sooner aboard than the engine dragons whistled, and the train left the station.
Verity didn’t want to return to the castle. Dressed as a boy, she had the freedom of the streets, or so she thought, and decided to go visit old friends at the dock, at the Changelings Cabaret. It was open quite late, and she hoped to find news of her father there. She hadn’t had a real conversation with him since her return from the north. In fact, she’d believed him to be dead until Madame Louisa, the headliner (and owner) of the club (and Captain Lewis’s alter ego) revealed to her that instead of dying when he fell from the burning hot air balloon, her father had been saved by mermaid kin and transformed into a merman. He seemed to remember nothing of his former life, however, and she was not entirel
y sure he remembered who she was.
The docks were busy with ships being loaded and unloaded, men coming and going.
Only one place was completely silent and dark, a hole in the fabric of activity. The Changelings Cabaret was closed, a sign nailed to the door. She turned to leave.
A cowl of foul-smelling fabric dropped over her head and was pressed against her nose and mouth with an overpowering sweet aroma. She wasn’t aware of her knees buckling and her body wilting to the ground, her fall broken only by strong arms that grabbed her from either side as she was dragged like a drunkard onto a waiting ship.
Chapter 3: Malady Hyde, Girl Regent and Almost-a-Princess
“Very well then, where is she?” Malady asked the unusually smug looking royal cabinet at the council meeting. “You lot did something with her, didn’t you?”
She could have pretended, of course, probably should have, but it took her by surprise, and the sudden dearth of hulking great teenaged queens was not easy to overlook.
“Oh, my dear,” said Sir Cuthbert, “you don’t get quality leadership from any random place. We thought as our families have put so much work and expense into pulling this crippled country together, if there is to be a queen, she should be one of us. Even the raggle taggle Gypsy queen herself suggested you be next in line if her whopping daughter didn’t work out, so we rather feel that with said daughter suddenly disappearing, you are to be regent until she returns, IF she returns. With our guidance of course. It’s a statesmanlike compromise between what the local authority wants and what we, the allies and saviors of this dragon-ridden country need to make it work, don’t you see? What say you, Niece?”
“It would be like being a princess, wouldn’t it? I always thought I was excellent princess material with my looks and fashion sense.”
It wasn’t at all like that, and her uncles looked at her pityingly and questioned the wisdom of their choice for the first time. She caught their expressions but held her head up with defiant shallowness. She was used to the finer things in life or at least had always wanted to be, and if she couldn’t get them in her present situation, where could she, pray?
Crimped
Verity came to, sputtering and cursing as cold water drenched her head and torso. She looked up into a hard red face scowling down at her against a backdrop of canvas and timber.
“Get to work, you, before I give you a taste of the cat!” He brandished a hydra-like version of a whip, with multiple lashes. He smacked it against the deck and it made a nasty noise.
“There’s been some sort of mistake…” she said.
“Craven the Crimp don’t make mistakes and ’tis a mistake on your part to say he does.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“What are you, stupid or just too drunk to follow orders?”
“I’m not drunk,” she said. She started to say, ‘I’m the queen,’ but was pretty sure announcing her rank and gender was not a good idea.
Someone thrust a mop into her hand. At least she knew what to do with that, having earned many work details for bad behavior at her various schools and academies. Pretending to concentrate on the deck, she mopped her way over to the rail. She could still see land—barely, and three other ships. The most distant one looked familiar.
“What are you gawkin’ at? Look lively!” the fellow with the ‘cat’ ordered, cracking it in the air so its knotted ends came dangerously close to her nose.
Without thinking, she snapped back, “Be careful with that thing. You almost put my eye out.” Her curse was always worse when she was nervous. He lifted the whip to strike again and two burly fellows closed in on her. She vaulted over the rail with unaccustomed agility and struck the water ten feet from the hull. Beneath the water’s surface, she heard no one and nothing. It seemed warmer underneath too. She wondered if she’d turn into a mermaid, as some people in her family, her father included, had done, but no, her legs operated separately. She knew she’d have to surface for breath soon, but she just kept swimming and swimming. When she finally surfaced, the sun sparkled on the water and only one ship danced on the horizon.
She swam with only her face above the swells, keeping the ship in sight.
She didn’t know its name. Scraping her hair back from her face and with wet hands, wiping the water from her eyes, she tried to read the lettering on the hull. There seemed to be a lot of l’s.
She hailed the ship, “Hello! Please let me board. It’s wet out here!”
Her voice carried well, which was not always a blessing, but in this situation worked to her advantage. Three of the crew looked over the rail, followed, to her surprise and delight by Captain Lewis in full piratical regalia. “Eh? Who’s that?”
“It’s me, Captain! Verity Brown!” She felt it would have been rude to say she was currently, reluctantly also the queen. Captain Lewis did know that.
“Whatever are you doing out there, dearie?”
“Swimming, fortunately.”
“Get a wiggle on, me hearties!” the captain said, turning to shout to the crew not already at the rail. “This be a rare fish indeed!”
Hands extended over the side. To Verity’s amazement, she was able to spring from the water with a dolphin-like leap and grab the proffered hands, almost dragging her rescuers over with the momentum. She hadn’t known she could leap like that. She also kept forgetting she was not a dainty girl.
When she was drying off with her back to the rail, Captain Lewis said, “Fancy meeting you out here. What brings you to cross our course?”
“Not my idea,” she said. “I was kidnapped.”
“Ah. So you weren’t just in the neighborhood and thought you’d drop in, eh?”
“No.”
“I’d offer to return you to port, but we are well underway to Crystal Bay, looking to return loaded, and there’s fierce competition for cargo these days.”
“I don’t actually want to go back all that badly,” she said. “No matter who my ancestors were, I am clearly not queen material.”
“Are you not? I understand the job has its challenges, but queens don’t get to run away, sweetie. It’s not the done thing. It’s shirking your responsibilities and all of that, as I’m sure your mother would tell you if she were here, or your father if he could.”
“You mean my mother the time traveling Gypsy and my father the midlife merman who no longer recognizes me? Perhaps not. But I don’t see either of them eager to put on a crown. Besides, it wasn’t my idea to kidnap myself and put me on a ship.”
“No. It could have been by chance. The crimps are doing a booming business with so many steam vessels converting to sail. It takes a much larger crew for a sailing vessel. The Belle is an older ship and has been equipped for both since steam became a possibility, so I thought we’d have a jump on the ships still converting and might beat them at picking up a cargo from Frostingdung.”
“I get the feeling it was intentional that I was the target, that someone sicced them on to me, but possibly they didn’t know who I was.”
She shrugged the blanket back as the sun dried her hair and she grew warmer.
Captain Lewis said, “Perhaps it’s just as well that your reign wasn’t well established or widely proclaimed. Having the monarch go missing at a time like this what with the dragons free and the economy teetering is rather destabilizing to say the least.”
“They had no queen before and they don’t want one now,” Verity said. “They’ll be glad to think themselves rid of me. As for the dragons, Toby’s managing that. He and Taz.”
As they spoke, a white vapor boiled up from the sea, from which the swells had suddenly smoothed to a glassy calm. The vapor rose until it hung low over the water and slowly turned from totally misty to murky before it separated into individual cat-shaped fog forms. Each eye glinted with a mad gleam and was fixed on Verity.
“There you are. I wondered where you’d gone,” Verity said to the spectral felines. “You were with me at the drawbridge, then poof!”
“They want to be reunited with the families of their murdered magicians,” she said. “And I’m the only one who can do it, really. I don’t suppose you’d like the other job? It comes with room and board.”
“Thanks awfully, but between being absolute ultimate authority aboard this ship and Madame Louisa, diva of the Changelings Cabaret, I have quite enough to satisfy whatever appetite for power I might have. Any more, and I fear I’d suffer indigestion. But I suppose we could accompany you back to the castle and, armed with fiddles and banjos, defend you from your foes?”
She groaned. “Gags would be more helpful. Whoever kidnapped me actually did me a favor. The lying and manipulating in the council was so intense I could barely stand it. My head was about to explode. If I’m to actually achieve anything, I need real allies and advisers.” She touched her necklace. “I think the beads will help me find them.”
“Accessorization is so important,” agreed Captain Lewis. “The right sword, seven league boots, cloak of invisibility, magician-finding dragon-manufactured beads…”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea where I could start looking?”
“No. It would be too convenient, I suppose, if all of the known wizards lived on the coast. Have you spoken with your auntie the archivist about this?”
“If you mean Aunt Ephemera, well, no, not recently. But I did send her a message via Toby and Taz shortly before the dragons were released. She sent back a shell. Wait a minute. I have it here somewhere.”
After a brief search of her damp clothing, she found it in her trouser pocket and handed it to Captain Lewis.
The Redundant Dragons Page 3