Privateer

by Margaret Weis

  “D’argent will emphasize to Sir Richard that he must keep your secret, particularly from the marchioness. Sir Richard is devoted to you, sir. He would not risk placing you in jeopardy.”

  “When do you think you will receive Her Majesty’s answer, my lady?” Thomas asked.

  “In a month’s time, perhaps longer,” Cecile replied coolly.

  “A month!” Thomas repeated, dismayed. Now that he had made a decision, he was ready to act.

  “They say that diplomacy is the art of taking a long time to do very little,” said Cecile. “In this instance, we are trying to do a great deal. The journey from here to Haever takes five days by griffin and that depends on a fair wind and good weather. Once D’argent is in Haever, he must meet with Sir Richard and they must meet with Her Majesty, and convince Queen Mary to meet with you. She will want time to consider. If she agrees, we have arrangements to make, how you will travel, where you will stay. If she refuses, Sir Richard will need time to try to change her mind.”

  “I understand, my lady,” said Thomas. “I will endeavor to be patient. In the interim, Phillip and I will return to Estara—”

  Cecile shook her head. “I strongly suggest that you remain at Castle Dragonreach, Your Highness. When we receive the queen’s answer, we need to be prepared to act, although I fear you will find this place very dull. Sophia and Sir Rodrigo will soon be leaving for Freya and my son and his wife will be traveling to Everux to be near Juliette’s parents for the birth of their child.”

  Thomas could think of nothing more boring than wandering about an empty castle for a month. He understood Cecile’s reasoning, however, and he assured her that he and Phillip would remain if the duke would grant his permission. Thomas tucked the papers from Mr. Sloan into an inner pocket and they left the countess alone to write her letters.

  Phillip suggested that they walk in the garden.

  “Perhaps we will run into Sophia,” said Thomas, knowing why his friend chose the garden.

  “I cannot believe she is to leave tomorrow,” said Phillip, sighing. “I meant to ask. What were you two talking about in the library.”

  “Our duty,” said Thomas somberly.

  The garden paths were deserted, much to Phillip’s disappointment. He and Thomas strolled along the path that ran near the wall overlooking the harbor. They watched the ships and the drifting mists of the Breath.

  “You know Queen Mary, Pip. What do you think of my chance for success?” Thomas asked.

  “To be honest, about the same as the ground on which we are standing suddenly giving way and plunging us into the Breath,” Phillip replied. “Mary is very fond of her sister, Elinor. Sir Henry has been trying to dissuade her from naming Elinor as her heir, but without success. Their half brother, Hugh Fitzray, is a bumbling fool, but he is preferable to Elinor, who would bring back the priests and burn heretics at the stake.”

  “Do you still disapprove of my going?” Thomas asked.

  “On consideration, no,” said Phillip. “For I will be going with you.”

  “You will not!” Thomas stopped walking to remonstrate with his friend. “I will not permit it! Sir Henry Wallace deems you a traitor to your country. He would have your head on the block! I am only surprised you have not been assassinated before now. I shudder when I think that man Sloan was lurking about within feet of you.”

  “I imagine I presented a very tempting target to poor Mr. Sloan,” Phillip agreed, laughing. “I cannot believe I did not see him. Such a lapse would have been the death of me in the Rose Hawks days. But to return to our argument, you might as well save your breath, for I will not let you travel to Freya alone.”

  “Out of the question, Pip. The risk you would run is too great.”

  “And your risk is not?” Phillip countered. “Sir Henry knows that if you ascend to the throne, he will be ruined. You could revoke his title, seize his lands; even send him into exile.”

  “He has a right to be worried,” said Thomas grimly. “The man is a scourge.”

  “Henry is not so bad,” Phillip said. “He is a patriot, as am I. We are both loyal to our country. He and I happen to differ on what is best for our country, that is all. Consider this argument, Tom. You know no one in Freya. You will be a stranger in a strange land at the mercy of strangers. If you find yourself in trouble, you will need someone you know you can trust.”

  “Sir Rodrigo will be in Freya,” Thomas said dryly. “So will Sophia for that matter. Confess the truth. She is the real reason you want to come with me.”

  He grinned, meaning the suggestion in jest. He was taken aback when Phillip rounded on him, his face dark with anger.

  “Do you seriously believe I would involve Sophia in this mad venture? Do you think I would put her in danger? If so, Tom, our friendship is at an end!”

  “I am sorry, Pip,” said Thomas. “I know you would not. I was teasing.”

  “Well, don’t do that again. You gave me a fright,” said Phillip. “You must take this seriously, Tom. Do not worry about me. I have contacts in Haever, safe places to stay. I will keep out of Sir Henry’s sight.”

  “I should not let you put yourself in danger on my account,” said Thomas. “But I suppose I cannot stop you, short of chaining you to the dungeon wall.”

  “The countess would do that herself if she suspected I was coming with you,” said Phillip. “So what do we do now?”

  “We wait,” said Thomas grimly.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Henry Wallace examined his reflection in the dressing room mirror. He was wearing evening attire: a long blue velvet coat trimmed in gold brocade; matching blue weskit, also trimmed in gold; blue breeches and silk stockings. He was wearing a stock, then the fashion, which had replaced the wider cravat.

  He deliberately twitched the stock out of place, knowing his wife took pleasure in fussing over him and setting it right with her own hands.

  Sir Henry and Lady Ann were hosting a formal dinner party, a rare occurrence since Henry abhorred entertaining. He viewed his home as a sanctuary, a calm haven in the center of the chaotic storm that was his life, and he did not like having it invaded. Ann insisted that they host at least three dinner parties during the year, to fulfill their own social obligations, and Henry acceded to her wishes, as always.

  Henry was actually looking forward to this party, for hosting it had been his idea. His friends Captain Alan Northrop and Admiral Randolph Baker, of Her Majesty’s Expeditionary Fleet, had returned to Haever for refitting. Their ships were going to switch from using the liquid form of the Breath to the far more efficient crystalline form.

  The ships were now in the Naval Yard, attended by a swarm of crafters and carpenters. Alan and Randolph were on leave and they were coming to dine this night, along with their other friend, Simon Yates, another rare occurrence. Simon did not like to take time from his work and his friends had spent considerable time and effort convincing him to leave his house for a few hours.

  Henry, satisfied that he would pass inspection, left his dressing room in search of his wife. He found Ann in the dining room studying the arrangements with a critical eye. They had invited twenty people for dinner. The table was resplendent with gilt-edged porcelain plates, gleaming silver tableware, and glittering crystal glasses. Three large cut-glass vases held flowers that filled the room with fragrance.

  Henry watched his wife, unobserved, as she frowned over place cards and, at one point, switched two of them. He marveled now, as he marveled every day, that he had been so fortunate as to gain her love. She felt his gaze upon her and turned to smile at him.

  “I hope you have not put Lord Percy next to Randolph, my dear,” Henry said, advancing into the room. “They will get into a blazing row over some long-forgotten naval battle that will end with Randolph chucking the fish at Percy’s head.”

  Ann came over to greet Henry and tilt her head to receive his kiss. She then frowned at him and twitched his stock back into place, much to his delight.

  �
��I have put Lord Percy at one end and Randolph on the other. I was switching cards to seat Alan next to Lord Alfred’s charming niece, Lady Annabelle. Her brother is currently serving in the navy and that will give the two of them something to talk about.”

  “They can also discuss the fact that she is unmarried and, by remarkable coincidence, so is Alan,” said Henry wryly. “My wife the matchmaker.”

  “They would suit each other perfectly,” said Ann. “I have put Simon at your right hand. Do not allow him to discuss the intestinal diseases in cattle as he did the last time he was here. Poor Lady Penelope complained that she could not eat beef for a month.”

  “I will make the attempt, but you know Simon,” said Henry. “Seat Miss Amelia next to him. She will talk about cow intestines. She has undoubtedly written an article on the subject at some point in her career.”

  “Miss Amelia is to sit next to me and Lady Susan. We want to hear about Captain Kate’s latest thrilling adventure. She was almost hanged!” said Ann.

  She was interrupted by a flurried maid who came to say that Cook urgently needed to speak to her mistress regarding some potential culinary disaster, and then by another servant, who came to say the first guests were arriving.

  They could both hear Randolph’s booming voice resounding throughout the house. “Damn your eyes, you lubber, you’ve nearly upset Master Yates! Do that again and I will have you flogged round the fleet!”

  “Stop swearing at the servants, Randolph!” Simon returned, peeved. “You are the one who was blocking the door!”

  Ann flashed her husband an alarmed glance. “I will deal with Cook. You must do something, Henry. The last time Randolph was here, the butler gave notice. I do not want to lose Jacobs.”

  Henry went to the entry hall to welcome his friends and save their newly hired butler.

  Jonathon Jacobs was in his fifties. He had been born to household service, his father having been a butler before him. He had served in the Royal Navy and entered his father’s profession following his retirement.

  He came highly recommended by Alan Northrop, who had said, “Jacobs is calm under fire, Henry. Just what you need, given that people have a tendency to shoot at you.”

  Jacobs was not Mr. Sloan, but he was adept at running the household and he did not appear the least unnerved by Randolph’s withering attacks.

  “This blasted lubber almost dumped Simon out of his chair, Henry!” Randolph boomed, divesting himself of his cloak and hat and throwing them in the general direction of a maid.

  “Randolph was the one who nearly upset me,” Simon stated as he floated into the hall. “Henry, I need a word with you in private. I will meet you in the library.”

  “Simon, I can’t talk now,” Henry protested. “I have guests—”

  “This is important,” said Simon. He whipped his chair around and headed down the hall.

  Ann appeared at Henry’s shoulder. “Go talk with Simon, my dear. I will take care of Admiral Baker. Captain Northrop has just arrived. He will assist me.”

  Henry cast his wife a grateful glance and followed Simon. He looked over his shoulder to see Alan latching onto Randolph.

  “What news from the dockyard about our ships? I heard you were there today,” said Alan, steering him toward the parlor. “How is the work on the Valor progressing?”

  “The refit is complete,” Randolph stated, adding with a snort, “No thanks to those blasted crafters.”

  Alan winked at Henry and led their friend, grumbling about the ineptitude of ships’ crafters, to the parlor.

  The library was the most secure room in the house. It had no windows and only one door. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books that were there not just to be read and enjoyed, but also served to dampen sound. Mr. Sloan had inscribed the magical constructs that strengthened the walls, and the warding constructs that guarded the door. Henry never entered this room without thinking of his secretary and friend.

  Henry ushered Simon inside, then shut the door.

  “Well, Simon, what is so important that you take me away from my guests?” Henry asked.

  “I have finished studying the reports we received from Mr. Sloan,” said Simon. “What he has uncovered is shocking, Henry. This Colonel Smythe—and we must never forget that he is really Isaiah Crawford, the man who murdered six humans and two dragons—commands an army of mostly Guundaran mercenaries in Bheldem and, in addition, has secret armies hidden in various parts of Freya. He has apparently been plotting this for months without my knowledge. I am sorry to let you down, Henry,” Simon added despondently. “I had no idea.”

  “You could never let me down, Simon,” said Henry. “Do not blame yourself. We will send in our own army to deal with them.”

  Simon made an impatient gesture. “You do not understand, Henry! I know these secret armies exist, but I can’t locate them!”

  Henry was concerned. “How can you hide an army, Simon?”

  “That is the point. You can’t. And yet it seems they have. I have searched through my files, looking for clues: a farmer chasing after soldiers roaming about his hay field or a griffin rider spotting men marching along a road. Nothing. Absolutely nothing!”

  Henry could not recall seeing his friend so unsettled by anything. He sat down to face him. “Mr. Sloan could be wrong—”

  “We both know better, Henry,” Simon interrupted impatiently. “I was thinking that your privateer, Captain Kate, might have better luck. With her dragon, she could search from the air. If I were going to hide an army, I’d do so in parts of northern and western Freya. Perhaps along the coastline. That area is uninhabited, but Kate and her dragon— Why not? What’s the matter?”

  Henry was shaking his head. “I have no Captain Kate. According to Miss Amelia, Kate’s dragon got himself into some sort of trouble and she is fleeing bounty hunters. They have gone to ground.”

  “That’s a damn shame,” said Simon. “Then perhaps you should ask the Countess de Marjolaine. She has the same information. No doubt her Freyan agents have already located these armies.”

  “If you cannot find them, Simon, no one can,” said Henry. “As for the countess, Mr. Sloan did what he had to do by permitting her to read the information. I do not fault him.”

  “Nor do I, Henry,” said Simon. “Pay no heed to my rants. In truth, I believe the countess is acting on the reports. Her secretary, D’argent, is in Haever.”

  “Not surprising,” said Henry. “Sir Rodrigo de Villeneuve and Princess Sophia have only just arrived. The countess will be keeping a watchful eye on them, even as she and the Pretender plot to overthrow our queen.”

  “I have told you before, Henry, and these reports confirm my opinion, that Prince Thomas knows nothing about these secret armies—”

  Henry snorted. “Bah! Of course he does! He is behind this! He intends to march into the palace at the head of his army and seize his throne by force!”

  “I do not think so, Henry,” said Simon. “More importantly, neither does Mr. Sloan. He believes Smythe and the marchioness are keeping the prince in the dark. Mr. Sloan adds that Lord Ander shares his belief.”

  “So I have lost you, as well, Simon. It seems I must fight this battle for my country alone,” Henry said bitterly, rising to his feet. “And now, my other guests are waiting. If you will excuse me—”

  Simon steered his chair around so that he was blocking the door. “Henry, do you want me to tell you what you want to hear, or the truth? I can do one or the other. I can’t do both. The choice is yours.”

  Henry gave his friend a grim look and was silent.

  “I’m sorry. We can discuss this at a later date,” said Simon.

  He began to maneuver his chair toward the door. Henry stopped him, placing his hand on his shoulder.

  “I am the one who should apologize,” said Henry. “My queen is dying, Simon, and I am alone in this hellish darkness. I cannot see where I am going. I could be strolling down a smooth highway toward success or I could
be teetering on the edge of a precipice, one false step from disaster. And yet, whatever I do, I have to keep walking! I dare not stop!”

  “You are not alone, Henry,” said Simon, reproving. “You have friends who walk with you. Granted, we are not good for much: I am a cripple, Alan is a hothead, and, by the sounds emanating from the parlor, Randolph has just now broken a very expensive vase. But in addition to us, you have your estimable lady wife and the courageous Mr. Sloan, who is risking his life to provide us with this information.”

  “Thank you, Simon,” said Henry, moved. “Thank you for reminding me.”

  He resumed his seat, took a moment to collect himself, then said briskly, “Let us suppose you are right. The marchioness and the members of the Faithful are in league with Smythe to seize the throne for Prince Thomas, all the while keeping the prince in the dark. For what reason?”

  “According to Mr. Sloan’s reports, as well as those from your own former agent and friend, Phillip Masterson, Prince Thomas is an honorable young man who would be opposed to seizing the throne by force.”

  “You believe he is a gentleman and thus all is well, then,” Henry said, his lip curling.

  “I do not,” said Simon, ignoring the sarcasm. “I think the fact that he does not know puts us in even graver danger, which is what I need you to understand. If Smythe and the marchioness fear the prince will put a stop to their plot, they could find it necessary to take immediate action. I think the countess feels as I do, which could be why she has sent D’argent to Haever.”

  “Or the countess could be in league with the marchioness and Smythe,” Henry said. “God! This is a tangle! I assume you have agents following D’argent.”

  Simon gave a faint smile. “The man has served the countess for many years, Henry. He knows what he is about. He let it be known he was in Haever by openly meeting with the princess. That was a ruse to put us off the trail, for shortly after, he gave my best man the slip and vanished. I have no idea where D’argent may be, how long he has been here, or even if he is still in Freya.”