Seeing the two engrossed in conversation, Kate decided she could slip away and not be missed.
She headed for the storage closet, only to find her way blocked by more soldiers hauling up the two heavy, wooden crates. Kate had seen the young people carry the crates on board. She had wondered then, as she wondered now, what was inside. The soldiers carried the crates off the ship and loaded them into a waiting horse-drawn wagon.
Kate could not waste time speculating. The door to the closet was open. The Bottom Dwellers had taken all the remaining foodstuffs with them, force of habit for those who had never been certain when they would eat again. Kate slipped inside and groped her way to the back. She found the pistol, wrapped in the gunnysack, where she had left it.
She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her slops, pulled the skirt over it, and buttoned her peacoat over that. She was heading for her cabin, when she heard Franklin and his friend coming down the stairs.
Kate darted into her cabin, hoping to avoid detection, but she was too late.
“Private, what are you doing down here?” Franklin demanded.
“Packing my belongings, sir,” said Kate.
“You can do that later,” said Franklin.
“Yes, sir.” Kate tried to sidle off.
Franklin stopped her. “Come with me. You are not in trouble, Private. Captain Martin and I need to speak to you.”
Mystified, Kate accompanied the two men to Franklin’s cabin, which was directly across the corridor from hers. Kate allowed them to go first, acutely conscious of the pistol hidden beneath her clothes as she followed them.
Franklin unlocked the door and he and the captain walked inside. He brought a chair for his friend and then sat down in the chair behind the desk. He did not invite Kate to sit down, which was fine with her. She remained standing near the door, ready for a quick escape should that prove necessary.
The captain cast her a disapproving glance.
“Who is this woman, Franklin?”
“Kate McPike. The crafter I was telling you about,”
The captain frowned. “You did not mention she was a Trundler.”
“Beggars cannot be choosers, Martin,” said Franklin dryly. “She knows how to use the seventh sigil.”
“Are you certain? She is a Trundler, after all,” Martin grunted. “And a stowaway. She could have lied so you wouldn’t throw her off the ship.”
“I am certain, Martin,” said Franklin, sounding irritated at being doubted. “She has repaired the magic on the lift tanks using the seventh sigil. You can see for yourself.”
Kate shifted restlessly. The two were discussing her as if she were a prize hog they were planning to purchase.
“How did you come to find her on Glasearrach?” Martin asked.
“She is related to the two Trundler women who own this ship. She ran afoul of the law in Wellinsport and traveled with them to Glasearrach to escape bounty hunters.”
Martin cast her a disparaging glance, then shook his hand. “A Trundler! God works in mysterious ways, Franklin.”
“God be thanked for His miracles, both great and small,” said Franklin. “You are dismissed, Private. Go finish your packing, then wait on deck. Someone will show you to your quarters.”
“Yes, sir,” said Kate. “Thank you, sir.”
“Leave the door open,” said Martin. “Stinks of Bottom Dweller in here. Makes me want to retch. I don’t know how you stand it, Franklin.”
“You get used to it,” said Franklin. “I don’t smell it at all anymore.”
Kate hurried into her cabin, closed the door, then sat down on the bed to listen to the conversation from across the hall, hoping to hear something of interest. She was disappointed. The two were apparently just exchanging the latest camp gossip.
“I heard from one of the men that Gaskell is gone,” Franklin was saying. “Somewhat mysteriously, as I understand. I cannot say I am sorry, Martin. Between his drunkenness and debauchery, he was a constant threat to discipline.”
“Gaskell’s dissolute behavior was not surprising, given he was in league with that spawn of the Evil One—the dragon Coreg.”
Kate sucked in a startled breath, wondering if she had heard right. She crept over to her door, opened it a crack, and waited to hear more.
“God be thanked, we do not have to deal with either of them anymore,” Martin was saying. “From now on, we deal directly with Colonel Smythe. He has taken over acquiring the weapons from the black market himself.”
“Good news,” said Franklin. “Smythe is a God-fearing man by all accounts. What happened to Gaskell?”
“He did something to displease the colonel,” Martin replied. “Smythe sent a man to deal with him.”
“Why the grimace?” Franklin asked.
“Wait until you meet Weasel,” Martin growled.
“Weasel?” Franklin repeated. “Is that his name?”
“He goes by some heathen name no one can remember. He never speaks, except once to me to ask me where the Travian dragons lived. As if I would know or care! He is always sneaking about. One of the men said he reminded him of a weasel, and the name stuck. Colonel Smythe wrote that this fellow could prove useful to us in refurbishing and refitting the guns. I can’t fathom why Smythe would say that, for the fellow claims to know nothing about crafting.”
“Strange,” said Franklin.
Martin grunted. “Between you and me, I think our colonel wanted to be rid of him and foisted him off on us. It is a pity. I could use another crafter since Huston died.”
“Huston is dead?” Franklin sounded shocked. “What happened?”
“The fool got the lunatic idea into his head that the Bottom Dwellers were going to turn on us. He began carrying a loaded pistol with him everywhere. He was at work in the armory when there was some sort of accident; no one is really certain how, but the contramagic reacted with the magic in his pistol and blew a hole in him the size of a cannonball. I hope this Trundler is all you claim,” Martin added grumpily. “What with losing Huston and the man you lost in the shipwreck, we are running low on crafters.”
“I will have the private start work tomorrow. Speaking of guns, here is the inventory of the replacement parts. Do you want to go over it now?”
“No, I need to return to camp, make certain these new recruits are settled. Bring the list along when you come.”
Chairs scraped as the two men stood up. Kate softly shut her door and stood with her back against it. Franklin and Martin walked past her cabin, heading for the stairs.
“How did you find a black ship in such good condition?” Martin was asking.
“The Bottom Dwellers told us about this one. The two Trundler women who owned it are friends with some Rosian priest. They risked their lives carrying food and medicine for these people, who then turned around and betrayed them.” Franklin added in a tone of disgust, “The Scriptures tell us to love our fellow man, but I confess I find it difficult to love Bottom Dwellers.”
“Too bad we didn’t kill them all off during the war,” said Martin. “I can’t stand the sight of them with their fish-belly skin and squinty eyes. I’ll be glad when this job is finished and we can be rid of them.”
They proceeded up the stairs. “Leave the balloons partially inflated. Make certain the ship is securely tied down. I’ll have the lift tanks refilled.”
Their voices trailed off.
Someone pounded on her door. “It’s me, Corporal Roberts.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“The captain sent me to find you. I have orders to take you to the barracks.”
“I haven’t finished packing,” said Kate.
“Make haste then,” Roberts said. “Leave your chest in your cabin. One of the soldiers will bring it over.”
“I can carry it,” Kate said, not wanting some stranger pawing through her things.
“I said leave it, Private,” Roberts ordered. “You have ten minutes.”
He walked off
. Kate dragged the chest out from under the bed, wondering if there was some way for her to steal the ship and fly it back to Glasearrach. Dalgren could go with her, make his apologies to Father Jacob.
Kate let herself dream for a moment, then came back down to reality. The black ship required at least a crew of three to sail and those three needed to be experienced sailors. Even if she came up with the crew, she didn’t know how to find Glasearrach without navigational charts.
She went back to her packing, which didn’t take long. She hadn’t brought that much with her, considering she had been planning to remain on Glasearrach for a year. Two calico shirts, an extra pair of slops, undergarments, stockings, red kerchiefs and—always mindful of Miss Amelia’s dictum regarding sensible shoes—sturdy boots as well as the slippers she wore on deck.
She had also brought with her the two most cherished things she owned: the pistol Thomas had given her and the letter he had written to her when she was in the Aligoes.
Kate had hidden the letter in the false bottom she had fashioned for her chest—an easy task for the daughter of a smuggler. She had been amused at herself for keeping it, telling herself she was being silly and sentimental, and she had made up her to mind to burn it, but found she couldn’t destroy it.
Reducing his letter to ashes would be like reducing their relationship to ashes. And although Kate could tell herself that they had no relationship, and that Thomas was engaged to another woman, she couldn’t bring herself to consign his letter to the flames.
She read it over, although she had the words memorized. She was relieved to think Thomas had no idea what was going on with his army in Freya, even as she was aggravated with him for not making it his business to find out.
She slid the letter back into its hiding place and toyed with the idea of hiding the pistol with it. She decided to keep the pistol where it was, hidden beneath her skirt and the peacoat. She tied one of the red kerchiefs around her neck. When Dalgren found her, she could use it to signal to him, as they had in former times, when they had gone wrecking together.
Those days seemed very far away. She closed the chest with a sigh and went back up on deck.
Roberts greeted her with a sullen look and ordered her curtly to follow him.
The sun was in the west; only a few more hours of daylight left. Kate wondered where everyone had gone. The Naofa swung at anchor, balloons partially deflated, sails furled. The crews working on the other two ships had all departed. The dock was almost deserted. The forest stretched as far as she could see, deep and empty, filled with shadows.
Kate glanced back at the ship. It might be hidden from other ships in the Breath, but not from a dragon. Dalgren would be able to see the Naofa from the air and know how to find her, although she had no idea what good that would do either of them, for they would not be able to talk.
“I’ll think of something,” Kate muttered.
“What did you say?” Roberts demanded. “You are always muttering to yourself. You are not a witch, are you?” He scowled at her. “Witches constantly mutter spells, or so I have heard.”
Kate thought to herself that it was lucky for Roberts she wasn’t a witch. Otherwise he would be a hop toad by now.
“I was wondering where we were going,” she said. “I don’t see any sign of a barracks or encampment.”
“That’s because it’s underground,” said Roberts with a smirk.
“A cave!” Kate said, impressed. “I’ll be damned.”
A road paved with crushed rock led to two wrought-iron gates that guarded the entrance to the cavern. The entrance was large enough for two wagons to roll through the gate side by side. The gates had been built directly into the stone and stood open with two soldiers guarding it.
The soldiers eyed Kate suspiciously and would have stopped her, but Roberts vouched for her, saying she was a new crafter. The soldiers allowed her to pass.
Kate entered the cave and stopped to stare, awed. The Army of Retribution was not bivouacking in some dank hole, as she had supposed. They had built an underground city.
The cavern’s interior was vast. Crafters must have spent months shaping and expanding the natural limestone. Huge square pillars located at regular intervals supported the ceiling.
The vast interior was lighted by constructs glowing softly on glass plates set into the ceiling, all connected by a complicated system of leather cords. The lighting was dim and Kate wondered why, at first, then remembered the Bottom Dwellers. Like moles, they must enjoy living underground in the dark.
“Those are the barracks.” Roberts pointed to buildings carved out of stone. “The Bottom Dwellers live in the north barracks and we live in the south. Officers quarter there. The crafters have their own barracks toward the rear. That’s where you’ll be. Men and women are housed separately. Over there is the mess hall and beyond that the latrines…”
He kept talking, but Kate wasn’t listening. She had the strange feeling someone was staring at her, a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, as though a tick was crawling into her hair. She glanced around and saw that someone was staring at her. He was leaning against a pillar, his arms folded across his chest, watching her with such intensity she had felt his eyes.
Dark, empty eyes. A dark, empty face.
Trubgek.
FORTY-FOUR
“What are you standing there gawking at?” Roberts demanded. “I told you to follow me.”
He had apparently walked off, only to realize she was not behind him. He had come back to retrieve her and now stood glaring at her angrily.
“Sorry, sir,” Kate said faintly.
But she could not take her gaze from Trubgek. She was bewildered, confounded. He was in the Aligoes. He couldn’t possibly be here. And yet here he was.
“Who is that man, sir?” Kate asked. “He’s not wearing a uniform.”
Roberts glanced at Trubgek. “Him? He’s called Weasel. And stop making eyes at the men, temptress! You may have fooled the commander, but you do not fool me. We flog any woman caught whoring herself. I will be watching you. Modest women keep their eyes lowered.”
Kate barely heard him. She recalled Franklin and Martin talking about someone they called “Weasel,” who did not know anything about magic and had asked where the Travian dragons lived. She had never connected that man with Trubgek, who was the most powerful crafter she had ever met, for he knew dragon magic.
Although in a way, Kate thought, he had told the truth. Trubgek knew nothing about ordinary, everyday crafting. He could work dragon magic and he could use it to bring down the mountain.
He might be a weasel, but he was a dangerous weasel, and apparently no one here knew the truth about him.
She followed Roberts, but all she could think about was Trubgek. When Roberts wasn’t watching, she cast a swift glance over her shoulder.
Trubgek was gone.
Startled, Kate looked around the cavern. The central floor area was vast and unbroken except for the enormous pillars and they were spaced far apart. Soldiers were going about their duties. Some of the Bottom Dwellers had emerged from the living quarters to welcome the new arrivals. No sign of Trubgek. He had vanished so completely Kate began to wonder if she had imagined him.
* * *
Kate felt she should tell someone the truth about Trubgek. Unfortunately, he knew the truth about her.
Trubgek knew her true name. He knew that she worked for Sir Henry Wallace. If Trubgek told Franklin what he knew, Franklin might well leap to the conclusion that Kate was here to spy on the army at Wallace’s behest.
A long leap, admittedly, but Kate couldn’t chance it. The fact that she had lied was enough to land her in serious trouble.
She had to talk to him. Fleeting as her glimpse of him had been, she had the impression from the crease between his black brows and the flicker in the usually empty eyes indicated that Trubgek had been as unpleasantly shocked to see her as she had been to see him.
She tried to rid herself of Ro
berts, saying she could find her quarters on her own, in order to look for Trubgek. Roberts insisted on remaining with her until he had marched her to the door of her quarters.
“The Scriptures say that the ‘mouth of strange women is as a deep pit; he that is abhorred by the Lord shall fall into it,’” Roberts admonished her. “Report to Commander Franklin at the armory tomorrow morning at eight of the clock.”
He walked off and left her. Kate wondered what she was going to be doing at an armory. She was a ship’s crafter, not a weapons smith. She shrugged, figuring she’d find out tomorrow, and entered her quarters.
The army valued crafters, apparently, for each had his own room, unlike the barracks where the soldiers slept on rows of cots. The crafters also had a certain amount of privacy for each room had a door, although the door did not lock.
The room was small and square, with smooth-planed stone walls, a stone floor, and stone ceiling. It contained a cot and a nightstand, a blanket, a chamber pot, a chair, and a lantern powered by magic. The soldiers had delivered her chest, for it was standing beside the cot.
Kate cast a warding spell on the door before unpacking. The spell was simple, mainly designed to keep out unwanted visitors, such as Roberts. As for Trubgek, no lock, magical or otherwise, could keep him out if he wanted to get in.
She opened the chest and immediately saw that someone had gone through her things. The magical construct she had placed on the false bottom remained intact, however, so no one had discovered it. She was going to hide the pistol in the chest, then decided to put it beneath her pillow. Roberts had talked about the sins of the flesh with far too much relish.
This done, Kate went in search of the mess hall, keeping a lookout for Trubgek. She was eager to talk to other crafters, find out all the information she could.
The underground cavern was surprisingly comfortable. The temperature would remain constant, winter and summer. The lighting system made it seem almost as bright as a dreary day. Roberts had told her an underground stream provided fresh water for drinking, washing clothes, and bathing.
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