The mess hall was noisy and crowded. The Bottom Dwellers sat apart from the soldiers and talked in low voices. The lighting in the mess hall was dim, presumably for their benefit. Even so, many were wearing spectacles with smoke-colored lenses.
The officers had their own table at the head of the hall. Franklin was sitting with his friend Martin, the camp commander. She searched for Trubgek, but he wasn’t around.
As she stood in line to pick up her ration of beans, ham, and bread, she asked the soldier in front of her where the crafters were sitting.
“I’m a ship’s crafter,” she said. “I’d like to talk to the others, find out what’s expected of me.”
The soldier shrugged. “Sit anywhere you like. There aren’t any others.”
“No other crafters?” Kate asked, startled.
“They’re hard to come by. The last one, Huston, blew himself up,” said the soldier. “I don’t know what they are paying you, but it’s not enough.”
The cook slapped a ladleful of beans onto the tin plate and told her that the bread was at the end of the line. Kate ate by herself.
After supper, she roamed around the cavern, still looking for Trubgek and familiarizing herself with the layout. The caverns had only one way in, which was also the only way out. The doors were shut and locked after dark with soldiers standing guard.
Kate wondered why Martin bothered. The cliffs and the mountains and the wilderness were the only guards he needed. None of the Bottom Dwellers knew where they were and probably very few of the troops. She could not find Trubgek anywhere.
She went back to her room, lit the lantern, and sat down on the cot to assess her situation. She was in one hell of a predicament. She was a crafter and that was a benefit, although seemingly a dubious one. Crafters were in high demand, but only due to the fact that they kept dying.
Her only hope of escape lay with Dalgren. She had no idea how long he would have to search the coast before he found the Naofa. And when he did, how would he find her underground?
She sighed and had started to unbutton her shirt when she saw two eyes reflecting the glow of the lantern light, staring at her from a dark corner of the room.
Kate thrust her hand beneath the pillow to grab the pistol. It wasn’t there.
Trubgek raised her pistol to the light and remained standing, staring at her from the shadows beyond the lantern’s light.
“Why are you here? Did they send you?” he demanded, his voice grating.
Kate had to calm her breathing before she could answer. “No one sent me. Who are you talking about?”
“The dragons,” said Trubgek.
“What dragons?” Kate asked, puzzled.
“The Rosian dragons. I know you warned them about me.”
Kate was going to deny it, but she couldn’t speak. Her tongue seemed swollen. Her heartbeat clogged her throat.
Trubgek sat down in the chair, folded his arms. He was still holding the pistol.
“I don’t blame you,” he continued. “I don’t blame the dragons. I blame Coreg. He is dead. I watched him die.”
Kate shuddered. His voice was cold and as empty as his eyes. She licked her lips and moistened her dry mouth.
“The dragons did not send me,” she managed to say, but the words were scarcely audible. She coughed and tried again. “They didn’t even believe me…”
Her voice trailed off.
“They believed you,” said Trubgek. “Coreg had spies among the dragons and now his spies are my spies. The dragons are hunting me: Rosian dragons, Travian dragons, wild dragons. They all fear me, and if they find me, they will kill me.”
Kate was terror-stricken. Trubgek had done nothing more than place the palm of his hand on a wall in Barwich Manor, and without speaking a word or moving a finger, he had sent quakes through the walls, nearly destroying her house.
“I never intended … Please, you have to believe me…”
“I am not going to harm you,” said Trubgek. “You knew my name and what it meant. I had another name once. I was Petar. I tried to go back, but I couldn’t. I am what he made me.”
Kate said not a word. She wished desperately he would leave.
“Where is your dragon? The one who lost his name?” Trubgek asked abruptly.
“Dalgren?” Kate shook her head. “I have no idea. Somewhere Below, I guess.”
Trubgek regarded her in silence. He stared at her so long that she knew he knew she was lying. He rose to his feet, placed the pistol in the seat of the chair, and walked out the door.
Kate sprang from the bed, grabbed the pistol, shut the door, and cast the most powerful warding spell she knew. She then shoved the wooden chest against it. After a moment, she dragged over her chair and put it on top of the chest. This done, she picked up the pistol, wrapped herself in her blanket and sat on the bed, facing the door.
She stayed there all night, until she heard the people walking about in the corridors. The pistol lay on the bed beside her. She didn’t want to leave the room, but need drove her.
Roberts had said something about an area where women could bathe and perform their ablutions. Kate moved the chair, dragged aside the chest, and took down the warding spell. She opened the door with trepidation, saw people around and felt better.
She set out to find the latrines. The soldiers had dammed an underground stream, collected the water in a pool, and curtained it off so the women could have some privacy. Kate plunged into the cold water. The shock to her system helped drive away the lingering terrors of the night.
She even took a moment to look at herself in a crude mirror one of the women had propped up against the stone.
Her hair was growing back; her head was covered with blond ripples that curled at the tips. She had lost weight during the journey to and from Glasearrach. Or perhaps she had lost weight last night. Her face was thinner and paler, and that made her eyes seem bigger. She ran her fingers through her hair, ruffling her curls, thinking that might help her looks. It wasn’t much of an improvement.
At breakfast she did not bother to look for Trubgek, knowing now she wouldn’t see him unless he wanted to be seen. After she had eaten, she walked to the cavern entrance. The double doors stood open to allow those working on refitting the ships to attend to their duties.
The day was clear with only a trace of mist. The sun was shining. Dalgren would have a good view of this place from the air. Kate smiled at the two soldiers standing guard and started to walk outside.
“Where are you going?” one of the soldiers asked, stopping her.
“I am a crafter. I have work to do on the black ship,” said Kate.
“No crafter is allowed to leave without an escort,” said the soldier.
“I have permission—” Kate began, then she saw Roberts approaching, scowling at her.
“The commander is looking for you,” said Roberts accusingly. “You were supposed to report to him at the armory this morning.”
Kate suddenly remembered Roberts giving her the order. The encounter with Trubgek had driven it out of her head.
“I’m sorry, Corporal,” said Kate. “I forgot.”
Kate trailed along after him to a building on the western side of the cavern, set apart from the living quarters. A sentry stood at the door.
Franklin was waiting for her. He did not look pleased.
“Here she is, sir,” said Roberts. “I caught her trying to leave the cave.”
“I just needed some fresh air, sir,” said Kate. “I’m not used to living underground. I was starting to feel suffocated.”
“You get accustomed to it,” said Franklin. “Follow me.”
He led her into the armory, where Kate was expecting to see the usual: barrels of gunpowder, stacks of cannonballs, stands of weapons, cases holding rifles, sacks of canisters for swivel guns. But if any of those supplies had ever been in the armory, the soldiers had moved all of it out, and Kate understood why. The room was lit by the soft green glow of contramagic. Bottom D
weller crafters were busily at work on what Kate, in the dim light, at first took to be some sort of overlarge guns similar to swivel guns, only bigger.
Looking more closely, she realized what she was seeing.
“Green beam guns!” Kate exclaimed, scowling. “What are you doing with those?”
“Nothing, at the moment. That’s the problem,” said Franklin. “We need you to use the seventh sigil to make them operational.”
Kate shook her head. “No, sir.” Turning on her heel, she started to walk off.
“Private!” Franklin grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her around to face him. “Listen to me. We are trying to make them operational without the use of blood magic.”
“You can do it without me!” Kate said angrily. “I won’t touch them. Have Roberts or the Bottom Dwellers or someone else work on them.”
“The other crafters do not have the needed skills,” said Franklin. “The Bottom Dwellers can make them work without blood magic, but not very well. One of our crafters, Sergeant Huston, discovered that by combining the magic with the contramagic through the use of the seventh sigil, the weapon will work.”
Kate cast the weapons a look of revulsion. “They are steeped in blood! Not to mention blood magic! I doubt if even the seventh sigil could remove that!”
“These guns have never been fired. No blood magic was ever used on them. Our supplier discovered this cache of weapons hidden in the Aligoes and offered them to the captain. Colonel Smythe is a God-fearing man. He inspected them and was convinced they were never used. Otherwise he would never have purchased them.”
Franklin didn’t name the supplier, but Kate could guess: Coreg. The dragon must have had dealings with the Bottom Dwellers who had terrorized the people of the Aligoes years ago during the war.
Kate conceded that it was possible Franklin was telling the truth. He was a Fundamentalist, a veteran soldier, and, as far as she could tell, earnest and sincere in his beliefs. Still, she wanted no part of this. Thomas would never sanction the use of such weapons, blood magic or no blood magic.
“I’ve seen what these guns can do!” Kate said. “They fire beams of contramagic that can sink a warship!”
“So can a broadside,” said Franklin with grim exasperation. “What is the difference?”
Kate was confounded by that argument and chose to ignore it. “I heard how Huston died—”
“The sergeant’s death was his own fault,” Franklin said. “The fool was a crafter. He knew better than to be carrying a magic-enhanced pistol near a contramagic gun.”
“Which makes such weapons ideal for a battlefield,” Kate said scathingly.
“We are not planning to use them in battle. We only need one to work at the moment and we need it soon.” Franklin was grim. “I have been patient with you thus far, but let me put this another way, Private. We are planning to set sail in a few days. If you want to sail with us, you will find a way to fix this weapon. Otherwise you can stay here and rot.”
Kate saw that he was in earnest and she realized she had made a mistake. She should have been cooperative with him from the start. Now he was suspicious of her and might restrict her movements, refuse to allow her to leave the cave.
“I am sorry, sir,” she said. “Those guns brought up some bad memories for me. What do you need me to do?”
Franklin eyed her grimly, clearly doubting her sudden change of heart.
“Come with me. I will show you what Huston was doing before he died.”
He led her to a small chamber off the main cavern where a single green beam weapon had been mounted on a truck, like a cannon.
“Huston worked on this and, according to his theory, the magic and the contramagic combined with the seventh sigil should allow us to fire the weapon. Thus far, we have been unable to do so. He died before he had a chance to determine what was wrong.”
Kate was loath to touch the gun, but Franklin was watching her and she had to convince him she was reliable.
“How is it supposed to work, sir?” Kate asked. “I don’t understand the mechanics.”
“The contramagic was the basic power source,” Franklin explained. He indicated a brass disc set with a green crystal. “These crystal and brass discs were set with contramagic constructs charged with energy. The gunner would load the disc into the chamber of the weapon. They used blood magic to enhance and amplify the energy of the crystal disc. Huston theorized that the blood magic could be replaced by magic and the seventh sigil. The magic and contramagic would then combine to make both stronger. The power of God is stronger than the power of the Evil One.”
Kate wondered if God appreciated his power being used on a weapon designed to kill. She kept that thought to herself. She studied Huston’s magic and, despite herself, began to grow interested in his work, which was impressive.
“How are you planning to use this gun? You said it wasn’t going to be needed in battle.” Kate suddenly understood. “This is why you needed a black ship, isn’t it! This operates like a pivot gun. The mountings for it are already in place on the foredeck. You are going to mount this on the black ship.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with getting it to work,” said Franklin.
“There’s nothing wrong with the magic on the green beam gun that I can see, sir,” said Kate. “It’s the magic around it.”
She made an expansive gesture with her hands. “Look at this chamber, sir. The crafters who built it used magic to shape the walls and the ceiling, smooth the floor. They strengthened the pillars with magic. You could read a newspaper from the glow given off by the constructs. The strong magic inside the cavern is interfering with the more delicate magic of the seventh sigil.”
Franklin was a channeler. He might not know anything about the seventh sigil, but he could see the myriad magical constructs that overlapped, intertwined, forming a complex web of magic that glowed above them, around them, and underneath their feet.
“We need to move the gun out of the cave,” Kate added.
“I see,” said Franklin, impressed. “Once it is away from the magic, you are saying it will work.”
Kate had no idea if it would or it wouldn’t. She had made up the theory on the spot.
“I’m not saying it will, sir. I don’t know what Huston wanted this weapon to do. If I knew what he intended to use it for—”
“He intended for it to work,” said Franklin dryly. “I will have the gun transported to the black ship.”
He hurried off to give the orders. Kate was growing more and more troubled about this army. Franklin might claim the green beam gun was comparable to a cannon, but she knew better. A single beam of contramagic could be far more destructive than a broadside fired by the thirty-nine cannons of a ship of the line.
She would continue to try to find out. But at least now she had an excuse to leave the cave, and once outside, she could keep watch for Dalgren.
“As for this infernal gun,” Kate said under her breath as she eyed the weapon with repugnance, “what I make, I can bloody well break.”
FORTY-FIVE
Phillip arrived in Freya after a bitterly cold but otherwise unremarkable journey by griffinback. He bade farewell to the griffin on the outskirts of Haever, changed from his traveling clothes into clothing more suited to the persona he planned to adopt, and, gripping his valise, walked to the inn he had chosen for his stay.
The streets were crowded with people returning from work. He was jostled and knocked about on the sidewalk, almost run over by a wherry, and had to fend off the advances of an aggressive female who was determined he should spend the night with her and pay for the privilege. He left her screaming curses at him and reached for his pocket watch to check the time, only to encounter the small hand of a young pickpocket trying to steal it. The lad dashed off the moment he realized he had been caught. Phillip shouted after him, then found himself grinning.
He was home.
His joy was short-lived, tempered by the sobering thought that
he would find no safe haven in his homeland. He was in far more danger here than he had been abroad.
He had selected his lodgings with care. He had a town house in Haever, but he avoided that, knowing that Sir Henry would be having it watched. He chose the Two Swans Inn because it was on the mail coach line, which meant there would be a steady stream of strangers coming and going. And no one was likely to recognize the wealthy Duke of Upper and Lower Milton among the corset salesmen, hostlers, and bootblacks.
The inn had another advantage of being located near Oak Hill Park, one of two royal parks in Haever, where he had arranged to meet Thomas. Unfortunately he had not taken into consideration the fact that Oak Hill Park was only a few blocks from the university and that he might run into Sophia. He had no way to contact Thomas, however, to change the location. At least they would be meeting in a secluded part of the park, away from the lanes and bridle paths.
Phillip walked to Oak Hill Park the next day, arriving an hour ahead of the time he had appointed to meet Thomas. Phillip sat down on the bench near the pond, opened the latest issue of the Haever Gazette, and waited. The newspaper served as excellent cover, for he could pretend to be absorbed in his reading, all the while keeping watch for Thomas.
Phillip had adopted the clothes and attitude of an idle young gentleman of no particular occupation, living above his means and hiding from his creditors. His suit coat was of good quality, but worn. The cuffs were frayed, his trousers shiny at the knees. His leather shoes had been mended. He knew his disguise had succeeded when the innkeeper eyed him distrustfully and demanded payment for a month’s lodgings up front.
The news in the paper was grim: increasing unrest among the populace of Haever; people injured in rioting near the parliament building; members of the House of Nobles coming under attack; speeches denouncing the opposition, who gave their own speeches in return; bills being proposed; votes being taken. And so on and so forth, unending. No wonder young boys were reduced to stealing watches.
Phillip turned with relief to the back pages. He was pleased to see that the energetic Miss Amelia Nettleship was still writing stories about Captain Kate and her Dragon Corsairs. In this installment, Captain Kate was being held captive by an evil Guundaran count, who bore a remarkable resemblance to King Ullr.
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