Kingmaker (The Dragon Corsairs)

by Margaret Weis

  As the cab drew near her house, Amelia flung open the door and sprang out while the cab was still a foot or two off the ground.

  She ran into the house, shouting for Kate and Sophia and banging the dinner gong to rouse them. The young women stumbled down the stairs in their nightclothes. Bandit howled. The gong hurt his ears.

  “Dress and pack your things, ladies. We must leave immediately,” Amelia stated. “We have been discovered. Soldiers are now raiding the offices of the Gazette. They will soon be headed for my house.”

  “Fortunately, we have very little to pack,” said Sophia.

  She and Kate hurried to their rooms. Amelia rummaged through some of the trunks in the attic for warm clothes and delivered them to Kate.

  “You will need these, my dear, since you will be braving the Winter Witch.”

  She handed Kate a pair of trousers made of the warm and serviceable cloth known as fustian. “Those belonged to my uncle, a stevedore by trade. They will be big on you, but you can keep them up with these suspenders. I also have several pair of woolen stockings, two flannel shirts, and a thick wool sweater. I’ll pack a valise. You’ll need food, as well.”

  Amelia did not pack for herself. She needed only her portable writing desk, the clothes on her back, her reticule, umbrella, and double-barreled pistol and she could travel the world. She met Kate and Sophia at the bottom of the stairs.

  Sophia was disguised in some of Amelia’s clothes and she had Bandit on his leash. Kate had changed into the fustian trousers, flannel shirt, and sweater, with her red kerchief around her neck. Both young women wore hooded cloaks and, Amelia was glad to see, sensible shoes.

  They left by the back door, which opened onto the alley. Servants were out sweeping snow from the stoops or emptying slop buckets. They glanced curiously at the three, but otherwise showed little interest.

  “I have to reach Dalgren before he leaves for Maribeau on his own,” said Kate. “I don’t like to leave you and Sophia.”

  “Sophia and I will be fine,” said Amelia.

  She shook hands with Kate and gave her the valise, cab fare, and money for the journey. “My best to Dalgren, and have a safe trip.”

  Sophia embraced Kate and gave her a kiss. “Godspeed! Please be careful. And do not worry about me. I am in good hands.”

  “I know you are,” said Kate. “Take care of your mistress, sir,” she ordered Bandit.

  The dog gave a menacing growl to indicate he was prepared to battle all comers and then plopped down in the alley to scratch his ear.

  Kate left in search of a cab, as Sophia and Amelia continued down the alley.

  Amelia sighed a little to think of the soldiers breaking down her door and invading her house, smashing up the furniture and rummaging through her papers. She then reflected that this exciting incident would be the talk of the neighborhood for years to come. Her neighbors would never trust her again. The thought cheered her considerably.

  “Where are we going, Miss Amelia?” Sophia asked.

  “Welkinstead,” said Amelia.

  * * *

  Kate knew her way around Dalgren’s traps by now. Her only worry was that he would have already left for Maribeau. Although he had deserted the Brigade, Dalgren remained loyal to his comrades, both dragons and humans.

  She was relieved to find him still asleep after the rigors of last night’s adventure. She tried to be quiet, to let him rest, but he heard her. He reared up his head to glare at her.

  “You are not coming to Maribeau with me. You will only slow me down.”

  Kate had expected this. She sat down on his forepaw.

  “May I remind you that you are a deserter, not once, but twice. You left Glasearrach before you could serve out your sentence to spend a year helping Father Jacob.”

  Dalgren scowled. His eyes narrowed and he shot puffs of smoke from his nostrils.

  “I am well aware of my crimes,” he grumbled.

  Kate continued, relentless. “The dragons will carry out their threat to exile you and take away your name, and this time no one will be able to save you.”

  “I know that!” Dalgren snapped his jaws. “The members of the Brigade may arrest me, but first they will have to listen to me.”

  “They will listen to me,” Kate stated. “Captain Thorgrimson knows me.”

  “He knows you, but the dragons don’t,” Dalgren countered.

  Kate had no answer to that. Dragons were friendly toward humans, but they considered humans changeable and capricious, and therefore untrustworthy. A dragon might change his mind about some decision he had made, but only after years of deliberation, whereas humans changed their minds in an eyeblink.

  Kate recalled the reception the dragons had given her when she had tried to warn them about Trubgek and his knowledge of dragon magic. They had been polite and grateful for the information, but they had not believed her.

  “Then I will talk to Captain Thorgrimson and you can talk to the dragons,” said Kate. “I’ll be able to speak on your behalf, explain to the captain why you left Below, that you left because of me.”

  Kate stood up. “We should be leaving. The moment the guards see that brass door lying in a puddle on the floor they will know a dragon attacked the tower and they’ll be out searching for you.”

  Dalgren made no move to stand up. “It’s too dangerous. You don’t have a dragon saddle. The flight will take days. You will freeze to death crossing the Breath.”

  “I won’t freeze. I’m wearing Miss Amelia’s uncle’s trousers,” said Kate, laughing. She rubbed his snout. “I brought a leather braid I found at the dockyards. I’ll tie it to your mane and secure it around my waist. I’m not letting you go alone. You know better than to argue with me, and we’re wasting time. Now hold still while I wrap this around your neck.”

  Dalgren gave a sigh that filled the cave with smoke, and grumpily submitted.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Simon Yates was a man with a disciplined and highly organized mind, an analytical thinker devoted to logic. He did not believe in such sentimental nonsense as being homesick, for that implied an emotional attachment to what was, after all, nothing more than a collection of stone, wood, metal, and magic he used for shelter.

  Simon was therefore surprised to feel a rush of warmth when Albright wheeled his rickety wooden chair through the field where Welkinstead had landed. At the sight of his home, Simon was forced to pull out his handkerchief and blow his nose.

  Mr. Albright had transported Simon and his wheeled chair from Haever to Welkinstead’s current location in a horse-drawn wagon in the belief that the wagon would draw far less attention in the rural farming community than a carriage. Simon had lain at his ease among the straw in the back and questioned Albright regarding the house and repairs, wanting to know all the details.

  The eccentric old duchess would have been proud of her house; Welkinstead had survived the attack and the subsequent crash landing with only a modest amount of damage: the smashed cupola, broken window panes, and a crack in one of the towers. One of the chimneys had collapsed in a heap of bricks, all the paintings had fallen off the walls, and the duchess’s collection of curios were strewn about the house.

  “What is that clutter on the roof, Albright?” Simon demanded as the house came into view.

  “Tree branches and tarpaulins, sir,” Albright replied in his laconic fashion.

  “I can see for myself that it is tree branches and tarpaulins,” said Simon testily. “I mean, what are tree branches and tarpaulins doing cluttering up the roof?”

  “Camouflage, sir,” said Albright.

  “Camouflage!” Simon repeated. “You camouflaged the roof? Why? You have my permission to speak as much as necessary in order to explain.”

  “I observed the house from the air in a carriage, sir. The greenish gray color of the slate tiles of the roof blends nicely with woodland, but the house was still visible from the air.”

  “Because you knew what you were looking for, Albrigh
t. The casual traveler, flying about in a carriage, would never notice it.”

  “Perhaps not, sir. But I deemed it best not to take a chance. I happened to see a dragon flying around the vicinity the other day.”

  “Undoubtedly one of the Travian dragons looking for deer, not my house,” said Simon, irritated.

  “One never knows, sir. I covered those parts of the roof that were visible with tree branches and the tarpaulins.”

  “And you will be responsible for removing the tree branches and tarpaulins when we return to the air. Did you repair the heating system?”

  “First thing, sir,” Mr. Albright replied. He wheeled his master up a ramp he had built on the front porch and into the entry hall.

  Simon looked around his home with intense and heartfelt satisfaction and greeted his own specially designed floating chair as a long-lost friend.

  “I will be thankful to be out of this contraption,” he said, referring to the wooden, wheeled chair he had been forced to use in the city.

  Albright lifted him and placed him in the floating chair.

  Simon settled into his chair, checked the various pockets and pouches attached to the chair to see that his books and papers were still tucked neatly in their places, and gave a deep and satisfied sigh.

  “It is good to be home, Albright.”

  “What shall I do with the old chair, sir?”

  “I would tell you to burn it, but someone would see the smoke.”

  “I will remove it to the cellar,” said Mr. Albright.

  Simon floated outdoors to study the house’s exterior and inspect the repairs.

  “Looks very good, Albright,” Simon told him. “And now I would like to see the lift tanks. I want to have Welkinstead floating again as soon as possible.”

  Mr. Albright looked grave.

  “What is wrong, Albright?” Simon asked, frowning. “Whenever I mention lift tanks you get a pained expression on your face.”

  “As you know, sir, the lift tanks are enclosed and protected by thick walls. When the house crashed, the walls sank deep into the soft ground. The lift tanks are now below ground level.”

  Simon shrugged. “Is that all?”

  “I fear not, sir. If you will come with me.”

  Mr. Albright retrieved a lantern and descended the stairs that led to the lift tanks, while Simon followed in his chair.

  “These lift tanks on the port side suffered the most damage, sir.”

  Albright shined the light on an area of the wall near the floor and pointed.

  “I see bullet holes,” said Simon.

  “I patched those, sir. Look down near the bottom.”

  Simon looked closely and saw the telltale green glow of contramagic. “You should have told me when you first found this, Albright.”

  “I did not want to upset you, sir.”

  “How far has the contramagic spread?”

  “The three tanks on the port side are all affected, sir,” Mr. Albright answered. “Those closest to the wall where the green beam struck are the worst.”

  Simon could almost see the contramagic crawling across the tank, devouring the magical constructs.

  “I would have thought the Seventh Sigil would have protected them. Perhaps the constructs could not withstand a concentrated blast. I must remember to conduct a study on the effects of concentrated green beams on the Seventh Sigil. Make a note of that, Albright.”

  Mr. Albright silently nodded.

  “I suppose there is nothing we can do now. It will be dark soon and I want to straighten up my office while the daylight lasts.”

  He sent his chair floating up the stairs to the second floor and entered his office. He stopped in the doorway to survey the damage. Bookcases had toppled over, spilling their contents. File cabinets lay on their sides, disgorging their contents. The floor was covered with books and papers.

  “I thought Randolph was going to help you clean this mess,” said Simon, irritated.

  “Admiral Baker and I made some attempt to restore order, sir. The admiral became frustrated, however, and after damning my eyes, he began heaving books out the window. I deemed he was doing more harm than good and I thanked him for his help and told him I could manage.”

  Simon chuckled at the thought. “I will sort through the papers and you pick up the books, although I have no idea what to do with them. It will be a waste of time to put them back on the shelves, because they will only fall off when we raise the house.”

  “I was thinking we could pack them in the wooden crates I have been using to haul supplies,” said Mr. Albright.

  “An inspired thought, Albright,” said Simon.

  He and Mr. Albright sorted through the mess as long as they had light to see. The work progressed slowly due to the fact that Simon would often become so interested in what he was reading that he would forget he was supposed to be sorting.

  He was tempted to risk lighting the magical lamps in the office in order to continue working into the night, but reluctantly abandoned the idea. The house was far from the well-traveled routes. Still, there was a risk someone would see the lights, and Simon decided not to chance it.

  He was glad to be able to sleep in his own bed. Lying in the darkness, he thought about Henry and wondered how he was doing. Simon was not given to prayer, for he did not believe in God, but he decided that a word of encouragement, even unheard, would not go amiss.

  “Keep fighting, Henry,” Simon told him. “We can’t do without you.”

  The next day, he and Albright returned to what Simon had begun to call the root cellar to rig up lights in order to work on the lift tanks. Albright collected the lamps that had not been broken and suspended them from the ceiling. Simon attached the lights to braided leather cables. This done, he could operate all the lanterns with a touch of his hand.

  Simon inspected the damage the contramagic had done to the lift tanks.

  “This is a bloody mess, Albright. Look at the constructs on this lift tank. Or rather, look at where the constructs are supposed to be, but aren’t.”

  Albright gave an unhappy nod.

  “The contramagic has penetrated so deeply in some places that it has attacked the magic on the metal itself. See where it is starting to disintegrate. Looks as though someone spilled acid on it, like the hole I burned in the carpet in the entry hall which you covered with the umbrella stand.

  “Three of these lift tanks will have to be replaced,” Simon added, glumly. “Picture it, Albright. Workmen clomping about the house, ripping out lift tanks, installing new ones that will have to be specially constructed. Our house will be crawling with strangers, banging and clanging and disrupting my studies.”

  “Do you propose bringing strangers here, sir?” Albright asked, alarmed.

  “I don’t plan on being stuck in the middle of nowhere for years,” said Simon. “But, no, I believe I can jury-rig the magic on the tanks enough to get us airborne in the next fortnight.”

  Mr. Albright coughed.

  Simon glared at him. “Speak, Albright.”

  “I respectfully submit, sir, that you and the house are far safer in that field than floating in the sky above the city.”

  “Events are happening in the world, Albright—”

  “Ahoy, the house!” a woman’s voice shouted from outside. “Is anyone at home?”

  Mr. Albright drew his pistol.

  “Do not shoot anyone, Albright,” Simon said. “This woman is undoubtedly some innocent person who has lost her way.”

  Mr. Albright returned the pistol to his pocket and mounted the stairs. Simon reached into one of the chair’s compartments to retrieve the magical weapons he termed “crackers” and followed. He found Mr. Albright crouched in front of one of the windows that were now on the ground level, peering outside.

  Mr. Albright glanced around. “Please return to the cellar where it is safe, sir.”

  “Bosh!” said Simon.

  He joined Mr. Albright at the window and looked out to se
e two women approaching the house. They had apparently walked some distance through the woods, for their skirts and the hems of their cloaks were stained with mud and covered with twigs and dead leaves. They were accompanied by a small dog with muddy paws and dead leaves clinging to his fur.

  “Relax, Albright,” said Simon, sighing. “Our visitor is Miss Amelia Nettleship, intrepid journalist and a veritable bloodhound. Trust her to track me down.”

  “Who is the young woman with her, sir?” Albright asked.

  “We are honored, Albright. She is Princess Sophia of Rosia, sister to King Renaud. She was once affianced to His Majesty, King Thomas Stanford. Their engagement has since been broken off. The spaniel is her dog, Bandit. She never goes anywhere without him.”

  “But … what is a Rosian princess doing here, sir?” Albright asked, bewildered.

  “A good question,” said Simon. “You are most astute today, Albright. I suggest we ask her.”

  Simon propelled his chair to the front door and flung it open. “Your Highness, Miss Amelia! Enter. Welcome to Welkinstead.”

  Sophia picked up Bandit and she and Amelia walked up the ramp and into the house. Amelia deposited her umbrella in the hall. The umbrella was in sad shape, for she had apparently used it to slash at weeds and branches.

  “You may hang your cloaks on the hydra,” Simon added, waving. “I would invite you both to my office, but it is a mess. Albright, fetch chairs for our guests and place them here in the hall. Now, Miss Amelia, I see by your expression you are the bearer of bad news. How can I help?”

  “As you deduced, sir, soldiers are searching for Her Highness. Sophia has been staying with me, but my house has been compromised. It occurred to me that she would be safe here. Unfortunately, we ran into a troop of soldiers on the highway who stopped us to ask if we had seen Welkinstead.”

  “How far away were these soldiers, Miss Amelia?” Simon asked sharply.

  “Several miles. They are stopping all travelers and asking questions at the farmhouses.”

  Albright returned with the chairs. Amelia sat down gratefully. Sophia took a seat and released Bandit from his leash. The dog pattered over to sniff Simon’s chair. Bandit didn’t like the looks of it, apparently, for he began to bark at the chair and make little runs at it.