They turned down a path that led to what looked like a freehold farm. Dan waved at a tall, lanky man working near a small barn and called out to him. “Bird! I have a customer for you.”
“Wish you told me first,” said Bird, revealing a crooked set of teeth. “I coulda saved you a trip. I’m almost out of—what on Esper is that?” He pointed a long, bony finger at Clyde.
Dan flashed his good-natured grin. “That, Bird, is a dragon. And this is Lord William Whitehall, your new customer—if you haven’t actually run out of…you know what.”
Bird looked startled at the mention of William’s name, but recovered quickly. His frown melted into a comfortable smile, and he shook William’s hand with enthusiasm. “Lord William…my lucky day! It’s not every day a lord saunters into my yard, but the most famous one of all—what can I do for you, sir?”
William cleared his throat and began tentatively. “Dan says you can get a message to friends of mine in Faywater Port, but he hasn’t told me how, exactly.”
“Why, it’s in the name sir. Bird, they call me. Even my own mother can’t remember my real name, and it’s not just because of the nose, either.” He tapped his long, pointed nose and laughed. “Dan was doing me a kindness, because I asked him to not tell common folk what I do. Rich folks like you is a different story, though.”
William eyed him carefully. “How rich do I need to be, Bird? And what exactly am I buying from you?”
Bird hesitated. “Before we go in, can I ask what your dragon eats? I shouldn’t risk my business if he’s hungry.”
“Clyde is a vegetarian,” said William.
The man relaxed and nodded. “Excellent. Follow me, and I’ll show you. We can talk about price after you see what you’re getting.” They followed him to the barn, and he lifted the bar from the door and opened it wide enough for them to slip in.
Once his eyes adjusted, William let out his breath. “King’s feathers…”
“Pigeons!” said Jack. “I didn’t know we had a pigeon keeper in Marshland.”
“These aren’t just any pigeons,” said Bird, his pride evident. “These beauties have been bred for generations to be the best homing pigeons on Esper, covering the distance from here to Faywater Bay in under seven hours.”
“Seven hours!” said William. “That seems impossible.”
“Bird sends letters to my distant guests for me,” said Dan. “They all confirm they got the letters on the same day, or the day after.”
“How do the pigeons know where your customers are?” asked Jack.
“They don’t,” said Bird. “When I release a pigeon here, it flies home to my partner in Faywater Port. My partner then posts the letter in the local mail—envelope, stamp, and all—or if the customer pays the extra price, he hand delivers it to the addressee himself the same day.”
“How many reach their destination?” asked William. “I assume they don’t all survive.”
“It’s true, my lord. I do suffer some losses. Hawks or other birds will prey on pigeons if they can catch them. Injury, storms, or even old age…although I do retire them young. All told, nine out of ten get home the same day. The tenth one arrives the following day about two times out of three. My losses are small—but, I must warn you out of fairness: the sender assumes the risk. If your message is important as well as urgent, I suggest sending two birds.”
William reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch. He poured the contents on a nearby table, revealing a small pile of gold pellets. “How many messages will this pay for?”
Jack’s eyes grew wide. “Where on Esper did you get that, Will?”
“Never mind, Jack. How many messages can I send with this, Bird?”
Bird scooped the pellets into his hand, hefting them to estimate the weight. “Assuming this is real—and it feels real enough to me—this would get you ten birds. Five if you want the messages hand delivered.”
“Why so expensive?” asked Jack. “That must be a tenth of a crown’s worth of gold there.”
“I can only use a pigeon once,” explained Bird. “And it can only carry one message. After that, someone needs to transport it back here, which isn’t cheap.”
“That’s a lot of gold, Will,” said Jack in a whisper. “Are you sure you want to send the message that badly?”
“I’ll buy all five,” said William. “With hand delivery. How do we do this?”
Bird grinned with glee as he handed William some papers. “Write your messages on these. One message per page. Leave the other side blank for my instructions to my partner.”
“Why so many messages, Will?” asked Jack.
“Two for Maya and Charlie,” said William as he began to write. “Two for Duke Vincent telling him about what’s been happening. One for the General at the Faywater Guard.” William finished his writing and handed the papers to Bird, who scrawled the recipients’ names and delivery instructions. He folded and inserted each paper in a small tube, sealed the tubes, and attached them each to a pigeon before setting them free. The pigeons shot from the barn, startling Clyde, who watched them with interest. William stepped out of the barn and watched the birds circle high above them before heading west.
Bird followed him and handed him a receipt. “Your messages should arrive this afternoon. I’ve noted in each message that there are five in total, so my partner will wait a reasonable amount of time for all five to arrive before leaving to deliver them. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Lord William. I hope to do business with you again soon.”
William shook his outstretched hand, cringing a little at the ragged and dirty fingernails. “I will if I need it.”
“You have some strange friends, Dan, but I appreciate you bringing me here,” said William as they left Bird’s farm. “I’m not sure what I would have done otherwise. It would have meant choosing between delaying the wedding and not inviting my friends.”
Dan beamed at him. “My pleasure, Lord William.”
“Will, you’ve been holding out on me,” said Jack. “Did you find gold on your land?”
“No,” said William. “I’ve had it lying around for a while. I brought it home from Rebel Falls.”
Jack persisted. “Nice try, Will. Those weren’t nuggets or flakes. Remember, I was there during the gold rush too. I know what panned gold looks like.”
William stopped in front of Jack, his face blank. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “Maybe you’re mistaken.”
Jack stared back in surprise and paused a moment, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “I guess I am, then.”
Dan stared at them both, brows furrowed, as William turned and carried on down the road. “Will you be staying with us for much longer, Lord William?” asked Dan, filling the awkward silence.
“No, I need to talk with Melissa, then return home to prepare for the wedding. I’ll send Oz upstairs to collect my things, and then we’ll get our horses and go.”
Jack remained sullen until they returned to the common room, where Oz was waiting for them. After Dan excused himself and Oz went to the rooms, Jack seized the opportunity to question William. “What was that all about?” he asked, looking around the room to make sure no one would hear. “That’s not panned gold, and you know I know it, so what’s the deal?”
“Of course it’s not panned gold,” said William. “But as much as I like Dan, I don’t want him or anyone else knowing where it came from.”
“So where did it come from?”
“It came from Clyde.”
“Will, if you want to keep it a secret from me, just say so. Don’t insult me by lying or joking, or—”
William leaned over the table and spoke in a hushed voice. “Jack, listen for a moment. Everything about the dragons is weird, and Clyde is weirder than all the rest. Remember when he ate most of my garden?”
“I remember what he did right after, that’s for sure.”
“Exactly. Well, later that night, he left a present for me on my library floor. Not like his other dropp
ings, more like a clay casing. It broke open in my hand, and a little pellet of gold fell out. Not a nugget, not flakes, but a perfect little pellet, just like you saw. He does that every night after working on the canal, some pellets bigger than others, but always the same shape. There must be gold in the stream, because it never happens on the other days.”
Jack’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Your pet dragon poops gold, and you never told me?”
“I didn’t tell anyone, Jack, and for good reason. You remember what happened at Rebel Falls. We couldn’t keep the crowds away, not even with a full contingent of guards. It’s not like I’m getting rich from it—it makes up for the ruined garden, plus maybe a little extra—but people go crazy when they hear about gold. I don’t want a gold rush happening on my own land.”
“Fine, I get that. But Will, you can trust me to keep a secret. Have I told you once where Rachel is?”
“You haven’t even told me if you know where she is.”
“Well, I do.”
“So? Where is she? Can she make it to my wedding a month from now?”
“Stop deflecting. I’ll get a message to her and she’ll be there if she can. But I thought we were friends. This isn’t the same sort of secret.”
“Jack, you’ve told me countless times that Rachel’s secret is for her safety. Well, this is for mine.”
Jack placed his hand over his heart. “You have my solemn promise I won’t say a word to anyone about it, Will. Have I ever done anything to convince you otherwise?”
“The horses are packed, sir,” said Oz as he rushed up, out of breath and his brow dripping with sweat from exertion.
“Thank you, Oz,” said William. “Go back to the horses and watch our things and we’ll be there in a moment.”
Jack watched the butler hurry away. “Does he know?”
William frowned at his friend. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Jack. No, Oz doesn’t know anything about it, and neither does Ruskin or Mrs. Gracey. I was lucky enough Clyde did it when no one else was around, and I’ve trained him—or convinced him, maybe—to keep doing so. You can watch tonight if you’re interested.”
They spoke no more about it and departed soon after. The sun was well up by the time they reached the Reid residence, and the morning chill had mostly dissipated. Melissa waited patiently as Oz attempted his announcement again, this time merely stammering rather than getting the names wrong.
Melissa’s jaw dropped in disbelief when she heard the news. “One month? That’s barely enough time to get a dress ready, let alone arrange everything else.”
William tried to placate her. “I know. But given what’s happening, I don’t think we should wait.”
Melissa turned to Jack. “Are you as worried about this as Will is?”
Jack tilted his head and pondered. “As worried? No. But I’ll admit it’s strange, and Will’s instincts are usually pretty good.”
“That may be the nicest compliment you’ve ever paid me,” said William.
“Not true,” said Jack. “Just yesterday I said you don’t smell as bad as usual.”
Melissa still looked worried. “What about Maya and Charlie? Can they even get here in time?”
“There’s no way to know,” said William with a shrug. “I doubt they’ll send a pigeon back; in fact, I forgot to ask Bird if he has pigeons that go the other way. But the important thing is that we do this soon.”
Melissa stared into the distance for a moment, lost in thought, then turned back to the others. “Jack, Oz…can I be alone with Will for a bit?”
“We’ll wait outside,” said Jack as he stood to leave.
Melissa waited until the door closed. “Will, I know you’re worried about missing town officials and all that, but it seems like you’re moving the wedding date for the wrong reasons. I want this wedding to be about us, not earls, Guard captains, or anyone else. I want you to want this because you love me.”
William held her hands and pulled her close. He leaned forward and kissed her, her anxiety appearing to lessen, though not disappear. “I do love you. And the wedding will be about us, no matter when it is. But we can’t ignore what’s going on. If I’m wrong about it, we’ll know soon enough, and we can all joke about how I worried over nothing, but at least we’ll be joking together. But if I’m right—and I’m pretty sure I am—then something big is going to happen. And when it does, I don’t know how long it will last or who will be affected. I only know I can weather it better with you by my side instead of miles away.”
She leaned back and smiled, reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes. “We’d better get ready fast, then.”
Chapter 13
William glanced over at his stepfather as they rode through the woods north of Whitehall manor. “I appreciate your help with this, Kevin,” he said. It felt strange to drop the honorific, but Lord Kevin—once merely a Sir—insisted, saying they were both family and peers now.
“Self-preservation,” said Lord Kevin with a wink. “A man can only eat so much duck before he grows feathers.”
“I never hunted for more than one or two guests,” said William. “Anything larger seems greedy. Anyway, I’m not sure I could kill a boar or a deer by myself.”
“Nothing to it. In fact, ducks are harder, being a smaller target. You’ve got all this wonderful woodland to hunt in, almost going to waste. You really should cull the larger game, even if you give the meat away. The farmers will appreciate having fewer deer eating their crops.”
“So they’ve told me. I never liked venison much though.”
Kevin grinned and patted his stomach. “The tenderloin is a thing of beauty. Grind the rest into sausage if you don’t care for it, and add whatever spices you like to make it palatable. You can always sell it in town if you still don’t enjoy it.”
They continued through the woods at a slow pace, keeping their horses’ steps light to avoid scaring prey. The mild morning air hinted of greenery waking after a long winter sleep, echoed by the young foliage obscuring their view. Clyde followed them, running into hidden pathways, pulling at new shoots until William scolded him. His leaps were becoming longer now, his wings often spread to glide to a soft landing.
He expected the young dragon to begin flying any day now, something he’d enjoyed telling Padma during his scheduled visit the previous day. Clyde had stared wistfully as William had flown away on a drone, and since his return had practiced leaping as William urged him on.
But now it was a problem. More than once he startled some poor beast hiding in the trees, sending it bolting away and out of range of their arrows.
“Any chance you can calm him down, William?” asked Lord Kevin.
William laughed. “Not if past experience is any guide. Inside the manor, he’s as calm as a kitten. Outside, he’s all puppy.”
“We may have to split up, then. I’d rather share the kill with you, though, so let’s try a little longer. Let me lead by a few dozen yards, and maybe I can spot something before he does.”
William and Clyde hung back as Kevin moved ahead slowly, his head swiveling as he looked for telltale signs of game. “You need to be quiet, Clyde,” said William. “I know you don’t eat meat, but the rest of us do, and you keep scaring it away.”
The dragon burped. “Sorry.”
William’s head whipped around to stare at the dragon. “Did you say ‘sorry’?” he asked.
Clyde nodded. “Sorry,” he repeated, his eyes echoing the sentiment.
“You are one strange animal, Clyde,” said William as he shook his head in disbelief. “Can you say anything else?”
Clyde shook his head slowly.
“Well, that’s not a bad word to start with, but hopefully you won’t need it too often. Can you stay on the path while we hunt, and not disturb the wildlife?”
Clyde nodded solemnly.
“Okay, let’s go.”
They followed Kevin at a steady distance, Clyde maintaining his promise with difficulty. He lunged toward the
trees from time to time, catching himself at the last moment before leaping. His exuberance overcame him eventually, and once again he crashed into the brush. Kevin glanced back at them in annoyance, bringing his finger to his lips. William shrugged back in helplessness.
Clyde continued his playful pouncing unabated, despite William’s frustrated admonitions. Emerging from the brush, he would leap to yet another spot with a horrendous crash. The cycle was interrupted when the dragon failed to reappear after one such leap.
William peered into the dense underbrush, holding his breath, waiting for Clyde to return. Anxious for his safety, he urged his mare into the brush after him. They pushed past branches, William shielding his face with his arm, into an opening where he found Clyde sniffing around.
He froze at the sight before him. Someone was squatting here. On his land. Illegally. William tried to quell his rage, reluctant to be like the haughty lords he’d met and disliked, but the sense of violation remained. A large fire pit had been built, with a ring of rocks designed to hide the flames, and a small lean-to was cradled between the roots of a large tree, creating a sleeping spot large enough for one person.
He slid off his horse and inspected the site. He discovered a hidden garbage pit and sifted through the debris. Animal bones and skins—squirrels, mostly, or so William figured—formed the bulk of it, but he found apple cores, nut shells, and other food refuse as well. He even found a discarded tin.
The squatter, whoever it was, could afford to throw away valuable metal, so poverty hadn’t driven them to squat on his land. But what had?
The ground around the fire pit was trodden flat, with a path leading through the brush where William had pushed through. Another path emerged on the other side, leading deeper into the woods, and he stepped around the pit to look closer.
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