Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  The king had sent a soothing letter to Governor Finchley, reminding him that the Rosians had a perfect right to be in the Aligoes and explaining that he was planning to stop the depredations of pirates on Rosian shipping. Governor Finchley did not believe him.

  Panicked, the governor had belatedly ordered repairs to the batteries, and recently, in a fit of pique, he had placed an embargo on Rosian merchant ships.

  The batteries were a hive of activity now. They were covered with scaffolding, and Kate could see men crawling about, probably stone crafters replacing and strengthening the constructs, which had been obliterated by the weapons of the Bottom Dwellers. Balloons were being used to lift and position new forty-eight-pound cannons, along with barrels of powder and shot. Soldiers lined the walls, keeping watch for the hated Rosians. Kate was in a good mood and she waved to the soldiers as she sailed past.

  All that work must cost a lot of gold eagles, Kate reflected. Hundreds of thousands. She tried to picture that much gold and wondered how many strongboxes would be required to transport such a vast sum.

  After a five-hour voyage, the Rose arrived in Wellinsport in the afternoon. Kate left Marco in charge while she and Akiel went into the city. They visited the markets and the auction houses, purchasing food and supplies.

  By the time they were finished, darkness had fallen. Kate left Akiel and Marco to make certain everything was delivered and safely stowed. When that was done, she told the crew they could go ashore, so long as they were back on board ship in the morning.

  Kate went into town on business of her own, planning to talk to one of Alan’s former Rose Hawks, a young man known as Phillip “Jones.” She had always assumed his name was a nom de guerre. The Rose Hawks had been formed by young gentlemen from good families who had come to the Aligoes in search of adventure and had kept their true identities secret so that their families might be spared embarrassment. Although in Pip’s case, Alan had often said jokingly, his family might have changed their name in order to be spared Pip.

  Pip, as he was called, worked as a clerk in the governor’s office, and if anyone would know anything about the Pride of Haever and the truth about its cargo and passengers, it would be Pip.

  She and Pip had first met in the company of Alan Northrop and the Rose Hawks during one of their visits to the Parrot. The youngest of the Rose Hawks, Pip had served as second lieutenant aboard Alan’s ship, the Royal Hawk. Pip was not particularly handsome—not like Alan. Pip’s mouth was too wide, he had one blue eye and one green, and his short blond hair was bleached almost white by the sun. He was fun-loving and charming, however, although he had an unfortunate tendency to squander his prize money on games of chance and Freyan whiskey. Pip and Kate had become friends, perhaps because, as Olaf said, Pip reminded her of her father.

  Captain Northrop and the Rose Hawks had left the Aligoes to join the fight against the Bottom Dwellers, and Kate had lost track of Pip. She hadn’t heard from him in years and she had therefore been astonished to run into him a couple of months ago in a market in Wellinsport.

  Their conversation had been short.

  “I didn’t you know you were back in the Aligoes, Pip,” Kate had said. “What are you doing here? Are you still with Captain Northrop? Are the Rose Hawks going into action against the Rosians?”

  “I can’t say what the Rose Hawks are doing these days,” Pip had replied with a gusty sigh that reeked of wine fumes. “I got sacked, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry, Pip.” Kate had been sympathetic.

  “My fault entirely,” Pip had answered cheerfully. “Alan had every right to give me the boot. I had a bit too much to drink and fell asleep on watch. He was decent about it. Court-martial offense, but he hushed it up. I had to quit the service, though, and seek gainful employment. I’m clerking for the governor.”

  “I thought clerks sat on tall stools with their fingers steeped in ink,” Kate had said, laughing. “And here I find you at the wine merchant’s.”

  “The Right Honorable is throwing a big party,” Pip had explained. “He sent me to order the wine.”

  “You’ve obviously been tasting it before you buy it,” Kate had teased. “How is Captain Northrop? What is he doing?”

  “No idea, I’m afraid,” Pip had told her. “I heard he got his hand blown off in a fight with the BDs. Oh, he’s fine,” he had added, seeing Kate’s alarm. “Alan always did have the devil’s own luck, you know.”

  Kate had wanted to ask more about Alan, but Pip said he must run; the governor was waiting to hear about his wine.

  “Come see me the next time you’re in town,” Pip had added before rushing off. “We’ll have more time to chat. You can find me at the Red Lion. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you where it is.”

  Kate didn’t need to ask. She was familiar with the Red Lion. The gambling club had been one of Morgan’s favorite haunts.

  On the off chance that Greenstreet was having her watched, Kate disguised herself as one of the locals, dressing in a long skirt, an apron, and a shawl tied around her shoulders, with her hair bound up in a colorful scarf.

  She didn’t see anyone following her from the ship, but she didn’t dare take chances and so she went first to a tavern popular with the locals. Almost every woman there was wearing a shawl and a scarf. Kate mingled with them, then slipped out by the back entrance and walked to the center of the city.

  The streets of Wellinsport were crowded. People slept in the afternoon during the heat of the day, and did business or took their pleasure after dark. The first few blocks, Kate kept careful watch. Seeing no one dogging her steps, she relaxed. The Red Lion Gambling Club was located in a well-to-do neighborhood, and was known for the eclectic nature of its clientele. The only requirement for admittance to the Red Lion was money; so long as you had that, you were welcome to enter. Merchants and plantation owners played cards with smugglers and pirates, soldiers, sailors and clerks.

  The Red Lion had been a private house before it was converted to a gambling club. The house was made of brick and was three stories tall with long, narrow windows. Light streamed from the windows onto the street. Inside, men and women gathered around tables, drinking and laughing. Kate remembered standing on the street as a girl, wondering where her father was among that glittering crowd.

  Morgan had been a good-natured gambler. He had played for the excitement, the thrill of risking all he had on the turn of a card. If he won, he was happy. If he lost, he smiled and shrugged it off. Kate often thought her father had become a smuggler for the same reason—the excitement, the thrill of risking all he had.

  That had included his life. Kate turned away from the windows and walked up to the front door.

  She curtsied and held out a note. “I have a message for a gentleman of this establishment, from my mistress.”

  The doorman saw the name, Phillip Jones, written in a feminine hand. He summoned a servant, who carried it inside. A few moments later, Pip appeared, dressed in evening clothes and smelling of whiskey.

  The doorman pointed to Kate, who dropped another curtsy.

  “Do I know you, madame?” Pip asked, peering at her uncertainly.

  “My mistress is around the corner, in a coach, sir,” said Kate. “She says you are to talk to her.”

  Pip was overcome with amazement. “Are you sure she meant me? Women don’t, as a general rule.”

  “Just come, sir, please!” said Kate.

  “Very well,” said Pip with a good-natured smile.

  Kate seized hold of him by the hand and guided him, swaying slightly, down the street and around a corner. Here she ducked behind a large flowering bush and pulled off her scarf.

  “It’s me, Pip.”

  Pip blinked, his confusion growing. “Kate? Where did you come from? I was talking to a servant. There was a woman in a carriage…”

  “Yes, never mind,” said Kate. “I need to talk to you. I’m sorry to take you away from your card game—”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” Pi
p said. “I was glad for the excuse to leave. Have you ever played vingt-et-un? Don’t. Wretched game.” Looking downcast, he took a seat on a convenient door stoop. “Why did you want to talk to me?”

  Kate sat down beside him. “I need information. What do you know about a Freyan merchant ship called the Pride of Haever? The ship is on its way to Wellinsport.”

  “Merchantman owned by Erlyon Shipping,” Pip said promptly. “Makes regular voyages between here and there. Why? Are you hoping she’ll wreck and you can claim the cargo?”

  “Of course not! You know me better than that, Pip,” Kate said, genuinely shocked. “You were a sailor. Even thinking about wrecks is bad luck, like whistling on board ship.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know,” said Pip, looking anxious. “Should I turn around three times and spit?”

  He started to stagger to his feet. Kate pulled him back down. “No, you’d just fall over. A man named Henry Wallace is one of the passengers on board the Pride. If this is the same Henry Wallace, he was a good friend of my father’s.”

  Kate was lying, of course. Her father had never known anyone named Wallace. Pip wouldn’t be aware of that, however. “Do you know anything about this Wallace? I’m trying to figure out if he’s the right one.”

  “Wallace,” Pip repeated, his forehead creased in thought. “The only Henry Wallace I know works in the Foreign Office.”

  “That sounds like my father’s friend,” said Kate. “Would he be likely to travel to Wellinsport?”

  “He might, I suppose.…” Pip brightened. “Maybe he’s come to sack the Right Honorable! The chappies in the Foreign Office aren’t at all happy with the governor. Devilishly hard to get rid of the viscount, though. He’s a friend of the queen’s. Sent her a monkey.”

  Kate wasn’t interested in monkeys. She had counted on the fact that in his inebriated state, Pip would let slip something about the gold. Unfortunately he appeared on the verge of nodding off. His head sank to his chest, his eyes closed.

  Kate gave him a nudge in the ribs with her elbow. Pip blinked and jerked upright. “Is it my turn to lead?”

  Kate sighed and decided she needed to take desperate measures before Pip passed out. He probably wouldn’t remember anything she said to him by tomorrow anyway.

  She leaned close to whisper, “The truth is, Pip, I heard a rumor that this Wallace is carrying a fortune in gold eagles.”

  “No! Really?” Pip whispered back, breathing whiskey fumes in her face. “Whatever for?”

  “I heard Wallace is going to give the gold to your governor—”

  Pip threw back his head, losing his hat, and burst into wild laughter.

  “Stop it! Someone will hear you!!” Kate scolded. “What’s so funny?”

  “The notion of Wallace giving a fortune in gold to the Right Honorable!” Pip said, choking on his own mirth. He wiped his eyes and looked about vaguely for his hat. “That’s a bloody good rumor. Where did you hear it?”

  “Never mind,” Kate said, disappointed. She picked up his hat and put it back on his head. “Are you sure it’s not true?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Her Majesty, God save her, is fond of the Right Honorable, but not that fond,” said Pip. “She would never entrust a fortune to the governor, no matter how many monkeys he sent her.”

  He chuckled again at the thought. “And now, speaking of fortunes, Kate, I must be getting back to the gaming tables. My luck’s bound to change. Give us a hand, will you?”

  Kate hauled him upright and, seeing that he was a bit unsteady on his feet, she put her arm around him and helped him back to the Red Lion.

  “Good-bye, Pip,” said Kate. “Take care of yourself.”

  “I always seem to manage,” Pip said, grinning. “Though I’m damned if know how.”

  He shook hands and with a bow and a cheery flourish of his hat, bid her good night. Kate watched to make certain he made it safely inside. The last she saw of Pip, he had bounded up the stairs and tumbled headlong into the doorman.

  Kate slowly walked back to the harbor. With her head down and her arms crossed under her shawl, she was absorbed in her thoughts and not watching where she was going, bumping into people on the crowded streets without noticing.

  At first she was inclined to believe Pip and was disappointed. Upon reflection, however, she grew more cheerful. Pip was a low-level clerk, responsible for buying wine and planning parties. What would he know about a fortune in gold? Greenstreet was reputed to have spies everywhere. He was much more likely than poor Pip to have reliable information.

  “Greenstreet is going to a lot of trouble and expense,” Kate said to herself. “The gold will be there. I know it!”

  TEN

  Sir Henry Wallace, on board the Pride of Haever, was thinking to himself that Miss Amelia Nettleship was certainly not what he had been expecting.

  He reflected on this and other matters of no importance as he leaned against the rail, sipping his morning coffee. He found it pleasant to have the leisure to reflect on unimportant matters. He had any number of extremely important matters to worry about, but since there was no way he could possibly attend to them while sailing on a ship through the Aligoes, he dismissed them from his mind.

  Mr. Sloan had been right. The voyage had been idyllic: calm weather, sunshine, amiable company. Henry had enjoyed himself. He felt more relaxed that he had in months.

  He would undoubtedly find mail waiting for him in Wellinsport, but until then, he did not have to concern himself with reports from his network of agents and spies. He could trust Mr. Sloan to deal with those in his absence. If there was a true emergency, such as his beloved Mouse going into labor or the fall of the government, Mr. Sloan would send a griffin rider to find him.

  Henry allowed himself to drink his coffee, watching the green-forested islands of the Aligoes slip past the ship and reflecting upon Miss Amelia Nettleship.

  Having never met a female journalist, Henry had pictured a severe, formidable woman much like Matron, who ran the university infirmary. Matron had dealt with countless young gentlemen over the years and had learned their ways. She could spot a malingerer trying to avoid a test at fifty paces and with a look reduce him to a blob of pease pudding. Henry still shuddered at the memory of her cure for a hangover, a concoction that had caused many a young libertine to abstain from strong drink for the remainder of his life.

  Henry found Miss Nettleship to be a strong-minded woman in her forties, outspoken, cheerful, and insatiably curious. She wore practical clothes with little care for the dictates of fashion, appearing daily in a brown tailored jacket and matching brown ankle-length skirt, a white linen blouse with a stand-up collar, and lace-up black boots. Her thick hair was of the same brown color as her clothes and she wore it knotted in a bun, “so as not to be a bother” beneath what was known as a “porkpie” hat.

  Henry found himself liking her, despite the fact that she immediately attacked him, bombarding him with questions about everything from the succession to the Braffans and King Ullr to Prince Tom.

  “Is it true, Sir Henry, that the queen supports her Rosian sister to be queen of Freya?” Amelia had asked before the Pride of Haever had even left the harbor. She followed up this question with “I was informed, Sir Henry, that the leader of the House of Nobles attempted to persuade Her Majesty to name her half brother, Hugh, as her heir. What was Her Majesty’s response?”

  After he had managed to avoid answering that, she asked, “Is it your opinion, Sir Henry, that the wildly popular young man known as Prince Tom has a legitimate claim to the throne?”

  Accustomed to dealing with reporters, Henry had fended off her questions with his customary polite answers that appeared to say a great deal yet in fact said nothing at all. Amelia was not in the least upset by his refusal to provide her with a story; indeed, she could hardly be angry, since he had paid for her passage.

  That said, she truly appeared to relish the challenge of trying to wheedle information from him. She made rather
a game of it, pouncing on him at odd times—such as when they were dining with the captain—hoping to catch him unawares.

  The daily Aligoes rainstorm drove Henry off the deck and back to his cabin. He wrote a letter to his wife and then took advantage of the solitude to read several more stories about Captain Kate.

  He was smiling over these when he noted that the storm had ended. He went back on deck and found Miss Nettleship “taking the air,” which meant she had cornered the captain on the quarterdeck and was asking him about the effect that sales of Freyan whiskey were having on the Aligoes rum trade.

  Henry went to the rescue. Hat in hand, he bowed to Miss Nettleship, begged forgiveness for the interruption, and asked if she would like to join him in his morning constitutional.

  “I owe you one,” said Captain Bastian in a low voice as he beat a hasty retreat.

  Amelia went armed with an umbrella, which Henry had never seen her without, and a beaded reticule, hanging by a chain over her left arm.

  “Mrs. Ridgeway, of Mrs. Ridgeway’s Academy for Young Ladies, used to say that a lady can go anywhere in the world with an umbrella and a sensible pair of shoes,” Amelia had informed him.

  Her shoes were most certainly sensible, being sturdy, lace-up walking boots with a small heel. As for the umbrella, she used it for a wide variety of purposes: shading herself from the sun, shielding herself from the rainstorms, as a walking stick, and, once, to jab at a rat as it scurried across the deck.

  The reticule was a repository for all manner of objects: a brown leather notebook, pencils, a knife for sharpening the pencils, a handkerchief embroidered with the initials “A.N.,” and, Henry was startled to see, a small pistol.

  “Do you always carry a weapon, Miss Nettleship?” he asked.

  “Indeed, I do, my lord,” Amelia answered with a vigorous nod. “I will go anywhere in pursuit of a story, often venturing into unsavory locales.”

  “Where you obtain answers to your questions at gunpoint,” Henry said, teasing.

  “Keep that in mind, my lord, when I ask you about Prince Tom,” said Amelia, with a wink.