Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  She permitted him to examine the weapon, which featured two chambers and two barrels, each with its own trigger.

  “Please be careful,” she instructed. “I always keep the pistol loaded.”

  “Quite unique,” said Henry, inspecting the weapon. “I’ve never seen one quite like this.”

  “My own design,” said Amelia. “I employed a gunsmith to make it for me. The pistol has special magical constructs that enable each barrel to fire independently. Thus I always have two shots available without having to stop to reload.”

  “A formidable weapon, Miss Nettleship,” said Henry, handing back the pistol.

  “I have found it advantageous to be able to defend myself,” said Amelia cheerfully. “I am quite a good shot, if I may so myself. During my years as a student at Mrs. Ridgeway’s Academy for Young Ladies, I always received the prize for Expert Marksmanship.”

  Amelia returned the pistol to the reticule and drew out the brown leather notebook and the pencil. With these in hand, she snapped shut the reticule, hung the umbrella by its handle over her arm, and returned to the attack.

  “And now, Sir Henry, on the subject of the heir to the throne, I have it on good authority—”

  Henry interrupted. “I beg your pardon, Miss Nettleship, but I begin to find walking about in the sun fatiguing. Let us sit in the shade and enjoy the cool breeze.”

  He did not give her time to respond, but escorted her to two deck chairs the sailors had placed in the shadow of one of the balloons. Before Amelia could return to the heir to the throne, Henry launched a counteroffensive.

  “I have been meaning to tell you, Miss Nettleship, that I have been enjoying your stories regarding Captain Kate. They were recommended to me by my wife, who is one of your most devoted readers. I do have one question for you. I trust you will not mind if I ask it?”

  “Considering that I have been plying you with questions these last five days, my lord, I believe you have the right to turn the table on me, as we say in backgammon,” replied Amelia.

  Henry leaned close to ask softly, “Is Captain Kate real or did you make her up?”

  Amelia was highly amused. “No need to whisper, my lord. Captain Kate is quite real, though I fear the tales she told me are not. She is captain of a wrecker, not a pirate ship, as she claimed.”

  Henry pondered this information. “Wrecking is a dirty and dangerous job. She must be an extraordinary woman.”

  “She is, indeed. Why are you interested in Captain Kate, my lord?” Amelia asked.

  Henry was silent. Amelia regarded him with a knowing air, then leaned forward to tap him on the arm with her pencil.

  “You asked me to accompany you on this voyage to talk about Kate, didn’t you, my lord! I have been wondering about your true motivation. I didn’t think you wanted me to write about the viscount. At least, not disclose the truth.”

  “You may disclose whatever you like about the Right Honorable Aldous Finchley, Miss Nettleship,” said Henry drily. “But, yes, I admit that I really wanted to know more about Captain Kate.”

  “And why is that, my lord?”

  “I want you to keep writing stories about her, Miss Nettleship,” said Henry. “You have a devoted following and I would like to see it grow. Stories about this courageous and patriotic young woman are of value to the public.”

  Amelia gave him a shrewd look. “More so than stories about Prince Tom.”

  “More so than stories about a pretender to the throne,” said Henry, frowning.

  “You are a cagey one, my lord,” Amelia said. “I begin to think all the stories I have heard about you are true.”

  Henry fanned himself with his hat. “Tell me more about Captain Kate.”

  “I met her in Wellinsport at an auction house. I offered to pay her for her story. I gave her money and said if my readers liked it, I would pay for more.”

  Amelia smiled and shook her head. “I knew immediately she was embellishing her adventures. The tale about the galleon, for example, was quite preposterous. Still, I also knew that my readers—particularly my female readers—would enjoy them. Perhaps even be inspired by them.”

  “I have read the fictional account of her life,” said Henry. “What is the truth about Kate? Did you find out?”

  “I am a journalist, my lord,” said Amelia with a look of reproof. “Of course I found out. The tale of her true life is far more tragic and sordid than anything I could make up. I happen to have my notes, if you will give me a moment…”

  Amelia removed a pince-nez from the reticule, attached it to her nose, then flipped through her notebook. Finding the page, she peered at it through the glasses.

  “Her true name is Katherine Gascoyne-Fitzmaurice. She is the daughter of Morgan Fitzmaurice, third son of a wealthy merchant. Morgan obtained a commission in the Royal Navy and was eventually promoted to captain. Those who knew him describe him as ‘engaging, charming, handsome.’ Unfortunately he was also a liar and a fraud. He was suspected of using his position in the navy to smuggle goods on board a naval ship. The admiralty could not prove their case, however, and he was never court-martialed. He resigned his commission. The family hushed up the disgrace and promptly disowned him.”

  Henry made a mental note to have Randolph Baker obtain the naval records regarding Captain Morgan Fitzmaurice.

  “Kate’s mother, Lady Rose Gascoyne, was the only child of Viscount Ferdinand Gascoyne of Barwich—”

  “That name sounds familiar,” Henry said, brow furrowing. “Why do I know it?”

  Amelia glanced up from reading. “Perhaps you are thinking of the rumors regarding the death of the viscount, my lord.”

  “That’s right!” Henry exclaimed. “The old boy died in a hunting accident. Though circumstances were suspicious, as I recall.”

  “The truth was he shot himself,” said Amelia. “Although that didn’t come out until months after his death. That and the fact that the viscount was heavily in debt. His only child, a daughter, Lady Rose Gascoyne, was seventeen at the time of his suicide. Poor girl. She had no idea of the desperate state of his affairs until his solicitor told her. He suggested that she sell the estate, Barwich Manor.”

  “Rose knew if she did sell the estate, she would be ruined. She had beauty and she had a title. She determined to marry a rich man and save her estate. Friends introduced her to Captain Morgan Fitzmaurice.”

  Amelia closed her notebook. “Fate played a cruel jest upon these two weak young people. In order to capture a rich husband, Rose told Morgan she was a wealthy heiress. Morgan wanted a rich wife and told her he was the son of a wealthy merchant. They began a passionate affair and within a month, Rose was pregnant with Kate. The marriage was hasty, and it was only after the wedding that Rose discovered her ‘rich’ husband was knee-deep in gambling debts and Morgan found out that his ‘rich’ wife had one foot in debtor’s prison.”

  “A cruel jest, as you say, Miss Nettleship,” Henry remarked. “What happened to them after that?”

  “Morgan accepted the situation with good grace. He had gambled and lost, which for him was nothing new. But Rose never forgave him for lying to her; never mind that she had lied to him.

  “Morgan managed to buy a ship—some say he won it in a game of cards. He left Rose and went back to smuggling. After Kate was born, Morgan at first sent home money enough to support his family. His reformation did not last long, however. Morgan could never resist the lure of the cards. The money stopped coming and when Kate was six, the bank took possession of Barwich Manor. Rose died not long after. The locals say she died of a broken heart.

  “Morgan was left with a daughter. Not knowing what to do with the girl, he took her with him on his travels. Kate was raised on board his ship, which is where she learned sailing, among other less savory skills. Morgan and Kate were close, or so I’ve been told. Eight years ago, Kate turned up in the Aligoes, saying she was now owner of the Barwich Rose. No one knows what became of Morgan. He was never seen or heard from ag
ain. Since he was involved with the Westfirth gangs, it is easy to imagine he ran afoul of them in some way.”

  “Poor girl,” Henry remarked, almost to himself. “No wonder she makes up stories. Is the dragon real? Or did she make him up, as well?”

  “Ah, that I do not know, my lord,” said Amelia. “Kate spent time in Westfirth as a child when the Dragon Brigade had their headquarters there, so she could conceivably have encountered a dragon. I could not find anyone in the Aligoes who had ever seen a dragon living there, although that doesn’t mean much. A gathering of dragons could make their home in the islands and no one the wiser.”

  Removing the pince-nez, Amelia turned a stern gaze on Henry. “I quite like Kate, my lord. I trust you will not do anything to make her life more difficult. All she wants is to amass enough money to return to Freya and buy Barwich Manor.”

  “I hope to improve her life, Miss Nettleship,” said Henry. “You make Captain Kate a household name and I will see what can be done about the manor.”

  “We have a deal, my lord,” said Amelia, pleased. She picked up the notebook and the pencil. “And now tell me, is it true, Sir Henry, that you are traveling to Wellinsport to sack the governor?”

  Henry smiled. “You never give up, do you, Miss Nettleship. This may seem an odd question, but how do you feel about monkeys?”

  “On deck!” yelled the lookout from his perch in the crow’s nest. “Ship to the south!”

  Henry rose with alacrity from his deck chair. The captain and first lieutenant both grabbed their spyglasses and trained them in the direction indicated. The morning sun was starting to burn through the mists, but the air was hazy, and although Henry could see a ship in the distance, he could not make out details.

  “Mr. Hawkins, take a glass aloft,” said Captain Bastian, speaking to one of the midshipmen.

  The young man scrambled up the rigging. Everyone on board the ship waited in tense silence to hear the report.

  “Do you think it could be Bottom Dwellers?” asked Amelia.

  Henry glanced at her. She didn’t sound afraid. She seemed extremely eager. Probably had questions for them.

  “I hate to disappoint you, Miss Nettleship, but no Bottom Dwellers have been in the Aligoes for years.”

  The Trame Channel was popular with pirates, but they were not feared as much as were the Bottom Dwellers, who had made this area a favored hunting ground. Although the war had ended, some of the more diehard followers of the late Blood Priest were said to attack ships and butcher the passengers and crew in their cruel blood magic rituals.

  “I heard reports that people had seen them lurking in the jungle, my lord,” said Amelia.

  “A combination of Calvados and an overactive imagination, Miss Nettleship,” said Henry. “This ship is likely another merchant vessel.”

  “Not even a pirate?” Amelia asked. “I would like some adventure on this voyage.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, Miss Nettleship, but even the most foolhardy pirate would think twice about attacking a ship of this size.”

  Despite his reassuring words, Henry thrust his hand into an inner pocket, glad to feel the reassuring presence of his pistol. He saw Amelia observing him with a knowing smile.

  “Until we find out for certain, you might want to go below, Miss Nettleship,” he advised.

  “Stuff and nonsense, my lord,” said Amelia. After collecting her reticule and her umbrella, she adjusted her hat, took out a pair of opera glasses, and walked over to the rail for a closer look.

  Henry shook his head in admiration, then went to join the captain on the quarterdeck.

  “What do you think it is, Captain?” Henry asked.

  “The ship is not behaving in a suspicious manner,” said Captain Bastian. “She’s not hugging the shoreline or trying to hide in the mists. I imagine she is a—”

  “Rosian brig, sir!” the midshipman called down. “The Victorie.”

  “Victorie?” Captain Bastian repeated, puzzled. He trained his glass on the ship, then turned to his lieutenant. “Wasn’t she reported sunk during the war, Mr. Hobbs?”

  Captain Bastian had been a naval captain during the war, serving as a commander under Alan. After the war had ended, Bastian had found himself out of a job. Alan had persuaded Henry to use his influence to find his friend a ship. Henry owned shares in the wealthy merchant shippers Buchanans, Hasite, and Company, and was able to obtain a post for Captain Bastian.

  Henry occasionally found it advantageous to travel abroad in the guise of a simple passenger, a “gentleman of good character.” When he did, he would choose to sail with Captain Bastian, who had proved not only an able commander, but one who could also be trusted with secrets.

  “I believe she was sunk, sir,” said the lieutenant, training the glass on the brig. “The Rosians must have salvaged her and put her back into action.”

  “Victorie has changed course, sir,” the midshipman called. “Heading for us.”

  “So we are going to play that game, are we?” Captain Bastian said, annoyed.

  “What game is that, Captain?” Henry asked.

  “Rosian ships out of Maribeau have begun harassing Freyan merchant ships. The Rosians claim this is in retaliation for Governor Finchley placing an embargo on Rosian merchant vessels—”

  “He did what?” Henry demanded.

  “He placed an embargo on Rosian merchant vessels. They’re not allowed to enter Wellinsport.”

  “Damn and blast that fool to hell!” Henry swore. “When?”

  “Almost a fortnight ago, my lord,” said Captain Bastian. “You didn’t know?”

  “This is the first I have heard of it,” said Henry grimly. “News has been slow to reach me these days.”

  Letters from his agents informing him of Finchley’s latest debacle were probably lying on his desk in the Foreign Office this very moment.

  “What exactly is the Rosian navy doing to harass our ships?” Henry asked.

  “According to Captain Westfall of the Emily Jane, a Rosian frigate fired a warning shot across his bow and ordered him to anchor. The Rosians demanded to board and inspect the cargo to search for contraband. Captain Westfall told the Rosians they had no authority to make such a search. They exchanged heated words. Both crews grabbed pistols and cutlasses. At the last moment, the Rosian frigate sailed away. Westfall said the Rosian captain was laughing.”

  “Someone’s pistol is going to go off by accident and start a war,” said Henry. “Then no one will be laughing.”

  He tried to look on the bright side. This latest piece of lunacy spelled the end for the Right Honorable Aldous Finchley. Henry had been searching for an excuse to get rid of him and now he had one.

  “I’m not going to play their fool game,” Captain Bastian stated. He walked over to confer with the helmsman, ordering an increase in their speed.

  The midshipman who had gone aloft gave a strangled yelp.

  Henry couldn’t understand him very well; the lad’s voice was breaking.

  “Did he say ‘dragon’?” Henry asked in astonishment.

  Captain Bastian glared up at the midshipman. “Quit skylarking, Mr. Hawkins!”

  At that moment, the lookout gave a bellow and pointed.

  “Deck, there! Dragon! And a rider!”

  Henry and everyone else on board the Pride of Haever turned to stare at the dragon, who had emerged from a bank of puffy white clouds high above the channel. A rider sat on the dragon’s back in a saddle positioned just ahead of the dragon’s shoulders. Dragon and rider began making a slow descent, flying in the direction of the Pride.

  “You might want to rethink your plan, Captain,” Henry suggested. “That dragon is a member of the Dragon Brigade. You can tell by the emblem he is wearing around his neck. His rider is wearing a Brigade uniform.”

  Yet even as Henry spoke, he frowned.

  The dragon was wearing the emblem of the famed Brigade—a silken sash in the colors red and gold—around his neck. But as far as He
nry knew, Brigade dragons wore those emblems only on ceremonial occasions.

  And as of the last reports he had received, the Dragon Brigade was still in Rosia. They had returned to their headquarters on the cliffs above Westfirth. He was certain he would have reports if they had been deployed.

  Of course, he reminded himself glumly, given the delay in messages reaching him, the Dragon Brigade could have been deployed twenty times over and he wouldn’t have known about it.

  Still, a suspicion crept into his mind. He shot a glance at Amelia. She had her opera glasses trained on the dragon. She didn’t appear the least alarmed. In fact, he thought he saw a smile playing about her lips.

  The Victorie continued on course and the dragon and rider flew lower and lower on a course that would converge with theirs. Captain Bastian drew Henry to one side.

  “My lord, Governor Finchley has been spreading news of your impending arrival, letting it be known you are sailing on this very ship. Have you considered the possibility that the Rosians might be seeking to capture you?”

  Henry thought this over. He could have traveled in secret under one of his many aliases, but he had an important reason for making this journey under his own name. He had been aware he would be in danger because he was always in danger. He had enemies the world over, including in Rosia.

  That said, tensions had cooled between the two longtime enemies since they had allied to defeat the Bottom Dwellers. Finchley’s idiotic embargo might have changed that, though Henry doubted it.

  As for his own personal Rosian enemies, the bishop’s spymaster, Dubois, was involved in a desperate struggle to save the Church of the Breath. And King Renaud’s spymaster, the Countess de Marjolaine, had just sent Henry a friendly letter informing him of her son’s marriage.

  Henry had his agents spying on them, as they had their own agents spying on him. He knew it and they knew it and no one was offended. That was just how the game was played.

  The threat did not come from one of his usual enemies. He had a new one; one who had taken the bait.

  “I thank you for your concern, Captain, but I do not think I am the prize,” Henry said. “I have diplomatic immunity. Capturing me would cause an international incident.”