Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  “How does that clamp release?” Thomas asked, craning his neck to gaze upward.

  “Simplicity itself, sir,” the operator replied. “The large braided rope that runs through the final pulley connects to internal gears on the clamp, creating pressure that causes the clamp to either tighten or release. When the ferry is secured, the dockmaster retracts the arm and pulls the ferry to the dock where it can be tied down. When the ferry is ready to depart, the dockmaster casts off the line, extends the arm, and releases the clamp. A marvel of magical engineering, wouldn’t you agree, gentlemen?”

  “Wholeheartedly,” said Thomas.

  He and Phillip bid the operator good-bye and thanked him for his help. They were met on the dock by a man who introduced himself as Master Norgaard, one of the crafters in charge of the refining process. They introduced themselves to Master Norgaard and shook hands.

  Phillip nudged Thomas in the ribs and cast a significant glance at the empty dock. Not a barrel in sight.

  “The tour will not take long,” Master Norgaard was saying. “We should have you off our little rock in an hour.”

  “Do not rush on our account,” said Thomas with a pleasant smile. “We plan to remain here all day. We want to hear every detail.”

  Master Norgaard frowned. “I am sorry, gentlemen, but we are extremely busy, trying to ramp up production. I don’t have all day to spend with you.”

  “That’s a pity,” said Phillip coolly. “I, for one, am not willing to invest a thousand golden Estaran rajos after only a measly hour tour.”

  Master Norgaard opened his eyes very wide. “A thousand rajos?”

  “I am investing two thousand,” said Thomas.

  The master crafter suddenly became extremely accommodating. “Have no fear, gentlemen. We will spend all the time you need.”

  Master Norgaard walked off and Phillip and Thomas fell in behind him. Taking them at their word, Master Norgaard apparently intended to march them over every inch of the “little rock,” starting with a large stone building in the middle of the island.

  “This is the dormitory where the workers eat and sleep,” said Master Norgaard. “We work fourteen-day shifts, then off for seven.”

  Thomas insisted on seeing everything in the dormitory, including the kitchen. He even stepped inside the storage closet to look around. He was interested to find among the brooms and dustbins, five barrels marked “ALE” in large black letters lined up by the door.

  “Drink a lot of ale, do you?” Thomas asked.

  “Those are empty, sir,” Master Norgaard explained. “They go back this afternoon to be refilled. We do drink a lot of ale, stuck here on this rock. Now, gentlemen, if you have seen all you need to see to see of the dormitory, we will move on to the refining process.”

  Thomas cast Phillip a glance.

  Phillip understood and, latching on to Master Norgaard, hauled him away, asking him a question about the infirmary. Left behind, Thomas gave one of the barrels a kick, smiled, and hurried to catch up.

  “You will be astonished to hear the barrels are not empty,” Thomas whispered to his friend. Aloud he said, “Before we move on to refining, Master Norgaard, I should like to inspect those gun emplacements.”

  “They are only gun emplacements,” said Master Norgaard.

  “Nonetheless…” said Thomas.

  Master Norgaard rolled his eyes, but he took them over to one of the gun emplacements, which were located at strategic points around the island.

  “They were destroyed during the war and had to be rebuilt,” he told them. “We have only just completed the work.”

  “The guns are quite impressive, but where are the gun crews?” Thomas asked. “I want to know my investment will be protected.”

  “Since the arrival of the Guundaran navy, we have no fear of being attacked, sir,” said Master Norgaard. “The gun crews have other duties in the refinery. If the alarm is sounded, the gun crews can reach their stations in a matter of moments. And now, if you will follow me…”

  He walked off. Thomas and Phillip lagged behind.

  “Two of those cannons cover the ferry channel,” Phillip whispered.

  “By the time the crews reach their guns, load them, and run them out, we will be long gone,” Thomas returned.

  Master Norgaard took them next to a large floating raft tethered to the island. He pointed out the enormous tubes that snaked down to reach a pocket of pure, liquefied Breath far below the island.

  “As far as anyone knows, these pockets are the only source of pure, liquefied Breath in the world,” said Master Norgaard proudly. “People have searched for years, but no one has ever located another area where this natural phenomenon exists. And now, I will take you for a closer view of the tanks where the liquid is stored.”

  Phillip stifled a yawn. Thomas stood staring at the pumps, watching them suck up the cold liquid and dump it into two large round vats.

  “They might as well be pumping liquid gold. And now that King Ullr has his grubby hands on it, he means to rule us all by holding the liquid hostage,” Thomas muttered. “He can demand outrageous sums of money and governments will pay it.”

  “I’ve heard talk Estara might go to war with Guundar,” said Phillip.

  “No one wants another war,” said Thomas. “As King Ullr knows all too well.”

  He and Phillip strolled over to join Master Norgaard, who was waiting for them beside an enormous tank. They took their time, not bothering to hurry.

  “Didn’t the Freyans try to gain some sort of influence over the Braffans before the war?” Thomas asked. “I believe I heard my mother talking about it. An old enemy of hers—Sir Henry Wallace. She calls him the queen’s spymaster. Do you know him?”

  “I think I may have met him at court,” said Phillip with a shrug.

  “I was just wondering what he was like. According to my mother, he has horns and carries a pitchfork,” said Thomas. “Though I rather wish now he had succeeded with Braffa.”

  “When you are king, you can fund an expedition to discover liquid Breath,” said Phillip.

  “By God, I will!” said Thomas.

  Master Norgaard provided them with a close view of the tanks and the enormous, several-stories-high glass vats where the Breath was distilled. He then gave them a lengthy and involved explanation regarding magic and the distillation process.

  Thomas worked to look interested, and kept an eye on the dock. Thus far, it was empty. No sign of the barrels. He was starting to grow worried, and then, at about two of the clock, workmen emerged from the storage room, hauling the six barrels marked “ALE.” They began to load the barrels into a wagon.

  Thomas nudged Phillip in the ribs.

  “I see them. Quit staring!” Phillip whispered.

  “Our ferry should be arriving shortly,” Thomas whispered back.

  Master Norgaard paused in his lecture. “Did you say something, sir?”

  “Just wondering about lunch,” said Phillip.

  “We were hoping it would arrive shortly,” Thomas added.

  “After a tour of the laboratory,” said Master Norgaard.

  He led the way to a series of what appeared to be sheds.

  “Laboratory!” Phillip groaned. “Whose idea was it to take this bloody tour?”

  “Yours, I believe,” said Thomas.

  “Well, I deeply regret it,” said Phillip.

  Thomas grinned and out of the corner of his eye watched the wagon carrying the barrels slowly move toward the dock.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Kate sat in the saddle on Dalgren’s back, her spyglass to her eye, keeping watch on a narrow ship channel that wound its way among the Braffan islands. Dalgren, his wings barely moving, hovered just above the treetops to avoid being seen.

  Back in the Aligoes, he could have remained hidden in the silken mists. In Braffa, the islands appeared to float on a cloud of yellowish gray fog spreading beneath them like a woolly blanket. Above the fog, the air was cold and clear, a n
atural phenomenon that, like the pockets of liquid Breath, occurred only in this part of the world. No one could say exactly why. The predominant theory was that the change in the Breath was due to higher water content.

  Kate’s destination—Refinery Number Two—was several miles away. She would have liked to fly over it to reconnoiter, but she and Dalgren had decided the risk of being seen was too great. The sky was clear with only a few thin clouds. And while dragons might be tolerated on Braffa, a dragon spotted flying over a refinery would have been cause for alarm, especially on the day when barrels filled with crystals were to be transported.

  Kate counted on the fact that the island on which Refinery Number Two was located would be easy to find, for it was larger than the other islands surrounding it. The refinery was built on the southern end of the island. Unlike the northern end of the island, which was heavily forested, the southern end had been cleared of vegetation.

  And Kate didn’t really need to see the refinery to know the location of all the buildings and, most important, the gun emplacements. She had pored over the map Sir Henry had provided her, studying it so long and intently she could see the refinery imprinted on the backs of her eyelids.

  She would only need to know the layout if something went wrong and she ended up a prisoner, or if the refinery workers grew suspicious and started shooting at her. Kate had learned from her father’s unfortunate example that no matter how confident you were in a plan, you always needed to have a way out.

  Her plan was simple. She would seize the ferry, arrive at the refinery, load the cargo, sail to the rendezvous with Captain Northrop.

  Once again, her idea was to blame this on the Rosians, leaving Sir Henry able to protest Freyan innocence.

  “I see the ferry,” reported Dalgren, whose eyesight was far keener than hers. “Near that rock shaped like a potato.”

  “Is it the one we want?” Kate asked.

  “It’s the only ferry we’ve seen in an hour,” Dalgren returned. “So it better be the one we want. Black and green stripes and a green-and-black-striped balloon.”

  “That’s it,” said Kate.

  She again raised her spyglass and soon located the Elisha Jones, the ferry that was supposed to be picking up the crystals. The boat had all sails set and was chugging along at a good rate of speed.

  The operator was coming up on a cluster of islands the locals called the Snake. Here the channel narrowed and began twisting and turning in on itself. Kate had determined that the Snake would be an ideal place for her ambush. The ferry would have to slow its speed to navigate the turns, while thick foliage on the islands would conceal her movements from another ship or ferry, if any happened to be in the vicinity.

  Kate did a quick sweep, looking for such other vessels, thinking she might see the Guundaran ship that was waiting to take on the crystals or perhaps even the Terrapin, where she was to meet up with Captain Northrop. No other ships were in view, however, not even other ferries.

  As Dalgren had said, the Elisha Jones was the first they had seen in an hour. Kate wondered if the other ferry operators had been ordered to remain in port as an extra measure of security.

  She waited until the ferry was in the middle of the Snake, then told Dalgren to start his pursuit. The dragon skimmed above the trees, flying so close his belly brushed the topmost branches. Kate lost sight of the ferry among the foliage, but Dalgren had eyes on it, apparently, for he held unerringly to his course, approaching the ferry from the rear.

  Kate checked her pistols. She had brought two with her, tucked in the broad black belt around her waist, and had a large knife in her boot. She was wearing her slops, a man’s calico shirt, and a leather vest. She had tied a bright red kerchief around her head and hung a bosun’s whistle around her neck.

  The red kerchief and the whistle were for Dalgren’s benefit. Kate needed him nearby in case there was trouble, but he had to remain out of sight. He could not hide in the mists of the Breath, since there weren’t any. He would have to fly below the thick yellowish fog, keeping watch on the ferry that would be sailing above him. They had experimented, with Dalgren diving into the fog and Kate standing on shore, watching.

  Dalgren had returned a few moments later, flying out of the fog, causing it to swirl about his wings in whorls and eddies.

  “Could you see me?” he had asked.

  “Not a scale,” Kate had reported.

  “Good! Because I can’t fly lower. The Breath is as dark as a cave down there and far colder,” Dalgren had grumbled. “I think ice was starting to coat my wings.”

  “What could you see?” Kate asked. “Anything?”

  “The mists are thinner at the top, so that, looking up into the sunlight, I could dimly make you out,” Dalgren had said. “You need to wear something bright-colored and bring the whistle.”

  Kate tucked her curls beneath the kerchief. Looking down at her clothes, she was reassured to see the faint traces of the protective magical constructs inscribed on the fabric. The constructs would not stop a bullet or a blade, but the magic would mitigate the effects. Mr. Sloan had recommended a crafter who specialized in such work and, thanks to Sir Henry, Kate could afford to have such work done.

  She tossed down the rope ladder and tested it to make certain it was firmly attached to the saddle, then with a pat on Dalgren’s neck indicated to him that she was ready.

  Dalgren emerged from the trees and flew into the channel. He soared above the ferry, coming so close the wind from his passing caused the boat to rock as though it were caught in a wizard storm. His sudden appearance amazed the two people on board. Both stared, openmouthed, at the monstrous dragon that seemed to have materialized out of the fog.

  Dalgren made one pass, then circled back around. This time, he hovered above the ferry.

  “I can’t go any lower!” he bellowed. “Not without slamming into the trees.”

  Kate patted him again and began to nimbly climb down the braided leather ladder attached to the saddle. The ladder was a recent acquisition, much easier and safer to use than shinnying down a rope as she had done during the attack on the Pride of Haever. Dalgren held as still as he could to keep the ladder from swinging. Kate observed the two men on deck. One was perhaps in his early forties, the other was in his teens, and she guessed by the similarity in looks that they were father and son. Thus far, both had been paralyzed with shock, but when she started to descend, the elder reached for something beneath the helm.

  “He’s got a pistol!” Kate shouted.

  Dalgren snorted two gouts of flame from his nostrils. One missed and set the tops of several trees on fire. The other landed on the deck. The father laid down the pistol and ran to grab a bucket to put out the flames, while the son tried to beat out the fire with his jacket.

  Kate let go of the ladder, dropped down onto the deck, and drew her pistol. She picked up the pistol the father had dropped, tucked it into her belt, and ran to the helm, for the ferry had started to veer off course and was in danger of running aground. The ferry was small, with only one lift tank and a single balloon. Kate touched the magical constructs on the helm that sent the magic flowing into the airscrews and brought the ferry back on course.

  The two men had put out the flames and now stood with their hands raised. The father was grim, regarding her from beneath lowered brows. His son couldn’t take his frightened eyes off Dalgren flying overhead, looking particularly menacing. The father said something and the son flushed and hurriedly tore his gaze from the dragon.

  “Do either of you speak Rosian?” Kate asked, speaking Rosian.

  Braffans tended to be multilingual, since they had dealings with nearly every nation in the world. The father hesitated just long enough to let Kate know he understood her question.

  “Good,” said Kate. “What is your name?”

  The man clamped his lips together.

  Kate sighed. “I have the pistol and I’m an excellent shot. I’ll ask again. Your name, sir?”

  “El
isha,” said the father.

  “I’m Joshua,” the son added in a low voice.

  “And you can call me Rose,” said Kate. “I am a privateer, not a pirate, and I can assure you, sir, that neither my dragon friend nor I mean you any harm. So long as you cooperate, you and the boy will sleep peacefully in your beds this night.”

  “You and your dragon friend have gone to a lot of trouble to steal a ferryboat,” said Elisha.

  Kate smiled. “As you have probably guessed, I don’t want your boat. I want the cargo you are going to pick up at Refinery Number Two.”

  “Then you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to steal empty ale barrels,” said Elisha coolly.

  Kate glanced down at a chart lying near the helm and raised an eyebrow.

  “You speak very convincingly, sir, and I would almost believe you, except I see a location marked on this chart some twenty miles north of the refinery. I’m guessing this is where you are to supposed to meet up with a Guundaran warship to deliver those ‘empty ale barrels.’”

  “I’m picking up another load of cargo,” Elisha said stubbornly.

  “Not in the middle of the Breath, you’re not,” said Kate.

  She had been watching the boy, and when she saw him cast an alarmed glance at his father, she knew her information was correct.

  “Let’s not waste any more time.” Kate gestured with the pistol. “Sit down on that bench, both of you. Keep your hands where I can see them. This is what we are going to do. You, sir, will wrap this bandage around your knee. When we arrive at the refinery, you will tell the dockmaster that you injured your knee and can’t walk and you brought me along, your wife’s cousin, to help. Once the barrels are loaded onto the ferry, we will leave. We will make one stop to drop off the barrels. After that, you will never see me or my dragon friend again.”

  Elisha looked grim. “And what happens if I don’t go along? You can’t kill me. You need me. The refinery people won’t hand over the barrels to a stranger.”

  “That’s true,” Kate agreed. “But in that case, a tragic accident would befall you. You would drop your pistol and it would go off. The bullet would strike you in the kneecap. You will survive, but the wound will be horribly painful and debilitating. You might well lose your leg.”