Spymaster

by Margaret Weis

  Kate wouldn’t go that far. Victorie still was over forty years old, outmoded by today’s standards. Her high forecastle and sterncastle limited her maneuverability and slowed her response time to the helm. Kate loved the old lady, however, and looked forward to once more sailing the Breath, having something else to think about besides Coreg and Henry and a prince who had smiled at her with striking blue eyes while engaging himself to a princess.

  He’s a prince. Of course he thinks women will throw themselves at him, Kate had scoffed. But then she remembered she had thrown herself at him—literally—and she grinned. Serves you right for wasting time thinking about him. Mother always said men were the ruin of women. Next time I’ll heed her warning. I hope Prince Tom and his princess will be very happy.

  Kate wrote to Sir Henry, asking for orders, and moved back into her cabin on board Victorie. She spent her days with paperwork, ordering supplies—food, water, powder, shot—and supervising the changes Olaf deemed necessary. She expected the suppliers to demand payment in advance, but apparently they had already received their money, for the wherries carrying barrels of water and salted pork arrived the next day. After that came the powder hoys, heralded by their crew shouting a warning to put out all fires on board ship.

  She had given Henry her address in town “To Be Left Until Called For,” and she checked the post office daily. After a week had passed and she had still not heard from him, she began to worry. Since she had been the one to deliver the bad news about Pip, perhaps Henry was venting his wrath on her.

  A few days after she had arrived, she and Olaf went into town. Olaf did not like to leave the ship, being convinced, as Marco joked, that Victorie would sink if he was not there. He needed the latest charts and maps, however, and he did not trust anyone but himself to acquire them. He and Kate arranged to meet at Pete’s Ale House.

  Kate stopped by the post office and, finding no letter, went into the floating Trundler village to buy a bottle of Calvados to drink to the success of their next voyage—if they ever took their next voyage. This done, she went to the ale house.

  The tavern was mostly empty. The midday crowd had gone and the evening crowd had not yet arrived. A few regulars—grizzled old sailors who spent their days reliving their past glories—greeted Kate. She joined Olaf at a table by the window. From here, they could both see Victorie.

  “Nothing from Sir Henry?” Olaf asked.

  “No,” said Kate.

  “You didn’t do anything to upset His Lordship, did you?” Olaf asked.

  “No, of course, not,” Kate replied. “Sir Henry was extremely pleased with the success of our last job. I expect His Lordship is just busy, what with the furor over the new dragons and the rioting. Do you want another ale?”

  Before he could answer, she went to the bar to fetch two more mugs.

  “Seems you have an admirer, Katydid,” said Olaf, grinning at her on her return. “That man over there can’t take his eyes off you.”

  “Oh, yeah? Where?” Kate asked, humoring him.

  “In the corner, to the right of the bar.”

  She slightly turned her head and saw Trubgek.

  Kate felt a chill, as though she had been plunged into the cold air below the Breath. She managed a smile for Olaf, however.

  “I think I’ll go back to the ship.”

  “You haven’t touched your ale,” Olaf pointed out, startled. He eyed her. “What’s wrong, Kate? Something’s wrong. I know that look.”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” said Kate irritably. “I’ll see you on board.”

  She left the tavern, walked a short distance down the street, and stopped to look in a shopwindow. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trubgek come out of the ale house. She turned her back and continued on down the street, trying to maintain a normal pace, though she felt like running.

  Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw that Trubgek was following her and that he was gaining on her. Believing she was safer in a crowd than alone, Kate came to a sudden halt, much to the annoyance of a man who nearly bumped into her. She muttered an apology and turned to confront Trubgek.

  “What do you want, sir?” Kate demanded loudly. “Why are you following me?”

  Trubgek gazed at her without expression. “Unless you want your business known in the street, I suggest you keep walking.”

  People were stopping to stare. Kate flushed in anger and turned away. Trubgek fell into step beside her.

  “Coreg has a job for you,” he said.

  “What sort of job?” she asked.

  “We can’t talk here. I will meet you at the manor.”

  “I can’t go back to Barwich,” Kate protested. “I have work to do on board my ship. And I’m waiting for orders.”

  Trubgek reached into an inner pocket of his leather jerkin and drew out an envelope. Kate saw her name and Henry’s seal and the direction “To Be Left Until Called For.”

  “That is mine! Give that to me!” Kate reached out to take the letter.

  Trubgek slid the letter back into his pocket.

  “You will hear from me at the manor. Oh, and about that fire in the galley. It wasn’t the new stove.”

  “Fire?” Kate gasped. “What fire?”

  He walked off down the street.

  Kate slowly walked back to the ship. Once on board, alone in her cabin, she poured the Calvados and sat thinking. She did not have to wait long before she heard the familiar thump of Olaf’s crutch on the deck above, then thudding down the stairs.

  “Come in,” Kate called before he knocked.

  Olaf stumped inside. “Is everything all right? You ran out of Pete’s like demons were chasing you. That man left after you did. Was he following you?”

  “Of course not. Why would anyone follow me? Was there a fire in the galley?”

  “A small one,” said Olaf.

  “You didn’t tell me!” said Kate.

  Olaf stared at her, startled. “It was only a small fire, Kate. We put it out before it did much damage. I think something’s wrong with the magical constructs on the cast-iron damper on that new stove so that it didn’t work properly. I was going to look at it tomorrow. Why?”

  “No reason. Only I don’t think the magic on the stove started the fire.” Kate drew up a chair for him. “Here, sit down. Visit with me while I pack.”

  “Pack?” Olaf, repeated. “You just got here. Where are you going?”

  Kate flung some things into the valise, not paying much attention to what they were.

  “Since we haven’t heard from Sir Henry, I thought I would go to Barwich Manor, talk to Dalgren, tell him about the ship.”

  “You weren’t planning to go anywhere this morning,” Olaf said.

  “Well, I am now,” said Kate, closing the valise. “Is Victorie ready to sail?”

  “She could be,” Olaf replied warily. “A few minor things need to be done, but I could manage those out in the Breath.”

  “Good,” said Kate. “Leave tonight. Tell the port authorities and the crew that you want to see how the ship handles since we’ve made repairs. Sail to that inlet off Blacktooth Point. The one Morgan used during smuggling runs.”

  “Why the sudden rush?” Olaf demanded. “We need more men! And what about you?”

  “We can manage with the crew we have. Dalgren and I will meet up with you once we have our orders.”

  Olaf glared at her. “What trouble are you in now, Katydid?”

  “Everything will be fine,” said Kate.

  She picked up the valise and headed out the door.

  “Those were the last words your father ever said to me!” Olaf called after her.

  * * *

  Kate traveled the short distance to Barwich Manor and walked into the manor house shouting Trubgek’s name. Only echoes of her own voice answered. Annoyed, she searched the manor room by room. She saw no sign that anyone had been in the house since she was last there.

  She thought of going to see Dalgren, tell him that Trubgek was
back, that Coreg wanted her to do a job for him and that Trubgek had threatened her. She would have liked to see Trubgek make those same threats while staring into the eyes of a dragon.

  Kate discarded the idea. If Trubgek was watching her—and she had every reason to believe he was—she didn’t want to lead him to Dalgren’s lair. She had never known anyone as powerful in magic as Trubgek and while she didn’t think Dalgren was in any danger, the dragon had vowed to never attack a human even in his own self-defense. She couldn’t take a chance.

  And there was another reason. She needed to find out what this job entailed. If it was relatively simple and paid well, she might consider it.

  “And I mean paid in bank notes,” Kate muttered. “Not paid in threats to knock down my house.”

  She didn’t sleep well that night. She kept imagining she heard noises, and would get out of bed to go roaming through the halls with her lantern, only to discover the house was empty.

  When she did finally fall asleep, she woke up to broad daylight. She climbed out of bed, wrapped herself in her dressing gown, and walked into the kitchen. Sunlight streamed into the room, coming through the door that she had left closed and locked and that was now standing wide open.

  Trubgek sat at the table.

  Kate sat down across from him. “I’m too tired to be intimidated. If you have something to say to me, say it.”

  “A certain party approached Coreg about hiring an assassin to kill a dragon.”

  “Kill a dragon?” Kate smiled. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Coreg thinks so as well, but this party claims to know of a magical construct that was created many years ago for the sole purpose of killing dragons. You are a crafter. Coreg wants you to do the job.”

  “I may be a crafter, but I’m not an assassin,” said Kate.

  Trubgek gazed at her with his empty eyes. “You are what Coreg says you are.”

  Kate opened her mouth to make an angry rejoinder, but then thought better of it. She decided to temporize until she found out what was going on.

  “Since Coreg agrees with me that attempting to assassinate a dragon is folly, why are you here? What job does he want me to do?”

  Kate paused, then answered her own question. “Coreg wants the magical construct, doesn’t he?”

  “You will obtain the construct,” said Trubgek. “That is the first half of the job. We will discuss the second half once you have the construct.”

  “I will not murder anyone,” said Kate. “Human or dragon!”

  Trubgek reached into his pocket, drew out a note and key. He laid them on the table. “The construct will be at this location.”

  Kate made no move to pick them up. “Why don’t you do Coreg’s dirty work. You fetch the construct. You are a far better crafter than I am.”

  “Because Coreg is hiring you,” said Trubgek. “Will you do it? Or should I tell my master that you refuse?”

  “How much does it pay?” Kate asked. She picked up the bosun’s whistle she had placed on the table the night before. “And before you answer, you should know that all I have to do is blow on this whistle. My dragon friend and partner, Dalgren, will be here to ask you himself how much this job pays.”

  Kate leaned forward. “You may be an expert at magic, but are you good enough to go up against a dragon?”

  Trubgek gazed at her in silence. He was probably trying to figure out if she was bluffing.

  She was bluffing, but could he take the chance?

  “Coreg said if you obtain the construct, he will pay fifty Freyan eagles.”

  “A hundred,” said Kate.

  “One hundred,” said Trubgek.

  Kate smiled. “What do I do with the construct once I have it?”

  “I will be in touch,” said Trubgek. “Say nothing of this to anyone.”

  He stood up, turned, and walked out the door into the sunshine.

  “This is the last job I do for Coreg!” Kate said to his retreating back. “Tell him that!”

  Trubgek kept walking and eventually Kate lost sight of him.

  The note and the key were still on the table. Kate eyed them.

  “I don’t believe it. Any of it. I need to know what is truly going on.”

  Still concerned that Trubgek was lurking about, watching her, Kate waited until nightfall to leave the house. She brought along a dark lantern, but she didn’t need it. The night was brighter than she would have liked, for there was a half-moon and the sky was clear. Stars glittered and the mists of the Breath were mere wisps drifting past the moon.

  Muffled in a long dark cloak, she walked along the side of the road, keeping to the shadow of trees as much as possible and making frequent stops to watch and listen for the sounds of someone trailing her.

  She heard nothing and began to relax and enjoy the brisk walk, glad to release pent-up energy.

  She veered off the road and into the woods, finally reaching Dalgren’s dwelling—a cavern in the limestone bluffs along the riverbank.

  “Dalgren! It’s me!” Kate called on entering. Since the hour was late and he wouldn’t be expecting her, she wanted to make certain he didn’t mistake her for an intruder. She flashed the light about and found him curled up, nose to tail, sleeping.

  “Kate…” Dalgren blinked at her and gave a gaping yawn. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you back yet.”

  “I didn’t expect to be back,” said Kate.

  She sat down on the stone floor, keeping her cloak wrapped around her, and set down the dark lantern, leaving it open so that the light illuminated the cave.

  “We need to talk,” she told him.

  Dalgren yawned again. “I just finished eating. I don’t suppose this could wait until morning.”

  “Not after I walked all this way in the dark. I need your advice,” said Kate.

  She told Dalgren about her conversation with Trubgek.

  “A magical construct that can kill a dragon. You can laugh if you want,” she added.

  But Dalgren wasn’t laughing. He had stopped yawning.

  “Don’t get mixed up in this, Kate,” he said. “Tell Coreg you won’t do this job.”

  “So it is true,” said Kate. “About the magic. I wondered.”

  Dalgren uncurled his body. His tail scraped across the stone. He stretched, then lowered himself to the ground before he answered.

  “There were rumors.”

  “About dragon-slaying magic?” Kate was skeptical.

  “That such magic existed,” Dalgren replied. “No one knew for certain. I was in the Dragon Brigade at the time and we considered it possible.”

  “When was this?”

  “During the reign of King Godfrey of Freya. Tensions were running high between Rosia and Freya,” Dalgren explained. “War appeared inevitable. The Freyans had always hated and feared the Dragon Brigade and thus it was no surprise that they would try to find a way to kill us or our family members. In the end, of course, war was averted. King Godfrey died. The rumors stopped.”

  Kate huddled in her cloak. The cavern was cold. She sat, thinking.

  “What are you going to do?” Dalgren asked after a moment.

  Kate stirred uneasily. “I already agreed to do the job.”

  “What?” Dalgren roared. The cave filled with smoke.

  “I didn’t expect you to confirm that someone had actually concocted such a harebrained scheme,” Kate said. “Trubgek threatened to set fire to Victorie!”

  She didn’t mention anything about the hundred eagles.

  Dalgren eyed her, troubled. “You said Coreg wants to you to get hold of this construct. Is that all, Kate? Or does he want you to use it?”

  Kate heard herself saying: I’m not an assassin.

  She heard Trubgek’s reply: You are what Coreg says you are.

  “How could you think such a thing?” Kate demanded. She was shivering and she rose to her feet and started pacing to keep warm. “You know me better than that! Whatever else I am, I am not a murder
er!”

  “And yet you are working for Coreg,” Dalgren growled.

  “The last job,” said Kate. “I swear.”

  Dalgren was silent. Kate could feel disapproval radiating from him. She rounded on him. “I told you that if I don’t take this job, Trubgek will knock down my house! He’ll set fire to my ship! What would you have me do?”

  “Go to Sir Henry,” Dalgren advised. “Tell him everything. Let him handle this. He has the means, the resources to deal with Coreg.”

  “I already thought of that,” Kate returned. “Sir Henry would ask questions and I don’t have the answers. What could I tell him? That I’m working for someone else on the sly? He would take my house, my ship, and throw me in the gutter.”

  “Then tell Miss Amelia,” said Dalgren. “She could go to Sir Henry. She wouldn’t have to reveal her source.”

  Kate paused. She could tell Amelia. Then she remembered.

  “Miss Amelia isn’t here. She traveled to northern Freya to meet with some dragon.”

  Kate continued to pace. Dalgren watched her, his snout resting on the ground. Little puffs of smoke issued from between his jaws. He shifted his body to try to get more comfortable.

  “I have an idea,” Kate said, talking slowly, thinking it through. “I will do the job. Once I have the construct, I’ll take it to Sir Henry. I can say I found it in an old box in the attic. People are always finding things in old boxes in the attic.”

  “What will you tell Trubgek when he comes for the construct?” Dalgren asked.

  Kate wondered if there might be some way to collect the hundred eagles and still avoid handing over the construct. She would have to think about that. In the meantime, she reassured Dalgren.

  “I won’t have to tell Trubgek anything because when he comes to collect, we will be long gone,” said Kate. “Not even he can find us in the middle of the Breath.”

  Dalgren was troubled. “I still don’t think you should have anything to do with this vile construct.”

  “One last job and I will be free of Coreg for good,” Kate said. “Now go back to sleep. Tomorrow I need you to fly to Blacktooth Point, meet up with Olaf and the Victorie. Keep watch over them. I want to be ready to leave Freya the moment I give Sir Henry that construct.”