“When the murderer came to kill Lady Odila, he placed the linen construct on the floor outside the door, traced over it with his fingers starting from the bottom right and moving to the left. That transferred the construct to the floor, and he then spoke the proper words. As you recall, I found traces of magic at that location.
“The magic would begin to work immediately, forming a gas that would seep beneath the door and inside the room. I surmise that Lady Odila was asleep when the killer attacked and did not wake until he entered. When she was aware he was there, she became alarmed, and started to confront him. I know that because her body was lying on the floor some distance from where she slept.”
Henry interrupted to ask, “How did the killer know where to find her?”
Simon spread his hands. “The newspapers reported the queen would be meeting with the dragon who was residing at the castle. Given the size of the dragon, the killer would be safe in concluding she would not be slumbering in one of the upstairs bedchambers. He would go to the underground level, the only space large enough to accommodate her.”
Henry gave a gloomy nod. “Proceed.”
“The dragon had just enough strength to stand up and move a short way before she collapsed. The killer needed to make certain she could not attack him. Therefore he cast the spell again, this time inside the chamber where Mr. Sloan found the construct. At that point, the dragon would have been completely immobilized, although still conscious. This is instructive. The killer truly hated his victim. He deliberately made her suffer.”
“So her death was personal,” said Henry. “But did he hate her for herself or did he hate her because she was a dragon?”
“An excellent question, and one I cannot answer,” said Simon, regarding his friend with approval. He wrote it down. “To continue: The killer was careful to remove all traces of the construct near the door. He was not able to do this when he used the construct a second time inside the room because the dragon’s blood had flowed over it. Mr. Sloan was able to discover the construct because the blood had receded.”
“You said you know the name of the killer,” Henry prodded.
“Only six people could have cast that spell: myself, the two crafters who created the construct, and the three men who were trained in its use. Only six people knew the code name for the project: Imhrun’s Sword.”
“By God, we have only six suspects!” Henry exclaimed. “Well, five, not counting you. In his arrogance, the fool has given himself away!”
“The killer is not a fool, Henry,” said Simon sharply. “Put that notion out of your head. I sent Albright to question the other five people who worked on Imhrun’s Sword, find out where they were the night of the murder. Albright discovered that four of these people have unimpeachable alibis.”
Henry grunted. “No alibi is unimpeachable.”
“These are, Henry,” said Simon gravely. “All four are dead.”
Henry looked grim. “I don’t suppose they all died peacefully in their beds.”
“Quite the contrary. One was run over by a carriage in the streets of Haever. Another fell off a cliff while on holiday. A third died in a house fire and the fourth broke his neck while riding. What is even more suspicious is that all the deaths occurred within the last fortnight. In each case, the investigating authorities ruled the death accidental.”
Henry poured himself another glass, but did not drink it.
“Why did he kill them?”
“You said it yourself,” Simon replied. “The killer feared that if these four people heard about the murder of a dragon, they would recognize the use of the construct and realize the killer was one of their old comrades.”
“But what about you, Simon? Why didn’t the killer come after you?”
“He didn’t know about me,” said Simon. “Godfrey brought me in at the end of the project. I never met the other people involved.”
“And so of the six who worked on Imhrun’s Sword, you and the killer are the only two left alive. You must know his name.”
“I do. Isaiah Crawford. He was once a captain of the marines.”
Mr. Sloan sat bolt upright. “I served with an Isaiah Crawford, sir. Could that be the same man?”
“I was going to ask you that question, Mr. Sloan,” said Simon. “What do you remember about him?”
“Crawford was a devout Fundamentalist, highly disciplined and somewhat dour, and an extremely talented crafter.” Mr. Sloan paused, thinking back. “He was selected for some sort of special duty, as I recall, and reassigned.”
“He was promoted to captain and trained in the use of the construct,” said Simon. “Do you know what became of him?”
“Crawford and I attended the same church,” said Mr. Sloan. “I was acquainted with him, but nothing more. I have not thought about him in years.”
“So by process of elimination, this Crawford has to be our killer,” Henry said. “Have you located him? Do you know where he is?”
“Five years ago, Captain Crawford vanished,” said Simon. “Gone without a trace. No one has seen him or heard from him. I admit that the only evidence I have against Crawford is circumstantial, but I believe he is our man. One person could confirm it. Or rather, I should say, one dragon.”
“You mean this Coreg,” Henry stated.
“According to Miss Nettleship, someone hired Coreg to hire an assassin to kill a dragon. He sent his servant, a man by the strange name of Trubgek, to Kate. Note that the dragon knew about the construct and what it was meant to do because this Trubgek told Kate it would kill dragons.
“Coreg knows who hired him,” Simon added. “Even if that person wasn’t Crawford, Coreg could provide the information we need to find out who is behind this plot.”
“And how do you suggest we persuade this dragon to talk? Thumbscrews? The rack?” Henry shook his head in exasperation and rose to his feet. “Keep investigating, Simon. I must return to the palace—”
Simon was exasperated. “Henry, damn it! Listen to me! I was not jesting when I told you about the sea monster. Crawford is simply one of its tentacles. Think about this, Henry. Where has the construct been all these years?”
“Crawford had it.”
“Doubtful. Godfrey would have never given such powerful magic to a lowly captain. He would have given it to a friend, a close friend, someone he trusted. Someone who is still trusted and who might, even now, be taking tea with Her Majesty the queen—”
“Good God!” Henry exclaimed, horrified.
“We need to find Crawford and, above all, we need to know who else is involved and what they are plotting! We have to find a way to persuade Coreg to talk. Offer him something in return for information.”
Henry frowned, thinking. “I received a report that the Rosians are sending warships into the Aligoes to root out the pirate infestation. Since Rosian warships would likely have a deleterious effect on business, I could offer Coreg safe haven in Freya.”
“Henry, I hate to say this, but the last thing we need in Freya is another dragon,” Simon remarked.
Henry gave a bitter smile. “I am desperate, my friend. Unfortunately, I cannot leave Freya now, not during this crisis. Mr. Sloan, you are the only person I trust to undertake this mission. I do not like to ask this of you, however. The risk involved is too great.”
“I was going to propose to undertake it myself, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “According to Miss Amelia, this dragon has already made one attempt on your life.”
“True,” said Henry. “What with one calamity and another, I had forgotten that. I never did find out why. Perhaps you could ascertain that while you are there, Mr. Sloan.”
“I will endeavor to do so, my lord.”
Henry smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Sloan. Take the carriage. You will need to make arrangements for your journey. I plan to remain with Simon for a while, so send the carriage back to pick me up.”
After Mr. Sloan had gone, Henry walked over to once more gaze out the window, look down at the
city he loved, the people he loved, even those who were at this moment rioting in the streets. They were Freyans, all of them. His people, whom he had sworn long ago to protect and defend.
He glanced at his friend. Simon was seated at his desk, but he was not reading or writing or shuffling through papers. He was doing nothing, staring at nothing. Henry understood. He rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“You cannot blame yourself for Lady Odila’s death.”
“Yes, I can,” Simon returned. “I should have made certain the construct was destroyed. That would have meant angering Godfrey and I didn’t want to risk my career.”
“Knowing Godfrey, you could have been risking your life. And putting us at risk,” said Henry. “I owe you an apology, Simon. I had no right to be angry with you. You did what you thought you needed to do.”
“Nonetheless, I should not have lied to you,” said Simon. “As you said, I should have trusted my friends.”
He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Well, maybe you and Randolph. Not Alan.”
Henry laughed. The two shook hands and Henry put on his cloak and his hat. Simon escorted him to the door, steering his chair among the stacks of books and papers, cabinets and chests, oddments, grotesques and curiosities that filled the floating house.
As they parted, Simon said, “I cannot overstate the importance of finding out what Coreg knows, Henry. I have high esteem for Mr. Sloan, but I cannot help wishing you were going.”
“Even though this dragon tried to have me killed,” said Henry.
“That small matter.” Simon waved it away. “I’m sure the dragon has reconsidered. After all, no one has tried to kill you in at least a week. Don’t be such a fussbudget, Henry.”
Henry smiled at his friend’s raillery. He was glad to see Simon in a better mood.
“I must remain here. I have to try to convince the Travian dragons to stay in Freya. I have to meet again with the Duke of Talwin and the Rosian dragons to calm their fears. I must make arrangements for Lady Odila’s state funeral, and just this morning I received word from King Ullr. He never gave a damn about dragons in his life, but it seems he is shocked to the depths of his being by the death of Lady Odila and is coming here to express his outrage.”
“Then we must place our faith in Mr. Sloan,” said Simon.
“We could not have a safer repository,” said Henry.
Bidding his friend good-bye, he climbed into the carriage, sat back, closed his eyes. His ship was damaged, but still afloat. No need to man the lifeboats yet.
FORTY-FOUR
Kate leaned on her elbows at the rail of her ship and gazed out at the northernmost islands of the Aligoes: hummocks of green floating on the orange-pink mists of the Breath. The day was clear, the sun was bright, and in the distance she could see the summit of Fortum, the first of the Six Old Men, which marked the entrance to the Trame Channel. With fair winds, she and her crew could be in Freeport the day after tomorrow.
“Deck!” the lookout called. “Sail to starboard! Two ships!”
“Merchant ships,” Kate guessed. “How far? Marco, be ready to change course.”
The idea came to her that perhaps she could win her way back into Sir Henry’s good graces by picking off a fat merchant. Marco put his glass to his eye. When he located the ships and brought them into focus, he stiffened.
“Those aren’t merchants, Captain,” he said, alarmed. “Those are warships, and two-deckers at that! Seventy-fours!”
Kate raised her glass to see for herself. Seventy-fours were warships that carried seventy-four guns that each fired a thirty-two-pound ball. Only the Rosian navy had ships that big. Sure enough, she could see the Rosian colors flying from the mast.
“Deck!” the lookout cried. “Dragons!”
Three dragons came into view, flying over the Trame Channel. The dragons flew in formation, one in front and one on each flank. Their flight was slow. They were taking their time.
“Could those be wild dragons?” Marco asked, puzzled. “I never heard of wild dragons living in the Aligoes.”
“For good reason, because there aren’t any,” said Olaf. “That is the Dragon Brigade. We kept hearing rumors that the Rosians were going come to rid the the Aligoes of pirates. Looks like they’re here.”
“And we are the very pirates they’ve come to attack!” said Kate, alarmed. “The Rosians will recognize Victorie. She used to be their ship, after all.”
“So what if they do?” Marco asked. “We are privateers. We have letters of marque.”
“They could still arrest us and impound our ship,” said Olaf.
Kate was doing some fast thinking. The warships were about four miles away at the entrance to the channel. From their vantage point, the Victorie would be partially obscured by the mists. A freshening breeze could ruin that, however, blowing away the friendly mists and leaving them exposed.
“Marco, change course! Get us the hell out of here!” Kate ran to the brass helm. Marco spun the wheel hard to port while Kate reversed the port airscrews. The Victorie heeled hard, creaking and groaning under the strain.
“Olaf, have they seen us? Are they chasing after us?”
“Not so far,” he reported. “The ships haven’t altered course. The dragons are starting to veer off. They’re circling back over the lane. I don’t think they saw us.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” said Kate.
The Victorie retreated, sailing for cover amid the cluster of islands to the south and east of the Trame Channel, seeking shelter beneath a vast canopy of green.
Only when they had left the Rosian warships and the dragons miles behind them did Kate deem them to be safe. She called a meeting in her cabin.
She had told Olaf the truth at the start of the voyage, as she had promised. She had told him everything, from Coreg to Trubgek’s threats to the magical construct, to Dalgren’s suggestion about Amelia and how she and Kate were going to take the construct to Sir Henry. Kate had even confessed that she had hoped to make money off the deal. Olaf had shaken his head at that.
“But I didn’t kill anyone, Olaf. You have to believe me!” Kate had said.
“I do, Kate,” Olaf had replied. “I mean that.”
“Dalgren doesn’t,” Kate had said with a sigh. “That’s why he left.”
“He was just upset, that’s all. He’ll come to think better of it. Do you know who killed the dragon?” Olaf had asked.
“I am going to the Aligoes to find out,” Kate had told him.
By the time Olaf entered the cabin, Kate had decided what she was going to do. She needed to convince him to go along with her. To that end, she poured him a glass of Calvados.
“Sit down, Olaf,” she said, smiling.
Olaf eyed the glass, but didn’t drink.
“I have an idea, Kate. We sail to Bheldem. We’re only five days away. We wait there until the Rosians grow bored chasing pirates and leave. You can talk to Coreg when they’re gone”
“I can’t wait,” said Kate. “Coreg won’t stay around for the Dragon Brigade to spot him. For all I know, he’s packing his things right now, getting ready to flee. And there’s another reason. Dalgren. If he’s here, he could be in danger.”
Olaf was amazed. “And why would Dalgren be in danger?”
“Because of the Dragon Brigade,” said Kate.
“And why would that put him in danger? He served in the Brigade. He probably knows most of the dragons in it.”
“And they know him,” said Kate. “Dalgren is a deserter. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you!” she added, seeing Olaf go red in the face. “Dalgren asked me not to say anything. He didn’t want anyone to know. And now I have to find him to warn him. He might not know the Brigade is in the Aligoes.”
“I think he might figure it out when he sees a dozen dragons flying overhead,” said Olaf dourly.
“Dalgren is my friend!” Kate pleaded. “I won’t abandon him any more than I would abandon you!”
“I know y
ou wouldn’t, Kate,” Olaf said, sighing. “I didn’t mean we should let them find him. I’m just not sure what we can do to help.”
“I need to warn him,” said Kate. “If Dalgren is here, he might have communicated with Akiel. I have to reach Freeport and I think I know a way. We’ll hide the ship in Kate’s Cove where we worked on Victorie. The Rosians will never find us.”
Olaf mulled this over.
“That might work, but we have to get there first,” he said. “And that’s not going to be easy with the Rosians blockading the Trame Channel.”
Kate rummaged through her father’s charts and maps until she found the one she wanted, and spread it out on the table. She studied it, then drew a line with her finger.
“This is the route we’ll take. We’ll sail to the north, then head west, avoiding the Trame Channel, and then south through these islands. The Rosians will concentrate their fleet here and here: the two main shipping channels to the east.”
“They could have troops in Freeport,” Olaf said.
“Why would they bother?” Kate argued. “Freeport is a backwater town on a bay off the main shipping lane. We will hide Victorie in the cove. I will slip into Freeport, talk to Akiel who will know what’s going on with the Rosians and if Dalgren is around. After that, I’ll meet with Greenstreet. Once I have the information I need, I’ll take that to Dalgren, prove to him I am innocent and we can all go back to Freya together. I will make amends with Sir Henry. He will give us our orders and we’ll set out to find our fortunes!”
Olaf rubbed his jaw as he studied the chart and gave a rueful smile. “You know as well as I do that those two seventy-fours could sail right through the holes in that plan, Katydid.”
“This will work, Olaf,” Kate said, adding with grim determination, “It has to!”
FORTY-FIVE
Mr. Sloan flew on griffinback to the Aligoes; an uncomfortable mode of travel, but one that cut several days off his trip. He did not travel directly to Freeport, but planned to stop over in Wellinsport, hoping to gather information. He noted the presence of the two seventy-fours guarding the entrance to the Trame Channel and he saw the dragons of the Dragon Brigade. His griffin saw the dragons as well, and snapped its beak in displeasure.
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