One Quest, Hold the Dragons

by Greg Costikyan

  About him clustered a dozen brass speaking tubes, curving away through the walls to distant subordinates. Ten or twelve times a minute, the men and women at the tubes' nether ends flinched as their ears were assaulted with a noise like that of the sea, crashing with gale force against the rocks of the shore. None of them dared move too far from their tubes, lest Stantz awaken suddenly and issue them an order.

  Half the ministry knew that Stantz was, ah, resting, but none dared awaken him. Men had died for less.

  Stantz had spent two bad nights. On the first, there had been Wolfe, and then the damned elven ambassador; on the second, a series of critical reports had kept him glued to his desk. The Accommodationists were apparently plotting a coup d'etat, and he still didn't know why. Two nights of inadequate sleep had finally caught up with him.

  A shadow moved silently up and into the armchair that stood across the desk from Stantz. Suddenly, Wolfe sat in the chair, wincing at the noise. "Stantz," she shouted over the ocean's roar. "Wake up, man."

  With the suddenness of a surfacing whale, Stantz jerked into consciousness. He blinked sleepy eyes at the room, then said, "Morning, Ren. Just resting my eyes."

  "Resting them since morning, apparently," said Wolfe. "It's late afternoon."

  Stantz blinked. "Ah," he said, and reached up to shutterthe speaking tubes; no need to have the rest of the ministry listen in on this. "And how—"

  "I've been to the Drachehaus," said Wolfe tiredly. "Took me hours to get in, and hours to get out; von Grentz's security is very tight."

  "Well I know," muttered Stantz. "I've been trying to penetrate it from this end."

  "Any luck?" said Wolfe.

  "Not much," said Stantz. "Broderick de Biddleburg, the deposed regent of a little barony in the mountains, showed up at von Grentz's castle out toward the Dzorz, in a snit about something. This was two weeks ago. He demanded to speak with von Grentz; the next morning, the two of them and a company of soldiers headed out, and came back with a mysterious somethingorother wrapped up in a tarpaulin."

  "And then?"

  "And then," said Stantz irritably, "our informant's vital functions ceased."

  Wolfe snorted. "Fenstermann must be unhappy."

  Stantz looked quizzical. "Who?

  "The torturer," said Wolfe. "Friend of mine."

  "Why should he be unhappy?"

  "He's a humanitarian," Wolfe explained. "Opposed to torture on principle. Says a tortured subject will admit to anything just to—"

  "Damn it, Wolfe, are you telling me we employ a torturer with moral scruples? What can Personnel be thinking of? How effective can he possibly—"

  "He's very effective, Guismundo," said Wolfe. "I'm sorry I brought it up. He's very skilled. His dad was a torturer, and his granddad before him; it's a family tradition."

  Stantz goggled, but sighed after a moment. "The Dungeon Division operates fairly well," he said, rubbing his third chin. "A bad idea to second-guess subordinates, anyway. So tell me about Drachehaus."

  "Hmm? Oh, very severe lines, wouldn't be surprised if the architect were a Son of the Morning. Only real ornamentation is a dragon, nicely carved, above the main door. The grounds—"

  "Ren," said Stantz, "you may think it cute to be purposefully obtuse, but I am a busy man—"

  "Busy sleeping," said Wolfe.

  "Be that as it may," said Stantz. "I'm not interested in the Drachehaus itself; I want to know what you learned inside the Drachehaus."

  "You remember that rumor about the statue of Stantius? Some adventurers in Athelstan supposedly found it, at about the time that the Scepter of Stantius started glowingT'

  "Yes, yes."

  "Von Grentz has it."

  "What ... the statue?"

  "Yes," said Wolfe.

  "Ah, the mysterious object under the tarp."

  Wolfe shrugged. "Could be. But there's more."

  "There generally is."

  "Von Grentz wants to use it to make himself king."

  Stantz blinked. "Not just mayor, but king? Of all humanity?"

  "Righto," said Wolfe cheerfully. "He had a wizzo in to talk about it, a lich—"

  "A lick?"

  "Yes."

  "Unusual," said Stantz. "There are few free lichs; most are tied to their graves, some few enslaved to Arst-KaraMorn. Blazes, if they've got their tentacles in this—but why would they want von Grentz king? Von Grentz actually thought that was possible?"

  "He seemed quite hot on the notion. The lich was a little less convinced, but seemed willing to give it a shot."

  "Hmm," said Stantz. "Let's see if this makes sense. VonGrentz gets hold of the statue. This changes the delicate balance of power among the Hundred, so he attempts to assassinate Siebert, hoping to get elected mayor himself. This doesn't work, so he starts to line up the rest of the Accommodationists to put over a coup d'etat—"

  "What?"

  "I have indications along those lines, yes. Von Grentz himself has a small army, you know-traditional regiment, out Dzorz way. Guisardieres. Some of the other noble Accommodationists do, too. The only military force in the capital is the Mayor Foot Guard—"

  "Unless you count the watch," said Wolfe.

  Stantz snorted. "Please," he said. "So while von Grentz is hardheadedly maneuvering to seize power, he's simultaneously playing with mystical folderol, to acquire divine sanction as Human King ... Hmm, you know, even if it proves impossible, the symbolism is important. If he can claim to be Human King with any authority, the mob—"

  "Yes," said Wolfe, "I see."

  Stantz was silent for a long moment. "There's worse," he said grimly.

  Wolfe raised an eyebrow.

  "I'm the villain of the piece," he said.

  "You generally are," said Wolfe.

  Stantz smiled. "Well, terror has its uses," he said. "But I'm serious. We're picking up a whispering campaign; von Grentz has the statue of Stantius, the Scepter of same is glowing, there shall be a new human king. By his possession of the statue, von Grentz is marked out to become that man. The foul Spider, Guismundo Stantz, attempted to assassinate the Lord Mayor Hamish, darling of the mob, and plots against him still; von Grentz shall avenge Siebert's death, reach an understanding with the East, abolish the draft, reduce taxation—"

  "Is this hypothetical?"

  "No, it's all over the taverns," said Stantz. "Sets things up nicely; they kill Siebert, pin it on me; by the time the coup d'etat occurs, mobs turn out in the streets to support it. Half the nobility already supports the Accommodationists; with Accommodationist troops in control of the town, the other half can be purged—"

  "Soldiers going door to door with naked blades," said Wolfe. "Blood running in the streets. We haven't had anything like that in three hundred years—"

  "Correct," said Stantz, nodding sagely. "Our tradition of assassination serves as a safety valve for political violence, obviating the need for more extreme measures. Obviously, von Grentz must be stopped."

  "But how?"

  "We have to get the statue away from him," said Stantz. "Is it in the Drachehaus?"

  "Yes," said Wolfe. "But the place is a fortress."

  Stantz shrugged. "You have carte blanche," he said. "Spend whatever it takes. Assemble a team and get it. I shall expect it by Friday."

  "I've been up all night," she groused. "Can't it wait?"

  "Yes," said Stantz. "It can wait till tomorrow-Friday. At which time, I shall expect to see Stantius safely in the Albertine Lodge."

  "Explain to me again why this is so vital," said Wolfe tiredly.

  "The coup is scheduled for Sunday."

  "So, in a pinch, the raid could be on Saturday."

  Stantz grimaced. "Yes, yes," he said, "but it's foolish to schedule something for the last possible moment."

  "All right," said Wolfe. "Go back to sleep. Meanwhile, I, sleepless, will labor onward."

  Stantz snorted. "Haven't you heard?" he said. "The Spider is everywhere. He never sleeps."

  "No," said
Wolfe. "He just rests his eyes."

  It didn't occur to Wolfe until much later that she hadn'ttold Stantz about the strange old man who had also, to all appearances, been spying on von Grentz.

  "Is this really necessary?" demanded Timaeus in a harsh whisper, his handkerchief to his nose in a largely futile attempt to keep out the dust. He peered down toward his feet, trying to make out the next joist in the feeble light; he had tripped once already, landing painfully across several joists, and had no desire to repeat the experience. He put one hand to the dusty lath to steady himself, and flinched as he dislodged bits of plaster, which rattled down the wall.

  "Spies are everywhere," responded von Kremnitz, also whispering, épée out and opal ring glowing. "Be careful."

  "Yes, well, this isn't quite how one expects to be received by a head of state," said Jasper, flitting on ahead and pausing at an intersection, uncertain which way to proceed. "When you said `grant us an audience,' we did have something rather grander in mind."

  "I sure as hell wouldn't have put on this damned dress if I'd known I'd be creeping around in the walls like a rat," snarled Sidney. Despite the short notice, she had managed to find suitable garb at a couturière not far from the pension; the seamstress had rapidly altered it to fit. It was black velvet with silver trim, not her preferred manner of dress, but when you met lord mayors and such ... It was smeared now with dust and cobwebs. Its only saving grace, as far as Sidney was concerned, was that the Hamsterians expected both men and women to bear weapons; the dress had a sling for a sword, and the sleeves were voluminous enough to permit her to carry throwing knives. If she was condemned to wear this frippery, at least she could still go armed.

  "We're nearly there," whispered von Kremnitz soothingly. "In fact—" He pressed his eyes to a peephole, and made a satisfied sound. "I must merely find the control for the secret door—here."

  There was a clicking sound. Nothing happened. There was a clicking sound again, then, somewhat frantically, the same sound three times in quick succession. "It's not working," whispered von Kremnitz.

  "Is hokay," said Kraki. "I fix." He pushed his way past Timaeus and von Kremnitz to the door.

  A loud voice reached their ears through the wall. "Von Kremnitz," it said, "is that you?"

  "Yes, my lord," said von Kremnitz, equally loudly. "We're having some difficulty—"

  "Not to worry," said the voice. "I installed a lock. Just a moment—"

  There was a crash. Laths and plaster flew; they squinted as light flooded the secret passage. Kraki hurled through the ragged hole he had smashed in the wall, into the Dandolo Room beyond, plaster dust and rubble flying everywhere.

  "I am Kraki, son of Kronar," he roared, holding the point of his mighty sword to Siebert's stomach. "Name yourself, or die."

  The Lord Mayor held a tall glass of something bubbly in one hand, his other hand halfway to the hilt of his rapier. Wisely, he refrained from moving his hand any closer to the blade. "I am Hamish Siebert," he said, seemingly unalarmed, "a simple man, but ruler of this city."

  "Is hokay," Kraki allowed, sheathing his weapon in the scabbard slung across his back and making toward the bar.

  Siebert let loose a long breath, waving his free hand across his face to waft away the plaster dust that hung in the air. "A rather unorthodox entrance," he said. "You might have forewarned me, Leftenant."

  "I am sorry, my lord," said von Kremnitz, on his knees before the Lord Mayor. "May I present—" And he introduced each of the others, in turn.

  Siebert seemed most interested in Sidney, whose hand he pressed to his lips. "Charmed," he murmured, holding on to her hand far longer than was necessary. Rather selfconsciously, Sidney brushed some of the cobwebs off her dress.

  "Well, well, said Siebert, waving a hand toward the sideboard. "Help yourself to a drink, if you like; no servants right now, in the interest of discretion, albeit heaven knows how much discretion we can maintain. I've got the usual wards against scrying, you know, but who knows if I can trust the wizards who cast them? Adventurers in the grand style, what? Hauling things off to Arst-Kara-Morn, bearding the Dark Lord in his lair sort of thing. Ah, youth.".

  "Leftenant von Kremnitz has told you of our quest, then?" asked Timaeus, bringing a finger toward his pipe.

  "Yes, of course-must you light that beastly—" There was a bang. "Ah, well, never mind. You're all quite mad, you know."

  "How so?" asked Jasper, settling down toward a couch.

  "The good leftenant tells me you plan to free the spirit of Stantius, hmm? Whereupon the gods will select a new Human King, or some damn thing, who'll lead us on a glorious crusade to crush the nasty orcs. All very nice, gaiety and celebration, up the side, and so forth. What happens if the Dark Lord takes it from you?"

  "The statue?" said Timaeus.

  "Mmm," Siebert agreed, nose in his drink.

  "Then," said Timaeus, "he'll use it to enslave humanity, presumably the reason for capturing and binding Stantius's spirit in the first place. We'll join the orcs, crush the elves and dwarves, and live as serfs and peons in a vast evil empire for all time to come."

  "Something like that, I imagine," said Siebert. "Cheers." He took another long quaff, ice tinkling against the side of the glass. "Is taking the statue to Arst-KaraMorn therefore the best idea in the world?"

  "Well, you know," said Jasper. "Legends foretell, fated to do such and so, the traditions of the quest. Stiff upper lip, must do as duty demands."

  "And so forth," said Timaeus. "I'll have one of those; what is it?"

  "Genever and greep soda," said the Lord Mayor. "Very pleasant, really:"

  "Urg," said Timaeus. "Never mind, then. Kraki, some of the single-malt, won't you?"

  The barbarian, who had been sampling the bottles at the sideboard one by one, peered at the selection until he found something that looked like a whisky. He picked it up, made certain it was well stoppered, and hurled it at Timaeus. The wizard only just brought his hands up in time to prevent it from bashing him in the head. He unstoppered it, looked about for a glass, sighed, and took a swig from the open neck.

  "So you can't be dissuaded?" said Siebert.

  "Afraid not," said Timaeus.

  "Oh, well," said Siebert cheerfully. "Sheer lunacy, to be sure, but I don't imagine I'll be around to see the outcome in either event. The important thing is to get the statue away from von Grentz before he can turn the Republic into a charnel house."

  "Right," said Nick. "And the first step is to find out where he's got it."

  "Ah, that I can tell you," said Siebert. "It's in the Drachehaus, his mansion in the city. The leftenant can take you there, I imagine."

  "How do you know it's there?" asked Sidney.

  "The Minister of Internal Serenity has so informed me," he said.

  "The Spider?" protested von Kremnitz. "But he tried to kill you! How can you trust— "

  "As to that, the good minister has been sending me these little love notes," said Siebert. "He claims that poor von Krautz was actually assassinated by the Graf von Grentz, who set Minister Stantz up to take the blame. He claims, moreover, that von Grentz is plotting a coup, anda further attempt at assassination. I'd been rather skeptical, but your own news about von Grentz and the statue is independent corroboration, as are the reports that several Accommodationist nobles are assembling their household troops not far from the city. I believe I'm beginning to place some credence in Stantz's little theory."

  "If you know where the statue is, can't you just order your army to go and take it?" asked Nick.

  Siebert raised an amused eyebrow. "Ah, the rashness of youth," he said. "It isn't quite so easy, you see. `My army' would mean the Mayoral Foot Guard; the rest is under the command of the Ministry of War, or the Arsenal, or individual noble houses. Von Grentz has his mansion well defended; there would be a pitched battle. I would immediately be accused by the Hundred Gentes of seeking to overthrow the ancient and honorable rights of -all free citizens by forcibly entering a gentl
eman's quarters and seizing his property without due process of law; a motion of censure would be introduced, and possibly one of impeachment. That last would require legal maneuvering; no one has actually introduced a motion of impeachment in the Republic's history, although tradition permits it, since it's generally been considered easier just to assassinate the individual in question. Actually, immediate assassination, possibly by the very officers I order to carry out the attack, is the likeliest outcome of any such attempt."