The Dragon's Banker

by Scott Warren

  “Open it,” I said, banishing the image of the horn tip from my mind. “Put your finger on the rune.”

  Arkelai did so, and her breath caught as the top of the box folded back, revealing the tiny treasure within. She withdrew an alchemical glass ball, with a tiny winged sculpture trapped within.

  “It is traditional for an enterprise to save the first silver mark it makes as a memento. In our case, I thought you deserved something more. I sent the first bank note earned by your company to one of the paper artists in Shaitaccea. They’re said to be able to shape paper into any form, and what could be more appropriate for the Dragon’s Daughter Trading Company?”

  Arkelai said nothing at first, only staring into the depths of the amber-tinted glass at the tiny paper dragon inside. The majestic little facsimile was midstride, wings extended and horned head stretched to the sky.

  “Sailor, I—” she began, and then stopped.

  “Think nothing of it,” I said.

  She replaced the orb in its velvet-lined box and closed the latch.

  “Sailor, I have to leave,” she said.

  That was not what I had expected her to say. Lady Arkelai swept up the box and the remnants of her breakfast as she made her way toward the exit.

  “What about the inspection?” I called after her. “Do you not want to attend?”

  “Do what must be done, Sailor. I trust you to act in my interest,” she said. And with that, she was out the door.

  Bendric, Heja, and I stared after her.

  “She’s a strange one,” said Heja.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” replied Bendric.

  “Neither of you do,” I finished. Then I stood before either could question my remark. “Shall we?”

  One of Spardeep’s shift supervisors met us with a cadre of miners, each equipped with hooded lanterns and digging equipment in case of a cave-in. One had a curious metal pole with a small open flame on it. He stood next to a man with a caged canary. The pair were our early warning measures, and I’m given to understand the pole is used to flare out pockets of combustible gas that become trapped in the mine. The canary was for toxins, but I learned that Spardeep had been using the same canary for nearly six years, long enough for it to have been graced with the name “Lucky Po” by the sweeper teams. I peered into the tiny cage at the fat little canary sleeping on its perch. If it were to die, it would more than likely be of old age. And we would be alerted to its expiration not by the cessation of its chirps but by the weight of its plump carcass striking the base of the cage.

  We descended into the relative gloom of the mine, but my eyes quickly adjusted, and I was able to make out the well-beaten path that led down branching corridors and the long tubes that ran the length of what felt like a miles-long walk.

  “This way led to the primary seam,” said the shift supervisor. “It’s all but exhausted at this point, which is why we had to pull from the two deeper in. The dragon-eyes save us a lot of time since we don’t have to haul in timber. We’re still fire setting where Heja can’t blast.”

  “But don’t you have to haul the dragon-eyes back and forth?” I asked. Bendric shook his head beside me and toed one of the canvas pipes. “We keep them in the shafts. These gravity lines supply water for recharging and fracturing.”

  We followed the piping down, and I began to notice spots of standing water. I indicated them to Bendric. “Are the supply lines leaking?” I asked.

  The shift supervisor knelt and dipped two fingers into the water, which he tasted. Then he looked up at the ceiling. One of the miners shined a light that revealed moisture forming into small droplets. I wondered what the man tasted in that pool and whether he tasted anything at all or simply needed an authoritative gesture to demonstrate his importance to me.

  “We’re under the mountains,” he announced. It hardly seemed a necessary observation. “Could be a natural cave or even an underground spring above us. Not surprising in winter. Let’s keep moving.”

  We descended further, past several more branches before Heja took over the tour. “Down here is where we started the blasting,” she said. I could smell the sulfuric aftertaste of her black-powder detonations in the stagnant air of the tunnels, much like the scent of Alkazarian’s lair. Heja held up her lantern and revealed wide fractures and cracks spiderwebbing out from what I assumed to be detonation impacts running down the corridor.

  The space was surprisingly cramped, and the grenndraki specialist must have begun operating with only a few handspans of room to augur into the rock and place her charges. The narrow corridor would have been completely impractical for traditional mining by fire setting, but she had made it work and begun to excavate the ore.

  “Most of our output comes from this area,” said Bendric.

  “So why is it down?” I asked.

  Heja shrugged her bare, scaly shoulders. The cold of the mine seemed not to bother her, and I saw that she had more tattoos scrawled across her upper arms. “The vein narrows out. Each blast eats more powder for less and less ore. I’m pretty sure it widens out again deeper in, but…”

  “But what?” I asked.

  “But this mine wasn’t designed for blasting,” said Bendric. “In Kaharas, they shore up supports in the quarries and copper mines, anticipating excavation runes will be used. But no one in the South runs mines that way, and timber for supports is expensive. I’ve had carpenters down the shafts three times this month to replace the older struts that showed signs of wear.”

  “I’ve spaced out the blasts more,” said Heja. “But Bendric is being overcautious. With teams running spot checks between each one, it’s killing our efficiency. I know if we can crack the seam it will get us to a richer vein.”

  “And in doing so we run the risk of losing years of shafts to collapse,” said Bendric.

  It was classic risk versus reward. Heja wanted me to give her the freedom to blast more aggressively. Bendric feared it could lead to catastrophic failure.

  “Is it a danger to the other miners?” I asked.

  “Heja insists on empty shafts when she performs the blasts,” said the shift supervisor, “so we have a window twice a day, at change of shift.”

  I nodded and looked at Bendric. “You know how tight our timetable is. We need to keep Spardeep profitable. Dragon’s Daughter can’t afford to keep bleeding silver here. Give Heja the leeway to break through. If there’s a richer seam behind like she believes, then it solves our output problem entirely.”

  Bendric wasn’t happy but didn’t disagree in front of the miners. He might have a few choice words for me before I returned to Borreos. In truth, if it hadn’t been for Alkazarian’s demand that we establish his presence by the following summer instead of two years hence, I would have sided with Bendric. Heja had taken uncovering iron ore as a personal challenge, but pride and haste clouded her objectivity. Still, her passion might save us. Without it, Spardeep would not produce enough to justify the overhead costs of the operation.

  Bendric said little during the rest of the inspection, paying more attention to his notebook than the tour. He was running the numbers, trying to find a way to justify the increased risk in his calculations. But he didn’t have access to all the variables I did, nor the one constant in all this: Alkazarian. Without that critical knowledge, he could not make an informed decision and could ill comprehend my own reasoning. I had trained him well enough to reach the conclusion that I was purposefully making an error. But it couldn’t be helped. The deadline was too tight.

  The journey back up to the surface was long and cold, and very unlike the sweltering ascent from the depths of Bastayne to the northwest. My breath rode plumes of mist as we arrived back in the blinding sun of the winter day. The mine was still quiet for the holiday, but much of the staff was beginning to return. Not all of the miners had family in the area, and those without would no doubt spend the afternoon laboring above ground on the smelter before spending their last free evening drinking and reveling. But I w
ouldn’t be here to join them or to witness the smelter’s firing. The caravan was prepped to leave, and my carriage with it. And time in Borreos had a nasty habit of moving forward despite my long absences.

  Chapter 31 - Compound Interest

  Sure enough, in the twenty-one days since my departure from Borreos, Jassem had fielded yet one more ship. But one had also been impounded due to a captain’s attempt to skirt a dock fee. I warned the elf that any breach in the eyes of the Crown would be met with the utmost harshness. External forces were exerting a great deal of pressure on the port authority, and most captains in the Borrean fleet were such because of political and familial connections. After Brackwaldt had lost two ships to the Kraken’s Teeth due to incorrectly thinking them treated with Jassem’s unguent, he had plenty of incentive to apply said pressure.

  Before I could negotiate the return of his vessel, the secret of his water-fearing unguent escaped. Marlin alerted me to several attempted purchases of the key compounds we had been quietly stockpiling as I was on my way to get the ship back. There was nothing to be done for it, but again Lord Brackwaldt had beat my earliest estimates by weeks—if not months—thanks to the efforts of one man to save a handful of silver marks.

  The naval impound dock was east of Lowport, on the opposite side of the elven hovels and far from the merchant shipping wharfs. The cold sea air blew spray like tiny daggers at my cheeks as Jassem navigated us through the shantytown. I could never tell whether the layout remained the same from visit to visit. None of the buildings were permanent, save perhaps Jassem’s studio.

  “Sailor, are they going to take the rest of my ships?” he asked.

  “They can’t,” I said. “Not as long as your other captains continue to adhere to the letter of the law.”

  It wasn’t true, strictly speaking. A customs officer with enough of Brackwaldt’s silver lining his pockets could manufacture an offense that could pass scrutiny. But I didn’t see the benefit of burdening Jassem with this information. He had already tugged on the braided silk cords around his neck near to fraying, and it struck me that he was rather like a doting mother worrying over a misplaced child. I assured him that our competitors had no power over us. But merchants and traders were not the only ones spooked by ships that could conquer the Kraken’s Teeth.

  As we transitioned back into the boardwalk dominated by Queen Liza’s Royal Navy, I began to see more and more uniforms. The black coats of her sailing officers and midshipmen intermixed with the red chainmail of her marines, several of whom were armed with a cutlass or boarding hook and flatbow. Having never spent much time in the company of military men, I am not ashamed to admit the sight of so much royal authority made me nervous. I wore only trousers, a tunic, a jacket, and boots, but my clothes were several cuts above the quality of the uniforms, and I certainly looked out of place.

  A surly seaman on guard duty (though what he was guarding was mysterious to me) directed me closer to the water, and I could see a forest of irregular masts crowding a forlorn dock directly behind the officers’ quarters. Jassem received his own share of curious looks in the naval quarter, but he was no longer the enigma that he’d been at the height of summer. Everyone knew him before as Jassem the artist. Now they knew him as Jassem the shipwright. His vessels were famous for their unique ability to conquer the Kraken’s Teeth. While he scared the merchants and officers, he’d become something of a local legend among sailors, resented by some and admired by others.

  Once we made our way onto the actual dock, it was a quick matter to locate the clerk responsible. I am lost in harsh seas and naval customs, but I can navigate the treacherous tides of bureaucracy with a hand as firm on the tiller of my enterprise as any captain’s hand upon his wheel. The squat clerk before me was as much a sailor as I was, and he was almost relieved to see another of his kind when I approached.

  “Sailor Kelstern of Bol’s Shipwright. I’m here to pay the fine and reclaim the ship called Del’rasa,” I told him. The clerk shuffled through his manifest while Jassem grumbled beside me.

  “I shouldn’t have to buy back my own ship, Sailor. They try to pick my pocket with taxes, fees, and charges. It’s just another form of chains.”

  “Those fees and charges are the cost of doing business,” I reminded him, “and they pay for the things that protect your interests as well, including the Queen’s Navy to keep Borreos’ waters free of pirates and cutthroats.”

  “My ships don’t need protection. They can outrun any pirate sloop.”

  The elf had a point. When the dock clerk arrived at his final figure, I began to wonder if the elves’ unique brand of anarchism might not be better after all.

  “Del’rasa, yes the little one. With impound fee, your assessed fines, and overnight dock space at the Queen’s port, your total dues come to twelve hundred and sixty silver marks, Master Kelstern.”

  I sputtered. “May I see the itemized charges?” I asked.

  “Of course, sir,” said the Queen’s clerk, as he handed over the figures.

  I scanned the parchment. Jassem’s ship had been assessed the maximum damages for the transgression, and the charges included a piloting fee to pull the ship into the impound dock as well as fees for the use of the dock itself. It had also been tied at a berth reserved for a ship many times its size, with commensurate fees added on. I waved the page in the winter air.

  “Is there any way to appeal any of these charges?” I demanded.

  The clerk shrugged and shifted his armful of ledgers to the other hand so that he could straighten his jacket. “Not if you want to reclaim the vessel today, I’m afraid. I do agree those seem unusually high. The ship doesn’t look worth much more than that.”

  I half thought Jassem would launch himself at the clerk after that remark, so I stepped between them in what I hope did not seem too obvious a way. “He does not set the fine, and he certainly does not know ships,” I whispered to the elf.

  Jassem looked at the clerk over my shoulder with those slanted avian eyes of his, much as a sea hawk might regard a fish that had unwittingly grounded itself. But he looked up at me. “Do you have that much with you?”

  “No,” I admitted. I had been expecting to pay the fine with a letter of credit, but such an amount would require cash in hand to see the goods returned. “Go to the banking house. Tell Marlin to bring the bursar exactly one hundred and five gold dinar to pay the fine. Then go and get the men you need to sail your ship back to the grotto.”

  The elf captain scowled, giving one more glance at his tied-up ship. I have little doubt that, if he could have managed it on his own, he’d have cut the bonds, taken sail, and never been seen in Borreos again. But in the end, he complied. Dragon’s Daughter was picking up the tab for his captain’s mistake, after all. Lady Arkelai would be unhappy about it, but she was less volatile than an elf with a vendetta against the Crown.

  I watched the elf make his way west, then sat on one of the mushroom-shaped rods used to tie up ships to await his return. As I did so, I saw a plume of hat feathers move behind a small fence and a familiar woman emerge from behind it, wearing said hat. Red-coated marines with even redder rank stripes flanked her to either side. I considered for a moment before standing and approaching her.

  The fine of twelve hundred silver marks was a huge sum to be stricken with in an unexpected punch below the belt. But it was the least costly effect of the impoundment. The most damage was certainly caused by the discovery of Jassem’s hull treatment. Despite our local monopoly, it would not take Brackwaldt long to find an alternate source for the rest of his fleet. Once he had the Kraken’s Teeth, he could cut us out of even more cargo, just as it was beginning to open to us. Peddlers of rare and short-lived alchemical formulas had begun to realize that profit made on our fast transits outweighed the generous exclusivity deals Brackwaldt authored. I had to do something about that.

  “Captain Yasmin,” I called, lifting my hand in greeting.

  The captain of the Queen’s Grace stoppe
d and twisted her neck to see who had addressed her. But her expression fell when she saw me, and her lips curved into a sneer as she resumed her march.

  Not to be deterred by simple incivility, I persisted. “Captain Yasmin,” I called again.

  “It’s Commodore, now,” she called over her shoulder, “and you ought to have the sense to know when someone does not wish to speak to you, Master Kelstern.”

  As a matter of fact, I did have the sense, but I also had a need that outweighed it.

  “Congratulations, Commodore. If I could just have a moment of your time, I think you’ll find—”

  Yasmin spun. “Sergeant, arrest that man,” she said.

  Rough hands gripped my upper arms. Rather than struggle, I acquiesced politely to the Queen’s Guard sergeant, the same one who had boarded Ur’s Gift on the day of her sea trials. I’m sure he recognized me because he was not over-rough.

  “If I could just have a moment of your time,” I said.

  “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” she asked.

  I shrugged, or rather tried to. Despite the sergeant’s relative gentleness, his grip was as much iron as the rings on his middle fingers. A glance upward showed me a passive face looking dead ahead. He might as well have been holding a child. There was no doubt in my mind that all my strength plied would budge him not an inch. I turned back to Yasmin. “If I did, I would not be in this position.”

  Yasmin’s eyebrows rose. “On that we agree. Very well. You have until I decide what charges to levy against you.”

  “Charges? Come now, Commodore, I’ve broken no laws. And to be quite honest, I fail to see from where your anger stems. Have I offended you in some way?”