Dragon Secrets

by Christopher Golden

  “Let’s just hope we have enough time before Grimshaw becomes suspicious,” Leander said, returning his gaze to the morning beyond the window.

  A touch of gray now streaked the sky. It looked as though a storm was brewing, and Leander could not help but fear its coming.

  Constable Grimshaw leaned back in the chair behind the desk in his office within the Parliament complex.

  “I’m so glad you took the time to bring this information to my attention, Councillor Pepoy,” he said, pyramiding his fingers beneath his chin, contemplating the news he had just heard.

  Pepoy, a fussy gentleman, advanced in years, sipped from his cup of herb tea before placing it back down on the saucer balanced on his lap. “When Fitzroy went missing, I wasn’t sure what to do,” the councillor said with a shake of his head. “I’d always warned him that he could get into trouble or worse.”

  The old man had come about his friend, the latest mage to mysteriously disappear from the city of Arcanum.

  “You did the right thing, sir,” Grimshaw said, reaching for the carafe upon his desk. “More tea?” he asked.

  Pepoy extended his cup so that the constable could pour for him.

  “So, you are unsure of what your associate was investigating?” Grimshaw continued.

  Pepoy took a careful sip from his refreshed cup. “That’s correct, Constable. He had been working—along with some others—without Parliament’s knowledge, for quite some time. I could make a list of who else was involved, if you’d like,” the councillor volunteered. He leaned forward in his chair before Grimshaw’s desk, as if concerned that even here, in the office of the foremost law officer in Sunderland, he might be overheard. He spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. “One of them was Argus Cade.”

  “The great Argus Cade, you say?” Grimshaw raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “A pity about his son … and his defect.”

  The old man nodded in agreement. “Shameful. An embarrassment to all mages.”

  Grimshaw thought about the boy and how disruptive one chaotic force could be to the delicate balance of things. But that force of chaos had now been isolated, allowing him to continue with his task of restoring order unhindered.

  “That list would be most helpful, Councillor,” Grimshaw noted. “I will leave no stone unturned in my investigation of these disappearances.”

  Pepoy smiled, obviously proud of himself for having had secrets to share. “I’ll compile it immediately,” he said, placing his cup and saucer on the edge of the constable’s desk. “And now I’ll take my leave. I’m certain that one in your position has other matters to attend to.”

  Grimshaw rose from his chair. “My thanks to you again,” he said as he took the man’s dainty hand in his and squeezed. The constable watched with amusement as Pepoy winced. “And I would appreciate it if you would be so kind as to keep the subject of our meeting this morning confidential.”

  “Most certainly, Constable Grimshaw,” Pepoy said, flexing the fingers on his smarting hand. “Your secrets are mine.” And with that last statement, the councillor bowed at the waist and turned toward the door. “Good morn to you, sir,” he said, and was gone.

  A list of those who had been working in secret without Parliament’s consent would be most helpful indeed, Grimshaw thought. He lifted the carafe of tea, pouring a cup for himself, a simple reward for a job well done. He began assessing what he would need to do once Pepoy’s list was in his possession.

  A patch of air above his desk began to shimmer and grow dark, and Grimshaw steadied himself. A passageway was opening from another place to admit a messenger. The constable sipped his tea, watching with a curious eye as the portal opened and a large mud toad, its flesh mottled and gray, crawled from the opening to squat on his desk. The flesh of its throat expanded and contracted as it stared at him with bulbous yellow eyes.

  The creature slowly opened its mouth, wider and wider still, and a voice drifted from out of the open maw.

  “A warning to you, Constable,” said the voice, dry and brittle like ancient parchment. “A warning to you about the boy, Timothy Cade.”

  He sat down upon the edge of his desk, his hand coming up to smooth the curling ends of his mustache. “No worry there, I’m pleased to report,” Grimshaw said with confidence. “He has been dealt with, and will interfere with us no longer.”

  The toad’s mouth opened larger, its body seeming to swell until it would burst.

  “So sure of yourself and your authority, are you, Grimshaw?” asked the voice. “Perhaps one should verify his facts before he is made the fool.”

  The constable sneered at the reptilian messenger. “I take insult at your implications. Timothy Cade has been placed under house arrest at SkyHaven, and has guards stationed outside his door at all times. There are far more pressing matters to concern ourselves with at the moment. I’ve just received information that Fitzroy and Cade were not the only ones suspicious of your—”

  “You try my patience, Constable,” growled the voice from somewhere deep inside the toad. “You will go to SkyHaven at once. I sense that something there is amiss. The boy attempts to stir the ghosts of the past, to uncover truths long since buried. Such a thing would interfere with my current plans. See that it does not.”

  And with that final command, the creature’s mouth began to close, signifying that the discussion was at an end and there would be no opportunity for further argument.

  “Very well,” Constable Grimshaw said. He rose, bowed to the toad, and proceeded toward the door.

  After all, his master had commanded him.

  Chapter Eight

  Timothy did not think he had ever been so aware of the passage of time. Every hour that passed was another span in which it seemed impossible that his absence from SkyHaven could go undiscovered. It was far too late for such concerns, however. He was committed to his plan. Regardless of what happened now, he was going to get Verlis out of Abaddon. The Parliament of Mages might have trouble telling the difference between right and wrong, but Timothy had no such difficulty.

  Still, the young man was well aware that Leander had jeopardized everything that mattered to him in the world, and so he did his best to hurry. If he and Ivar were able to get back to SkyHaven without anyone the wiser, Timothy felt that it would be a miracle, the sort of magic that not even the most powerful mage could ever count on.

  He stood now on the sandy shore of Hylairus, a tiny island that was the sole bit of uninhabited land near their destination. Had they tried to reach Abaddon from the mainland, the air-circulating pump on the shore would certainly have been discovered, and he and Ivar might well have died beneath the ocean waves, not from drowning but from suffocation.

  Caiaphas had flown them here in Leander’s sky carriage—and it was not lost on Timothy that the navigation mage was also risking everything by aiding them. He was a good man, Caiaphas.

  Even now, the navigation mage was waist deep in the water, holding the diving sphere steady while Ivar stood inside the contraption, setting the last of the posts in place. Timothy had been forced to break the invention down to transport it here, but once it had been built and the outer skin had been sealed, it was a simple matter to deconstruct and reconstruct its inner workings.

  The sun shone warmly down upon them, but the breeze off the water was cool and Timothy shivered. He tilted his head to one side and studied the diving sphere. It was perfectly round and, though the fish skin was yellowed, it was transparent enough that they would be able to see underwater. But they had to hurry, for the sunlight would only reach so far beneath the waves, and then they would have to rely upon the lights of Abaddon itself to guide them.

  And if night fell while they were still deep in the ocean … well, Timothy did not want to think about that.

  Caiaphas turned to him and nodded.

  Timothy took a deep breath and strode into the surf. The long tubes attached to either side of the sphere were floating on the waves, but they would not be for long. He tested t
he two slings that were draped across his shoulders—each of them weighted with half a dozen bags of sand—and found them secure.

  As he walked toward the ladder that leaned against the sphere, Caiaphas gazed at him doubtfully.

  “I mean no disrespect, Timothy,” the mage said, his blue eyes gleaming in the sun, “but are you certain this will work?”

  A flutter of trepidation went through the young man. He smiled as he considered lying. Then he shook his head. “Not at all. But it should.”

  “How will you seal yourself in? How will you keep the water out?”

  Timothy glanced at the sun and saw that it had already slipped past the noontime position. He had little time, but he owed Caiaphas an explanation for all that the man had done. Patiently he waded nearer to the sphere and pointed at the round door built into its topside. He and Ivar had constructed it so that it was all sealed as tightly as the rest of the sphere.

  “The pressure from the ocean will help keep it closed. There is a latch on the inside,” he added, pointing to the metal clasp that would help pull the door tight against the frame of the sphere. Timothy had added a layer of the malleable, gummy wood from the swaying trees from Patience that Ivar called Wind Dancers. It was yet another precaution against the water.

  “But we’ll also be using a less permanent adhesive to glue it closed from within,” he told the navigation mage.

  Caiaphas stared at the door a moment, and then a smile blossomed on his face. “You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  Timothy gave a nervous laugh. “Well, when your life is in the balance, it just won’t do to leave anything out.”

  Even with his features cloaked by the veil he wore, Caiaphas seemed grim as he turned to Timothy and extended his hand. “Good luck, young sir. I shall remain here and await your return.”

  That was it, then. Timothy heard the farewell in Caiaphas’s tone and knew it was time to get on with it. He had been filled with righteous anger about the injustice that was being done to Verlis, and to him as well, but now that the moment had come to do the unthinkable, to lash out at all of the rules and customs of this world and the authority of Parliament, he hesitated. A tremor went through him. When he glanced at Caiaphas, he saw that the mage sensed his trepidation.

  “Courage, young Master Cade,” the man said, his eye shimmering with magic and kindness. “If you are half the boy Leander Maddox thinks you are, you will make short work of this adventure.”

  Timothy smiled and nodded. Then, without further comment, he climbed up the ladder and then down into the submersible sphere, and pulled the door closed above him while Caiaphas held it in place.

  The submersible was cramped inside, crisscrossed with tubes that supported the framework of the sphere. Ivar had already taken his seat amid the support structure, and he nodded grimly to Timothy as the young man made his way to his own makeshift seat, in front of Ivar’s place. There had been a time when Timothy had believed that his friend did not get nervous, but as he grew older he had come to realize that the Asura simply did not show such emotions on their faces. Timothy, at least, had been deep underwater before, with his diving apparatus so that he could breathe. Ivar had never ventured upon such a journey

  But there was only strength and confidence in the warrior’s eyes.

  Timothy smiled at him but said nothing as he took his seat. They often passed time this way, comfortable with each other. Ivar had taught him the value of silence.

  Taking care not to rush, Timothy went over the controls he had set into the submersible. The long tanks on either side of the sphere were not merely for ballast—weight to help drag them under the water—but also for propulsion and navigation. There were pumps that Timothy could control with foot pedals attached to the inner structure of the submersible. These would draw water into the tanks. At his hands were levers that would vent the water out the rear of the tanks. His arm still ached a bit, but he was confident he could operate the craft.

  Full tanks would pull them underwater. A constant combination of suction and vent would propel them forward. If Timothy cut off the suction but vented water, the submersible would rise. If he cut off the vent on one side and not the other, he could turn the sphere to the left or right, and thereby guide it wherever he needed to go.

  Last, but most important, was the pump that would float on the ocean surface above them and pump air down to the sphere. As soon as they set out from the shore, Caiaphas would set it in the water. It would drag behind the submersible and then follow above them as they went deeper. He only hoped he had measured enough Lemboo tube for the depth of Abaddon. He had gauged it as best he could.

  When he was satisfied that the controls were in working order, he glanced over his shoulder at Ivar.

  “Here we go, old friend.” Timothy grinned, his heart pounding. “Seal the door.”

  Ivar slipped from his seat and took up a small tub of adhesive sap, which he spread liberally all around the entrance, filling even the tiniest gap between the sphere and the door. When he was finished, he returned to his seat, and Timothy counted to one hundred in his mind. That was all the time it would take for the sap to take hold.

  Through the strange yellow skin of the submersible, Timothy saw Caiaphas still holding them steady. The waves crashed upon the shore of that tiny island—a place that reminded him very much of Patience—and Timothy waved to the mage to set them free. Caiaphas gave the sphere a shove, and it slid out over the water, rocking on the waves. The coachman would be hurrying, even now, to set the pump into the water as well.

  A moment later there came the hiss of the pump working, and fresh air filled the sphere.

  Immediately Timothy began to pedal. He suctioned water into both ballast tanks, and the submersible became heavy in the water. When the tanks were only partially full, he began to vent water, and the submersible began to move out over the ocean.

  “Twenty degrees east,” Ivar instructed. He was navigating by the position of the sun in the sky, the island behind him, and by the dark outline of the very distant shore of the mainland. There was a compass, but they needed to confirm their heading first before they could be confident of their direction.

  Timothy adjusted their angle, gauged that they were far enough out from the island shore, and stopped venting. He continued to pedal, water flooding in to fill both ballast tanks, and then they began to sink. The waves lapped higher on the outer skin of the sphere. Though there was plenty of air inside the submersible, still Timothy held his breath. He gazed in amazement as they went under, dragged by the ballast tanks and the sandbag weights they both wore.

  The sunlight was diffused by the water, and the world underneath the ocean waves was a deep green-blue. They were rocked by the tidal flow. A school of tiny fish swam by, and then a long, flat eel paused a moment to regard them before hurrying on, slicing through the depths.

  “Oh, my,” Timothy whispered.

  And in the gloom behind him, he heard Ivar reply, “Yes.” That single word, more a whisper, was enough to tell him that the Asura was feeling all of the things that he himself felt. Timothy was at once terrified, as they continued to descend, the water flowing up around them, and exhilarated. He had built this thing! He had constructed something unimagined in this world. All of his life he had invented things, more out of necessity than out of a love for creation. But never had he been so thrilled with the result.

  “Timothy,” Ivar said, his voice still a hush.

  “Yes?”

  “We should not delay.”

  It took him a moment to hear the words. When he did, Timothy nodded, snapping himself out of the awed trance he had been in. He began to work the pedals and the levers, and the ballast tanks functioned perfectly, jets of ocean water shooting out from the rear of those chambers to propel them forward.

  Ivar corrected his heading several times, and Timothy had to alter their course. The space within the submersible had always seemed narrow, but now it was more cramped than e
ver. He felt it begin to close around him. The deeper they went, the faster his pulse raced. His throat became dry. When he thought of Caiaphas back on the shore, he felt an urge to go back and join him. However, part of him was still fascinated by the undersea world around them, by long swaying reeds, plants that grew up from the sea bottom to be dozens, perhaps hundreds of feet high. Schools of cloudfish drifted by, their jellied bodies like ghosts, glowing with an ethereal light that was generated from within. Their long, poison tendrils hung down beneath them as though harmless, when they were anything but. It occurred to Timothy that he had met several mages that were much the same.

  Over the course of long minutes, the sphere dropped deeper below the surface and forged through the water toward their destination. They left the sunlight far behind, and the gloom of the ocean enveloped them.

  Once again Timothy held his breath. Only when his chest began to hurt did he inhale sharply. The ocean was growing darker around them, and he could barely see the controls in his hands. He could sense Ivar behind him, but wondered if he would be able to see his friend’s face if he were to turn and look. His eyes darted from side to side, and he peered into the water, trying to see a fish, or any other sort of life that might be out there. And yet a part of him wanted to look away. A part of him was frightened by that endless, shadowy realm under the water, growing darker by the moment.

  Intruders, Timothy thought. We’re intruders. He shivered at the idea, but it clung, spiderlike, in his mind. He did not want to make a single noise, not even to breathe, though he had to. It felt to him as though something lurked out there in the deep ocean that might not want them here. It was not so foolish a thought, for he knew that there were such things as sea monsters, giant, hideous beasts that lived in the deep. But not in this part of the world. At least, not according to the books his father had taught him from.

  Still, he did not feel that they belonged.

  “It’s … it isn’t as fun as I thought it would be,” he whispered, breaking the silence because he could no longer bear it, daring to make a noise because a whisper was better than a scream.