Lonato absently ran his palm against the short hair on the back of his head. “Why did you say it was a kind of alcohol you’ve never heard of?”
“The ingredients are so strange. And now that I think on it, nothing in the cave has much, if any, sugar, so how could she make alcohol with any of it?”
“What was there?”
He watched a stalk rising above a bunch of silverlocks wave in the breeze as he thought back. “Hmm. There was Daelon’s crown, ocher lance, silver thistle, terramite, and some kind of grass I didn’t recognize.”
Lonato gasped.
Stoltz turned to him. The boy was pale. “What’s wrong?”
“Those ingredients.”
Stoltz chuckled. “I know. Most are a little difficult to find, and yet she has heaps and heaps of them. Just how long did it take for her to gather all that?”
Lonato shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. They’re not for alcohol.”
“They’re not?”
“Well, assuming the grass is razoredge. If it is, then those ingredients can be used to make a very powerful poison.”
His stomach clenched. “Poison?”
Lonato lowered his voice even more. “My father and grandmother are chemists. Before I was recruited, I used to listen to them after dinner as they spoke about their trade. It always fascinated me, the strange names of the components they talked about.”
Stoltz turned toward the raised bed and rubbed a hand across his face. “I . . . I almost drank some.”
“How much did you say there was?”
He stared at the silverlocks. He’d been so close to opening the skin and taking a sip. If he had . . .
“Stoltz.”
He blinked and turned to Lonato. “I’m sorry, what?”
“How much was there?”
“A little less than half a skin, I think.”
“Good gods, why does she need so much?”
“What do you mean? That’s only enough for maybe three glasses.”
“The merest drop of Yrdra’s Blood can kill twenty or thirty people.”
A chill ran down his spine and a wave of goosebumps washed over his body. He stood. “We must tell Cirtis and Yiska!”
“Calm yourself!” Lonato hissed.
Stoltz glanced around the garden. A few faces had turned to him. They looked away from his gaze. He quickly sat down.
“We don’t know for certain if that is what she’s making,” Lonato said. “My memory could be wrong. After all, I was only seven years old or so at the time. And even if that is what she’s distilling, we don’t know what her plans for it are.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re right. But even so, it scares me. She’s had no qualms about killing people before, so this could very well be, ah, the liquid you described.”
“I understand that. And I will let Liara know so she can forward our suspicions. But first I need confirmation.” Lonato stared at the raised bed of plants. “It’s been a while since I visited my family. I think I’ll do that right now.”
+ + + + +
“Again,” Lord Eldin said, “I don’t see where the benefit for my company lies.”
Fillion stared at him. The head of the Continental Transportation Company sat across the table from them in one of his offices in Caer Ilan. The man was fishing for more concessions, like always.
“As Master Gella already pointed out,” Fillion said, “joining the plan will allow your company to quickly finish the trans-continental rail line you’re currently working on.”
“And yours will be the only one for years,” Gregor noted, “if not decades. In addition to that, while participating in the plan, you’re going to be able to build rail lines anywhere you want, at a quarter of the labor cost.”
“If you can’t find a way to take advantage of all of that,” Master Gella said, “you’re not half the businessman you think you are.”
Lord Eldin turned his gaze on her.
“You could also make use of your support of the Fair Deal in your advertising,” Gregor said. He tugged on his lip. “Play up the patriotic desire, no, the duty, that you responded to. Something like: ‘Continental Transportation Company heeds the clarion call to aid our nation and its people. Join us in serving our patriotic duty!’”
Fillion blinked, once again amazed that advertising, more often than not, had no connection whatsoever to reality.
Lord Eldin grunted. “That’s actually not bad.” With a faint smile, he looked from Gregor back to Master Gella. “There will be expenses for getting inexperienced workers trained, and for the instructor personnel and facilities with which to do so.”
“And for materials for that training,” Master Gella said. “Yes, all that is to be expected. Those costs will be shared as well.”
“Will this be an exclusive arrangement?”
Master Gella nodded. “Of a sort, yes. There will be a few companies in the plan, but there will only be one company per industry.”
“And what types of industries will be involved?”
“Those that will expand the nation’s infrastructure,” Master Gella said. “And which, not coincidentally, are also companies that can make use of great numbers of employees. CTC will be the sole railway company. We will seek a company to work on flood control measures in cities, and another to deal with flooding in the countryside. A company to extend roadways, a company that will—” She chuckled. “But you get the idea.”
“And how long will the plan run? I’d hate to invest all this effort training people and not have the time to reap any rewards from them.”
“The time frame is expected to be five years, though it could run a bit longer, should it be required.”
“The High Lady doesn’t do half-measures,” Lord Eldin said.
“No,” Fillion said, “she doesn’t.”
“There are two more stipulations,” Master Gella said, “one of which is specific to your company. Neither of them are negotiable.”
Lord Eldin narrowed his eyes. “Oh?”
“The first,” she said, “is that all companies’ efforts will initially be based out of Stronghold.”
Lord Eldin frowned. “That’s on the other side of the continent.”
“After one year, a company may open facilities anywhere, but the majority of the people this plan is intended to assist are on the east coast, and that is where all companies’ efforts will begin.”
Fillion let a smile lift the corner of his lips. “CTC recently acquired a few properties in Stronghold, did it not? I’m sure one of them would serve as an adequate training facility.”
Lord Eldin glanced at him. “True enough. And all the rail lines there need to be rebuilt for our wheel gauge as well.” He turned back to Master Gella. “What is the stipulation specific to me?”
“Concurrent with any other efforts, you will work to complete the southern line at least as far as the bottom of Ghost Flats where it will link to a short line owned by the nation. You will also build a junction just north of the flats from which a new rail line will be built to the west, to Delcimaar.”
He frowned. “I’ll actually be building two trans-continental rail lines.”
“Think of it this way,” Gregor said. “Once the desert line is completed into the Southlands, you’ll be able to offer shipment directly from there to either Stronghold or Delcimaar. Yes, the time savings to Stronghold is much greater because shipments will go through the desert instead of around its western end, but even the trip to Delcimaar will be faster via train.”
“Yet more shipping and travel options,” Fillion said, “that will only be available from Continental Transportation. Those exclusive offerings can be trumpeted in advertising, too, you know.”
Lord Eldin stared at him, but a contemplative expression had replaced the obstinate one.
They had the man! Fillion kept the smile from reaching his face.
“Speak with your management and your suppliers,” Master Gella said. She slid a smal
l card across the table to Lord Eldin. “Should you agree, there will be much to coordinate and plan with them. But whether you decide to participate in the Fair Deal or not, please contact the steward in charge using that ether writer information with your decision.”
Lord Eldin picked up the card, and after giving it a brief glance, looked up to her. “I do have one question. Why is a special investigator trudging across the country as a recruiter?”
Master Gella smiled. “I’d hardly call traveling via dragon ‘trudging.’” She stood. “As to why I’m involved, the Fair Deal program is a bit of a national secret. We’d appreciate your assistance in keeping it that way until the High Lady makes an official announcement.”
Tapping the edge of the card on the table, Lord Eldin looked from Master Gella to Fillion and then to Gregor.
Was he shocked that his son was involved with something on the scale of this? That the Dragon Craft Guild was involved? Fillion had difficulty not smiling.
What is it?
Nothing much, big guy. I just like it when we can confound Lord Eldin.
+ + + + +
It had been three years. Or was it four? Elizabeth frowned. She wasn’t sure, actually. Whatever the case was didn’t really matter. She was with him again, now. Well, physically, anyway. She couldn’t seem to keep any conversation going.
Quillan tinkered away at the worktable, almost blind to anything else. He was the same, and he wasn’t the same. His single-minded focus remained, but he had learned to divide that attention between more than one thing—an admirable trait that, unfortunately, was not working in her favor at the moment.
She bent her back slightly and felt the muscles loosen. Sitting for long periods should be an easy task by now, but it was not. Straightening up a bit on the stool, she looked at the odd leather half-mask he worked on. “What is that thing, anyway?”
He glanced up at her, looking almost surprised, as if he’d forgotten anyone else was here. “It’s, ah, part of a communication device I’m working on for the guild. This small mechanism tucked in the mask picks up someone’s words, the sound of them speaking. It then encodes the sound and transmits the, ah, coded information out along the magic field where it can be picked up by other devices.” He tapped a leather cap sitting to the side. “It is then decoded by a mechanism in there and played back for the wearer to hear.”
“I see.”
He returned to his work.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. Conversation stalled. Again.
She let out a quiet breath of frustration and looked at the mask. Devices such as those could be very useful, she supposed. Controlling the riots in Stronghold, for instance, would likely have been much easier if the police had access to them. Even so, his reason for stopping work on translating the enchantments in her device had seemed a little spurious.
‘I need a break.’
True, he’d been working on the translations for some time, but he was now working just as hard, if not more so, on this other project. If he needed a break, shouldn’t he be resting?
Working with his hands, though, working on something different, did seem to re-energize him. Where before he’d been frowning, lethargically slumped over several sheets of paper upon which he occasionally scribbled, now the movements of his fingers and hands were quick and sure. His muttering comments seemed happier, too, more excited.
She smiled. With those arms and shoulders, he looked more the blacksmith than he had back when he’d been just an apprentice. He must have continued with Smith Craft for a while, at least, before switching to the specialization.
She’d had her eye on Quillan for some time, even before he finally asked her on a date. Smith Craft was a well-respected trade that paid well, too. There was great need for blacksmiths in the Northern Wilds. Quillan was also polite and attractive, and he had a nice smile.
Elizabeth frowned. If it hadn’t been for that gods-cursed nahual, things might have turned out differently.
Quillan had mostly stayed at home following that horrible event. She spotted him every now and again in town, picking up supplies with his mother, but that was it. He didn’t contact Elizabeth again, for another date or otherwise, after that night.
At first, she understood. From the little they’d talked before, and from the conversation in the porch swing that night, it seemed that Quillan was very fond of Master Retter and looked up to the man almost like a second father. His loss must have been devastating.
She approached Quillan a few weeks later, when he and his family were on a trip into town.
He’d looked at her, dropped his gaze, and walked away.
Stunned, she could only watch him climb onto the wagon and sit next to his brother.
After walking out of the shop, Quillan’s mother had paused on her way to the wagon. “Give him some time.”
She glanced at the woman and nodded. But deep inside, Elizabeth felt trouble was in the offing.
Over a month passed and she’d seen no sign of Quillan in town. She decided to visit him at his home.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but he’s gone.”
She stared at his mother, unable to understand what she meant. “Gone?”
“Quillan left for Delcimaar to study his craft.”
The next time she actually saw what was in front of her eyes was when she stepped onto the porch at her home.
Her own journey began not four days later. And the fact that Stronghold sits on the opposite side of the continent from Delcimaar had absolutely nothing to do with anything. He’d gone off to hone his craft, and she had done the same. That was all.
Someone walking in the doorway drew her back to the present.
She stared at his white hair. Even his eyebrows and eyelashes were white. She’d never seen the like. The unusual boy was an enigma to her, and not just because of his appearance. His expression seemed to go blank whenever he looked at her, so she couldn’t read him. Quillan had mentioned the boy a few times, and she got the impression they were friends of a sort.
Elizabeth nodded to him. “Chanté.”
He glanced at her and away. The nod he returned seemed a bit forced.
“Hi!” The smile on Quillan’s face was a little brighter than she thought it should be.
“Oh,” Chanté said. “You’re working on the communication devices again?” He hurried to the table.
“Well, on the first prototype. I needed a break from the other project.”
Chanté picked up the mask and looked inside. “Will you be able to reduce the size of the actual devices later?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to do some quick prototypes to test. The second communication set for the test won’t even be mounted in gear.”
Elizabeth scowled. Chanté didn’t seem to have trouble holding a conversation with him.
“Ah, I see. That makes sense.” He bounced the mask in his hand. “Even at this stage, it’s pretty light.”
“It doesn’t really use anything heavy. It’s mostly enchantments, and those weigh nothing.”
“True enough.”
After staring at him a moment, Quillan said, “So, how did the trip to Stronghold go? I heard a little about it from Fillion. It sounded kind of dangerous.”
Elizabeth drew her brows together. Quillan was initiating a conversation?
“Most of the danger was over by the time I got there.” Chanté frowned. “Though I did come across a nasty trap in the drainage tunnels under the city.”
The memory seemed to be painful. Had he been caught in that trap?
“It caused me some distress, but I . . .” Chanté glanced at Quillan and his cheeks reddened. “I managed to get past it.”
Elizabeth blinked. Why was he blushing?
“Well,” Quillan said, “it does seem like everyone came through everything alright.”
Chanté cleared his throat. “Yeah, but I think Fillion is going back tomorrow.”
“Oh, right,” Quillan said. “He mentioned something about tha
t at breakfast. He and Master Gella would have returned today to question that man they captured, but they had a meeting with—”
“Captured?” Elizabeth looked from one to the other. “Who did they capture?”
Chanté looked at her. His blank expression was back.
“I think Fillion said the man they captured was driving a carriage used as part of the getaway plan in an armored wagon robbery.”
“Armored wagon robbery?” She stared at Quillan. “When did all this happen?”
He glanced from her to Chanté and back. “Yesterday. That’s what Master Gella wanted help with, right Chanté?”
The boy nodded.
Elizabeth grunted. Maybe she should have gone with him. Did this have something to do with their joint investigation? “Where’s Fillion, now?”
“I’m not sure he’s returned from Delcimaar.” Quillan turned to Chanté. “Can Nantli ask if they’ve come back from the meeting?”
Chanté got a far-away look to his gaze for a moment. “They just arrived.”
Elizabeth stared at him a moment, then turned to Quillan. She got a similar feeling to that one from long ago that trouble was in the offing. This time, however, it wasn’t a nahual getting in the way. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything she could do at the moment. She had to be there for the questioning.
She stood. “Please don’t forget to work on that device for Master Gella and me.”
Quillan blinked. “Wait, you’re leaving?”
Chanté set the mask down on the worktable. A little wrinkle appeared between his brows as he watched Quillan.
Elizabeth frowned. Trouble indeed. Glancing back at Quillan, she said, “I’m going to ask Fillion if I can accompany them tomorrow.”
Chapter 16
Leday, Diamy 11, 1875.
Morning.
Fillion closed the portal. Elizabeth’s arms tightened around his waist when Coatl set down on the roof, making him frown. There was something about adding her to the investigations that made him less than happy.
“That . . . was incredible.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her.
With a big smile, she looked around at everything. “It still amazes me how quickly one can travel on dragonback.”
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 48
