“Seems as if the Vermin ship went and got itself blown up,” Harkins said amiably.
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” the man laughed. “Pity when a bit of filth like that gets blown to bits. If it had sat much longer, I probably would have arranged a similar accident. Ah, well, I’ll find something else to do with myself.”
“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my mate, and Ship’s Commander, Cook. He’s been with the Noble Lady since before I joined her, doing the good work that needs to be done.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” Cook said. “Docks are clear if your friends need to get out of here while the getting’s good.”
“Thanks again, Harkins,” Thom said. “I’ll be at the restaurant tomorrow if you hear anything.”
“I’ll see you then, lad,” the man smiled. “It was good work. Very good work.”
Thom smiled and they left the ship
Following Barrett through the twisting and turning corridors, they stopped long enough for Muher to retrieve his uniform, then got on a lift, headed for the upper decks of the station. Tristan believed they should report the Vermin vessel to the Guild and Dragons, Thom and Muher agreed, so they were heading towards the Guild offices. By the time they reached the plaza where the huge pro-Guild banner was hanging, Tristan was exhausted. He felt like he’d been running for hours. Thom had hurried them through the station at a fast clip, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of something aimed at his back the entire time.
They reached the Guild offices at eight bells in the forenoon watch. There was a different person sitting behind the desk, she looked up and smiled, then her eyes widened as she recognized him. “Master Tristan?”
“Yes. I need to use the secure line,” he said, heading straight towards the office he had used the day before. He closed the door behind the three of them and noticed that Thom still had something in his hand. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the bundle in his hand.
“I grabbed them from the ship—the gunroom table—it’s plans for the Winged Victory.”
“They had the plans?” Muher asked.
“Yes.” Thom laid them out on the desk. Parts of the ship were marked with red lines, dots and Xs. “I think they were planning another attack, and marking the weak spots. This one here,” he pointed to a large dot, “is where that ship hit us with the damn cutter. If they hit us there again—even in dry dock—it would take us a month to make the ship space-worthy again.”
“This is not good,” Muher said, looking through the plans.
“No, it’s not,” Tristan agreed, dialing through on the secure line. When Brian answered, he asked the Guild Master to connect them with Darius as well. That way he would only have to tell the story once. When he was done, they both had questions for the three of them. Darius reported that he had heard from both Fenfyr and Taminick earlier, and the dragons were both safe. Tristan let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. After several more questions and an ominous promise from Darius to do something, they broke the connection.
“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Tristan said to Muher.
“I am, I think.”
“How did you get to be a General in the Corps and not know that?”
“Hard-working denial is my best guess. I think I just couldn’t believe anything was that vile, that they would—could—do that.” He swallowed. “And the fact that humans are using those ships! I’ve hated the pirate trade most of my life—I lost a friend to slavers out on the Rim, but there are grades of evil, and…”
“And anyone who flies a Vermin ship should be exterminated?” Thom said, his voice deceptively mild.
“At least exterminated,” the general growled. “There should be something worse.”
“If the dragons get to them, there usually is,” Thom said. “If that makes you feel any better.”
“A little,” Muher said. “Not much. The days of my denial are over.” He looked at them with haunted eyes.
“I didn’t believe until Fenfyr told me—one of his hatchmates was taken by the Vermin before I met him. He hunted the ship down and killed it. It’s why Taminick does what she does, she’s lost too many friends.”
“With the reports of dragons disappearing, it means those Vermin are massing a new fleet.”
“It could,” Thom agreed. “It shows all the signs of an invasion. What is beginning to make me sick is it is starting to look like there are humans helping the Vermin. Why else try and take out the Winged Victory?”
“I’m not sure. It’s something we need to find out,” Tristan said.
There was a tap on the door. Muher answered it. “Message for you, Master Weaver.”
It was the same paper, written in the same hand as the one from the day before.
Master Tristan, I am not sure where the orders are coming from, but you need to be careful. A price was placed on your head. Stay out of the lower station at all costs.
Tristan looked up at the other two and smiled. “I’m glad I didn’t know this earlier.” He laughed, hearing the slightly hysterical edge in his voice as he did so.
XVIII
Tristan was staring at the note in his hand and neither Thom nor Muher seemed willing to break the silence and ask what was in it. Taking a deep breath, Tristan forced another laugh and handed the paper to Thom. While the two read the message, he walked to the desk and sat down, wondering if he should alert the Guild.
“Call Rhoads right now,” Muher said, answering Tristan’s thought.
“Who sent this?” Thom asked.
“I don’t know, there was a message waiting for me yesterday, too. Same handwriting. I have no idea who it is, although the style looks vaguely familiar.”
“He’s right, you need to let the Guild know. They need to get you back to the Guild Compound,” Thom said, his voice firm.
Tristan was already dialing through to the Guild, waiting for Brian to answer. “I am not going back. You won’t have a Warrior for the sails for one thing. There isn’t time to attune someone before I leave, and if there is a Vermin fleet on the way in, you can’t risk not having a Weaver to man the sails.”
“Tristan? What do you need now?” Brian Rhoads sounded aggrieved. Darius had probably been lecturing him.
“I received a handwritten message informing me that there is a price on my head,” Tristan said casually.
“You what?!?” Brain boomed, Tristan heard the echo in the Guild Master’s vast office.
“I received a…”
“I got that. Who? When?”
“Who when what, Brian?”
“Who is behind it? When did it happen?”
“I don’t know, it might even be leftover from the Stars Plot. You know they promised to destroy all of us who survived.”
“True, I know there is a bounty on me, although they would have one hell of a time getting anywhere near me now. The Guild is going to take this seriously, Tristan. You know you have to stay with the ship?” the Guild Master said almost apologetically.
“I was just explaining that to First Officer Barrett and General Muher.” Tristan couldn’t help the triumphant grin.
“We need to get that ship headed back towards the inner system. I will speak with Darius, and then we will speak with the Navy. Until then, try not to get yourself killed.”
“I will,” Tristan said, knowing that the casual joke was Rhoads’ way of dealing with something out of his control. “We shouldn’t be in dock long, and once we’re out of the station things should get better.”
“Yeah,” Brian said, sounding unconvinced for some reason. “Be careful.”
Tristan broke the connection and looked at the other two. “He’s worried.”
“I think it’s safe to say we are too,” Muher said.
“Definitely,” Thom agreed.
The watch was chiming six bells in the afternoon when Tristan reached the Winged Victory. Riggan was hovering in the cabin, waiting for him, looking concerned. When Tristan opened the do
or, for a moment he thought the other man was going to embrace him, but instead Riggan grinned and sighed in relief.
“You made it back, sir,” he said, taking the package Tristan had in his hands.
“I did.” Tristan walked over and dropped into a chair. Riggan must have known he was on his way, because the tea service appeared almost immediately. “Thank you,” he said, as Riggan poured a cup of the spiced tea he preferred in the afternoon. “It’s been a long day.”
“Aye, word made it back that there was an explosion down on the other docks, not that I was listening to gossip, mind you, but they said three men, one of whom looked remarkably like our first officer, were seen on the dock just prior to the explosion.”
“They say that, do they?”
“And more. That it was a Vermin ship,” Riggan said, his face twisting in disgust.
“It was.” Tristan sipped at the tea, trying to drive the morning out of his head.
“Was, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, that’s some good done today.” The servant fussed around the cabin straightening things as Tristan drank his tea. “Master Fenfyr is down in the gardens again, if you want to go down. A nice walk in the green might make you feel better before dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes, sir, you and the officers are to dine with the captain tonight,” Riggan said, watching Tristan.
“Oh, we are?”
“Yes, sir, the invitation came this morning after you’d left. Well, less invitation more like orders, but I’m not saying anything about that.”
“Thank you, Riggan. I will go find Fenfyr, then be back in time to change. When is dinner?”
“Eight bells in the second dog, sir, as always.”
Tristan poured himself a cup of tea in the larger cup he used to carry the beverage up on deck, and stood. Wandering through the corridors on the ship seemed so different from the station’s busy corridors. He got to the officers’ lift and punched the button that would take him to the massive ‘gardens’. He hadn’t been there since his first tour with Thom, even though Fenfyr enjoyed the space. Thinking about it, Tristan realized he tended to stay in his quarters or on deck. He didn’t mix much with the crew—not through any prejudice, it was just that he had gotten used to being alone as Master Weaver of the Guild once Miri had been killed. He was generally so busy, he didn’t have much of a chance to socialize, and when he did, it was with the other Masters, and their number had been greatly reduced with the terrorist attack of the Stars Plot. Since then, with the exception of well-guarded events under the watchful eyes of the dragons, the Masters rarely gathered in groups.
Opening the hatch to the gardens was like stepping into another world. His senses were assaulted with the sweet scent of citrus and other blossoms, the rich earthy smell of growing greenery and ripening fruit. He wandered in, marveling at the space. He hadn’t had much of a chance to look that first time he’d been here, and now he took his time, walking past the vegetable patches, tiers of the plants slowly rotating in the artificial light. The path wound around past flowers, some of them edible, he knew, but others were there for enjoyment. He remembered that from his first time there. The “orchards” were at the back of the space, first the pears, cherries and apples, then peaches and apricots and at the very back pomegranates and citrus.
It was in the citrus trees he found the dragon. Fenfyr was stretched out along the back wall, his tail wrapped possessively around one of the trees. His eyes were closed, but Tristan knew the dragon had smelled him as soon as he’d stepped through the door. Without announcing himself, he walked over to Fenfyr and sat down on the ground, leaning his back against the crook in the dragon’s foreleg.
“I was worried about you,” he said after they had sat quietly together for several minutes.
“You were worried about me?” Fenfyr snorted. “I was a little worried about you, especially when I scented you all over the docks where the ship was killed.”
“You were there?”
“Of course we were, we have been trying to figure a way into that dome since we arrived. Leave it to Thom to just walk onboard like he owns the place and blow it up. And after I spent hours scheming.” The dragon sighed. “Hours and hours of quality scheming gone to waste.”
“Sorry to ruin your scheming.”
“No, Tris,” Fenfyr said, gently touching him with a head tuft. “You released her, you did the best thing. It was brave.”
“It wasn’t, if I’d known that’s what he was up to when we went onboard, I don’t think I would have gone,” Tristan said, turning so he could see Fenfyr.
“I sincerely doubt that. If you had known, you would have gone to free her as soon as you found out. Although, I trust you would have the good sense to call me first.”
“Yes.” Tristan laughed. “I met members of a crew that hunt pirates that use former Vermin vessels.”
“Ah, yes, Taminick was speaking with one of them earlier, a man named Cook. He has been hunting them for a long time.”
“I met him.” Sipping his tea and leaning against the dragon, Tristan realized he was relaxing for the first time since they had docked. “The captain has invited me to dinner.”
“He left it long enough to be a very clear insult, didn’t he?” Fenfyr chuckled, the rumble more a vibration than a sound. “I think I might need to come to dessert.”
Tristan laughed. “I’m not sure he’d enjoy that.”
“He should have considered that before he ate my grapefruit.”
Riggan had gone to extra pains with Tristan’s uniform. It was brushed and clean, his dress shirt blindingly white, the cravat had enough starch to stand on its own, the buttons were polished to a mirror finish and even his boots looked bright and new. Tristan made sure his hair was clubbed perfectly, the bow the correct size and the ends hanging correctly over his collar. When he stepped out of his bedchamber, Riggan was waiting—and equally splendid. His dress uniform was brushed, polished and starched. The formal badge of service to the Guild was proudly displayed on his left breast, replacing the less formal bar he wore on a daily basis. The servant grinned at Tristan, then opened the door, waiting for him to step out before closing and securing it behind them.
They took the lift down to the deck that housed the captain’s cabin. It was directly below Tristan’s, although not quite as large. Several officers shared the other cabins on that deck, usually the captain’s favorites. When Tristan stepped out of the lift, he noticed the door to the captain’s cabin was open and Stemmer’s new servant standing at the door. The man looked at Tristan and Riggan with open distaste then announced them.
Tristan walked into the cabin—and realized the captain was not as neat as most Naval officers he’d encountered. That or his servant was lazy—either way the cabin had a feeling of being not quite clean, and it was definitely cluttered. After glancing around the room, Tristan made his way towards the table, set back by the stern gallery windows. The Gunner Fuhrman was already sitting at the foot of the table, and there was a midshipman sitting to the immediate left and right of the captain. Thom was in the middle, Muher on his left and Rose Webber, the ship’s doctor, on his right. Tristan noticed a place card with his name on it sitting on a plate directly across from Thom. The captain could not have made the insult more clear, unless of course he had asked Tristan to dine with the servants—indicating Tristan did not deserve the respect of the officers and crew. Smiling at the captain, Tristan took his chair, aware of Riggan standing behind him at parade rest.
“Now that the Weaver has decided to arrive, we can begin,” the captain said. Their glasses were filled with wine. “To the Navy, Service and Victory,” the captain proclaimed. Fuhrman and the midshipmen repeated the toast loudly enough to drown out the other voices.
The doctor looked at the captain for a long moment. “The Guild and Dragon.” She raised her glass. Tristan repeated the toast as did Muher, Thom, Aubrey, Colonel Hall and the Navigator Elizabeth Avil
a. The others were silent. Not sure what to do with that information, Tristan filed it away for later.
The servants brought the first course. The diners ate in silence, except for the occasional request to pass the salt or a condiment. When the first course was finished, the plates were removed and the second course was brought in, still in silence. Judging from the others, Tristan assumed this was how most meals in the cabin went. Technically no one could speak until the captain did—well, no one except someone of a higher rank. He was playing with the idea of asking someone a question just to annoy the captain when Stemmer turned to Muher.
“I heard you were down on the secondary docks, General,” the captain said.
“You did? There must have been a mistake,” Muher replied, calmly taking a drink of wine.
“They said they recognized the uniform.”
“What would I be doing down on the secondary docks?” Muher asked.
“That’s what I want to know,” Stemmer growled.
“It wasn’t me.” The general grinned. “Of course, there is always the very good chance I am not the only Corps member on the station. We get around a bit, you know.”
“They said it was you.”
“And how did they know it was me?” Muher said. “And who do you know on those docks that feels it necessary to report to you?”
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing, it was just an idle question, Captain.”
“The general was with me most of the day,” Rose Webber said. “We were shopping.”
“Shopping?” Stemmer sputtered.
“Oh, yes,” Muher said, his voice warm. “The doctor asked me to escort her to the crafters’ market.”
“We had lunch at that little shop that serves those lovely rolls—you know the ones, Mr. Aubrey—with the spiced meats in them?”
“If we stay here much longer that place will be responsible for me gaining a stone,” Aubrey said with a sigh.
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