Storm Riders

by Margaret Weis

  “You have saved us, sir!” Captain Leydecker called. “We are in your debt.”

  “I thank you, sir,” said the captain of the Terrapin with a deep bow. “I do have a favor to ask. I observed your pinnace transporting people from the refinery. I seek information about one man in particular. He is Sir Henry Wallace—”

  “You have found him, Alan!” Sir Henry yelled, waving. “I am glad you came looking for me.”

  “I heard all manner of strange rumors in Braffa and, when you didn’t come back, I thought I had better go find you,” the captain said, adding with a laugh, “I figured if anyone could go up against the devil and win, it would be you, Henry!”

  “Our steel worked!” Sir Henry said, pleased. “I cannot wait to tell Randolph.”

  “The heat was intense. A few of the lads got a bit roasted. We must find a way to fix that. But, otherwise, I say ‘God bless Alcazar’!”

  “Alan…,” Stephano said, enlightened. “Captain Alan Northrop. The pirate!”

  “Sir Alan Northrop, privateer,” Sir Henry corrected. He made a show of adjusting his sleeve. “You see my winning card. Captain Leydecker, I’ll take the crystals now.”

  Captain Leydecker stared at Sir Henry in scowling bewilderment. “What the devil is this? I don’t understand…”

  “It’s quite simple, sir,” said Stephano. “The man who just saved your ship is now planning to rob you.”

  “Aptly put, Captain,” said Sir Henry. He shouted to his friend. “Alan, the Sommerwind is carrying cargo that I fear will slow her down. It would be charitable on our part to relieve her of the burden. Have your gun crews remain at their posts, will you?”

  Sir Henry turned back to Captain Leydecker. “The Terrapin’s gun crews are excellent shots as you have witnessed, sir. Order your men to bring up the money chest that I have reason to believe is in your hold. I will also take charge of the four barrels of crystals—”

  Captain Leydecker glowered, grim faced. “I could give orders to have you shot.”

  “I’ll be glad to carry out that order,” said Dag.

  Sir Henry chuckled. “That would be ill advised, gentlemen. Killing me would make Captain Northrop extremely angry—so angry I fear he would blow up this vessel and everyone on it.”

  In response, Captain Northrop ordered the men manning the swivel guns to train them on the Sommerwind. Marine sharpshooters targeted the Sommerwind’s officers.

  Captain Leydecker glared at Sir Henry, speechless with fury. Leutnant Baumann went down into the hold to fetch the money. He sent a midshipman to supervise the transfer of the barrels of crystals to the Terrapin.

  Stephano fumed, seething with rage. Once more, just as he’d done in Westfirth, Sir Henry Wallace had outwitted him. He and his pirate friend were going to sail away with the crystals. With the Bottom Dwellers in control of the refineries, Rosia’s navy would be languishing on the ground. Sir Henry could probably already taste victory.

  Stephano glanced at him. Sir Henry was keeping a close watch on the barrels and on the sailors who came up from the hold carrying a large strongbox. Stephano surreptitiously slipped his hand inside his coat, grasped hold of the bosun’s pipe, and drew it out slowly. Bringing the pipe to his lips, he blew the Summons.

  Men jumped at the sound of the shrill whistle. Sir Henry whipped around. Stephano paid no heed to him. He was watching the dragons, willing them to obey him, even if it was for the last time.

  The dragons heard the whistle. They raised their heads and stared intently in his direction. Petard jumped to his feet and extended his wings. Viola hissed at him and he hesitated. Stephano feared for a moment she was ordering them to stay. She was, however, only ordering Petard to wait his turn. She soared into the air first, taking the lead. Verdi and Petard followed, Verdi with his clumsy leap, Petard with a joyous bound.

  Stephano watched the dragons flying toward him, the sunlight shining on their scales, and he turned to Sir Henry Wallace.

  “I believe my three cards beat yours, sir,” said Stephano.

  43

  I find it sad to contemplate being forced to teach my trusting little son that for the sake of his own survival he must learn to mistrust.

  —Sir Henry Wallace, in a letter to Captain Alan Northrop

  Viola flew in wide circles above the Sommerwind. Verdi and Petard hovered in the air, riding the thermals, not far from the ship. Stephano walked over to Sir Henry, who stood with his arms folded, gazing up at the dragons, a slight smile twitching his lips.

  “At my command, sir, the dragons will attack your gunboat,” said Stephano.

  Sir Henry glanced at him. “Are you certain, Captain? Your dragons haven’t done anything at your command thus far.”

  “Would you care to test them?” Stephano asked, though he had to admit he was wondering about that himself. “We could perform an experiment. Your vaunted magical steel withstood contramagic. Will it stand up to dragon fire?”

  “Alan, what is your opinion?” Sir Henry called.

  Captain Northrop was also gazing up at the dragons.

  “We will fight dragons, Henry, if you say the word,” he called back jauntily.

  Sir Henry considered, probably picturing in his mind the dragons diving down on his gunboat from above, breathing fire on the rigging, the masts, the balloons. The dragons didn’t have to touch the steel plates. They could burn up the deck on which Captain Northrop was standing.

  Sir Henry gave a philosophical shrug. “The gambler’s adage: One can’t win them all. The game is yours, Captain de Guichen—for today,” he said with a bow.

  Stephano gave a deep, inward sigh of relief. He kept his countenance stern, not about to let Sir Henry see that there had ever been any doubt.

  “I am your prisoner, Captain,” Sir Henry continued. “As I see it, you have three choices: You can either hang me, lock me up, or allow me to depart with my friend, Captain Northrop.”

  “The decision is not mine, unfortunately,” Stephano replied. He went to talk to Captain Leydecker, who was being hounded by Frau Aalder. The captain drew Stephano aside for a conference.

  “Will you tell me what the devil is going on, Captain? Who is this man, Wallace? The Braffans all claim he’s a diplomat. They’re in a furor because you held him at gunpoint! Frau Aalder wants me to arrest you.”

  “Wallace is a Freyan diplomat and he was on a mission to Braffa,” said Stephano. “He’s also a spy and an assassin, one of the most dangerous men on the seven continents. He was planning to plunder your ship, if you will remember.”

  “Be that as it may, Captain,” said Captain Leydecker, “I have to do business with the Braffans and the Freyans. I don’t want to have to tell the Travian cartel that I hanged a Freyan ambassador from the yardarm. They’d end up hanging me.”

  Stephano pondered the situation. The captain could lock Sir Henry in the brig, but locks could be picked, guards could be bribed. Sir Henry was expert at both.

  “Did the cartel tell you the nature of the cargo you were supposed to pick up at the refinery? Do you know what is in those barrels?”

  “No, and I don’t want to,” said Captain Leydecker. “When dealing with the Travians, the less one knows the better. All I know is that I was contracted to deliver the gold to a Braffan gentleman. His name was … let me think … Westhoven. Lord Bjorn Westhoven.”

  “Westhoven, of course!” Stephano remarked to himself. “That was why he didn’t want to tell us.”

  He looked over at Sir Henry. That gentleman, seemingly careless of his fate, was leaning over the rail holding an animated conversation in Freyan with Captain Northrop. Stephano didn’t speak Freyan, but he did recognize a few words—military terms common to both languages. Navy—marine. Attack—attaquer. And repeated references to Alcazar.

  This was all starting to make sense.

  “I say we let him go,” Stephano advised Captain Leydecker. “So long as Wallace is on board this ship and the barrels are on board, he will stop at nothing to
obtain them.”

  Captain Leydecker was pleased, only too happy to be rid of this most dangerous gentleman.

  “I do have one question, sir,” Stephano asked, as the captain was turning to leave, “do you know the name of the buyer for the cargo?”

  “I wasn’t told and I was paid well not to ask,” said Captain Leydecker. “My orders were to give the money to Westhoven, pick up the cargo, and take it to Evreux. Someone would be waiting on the docks to accept delivery. Now if you’ll excuse me, Captain, I intend to put as much distance between my ship and these accursed islands as I can.”

  The sailors readied the bosun’s chair, which consisted of a short plank attached to a length of rope with canvas backing. A sailor was on hand to assist Sir Henry into the chair, which would be used to transfer him to the waiting Terrapin. Stephano sent the sailor away.

  “I’ll lower the chair myself,” said Stephano.

  “Planning to cut the rope?” Sir Henry asked, seating himself on the plank.

  “Much as I’d like to, we need to talk,” Stephano said in a low voice. “Do something to delay. Pretend you sat on a splinter.”

  Sir Henry raised an eyebrow, but he did as he was told. He bounded up from the chair with a curse and turned to glare at the plank seat. He and Stephano leaned over it, searching for imaginary wood slivers.

  “You must have run investigations on all the Braffan council members. What did you find out about Lord Bjorn Westhoven?” Stephano asked softly.

  “He had recently made some extremely bad investments,” said Sir Henry. “He was heavily in debt, about to lose everything.”

  “He found a way to get out of debt,” said Stephano.

  “The crystals.” Sir Henry cast Stephano a sharp glance. “Westhoven sold them.”

  “My guess is that he and the refinery workers were in on the deal together. They arranged to sell the crystals. The buyer sent the money on the Sommerwind. But they had a problem. When the crystals were discovered missing, they would be the first to be suspected. They needed a cat’s-paw. What made you decide to tour that particular refinery?”

  “Westhoven suggested it,” said Sir Henry.

  Stephano nodded. “So when the crystal came up missing—”

  “They could blame the theft on me,” said Sir Henry. “Clever fellow, Westhoven. He fooled me completely and I am not easily fooled. At least I got to watch the wretch go up in flames. The important question becomes: Who is the buyer? Does your captain know?”

  “Leydecker is working for a Travian cartel. All he was told is that someone will be waiting to take delivery.”

  “Where, exactly?” Sir Henry asked with disarming casualness.

  Stephano grinned. “The captain didn’t say.”

  Sir Henry smiled. “Why are you telling me this, Captain? What’s to stop me from following this ship, letting you lead me to the buyer?”

  “Because you are playing for bigger stakes, judging by the conversation you were having with Captain Northrop. The Terrapin is planning to meet up with the Freyan navy and launch an attack against the Bottom Dwellers to try to take back the refineries. If you succeed, you will be able to produce all the crystals you want, not to mention corner the market on the Blood. For I doubt very much if you’ll hand the refineries back to the Braffans.”

  Sir Henry threw back his head and laughed. He clapped Stephano on the shoulder. “I like you, Stephano de Guichen. You are your mother’s son.”

  He settled himself once more in the bosun’s chair.

  “You realize, of course, that you can’t allow those crystals to fall into the wrong hands,” said Sir Henry.

  Stephano made no comment. He swung the chair out over the rail. The sailors manned the winch, lowering the chair slowly down to the deck of the Terrapin.

  Arriving safely on board the gunboat, Sir Henry eased himself out of the bosun’s chair and sent it back up. Captain Alan Northrop fired off a gun in a jaunty salute and the Terrapin sailed away. Stephano watched until he lost sight of her in the mist.

  Captain Leydecker was ready to depart, as well. The Bottom Dwellers were, for now, interested only in securing their island refinery and nursing the wounds inflicted on their black ship. They had no interest in the Sommerwind. The ship set sail safely for Braffa, where they planned to drop off the survivors.

  Stephano went below to his quarters that he shared with Dag and Rodrigo. He was exhausted, drained. His burned legs felt as though he’d been baking them in an oven. His knee hurt and his cheek throbbed. He found Rodrigo there, waiting for him.

  “How’s Gythe?” Stephano asked, frowning at Rodrigo. “You were supposed to stay with her.”

  “Dag and Miri are both with her. The cabin was getting crowded. She’s fine,” said Rodrigo. “A little weak, but a day’s rest will cure her.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “The contramagic happened.” Rodrigo shrugged. “I have no idea how or why. I can’t explain it. Father Jacob experienced similar injuries when he was attacked. I therefore assume it has something to do with being a savant.”

  Stephano shook his head and scratched at the plaster on his cheek. He gave a deep sigh and sagged down in a chair.

  “What’s the matter now?” Rodrigo asked. “Dag tells me you outwitted our friend, Sir Henry Wallace. You should be jubilant.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I need a few moments to myself, Rigo. I’ll meet you in Miri’s cabin.”

  Rodrigo rested his hand lightly on Stephano’s shoulder, then left. Stephano knew what he had to do, though he dreaded doing it. The decision wasn’t going to be popular. He couldn’t risk the lives of his people.

  He sighed again and then washed the blood and gunpowder off his face and hands, changed his clothes, then went to meet his friends.

  Gythe was sitting up in bed with Doctor Ellington curled up in her lap. Miri sat on the bed beside Gythe, fussing over her. Rodrigo was cross-legged on the floor. The cabin was small. Dag had to flatten himself against the door for Stephano to squeeze past.

  “Rigo said you are feeling better, Gythe.” Stephano bent down to kiss her on the forehead. “You saved the lives of everyone on board this ship. You are a hero.”

  Gythe flushed with pleasure, but she didn’t want to talk about her heroics. She asked, with a worried look, her hands flashing, “How are the dragons? Dag said they were afraid, but they came back when you called them.”

  “They came back,” said Stephano. “After the danger had passed.”

  Gythe heard the anger in his voice and she guessed what was coming. She gazed at Stephano with pleading eyes.

  “I’ve made a decision,” he said. “I won’t permit anyone to ride the dragons.”

  As he had foreseen, no one was happy.

  “The dragons froze under fire, sir!” Dag argued. “They’re new recruits. That’s to be expected.”

  “Viola saved your life at the refinery,” Miri added, unexpectedly taking the side of the dragons.

  “And they took the wind out of that pirate’s sails,” said Rodrigo. “Nautically speaking.”

  “We should give them another chance, sir,” said Dag.

  Stephano looked at Gythe. She gazed at him unhappily, not saying a word.

  Stephano shook his head. “How can I trust these dragons after what happened today? I have to face the facts. If it hadn’t been for Captain Northrop, we would be dead by now—all except the dragons.”

  Gythe startled everyone, including the Doctor, by dumping the irate cat on the floor, throwing aside the counterpane, and climbing out of bed. Miri and Rodrigo both hurried to stop her. Gythe flashed fierce looks at both of them and a fiercer look at Stephano.

  “I’m going to talk to Petard,” she signed. “There must be a reason the dragons didn’t fight. I’m going to find out.”

  “Gythe, you’re too weak. Stay in bed. You won’t change my mind,” said Stephano wearily. “The dragons can stay with us, if they want to, but no one is riding the
m.”

  Gythe ignored him. “Where are my shoes? I can’t find my shoes.”

  “Gythe—” Stephano began, exasperated.

  “You might as well let her go, Stephano,” Miri said. She handed Gythe her slippers. “She won’t rest until she talks to the dragon.”

  Stephano saw it would be useless to argue with her. No matter what the dragons said, he wasn’t going to change his mind. But he would be interested to hear what the dragons had to say for themselves. He told Gythe she could go.

  Holding on to Miri’s hand, Gythe made her way slowly across the cabin to the door. She was too weak to climb the stairs that led to the main deck, so Dag carried her. Doctor Ellington ran up with them, only to turn tail and dash off when he caught sight of the dragons.

  Stephano came last. Miri touched his arm. “Maybe you should give them another chance.”

  Stephano glanced coldly at her. “I thought you would be pleased. You never approved of any of this.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but walked away. He could feel Miri staring after him.

  Gythe came on deck to the cheers of the crew. She again flushed, and shyly kept hold of Dag’s arm.

  The dragons were flying behind the ship, keeping their distance, yet still following. Dag put the bosun’s whistle to his lips and gave the signal for Petard.

  Stephano watched the dragons a moment, then turned to Miri and Rodrigo.

  “Do you think Gythe can truly communicate with the dragons? When she says Petard talks to her, does she hear his voice or does she imagine she hears him?”

  “Gythe is a savant,” said Rodrigo. “Her mind works so much differently from ours that we can’t possibly understand what she is thinking or feeling or hearing. For myself, I believe she has found a way to communicate with those she loves—the dragons and Brother Barnaby.”

  The long day was finally coming to an end. The setting sun lit the mists with a pale golden glow and gleamed on the dragons’ scales. Petard heard the whistle. He dipped his wings in response and flew to the ship.

  The Sommerwind’s crew had hauled the pinnace from where Miri had landed it on the stern to its customary place, secured to the deck between the foremast and the mainmast. The stern where the dragons were accustomed to sleeping was clear. Petard landed on the deck. He was nervous, uncertain. He reared back his head, lifted his chest, shook his mane.