Chapter 8
The hired carriage deposited them outside the stone building housing the offices of The Family Museum, across the river from the palace in the center of Rennes. The day was quite warm and the sidewalks crowded, and Ardhuin was glad to enter the shade and quiet of the building.
Dominic looked about with considerable interest. “Strange that this should be the first time I visited after all my dealings with them, and when I do come it is on a matter unrelated to my writing.”
“Unrelated to your current writing, perhaps, but I am sure the trip will provide many likely ideas to pursue.” Ardhuin was surprised at how prosaic the offices were—worn carpeting, scratched wainscoting, and plain wooden doors with the names of various departments written on them. It did not seem to match the professional appearance of the magazine itself.
After Dominic introduced himself and mentioned his appointment to a desk clerk, they were escorted to an office with a door lettered “Editor.” M. Sambin was a tall, stooped man with a full beard and a tendency to squint, but he leaped to his feet and greeted Dominic warmly before inviting them to be seated.
“So, I see your talents have received notice in high places! Now what’s all this about getting an expedition together to go to Asea? You have writing to do, you know.”
“You did get the telegram, then? I know it can’t be a large affair on short notice, naturally, but I have a great interest in seeing the area for myself. I am sure it will generate many ideas.”
Sambin leaned back in his swivel chair, fussing with his beard. “Yes, but why your own? Bové is already doing exploration there.”
Ardhuin tightened her clasped hands on her reticule, feeling nervous. Why was he raising objections? What would they do if he turned them down?
Dominic persevered. “Now seemed like an ideal time, and since we are free to travel, why not? I don’t want to wait for Bové’s next trip; that could be years from now.”
“No, no. Didn’t you know? He’s here now, to raise funds and get supplies.”
“What?” Dominic’s eyes widened. “Bové is in Bretagne?”
Sambin smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “He’s in Rennes. And here you are, with funding. I see no reason we cannot come to an agreement, eh? I sent him a note asking him to come.”
The editor pulled out a folder from a pile on his desk and started discussing book plans with Dominic, who grew more and more worried in expression as the grandiose schedule grew.
“I am flattered by your opinion of my productivity, but I do require a few hours of rest every day,” Dominic said, grinning.
Sambin chuckled and waved a hand. “Oh, very well. Still, if you can let us know what projects you do plan on completing, we can work on the cover and illustrations ahead of time. And it would be ideal to have something new for Solstice…but if you are determined to go off adventuring instead, what is to be done? Madame, can you not persuade him to delay?” He gestured to Ardhuin.
“Only think of what marvelous stories he will write on his return,” Ardhuin replied soothingly. “After all, there will be other Solstices. And I am sure you will understand he requires new ideas from some source. Did he mention submerging mice in our fish pond? I shudder to think what he will come up with next.”
Intrigued, Sambin demanded further details of the fish pond experiment and started scribbling notes for a proposed article, when a peremptory knock sounded on his door, followed by the entrance of a man with lowering brows and a frown on his hard–jawed face. His light brown hair was cut short and his skin weather–beaten and brown with sun.
“Sambin, the most damnable thing! That idiot still hasn’t—” he started, looking at Ardhuin, and a faint flush appeared. “I beg your pardon, madame. I did not realize…”
“Ah, Bové, you got my message! Allow me to introduce Dominic Kermarec and his wife. He has brought to my attention a most interesting prospect—that may solve your funding issues.”
Bové looked nonplussed for a moment, then his eyes cleared. “Ah, the story–writing fellow. You aren’t planning an expedition to the center of the earth, are you? Because I’m a trifle tied up at the moment with this Asea matter, and I’ve never been partial to caves,” he added with a small smile that just turned up the corners of his mouth.
“No, no, not that,” Dominic stammered, shaking his hand eagerly. “Although I would like to ask your opinion…you must know I have read the accounts of your previous travels with great interest. In this case, it is your Asea expedition we would like to join. The Crown has most generously made available a fund of twenty thousand guilders to allow me to pursue my research there, and I had thought I would need to arrange the whole matter—but if we could join you, that would be infinitely preferable.”
Bové’s eyebrows shot up. “Twenty thousand? And you want to go to Asea? I see no reason we cannot come to an agreement, then. And there is no time to lose. Now, you said ‘we.’ You intend to take a party with you?”
“At least four. My wife and I, a translator, and a fellow…researcher.” Dominic faltered, for Bové was shaking his head sadly.
“I am sorry, but this is no place for a lady.”
Ardhuin sat up. “But…I have been on expeditions before. In Yunwiya and elsewhere. My father is the naturalist George Andrews, of Atlantea.”
“Asea is much more dangerous. I cannot allow the risk, even for money I am in desperate need of,” Bové said bluntly. “The risk of bandits is constant. Much of my expense is in hiring guards. I am also concerned for the stability of the Cathan government. It is ancient and riddled with corruption. There is much unrest that could flare up at any moment. If it gets much worse, I shall have to pull my own people out.” He rubbed the back of his head, looking out the window as if he were expecting bandits to show up there too.
Ardhuin exchanged a worried glance with Dominic. She had to go to Asea; that was the whole point. Bové, however, was firm and probably correct in his refusal. He didn’t know about her magic.
Her magic would have to do. Ardhuin ducked her head, hoping to look disappointed but acquiescent. “Perhaps your…friend, Mr. Talbot, would be willing to go in my place, then. I know I would feel better about your going if he did.”
She saw the glint of understanding in his eyes. Then Dominic grimaced. “An awkward situation. It could be several months…before I return. Are you certain? I do not want you to be uncomfortable…on your own.” She nodded. “Very well, I will ask him.”
Bové was looking at them both, his gaze sharp. “One moment. I don’t believe, Monsieur Kermarec, that you explained why you are so intent on this journey. Please don’t attempt to convince me this is merely something to do with your stories. Not only are you suddenly willing to leave your charming young wife behind, she is permitting you to do so without complaint! What story is so urgent as that? And the Crown is bankrolling this little adventure, too. If your plans include any spying, I must beg you to reconsider. The Cathan officials are already suspicious of our expeditions. I won’t risk our expedition for that. If the government needs information, it must get it another way.”
“I have no interest in spying.” Dominic sighed. “With your permission, Monsieur Sambin?” He took out one of the small devices from Colfax’s laboratory, giving Ardhuin a meaningful glance. He fiddled with the device, then set it on the desk. As soon as he did so, Ardhuin released the obscurer spell. “Now we can talk without being overheard. For your ears only, gentlemen, yes, there is a different purpose to this trip. It is important to the security of Bretagne and even Aerope that I get to Bhuta, and speed is essential. I regret, but I cannot tell you more than this.”
“Bhuta, eh?” Bové stared at him. “We had no plans to go that far.”
Dominic shrugged. “Then we will have to continue on our own once you reach your destination. The researcher in my party is a magician skilled in defense.”
Bové scowled, saying nothing.
&n
bsp; “I will worry every day my husband and I are apart,” Ardhuin said, putting a hand on Dominic’s arm, “but I know why he must go—and yes, it is important enough for that sacrifice. Please do what you can to see he gets to Bhuta safely.”
“Madame Kermarec, I will do whatever lies in my power to accomplish this. I only hope that someday he may write one of his stirring tales of adventure so I may know what all the fuss was about,” he said, with an echo of his roguish grin. “Well, if the funds are available, there is no reason for delay. Can you be ready in a week or two, Kermarec? It takes a dam—er, deuced time to get out there, and we’ve got a lot to do before the winter storms start up.”
Bové stayed only long enough to give Dominic the name of his hotel and a recommendation for where to find the gear he would need for Asea, and then he left as impetuously as he had arrived. Sambin was not as cheerful, but apparently determined to make the best of a bad situation.
“I suppose the sooner you leave the sooner you can return, eh? Now, don’t forget to write. And send me that schedule before you go! If you have the time to send a few letters with local detail, we can publish those to keep the readers curious in your absence. Oh, and…”
Eventually Ardhuin had to resort to remembering a fictitious appointment to let them escape. It was not entirely false, since they did need to report to the palace at some point.
Outside, Dominic grimaced and rubbed his forehead. “I thought it was too good to be true, Bové already in place and visiting—but how will you manage? This will take at least a month of travel, if not more.”
“You could not persuade him to change his mind…and I imagine there will be a point where Monsieur Bové can’t make Mr. Talbot return, even if he should wish to. This opportunity is too good to be missed—and we do need to act quickly. Poor Sonam will worry himself into becoming ill again—and I don’t like this talk of winter storms, either. We’ll just have to make the best of it.” She stepped back into the hired carriage. “Let’s visit the place Bové mentioned before we go back to the palace.”
Dominic nodded and gave the directions to the coachman. He got in and sat down beside her. “Are you thinking Mr. Talbot also needs to be supplied? Your illusion will not suffice as it did before?”
“It was something Sonam mentioned, the reason he wore Aeropan clothing—that it was easier to maintain a smaller illusion, especially traveling by train. If we go by steamer, the same problem may arise, and it can’t be expected that we will always be able to have private sleeping accommodations.” Ardhuin rummaged in her reticule for a notepad. “I will give you some rough measurements for Mr. Talbot, and then…” She sighed. “I hope the Queen can supply a very discreet tailor to make the necessary adjustments.”
Gutrune aimed the narrow slit of light at the base of the pile of crates. Stoller had not had any difficulty in providing an opportunity for her to slip inside the dock storehouse, but she wanted to complete her search as quickly as possible just in case the watchman came back early from dealing with the “drunken foreigner.” In the darkness, she could hear the lapping of the waves nearby. She was surprised at how many of the crates from the cave in Anatoli were still here. Had the boat been too small? Would the spy return for the rest?
She had little time in any case. When Stoller had gone to get the rest of her equipment, he had returned with a telegram. It was in code, directing her to the port city of Aleksandri to meet with “friends from the late campaign.” She would have to leave soon to arrive by the specified date.
She shifted the shuttered lantern to look more closely. Some of the crates had labels, and the address was the same on each. Pirazzi Imports, Napoli, Roma. One of the smallest crates had broken slats, apparently from being dropped on one edge. A little more damage would not be noticed. She would have to be careful not to make too much noise, however. While Stoller was on watch to prevent accidental discovery, the cottage where the watchman lived was close by.
From a small leather satchel she took a slim pry bar. Using the edge, she carefully widened cracks near nails until she could pull away more slats from the side of the damaged crate with only a few creaks. The opening was large enough to remove large handfuls of the straw used to cushion the contents, a number of rough–fired clay pots with lids sealed with heavy twine and red sealing wax. Each pot was the size of a small stein, and scratched into the surface were the words “salis mineralis.”
She took one out and examined it more closely. It was heavy, but otherwise unremarkable. She put it down and reached in again. This time when she pulled out a jar she heard a faint clink, and rummaging deeper found a broken shard. It was covered in a coarse, gritty substance, presumably the mineral salts. Gutrune brought her fingers to her nose and cautiously sniffed. Sour, and with a slight oily feel.
Well, if the crate was this damaged, it was unlikely the recipients would be suspicious that the contents were less than expected. She replaced all but one of the jars in the crate and replaced the straw and the loosened slats.
All of the labeled crates held clay pots, apparently identical to the one she had pulled out. It might be good to check the contents. There was no guarantee the contents were the same, after all. Gutrune took out a small, slim knife and cut the twine holding the lid in place. The contents appeared to be caked, and she poked at them with the point of the knife.
The gritty powder puffed explosively away from the metal, spattering her face. She jerked away, knocking the lantern on its side. The grit burned her eyes and nose, and she twisted sharply to bury a series of violent sneezes in the crook of her arm. Damn! Had the watchman heard that? She opened her streaming eyes. The lantern had gone out when it fell, and she felt about to find it in the dark.
Her fingers brushed the metal—only it felt wrong. Instead of the expected hard surface, it felt pliant as leather…and yet she knew it was the lamp. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her, and she felt her heart pounding hard in her chest. Not right, not right. The dust…was it some kind of drug? Now the blood in her veins flashed hot and cold in rapid succession.
Light. She had to have light, to see her way. To get out. She fumbled for the little metal case of matches in the pocket of her hunting jacket, feeling frantic. She couldn’t have lost it. If she couldn’t light the lamp again, she…
There was light. Faint, blue–white light. Coming from her hands. Shaking, Gutrune raised them up. Rivulets of light, like water, flowing over her skin. There was no heat, no pain. She knew what it was, but it was impossible. Magefire. But how could she, who was no magician, conjure magefire?
Perhaps she was merely hallucinating. The effect of the drug, nothing more. Stoller…Stoller would not be affected.
Imaginary or not, the light let her find her way to the door without stumbling. She tugged the door open and ran outside, hands held before her, looking for Stoller. But when she found him, he stared at her in horror. And then she knew it was not hallucination. The magefire was real.
It was true that matters were dangerous and urgent. It was true that the safety of Aerope depended on the success of their efforts. And yet to Dominic, smelling the brisk salt air and watching the bustle of preparations and the varied ships in the port, it was the fulfillment of a dream. He was going on an expedition!
And not just any expedition. They were going with Bové himself, and to speed them on their way, the Bretagnan government had made available a navy steamer to transport them and their supplies to Aleksandri. And that was only a waystop! He never thought he would get as far as Geapt in his life.
“You look as if you were about to swim out to that launch,” Markus remarked, walking along the pier toward him. He had changed from his Preusan schutzmagus uniform of black to a more ordinary dark suit.
“I am quite ready to begin the journey, I admit. Oh, the Ministry of Magic forwarded this message.” Dominic searched his pockets for the telegram and handed it to Markus. “From Fräulein von Kitren. It seems
everyone has agreed to combine forces on the assumption that Denais will likely be in the same place as MacCrimmon, and Preusa will send a detachment of mountain–trained soldiers. Will she be able to join us without, er, attention?”
“I am sure she will find a way,” Markus replied. His voice had a distant tone as he read the message carefully. “I am relieved to hear the message of our sailing reached her in time—I believe we have her brother to thank for that. Although he might not be pleased to learn where she intends to go next. As to the details…I believe your friend Mr. Talbot will be willing to assist her.”
“Do be careful and stop smirking,” Dominic hissed as quietly as he could. “If your amusement gives the game away, we’ll be on our own in the middle of nowhere. Talk of something else. For example, the mountain detachment from Preusa. They do not join us?”
Markus shook his head. “They don’t gear up quite as quickly as we do, and they have to take another route anyway. The Cathans absolutely forbid foreign military in their territory, so they have to go north through Ynde. We still don’t have all the necessary permissions from the independent rejahs outside the Trade Cities, but it should just be a matter of time, and perhaps bribes.” He grinned. “The story is they wish to map the mountain passes and conduct weather observations.”
“From what Sonam was telling us, they should have plenty of weather to observe.” Dominic glanced down the pier. Still no sign of Ardhuin, who was getting a last–minute briefing from a Bretagnan government official. He crouched down and opened the small leather satchel at his feet, taking out the brass and chryselectrum device inside. The first working prototype of his imager, which had a few remaining problems but still functioned much better than his earlier attempts. Iron could still cause interference with the field, but here on the wooden pier, that should not be a difficulty.
“Oh, what have you there?”
Dragonhunters Page 10
