Dragon's Bluff

19

Master Aylesworthy closed the tavern in the Jetties early that night to hold a private wake for Pease. The city council came, as well as the Vigilance Committee, many members of the Vigilance Force, the Silver Fox, Ulin, Challie, Lucy, Notwen, and many of Flotsam’s kender. Pease had been popular in town, even for a kender, and his death was a blow to them all. Only Bridget did not come out of her small room, for Lucy and Notwen had been forced to give her a syrup to ease her hysterics and put her to sleep. Cosmo sat by his friend’s mother and watched her until sleep softened the ravages of her grief, then he came downstairs and sat silently by the bar.

Food was served and toasts were made. Challie told the assembled mourners how she and Pease had taken cover in the warehouse when Fyremantle landed on the dock.

“He was trying to take me to the tunnel under the Brown Pelican,” she said, “but the dragon came faster than we thought. He attacked the fishing boat before we could get there, so Pease ducked into the warehouse. He was going to go out the back door the moment the dragon left the dock. Then the boat crashed into the building and timbers and wreckage fell all around us.” Challie’s voice tightened in her throat. “I was closest to the door. Pease pushed me toward it just as a huge timber crashed on him. I tried to get him, but he was pinned and bleeding so badly. He told me to run. Suddenly the place burst into flames. Someone saw me in the door and dragged me out … but we couldn’t get Pease.” The disbelief was still plain in her voice, and her grief was still very raw. She raised a mug of cider and drank a toast. “He annoyed me endlessly, but I’d give anything to have him back.”

The others raised their glasses as well. One of Pease’s friends brought out a small lap harp and began to play a lament. Someone else produced a recorder and added accompaniment. Soon the kender had a group in the corner of the room playing drums, the harp, the recorder, and a lute. Before long, the laments ended and the music changed from grief to the celebration of a life. Pease would have loved it.

By unspoken agreement, no one discussed the tax crisis or the internment of Kethril Torkay in the city jail. That, they decided, could wait for later.

Shortly after the music started, another person came into the Jetties. She stood for a moment in the doorway then made her way to the table where Ulin and Lucy sat. Heads turned as she passed, and by the time she reached the table, all eyes were on the lovely sirine.

Giggling at some private joke, the sirine took the extra chair and sat down close to Ulin. “I cannot stay long, I have to go back to the water soon, but I wanted to tell you how wonderful it has been to meet you.” It was difficult to tell from her body position and her voice whether she was talking to Lucy or Ulin.

The sirine had met Lucy earlier in the day, and while Lucy had been less than thrilled to know her father had sired other children, she had not been surprised. In fact, she found herself liking the friendly, free-spirited aquatic woman—as long as she did not try to compete for Ulin. A mischievous sprite of a thought popped into Lucy’s head, and she found herself scanning the room for Lysandros. Sure enough, he was standing near the bar keeping an eye on their table. She gestured to him to join them.

The debonair resistance leader came willingly and took a chair next to the sirine. While Lucy made the proper introductions, Ulin leaned over and whispered something in the sirine’s ear. Her fair face brightened, and like a daisy turns to the sun, she tilted her scantily clad chest toward the half-elf and began to hum something soft and captivating, a tune Ulin remembered all too well. The captain curiously turned at the sound. “Cripes,” he said and fell into the spell of her glorious green eyes.

Lucy looked at Ulin and winked.

The wake was beginning to mellow in the late hours of the night, when Lucy and Ulin, the members of the city council, Lysandros, and the Vigilance Committee gathered by ones and twos in the back of the common room. Aylesworthy closed the bar and shooed everyone else out. He had to check three times before he found all the kender, and it took a while to check their pouches and pockets for loose spoons, mugs, other people’s pouches, and knickknacks that had been “found” or “accidentally picked up by mistake.” Finally he was able to pour a fresh pitcher of ale and join the meeting at the back of the room.

While the innkeeper closed the tavern, Challie took two of Lysandros’s guards to the city jail to fetch Kethril. By the time everyone was settled in chairs and ready to begin the meeting, the magistrate had returned with the prisoner bound at the wrists and chained at the ankles. The tall, fastidious gambler looked less than pleased to be hauled ignominiously before such a large group, but he did his best to hide it.

“A mug of your best spring ale,” Kethril called heartily.

The innkeeper made no move to get it. “That’ll be one hundred steel pieces,” he demanded, his heavy features stiff with displeasure.

The gambler sighed heavily and turned back to his daughter. “Lucy … I … we got off to a bad start this afternoon. I want to try again.”

She gazed at some place over his shoulder. “Why?”

Her abrupt answer took him aback. He didn’t know what to expect from this daughter any more. She had become a woman in his absence, and a strong one at that. “You traveled a long way to get here. I thought we could get to know each other again.”

Lucy’s fingers tightened around her mug, but her distant expression did not change. “I came here for my mother’s sake, not yours. She was under the mistaken impression that you were dead. Believe it or not, she was devastated.”

Kethril’s handsome face assumed an expression of sadness mixed with regret. “Ah, your mother. She was a beautiful woman.” He tried to pull out a chair with his foot to sit down at the table.

“Don’t.” Lucy’s refusal was adamant.

Her father looked from her to Ulin, who merely shrugged, and back again to Lucy. “My dear, I—”

Her eyes abruptly focused on his face with the sharpness of a spearpoint. “Do not call me that. I am the sheriff of this town, not some wench you can charm. Now that we have you here, you are to stand trial for the theft of Flotsam’s annual taxes.”

He recoiled from the intense animosity in her voice and expression. Something flickered through his green eyes. “Here? Now? This is no public trial.”

“Be thankful it isn’t,” Mayor Efrim declared, on the verge of anger. “Most of the people in this town wouldn’t hesitate to lynch you on the spot.”

The old man drew a chair to face the group and pointed to it. Kethril’s guards set him in the chair with quick efficiency, chained his ankles to the chair legs, and took their places on either side of him. Challie stood to his left. The mayor found another chair and sat to his right.

Kethril fired a glare at Ulin. “Is this your idea of safe conduct?”

“You haven’t been injured yet,” Ulin answered reasonably.

“Safe conduct?” Lucy repeated, her full mouth tight with disapproval.

“I gave him my word I would insure his safe conduct in Flotsam if he would come of his own will to face the city council and the sheriff.”

“You gave your word, Ulin,” Aylesworthy said loudly. “I say hang him.”

Protestations, agreements, and arguments of all kinds burst from the inhabitants of the room. The noise quickly grew to a chaotic babble.

Lucy rose slowly to her feet and faced the group, her round face etched with determination and fine lines of tension. “Silence!” she shouted at them all. It was a measure of their respect for her that everyone fell quiet at her demand and gave her their full attention. “This is an inquiry. We need facts and honesty before we can decide what to do. There will be no sentencing of the prisoner until we are all in agreement. Is that understood?”

At their nods of assent, she resumed her seat. Mayor Efrim called the inquiry to order and went immediately to the point. “Kethril Torkay, you are accused of stealing the treasury of the city of Flotsam and thereby endangering the inhabitants who are unable to replace that money. How do you plead?”

Every head swiveled to look at the culprit who sat chained to his chair, his handsome face posed with a half-smile. “Not guilty, of course,” he said as if it should be obvious to everyone.

The mayor did not give the spectators a chance to react. “Magistrate,” he ordered with a strength that belied his infirm age. “Present the evidence.”

Chalcedony bowed to the mayor. From a satchel she had stowed under a table, she withdrew a sheaf of parchment, some flat pieces of what looked like broken glass wrapped in a scrap of linen, and a strange flat rectangle of dried plaster.

“I would like to show the court this”—she pulled out a piece of paper and held it up for everyone to see—“the signed death-bed confession of Bernic, a cutpurse who admitted to aiding Kethril Torkay in the theft of the Flotsam Treasury. Only an untimely explosion stopped the theft before it could be completed—and mortally wounded the witness. He identified himself and his ringleader, Kethril Torkay, before he died.” She slapped the paper on the table and laid out the pieces of broken glass and the plaster. “Notwen, if you please, will you identify these two items?”

The gnome came forward, shooting nervous glances at the people clustered around. He wasn’t used to so much avid attention. “Um, before I explain the significance of this glass, will everyone take a look at the tips of their fingers?”

Curious and willing, the people lifted their hands and scrutinized their fingers. Ulin, who knew the significance of Notwen’s request, kept his arms crossed. Behind Lucy, he sat quietly in the shadows and watched the faces of the Flotsamites and of Kethril Torkay. He added nothing to the proceedings, for he was aware that his silent, mysterious appraisal was as powerful an addition to Lucy’s authority as her own reputation.

Notwen went on to explain. “If you look closely at your fingertips, you will see there are patterns of whorls and lines in the skin. No two patterns are identical.” He paused as the onlookers studied their fingers and compared them to those of others.

“All right,” the blacksmith said testily. “So what?”

“These patterns can be used to identify a person. Have you ever noticed the marks or prints yours hands or fingers leave behind on flat shiny surfaces? How many times have you had to polish a blade or wipe marks off glass or jewelry or brass or silver?”

Aylesworthy nodded his understanding while the others around him looked on in dawning comprehension.

Kethril seemed frozen in his chair. Nothing moved in his face but his cold green eyes as they flicked from Notwen to the glass on the table to the people around him before finally settling on Lucy’s accusing stare.

Notwen picked out a piece of glass and held it up by the edges. The thin piece gleamed in his hand and reflected back the light of the lamps. “This is from a mirror, a brass framed mirror I found in the tunnel under the ruins of the treasury room. It was close to the collapsed entry into the room near the debris pile. I know it was originally part of the collected tribute, and you will find it on the inventory list.”

Challie held up a second piece of parchment and laid it beside the first.

Notwen was more confident now as he delved into a subject he enjoyed. “I have a powder that makes fingerprints more visible. When I dusted this mirror with my powder I found several prints on the glass and I made copies of the patterns.” Once again Challie held up several papers, these marked with the swirling patterns found on human fingertips. “Two prints did not match the accused, but one is an exact match of his thumbprint,” Notwen said. “So we must ask, if he did not handle the mirror, how did his print come to be on its glass?”

Kethril shifted in his chair as if he suddenly found its seat uncomfortable. “That’s ridiculous,” he tried to laugh heartily. “Even if there were fingerprints on that mirror, how could they survive the explosion?”

Notwen’s brown face lit with a grin. “We were lucky there. You must have dropped the mirror after the explosion, and when it fell, it landed upside down on a piece of board.”

“Fascinating, Master Gnome,” Mayor Efrim said patiently—the patience of a cat waiting at a mousehole to pounce. “Please go on.”

Notwen put the glass down and picked up the plaster. “This is a mold I made of a bootprint I found in the newly dug tunnel leading to the treasury.” He held it up over his head. “As you can see I cannot positively identify the wearer of something so common, but after a number of calculations, I can tell you the person who made this print was a man, about six foot plus several inches, who weighed about two hundred pounds. This boot was worn slightly at the heel and had a slight crack across the ball of the foot. There were several other prints in the dirt that fell after the tunnel collapsed, all leading out, but this is the only one clear enough to make a mold.”

Lysandros spoke up. “To be fair, Notwen, many men besides Kethril fit the description you just gave. Is there any way to be more certain?”

“Not without the original boot,” Notwen replied. “All this does is strengthen the circumstantial evidence.”

“Which is nothing!” Kethril blurted out. “You have no clear evidence that I took that money.”

“Maybe not,” Ulin said from the back, “but I have your exact words: ‘Oh, departed gods, I don’t believe this. Flotsam. They’ll kill me.’ Now why would you say that unless you truly feared some consequence if you returned to Flotsam? According to these people, they hardly know you. Why would they want to kill you … unless they knew what you knew: that you stole their treasury?”

“Hogfeathers!” Kethril said loudly. “I haven’t been in Flotsam in years.”

“Of course you have,” Notwen said, waving the plaster mold. “You stole our taxes.”

The gambler tried to bound to his feet only to be pulled backward by the chair and his guards. “This is a frame-up! All of you are trying to prove I’m guilty to cover your own failings.”

For a blink of an eye, Ulin hesitated, slowed by a flash of doubt. Could it be possible that Kethril was right? The city council had never proved they’d had the money. What if they had blown their own treasury to hide that fact and then tried to pin it on an innocent man? After all, they had lied to Lucy several times, manipulating her into the position of sheriff and Ulin into finding Kethril Torkay. They “lost” the body of the alleged thief, hidden information from Lucy, and, except for the very real presence of Fyremantle, had proved none of their tale through anything except circumstantial evidence. What if Kethril was right?

Then Notwen said in his matter-of-fact voice, “Actually, we saw you in the Oracle Glass.”

The energy seemed to drain from Kethril Torkay before their eyes. He sagged back into his chair. “You went to see Janira?” he said softly.

Notwen nodded. Ulin watched the gnome in amused respect. He never thought Notwen would try a bluff. Technically, they hadn’t seen the image of Kethril, nor was it as specific as Notwen inferred. But if Kethril knew the red-haired woman as well as she hinted, perhaps he believed in the power of her oracle and would fall for the gnome’s small trap.

Lucy walked to Kethril, put her hands on the arms of the chair, and looked into his face. “Where’s the money? If you give it back so they can pay the dragon, I’m sure we can negotiate a fairer punishment than the noose.”

A heavy quiet settled into the common room. The fire crackled softly in the fireplace. A sea wind moaned around the roofline outside. Someone’s chair creaked when its occupant shifted slightly in the seat. Kethril sat so still that he seemed made of clay. His fingers were wrapped around one another and his handsome face looked gray.

“It’s gone,” he said at last. “I spent it.”

The words fell heavily in the silence then burst a dam of words that crashed through the room like a tidal wave. People leaped to their feet, gesticulating and shouting.

“Hang him!” Aylesworthy shouted furiously.

“Burn him at the stake!” cried the blacksmith.

“Feed him to Fyremantle! Maybe the dragon will sicken and die!”

“Do you realize what you have done?” Saorsha said to Kethril. “Fyremantle will level this town.”

Ulin moved swiftly to put himself between the prisoner and the furious Flotsamites. Lucy and the mayor gradually quieted the group and had everyone resume their seats.

Saorsha covered her face. “What do we do now?” she moaned.

“Does he know about the tunnels?” Notwen asked worriedly.

Master Aylesworthy replied, “We don’t think so, but it won’t do us much good if everything in the town is in little bits.”

Lucy looked around at the speakers. “What tunnels?”

“There is a system of tunnels and saferooms under the town where everyone goes when the dragons come,” Ulin told her.

Challie said sadly, “That’s where Pease said he was taking me.”

Lucy crossed her arms and looked disgusted. “Nice. Were you planning to tell me? Your hired sheriff?” She snorted indelicately. “Tell me again, why did you hire me?”

“For the reasons we told you,” Saorsha replied. “After the money disappeared and Fyremantle ate Sheriff Gorlain, the three of us were terrified. We had no idea how to find that much treasure. We don’t have that kind of money ourselves. So we have been collecting what we can and … I guess we hoped something would happen or someone would come who could help us with this. When you appeared with your magic and your courage and your willingness to help, we thought you were the answer to our prayers.”

“So why didn’t you tell me about all of this in the beginning?”

The old mayor lifted his hands in a small gesture. “Would you have taken the job? No, of course not. No one in their right mind would have. We were hoping that if you worked in the town for a while, you would learn to like Flotsam and its people. This place is rough and gets a little wild sometimes, but there are good people here and they need help.”

“We were going to tell you about the tunnels as soon as Ulin returned,” Aylesworthy explained, “because we don’t want you to leave us. Not yet. We have seen how well you two work together. Now that we know Torkay can’t help, you two are our only hope.”

Lucy said nothing for a moment while she studied the people in front of her. A loud voice in her mind told her to quit, to pack up and go home. Her father had been found, and her mother did not need to worry about a burial. The quest had been successful. She and Ulin could go home and resume their lives.

Not quite, said another voice in her heart. Her own personal quest was not complete. She had taken this job for reasons of her own, and the job was not yet finished.

But they lied to you, argued the first voice.

Only partially, the second voice came back. They were trying to protect their town.

And none of that changed the fact that she still wanted to do something useful. She had to admit, too, that the council’s tactic of letting her get to know Flotsam had been partially successful. While she would never want to live here, Flotsam was beginning to grow on her—kind of like a fungus. She did like the people … and they had more to fear from Fyremantle than she.

This is a red dragon they’re talking about, insisted the first voice, the nastiest, cruelest, most greedy of dragons. What do you know about fighting dragons?

Who said we had to fight it? Surely there is some way to meet its demands, or better yet, just get rid of it, said the voice of her heart.

Saorsha rose slowly to her feet. “Lucy, I don’t know how to apologize enough for our lies. We handled this badly. We didn’t mean you any harm. We just didn’t know what to do. I guess we were hoping you could give us a solution and leave before anyone got hurt. Not terribly realistic, is it?”

“No,” Lucy replied, her tone wry. “Do you have any plans at all to satisfy this dragon?”

Aylesworthy answered, “We have collected part of the tribute, but it won’t be enough. Fyremantle said he will count every coin.”

“So, you either need to find the full amount of the treasure and pay off the dragon until the next time he decides to blackmail you, or you need to figure out a way to prevent him from doing this again.” Lucy stated.

“In eleven days,” Saorsha added.

“Lucy,” Kethril said at last. “I might have an idea that will help.”

“You?” she sneered. “Why would you help? Why would you do something like this in the first place?”

He looked down at his lap, at the worn, dirty fabric of his once-fine Khurish robes. “I needed the money for a venture.”

“What venture?” Lucy snapped. “What sort of venture is worth endangering an entire town?”

He did not look up. “I did not give it that much thought, to be honest. Possible consequences to other people are not something I include in my calculations.”

“Of all the half-cocked, stupid—” someone started to say.

Lucy cut the speaker off with a sharp gesture. “Well, maybe it’s time you start thinking about it,” she said in a voice of steel. “Because I will suggest to the city council that they stake you out beside the empty boxes and leave you to explain to Fyremantle.”

Kethril blanched. “If I can help you, will the council agree to release me?”

Lucy glanced around at the elders of the city. For the first time in days she saw a gleam of hope in their faces. “Yes.”

“But how can we trust him after what he did?” Lysandros asked.

“Release him to my custody,” Ulin answered. “I have already given my word to protect him and my promise of what I will do if he tries to flee.”

“Release him?” Saorsha gasped.

Ulin put it simply. “If he stays, we can decide if his idea is valid and if he earns his reprieve. If he flees, he dies.”

The half-elf lifted his hands in a gesture of agreement. “How far can he go when the entire city is watching him?”

At a nod from the city council, the captain gestured to his men to release the prisoner. “Now, what is this idea of yours?” he asked Kethril.

“Not tonight,” Lucy said. “It’s late. Let’s get some sleep and talk about it in the morning. Meeting adjourned.” Without a glance at her father, Lucy took Ulin’s hand and led him from the room.

The others looked at one another in surprise, then in ones and twos they finished their drinks, bade farewell to Aylesworthy, and left the inn. Lysandros said something to the sirine, who giggled and took his arm. They left together. At last only Cosmo and Kethril were left with the innkeeper. Cosmo helped clean up the common room, wash the dishes, and turn out the lamps. Kethril did not move from his chair. He sat, staring into the darkest shadows until Aylesworthy cleared his throat.

“I have a room, if you want it.”

“No, just a jug of spirits.” He fumbled in his pockets until he pulled out two steel coins and flipped them on a table. “The strongest you’ve got.”

Wordlessly, the innkeeper fetched a jug and a flagon, set them on the table, and pocketed the coins. He set a lamp on the bar and left Kethril to his thoughts and his jug.

Outside the door, Ulin caught Lucy’s arm and stopped her. His golden eyes blazed with something Lucy had not seen in a long while. “You are going to stay, aren’t you?” he asked.

She tilted up her chin so she could look into those eyes. By the gods, they made her tingle all over. “Yes,” she said rather breathlessly. “I don’t know why. It’s probably suicide, but I—”

He put a finger over her lips. “That’s what I thought. Then you’d better marry me.”

She giggled softly. “I already said I would.”

“No.” He leaned close to her ear so his breath warmed her neck. “I mean tonight.”

“Tonight! That’s so soon!” A delicious heat began to spread through Lucy’s veins. Oh, praise Mishakal, it has happened, she thought. She pulled away a little and looked at him sideways. “Why tonight?”

His hands slipped around to the small of her back and pulled her close against him. “Because I want you so much it is burning me, and if we’re both going to die fighting, I want you for as long as I can.”

“We can’t get married now. It’s very late. Where would we find someone in this town to marry us? Besides, my mother and your mother would never forgive us if we married without them.”

Ulin grinned and waved at the front door. “They’d probably say it was high time.” He hugged her. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I should have asked you months ago.”

She leaned against him. “You don’t need to apologize. I understand why you waited. Besides, I am greedy. I would rather have all of your attention than share it with a ghost.”

His voice was husky in the dim light. “Well, you have it now. When I was in that cave and thought I’d never see you again … Please, marry me.”

Lucy laughed and shook her head. “Not here. I want to be married in Solace with your family and mine in attendance.”

“All right, you win.” He started to move away from her, the disappointment plain in his voice.

A giggle escaped the Sheriff of Flotsam. She pulled Ulin close again and framed his face in her hands. “We are betrothed. The wedding vows merely make the promise official.”

Ulin felt a tremble run through his body as he picked up Lucy and carried her down the hall and into his room. This was right, his body and mind had known it months ago—it had just taken his heart that long to catch up. He laid her on the bed and felt himself enveloped by the love he saw in her face. He knew from now on he would have to work very hard to make up for all the time he’d wasted.