Dragon's Bluff

7

Lucy would not have considered going to the common room that night if it hadn’t been for Saorsha’s odd invitation. She felt terrible, and in spite of Bridget’s cool compresses and poultices, her face had swollen like an overripe melon. Whatever attractive qualities she had were now lost in the bruised and puffy flesh that covered the right side of her face. Yet she could not forget the searching look in Saorsha’s eyes and the invitation to play a game downstairs. As far as she could tell, the inn had no downstairs.

Ulin was not enthused about her going. He was still shaken by their mishap and the extent of their injuries. He laughed at her description of the hot potato spell, but he could not help feeling helpless and angry when he thought of Lucy and Challie at the mercy of four brutal ruffians.

Both accepted the assumption that the invitation was not about a game of cards. The people involved were the same ones the kender mentioned as members of the underground Vigilance Committee. The question in both their minds was why Saorsha wanted Lucy to attend. They agreed to eat in their rooms, and if the Committee wanted Lucy, someone could tell her when and where, and they would attend together.

Ulin passed on their request to Pease. The kender soon returned with a tray of food and wine and a large hourglass.

In a blink or two the table was laid. There was hot soup, cold meats, half a ripe cheese, and biscuits—plain food, but tasty and nourishing. Pease set out more candles, lit lamps, and set the hourglass on a low table.

“Turn the glass twice,” he instructed them, “then, if you please, Madam Saorsha and Master Aylesworthy beg the courtesy of your presence for a game. I will come get you.” He bobbed his head and hurried away.

Ulin speared some meat onto his plate. “Did she give any reason why she wanted you?” he asked for the third or fourth time.

“No,” Lucy replied patiently. She poured a glass of wine and sipped it. “She just invited me to play Dragon’s Bluff.”

“That’s a high stakes game,” he mused. “It requires strategy, skill, and some deception to win. I wonder what they’re up to.”

The two hours that followed seemed long and dreadfully slow. Ulin and Lucy ate a leisurely meal and talked while the sand trickled down and the evening turned to full night. When at last the top of the hourglass was empty, Pease knocked quietly on their door. Lucy unbound her hair and let the heavy chestnut locks fall across her battered face. Taking Ulin’s arm, she walked with him to the door and down the corridor behind the kender.

Silently—for once—Pease led them through a small hallway and into the kitchen. His mother glanced up from her place by a low stove and nodded to them. They filed quickly through a door and descended down a wooden staircase into the cellar filled with barrels of ale, racks of wine, and a large cooler. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the room were lined with stone, which helped to cool the underground room and provide some protection from fire above.

Of course this place would have a cellar, Lucy thought. Is this the downstairs Saorsha referred to? She rubbed her sore neck and looked around, but she saw no one else.

Pease came to a stop by a large barrel resting on a stand against the far wall. “Here. We go through here,” he said happily. He pried off the round lid and pointed into the interior.

“You first,” Ulin said.

The kender agreeably crawled in on hands and knees and disappeared into the darkness. Ulin and Lucy could hear the numerous pouches on his belt jingle and rattle as he moved, then they heard a thump and his voice called back, “Come on! It’s easy!”

“It’s easy for you to say,” Lucy grumbled as she worked her way into the barrel. She wondered if there wasn’t another, easier way to get where they were going, for while the barrel and the tunnel behind were barely large enough for the two humans, she could not imagine the stout Master Aylesworthy hauling his frame through there.

The round tunnel passed through the wall and went straight for several yards before it ended in another darkened chamber. As soon as Ulin and Lucy climbed out, Pease carefully closed the exit with another wooden cover.

“It’s shut,” he said aloud.

A lantern was uncovered, and a dim light filled the room. A table, four straight chairs, and three people were all that could be seen. The chamber was utilitarian and unadorned.

“Thank you for coming,” said Saorsha. She gestured to her companions, Lysandros and Geoff Aylesworthy. “You know my friends.”

Ulin studied each one in turn. “You are the Vigilance Committee.”

“All the ones you will meet tonight,” Lysandros replied. “Have a seat.” He sat down in the dealer’s position, spread out a game board, and began to shuffle a deck of cards.

Saorsha and the innkeeper took their places at the table, leaving only one seat. Ulin held it for Lucy then stood like a silent sentinel at her back, his golden eyes hooded in shadow and his face unreadable.

“You know how to play?” Captain Fox asked.

Lucy crossed her arms and studied the board. Dragon’s Bluff was a complicated game involving cards, a game board with marked spaces, dice, and markers. In the center of the board, she was interested to see a red dragon figure perched on the winner’s space marked LAIR. There were several variations of the game using either good or evil dragons. The object of the game was to steal the dragon’s treasure while either “killing” or outwitting your opponents without being eliminated yourself. The red dragon was the most difficult dragon to defeat.

“Seven cards to a player,” she replied at last. “High cards take the tricks and move the markers forward. Bets on all hands. Winner takes all.”

“Ah, her father’s own,” Lysandros joked.

“No, I am not,” she said, her voice cold and deliberate. “You brought me down here to play this game. Tell me why.”

The captain winked and dealt the seven cards to each player. “Kings are high and dragons wild. The stakes are set at ten silver coins apiece.” He flipped a card over from the dealer’s pile. “Ah, the suit of hearts is trump. Players, pick your markers and place your bets.”

Aylesworthy made the first play, and the game commenced. Unwillingly, Lucy joined in, hoping they would explain themselves sooner or later. She flubbed the first two hands out of sheer irritation, leaving her silver marker sitting in the start box, but soon she settled down and began to play with a vengeance. Her marker moved steadily toward the dragon’s lair. Her pile of coins gradually increased from a stack to an impressive pile, until one by one her opponents were forced to drop out of the game.

During the last few hands only Lysandros remained. He played his cards carefully and trumped her enough to move his marker and win back several coins. Lucy said little. She sat perched on the edge of her chair and watched him steadily with her one eye through the strands of her long hair.

While the game continued, Saorsha studied Lucy like a master studying a prospective apprentice. When Lucy finally slapped her cards down and took all of the Fox’s coins, a slow smile of satisfaction spread across her worn face.

“Now,” Lucy said forcefully. “I have played your game.” She knocked the little red dragon from its lair and placed her marker on the winner’s place. “Tell me what you want or we will leave this moment.” Using the hem of her tunic for a pouch, she scooped up the pile of coins and rose to her feet.

Saorsha folded her hands on the table in front of her and glanced at the two men. Both gave her a brief nod. “You must think this whole thing is rather silly,” she said to Lucy. “Actually, we use this game as a test.”

The captain crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Dragon’s Bluff is not only a good measurement of an opponent’s concentration and determination, but it is also long. The game gives Saorsha here time to put her abilities to the best use.”

Both Ulin and Lucy looked at the old woman warily. “What sort of abilities?” Ulin asked.

Quiet pride filled Saorsha’s face. “I was born with a natural talent to read a person’s character. The only drawback is I cannot see through a person’s façade in the first few minutes. I need to be close to sense the good or evil, the compassion or hatreds, the fears and strengths that lie in a person’s mind. Oh, don’t worry,” she assured them. “I cannot read thoughts. I only see images of someone’s spiritual aura.”

Ulin frowned. “You’re a Sensitive? Did you ever train as a mage or a mystic?”

“I was a legionnaire, a calling I excelled at. The Legion appreciated my skill, but its leaders knew I did not have a strong enough talent or the self-discipline to wield magic. I preferred helping people in my own way.”

Lucy felt for the chair behind her and sat down again. “So what is your point to this?”

“We would like to offer you a job, young woman,” Aylesworthy said.

“What?” Lucy and Ulin spoke together. Neither one had expected this.

Lucy pushed her hair back. She was so taken aback by their intentions that she did not know what to say first.

“You are exactly what we need,” Saorsha told her. “Compassionate, strong, determined.”

Lucy’s lips tightened to a thin line. “So is Ulin. Why didn’t you ask him?”

The councilwoman smiled gently at Ulin without a hint of disappointment or condescension. “He is as you say and more, but his strengths are in a flux at the moment, while you have the advantage of a powerful reputation already in place that will work for you even when the magic fails.”

A start of surprise jolted through Lucy. “You know about the potatoes?”

“I watched you today in the market. I saw a look of annoyance flash across your face when you realized the spell had not worked, yet you did not quit. You bluffed your way through and won.”

Lucy looked at the cards still spread across the table. “Like this game.” She blew out a breath of air. “What do you have in mind?”

Lysandros moved forward to rest his elbows on the table. “We would like you to be our sheriff.”

Mutual shock stilled the words in both Lucy and Ulin. They stared as if the woman and the two men had taken a sudden and complete leave of their senses. No one said a word through a long and pregnant silence.

Ulin was the first to speak. “That’s impossible. We did not come here to stay.”

Lucy stood up again. “I came to identify my father’s body. We intend to leave the moment I have seen him.”

“Lucy, please, just listen,” Saorsha implored. “You have seen how much we need help! This need only be temporary. Just a few weeks at best. Until after the Visiting Day festival next month. The tax collector is coming to collect our tribute to the red dragon, and it is always chaotic, for the kender have their picnic and the “Hiyahowareya” gathering, and the riffraff always get drunk. The citizens resent the taxes, and”—she threw up her hands—“we need someone to keep the peace, to calm things down, to get the collector and his unit of Dark Knights out of here with a minimum of fuss.”

“We will pay you handsomely,” Aylesworthy added.

“And do everything in our power to help,” said Lysandros.

Lucy clutched her tunic with its hoard of coins and stepped away from the table closer to Ulin. “Thank you for your confidence in me, but the answer is no.”

“You don’t have to decide now,” the old woman pleaded. “Think about it.”

The captain echoed her sentiments. “Please consider our offer. We need you.”

The lantern light shone gold in Ulin’s eyes as he turned his head to face the half-elf. “Why don’t you do it?”

Lysandros flashed a roguish grin. “I am too well known. When the Dark Knights come, I hide.”

“What he’s saying,” Aylesworthy rumbled, “is there is a price on his head.”

Ulin thought of his father in the brutal hands of the Dark Knights and stifled a shudder. “I understand your danger,” he said to the captain, “and it is not one I wish on Lucy. She said no, and I agree.”

Saorsha, Aylesworthy, and Lysandros traded looks of resignation.

Pease Stubbletoes stepped out of a corner where he had been sitting and watching. He had been so quiet that Ulin and Lucy forgot he was there. “Shall I take them back?” he asked the Committee.

At their affirmative reply, he took Lucy’s hand and led her back to the round hole in the wall. Ulin followed more slowly. Just before he ducked into the exit, he turned and regarded the three Committee members. “We plan to leave whether you produce a body or not,” he said, his voice filled with steel. “I don’t want Lucy mixed up in this.” Then he vanished into the darkness.

The small chamber was quiet for a few minutes before Saorsha sighed and climbed stiffly to her feet. “Well, it was worth a try. She has such potential.”

Aylesworthy glowered at his empty purse. “It was an expensive try.”

Lysandros’s chuckle drew their attention. “We’ve come too far to give up on her yet.” He held up his left arm and shook it until a flat piece of paper slipped out of his jacket and fell to the table. It was a dragon card from the deck they used. “We still have that other card up our sleeves we can play.”

“But will she take it?”

“The gods willing and the creeks don’t rise,” Lysandros replied, using an old expression.

Aylesworthy shrugged. “We have nothing to lose.”

“Then do it,” Saorsha ordered, and she blew out the lantern.

“Where is it?”

The question, shouted at the top of dwarven lungs, jolted Lucy wide awake. Loud thumps, strange bangs, and a steady muttering of a very annoyed voice echoed through the wall from the next room. Lucy pried one eye open and rolled over on the bed.

“Challie!” she demanded loudly. “What in the name of the absent gods are you doing?”

More thumps, a few scrapes, and the sound of furniture being shoved around the room sounded through the wall.

“Oh, did I wake you?” Challie shouted. “Sorry.” She did not sound contrite in the least. The noises suddenly stilled, and from the hall came the crash of a door being flung open hard enough to hit the wall. “Pease! You sticky-fingered little son of an orc! Where are you?” Her footsteps thudded away.

Lucy rubbed her stiff neck and climbed very slowly out of bed. She dressed in a clean tunic and her favorite pair of baggy Khurish pants. During the fight the day before, she must have pulled muscles in her neck and shoulder, for any movement there sent fiery pain shooting through her back and head.

She was trying vainly to pull on her boots when Ulin knocked at her door and came in. He looked as tired as she felt, and she wondered if he had slept at all that night. Recognizing Lucy’s difficulty, he hurried to her and helped pull on the boots.

Voices echoed down the hallway, and footsteps pounded toward the room. Challie barged in, a kender in her right hand.

“Where is it?” she shouted, giving Pease a shake. A red flush stained her cheeks, and her brown eyes were thunderous. “Tell me you took it!”

Pease turned a wide, innocent face to her. “Took what?” he squeaked.

“My axe, you dunderhead. The silver one. It was my father’s. It’s missing, and you probably took it.”

Pease’s bewildered sense of innocence was plain, but that meant little in a kender. The small kender were blessed with a lighthearted nature and a childlike spirit and cursed, some said, with an inability to take things seriously and a tendency to acquire things that did not belong to them. They did not steal—never steal—yet small items had a tendency to disappear, only to reappear later in a kender’s pouch or pocket or box of personal treasures. Kender liked to borrow things or save them for later or simply have them to admire, and if asked they would always return what they borrowed or offer it as a gift. The dour, serious-minded dwarves found kender irritating to say the least, but few people had the strength to stay mad at a kender for long.

Challie was no exception. She knew anger was not really effective against kender, so she drew a deep breath to calm down and changed her tactics. She let go of Pease’s collar and said in her politest voice, “It’s my favorite axe. About as long as my arm with a head of bright steel and a silver haft. I would really like it back.”

Pease scratched his forehead and shrugged. His face scrunched up in thought. Challie crossed her arms, and her foot began to tap the floor.

All at once his face burst into a brilliant smile. “I don’t know about your axe, Challie, but I have one like it. I’ll show you.” He bolted out of the room.

“I thought you might,” Challie said.

They only had to wait a few minutes before Pease came running back. “It’s my bestest best axe, Challie, and I want you to have it,” he said.

She took her father’s axe out of his hands. Biting back several harsh comments, she managed to thank him with a modicum of grace as she fastened the axe to her belt. “Now,” she said. “How about a noon meal for Lucy?” She shooed him out the door.

Lucy straightened. “Noon? I slept until noon?” She went to the open window and saw the truth of Challie’s words. The sun was directly overhead. A warm breeze wavered over the roofs of the town and stirred dust devils in the streets. The road in front of the inn was nearly deserted except for a pair of donkeys laden with broom brush, a few pedestrians, and someone running headlong toward the inn. A pensive Lucy stuck her head out the window for a better view. The runner looked familiar. He raced to the inn’s front walk, skidded onto the walkway, and vanished through the front door.

“Ulin, I think something’s happened,” she said.

“I’m not surprised. We can’t seem to get through a day here without some incident.”

The runner, one of the men who had ridden with the Silver Fox to help the caravan, hurried to their room, his face sweating and red. “Please come, Sorceress. Mayor Efrim asks for you.”

“Is it important?” Ulin demanded. “She is not recovered from yesterday.”

The messenger saw her bruises and her swollen black eye and winced, but he did not leave. “It is the burial detail. They had some trouble, but they found the body.”

“The gods be praised, they have a body,” Ulin muttered. Belatedly he looked at Lucy and saw the tension in her eyes. He bit back the next sarcastic remark and subsided into a more supportive silence.

“All right, I’ll come.” Lucy pulled out her burnoose and wound it loosely around her head so that part of it encircled her face like a veil. Followed by Ulin and Challie, she hurried after the messenger.

The man led them outside into the noon heat and trotted rapidly north past the marketplace and around the harbor to the old barracks. By the time they arrived, Challie was limping again and Lucy’s head throbbed with fatigue and the pain of yesterday’s injury.

“What’s the hurry? The man’s dead!” Ulin snapped to the messenger as he helped the women sit down on the stone steps of the city hall. “Why didn’t you tell us we had to come this far? They could have ridden the horse.”

“A thousand apologies,” the man said, looking contrite. “I did not know you had a horse.” He hurried indoors and soon returned with Mayor Efrim and a pitcher of water.

The mayor poured the water into cups for the three. “I’m sorry, Lucy,” he said, handing her a cup. “I didn’t realize you were feeling ill.”

“She wasn’t until now,” Ulin replied, since Lucy was too busy drinking water to answer for herself.

The mayor flapped a hand, his seamed face deeply concerned. “I do apologize. The men we sent to retrieve the body ran into a spot of trouble. Two were injured, and this was as far as they could go. Actually, I was hoping one of you had training as a healer.”

Lucy stared over the rim of her cup. “What sort of trouble?”

“Do you mean this town doesn’t have a healer?” Ulin said at the same time.

The mayor shrugged his thin shoulders and tried to answer both questions. “A couple of hobgoblins, early this morning. Unusual this close to town. And not anymore. The best we can do is a midwife or Notwen.”

“Notwen? The gnome?” Ulin exclaimed. “You’re joking.” He considered gnomes to be a nuisance at best, a menace at worst. One with a desire to practice first aid sounded truly frightening.

“Not really. Notwen is not your average gnome. He tinkers with everything. One month it’s machinery, the next it’s construction, the next it’s alchemy. This month it happens to be healing. He’s had no training, but he tries.”

“Where are your men?” Lucy asked.

“Inside. They came from the north road and made it this far.”

Everyone trooped inside. The double doors opened into a wide corridor that passed a short row of offices on either side and led into a large hall. The hall had been recently renovated, but even new roof rafters, some bright wall hangings, and a thorough scrubbing could not completely remove the scorch marks of an old fire or camouflage the smell of fire-heated stone. A long table sat in the middle of the room near a huge fireplace that was empty and cold. Daylight gleamed through long, slender windows on the north side of the hall.

The four diggers of the burial party were by the table. One sat on a high-backed chair, one lay on his back on the floor, and two stood by a wrapped bundle, the length and width of a human, laying at one end of the long table.

“I sent for the rest of the council,” Mayor Efrim told them. “They should be here any moment.”

Lucy and Ulin spared only a glance for the corpse as they hurried to the wounded men. The man in the chair, an old Khur by his swarthy skin and black hair, held his hand clamped over his face. His teeth were clenched shut and sweat stood out on his skin. His other hand gripped the armrest of his chair with a strength that could have torn the chair to pieces if he’d tried. A long, bloody gash stretched from his wrist to his elbow and went through the muscle almost to the bone. Beside him stood Notwen.

Notwen held a steel needle and a long trailing length of thread in one hand, and with the other ran his finger along a line of text in a huge tome that lay open on the table beside him. He read a few lines, nodded, and stabbed the needle into the man’s arm. Despite the man’s clenched teeth, a whimper of pain escaped him.

Ulin stared at the gnome, aghast. He had been forced to learn rudimentary healing techniques on his journeys, but he had never seen anyone try to stitch a gash with three feet of thread and no notion about what they were doing. He jumped forward and snatched the gnome’s hand from the needle. “What in the name of Mishakal do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

The Khur started like a wild horse. His eyes flew open and he stared pleadingly at the mayor.

Notwen gazed up at Ulin through a pair of large spectacles perched on his wide nose. His blue eyes were intent and filled with concern. “Oh, are you a healer? Could you help? I am trying to learn the basic skills of first aid, and no one around here is willing to show me. I have this book I found in my library, but it’s so much easier to learn through hands-on experience, don’t you think?”

“Unless you happen to be the patient,” Ulin pointed out.

The Khur nodded his agreement.

The gnome stroked his beard. “True. I guess it’s fortunate that one was passed out.”

Ulin and Lucy took a close look at the unconscious man on the floor. His pant’s leg had been cut away to expose a laceration on his upper thigh, probably caused by a slash from a sword. The wound hadn’t been bandaged yet, and in its present condition, Ulin doubted it could be. The gnome had stitched it closed, and while his unpracticed stitches were close enough together, he had tied them off in a tangled weave of knots and ornate bows the likes of which Ulin had never seen.

“Could you redo these knots?” he whispered to Lucy. “I’ll try to help the Khur.”

She nodded, her expression struggling between sympathy and laughter. She beckoned to Challie, and they put their heads together over the prostrate man.

Ulin turned back to the gnome and the Khur. Patiently, he showed Notwen how to cut a workable piece of thread, wash the needle in strong alcohol, and clean the wound.

The gnome watched avidly and did his best to help. While he worked, he talked in a fast, enthusiastic stream of comments and questions. “This book says to use horse hair in an emergency, but there weren’t any horses nearby, so I used this thread we make from cotton. Can you really use spider webs to stop bleeding? And marigolds to make an astringent? Why are you stitching his muscle together before you stitch the skin? Do you make bows, too? Do you need some wound powder? I made some following a recipe in this book. It called for the mold on old bread. It’s supposed to stop infection. Have you ever trained with the Mystics? Do you know how to use the power of the heart? I don’t, but I’d like to try.”

Ulin tried to follow his monologue and answer questions when he could, but after a while he lost track of the gnome’s endless conversation and focused on the Khur’s arm. The wound had been bound shortly after it happened and there was little swelling to worry about. The skin went back together fairly well. By the time he was finished, he thought the Khur would have a scar but would retain most of the use of his muscle—as long as the hobgoblin’s weapon that caused the slash was not poisoned.

When he finally sat up and cut the last knot, the Khur sighed with relief. “Thank you, Friend of Sorceress. You have my lasting gratitude.”

Ulin laid the needle down. “It should heal well,” he said. “There was little swelling.”

“How fascinating!” murmured Notwen, peering closely at the closed wound. “If it does become gangrenous, will you allow me to watch the amputation?”

The Khur’s groan was lost in a commotion at the entrance. Saorsha and Geoff Aylesworthy arrived at the same time, both breathless and agitated. The innkeeper was dusty from a hurried ride back to town from his small brewery. The elderly woman still wore an apron and smears of flour from her baking. Their eyes went directly to the wrapped body on the table, then they huddled with Mayor Efrim in a close, fast-talking group. Challie joined them.

Ulin and Lucy wiped their hands clean. They exchanged a brief, searching gaze of silent support, then Lucy clutched the small knife she had used to cut the thread for the stitches and walked down the length of the table to stand by the silent form lying so still in its dirty shroud. The two quiet guardians inclined their heads to her and backed away to a respectful distance, leaving room for Ulin. The council fell quiet, staring at Lucy with an obvious intensity.

Ulin watched Lucy’s hand poised over the cords that bound the chest. He glanced up and saw with a start of surprise they had a much larger audience than he expected. People in twos and threes slipped in the door and gathered quietly around the room. He recognized members of the Vigilance Force, the blacksmith, and people from the market and the common room at the Jetties. Apparently, quite a few people in Flotsam wished to see if Lucy recognized this corpse. He returned his gaze to Lucy and saw her hands shaking.

Notwen trotted up beside her, his small face alive with interest, and he climbed up on a chair to see better. “It’s all right, Miss Lucy,” he said soothingly. “The body still stinks, doesn’t it? But it should still be identifiable. He died from the force of the explosion before the fire.”

Ulin stiffened in his place by the table. “No one said anything about an explosion.”

The room remained breathlessly silent.

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, and as Ulin opened his mouth to say something more, she forestalled him with a quick slash of her knife against the binding cord. “Let’s see who this is, then we’ll ask the questions,” she said.

Ulin subsided back into his watchful pose while Notwen leaned forward to help Lucy. Together the gnome and the woman severed the ropes and unwrapped the rotten stained strips of cloth that encased the body.

Notwen was right. The body stank. Four winter months in the desert sand had not been enough to completely desiccate it or deter the worms and insects drawn to the smell of decaying flesh. By the time Lucy reached the last layer of foul cotton next to the corpse, everyone in the room wished the dead man had been left outside.

Lucy’s full lips curved in a grimace of disgust. Ulin scarcely breathed.

“Look at that!” Notwen said brightly. “The worms burrowed into his eye sockets, but what’s left of the face is intact.”

Challie appeared at Lucy’s side and thrust a mug in her hand. Lucy caught the smell of wine, rich and red, and she took the mug gratefully and downed the contents in one long swallow, hoping the wine would soothe her stomach before she embarrassed herself in front of the townspeople. She took a firm grip on her resolve and looked carefully at the sunken face of the corpse.

The spectators held a collective breath.

Ulin held himself very still as he watched Lucy pull away the shroud from the shoulders, arms, and torso of the body. From what little Ulin knew or guessed about Kethril Torkay, the corpse appeared to be a close match. It was a human male, white-skinned, about six feet in height, with light brown hair liberally sprinkled with gray, and a creased face with a close-cropped beard. The explosion that had killed the man had apparently blown behind him, for the back of his skull was crushed and flattened. The nose and much of the flesh on the forehead, cheekbones, and chin was eaten or burned away, and the man’s clothes showed tears and scorch marks. Would it be enough?

Ulin could see the intense concentration on Lucy’s pale, battered face, and he recognized a momentary flash of indecision. He wondered what would she say. Was this her father? Did she know for sure? He knew she would not lie, even for the inheritance. Lucy had more integrity than most people, but could she be certain one way or another? Gripping his hands behind his back, he looked on while she lifted the body’s arms and studied each hand. She carefully laid the limbs back in place, covered the corpse again, and moved away. He accompanied her, with Challie and Notwen, as she approached the city council.

“That is not my father. I don’t know who you have or why you thought it was Kethril, but it is not he.” Her words were strong and clear, and to Ulin, sounded slightly relieved.

The hall erupted with dozens of voices talking and shouting all at once.

“Are you certain?” Mayor Efrim asked over the noise.

“Very. I know my father was born with a stunted forefinger on his left hand. He always wore gloves to disguise it, but his family knew. That body has normal finger bones.”

The old mayor sighed deeply and collapsed into a chair. Aylesworthy turned pale under his tan, and even Challie and Notwen shared expressions of concern and dismay. Saorsha sat beside the mayor, her face buried in her hands.

Lucy and Ulin glanced at each other in surprise. They expected disappointment, but the loud, angry voices from the crowd and the obvious despair on the faces of the council went beyond mere thwarted desire for a dead man’s estate.

“What is going on?” Ulin demanded. “This is more than an accidental death by fire and an unclaimed inheritance. What are you people trying to do?”

Noise from the onlookers subsided as the townspeople waited for their council to respond. For once Notwen was quiet, and it was Challie who finally explained the truth.

“We really did not know if that was Kethril Torkay. We only know him by reputation around here. Even now, I don’t know if we should be pleased or frightened out of our wits that this is not he.” The magistrate stood before them, her arms crossed, her face stonily professional. “The accident happened last winter during an attempted robbery. We don’t know exactly who was involved besides Kethril, but we do know they managed to steal most of the contents of our city treasury before the mishap.”

Lucy’s face paled then grew hot. She knew her father was underhanded and self-centered, but she never thought he would stoop to robbing an entire town.

“How do you know he was involved?” she asked.

“One of his cohorts identified him as the ringleader. Unfortunately, that thief died from his injuries sustained in the fire.” Challie crossed her arms and added, “The explosion was not intentional.”

Ulin cleared his throat. “I understand,” he said, “Your anger and concern with the robbery and your desire to identify this body. But surely there are people in that town you mentioned—Dead Pirate’s Cove—who could have known Torkay missed part of his finger. Why did you have to bring us all the way from Solace?”

Saorsha sighed deeply and, with an effort, pushed herself to her feet. She straightened her back and faced Lucy and Ulin. “There probably are people there who know Kethril that well, but we need more than someone to identify him. We need help.”

Ulin did not like the sound of that. There were too many nuances, too many possible things that could go wrong in those three simple words. His gold eyes darkened under his lowered brows.

Challie read his expression correctly and took up the tale in her cool, unemotional tone. “The money stolen was the collected taxes and tribute due to our overlord, Malys, money that will soon be collected by her tax collector, the red dragon known as Fyremantle.”

Ulin’s brows dropped into a deep frown. “Another red dragon.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Challie confirmed. “He is one of Malys’s underlings. If he doesn’t destroy the town, Malys will—unless we pay the tribute.”

“When are the taxes due?” Lucy wanted to know.

“In three weeks. On—”

The date clicked into place in the puzzle of the conversation Lucy had had with the Committee two nights before. “On Visiting Day,” she said, cutting off the dwarf.

“Yes,” Saorsha sighed. “That is our annual tax day.”

Ulin felt the spectre of disaster looming over his shoulder. He thought he had a very good idea where this conversation was leading and it made his stomach crawl. “Do you have the amount due?” he asked quietly.

Saorsha said, “Of course not. Oh, we have the taxes from the last four months but it is not nearly enough to make up for the missing funds. This is not a prosperous town. We scrimped and saved for eight months just to put together the amount demanded by the Overlord.”

Lucy looked horrified. “That’s why you wanted me to be sheriff? To face Malys and tell her you don’t have the taxes?”

“Oh, the gods forbid, no, Miss Lucy!” Mayor Efrim climbed to his feet. “As Saorsha said, we really do need help. We just thought … we hoped … if this wasn’t your father, maybe you would be decent enough to help us find him. We still have three weeks. If we could find him or the stolen funds, we could still make our deadline.”

“How do you know if the daughter of Kethril Torkay is decent enough? How do you know I might be willing, or even capable enough, to help you? How did you know he even has a family?” Lucy demanded, her voice rising. Her good eye turned that stormy shade of green Ulin had learned to respect.

The council members looked at one another in resignation. “When we heard from a good friend of Kethril’s that he had a grown daughter in the Academy of Sorcery, we had Challie check into it,” Mayor Efrim replied. “We are desperate, Miss Lucy. We are willing to go to any lengths to save this town.”

A silence settled over the group. Lucy stood too stunned to say more. No one moved. Only Notwen shifted from foot to foot and watched the scene with fascinated eyes.

Lucy finally wavered and dropped into another empty chair. “Ulin,” she said wearily, “what do we do now?”