Dragon's Bluff

18

Light and warmth and wind blew away the stink of dragon and returned the Rock to normal. Slowly, cautiously, Lucy pushed herself upright and looked down at the town. The dragon was gone. Only the lingering smoke of the burned wreck and the crushed warehouse marked his visit. Saorsha was climbing to her feet, too. She offered a hand to the elderly mayor.

Anger boiled up in Lucy’s mind. Fed by indignation and the release from a hideous fear, her temper rose to a thunderclap. Her face flamed red-hot and her hands began to shake. The turban transformed to a crown shaped of spikes and hard, angular edges. She stood on the Rock and shook her fist at the sky where the red dragon had disappeared.

Mayor Efrim tried to pat her arm, but she would have none of it. Then she saw over the mayor’s shoulder a second column of smoke rising from somewhere close to the mouth of the harbor. Her stomach lurched in fear. “Oh, no,” she cried softly. “The Second Thoughts.” Turning her back on the elders, she bolted for the road.

Saorsha sighed bitterly as she watched the young woman run over the rim and disappear. “Efrim, what are we going to do?”

The sound of the warning horn reached out across the water to the Second Thoughts just as the dolphins began their turn toward the mouth of the harbor. The first blast brought everyone to the bow to see what the trouble could be. By the time the second clarion call warned the town of an imminent arrival, they had all spotted the red dragon approaching Flotsam.

Kethril snarled a curse. After years of associating with gamblers and thieves, he knew a wide range of swear words and epithets.

Ulin, his hand raised to shade his eyes, studied the dragon a moment and said, “That’s not Malys.”

“No,” answered the sirine. “That is Fyremantle, one of Malys’s underlings. One of the most greedy and troublesome dragons she allows to live in her domain.”

“What’s he doing here? It’s too soon.”

No one answered Ulin, for at that moment they saw the dragon incinerate the fishing boat. Kethril pulled his lip thoughtfully. “Want to bet he sees this boat?”

Ulin was not slow to catch his meaning. “Not a bet I’ll take. Everyone, into the water!”

The sirine went over the railing before he finished speaking. She swam to the dolphins to warn them of the danger. Kethril quickly followed, swimming through the water after her with clean, powerful strokes. The two sea elves launched themselves into the water and disappeared.

Only Notwen stared at them in amazement. “Jump overboard?” he said, dumbfounded. “Why? I can’t leave my boat.”

“If the dragon ignores us, we’ll swim back and get it,” said Ulin, propelling the gnome toward the water.

Notwen dug in his heels. He clamped his hands around the rail and held on for the sake of his beloved boat. “But I can’t leave,” he wailed. “My engine, my charts, my instruments!”

“Are all replaceable.” Ulin tugged at him. “But you are not. Now let go!”

“The dragon won’t burn my boat. He won’t even see it down here. Look, he’s up on the Rock.”

“Quit playing around!” Kethril shouted in exasperation. “Just throw him in the water!”

“I can’t swim!” Notwen howled.

“We’ll help you,” Ulin told him. He pried loose one small hand then the other, and before Notwen knew what was happening, he sailed through the air and landed in the water with a splash. Cool saltwater surged over him. He flailed wildly, too panicked to think. His eyes bulged in terror. Then something cool and slick slid under him. A curved fin came into his hands. A long, sleek body rose beneath him and lifted him to the surface where he could breathe. He wiped the streaming water from his face and saw he was astride a dolphin, a wonderfully strong and intelligent dolphin that rolled its eye at him and made a sound like a chuckle. Notwen hugged its dorsal fin to his chest and swore a lifelong friendship to all dolphins everywhere.

Ulin came toward him pulled by another dolphin. The sirine, the two men, the gnome, and the dolphins quickly moved away from the boat and headed toward the bluffs where the afternoon shadows might give them cover from the keen eyes of the dragon. They saw him swoop from the rock and shoot like an arrow out of the harbor. They saw, too, the fiery hot lance of flame that seared from the dragon’s mouth and consumed the Second Thoughts in the blink of an eye.

Notwen closed his eyes and turned away. He could not bear to witness the death of his creation.

It was a subdued group that swam with the dolphins into the harbor and came at last to Flotsam’s small docks. The dolphins left them there and headed swiftly back to the broad waters of the bay, taking with them the sirine’s thanks and Notwen’s eternal gratitude. Ulin and Kethril climbed up to the empty dock and helped the gnome and the sirine out of the water.

The waterfront was in an uproar. People came out of hiding and formed a bucket line to fight the fire in the warehouse before it spread through the town, while others tried to clean up the blood, mashed fish, broken barrels, and smashed gear where the fishing boat had been destroyed. Relatives of the lost crew searched frantically among the pilings and debris in the hope a loved one had somehow survived. Others stood on the dock and mourned in low, wailing voices.

Ulin heard someone call his name. He felt his heart leap, and he whirled around to see Lucy racing through the crowds of people toward him. Never had he seen anyone so beautiful. His feet sprang forward of their own accord, and his arms flew wide to welcome her. He met her in a delighted collision of arms, lips, and hands that clung and touched and could not get enough. Neither one could say a word at first. It was enough to hold each other and feel the reality of their reunion.

“This had better be Lucy,” Kethril said behind them.

Ulin felt Lucy stiffen in his arms. He stood aside so she could see her father standing on the dock, the sirine beside him.

“Is it?” she asked in a voice stiff with ice. Ulin nodded.

All the anger and all the resentment of ten years combined with the tension, rage, and feelings of fear brought by the dragon formed a single brilliant explosion in Lucy’s soul. She walked to her father, her green eyes crackling, balled her fist, and punched him in the nose. “You two,” she shouted to two dockhands nearby. “Take this man to the city hall and throw him in jail.”

The sheer force of her anger and the complete surprise of her punch was enough to topple Kethril Torkay to the planks. He stared at her astounded as the two men hauled him to his feet and bound his hands behind his back. Lucy nodded once to them and stalked away into the crowd of firefighters.

The sirine laughed. “If that was my sister, I think I like her,” she commented. “Maybe she’ll talk to me.” She skipped off after Lucy.

“Come on, Notwen,” Ulin said. “We’ll go to the Jetties and wait for her. I’ll treat you to supper.”

Kethril watched the man and gnome head for the street. “Wait a minute. Where are you going?” He struggled against his bonds, but the strong dockhands merely grinned and shoved him toward the wharf.

“Supper,” Ulin called without turning around.

The gambler struggled forward and caught up with him. “Hold it, boy! You dragged me all the way to Flotsam for this? What about your promise of safe conduct?”

Ulin drew himself up to his full height and coolly cocked an eyebrow. “I’d say—considering the cost, aggravation, physical labor, and time spent getting you here—you’re lucky she didn’t cut you down on the spot. Believe me, when the townspeople find out you are here, you will be safer in the jail. I will talk to her and the city council.”

“You told me the town thought I was dead. I never imagined Lucy would come all this way to identify my body.”

Ulin was not moved. “Well, she did, and now she’s seen it. I have fulfilled my promise to her. What you do now is up to you.” He left Kethril standing on the wharf with his guards, staring morosely at some distant point only the gambler could see.

Notwen looked up at his tall friend and back at the man on the wharf. “He came rather easily, didn’t he?”

“For a man facing a noose, he came a little too easily. Maybe he has something up his sleeve besides cards. A day or two in the city jail won’t hurt him.”

“No.” Notwen brightened with his inevitable optimism. “Well, that’s good. Maybe you can help me build a new steam engine before you go.”

Ulin walked slowly, trying to adjust his long-legged pace to the gnome’s shorter legs. “Notwen, just how much do you know about that red dragon?”

“Fyremantle?” Notwen said nervously, tugging at his wet shirt. “He’s a greedy, egotistical minion of the Red Queen.”

“What was he doing here today?”

Notwen’s face paled, and he sputtered a few words before he could answer. “He probably came to remind us about the taxes. He does that sometimes just to keep us upset and frightened.”

“Will he come again before Visiting Day?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. He has to collect from other villages in this area.”

“What else do you know?” Ulin stopped and bent over so he could look at the gnome eye to eye. “You have an investigative mind, Notwen. I am certain you have studied this beast.”

“Only‌a‌little‌he‌terrifies‌me‌he‌is‌so‌big‌I‌can’t‌help‌it!” Notwen cried.

“I know,” Ulin said softly. “He terrifies me, too. But slow down and try to tell me.”

The gnome twisted his shirt into a knot. Slowly the words came out as Notwen turned his focus on his knowledge instead of his fear. “Fyremantle is over 250 feet from nose to tail. He is one of the youngest of the red dragons in this realm and one of the stupidest. I’m not sure why Malys puts up with him, except he is in terror of her. He is also greedy, cruel, obnoxious, over-bearing”—Notwen’s nervousness fell away as he warmed to his subject—“destructive and merciless. We suspect he has several lairs around this region, but no one knows where.” He paused and met Ulin’s gaze. “Do you think we can find some way to beat him?”

Ulin straightened and leveled a thoughtful gaze at the smoke from the warehouse fire still curling up to the blue sky. “It’s something to think about. We need to talk to Lucy and the city council.” He started to walk again, and Notwen had to hurry to catch up. “We’ll start at the Jetties. We can talk to Aylesworthy, change our clothes, and have some food. If I don’t eat something soon that doesn’t smell of fish, I cannot be held responsible for my actions around people who annoy me.”

The fire was nearly out in the warehouse, and the waterfront was beginning to return to normal. The people of Flotsam hated dragons, but they were used to the comings and goings of the great beasts. They faced the aftermath of a dragon visit with efficiency and resignation. Ulin guessed Lucy was in the crowds helping where she could, and knowing her as he did, he thought it better to let her work off her anger in useful labor. She would find him when she was ready to talk.

He felt a tug at his sleeve to get his attention. Notwen cleared his throat and looked rather embarrassed. “Um, Ulin, if I tell you something else, will you promise to still help me with my engine?”

Now what? Ulin thought. “If I can.”

Notwen ground a toe in the dirt. “Well, there are these … no, come with me. It’s time you knew about the underground.” He took Ulin’s sleeve and tugged him away from the docks.

Ulin’s eyes narrowed. More secrets? Wordlessly, he followed Notwen toward an old, weather-worn, two-story inn by the road that ran parallel to the wharf. The inn had a stone face of rough-cut granite pitted and patched from years of hard use and a wide porch where the regulars liked to sit to watch the boats in the harbor. A swinging sign over the door identified the inn as the Brown Pelican.

No one sat on the porch that afternoon, and the swinging doors were closed and barred. Notwen glanced in a window then trotted around to a side door that opened easily under his hand. He took Ulin through the empty common room, down a flight of stairs to the basement, and into a storeroom similar to the one in the Jetties.

Ulin was not surprised when an entire rack of wine bottles swung neatly out from the wall and a man wearing a bartender’s apron walked through the opening into the room. What startled him were the dozen or so men, a few women, and two children who followed the innkeeper. Everyone nodded or waved to Notwen and welcomed him back. Several greeted Ulin as they passed.

The innkeeper stepped aside to let the others pass. “Notwen, what’s happening up top? My boy says one of the warehouses is on fire. Is the dragon gone?”

“Burned to the ground,” Notwen said sadly, “and two fishing boats, too. Fyremantle left a little while ago.”

“Blasted worm. Wish someone would do something about him. He’s more of a pest than Malys these days.” The innkeeper shook his head with the resignation born of years of disaster. “Oh, well. Say, he didn’t eat the sheriff this time did he? I kinda like her.”

“No,” Ulin replied dryly. “She’s on the wharf fighting the fire.”

“Good for her. Glad to see a little dragon trouble won’t put her off. Come back sometime, and I’ll give you an ale on the house.” He waved jovially and went upstairs to reopen his tavern.

“That dragon killed the previous sheriff?” Ulin asked with deceptive coolness.

The gnome scooted into the opening. “Yes,” his voice trailed up from a long, narrow staircase.

Gritting his teeth to contain his annoyance, the young man hurried after him. He had to duck his head in the staircase to keep from cracking his skull on the low ceiling. Rough-hewn stones served as stairs in the passage down, but there were no handrails. The only light came from two oil lamps set in niches in the wall.

Notwen waited for him at the bottom of the stairs, two lanterns in his hands. He handed one to Ulin. “This is one of our safe rooms.” He held up his lantern so Ulin could see. “We have rooms like this under many of the inns, the city hall, three of the shops, and several other buildings—usually the ones that have survived for many years.”

Ulin walked slowly around the room, letting his curiosity take over from his anger for a few minutes. The room was floored with stone and walled with something that looked like stucco. It was not spacious, but it looked big enough to hold twenty or thirty people in a pinch. It had some benches against the wall and shelves that held candles, more lanterns, jugs of water, and other odds and ends. The air was cool and very damp, and Ulin caught the strong smell of mildew.

“Come on this way,” Notwen called. He went to a stone door at the opposite end of the room and pushed it open. “These can be barred in an emergency,” he explained to Ulin. “It leads to what used to be the old sewer system.” He trotted into a tunnel that stretched out before him and vanished into impenetrable darkness. Ulin followed more carefully, for his lanky height did not fit as well as the gnome’s in the low stone passage. The smell of damp and rot was stronger here, and stagnant puddles covered parts of the floor.

When Ulin’s hand touched the walls, his fingers came away slick and wet.

“There’s a lot of water down here,” he commented.

Notwen glanced back, his face pale in the weak light. “Seepage. We’re very close to the harbor here, and I haven’t found anything yet that will stop the moisture from coming in. Here the problem is water. At the other end of town, it’s sand.”

Ulin’s mind went back to some of his journeys—to Palanthas, to Sanction—and a distant memory surfaced to brighten his thoughts. “Have you tried concrete?”

Notwen’s ears perked up, and he slowed until he was walking beside Ulin. “Yes, but I could never get a mix I liked. It either cracked or wouldn’t stay in place.”

“In Sanction the dwarves used a mix to line a cistern. Maybe that would help you.”

“Oh! Do you remember what it was?” Notwen asked eagerly. “Did it have any special ingredients or spells or something?”

Ulin laughed, and his voice echoed down the long tunnel. “No. No spells. Only good common sense and some useful ingredients. Can you get some volcanic ash?”

“Ash? Of course! What a wonderful idea!”

They continued along the tunnel discussing combinations of sand, lime, and ash and the chemical wonders of concrete. The old sewer ran straight and true and was joined or bisected by other tunnels, some as old as the original system, some newer and in better condition. They did not meet anyone else, but Ulin saw many signs of recent traffic, including footprints, a broken bottle, and a dropped loaf of bread.

“Where do all these tunnels go?” he asked Notwen when the subject of concrete had been thoroughly covered.

“They run under Flotsam and connect most of the safe rooms. Any time a dragon appears, most of the people come underground. It’s the only way this town has survived. We have storerooms and an armory and even a place for a few animals.” He broke off, took a deep breath then went on. “These were the tunnels the thieves used to reach the treasury. They expanded one near the city hall and went that way to move the boxes.”

Ulin felt his anger stir again. “Were you ever going to tell us about this, or was the council just going let Lucy take her chances with a dragon?”

Notwen sighed. “I’m sorry, Ulin. Really. We would have brought you down here if it was necessary. Unfortunately, we have to be really careful. The people around here know these tunnels are our only chance, but outsiders don’t. If Malys found out about this, she would blow this town apart.”

Ulin grudgingly accepted that. He knew the red dragon well enough to realize Notwen was right. “So what happened to the previous sheriff?”

The gnome tugged at his beard and did not answer at first. Finally, he told Ulin. “Fyremantle took exception to something he said and ate him. It was too bad, really. Sheriff Gorlain was a nice man.”

“What did the man say exactly?”

“I think it was ‘Fat chance.’ ”

“I’ll remind Lucy not to say that.”

The tunnel came to a junction. Notwen turned right and went down a short passage that ended at another stout door. When he opened it, Ulin discovered they had come to the secret room beneath the Jetties. The room was empty, so they climbed through the barrel into the storeroom and went upstairs to the kitchen. That room was empty, too, although a fire burned in the stove and pots hung over the gleaming coals.

Ulin and Notwen suddenly stiffened, for they heard what sounded like wails. Soft rending cries and hard voices filtered through the door and goaded them onward. Notwen yanked opened the kitchen door. Together they ran toward the common room where the sounds were emanating.

In disbelief they saw Bridget prostrate on the floor, her body racked with uncontrollable grief that tore out of her throat in unending cries of heartbreak. Aylesworthy and Cosmo knelt beside her trying vainly to comfort her. Challie sat in a chair close by, her shoulders slumped and her clothes filthy with mud, smokestains, and what looked like blood. She glanced up when Ulin and Notwen came in, and her usually dour expression crumpled into unaccustomed tears.

“He’s dead,” she said dully. “Pease is dead.”