Three long, busy days passed in Flotsam while the townspeople sweated and worked to prepare for Visiting Day and the arrival of the dragon. Only seven days were left, and there was still no sign of Notwen’s boat and the treasure seekers—not that Lucy really expected them back this soon. Notwen had told her the trip to the Point would take a day by the new steamboat, so she was counting on seeing Ulin and his company late on the fourth day. But that knowledge did not make the waiting much easier. Too many things could go wrong. What if Fyremantle visited his cave while they were removing the treasure? What if it was heavily guarded? What if some mishap happened on the way back? Oh, gods, what if … what if … what if? Lucy knew she could make herself crazy with worry if she let it loose, so she tried to keep a tight seal on her fear and distracted herself with work.
There was certainly plenty to do. Notwen had not explained any of his crazy instructions in the note to her, only that he wanted certain things done—certain things that made no sense to her or anyone else. But since no one could suggest anything else to try, and no one dared alter his instructions for fear of fouling his plans, Lucy and the townspeople followed them to the letter.
The first thing they had to do was find a level place close to town to hold the “Hiyahowareya” gathering. Notwen requested the location be near some old buildings and away from the tunnels that honeycombed the sublevels. Mayor Efrim suggested a derelict block at the southernmost edge of town. The few buildings still standing were abandoned, in ruins, and worthless. People quickly set about cleaning out the overgrown street, pulling down the most dangerous ruins, and doing what they could to make the place look like the site of a festival and picnic.
The second thing they had to do was dig out a hole at the site two feet deep, a hundred feet long, and as wide as the street. The workers looked appalled at the amount of work.
“Two feet isn’t deep enough to catch a deer, let alone a dragon!” one man complained to Lucy. “How does Notwen expect that to hold Fyremantle?”
Since Lucy could not answer that with any truth, she shrugged, grabbed a shovel, and started to dig.
The hole was well underway when the Dark Knights rode into town. A sentry by the caravan road spotted them late in the afternoon and sent word to the sheriff. Lucy swiftly dusted off her clothes and sent a boy to the closest tavern for a pitcher of ale and a couple of mugs. Her workers vanished into the alleys and ruins of the derelict street.
By the time the Dark Knights rode into sight, the street was empty and Lucy was sitting in the shade of an old abandoned shop, sipping her ale and waiting. Up the road from the docks rode Knight Officer Venturin and four Knights. Their black armor and horses looked like dark stains against the colors and bright light of the afternoon. Light glinted off their swords and the maces hanging on their belts. They were riding directly for the festival site.
Knight Officer Venturin hid her surprise well when she stopped her horse at the edge of the large pit and looked around. Finally she leveled a glare at Lucy. With deliberate care, the Dark Knight dismounted. She clucked her tongue and walked slowly to Lucy. She paced around the seated sheriff, studying her from turban to boots. Her lips parted to reveal the tips of her long teeth, and she grinned like a feral cat. Without warning she clamped a hand around Lucy’s neck and hauled her to her feet.
“I came to be sure the tax collection is going smoothly. Visiting Day is only week away, and I would hate to report to Her Majectic Queen that you have failed in your duties.”
Lucy twisted out of Venturin’s grip. “The taxes are being collected,” she said, ignoring the pain in her neck. “All of them. As required by law.” Instead of backing away from the Dark Knight, she picked up another mug, filled it, and handed it to Venturin. “So tell me. How much tax does Malys require?”
The Knight Officer’s dark eyes narrowed, and her hand tightened around the mug. “Six hundred steel pieces or its equivalent—no less, as you well know.”
“Actually, I don’t,” Lucy paused and filled her own mug. “This town has been paying a thousand steel pieces to Fyremantle for the past five years. They have it on record.”
“What?” The word came out sharp as a dagger.
“Fyremantle has been doing some creative collecting at Malys’s expense. He told the council Malys raised the taxes. Did you know about this?”
Venturin took a swallow of her ale as if her throat was suddenly dry.
“Yes,” Lucy went on. “The town might have gone on in blissful ignorance if someone hadn’t stolen the taxes a few months ago. When we finally caught up with him, he told us about the padded taxes. Now, maybe Malys doesn’t care if her minions indulge in a little theft and extortion, but if one does it, they might all decide to help themselves, and then where would the Overlord get her revenues?”
“How do we know you are not shorting the taxes yourselves and trying to blame it on a faithful servant?” Venturin snarled.
“Why would we be that stupid? Flotsam has faithfully paid its taxes to Malys’s coffers for years and will continue to do so if Fyremantle does not level the town,” Lucy pointed out.
Venturin made a rude noise. “And what do you plan to do about him? Drop him in this little hole?”
“Offer him a deal. He continues to serve Malys as usual, but he stops skimming off our taxes and leaves us alone.”
The Knight Officer’s curiosity was piqued. “What makes you think he’ll accept that?”
“Because I am going to tell him you are on your way to inform Malys, and only a secret, coded message from me will stop you. From then on, you are in on the secret, too.”
“Why should I bother? Deal with him yourself.”
“How would it look to Malys if someone else told her? Someone besides her loyal watchdogs?”
Venturin bristled. “Are you threatening me?” Her voice was cold and smooth as ice.
“Of course not,” Lucy said. “I am authorized to make you a deal.”
A sharp cry and a scuffling sound caused Venturin to whip around, her hand reaching for her sword. She gaped at the five riderless black horses milling around in the dust of the street. There was no sign of the other four Knights. Furiously, she turned back, her hand pulling out her dagger. Swift as a striking snake, she snatched a handful of Lucy’s hair and the turban and shoved Lucy back against the stone wall of the building.
The turban unwound in the blink of an eye and whipped its length up the Dark Knight’s arm. She cried out in disbelief, “Get this thing off me!” She tried to stab the flying end of the turban, but the creature was too fast for her. It twisted itself around her wrists and her head, effectively binding her. The dagger fell to the ground.
Now it was Lucy’s turn to take control. She pushed the woman around and into the stone wall and said, “Listen carefully. Your men will be our guests for a few days. If you make any move to rescue them, they will be killed. If you act as our messenger and we tell Fyremantle you are going to Malys’s lair to inform her of his transgressions, then I will release your Knights unharmed and turn over five percent of the monies we are gathering to pay Malys.”
The Knight Officer was breathing heavily, her face cold with anger.
“Release her,” Lucy told the turban. Like a whisper, it unwound from the Knight’s head, flowed back to Lucy’s arm, curled up on her chestnut hair, and stared malevolently at Venturin.
The Dark Knight shook her head as if to be sure the thing was gone. She studied Lucy for a long moment and glanced back at the street where her Knights had been. Finally she picked up her dagger and shoved it back in its sheath. “All right. Ten percent.” Venturian’s mercenary bent took over. “And if you so much as bruise one of my Knights, I’ll burn this town myself.”
“Seven,” countered Lucy. “With luck you won’t have to go far.”
“Eight will buy my silence about this little affair.”
“So will fear, but it’s a deal.”
“How do I know you are not lying about all of this?”
“You don’t. But what is there to lose? If our plan fails, you go to Malys about Fyremantle. We will provide the information you need and the location of his lairs. You will have done your duty in bringing a malefactor to her attention. If we succeed, you will be rich.”
“Where is this alleged money coming from?”
“Ah,” Lucy said with a slight smile. “We can’t tell you everything.”
The Dark Knight shot a quick look at the turban, then she turned on her heel and strode to her horse.
“Be here at dawn on Visiting Day,” Lucy called after her.
Venturin did not respond. Stone-faced, she collected the reins of the loose horses and mounted her own. She spurred her mount to a canter and led the riderless cavalcade away. The sound of hooves pounded on the road and dwindled away toward the west end of town.
Lucy leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. As the dust settled, the workers warily poked their heads out from the windows, doors, and ruinous gaps of the old buildings.
Challie came out the doorway of a gaming house several blocks down the road and joined Lucy. A faint smirk tilted up her mouth. “They’re trussed like chickens and spitting mad. Lysandros’s men have the Knights in a safe room under the Game Cock. He says his guards will keep an eye on them.”
The sheriff grinned, remembering the look on Venturin’s face when she realized her Talon had vanished. “That should sour her wine for a while.”
Challie picked up a shovel and drove it into the dirt. “I just hope this works, because if it doesn’t, there’s going to be some dragon-sized trouble.”
The paddleboat arrived later than expected. It came chugging into the harbor under full steam, pulling a laden raft and aided by teams of powerful, sleek dolphins. Ulin saw Lucy and Challie standing on the wharf and waved to them. He was off the boat and running toward Lucy before the boat had come to a complete stop.
Lucy took one look at the eagerness on his tired, haggard face and melted into his arms. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re here,” she gasped. “I was getting so worried.”
“Hello to you, too.” Kethril strode up the dock. “We got the treasure. It’s all there—every chest, box, and bag. We cleaned out the lot. We’d better hurry if we’re going to unload it.”
Lucy’s face took on a look of wary determination. “Oh, no, not you. You come to the Jetties with me.” She took her father’s arm and steered him toward the wharf.
“Daughter, you wound me with your mistrust,” he said mournfully.
“The Magistrate, Notwen, and the dwarves are going to handle this one,” she said. “Ulin, are you coming?”
He nodded wearily. “We need some food, then we’re going to get to work on Notwen’s trap. We didn’t expect to take so long.”
The three of them began the long walk to the Jetties. Behind them, the chugging sound of the steam engine filled the small harbor as the boat cast off and headed for whatever place Challie and Notwen decided to hide the dragon’s cache.
Walking between the two men, Lucy looked at them carefully and saw that both of them were dirty, tired, and worn. Kethril’s expensive robes were gone, replaced by an old tunic and tattered pants that had seen a great deal of work but very little soap. Her father was limping slightly, and Ulin moved as if every muscle hurt. She did not ask any questions, keeping them to herself until she could get the two men to the Jetties, seat them at a table, and bring them a pitcher of ale. Aylesworthy took one look at them and yelled at Bridget to bring platters of stew and freshly baked bread.
While the two men ate, Lucy and Aylesworthy curbed their impatience. Lucy told the innkeeper the treasure had been secured, but both of them wanted to hear about the dragon’s lair and the theft.
At last Ulin pushed his ale aside and asked for wine. When it was brought, he stretched out his long legs and took a long, appreciative sip.
“So?” Lucy prompted. “What happened at Fyremantle’s lair?”
“It wasn’t technically a lair,” Kethril answered. “It was only a stash of his stolen goods. He could not keep it at his known lair for fear of Malys finding it.”
Ulin chuckled and glanced at the gambler with something akin to respect. “Your father may be a thief, a gambler, and a morally poor example of a man,” he told Lucy, “but he has courage, imagination, and a lot of gall. His observations of the hiding place were accurate up to the small matter of booby-traps.”
“Booby-traps?” Lucy and Aylesworthy said together.
Pulling the map out of his tunic, Ulin tapped a finger on the spot marked Secar’s Point. “The stash was exactly where the map is marked, in a dormant volcano just to the west of the Point. It was down in an old volcanic tube that you could not see unless you were standing right on top of it. Malys would never have seen it from the air. We would never have found it if Kethril hadn’t known where it was. He was right, too, about the guards. There were none. I guess Fyremantle didn’t trust anyone with the location of his secret hoard.”
Some of the other customers in the inn, hearing Ulin’s voice, moved their chairs closer to listen to the tale. Aylesworthy hurriedly refilled Ulin’s wine goblet.
“We arrived at the Point shortly after sunset and hid Notwen’s boat in a small cove. At daybreak, we hiked up to the volcano to find the cave and determine what was needed to remove the treasure.”
“Fyremantle was there,” Kethril interrupted him. “That greedy little worm was adding to his stash from taxes collected at one of the Khur settlements. He stayed there all day, counting and gloating. It was disgusting.” He broke off and saw Lucy, Ulin, and Aylesworthy staring at him. “What?”
“You’re a fine one to talk about counting and gloating,” Lucy said.
Ulin took up the tale again. “We had to wait until Fyremantle left before we could enter the cave. One of the Vigilance fighters found the first booby-trap when he tried to open the stone that blocks the entrance. A cloud of acid burned his lungs and ate his skin. His death was slow and agonizing. That made us think twice about moving too quickly, so we waited until the next day when we could use the daylight to help us see. It was a good thing we did. Once we got the stone door open, we found the tube was infested with cave lizards.” He stopped and shuddered. “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one, but they’re nasty creatures. These were about three feet long, mottled gray, and very aggressive. They scooted over the ceiling of the tube and were on us before we even knew they were there. They use their long tongues to grab a victim and pull him in range of their teeth. One of those lizards isn’t too difficult to beat off, but five or six of those things chewing on your arms or legs is very frightening. They almost killed one of the dwarves before we got to him.”
“What did you do?” Lucy asked, wide-eyed.
“Light,” Ulin replied. “They hate light. The sunlight drove them from the entrance and I used some magnesium flashpowder in the interior.”
“The tube is quite long,” Kethril added. “And there were scorpions and several pitfalls and a sand trap. Fyremantle was taking no chances. It was hours before we finally found the chamber where he hid his stash. We worked for a full day to neutralize the booby-traps, crate up the goods, and haul it out of there. By the time we finished, there wasn’t so much as a coin to toss to the lizards. It was a beautiful operation,” he finished enthusiastically. Like most thieves, he enjoyed a good heist.
Ulin gave Lucy a slow weary smile. “It was a successful attempt. Except for Lysandros’s man and the wounded dwarf, we got out of there with little injury or loss.”
“So what do we do now?” Aylesworthy asked as he topped off Ulin’s wine.
Lucy looked at her father and her betrothed and said, “Sleep. We can work tomorrow.”
“No, no. I need to help Notwen,” Ulin said, but he made no move to stand up.
“He probably needs sleep as much as you. I will go check on him. Aylesworthy, if you could see these two to bed, I would appreciate it.”
“Absolutely, Miss Lucy.”
Kethril started to argue, but the food, the ale, and the lack of sleep finally caught up with him. He sagged back in his chair and grinned at nothing. “It was a good heist,” he murmured.