Mary Herbert - Dragon's Bluff

Loud and stunned discussion broke out again. Lucy let the crowd talk to work off some of their surprise and fear, then she held out her hands again for silence. “As you can see, we need help. The Vigilance Committee cannot do this alone.”

An old man is the back of the room pushed forward. “You’re not shoving me into some dank cave! I’m staying right here. This is the damndest game of Dragon’s Bluff I’ve ever seen, and I want to see who wins! I’m with you, Sheriff.”

Lucy glanced around the room and saw acceptance begin to dawn on the faces of the crowd. “All right. Good.” She spread her arms wide to include everyone. “This is what we’re going to do.…”

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.”