“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?”