“Saorsha, back up!” Lucy heard Ulin yell.
The ex-legionnaire pulled frantically on her reins, but the pony, already terrified by the smoke and strange smells, panicked and reared.
Fyremantle roared a great thundering bellow of rage. “You!” he howled at Saorsha and Mayor Efrim. “You have been a stone in my claw long enough. Flotsam! Find yourselves a new mayor!” He blew a long blast of yellow fire at the cart and the two people. Neither had time to scream.
The dragon snorted at his small satisfaction, then he snatched the freight wagon in his front claws and leaped into the air. His wings swept downward, pushing him high into the warm air. He roared once and turned away to fly south and east toward the ruined lands of Malys’s lair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A hideous hush followed the departure of the dragon. Every person in the smoke-filled block stared horror-stricken at the blackened remains of the mayor and the woman who had cared for Flotsam. The corpses were blackened and burned almost to the bone, yet everyone walked slowly into the street and gathered around the bodies.
“Why did she do that?” Lucy mourned. “Why didn’t she look first?”
“Blasted dragon. I thought for a few minutes we might actually get away with it freely,” Ulin said.
Lysandros squatted down by the old mayor, gently touched a burned hand, and offered a eulogy Efrim would have appreciated. “He did his best for this town.” He looked up at Lucy. “Do I send the hawk after Venturin?”
“Yes,” she replied. “They worked too hard for this for us to fail them now.”
Beside her, Kethril stared at the two bodies and said nothing.
Someone brought two blankets from the Game Cock and covered the bodies. Later they could be buried with proper respect in the hillside cemetery where Saorsha’s family already rested.
For now though, a new concern demanded their attention. Several fires had started from the dragonfire and the remains of Notwen’s rockets. They were spreading rapidly around several buildings. Fed by the dry grass and pushed by a steady wind, the fire could be almost as dangerous to the town as the dragon. Fortunately, fires were a familiar danger in Flotsam, and the populace was used to fighting them. Instead of panicking, men and women grabbed buckets and shovels and went to work to stifle the fires before they could get completely out of control. Mule-drawn wagons soon arrived with barrels of water to douse the ground and buildings, and a firebreak was quickly dug.
The flames consumed most of the old, ruinous buildings, and a few still in use, like the Game Cock, were scorched around the edges. To everyone’s relief, the wind shifted to the north in the late afternoon, and a damp seabreeze prevented the fire from spreading any farther.
The townsfolk were so busy fighting the last of the fires and dousing hot spots that they did not hear the signal horn sound a third time. The first warning Lucy had was from Lysandros who poked her in the ribs and pointed down the road. Just cresting a hill cantered the black horse of a Knight of Neraka.
Firefighters scattered as the Dark Knight rode her horse heedlessly into the crowd. Lucy stood her ground, waiting for Knight Officer Venturin to find her. The Knight saw her immediately and reined her horse over. She did not dismount at first but sat on her tired, sweating horse and eyed the smoke-grimed people around her.
Venturin waved a negligent hand at the smoke and flames. “Problems?”
Lucy shrugged with equal disdain. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“I see.” The Knight Officer ran her gaze over the destruction in the street: the smashed tables, the overturned barrels, the empty trap, and the covered bodies. “You’ve had an interesting day.” She dismounted, her narrow face expressionless, and removed the packet from an inner pocket in her black tunic. “This made interesting reading. It also frightened Fyremantle enough that he came looking for your messenger.”
“Did he see you?”
Venturin’s gaze turned contemptuous. “Of course not. I assumed he would search, and I took cover shortly after noon. I will keep this information. If Fyremantle does not hold to his word, I will give it to the overlord.”
Lucy nodded her thanks. She waved Challie over and held out her hand. The magistrate wordlessly untied a heavy bag from her belt and dropped it into Lucy’s hand. It fell with a satisfying chink. “Eight percent plus a bonus,” Lucy said, handing it over to Venturin. “Fifty steel coins.”
The Dark Knight shoved the bag into her belt without counting it. “My Knights?”
“Of course. Challie, where is the Talon?”
The dwarf jerked a thumb toward the gaming house. “When the Game Cock caught on fire, they came out to help. I think they’re still there.”
As the Knight Officer remounted, Lucy noticed for the first time that the Dark Knight had no other horses. “What about your men? Didn’t you bring their mounts?”
Venturin sneered. “They allowed themselves to be taken by surprise and captured. For that they will walk to camp.” She yanked her horse around, missing the smothered sound that escaped from Challie’s tightly clamped mouth.
“What is it?” Lucy asked in concern. The dwarf looked about to choke.
Challie waited until the Dark Knight was out of earshot before she released her breath in a gasp of laughter. “Their camp is ten miles away, and those Knights have been helping themselves to the proprietor’s stock. It ought to be a pleasant journey back for them.”
With the fires nearly out and the Dark Knights gone, it seemed that the plan had finally reached its conclusion. The dragon trap had been a success. A cheer rose up somewhere in the midst of the lingering smoke and weary people. It quickly spread until the entire block rang with shouting voices. The euphoria of success was sweet beyond words.
Lucy found Notwen, Kethril, and Ulin by the ropes and churned earth of the dragon trap. In a burst of relief, she caught Notwen up in a hug and swung him around until he was breathless, then she embarrassed him beyond all measure by kissing him on the forehead. Ulin grinned then knelt beside him and solemnly shook his hand.
“That was an excellent invention, my friend,” he said.
The small gnome grinned. “I couldn’t have done it without Lucy and you. When you go, I shall have to work on some improvements. Fyremantle probably won’t behave for long.”
“One thing I want to know: where did you get the fuel for those tubes?” Lucy asked. “I thought you weren’t going to make that firepowder anymore.”
Ulin slipped an arm around her and turned her slightly away so Notwen couldn’t hear.
“That’s not my black powder. Notwen refined that from the residue of the explosion your father caused. I, ah, toned it down somewhat.”
Lucy’s mouth dropped. She knew her father had some talents, but she hadn’t thought he knew alchemy. “Your powder blew up the treasury?” she asked Kethril.
He shrugged with little regret. “It was supposed to be a time-delayed blast that would collapse the tunnel as soon as we left. A Khurish alchemist made it, but it went off too early.”
She reached out and tapped his ring. “And this is what saved you.”
Kethril studied the ring for a moment. “That and some luck. I’ve had this ring for years. It has come in handy.” He patted his daughter’s arm rather distractedly and wandered off into the crowd.
Twilight drifted into Flotsam by the time the fires were completely out, the mess cleaned up, and the bodies of Saorsha and Mayor Efrim collected for burial. Sometime in that wild afternoon, Kethril Torkay cleaned out the cash box at the Jetties and disappeared.
Lucy was not surprised, but in her heart she was disappointed. She knew her father now-the rogue who lived by the numbers and followed the wind, yet the child in her had hoped he had liked what his daughter had become and would care enough to say good-bye. Obviously, she had been wrong.