All at once she crossed her arms in a copy of her father’s stance, and a brilliant smile transformed her face.
Kethril looked slightly startled at the change in her features, then he matched her grin for grin.
Ulin, sitting at the table beside Lucy, recognized the resemblance in an instant. They were almost identical down to the wrinkles in the corners of the eyes—the way the full mouths spread open to reveal even, white teeth, the glint of humor and a light of mischief that burned like lights behind the color of the eyes. To Ulin it was remarkable. There was more of Kethril in his daughter than either one of them knew.
The entire gathering had sat silent through Kethril’s speech and listened with what Lucy assumed was stunned horror. But they surprised her. As soon as she accepted, a chorus of voices began talking, not to condemn the idea as she feared, but to offer ideas, advice, and suggestions.
“Where is this treasure you want us to steal?” Ulin asked when Kethril sat down.
“The closest cache is here”—the older man pointed to a spot on his map—“in the caves of an old volcano just north of Secar’s Point. It’s well camouflaged and only lightly guarded. We will not need many men, In fact, the fewer who know of this part of the plan, the better.” Like many people with no morals, Kethril did have certain standards. His map was detailed, well drawn, and accurate. His plans to infiltrate the lair of the dragon were careful, organized, and efficient.
Lysandros moved to the table and studied the map. “I have enough men in the Vigilance Force to do this. Their discretion has already been tested.” He shifted over to make space for Notwen, who crowded in beside him.
“I know this place,” the gnome said excitedly. “We can use the boat to go along the coast to the Point. The new boat is big enough to haul cargo.”
“But where do we put this treasure?” Mayor Efrim wanted to know. “Is there enough to pay Malys’s taxes?”
Kethril laughed. “There’s enough to pay Malys for several years and buy this town a decent gaming house. That dragon has been skimming taxes from you and several other places for years. He keeps his ill-gotten gains in this cave and one other so Malys won’t realize what he’s doing.”
“But where do we put it?” The mayor quavered again. “How do we keep it safe from Fyremantle, or the likes of you?”
“Hide it.” Kethril’s disarming smile lit his face. “Hide it and don’t tell me about it.”
Aylesworthy heaved his bulk to his feet and crowded into the group around the table. “Look, this money is all well and good, but Fyremantle will be furious. He’ll burn this town to the ground before we ever get a chance to talk to him.”
More voices joined his argument.
“We could kill him,” the blacksmith suggested.
“Yes, then Malys would kill us and scorch this town to ash.”
“What if we—”
Lucy threw up her hands for quiet. On her head, the turban shimmered a brilliant shade of yellow and watched the proceedings with sparkling eyes. The noise slowly simmered down.
“Actually, Lucy,” Ulin said in the quiet. “Notwen has invented a trap that just might subdue Fyremantle long enough to convince him to cooperate.”
She turned to the gnome. “Honestly? Is that what those drawings were?”
Notwen nodded, pleased that she would take him seriously.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” said Lucy. “We’ll lure Fyremantle into the trap and convince him that it would be in his best interest to restore the original tax level and leave Flotsam alone.”
“And how do we convince him?” someone asked.
Kethril hooked a finger around his mug of ale and pushed it gently back and forth. “That’s where the blackmail comes in. What would Malys do if she even suspected one of her underlings was stealing money meant for her treasury?”
“Eat him,” Lysandros answered, “and take his collection.”
“Exactly—and he knows this. So we tell him we have a messenger on the way to Malys with names and locations and amounts.”
Aylesworthy shuddered. “Who would be stupid enough to face Malys in her lair?”
A wicked smile beamed on Lucy’s face. “Someone who does it regularly. The Dark Knights.”
“Venturin? That harpy?”
“For a bit of gold, I’ll bet that harpy would sing like a lark,” Mayor Efrim remarked acidly.
“I’ll talk to her,” Lucy said. “She’s due back any day. I’m sure I can convince her to help the town—for the sake of her iron backside.”
A smattering of chuckles met her suggestion, and the business of the meeting continued. Before the evening ended, a plan of sorts was put together, and the people agreed it was the best they could do given the circumstances. It was not perfect, and it depended on many things happening at the right time, but with luck and some hard work, it just might work. Lucy thanked everyone for their help and commitment, and she waited until most people had left. At last she could not keep her eyes open another minute. She kissed Ulin goodnight and went upstairs to bed.
Ulin and Notwen talked to the blacksmith for a while, then all three left to work on the boat. Eventually, only Kethril and Lysandros were left in the common room. The resistance leader rose, stretched, and moved toward the door. He paused and turned back to Kethril. The gambler sat alone at his table staring morosely into his empty flagon. The half-elf picked up a pitcher and poured a stream of golden ale into the man’s cup.
“Don’t stay up too late, Kethril. You have a treasure to fetch in the morning.” He chuckled softly.
Kethril glanced up at the half-elf. “So where are you off to? Patrols? A Thieves’ Guild meeting?”
“To see the sirine. I think she and her people might help Notwen and that boat of his. At least they won’t let him drown.”
“She’ll leave you, you know. They all do.”
The captain shrugged. “And I may die tomorrow. But in the meantime I have enjoyed the love of an exquisite woman.”
It was Kethril’s turn to chuckle. He slapped the half-elf on the arm. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”
Lysandros started to say something, changed his mind, then said it anyway. “What I don’t understand is how you managed to have a daughter like Lucy. She is incredible.”
Kethril stared down at his long, supple hands and absently twisted an ornate silver ring on his thumb. “She is, isn’t she?” he replied, his voice distant. “She’s her mother’s own.”
The boat was ready soon after the sun rose, a red-gold disk in the eastern sky. Ulin, Notwen, the blacksmith, and three dwarves who were friends of Notwen had worked all night to adapt the paddlewheel to an old blunt-sterned fishing boat and fit the steam engine into the hold. They loaded the boat with cords of wood, enough supplies for a few days, shovels, picks, ropes, and this time they brought a rowboat, oars, and an extra sail.
Kethril offered little help. He stood on the dock, his arms crossed, and watched the loading with a jaundiced eye. Why, in the name of Krynn, had he ever thought to steal from Flotsam, and why did this dump of a town have to have a council with some imagination and dogged determination? And why, after all these years, did his wife still love him enough to send their daughter after him? Numbers, odds, the fall of the cards … these he could understand. Emotions of the heart were incomprehensible to him.
“Are you ready to go?” Lucy asked behind him.
“No.” He didn’t move as she came up beside him and stood an arm’s length away. “Why did you come to Flotsam, Lucy?” He hadn’t planned to ask her, but the words blurted out before he could take them back.
“You know why,” she replied, her words deadpan.
“You could have said no. Most people would have.”
“Most people do not have you for a father.” She paused, and a hint of that smile teased her mouth. “Although there are more of your children around than I thought.”
“I never intended to involve you in any of this. I never thought you’d come to Flotsam.”