“The council did offer us a quarter of your estate.”
“Only a quarter? I’d have held out for at least a third.” He tried a smile, but the cold glint in his daughter’s eyes evaporated the expression. “That might have persuaded your mother, but you still haven’t answered my question. Why did you come?”
She cast an oblique glance in his direction, and for the first time she realized how old he looked. The image she remembered of him from ten years ago was of a vibrant young man with a smooth face, a strong body, and an exuberant, restless energy. This man who stood beside her had aged. His face had darkened and creased from years of travel. His light hair was more gray than blond. His charm was still evident, but the fiery energy of youth had faded to a cooler, more calculating ember. The only thing Lucy remembered about him that hadn’t changed at all was his perception. He still saw himself as the center of the universe.
Lucy tucked a strand of hair up under the turban and finally answered. “I spent years trying to decide if I loved you or hated you. I guess I came on this journey because I needed to prove to myself that I loved you, that in spite of everything I could travel halfway across Ansalon just to see my father’s body. I wanted to put an end to the debate so I don’t go into my own marriage with a burden of hate.”
Ulin hailed them at that moment and jumped onto the dock from the boat. He strode toward them, the wind ruffling his chestnut hair, his head thrown back, and his eyes on his beloved.
Her face lit with an answering joy. She turned to her father and winked. “I guess it worked,” she said, and ran to meet Ulin.
They had to make a quick farewell so the boat could catch the morning tide. Notwen, the blacksmith, the three dwarves, and five of Lysandros’s most trusted fighters waited for Ulin on the boat, and smoke was already puffing out of the new engine.
Lucy gripped Ulin’s elbows in her strong hands. “Nothing will go wrong. You have help this time and strong backs to dig or row or whatever you need. And if I’m not mistaken, my blue-skinned sister is waiting at the mouth of the harbor for your boat.” She hugged him tightly and moved back to let him go.
He nodded once. “You have the instructions Notwen left for you. Good luck.” He kissed her. “Keep that turban on. Come on, Kethril!”
With a face like a martyr, the gambler climbed into the boat. Dockhands cast off the ropes, and for the second time, Ulin and Notwen churned out of Flotsam harbor and headed for the east coast of Blood Bay.
That evening in the lingering sultry heat, the Flotsam Vigilance Committee called a town meeting and summoned a full muster of the resistance fighters. Except for a few drunkards, some visitors, and babies, the entire population of the town arrived in the large mess hall of the Dark Knights’ old barracks to find out what was going on. People from Ulin and Lucy’s dinner meeting had spread some chosen bits of the news, but rumors abounded, and meanings were often twisted. Everyone wanted to hear the facts for themselves. Several hundred people crammed into the room and sat on stools, pillows, or rugs they had brought. Those with nothing to sit on lined the walls three or four deep.
Aylesworthy, flanked by Saorsha and Mayor Efrim, explained in his calm bass voice what had happened with Kethril Torkay and what the council planned to do. As soon as he finished, an uproar burst the silence in the hall.
Twenty or thirty people—Lucy couldn’t tell exactly how many in the milling, gesticulating crowd—abruptly left the hall. She guessed they would probably pack their belongings and flee. Not that she blamed them. If she had an ounce of common sense and little less of her father’s blood, she would pack her gear on the bay horse, take Ulin, and show this rat-trap of a town her heels. Yet she couldn’t, and neither could the remaining people who had made this place their home and had stuck with it through fair weather and foul, Dark Knights and dragon attacks, and some of the toughest conditions on Ansalon. The people of Flotsam were tough, and they were about to be asked to prove their mettle again.
Lucy moved from her place by the empty fireplace and came to stand beside Saorsha. Challie went with her, and the Silver Fox, in his tan pants and tunic, seemed to materialize out of nowhere to join her. She held up her hands. The sight of such a united front gradually stilled the troubled voices, and everyone grew quiet.
On Lucy’s dark hair, the turban shifted to a shimmering silver like a polished helm. Its diamond eyes glittered in the torchlight.
“People of Flotsam,” she called, “you have been put in a dangerous situation!” Loud catcalls and shouts interrupted her until she chopped her hand down for silence. “That is hardly new to you.”
“Yeah, but a trap?” a storekeeper yelled. “And a gnome invention at that! It’ll never work!”
“Notwen is not like most gnomes,” Lucy responded. “I believe with his idea, our hard work, and some luck, we can succeed.”
“The festival will have to continue. We’ll want things to look as normal as possible,” Mayor Efrim said.
“But we should send quite a few of the youngsters, babes, elders, and sick ones into the hills,” Saorsha added. “We shouldn’t trust everyone to the tunnels.”
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.…”
22
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.