Meanwhile, Ulin and Notwen remained hidden in Notwen’s laboratory, poring over plans and working on concoctions only they could understand. The trap was as ready as they could make it, but they spent hours double-checking figures and thinking of more ways to slow the huge beast.
Lucy retreated to her room and spent that evening perfecting half a dozen spells until she could cast them in her sleep. Most of them were spells she had done years ago at the Academy. A few were new ones she devised to protect herself or others from the dragon, and one was a special spell Ulin asked her learn. Her spellcasting was flawless, but to her dismay, even with the help of the turban, the spells went awry or failed more than half the time. Exhaustion finally forced her to stop, but she was frustrated at her failures and deeply worried. She could not afford to fail tomorrow when the red dragon appeared for his tribute.
Challie woke her the next morning with a mug of cooled cider and two hard-boiled eggs. “There’s more if you want it, but if your stomach is like mine, you won’t be able to eat it.”
Lucy quickly found Challie was right. As soon as she got out of bed and went to the small table, the enormity of their task for that day sank in its claws and twisted her stomach into knots. She drank the cider, ate one egg, and had to give up. “Do you want the other?” she offered.
Challie shook her head. “I’ve tried to eat, too, and can’t. Bridget is in the kitchen fixing these enormous meals, and no one can eat them. Even Cosmo is off his feed.”
The dwarf sat on the edge of her chair, twisting her hands. She wore the blue tunic and baggy pants that made up her uniform, and her silver axe hung at her belt, but her face was pale, and the dark blue of the tunic only enhanced the dark circles around her eyes. “Lucy, I’m nervous,” she admitted. “I never thought I’d admit this, but that dragon terrifies me. I have never been so close to a dragon before. What if I can’t do what I am supposed to do?”
Lucy stood by her friend’s chair. “I know,” she said. “All of us are terrified. I won’t hold you to this, Challie. If you want to leave, one of the Fox’s men can take you to one of the camps in the hills.”
“No,” the dwarf said vehemently. “I will not run. I made an oath to serve you and this town, and I will, but … I will be very glad when this is all over.”
Lucy couldn’t agree more. To occupy her mind, she put on her clothes, meticulously brushing the dust from her pants and tunic, donning everything so it all hung just right. She fastened her belt around her waist and slid her dagger scabbard to her right side. Her leather boots slid on easily, and she tucked her pants’ legs into the soft cuffs. Last of all, she picked up the turban from its resting place on the table and gently set it on her head. The moment when the creature returned to its preferred place never failed to amaze her. It wrapped itself happily about her chestnut hair like a cat snuggling into its bed for a nap, and the pleased mental thoughts of its consciousness settled around her in a comforting aura. Taking a deep breath, she half-bowed to Challie, and the two of them left the inn to face the day together.
Shortly after sunrise, the familiar figure of Knight Officer Venturin was spotted riding along the road into town. A sentry quickly steered her to the festival site where the sheriff was waiting for her. When she reached the street, she slowed her horse and looked around in surprise at the picnic preparations.
Lucy barely nodded to her as she handed Venturin a packet. “It’s all there: a map, tax records, and signed statements. Keep riding until our messenger catches up to you. I will not reveal your name to Fyremantle, but keep the information in case you need it in the near future.”
Venturin glowered down at her from the saddle. “My men?”
Lucy whistled loudly and pointed down the street. From the Game Cock, two men led a Dark Knight out the door. It was quite obvious, even from a distance, that he had been enjoying himself. He waved drunkenly to his commander. “As you can see, they’re fine.”
“Who is this messenger? How will he be able to catch up with me?”
“The messenger is on loan from a friend. It is a hawk, specially trained to deliver messages. It will find you.”
“One of the Silver Fox’s?” Venturin demanded. “Is he involved in this?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I’m not surprised.” The Dark Knight snatched the packet from Lucy’s hand. “Don’t try to cross me, Sheriff.” She spurred her horse around and galloped southeast toward the Desolation.
Mayor Efrim had told Lucy that the tax collection in Flotsam usually occurred around midafternoon on Visiting Day. Fyremantle collected the taxes from several places and usually needed the day to cover all his obligations. This day, they hoped, would not be different.
Everyone who volunteered to stay behind gathered in the new festival ground. Most of the kender were there with their containers of pickled eggs and their faces unclouded by fear. The city council, Mayor Efrim, and those of the Vigilance Force not guarding the camps made their appearance. There were enough people there, Lucy hoped, to give the dragon the impression that the whole town had come for the festival.
At her request, the firepits were uncovered and the sides of meat on their spits were raised and set to keep warm over the coals. Sniffing appreciatively, Ulin pulled out a leather bag and sprinkled the contents liberally over the roasting meat. He and Lucy watched as the white powder blended with the meat juices and slowly disappeared.
“What will that do?” Kethril asked curiously.
“With luck? Buy us some time. It is supposed to make the dragon drowsy for a short while. Don’t let anyone touch that meat. And the same with these barrels of beer.” He pried off the lids of three large kegs of beer and poured the contents of a second bag into the golden liquid.
Notwen tugged Lucy’s sleeve. “Sheriff, I’ve been meaning to tell you. The reason we had to make these powders …?” He hesitated and looked at Ulin then back at Lucy. “Well, I did some calculations last night, and I’ve rechecked them dozens of times. My, uh, trap will hold, but not for long. I estimate you will have about fifteen minutes before he breaks out.”
Appalled, Lucy stared at him. She had thought they would have ample time to convince the dragon to see things their way. “Fifteen minutes?” she gasped.
“It was the best we could do in such a short time,” Ulin said apologetically. “You and Kethril will have to talk fast.”
“Me?” Kethril exclaimed. “Why me?”
“I have to handle the rockets and the ropes and be close by in case the trap doesn’t work properly. You started this whole mess.” Ulin said pointedly. “You can help finish it.”
Lucy’s father nodded gloomily. His fingers went to the silver ring on his right hand and began to twist it around and around.
Challie and a guard arrived, driving a laden freight wagon covered with a tarp. They parked it near the fire pit and unhitched the horses.
Around noon people brought out the rest of the food prepared for the feast and set it out on tables under fly-proof screens. No one ate very much. Almost everyone stood around and watched the sky. A few musicians set up their instruments and played dance tunes, but no one danced. Lucy, as she walked around the grounds, thought the festival did not look very festive. The day was very warm for spring, and the heat rose in wavy sheets above the dry hills. The wind stirred dust into tiny whirlwinds and sent them spinning through the streets of the town. A large tumbleweed broke loose from its dry stalk and rolled through the festival grounds, enticing the kender to chase it. Notwen checked his trap for at least the thirtieth time and made sure the lamps were lit.