“I knew you would come. What do you want?”
“So abrupt? Not even time for a thank you? I’ve made you Prime Minister. All that is required is a vote by the Coalition Council, a matter of procedure only. When will that occur?”
“A day or two. All right, you’ve kept your end of the bargain. What is mine to be?”
“Ships of the line, Minister. Ships that can withstand a long journey and a battle at its end. Ships that can transport men and equipment to secure what is needed. Ships that can carry back the treasures I expect to find.”
Sen Dunsidan shook his head doubtfully. “Such ships are hard to come by. All we have are committed to the Prekkendorran. If I were to pull out, say, a dozen—”
“Two dozen would be closer to what I had in mind,” the other interrupted smoothly.
Two dozen? The Minister of Defense exhaled slowly. “Two dozen, then. But that many ships missing from the line would be noticed and questioned. How will I explain it?”
“You are about to become Prime Minister. You don’t have to explain.” There was a hint of impatience in the rough voice. “Take them from the Rovers, if your own are in short supply.”
Dunsidan took a quick sip of the ale he shouldn’t be drinking. “The Rovers are neutral in this struggle. Mercenaries, but neutral. If I confiscate their ships, they will refuse to build more.”
“I said nothing of confiscation. Steal them, then lay the blame elsewhere.”
“And the men to crew them? What sort of men do you require? Must I steal them, as well?”
“Take them from the prisons. Men who have sailed and fought aboard airships. Elves, Bordermen, Rovers, whatever. Give me enough of these to make my crews. But do not expect me to give them back again. When I have used them up, I intend to throw them away. They will not be fit for anything else.”
The hair stood on the back of Sen Dunsidan’s neck. Two hundred men, tossed away like old shoes. Damaged, ruined, unfit for wear. What did that mean? He had a sudden urge to flee the room, to run and keep running until he was so far away he couldn’t remember where he had come from.
“I’ll need time to arrange this, a week perhaps.” He tried to keep his voice steady. “Two dozen ships missing from anywhere will be talked about. Men from the prisons will be missed. I have to think about how this can be done. Must you have so many of each to undertake your pursuit?”
The Morgawr went still. “You seem incapable of doing anything I ask of you without questioning it. Why is that? Did I ask you how to go about removing those men who would keep you from being Prime Minister?”
Sen Dunsidan realized suddenly that he had gone too far. “No, no, of course not. It was just that I—”
“Give me the men tonight,” the other interrupted.
“But I need time.”
“You have them in your prisons, here in the city. Arrange for their release now.”
“There are rules about releasing prisoners.”
“Break them.”
Sen Dunsidan felt as if he were standing in quicksand and sinking fast. But he couldn’t seem to find a way to save himself.
“Give me my crews tonight, Minister,” the other hissed softly. “You, personally. A show of trust to persuade me that my efforts at removing the men who stood in your path were justified. Let’s be certain your commitment to our new partnership is more than just words.”
“But I—”
The other man moved swiftly out of the shadows and snatched hold of the front of the Minister’s shirt. “I think you require a demonstration. An example of what happens to those who question me.” The fingers tightened in the fabric, iron rods that lifted Sen Dunsidan to the tips of his boots. “You’re shaking, Minister. Can it be that I have your full attention at last?”
Sen Dunsidan nodded wordlessly, so frightened he did not trust himself to speak.
“Good. Now come with me.”
Sen Dunsidan exhaled sharply as the other released his grip and stepped away. “Where?”
The Morgawr moved past him, opened the bedchamber door, and looked back out of the shadows of his hood. “To the prisons, Minister, to get my men.”
2
Together, the Morgawr and Sen Dunsidan passed down the halls of the Minister’s house, through the gates of the compound, and outside into the night. None of the guards or servants they passed spoke to them. No one seemed even to see them. Magic, Sen Dunsidan thought helplessly. He stifled the urge to cry out for help, knowing there was none.
Insanity.
But he had made his choice.
As they walked the dark, empty streets of the city, the Minister of Defense gathered the shards of his shattered composure, one jagged piece at a time. If he was to survive this night, he must do better than he was doing now. The Morgawr already thought him weak and foolish; if he thought him useless, as well, he would discard him in an instant. Walking steadily, taking strong strides, deep breaths, Sen Dunsidan mustered his courage and his resolve. Remember who you are, he told himself. Remember what is at stake.
Beside him, the Morgawr walked on, never looking at him, never speaking to him, never evidencing even once that he had any interest in him at all.
The prisons were situated at the west edge of the Federation Army barracks, close by the swift flowing waters of the Rappahalladran. They formed a dark and formidable collection of pitted stone towers and walls. Narrow slits served as windows, and iron spikes ringed the parapets. Sen Dunsidan, as Minister of Defense, visited the prisons regularly, and he had heard the stories. No one ever escaped. Now and then those incarcerated would find their way into the river, thinking to swim to the far side and flee into the forests. No one ever made it. The currents were treacherous and strong. Sooner or later, the bodies washed ashore and were hung from the walls where others in the prisons could see them.
As they drew close, Sen Dunsidan mustered sufficient resolve to draw close again to the Morgawr.
“What do you intend to do when we get inside?” he asked, keeping his voice strong and steady. “I need to know what to say if you want to avoid having to hypnotize the entire garrison.”
The Morgawr laughed softly. “Feeling a bit more like your old self, Minister? Very well. I want a room in which to speak with prospective members of my crew. I want them brought to me one by one, starting with a Captain or someone in authority. I want you to be there to watch what happens.”
Dunsidan nodded, trying not to think what that meant.
“Next time, Minister, think twice before you make a promise you do not intend to keep,” the other hissed, his voice rough and hard-edged. “I have no patience with liars and fools. You do not strike me as either, but then you are good at becoming what you must in your dealings with others, aren’t you?”
Sen Dunsidan said nothing. There was nothing to say. He kept his thoughts focused on what he would do once they were inside the prisons. There, he would be more in control of things, more on familiar ground. There, he could do more to demonstrate his worth to this dangerous creature.
Recognizing Sen Dunsidan at once, the gate watch admitted them without question. Snapping to attention in their worn leathers, they released the locks on the gates. Inside, the smells were of dampness and rot and human excrement, foul and rank. Sen Dunsidan asked the Duty Officer for a specific interrogation room, one with which he was familiar, one removed from everything else, buried deep in the bowels of the prisons. A turnkey led them down a long corridor to the room he had requested, a large chamber with walls that leaked moisture and a floor that had buckled. A table to which had been fastened iron chains and clamps sat at its center. To one side, a wooden rack lined with implements of torture was pushed against the wall. A single oil lamp lit the gloom.