“Consider it a gift from the Crown,” Savin said.
Gill nodded his thanks, but knew damn well that every expense the count incurred—and more, plus interest—would be presented to the royal treasurer for repayment the moment the king was back on his throne. Thus enriched, Gill returned to the smith, who had resumed his work on the spearpoints.
Rummaging through the purse, Guillot could see why Savin’s lord had been annoyed. It looked like he’d been gifted the man’s full campaign float—at least twenty crowns in various denominations. An unskilled worker might make one crown a day if they were well paid. Gill reckoned two were more than enough for the smith, adding a margin of generosity for the rush.
He tossed two crowns to the smith, who dropped the spear tip he was working on to catch them.
“I’m obliged, Lord,” the man said, then got up and went to the workbench, where Gill had left the sword. “The wax mark for the cut?”
Gill nodded, and the smith took a saw and made short work of the blade. It looked odd with a square tip. He immediately took a file to it and started working the cut end back into a point. It wasn’t the ideal way to make a blade, and meant that softer metal at the blade’s core would be exposed, but Gill reckoned he’d fare better with a weapon that felt good in his hand, even if the edge on its tip didn’t last quite as long as usual. On a cheaper, munitions-grade blade such as this one, the difference would be less pronounced than on a sword made by a master bladesmith anyway.
The roughing-out done, the smith presented the sword for inspection. Guillot looked it over; judging by the colour of the metal, not too much of the softer core material had been exposed—one of the benefits of cheaper construction. As he had expected, the balance point had moved back, and already the weapon felt better in his hand. However, there was still room for improvement.
“Round off the transition into the tip a little more,” Gill said. “Then I think we’ll need to add a touch of weight to the pommel.”
The smith got to work with the file again, pausing every few strokes for Gill’s input, until it had the shape he was looking for. He tested the balance again, and reckoned it wouldn’t take much more to get it right.
The smith drilled a small hole into the pommel, then melted some lead, which he poured into the hole. Once it had cooled, Gill tested the sword. It took a second filling of lead before it felt right. He made a few more cuts with the sword. Satisfied that it was as good as he could hope for, he gave the smith another crown for his efforts. It was time to return to the council of war to discuss what further preparations could be made.
CHAPTER 24
Tresonne had rustled up enough tarpaulin to completely cover the cage for the journey back to Mirabay. Exhausted though she was, Ysabeau’s concern that the dragon might wake in transit was enough to motivate her to continue using magic—both hers and Hangdog’s—to speed their return journey. As soon as they got back to Mirabay, the dragon would be someone else’s problem, but the credit would remain with her.
When they reached the city gates, they discovered that the cage was too large to get through the city gate. More, the sight of two great ox wagons trundling along in tandem, pulled by teams of straining beasts and blocking the entire road, was too much to ignore. The guards stepped across the road, blocking the path.
“Who seeks to enter the city?” one of them asked.
“Agents of the Prince Bishop, Regent of Mirabaya.”
“What’s on the carts?”
Ysabeau smirked. “Best take a look for yourselves. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
The guards looked at one another, then one walked forward. He cast Ysabeau a nervous look before approaching the covered cage, halberd in hand. Grasping the tarpaulin, he cast furtive looks at his fellow guards.
Everyone now gathered around the city gate was watching the goings-on, wondering what was under that cover. Ysabeau wondered if any of them could guess. She couldn’t wait to see how they reacted.
Lifting the tarp and peering into the cage, the guard let out a loud gasp and fell back on his arse. He dropped his halberd and scrambled back, away from the cage. Ysabeau let out a cackle, as amused by his reaction as by the fact that he was the only one who had seen what was in there. Everyone else had to speculate based on his terrified reaction; she found their consternation delicious.
“Anyone else want to take a peek?”
There were no volunteers.
She turned to Hangdog. “Go to the palace and tell my fa—the Prince Bishop that I’ve returned to the city with everything he requested.”
Hangdog seemed only too happy to get back into the city, and most likely to get as far away from her as he could.
“Take these three with you,” she said as an afterthought, and pointed to the three academics, who looked equally delighted to have returned to Mirabay. After they disappeared through the gate, Ysabeau smiled at the guards.
The fallen man was back on his feet and whispering furiously at his comrades. The colour drained from their faces.
“Is it really?” one of them said to Ysabeau.
“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” She gestured to the tarpaulin.
From his expression, she could tell he was trying to balance his desire to see a real live dragon against the danger of losing a hand, or perhaps a whole arm. Of course, the dragon was still asleep. It hadn’t so much as budged the whole way back to the city. Were it not for the sporadic twitching of its nostrils, or the regular rise and fall of its chest, she would have thought it was dead. She’d given up wondering what was wrong with it, or why it slept. Soon enough, it wouldn’t be her problem anymore.
The problem that remained, however, was getting the cage through the gate. It wasn’t like they could lead it through on a leash, like a puppy. What about using the same method they had to get the cage out of the temple? Ysabeau looked up at the battlements, towering overhead. The wall was high—at least twice as high as they had to deal with at the temple, perhaps more. There would be far stronger and more sophisticated equipment available at the docks, but even still, it was a big obstacle. Perhaps floating it upriver and into the city would be the best approach. Still, that would be someone else’s decision to make.
She wondered if they might be able to widen the gate, or if that would bring down this whole section of the wall. Her father’s engineers would probably be able to come up with a solution. Best to leave them to it.
Ysabeau was surprised by how quickly her father arrived. She also thought it odd that he was dressed as an ordinary man rather than in his vestments and that his hair appeared to be dyed—she almost didn’t recognise him. Had the city become so dangerous that he was required to wear a disguise when out in the open? He had four other “ordinary men” with him, but they all had the look of mercenaries. She raised an eyebrow when she saw him, but a quick shake of his head dispossessed her of the idea of asking any questions.
“Is he telling the truth?” the Prince Bishop said.
There was only one person he could be talking about. She smiled.
“If he’s talking about that,” she said, nodding toward the cage, “then yes, he is.”
“Gods alive.”
The Prince Bishop dismounted, handed his reins to one of his men, and walked toward the cage. When he lifted the tarpaulin, his reaction was far more measured than the guard’s.
“I can’t say I ever thought to see this,” the Prince Bishop said. “Is it alive?”