The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III by Irene Radford

Author:Irene Radford [Radford, Irene]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101041147
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2008-01-02T06:00:00+00:00

Late afternoon, Coronnan City

Bessel crossed two bridges and threaded through a number of streets before he slipped into another alley. He faced the wall of a smithy as he removed Mopsie and the blanket from their hiding places.

The little dog yipped his gratitude and squirmed within Bessel’s arms, tired of being confined. He licked Bessel’s face before jumping to the ground and running three joyous circles around his ankles.

“Yes, yes, I know you are happy, Mopsie, but we have to keep moving. We have to get to the docks before the tide turns and the barge sails. We have to make sure that by the time Raanald gets the barge to the port, he’ll mistrust the depth finder so much he’ll destroy it himself.” He patted his familiar and set about arranging a new disguise.

After removing the dress and kerchief, he folded them into the blanket lengthwise and slung the bundle across his back and over one shoulder. He tucked the loose ends into his belt. Then he snapped his fingers and transported his staff and a metal bowl from his room inside Myrilandel’s house. The spell was illegal. Dragon magic only allowed levitation, not transportation. But the men of Rossemeyer would have seen the staff floating through the air and followed it.

King Quinnault had told him to use whatever means possible to destroy the depth finder and create chaos on the docks.

Lastly he smeared dirt on his cheeks and chin in imitation of two days’ growth of beard.

With bowl in one hand, held out in a classic beggar’s stance, and leaning heavily on the staff, he shuffled out of the alley, just another beggar displaced by the wars.

He progressed to the docks unmolested and richer by seven dragini.

“Dinner,” he promised Mopsie as he slipped the coins inside his belt pouch. He tucked the bowl into his makeshift bedroll and wound his way through the confusing array of docks and warehouses under construction.

The elaborate passenger barge he had ridden on—was it just two days ago?—rested against a clean ramp. No one bothered to sweep and scrub the more commercial docks. But this one catered to wealthy and elite passengers. A bevy of colorful canopies and padded benches provided those passengers with a place to await the tide and the whim of the pilot.

If he’d worn his magician’s robes, Bessel could have walked directly up to the barge and demanded passage free of charge. Dressed as an ordinary fisherman, accompanied by a scruffy dog—who had gotten very dirty again crossing the city—the stewards and crew wouldn’t allow him beyond the velvet ropes that separated the passenger area from the common dockside traffic.

He needed another disguise.

What would get him aboard the ship without question and without having to pay an enormous fee? He couldn’t board as an ordinary dockhand, and the uniforms of the Guild of Bay Pilots were custom-made for each individual— no extras. Besides, every man in the Guild knew every other man in the guild.

He’d have to board as a magician needing free passage so he could fulfill some unnamed errand for the Commune.

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