The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(55)

Solet’s voice drops to a slow, Hanoshi heaviness as he explains: “What is the biggest expense in hunting dragons?”

“The ships,” Sumpt says.

“No,” Mulcent says. His needle-like fingers bob as he thinks. “The crew.”

“The uncertainty,” Solet says, stabbing the tablecloth with his finger blade to emphasize his point. “If we kept a dragon as stock and milked its phlogiston instead of removing it from the dead organ, we could predict supply and costs would be dramatically diminished. Feeding and barning one dragon would be cheaper than maintaining three ships. Perhaps we could catch a second and husband them.”

“We?” Mulcent says and sips some smoke. “Wouldn’t you be putting yourself out of a job?”

“I think a man who can capture a dragon would be in great demand,” Solet says, “if relieved from his position or undercompensated. Markets do thrive when there’s competition.”

Sumpt sorts. Smoke drifts up from his nose.

Solet doesn’t add that his position is already endangered. How many more dragons can there be that his pack could kill easily?

Mulcent is not amused. “How do you plan on accomplishing this?” he says. “Our ships have already incurred significant repair costs from previous excursions, which have diminished expected returns.”

“The ships are outfitted with a number of new devices,” Solet says, “as you’re aware from having paid for them. The Pyg has pots that will blast a cloud of pepper into a dragon’s face to disorient and possibly blind it. Our harpoons have weighted heads for greater penetration—”

“Much like my own,” Sumpt says, waving his snifter to be refilled.

“Plus the harpoons will be attached to chains,” Solet says, “and the chains to winches so we can hold the dragon, keep it from flying, and, once it falls into the water, drag it into a position to subdue it.”

“How will you do that?” Mulcent says.

“We’ll stretch it between the boats, then fire a harpoon through its snout. This iron will have a flange near the end so the dragon can’t work it out. It won’t be able to open its mouth, saving more phlogiston for us.”

“I know some foremen who need that treatment,” Sumpt says, and takes a long draft of the burnt wine.

Mulcent holds his hand to his ear. “Curious,” he says, “I don’t hear the laughter you think you hear.”

Sumpt scowls and blows smoke at Mulcent.

A long sharp whistle comes from the Kolos. The watches on the foredecks of the Pyg and the Gamo blow theirs. Sumpt sits up. He points off the Pyg’s bow, where a green-blue dragon with broad wings has lifted into the dusk above the black backdrop of the cliffs. It has an enormous red stag in its claws.

“It must be as big as our ship,” Sumpt says.

Solet gives a hand signal to the stern deck. A whistle is returned. The Gamo’s drum replies with a soft, slow beat, and the oars gently pivot the galley to face the Pyg. Another whistle stops them.

“It must be as big as our ship,” Sumpt says again.

“Not quite,” Solet says. “The one I took on the Comber was longer. It’ll be no trouble. Now,” he motions to stern, “if you’ll take your places in your cabins.”

“Do they always fly like that?” Mulcent says. The dragon darts and drifts as it flies. It looks agitated, but not in the way a dragon gets when it’s considering an attack. “Is it looking for something?”

“Must be the weight of the stag,” Solet says, “and the wind against it, throwing it off.” He holds out his arm. “Your cabins. We only have a few moments.”

A passing crewman, misunderstanding, hands Solet a pair of leather goggles with glass lenses and a bandana to cover his nose and mouth.

Sumpt jiggles to his feet and polishes off his wine, but Mulcent stays in his seat and says, “I’ve changed my mind. I will remain on deck.” He gestures for the valets to clear the table and take it away.

Sumpt grabs the bottle before his valet can and says, “We must get out of the crew’s way. The portholes will afford us excellent views.” He takes two encouraging steps toward the cabin.

Mulcent sniffs his wine and waves away the valet’s tray. “No,” he says, “I’m here to observe. I wish to see that none of these devices are merely for show. I may be able to suggest some additional efficiencies. For instance, fewer ships.”

Solet half expects Mulcent to demand that he make the decisive blow as well, the way other owners are guided through a wood, handed a loaded crossbow, and told when to fire so they can later call themselves hunters.

The dragon closes. Sumpt drinks straight from the bottle. Mulcent looks at him stonily. Sumpt decides. With his puffy cheeks held as firmly as possible, he follows the valets and their loads of tableware and linen to the cabin that once was Solet’s.

Mulcent takes his glass to the mast and says, “I will stay here.”

Solet says, “As you wish.” He smiles again and gives Mulcent his goggles and bandana. “Because of the pepper,” he says.

A sailor gives Solet a replacement pair of goggles as he mounts the stern deck. He hears Sumpt bar the cabin door, as if a four-inch iron peg will protect him. Solet laughs. Sumpt is too scared to act stupid. Mulcent is too stupid to be scared. And if he and his efficiencies are swept overboard in the confusion, there is a precedent for such a tragedy.