The dragonling alighted upon its designated perch, a scroll attached to its foot, and a weary look in its eyes as if it had flown miles. Lucan kept a bowl filled with old chicken legs on hand for such eventualities, for he was strangely fond of the messengers, and he brought it to the grateful little creature. As the lizard dipped its head to the cooked chicken, tearing off chunks with its nail-sized teeth, Lucan detached the scroll from its leg and unfurled it with a thumb and forefinger.

  Cold water flowed through his veins. Ice stabbed into his spine.

  Why? In the name of all the gods, why?

  Discarding the bowl before the dragonling was finished, he marched to the door of his office and rang a nearby bell. It took a disgraceful five minutes for the servant to appear. He was a lanky boy, one of the new hires, and Lucan grabbed him by the ear.

  “I am not merely your Wagemaster but also Governor of Virgoda!” he bellowed. “You will come when called.”

  “Sorry, master!” the boy said, looking down.

  Lucan gritted his teeth. It would be pointless to beat the boy, for he needed him hale of limb in order to perform his next task. But such meekness irked him. Even in the orphanage, Lucan had showed fight, defying his cruel wardens until such a time as he chose to liberate himself from them entirely. At fifteen, he had struck out into the world. Wagemasters had tried to buy him left, right, and centre. But he had held true to his purpose. And now I am Governor, which is one step down from god. The last thought brought a smile which tempered his rage.

  “Boy, I have just been told that the Emperor Oyrn is coming here. To Wylhome. Why, only the gods know. But we must make preparations. You must do three things for me. Fail at any one of them and I’ll have your hide and your family’s house and everything in it, do you understand?”

  The boy nodded, still not meeting Lucan’s eye.

  “Good. Now, you must go to the kitchens and ask them to provide me with a list of all their stock. They may be stubborn about it, but say the Governor demands it. Next, you must visit the docks and ensure the Quartermaster is informed of the Emperor’s arrival in three week’s time via galleon. Finally, I need you to visit every reputable House in Wylhome and notify them of the Emperor’s coming. We must put on a good show.” There was more to do, a lot more, but that would suffice for the boy. Lucan paused a moment and then removed a golden ring from his finger bearing the Owl of Virgoda. “Take this ring as proof you speak on my authority.” Lucan twisted the boy’s ear again. The boy screwed up his eyes and let out a whimper. “If this ring should go missing, so shall you. Now, begone!”

  He kicked the boy down the hallway. The servant fled without looking back. Lucan grunted contentedly—a job well done. He could have dispatched dragonlings to the necessary quarters, but it would be time-consuming to write out all the letters and arrange their delivery. Plus, the boy turning up at the doors of the Houses—breathless and harried—would add to the sense of urgency he wanted to inspire. He had learned long ago that it was not merely the nature of the message but how it was delivered that mattered; in many cases, it mattered more.

  He shut the door and returned to his desk. Now that he had taken action in addressing the immediate crisis, he would pause to consider his next moves and a deeper plan.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  First, he needed to understand why the Northern Emperor was coming to Wylhome. While the Emperors did travel the entirety of Aurelia, they usually remained in their own territories unless in dire emergency. He read the letter again.

  “You are duly notified that his Imperial Majesty Emperor Oryn will be in your presence within the next fortnight to discuss a matter of great urgency concerning the security of Aurelia.

  —Yours sincerely, The Emissary”

  A matter of security, Lucan thought. For the whole of Aurelia?

  He pondered his several less-than-legal activities and wondered whether, in the rigid, tasteless mind of the Emperor of the North, they could be construed as security breaches.

  There was, naturally, the redistribution of tax funds to accommodate his own needs. But this was practiced by all the Governors. Then there was the plundering of Qi’shathian galleons in Memory. That was a more serious crime, one that—if discovered—could lead to open war. Of course, the ships Lucan sent on such missions—sometimes led by Dreyne when he had less need of a spy close to home—were always tripped of their identifying properties or else borrowed vessels. Dreyne had recounted how the Qi’shathian vessels lowered their guard when Dreyne’s crew approached in a Qi’shathian galleon of their own—only to be broadsided, raided, and left for dead. These acts of piracy had filled Lucan’s coffers considerably, and this in turn had allowed him to build his status as one of the wealthiest and most influential Governors ever to have lived. I did this to make Wylhome great, he thought. Wylhome was the least of all the Governor seats before I came to office. It was merely a dirty port-town, a joke. But now, now it is thriving, growing… He had big plans for its expansion. Why should the Governor of Tezada have all the fun? Why should Daimonopolis, which was not even the seat of a Governor, be considered a more important city than his own? The Engines, Lucan thought. That is why. All Engines in Aurelia run through that central point. But that will change.

  Lucan was going to build a new rail-line, one that encompassed the coastline of Aurelia. The port cities would see a colossal upsurge in their viability as trading centres, for they would be accessible not only by sea, but also by Engine. It would also enable the more rapid transport of goods down the coastline, solving the limitation of the dragons, which could not fly inland into Aurelia.

  Lucan pondered the dragon enigma a moment. The truth was not that they could not fly inland, but that if they did, they would be drawn—inexorably—toward Memory. Perhaps it was a homing beacon not dissimilar to the swallow’s, a sense of where the wild dragons still roamed. Whatever the cause, any dragon flying more than a few miles west of Aurelia’s eastern coastline inevitably slipped their conditioning, and went on to cross the ocean into Memory. The riders were usually never heard from again. Thus, Aurelia had developed its elaborate Engine system as an alternative mode of transport. And Lucan was about to take it to the next level—profiting at every stage.

  But the visit from Emperor Oryn threatened to scupper all of these plans.

  A dark thought passed through his consciousness. He closed his eyes and allowed the thought to make itself known, to fully taste and feel the thought, to turn it over, as a killer might turn over a dagger in their hand, testing its weight and balance. Oryn had been a problem from day one. He was belligerent to the point of insanity. If he came to Wylhome, he would be in reach. He would be…

  Lucan shook himself. He was a bold and ambitious man, but not suicidal. The Emperor, whilst a frustration, had not directly opposed him overmuch. He suspected that the security threat the Emperor wished to speak of was nothing to do with any of Lucan’s clandestine activities. Indeed, the old windbag was likely to just pontificate on foreign policy.

  Lucan tried to relax, but his mind was too abuzz. The dark thought had been like a pebble thrown into a pond, creating anxious ripples that did not look like they were going to die down of their own accord. A little Daimonwine will help, he thought.

  He stood, and decided to pay his favourite sommelier another visit.