• January 11, 1815, Kellynch-by-the-Sea
• What do you think of Alister and his team? Tell me in the comments.

January 11, 1815, Kellynch-by-the-Sea

With a soft kiss on his cheek, Anne left to attend to those details she was so very good at arranging. Wentworth sighed and turned to the response he must pen for the Order. Did she have any idea what a wonder she was at —well, anything or anyone she put her mind to manage?

Several hours later, the housekeeper came to the study to announce a visitor—one heretofore unknown to Wentworth. That notwithstanding, the stranger insisted he had been sent to see Sir Frederick. It was still strange to think of himself that way.

All things considered, Wentworth would have sent him away if the man had not insisted on waiting outside, with his two, according to the dragon-hearing housekeeper, rather large Friends.

A man with dragons was probably important. Especially today.

Laconia accompanied him to the gravel drive at the front of the pale brick manor house. Amidst neatly manicured shrubs, a rather imposing man, wearing a dusty greatcoat with two capes across his shoulders, waited beside a large travel coach, making no attempt to be unobtrusive.

The vehicle alone made that impossible. Despite a fresh coat of black paint and the lack of any crest or identifying markings, there was no mistaking the quality of the carriage. Far more than Wentworth could have afforded.

Beneath the man’s battered hat, grey-streaked brown hair hung limp past his jaw—no effort to style it at all. Bushy eyebrows shaded his deep-set dark eyes, sharp and glittering like a raven’s. He could have used the help of a good valet—at least a week’s worth of stubble dusted his jowls.

Two muscular drakes, standing waist high at their shoulders, sat on their haunches to either side of him. Their hides, well cared for under a coating of road dust, were dark brindle, their taloned feet broad, and their fangs imposing. They wore collars of Order blue with embossed brass Order signets dangling beneath their jaws.

“Sir Frederick Wentworth?” The man asked, doffing his hat and bowing a bit dramatically. He wore a battered brass Order signet on his small finger. Probably real, few would fake that much wear on a disguise—it would be too obvious.

“I am.”

Laconia pressed against his leg, fur pouffed and eyes wide, but no amount of display would make him more formidable than the two drakes who carefully watched the stranger.

“Me name is Alister Salt. The Order sent me and me Friends.” He reached into his worn grey coat and pulled out a surprisingly neat, folded paper bearing the Order’s blue wax seal.

“I have not been informed—”

“The arrangements have only just been made.” He pointed at the paper.

Wentworth opened the missive. How many letters had he seen in this handwriting since taking Kellynch-by-the-Sea? Regional Undersecretary Peter Wynn—always such a joy to hear from. Best not roll his eyes in front of these strangers.

Thank you for your decision to let this travel coach and hire this driver and his hounds for your journey. My associates and I are sure you will enjoy the increased measure of comfort and safety they provide on your travels.

PW

Interesting.

Unexpected.

Telling. Or perhaps suspicious.

“Will you introduce your Friends?” Wentworth asked.

Alister Salt grinned widely—only missing two teeth— as he looked at the two drakes and scratched behind their pointed ears. “Most people see them as German Boarhounds, don’t ya know. May I present Kingsley and Sergeant.”

The two drakes, easily twelve or fourteen stones apiece, bowed, dropping their elbows to the ground. 

Wentworth held his breath. Dragon introductions were always tricky, even for minor dragons.

Laconia slither-stepped to the two drakes and sniffed their faces, jaw half-open and long forked tongue flicking. They dropped their hind ends to the ground, allowing him to smell them nose to tail. Twice. When he finished, he stood between them, the rich black fur between his shoulders standing on end, serpentine tail extended full length.

The drakes circled him, moving as a coordinated team, sniffing him nose to tail. They stared at each other over Laconia’s head for a moment, conversing in facial expressions and low guttural sounds. Finally, they nodded at each other and dropped their chins to the ground whereupon Laconia licked the tops of their heads.

Odd.

As the larger dragons, they should be showing dominance over Laconia.

Did they recognize Wentworth’s rank and impute that to Laconia? Either way, dragons did not relinquish dominance easily. That they conceded to the much smaller Laconia was significant.

Very significant. On the other hand …

No. Dragons, especially the often-communal minor drakes, were not, by their nature, deceptive creatures.

“They will do. The situation is … acceptable.” Laconia strode up to Wentworth, proud and puffed as large as he could be. “They smell … their scent is tolerable.”

Wentworth exhaled hard. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Kingsley and Sergeant.” He offered his hand, fingers curled toward himself, for a smell.

The drakes took him at his word, sniffing his hand, his boots, and as much of the rest of his person as they could reach without standing up on hind legs. Rather personal, but not unusual for dragons.

“He will do,” the slightly larger, darker Kingsley said in a deep, growly voice typical of drakes.

“We will guard him.” Sergeant’s tail tip flicked rather like a dog’s.

Guard. Not travel with, but guard.

Was that Wynn’s plan or Matlock’s?

“We are not traveling alone. My wife and two wyrmlings sired by Laconia will be our companions.”

“Mr. Wynn warned me of that.” Alister Salt muttered, sliding his hands along the brim of his hat, his voice as gruff as either of the drakes’. “Be there some way you can dissuade your missus from going with? It won’t be no easy journey as I been told it.”

If only he could. “She needs must be in London soon. I expect this was arranged for her comfort.”

“Thought as much, but it don’t hurt to ask, you know.” Alister Salt shrugged. “It be difficult to make a long, fast journey comfortable for ladies, you know.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Nothing like having one’s own sentiments held up before him.

“You should meet the final member of our merry band then.” Salt beckoned him to the well-appointed travel carriage and rapped on the box, just below the driver’s seat.

A panel popped open, and a younger, cleaner version of Alister Salt rolled out. He bounced to his feet and bowed. “Good day, sir, me name’s Leander Salt.”

“My son, relief driver, and all-around right hand. With him about, you will always have a fresh driver.” Alister snugged his hat back on his head as though that settled the matter.

Kingsley and Sergeant pressed in on either side of Leander and leaned into him hard.

“Aye, you brutes. You’ll crush me with your antics!” He scratched behind their ears. Both tails wagged hard enough to knock a man off his feet.

“Stop your complainin’. You like it, and you know it.” Sergeant pressed in a little harder, grinning toothily.

“You see how you like it when I sit upon you some day!” He pushed the drake back and crouched, laughing. “I ‘erd you be Laconia?” He extended his hand to Laconia.

Laconia sniffed his fingers and shrugged. “He will do.”

“I’ll do, you ‘erd that, dad? I’ll do!” Leander stood and the drakes laughed with him.

“An astute tatzelwurm if I ever met one.” Kingsley seemed amused, letting out a sound neither a bark, a growl or a chuckle, but a little of each.

The drakes treated Leander like one of their own. What better testament of character could there be?

“Seriously, sir, for all their antics, I got the best damn team to get you here to there and to do it safe as can be done. With them two running beside the carriage, few have ever considered bothering me, and those that did, well, they ain’t around to regret it none now.” Something in Alister’s voice made it clear he was not exaggerating.

For all the dust and scruff that rendered them easy to overlook, this seemed like exactly the sort of crew he wanted on deck beside him.

Perhaps there was more to the adage: The Order takes care of its own, than he first believed.

“Excellent. We will leave at dawn tomorrow.”

What do you think of Alister and his team? Tell me in the comments.