The Draykon Series (1-3)

Lokant: Chapter Eighteen

'I'm sorry, m'lady, I don't know any more details.' Sensing Eva's displeasure, the factory manager was beginning to sweat. Eva fixed him with a stare.

'You must know more than that, Ocherly. The glass was made right here. What did you add to it? How was it manufactured?'

'It was a simple process, m'lady. The powder was mixed in with the sand, then the rest proceeded as normal. Nothing much out of the ordinary and I could replicate it for you at a moment's notice, only there's no more of it on the premises right at present, ma'am. We're in the process of arranging for a new batch to be delivered but it's Ullarn, m'lady, and you know how complicated that can be...' The man babbled on, but Eva cut him off.

'Where in Ullarn are you ordering it from?'

Ocherly almost ran to his desk and snatched a handful of papers from a drawer. He sifted through them until he found the one he wanted. This he presented to her with a placatory smile.

'All above board, ma'am, I assure you.'

The address listed was for a warehouse in Ullarn's capital city, Wirllen. She folded the note and stored it in a pocket of her dress, nodding her approval.

'I'm also going to need the name of the "inventor" you paid to develop this product for you.'

Ocherly's nervousness increased. 'Ah... with all due respect, m'lady, he did insist on absolute anonymity-'

'I don't care. Give me the name.'

Ocherly held out his hand for the paper he'd given her and she handed it back. He scribbled briefly and returned it to her.

Iro Byllant.

'You have no additional information about Mr Byllant, I take it?' Eva's voice remained cold and her gaze hard. Ocherly swallowed and shook his head.

'No, m'lady. He was a secretive sort.'

Eva stepped back, relaxing her manner. 'One last question, Ocherly. Did Mr Byllant give his remarkable powder a name?'

'Not that I recall, your ladyship, no. I barely spoke to him myself as it is.'

'Describe him for me.'

'He was a tall fellow, friendly enough to talk to but not somebody you'd want to cross, if you follow me. Your hair colour, ma'am.'

Eva lifted her brows. In her thirty-eight years she'd met perhaps five other people with white hair like her own. If Iro Byllant was another, that now totalled three further adults she had encountered in the last two moons alone. That total was interesting.

'Also...' Ocherly hesitated. 'I couldn't say as how exactly, m'lady, but I got the impression there was something wrong about him. Physically, I mean. He wore a big coat that covered him up well, but he moved oddly. Like some part of him wasn't working right. And he wore gloves the whole time.'

'Thank you, Mr Ocherly,' Eva said. 'You've been a great help.'

'No trouble, ma'am, no trouble at all,' he said, evidently relieved that the questioning was over. 'May I ask as to why you're so anxious to know about Mr Byllant? I hope we haven't done wrong with the new globe.'

'I fear you have,' Eva said frankly. 'If it is as I suspect, it isn't something we want to be mixed up with. But I may be mistaken. In the meantime, don't pour everything you have into this new product. You may find, at the very least, that the supply of this remarkable powder isn't as reliable as you'd like.'

His face fell. 'I have to hope you're wrong, m'lady, but I'll bear your words in mind.'

Eva gave him a severe look. 'Do that, Mr Ocherly. I'll be in touch when I know more.'