The Cry of the Wind

by Kurt R A Giambastiani

  One Who Flies had reached the wharf and been bundled into a carriage.

  “And now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen?” He ignored their further questions and walked at a brisk step toward the ramp that led up from the pier to the wharf. The reporters dogged him, keeping pace, some in front of him walking backward, all peppering him with their questions. He ignored them with a pleasant smile, pushing past the ones who got in his way on the ramp. He motioned to the driver of the carriage, and the man climbed up into his seat. The reporters noticed the others in the carriage too late, and their questions to One Who Flies came just as Alejandro stepped up into the box, the stair was folded up, and the driver snapped his horses into motion. They followed the carriage for a few feet but quickly gave up, fanning themselves with their notebooks as Alejandro rode away.

  They rode in silence to the governor’s mansion and arrived there to find the entire household turned out to greet them. Alejandro’s heart sped up as he saw his wife and daughter waiting with broad smiles. Isabella waved with exuberant energy, and Alejandro glanced at One Who Flies, Mouse Road still close at his side, their hands entwined. Isabella was about to have her romantic hopes dashed.

  The carriage turned in through the gate and drove around the curve of the graveled drive. The somberness of the arrivals affected their reception immediately, as those gathered before the mansion’s colonnade sensed the incoming mood. Roberto looked particularly concerned, stepping forward but bidding the others remain where they were. He met the carriage, his dark eyes locked on Alejandro.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What has happened?”

  “Much,” Alejandro said.

  “Ha. Here, also,” Roberto said.

  One Who Flies helped Speaks While Leaving from the carriage and Roberto, seeing her condition and noting the absence of her child, gave his brother-in-law an inquiring glance.

  “We need to talk.”

  Roberto beckoned to his wife and Olivia came to his side. “Get everyone settled in.” He glanced at the two Cheyenne women and their watchful companion. “Quietly. No questions.”

  “Of course not,” Olivia said. Having also deduced the crux of what had transpired, her tone spoke of her distaste at such uncouth an idea as prying into the affairs of their guests, but it was also filled with sympathy for their plight. “Poor dears,” she said as she went to the women. “Let’s get you inside. Victoria, will you assist me?” She tried to draw the women away, but One Who Flies would not be separated from Mouse Road. Olivia glanced over and Alejandro gave her a nod. “And One Who Flies,” she said. “Would you be so kind as to accompany us?”

  Alejandro watched them go, watched the household staff file slowly back inside, and watched his daughter view with increasing displeasure the obvious bond between One Who Flies and Mouse Road. She looked to her father, her expression pleading, but he was powerless and glad to be so. His helpless shrug sent her into tears, and she ran into the house. Though he thought that all had left, Alejandro noticed that one person still remained. In the shadows of the mansion’s archway, leaning up against one of the whitewashed columns, stood D’Avignon. The wiry old man sauntered toward them, hands in his pockets like a back-country farmer.

  “Do you want him with us?” Alejandro asked.

  “Oh, indeed,” Roberto said, and put his hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder. “He is very helpful.”

  Together, the three of them walked around the side of the house. Roberto led them through a shaded garden heady with the elegance of jasmine and the blousy scent of roses. Their footsteps mingled with the birdsong and the plash of water in the fountain, but rather than seat them at the padded chairs nearby, he opened a door and ushered them into a small room.

  It was a small work room, Alejandro saw as his eyes adjusted to the less brilliant light of the interior, and one in which he’d never been before. Barely fourteen feet square, it held a large table in its center, and the walls were lined with cabinets and countertops. From the beams and rafters hung bundles of herbs and drying flowers, and on the shelves were a broad variety of vases and urns.

  “Very well,” Alejandro said. “What has happened?”

  “Custer is back,” Roberto began. “Tensions have...eased.”

  D’Avignon laughed through his teeth. “That’s a tepid way to put it.”

  Alejandro ignored him, not a little bit peeved at having to put up with this rascal. “What do you mean, Roberto: eased? I heard that he has reopened negotiations with the Cheyenne.”

  “Correct,” Roberto said.

  “But what of his soldiers in the Territory?”

  “Recalled.”

  “And the hostilities?”

  “Ceased.”

  “But...but...” There were too many questions, but the biggest one lay at anchor in the harbor. “What about those warships in the harbor?”

  “Shore leave,” Roberto said.

  “Shore leave?” he echoed. “Do you mean that there are American sailors at liberty in Havana?”

  “At liberty?” D’Avignon said. “Hell, man, the sailors are drinking and whoring up a storm in the low quarter. And the captains are copying the Spanish dons and giving tours of their ships to townsfolk.”

  Alejandro leaned forward, resting his forearms on the worktable and putting his head in his hands. “This is not good,” he said. “This is not good.”

  “No,” Robert said.

  “Not good?” D’Avignon repeated. “You gentlemen, I must say, have a considerable talent for understatement.”

  “How would you put it?” Alejandro asked.

  “Heh. I’d say you got a root up your bum is what I’d say. I’d say you had been outflanked and outmaneuvered by that wily old man. I’d say this pretty well ruins our plans!” He punctuated the last with a thump of his fist on the tiled countertop.

  Alejandro moaned, seeing the truth of it.

  “But there are gains, too,” Roberto said. “You are favored of the queen. The viceroy must acknowledge you. Your position has risen. You are Special Ambassador to the Cheyenne.”

  “Do you think I wanted that?” Alejandro said with a snarl. “Favor? Position? Do you think I want to go back out into that God-forsaken wilderness and talk to those people?” He stood and raked his fingers through his hair. “What will position do for me when I’m out on the prairie, Roberto? What will the queen’s favor buy me when I’m out among those illiterate savages?” He jabbed a finger toward the outside. “Did you see that woman we brought in here? Did you see what her grief had turned her into? She hacked off her hair and cut her arms with a knife, Roberto. She refused food and water. She smeared herself with ashes.”

  “She lost her child,” Roberto said.

  “She lost her mind!” Alejandro thundered. “She lost all sense of dignity.” He shook his head as he paced the small room. “I traveled with her for a month and more. She spoke French like a white woman, and was nearly as smart as a man. She charmed our queen and the entire countryside as well with her simple, unassuming manner. But it’s all a façade, Roberto. It’s all for show. Scratch the skin, and underneath they’re all savages. Do you think I want to spend time with them? All the position and power in the world would not make it worth my while.”

  “But your family,” Roberto said. “Don’t forget about them. Position and power—”

  “Won’t buy them food, won’t buy them clothing,” Alejandro said. “Position and power won’t keep a roof over their head. No, you don’t remember what it’s like, my dear Governor. You have been too successful for too long. You don’t remember how fickle position can be, how it can be taken from you at the whim of another, or how it can be destroyed by the wrong word in the right ear.” He shook his head. “I don’t forget my family, Roberto, but position and the queen’s favor will not help them. Money will help my family. Gold will help them, and that is what I want.”

  “Then you are lost,” Roberto said. “Without war, Spain has no reason to enter the territory, and
without a reason to enter...” He shrugged. “You are lost.”

  “He is lost?” D’Avignon said. “You mean that we are lost. I had a stake in this, too, remember? And I won’t give up on it that easily.”

  “What?” Alejandro said with a laugh. “Do you mean to start a war on your own?” He laughed some more. “Be serious.”

  “I am serious...Ambassador,” he said, putting extra emphasis on the final word.

  Alejandro remembered the trouble this man was willing to cause and stopped laughing. As long as D’Avignon proved of service, Alejandro would have to suffer the man’s presence. He was just uneasy thinking about the kind of service the man would most likely provide.

  “Very well,” he said. “Tell us what you are talking about.”

  D’Avignon nodded and stood up straight, accepting their renewed truce. “Well, sirs, I was just thinking that all Spain needs is a push.”

  “A push?” Roberto said. “Into war?”

  “Indeed,” D’Avignon said.

  “How?” Alejandro asked.

  D’Avignon glanced left and right theatrically. “I’ve been able to mingle with the American newspapermen here in Havana. They tell me that they’re here to report on the losses at the sugar mills and on the situation with the rebels up in the hills. The Americans have made those rebels into a ready-made scapegoat.”

  “I don’t see how,” Roberto said.

  D’Avignon looked at him with a frown. “Do you read the newspapers, Governor?”

  “No,” Roberto said. “And certainly not the American ones. I speak English but I won’t read it.”

  “Pff,” D’Avignon said. “Well, if you had, you’d know that those rebels are funded and supplied by America—”

  “We know that without reading any newspapers,” Alejandro said.

  “—and you’d also know that Morton’s efforts these past months have helped that image along, especially in the States.”

  Alejandro put his hands flat down on the worktable. “And how does this help us?”

  D’Avignon winked. “There are reporters out there who are aching for a story, even if we have to make one. You say the word, gentlemen, and within a few days I’ll create a situation that neither Spain nor the United States can ignore. I’ll have them at each other’s throats by the end of the week.”

  Alejandro was stunned, and he frankly did not know whether or not to believe this man. He looked at Roberto. “He has spoken of this to you?”

  Roberto shrugged. “In brief.”

  “And is it possible?”

  “Oh, yes,” Roberto said. “But men would die.”

  Alejandro could not suppress a chuckle. “If we’re talking about starting a war, my friend, we can hardly avoid that. But, still...”

  “If you are still undecided,” D’Avignon said, “let me attempt to tip the scales a bit. You know that there is gold in the Cheyenne territory, yes?”

  They nodded.

  “And you know that I worked to help One Who Flies work the one deposit that he found, yes?”

  Again, nods.

  “And did I ever mention that just from that one deposit, and in just one season, we took out a quarter million U.S. dollars’ worth?”

  They stared.

  “And that the one site we worked was just one of at least a dozen promising spots I prospected with One Who Flies?”

  “No,” Alejandro said with a breath. “You failed to mention that.”

  “Well I’m mentioning it now,” D’Avignon said. “And I’ll mention, too, that we will never ever get that far into Cheyenne territory without either their permission or an army at our back. Now, either we’re all in this, or none of us can be, because when you two say ‘go,’ I’m going, and we can’t turn back.”

  Alejandro considered it, and from his brother-in-law’s beaded brow of sweat, he could tell that Roberto was considering it as well, and finding it a much tougher decision.

  “Position,” Alejandro said, as if musing, “is transitory. I’ve seen it myself. You know this, Roberto. I was once an honored military leader, a respected member of the elite of New Spain. When the winds changed, I was spat upon and cast down and it took me twenty years to climb back. Position is transitory. You cannot hold onto it, you cannot protect it.”

  Roberto’s eyes were interested but his frown told of his reluctance.

  “What would happen, Roberto, if the viceroy smelled out our plans? Would you still live in this fine house?

  “No,” Roberto said. “I would have to leave, and return to my ranch in Solano.”

  “Exactly,” Alejandro said, feeling more convinced himself as he spoke. “Because the viceroy can take away your position. But gold...gold and money, that can be protected, and if the viceroy tried to take that from you, you could go after him with impunity, could you not?”

  Roberto’s frown eased. “Of course,” he said. “With impunity.”

  “Position is transitory,” Alejandro said, sure of himself. “Wealth is power.”

  Roberto nodded in agreement.

  Alejandro turned to D’Avignon.

  “What is the plan?”

  Chapter 26

  Tuesday, July 29, A.D. 1890

  Havana

  Cuba

  Seagulls wheeled and spun overhead, and clouds rolled on the wind like tumbleweeds. Crewmen raised nets filled with luggage and cargo from the pier onto the coastal steamer Gracia de la Mar. Passengers hugged their relations and said their goodbyes before boarding for the three-day journey to La Puerta del Norte.

  George stood on the pier and, for the first time in what seemed years, did not fear his future. Mouse Road stood beside him and held onto his arm for support both physical and emotional. Having her so close fired him, and her love drove him. He cursed himself for having been an idiot for so long, and thanked the spirits that, between himself and Mouse Road, at least one of them had been stubborn enough not to give up. He caressed her hand with its flaky skin, and she squeezed his arm with affection returned.

  The ship blasted a steamy note. George turned to Alejandro and Roberto.

  “I suppose we should get aboard now.”

  “It’s time,” Roberto said.

  George stuck out his hand to the Governor. “Thank you for your gracious hospitality,” he said.

  Roberto shook his hand. “Un placer,” he said.

  “And you,” George said, turning to Alejandro. “What can I say? Without your help, none of this would have happened.”

  Alejandro was looking down the wharf. He blinked as he realized he was being spoken to. “Hm? Oh, it was nothing, I assure you.”

  “No, sir. Don’t you realize what you’ve done?” George tried to put into words what he felt at that moment. “You have changed the future of an entire people. You have remapped the destiny of tens of thousands.” He extended his hand. “It has been an honor to be a small part of that.”

  Alejandro actually blushed at the praise. He clasped George’s hand and shook it. “I wish you all the best,” he said incongruously.

  “Is something wrong?” George asked, sensing Alejandro’s distraction.

  “Forgive me,” Alejandro said. “My mind is full of things, this morning. There is so much to prepare for.”

  “Of course,” George said, understanding. “But don’t worry about things on my end. I will set up the regular couriers immediately. One every four days, between the Council and your outpost at the border. Are you sure the telegraph will have reached that far in time?”

  “I am assured that it will be operating within the week.”

  “Fine,” George said. “That will be plenty of time.” He looked around for Vincent but did not see him. He searched for him up at the wharf where Roberto’s men barricaded the press, but did not find him there, either. “Where is Vincent?”

  “Vincent?” Alejandro said. “Oh, D’Avignon. He is...er...”

  “On an errand,” Roberto said with a prim smile.

  “Oh,” Georg
e said. “Too bad. I was hoping to see him before we left. Would you tell him we said goodbye? And tell him I said thanks for the kick in the ribs.”

  “Yes,” Alejandro said. “Of course.”

  The ship blasted another note, and the clumps of people on the pier began to separate into passengers and well-wishers.

  “Thank you, again,” George said.

  “Muchas gracias, señores,” Mouse Road said, and received a nod of acknowledgement from the two men.

  They turned and headed toward the ship. Speaks While Leaving stood at the end of the pier, looking out at the harbor and the water that led from beneath her feet out to the sea and out to the ocean where her child’s body lay entombed. They walked to her and gently George touched her arm.

  Her hair hung in twisted hanks; uncombed and unwashed in an expression of mourning, but through them he could see that her cheeks were dry. George wondered if she had finally cried herself out, at least for now.

  “It’s time to go,” he said to her.

  She allowed him to lead her away from the pier’s edge and steer her toward the ship. They climbed in silence, walking up the ridged ramp, first Speaks While Leaving, then Mouse Road, and George last. Mouse Road held George’s hand as she climbed, and he smiled as he felt the strength of her long-fingered grip. The experience of her illness had forged a bond between them. Having seen her so close to death had shown him that, despite all he had lost in recent years, there was still more he could lose; much more. More importantly, it allowed him to see what it was that he had gained during those same years: a new life, the respect of leaders, and the love of a sweet and devoted woman. Feeling the brush of the medicine bag he still wore beneath his shirt, he thought he might finally have learned the lesson that Three Trees Together had been trying to teach him.

  On deck, Mouse Road’s hand curled around his arm. The suppleness of her body filled him with yearnings beyond the mere emotional, and he strove to maintain his composure. Speaks While Leaving walked to the rail, drawn by the green waters, and George took advantage of the relative solitude.

  “Mouse Road,” he said, “before anything goes any further between us, I wanted to talk to you.”