He reached the roof just before dawn. The night was clear and cold, and the Overseer tucked his arms into the sleeves of his robe against the chill. The morning star gleamed brightly in the dark blue sky, oppressing the Overseer, for it was not a holy star. The Evil One who inhabited it fought against the man on the Domo’s roof. For what seemed like an eternity, the devilish star clawed at the Overseer’s mind. “Quomodo cecidisti de caelo Lucifer, qui mane oriebaris!” the Overseer shouted in defense. “Quomodo corruisti in terram, qui vulnerabas gentes!” The words of Isaias’s fourteenth chapter, the twelfth verse, served as the Overseer’s only protection against the wicked impostor—that Bringer of Light whose ways were actually darkness.
At last the dawn came, and the morning star was banished. The Overseer stood with his face to the east, letting the warmth of the rising sun shine on him and enliven his bones.
And then, unexpectedly, Deus Omnipotens visited him.
There was no audible voice, no angelic appearance, no dazzling beams from heaven. The coming of God was entirely inward, yet it was no less real to the man on the roof of the ancient cathedral. An aura of beauty surrounded him; a peace beyond understanding entered his soul. The Overseer knew without a doubt that Deus was on the move. Times were changing. Truth was being reborn.
As had happened often over the past few months, the image of a lone man appeared in his mind’s eye. Though the man’s face wasn’t distinguishable, the Overseer knew he was a brave warrior with a noble heart and a deepening love for Deus. The man lifted his hand. It was a strong hand, the kind accustomed to the sword, but now the man laid it on an altar with his fingers splayed out. The hand remained there, absolutely still, waiting for Deus to do his will.
It is the hand of Teofil of Chiveis, the Overseer realized.
With that, the vision broke.
The Overseer found himself aware of his surroundings again. He was standing alone in the early morning light. The sun, still low in the sky, cast its rays across the ruins of the Forbidden Zone. Shivering, the Overseer turned toward the stairs and made his way back to earth.
Brother Toni met him in the plaza outside the Domo. “Did the Alm-m-m-m-mighty visit you?” he asked.
“Yes, my son. He has given me insights upon which I must act. I have two tasks for you regarding these matters.” Brother Toni nodded his willingness to obey, so the Overseer continued. “First I want you to compose a message to the brethren in Roma. Inform them that Teofil of Chiveis will visit them soon. You should describe his appearance in detail, especially the scar he bears between his left thumb and forefinger. Tell the brethren Teofil is a friend of the Christiani, so they should aid him in every way. Is that clear?”
“Y-y-yes,” said Brother Toni, bowing deeply. “And w-what else?”
“Prepare a horse with provisions. I intend to go on a journey.”
Brother Toni’s head came up sharply. He stared at the Overseer with a startled expression, his mouth open. Though he tried to speak, his stutter kept him from pronouncing his question. Finally he was able to vocalize a single word. “Outside?”
The Overseer nodded and put his hand on his disciple’s shoulder. “Yes, I am going outside. Do not be afraid, Brother Toni. I am certain Deus wishes me to leave the Zone and make contact with one of our allies. He is an old friend of mine, though I have not seen him in many years.”
“W-w-who is it, my lord?”
The Overseer turned away from Brother Toni and looked toward the west. “He is a Knight of the Cross, one of very few left in that renowned order. Of course, no one in Ulmbartia knows that about him. To them he’s just a rich and powerful count by the name of Federco Borromo.”
The harbor at Nuo Genov wasn’t exactly bustling, but it was more lively than it had been through the winter months. Each day a few ships came and went whenever the weather looked fair. Though none yet risked a journey to faraway locations, Teo could sense the sailors’ urge to be out on the open seas again. It wouldn’t be long before the port would be busy once more.
Teo had left the cottage earlier that morning after Sol went to buy groceries at the covered market. Arriving at the waterfront, Teo spent the day wandering along the docks, conversing with anyone who was willing. No one knew how to sail to Roma, but he didn’t let that dampen his spirits. Just to be doing something other than translation work was a welcome change. He also stopped in a tailor’s shop and purchased new clothing: a dark leather jerkin with a high collar, a linen shirt, gray wool trousers, and black boots of an excellent make. As he meandered around the harbor in his new garments, Teo felt optimistic and hopeful, as if something good was bound to happen.
Around dinnertime Teo made his way to La Lanterna in hopes of finding the old sailor Bosun. He was not disappointed, for the man soon walked in. It seemed Bosun was something of a regular at the tavern.
Though Bosun didn’t know the way to Roma, he gave Teo a helpful hint over drinks. “The people you need to talk to are the long-distance merchants, but they don’t use this bar. Theirs is off by itself at the edge of the port. The Rusty Anchor, it’s called. Watch yourself there—it’s a rough place.” Teo thanked the leather-skinned seafarer for his advice and went outside into the gathering darkness.
The Rusty Anchor was a rundown tavern surrounded by youths smoking pipes of the imported weed called tabako. Gray smoke swirled around them in a pungent fog. They eyed Teo suspiciously as he went inside.
The atmosphere at The Rusty Anchor was very different from La Lanterna. Instead of old salts relaxing with an ale, the tavern was dominated by rough-looking sailors drinking hard liquor in shot glasses. Busty women in short skirts caroused with the men in the corners. The air was rank with raw language and body odor. Apparently the long-distance sailors were cut from a different sort of cloth than the local fisherman and merchants who hopped up and down the Likurian coast.
Teo elbowed his way to the bar, knowing this wasn’t the kind of establishment where a polite request would do the trick. The bartender glared at him, but Teo returned the stare and demanded, “Good whiskey, and hurry up.” He thumped a coin onto the counter and held it in place with his forefinger until he got his drink.
The two men on Teo’s left were engaged in a heated argument. Swear words and spittle flew between them in even proportions. One man shoved the other, knocking him into Teo, who had raised his glass to his lips. The jostling caused whiskey to dribble onto the man’s glossy boots. He stared down at his feet, then looked up at Teo and cursed him to the depths of hell.
Teo wasn’t looking for trouble. He had come to the tavern to make friends and obtain information. “Sorry about that,” he said to the furious sailor. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“I don’t want your drink!” the man roared. Instantly a tense silence descended upon the barroom as everyone turned to see what would happen.
The other man, who a moment earlier had been cussing his comrade in the foulest way, now jabbed his finger toward Teo. “Hey, you! Get down there and lick up that spill,” he demanded.
Teo wasn’t about to lick anybody’s boots. He faced the men, wearing a friendly grin, yet wishing he had his knife with him. Though he had reclaimed his weapons when he quit his job at the stable, he had left them at the cottage because it wasn’t legal to go around Nuo Genov armed like a soldier. Nevertheless, there was a good chance one or the other of the sailors had a blade hidden on his body. Teo hoped his congenial demeanor would keep it that way—hidden.
“Look, fellas,” he said, “that spill was an accident. Let’s just forget it, and I’ll buy you both a stiff shot.” To let the ruffians save face, Teo grabbed a barkeep’s towel and dropped it on the man’s foot. The cloth would soak up the spilled whiskey, and the gesture would show everyone that Teo had more or less complied with the men’s request.
Unfortunately, the sailors had no interest in defusing the situation. Kicking away the towel with a flick of his toe, the man with the glossy boots stepped toward Teo and growled, “Lic
k my foot right now, stranger.”
Realizing a fight was inevitable, Teo claimed the element of surprise. He bunched his fist and hit the man square in the jaw.
The barroom exploded with raucous shouts as Teo sent his opponent sprawling. The other man leaped past his fallen partner and barreled at Teo with his fists flying. He was strong, and the fighting was intense, but Teo held his own. For every blow he took, he gave one in return. Teo’s nose was bloody and his ears were ringing, but the other guy didn’t look so good either.
Suddenly the man threw his knee into Teo’s stomach, knocking out his wind. As Teo gasped and stumbled, the sailor grabbed him from behind and choked him with an arm around his neck. Teo lurched backward and slammed the man into the bar, but he couldn’t dislodge the elbow at his throat. The onlookers screamed encouragement to their fellow seafarer. The whole place was in an uproar.
A few paces away, the man who had been hit in the jaw was getting to his feet. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, then turned a fierce gaze toward Teo.
“I got him pinned,” shouted the man choking Teo from behind. “Finish him off!”
The first man drew a knife from inside his vest and sneered. Teo wrestled with the assailant holding him in place, but because they were standing by the bar, he couldn’t get his feet in the right position to break free.
The man with the knife raised it behind his head as he prepared to throw it. Teo’s entire torso was exposed, and the assailant was too close to miss. Teo felt his stomach muscles clench as he saw the attacker’s arm start to move.
As the knife was leaving the man’s hand, a new combatant entered the fray. He smashed the knife-thrower over the head with a bottle, which shattered in a spray of glass and liquor. The blow caused the man’s knees to buckle and, more importantly, diverted his knife onto a harmless trajectory.
Everyone was stunned by the intervention, including the man at Teo’s back. The split-second of surprise allowed Teo to lower his stance and gain a leverage advantage. He thrust his elbow into his assailant’s abdomen, hurling him backward to the floor. The ruffian’s head glanced off the bar on the way down, and he remained still.
All the patrons of The Rusty Anchorgaped in silence. The stranger holding the broken bottle looked at Teo with a mischievous grin. Realizing the show was over, the onlookers turned back to whatever they had been doing, and a hubbub of conversation trickled through the crowd. Teo breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let’s get out of here,” said the man with the bottle.
Teo had no idea who he was, but the man seemed friendly enough, and right now Teo’s friends were in short supply. He nodded and followed the sailor outside.
“I owe you one,” Teo said as the pair stepped into the cool air of the waterfront.
“You have no idea how much you owe me,” the stranger answered. “That was an expensive bottle of gin.”
The remark elicited laughter from both men, and Teo decided he liked his newfound acquaintance. He studied the man by the light of the moon. Though he wasn’t quite as tall as Teo, he had the same kind of lean, athletic build. His hair was jet black, and he wore a mustache that blended into the goatee on his chin. He was a handsome man, though scruffy in a way that suggested he was too preoccupied with other matters to bother with his good looks. His clothes were those of a seaman: navy blue peacoat, scarf around his neck, buff-colored pants, and bucket-top boots.
“My name is Marco,” the man said, extending his hand.
“I’m Teofil. Pleased to meet you.” Teo returned Marco’s firm handshake.
“The word on the docks is you’re looking for passage to a distant city.”
“That’s right, to Roma. Do you know where it is?”
“A few of the merchants around here make trips to some pretty far ports,” Marco answered evasively.
“And are you one of those?”
“I’m no merchant, but my business requires me to go where they go. That’s how I acquire my cargoes for such low prices, if you know what I mean.”
Teo glanced at Marco. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Extremely low prices,” Marco said with a sly wink. “Like the price of a few grappling hooks.”
“Oh, you’re a pirate.”
“I suppose you could say that. But unlike the Clan, I don’t stop every ship I come across, just those of the racketeers and swindlers. Then when I sell my spoils in port, the people get a better price than they would have gotten otherwise, and my men are well paid. Only the crooks are out of luck. It’s not exactly legal, but I consider it a good business.”
“And does your ‘business’ take you to Roma? I need to get there as soon as possible.”
“I know. Why do you think I bailed you out at the tavern? Carrying passengers from one port to another is easy money for me, especially if I’m headed that way already. I couldn’t let those thugs kill a paying customer, could I?”
Teo grinned at Marco’s audacity. The man was a rascal, but a likable one. “So you can take me to Roma?”
“If you have the money, we leave in two days.”
“I’m in.”
After coming to terms and making departure arrangements, Marco offered Teo accommodation aboard his clipper for the night. Since Teo was bleeding and bruised, and his cottage was an hour’s walk uphill from the harbor, he gratefully accepted Marco’s offer.
Teo’s bed was a hammock below deck. Exhausted, he turned in for the night, but sleep eluded him. He lay awake in the darkness, swaying restlessly, plagued by worrisome thoughts. Now that he had made concrete plans to go to Roma, the idea of leaving Ana unprotected seemed intolerable. Although the Iron Shield hadn’t been seen in Likuria for several months, he might return, and Teo didn’t know enough about the shamans’ intentions to feel good about leaving Ana vulnerable to their evil designs. Yet it was obvious Deu was calling Teo to Roma—and he knew Ana would want that too. In a distant part of his mind, Teo believed he would someday patch things up with her and restore their broken relationship. Now as he lay in his hammock and considered the matter, he realized he was counting on the discovery of the New Testament in Roma to be a part of that reconciliation. Teo knew how much Ana wanted the book. O Deu, he prayed into the darkness, help me find your book! And help me . . .
A wave of sorrow washed over Teo, bordering on grief in its intensity. He swallowed the lump in his throat and squinted against the moisture that had gathered in his eyes. With an ache in his heart, he finished his prayer: Help me find my way back to Ana!
Vanita Labella had prepared herself to do a necessary evil. Now as she stood before the door of the shamans’ shrine at Nuo Genov, she took a deep breath and knocked.
People did not often visit the shrines of the Exterminati, especially not at such a late hour, so it took several minutes for anyone to respond. Finally the door creaked open, and a hooded shaman appeared. A gravelly voice spoke from inside his cowl: “What business have you here in the dark of night?”
“I am the daughter of an Ulmbartian duke, and I wish to speak privately with your leader,” Vanita said with as much authority as she could muster.
The shaman’s only response was to open the door wider and disappear into the shadows. Vanita waited for a moment, then peeked inside. The man was gone. She went a few steps into the shrine, unsure if she was supposed to follow or wait outside. In the distance lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, then everything was quiet again. A cool mustiness pervaded the air of the vestibule.
“This way!” said the rough voice. Vanita almost jumped out of her skin.
Take it easy, girl, she warned herself. They won’t hurt you.
Or will they?
Vanita followed the shaman through an arched corridor to a room with two chairs. Each chair faced the other, with a rug on the floor in between. The room was lit by candle sconces on the walls.
“Wait here in the receiving room,” the shaman instructed. “I will see whether the Lord Necromancer of Likuria will speak to
the likes of you.” He left.
As Vanita sat in the smaller of the two chairs, she steeled herself for the mission that had brought her to such a fearsome place at night. Dredging up memories from the day before, she let herself relive the anger, the shock, the hurt she had felt when her father showed her the letter from Dohj Cristof di Sanjorjo. Vanita could tell immediately from the look on her father’s face that the letter did not bear good news. “The dohj has broken off negotiations with us,” he had said. “It is not to be.”
It is not to be.
The words were burning red-hot in Vanita’s heart when a door opened across the room. The Lord Necromancer of Likuria floated in like a wraith.
He was clothed in robes of a different sort than the other shamans. His garment was made of very fine cloth, black as ink and trimmed with sable. He wore a hood that drooped from his forehead, yet it did not overhang his face enough to obscure it. Vanita discerned the aquiline features of an aristocrat in the man who seated himself in the chair opposite her.
“Speak,” he commanded. “Speak now, or leave and never return.”
Vanita steeled her nerves and shoved Ana from her mind. “My name is Vanita Labella of Ulmbartia. I have come to report the grievous news that Dohj Cristof di Sanjorjo is consorting with a secret Defective—a woman with a hideous disfigurement beneath her clothes.”
The Lord Necromancer hissed and drew back as if the uncleanness of the Defectives could be transmitted to him like a disease. “Is the woman within his family?” he asked. “We have agreed to extend immunity to the dohj’s nearest kin.”
“She is not related to him. In fact she is not even a citizen of Likuria, nor of Ulmbartia. The woman is a foreigner whose leg is mutilated from an attack by a wild beast.”
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