“Please,” Leonardo butts in once again, “are we in agreement? Guild Poe will deliver the codex to the witch Goldenbit and your emissary, Franziska, shall accompany him. In exchange, she will furnish the requested information on the Cerriwdens’ mission.”
“We will follow Santuini to Gothland,” Von Thieg clarifies, his voice still unsteady.
“You can follow us all the way to the grave, if you’d like,” Kasia barks, “but I doubt they will let you dock in Gothland.”
“We shall see. Why in the world should they stop some respectable gentlemen from approaching them in peace?”
“I can’t guarantee anything,” Kasia specifies. “You’ll have to hash it out with the port authority there alone.”
“Details,” the Baron says, already sounding bored.
Leonardo rises to his feet and stretches his open palm across the table. “Agreed.”
Dietrich almost seems surprised by the move, but nevertheless he quickly removes his glove and shakes the Swiss man’s hand. He then offers the same to Kasia. His grip is weak and affected, like everything surrounding it.
Kasia motions to the blonde with her chin. “Ready your things and present yourself at the Needle in fifty minutes.”
“We’ll enjoy ourselves, Santuini; you’ll see,” the masked woman sneers, and Von Thieg accompanies the line with a ridiculously loud laugh, maybe to chase away the terror of the magic spell he’s just witnessed.
Guild Poe gets up in turn, but the Baron doesn’t seem interested in shaking hands with anyone else, so he’s left there twiddling his thumbs.
Goods for exchange, my dear, Kasia thinks. Leonardo throws the dice at this table, the Baron bets big, and you and I are just figures they move on the game board.
The return to the docks is fretful and quick with Leonard constantly examining the sky to follow his airship’s docking maneuvers, returning from its dangerous challenge to the Dutch authorities.
“What then, Guarischi?” Guild Poe says between his teeth, so as not to let the guards escorting them hear. “Assuming we manage to deliver the diary and to get the answers hidden within?”
“The plan was to gather your support in Londion and then go to Gothland. We’ll just flip the itinerary,” Leonardo whispers.
“You sold me to your new partner! Once he has the answer to the codex—”
“—Kasia,” Leonardo continues, “will take you to Londion, as per our agreement and your original commission.”
“Hey!” Kasia says under her breath. “The terms were a short hop to Londion, without any danger. Now I need to take him to Gothland and then Londion with half the Palatinate on my heels while the hybrids are starting a damned war with the whole world! And you’re still speaking to me about commissions?”
Leonardo steps out of the procession and withdraws across the gangway of his airship which is by now in the mooring stage.
“Thank you!” he happily shouts at the soldiers, taking his leave of them. “From here my crew can defend me. I’ll send a crate of beer to the barracks!”
“Kasia, Kasia,” he then says softly, with a wide grin, “we’re all pieces in the same puzzle and each of us must slide into our place, if we want to save our skins, ours and those of the people close to our hearts.”
“Don’t threaten me!” the witch points her finger in his face. “You bring me back my niece, safe and sound, or I will come snatch you even from between the devil’s thighs.”
Leonardo delicately takes her hand. “But of course.”
“What’s more,” Kasia wriggles free, “if you want me to bring Guild Poe to Londion, stopping in Gothland, the price goes up. Let’s say two hundred forty thousand, twice our original agreement.”
A short whistle escapes from Leonardo’s lips. “Your services cost dearly. I exhausted my credit buying you the new frame. However, I’m certain that when you get to Londion someone will gladly open their wallet.”
“You’re two butchers!” Guild Poe interrupts them, with a grimace on his distinguished face. “And me? What do you think, you can sell me to this one or that one, filling your pockets, without my having the least say in the matter?”
Kasia throws up her hands. “I have no horse in this race. You want to leave? The Baron will be happy to accompany you to Gothland.”
“My dear Guild,” Leonard rests a hand on his forearm, crossed over his chest. “We succeeded in an almost hopeless endeavor. We’re leaving the belly of the Baron’s Scourge, all three of us on our own two legs and with our freedom of movement intact and permission to travel to Gothland. We played a perfect game; it was impossible to get more than this.”
“Hmpf,” Guild Poe grumbles. “It’s just unpleasant hearing you two haggling over what my companions paid for with their lives, without any compensation except the hope of stopping this plague.”
Kasia takes a half step toward him. “Speaking with Goldenbit won’t be easy. If you want, I can lend you a hand. I too think your research is important.”
“Alright. Thank you.” The American shifts from one foot to the other staring at his fingertips. “Excuse my outburst, I know you’re doing everything possible. But we’re running out of time and here, in Europe, it seems to me you all are more interested in your squabbles and your gains than in solving problems.”
Leonardo gives him two little pats of encouragement. “Don’t worry. We’ll manage to put all the pieces together.”
A man with red hair, slicked down around his skull, and with a beard the same color, appears from the guard post at the Mala Avis’ prow. “Captain, ready for takeoff. The wind is already strong up there, forty knots.”
The Swiss man, after a moment’s embarrassment, takes the witches’ hands. “Want to come on board for a minute?”
She bites her lip. She would like to let herself go for a few seconds between his arms, in a comforting embrace that would let her know their friendship was firm and true—or at least nearly so.
She would also like to steal a kiss from this scoundrel, to bend the Rule of total abstinence a bit and maybe even invite him to the Sabbath coming up fast. The cunning and cool-headedness he displayed in front of the Baron has put him in another light in Kasia’s eyes. No longer a hustler who uses his charm and his silver tongue to cut down the antique dealer’s price, but an expert agent in the pay of some government or an English nobleman. The kind they unleash in an open field, without cover or a life vest, free to act independently, following their sense of smell.
Kasia’s hand squeezes back and she caresses the Swiss man’s bearded cheek. “Leo, I can’t. I need to take Guild Poe to the Needle, prepare the crew for the arrival of that German hussy and give Silla a proper goodbye. How long till you leave?”
“Twenty five minutes, thirty at most.”
“See? There’s no time. You bring Alina back to me in Gothland safe and sound and only then will I truly be able to relax. Even with you.”
Leonardo bends down to kiss her on the cheek and she returns the gesture at the edge of his mouth, also granting him a mischievous look.
“Pardon me,” Guild Poe interrupts their wordless exchange, “after I speak with Goldenbit, assuming she manages to decipher the code, are you, Kasia, taking me straight to Londion? Or will we wait for Leonardo?”
“I’m afraid,” the Swiss man answers, “you’ll have to wait for me, mostly because in Gothland you two will be relatively safe surrounded by witches. With the decrypted message, out in the open, the Baron would try to board you and would never allow you to reach Londion. But if you glimpse the opportunity to get free of him, don’t let it get away. I have faith in your intuition, Kasia.”
“Me too,” the witch smiles at him. “Let’s hope all this hasn’t clouded it. Come along, Mr. Poe, let’s get back to the Needle.” They take their leave, and Kasia heads toward her own airship lost in thought, searching for the thread of an argument that might convince her crew to accept the Baron’s delegate on board.
***
&nbs
p; “Engine at eight eighths!” Gabriela shouts, attached to the steering wheel, her hair ruffled by the frozen air that seeps into the bridge through the broken windows.
The two enemy ships are closing in on them. Alina consults the map frantically searching for a route to escape from this hell. The bullets of the enemy machine gun whiz over their heads, a dull crack every time they lodge into the frame’s defenses. All it would take is one of those screens giving way to pierce the balloon and condemn every creature onboard to death.
“Cannon lined up,” Kenneth exclaims, his hands tight around the big artillery crank, their only remaining chance at counterattack after the failure of the hydraulic controls.
“Fire!” Gabriela screams over the ruckus. The canon rumbles ominously and the cabin is shaken by the recoil.
Gabriela immediately crashes into the helm making the ship pitch in concert with the creaking and shattering glass, which runs through the bridge.
“Course! Alina, quickly!” Cerriwden implores her.
Smoke surrounds the hull, visibility is nil, all she can do is trust in the altimetric charts. They need to fly low and fast to have any hope of escaping the enemies’ fire.
“Seventy-seven north, mark!” Alina tries. “No!” as the airship already points itself toward a new trajectory, “Sixty-seven north, repeat, six-seven north.”
The fuselage sways, at the limits of what its joints can take—a vessel too heavy for these maneuvers.
“Line it up, Kenneth!” Gabriela orders.
“Wait,” he answers.
“Kenneth?” a flash of lightning in the girl’s dark eyes. A mutiny?
“How far from the next pivot point, Ali?” asks the English sailor.
“Accursed devils—” Gabriela yells but the rest of her sentence is drowned out by the din of the enemy barrage shattering the last intact window and showers lethally across the bridge.
Alina examines her jacket, expecting to see a blood stain spreading on her torso, but the impact she felt against her sternum was just a splinter deflected without injury.
“Shoot now, Kenneth!” Cerriwden shouts herself hoarse, but the Englishman hesitates.
Alina understands his intentions: he wants to wait for the next turn and then fire two shots into the wind. Risky, but it might be a good opportunity to shake at least one of the pursuers off their back. She feverishly checks the chronometer.
“Fourteen seconds till next turn, fifty-one east,” Alina calculates.
“Captain?” Kenneth asks, his black hair tussled by the wind.
“Oh, villainous devil! Aim at the next turn like you want to. If we make it there,” Gabriela gripes.
“You are my favorite captain,” the Englishman remarks. “You know this is the first time I’ve served under a woman?”
“I fear it will be the shortest commission of your life if you don’t aim that barrel.”
“Always right on target when it’s needed,” he snickers.
Alina counts the seconds waiting for the enemy bombardment. They’ll open fire before the next pivot: if they don’t hit then the handsome English sailor’s plan might succeed, if—on the other hand—they hit them dead center, end of the line. Kenneth was loyal and had the right idea. He even found a way to make it seem like the decision was made by Cerriwden. The whistle of enemy gunfire interrupts their thoughts and cuts off the banter between her comrades.
The deafening blast rocks the cabin. Alina ducks and hits her arms on the control panel. She opens her eyes cautiously, the air saturated with an acrid-tasting smoke and the sounds reach her muffled through her eardrums, weighed down by the explosion. She checks the level of joint pressure and the altimeter. The East Wind is still lined up, the frame righted itself.
“Ali!” Gabriela is on her knees, but she hasn’t let go of the wheel.
“Three, two, one, mark!” Alina pronounces, pushing the hair from her face. “Engine full speed ahead.”
The motors drone and the planks cry out, objecting to the forced maneuver.
“Lined up!” Gabriela rejoices. “Engines ahead, fire at will!”
She doesn’t manage to finish the sentence before the cannon overpowers her voice.
“Hit!” Kenneth shouts.
An enormous stone cliff emerges out of the fog and passes a few yards from the airship’s cabin.
Alina checks the map, surprised. She didn’t think they were so close at this elevation. “We’re adjusting four degrees south.”
“Wait,” says the Englishman. “I’ll shoot the second broadside.”
“We’re against the mountain!” Gabriela waves her arms towards the wall of stone she’s seeing up close.
Alina rechecks the calculations and coordinates. She made an error, about thirty meters, at the last pivot, but now she’s recovered. The chasm they’ve squeezed into is narrow, but it allows for an ideal position to fire. If their adversaries want to follow them they will expose themselves to their cannon.
“Alina, talk to me!” Cerriwden orders.
“I’m here, I’m here. We can make it through, we have time for a second shot.”
Alina points her attention to the map, imagining the treetops, the rocks and fissures of the mountain they’re brushing against.
“Barrel loaded in four seconds,” Kenneth declares, his hand already on the red metal button.
“Fire as soon as it’s loaded,” Gabriela commands. A few seconds later, the cannon’s thunder booms.
“Turning at twelve south, ascending forty feet!” Alina screams. “Mark, mark, mark!”
The little ship is still swaying. They wait in silence for an impact against the fuselage, but the rocks slide majestically alongside them without any damage.
Kenneth crosses the deck and presses his eye to the telescope.
“They’re retreating,” he rejoices. “The second airship is falling back; they know we would have taken them if they advanced, wedged in that gap!”
“Yes!” Alina springs to her feet and in a few short steps finds herself in the center of the bridge, embracing the Englishman, jumping for joy. A hot flash rises to her cheeks, just now realizing how the Englishman’s compact muscles adhere perfectly to his body from throat to groin.
She moves back, looking off to the side, and inviting their silent captain for the day to join in their celebration. “Gabri! We did it!”
“Well done, kids. Excellent work,” Gabriela responds with her eyes lost on the horizon.
Kenneth winks at Alina, as if to say, “Let it go,” but she leaves his arms and walks over to the navigation wheel. She takes the hand of the young Cerriwden, the one trembling inside the other. “You were impressive, Captain. Your aunt would be proud of you.”
“We almost got ourselves turned to mush,” Gabriela mutters, but she weaves her finger between Alina’s and presses her hand with conviction, her gaze searching out Alina’s eyes.
A spontaneous thought materializes in Alina’s mind, prompted by the telepathic witch: “Thanks, sister.”
PART FOUR: BLAME THE DRINK
“This is a slaughterhouse,” Hansi’s voice makes her flinch. Alina was concentrating every remaining drop of strength on navigation, one eye on the map and the other on the graydar to check that they’re not being followed.
It’s been two hours now since Gabriela established contact with her aunt, the true Captain of the Wind, to confer and decide on their next move. Gabriela asked Kenneth to go below deck and stay there until he received new orders, same with the two mysterious guests who crawled out of the Sinecure’s underground.
“I want to trust you, Santuini,” the young new Captain had said. “If Allport shows himself on the bridge notify me, the intercom will remain open.” After which she’d confiscated all the firearms, cramming them in the armory under lock and key, apart from a pair of ridiculously large pistols, which she fastened to her hips.
She hadn’t dared ask everyone to hand over their knives, a mistake in Alina’s opinion. In tight spaces
a blade can be more dangerous than a bullet, at least that’s what Kasia always said.
“Yeah,” answers Alina. “It’s freezing up here, with all the broken windows. Did Gabriela tell you to come up?”
“Yes,” he confirms, as he walks across the deck, careful not to trip over the debris. “She told me to bring you this.” He holds out a sandwich, stuffed with the usual slice of salami.
“What a sight. Did you make it yourself?”
“Um, yeah. You don’t like it?”
“I’d eat Perfidio right now, I’m so hungry. However,” Alina bites into the bread, “we need to get you some cooking lessons.”
“And who’s going to teach me? You?”
Alina watches him askance and swallows a mouthful. “This isn’t a sandwich, it’s an attempt at suffocation.”
Delicately, so as not to let him hear the click, she shuts the small metal cover of the intercom. “Anyway,” she continues, “sorry for asking if she sent you up, but I want to avoid any arguments. Gabriela is under a lot of pressure, she sees shadows everywhere. How is her aunt doing?”
“Not well,” Hansi stands by her side, watching the storming horizon. “She tries to stay conscious, but every few minutes she passes out. She’s lost a lot of blood. Gabriela asked me my type, but we’re not compatible.”
“Well then,” Alina grimaces, “she must really be desperate. A witch will go a long time before she absorbs a blood transfusion, and it can replenish the demon.”
“What is the demon?”
“It’s our magic. But I can’t talk to you about it.” She gives him a slap on the back. “I can’t speak about the occult arts to someone who doesn’t follow the Rule. Don’t you know you can’t ask questions of a witch? Otherwise your tongue will fall out.”
“You’re the first witch I’ve met.” Hansi smiles and shrugs.
“You don’t say,” Alina teases him. “Have I done a good job so far, representing our kind?”
“You are… incredible,” the German boy says frankly. “Sometimes you seem like a carefree girl, but then, when the situation arises, you quickly become fearsome and ruthless like… a real witch.”
The Codex of the Witch: Fantasy Novel Page 18