“‘He will obtain Dominion thanks to ten witches who will form a double pentacle. He currently has four under his command, thus he will seek to charm six of you, sisters. Finally, for Hope, he must find three little girls in whom the magic seed is present, without them having developed it.’”
Guild Poe seeks out Kasia with his gaze. “Here ends the section in the possession of Dietrich’s emissary. The final part has further details on how he intends to carry out the spell and what magic he will organize, but above all it explains how he managed to formulate, with the help of the collective minds, a scientific procedure for identifying magic in pre-pubescent girls which he needs for his goal. It works at a distance and allows for monitoring on a grand scale.”
“This isn’t a threat but a blessing!” a member of the Renneaux clan interrupts. “We will no longer need to go out in search of our little adepts; rather, we can ask that the places where orphan girls are assembled be scanned and have them sent to us by those who raise them. They will be happy to be rid of them.”
A shiver runs along Kasia’s spine. “Sister,” she starts, “perhaps you have been away from Continental Europe for too long. The Palatinate hates us; we fought against them alongside the English. East of Berlin, we are persecuted in many counties. In France, we are barely tolerated. In Italy and Spain, we cannot travel without special permission. The method designed by the warlock is the most frightening menace we could face.”
“What do you mean, Kasia?” Eleanor Viscount fusses with her dark curls.
“If people like Baron Dietrich had a device like that at their disposal it would be the final pogrom for us. How many would they need to check each newborn girl to ascertain if she’s a potential witch or not? Out of every hundred thousand, one of us is born. Collateral damage, acceptable to purge the Continent of our presence. Applying a genetic cleansing program like this for a few decades would suffice and witches will disappear. Without young adepts to train, the knowledge we grew and cultivated for thousands of years will quickly be lost.”
“There will always be new witches born. They can’t check them all,” Renneaux argues.
“You don’t know the determination of the German nobles. After the war, they confined us here ten years, they don’t miss an opportunity to tie us to stakes, they’ve persecuted us for centuries. This procedure must remain a secret, and the mysterious Lionel must take his recipe to the grave.”
“Sisters,” Ehrinna interjects, “we have learned much news this evening, which we must assimilate and on which we must reflect. At the moment, I don’t see immediate steps to be taken; I would adjourn the Council for seven days to handle this development on the occasion of the reunion preceding the Sabbath.”
“Seven days?” Kasia rises to her feet. “We need to decide this instant what line to take with the baron. As soon as I get in my airship, the Captain of the Scourge will demand to talk to me.”
“Tell him the Council reserves the right to decide. You’re just one among us, Kasia, you cannot speak on behalf of all. If he has any questions suggest he address them to me. This meeting is adjourned.”
Kasia gets up from her place huffing. Guild Poe makes his way to her. “I’m sorry, Kasia.”
“You have a head thick as a wooden chest. Come, let us return to the Needle. But why, I ask, didn’t you recount all these pleasantries to me before we disembarked here? Perhaps things wouldn’t have gone much differently, but we could have formulated another strategy.” She heads back to the docks at a quick pace.
“Forgive me, but I couldn’t do it. I realized that here, in Europe, there are too many different factions, too many people focused on their own little gardens, in divvying up power: double agents, spies. I always distrusted Guarischi, even though he’s the only one until now who’s shown himself to be true to his word; when he delivered me to you, I had my doubts.”
“But they kidnapped my niece. The life of my blessed niece is in danger and you have doubts!”
“Other witches took Alina away. How could I be sure you all weren’t in cahoots, to trick me? I had to be sure Arabel’s message made it here, to the home of the Council.”
“My dear, you don’t know how wrong you are. Your friend’s faith is admirable, but if you think those old fogeys will face the problem, you’re sorely mistaken. You heard just now, right? A week to think it over, just to decide whether to confront the warlock and save the free world, or whether we should switch to the other side and roll out the red carpet to his eccentric ideas on the universal communion of minds. As if the world will stop turning because they want to reflect. I’ll bet that in two hours Von Thieg will present himself on the bridge, and I’ll have to find something convincing to tell him—forget about sending him to those stuffed scarecrows, the Viscounts.”
“Lionel needs witches, he will come here. If you don’t want to deal with him, then you’ll have to flee to England before he arrives and seek reinforcements over there.”
Kasia and Guild Poe pass the customs offices and finally arrive at the docks. A feeble light shines through the Needle’s windows.
“At least my airship hasn’t gone up in flames,” Kasia grumbles, a little relieved. “And who says he won’t go to Stonehenge first?”
“It’s useless for him to steer there if he doesn’t possess all the elements. Lionel has only been able to maintain control over four sorceresses, out of all those he had called on to follow him. He still needs to find six. If he’s in a hurry, as we believe, he will have to come here out of necessity; this is the only place in Europe where there’s an abundance of people like you.”
“The Sabbath is in ten days. Just one night, but one filled with weaknesses. Only a few of us stay clear headed to protect all the others who lose themselves in the fumes of the orgy. A few witches, against an inhuman danger.”
“Can’t you push it back?”
Kasia laughs, mirthlessly. “You’re crazy as a bull, Guild Poe. The sisters wait for this event all year. Those like me, who already have a few years behind us, might give it up. Begrudgingly, but it could be an acceptable sacrifice. Try to tell a young woman like Eleanor Viscount, hormones in full storm, to give up the Sabbath: she’ll strike you down first and ask questions later.”
“Captain,” Lili’s head pops out of the prow window.
“By the demon, Lili!” Kasia bursts out hurrying up the gangway. “What happened to you? You didn’t send me any messages, they almost arrested me. Where were you and Riger?”
“Wait, I’ll come down to the cargo level and open the hold.”
Why wasn’t Riger there to let us in? Maybe she was sleeping, but she surely would have seen the white smoke summoning the Council; it would be strange if she found time to rest.
The hatch swings open revealing Lili with her hair unusually ruffled and possessing black eyes. In her hand she’s gripping a long-barrel revolver.
“What happened? Where’s Riger?” Kasia starts, leaving off with her eyes on the weapon.
“They boarded the airship. Four witches came here. The Viscounts’ orders, they said. They were unknown faces, from the Est clan.”
“Friends of the Cerriwdens, of course. Continue.”
“We were unsure whether to let them enter because the customs authorities didn’t answer the radio.”
“A trick! Here in Gothland!”
“In the end, Riger decided to receive them in the cargo hold. I sealed the compartment from outside and remained on the bridge. Through the intercom I heard the whole conversation, and they wanted to climb up to the command deck. To speak with the officer they said, but I’m convinced they wanted to take over the Needle. Finally, the Viscounts responded to our radio appeals and denied having sent anyone. I requested help with this presumed violation of the vessel, and six witches came to clear up the misunderstanding. They arrived armed with arquebuses, and they weren’t fooling around. They carried away the four frauds along with Riger, to explain the situation. I’ve already sent various formal in
quiries, but the beacon’s communications officer filters all my messages and every time I ask to speak with a Viscount or with Riger, they put me on hold.”
“What in the devil are they thinking? It’s time to make it clear messing with Kasia Santuini is a game you can’t play forever without the risk of getting burned! Guild Poe?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“You shall stay on the Needle and if you open this door to anyone who isn’t me, Lili or Riger, I’ll make a drum out of your dark hide. Sister, come, let’s go to the beacon. And pick up a weapon for me too, infernal powers!
PART FOUR: RESCUE
The walls of old Novograd unravel into a labyrinth of red brick and cement beams. Hansi darts between the monotonous facades, making his soles smack against the cobblestone. In the distance, he hears the screams of his two stalkers, but he’s more worried about who might be hiding around the next corner. The narrow streets are deserted; during the day most people gather in the market, close to the port’s docks. A mangy cat watches him with feline indifference, crouched on top of a low wall.
The German resumes his flight, slipping at random into the first alleyway. He feels his heartbeat hammering in his temples and fear tightens his viscera in a cold, damp vice. It’s not the first time he’s needed to trust in his own legs to find safety, but in this unknown city his pursuers have all the advantages.
He turns another corner and an outstretched arm collides with his nose, sending him head over heels. His back hits the cobblestone and a dull moan escapes his throat. Hansi tries to get back up but a hobnailed boot falls heavy against his chest, pinning him to the ground. The icy water of the puddles seeps in under his jacket, causing an immediate shiver along his spine.
“Well, well, well,” exclaims the corpulent owner of that boot, behind his black moustache. “Now, I hope you will honor us with your attention. Why in the world are you so impatient to learn the affairs of the Loafer?”
“You’re… you’re mistaken,” he stammers. “I don’t know anything about this Loafer. I’m new to the city.”
“And what have you come here for, fool? I don’t think it’s the climate.”
Two more lackeys catch up with him, having finished their chase, and laugh boisterously at the sight of the young man laid out on the ground.
Hansi feels the blood freeze in his veins. These three haven’t killed him yet out of mere curiosity; they want to know why he would be looking for information about their boss. As soon as they start to get bored or they receive their confirmation, they’ll knife him in that stinking alleyway. One of the three, with long, soiled blonde hair, kneels down and brings his malodorous snout close to the face of the floored young man.
“Come on, beautiful. You want to die? Start singing fast and pretty.”
“People pay for pretty songs where I come from,” a female voice, with a hoarse distorted tone, interrupts from the end of the street, behind Hansi. “I’m his agent.”
The boy twists his head, following the tense gazes of the three ill-intentioned men.
His gambling house friend, François, walks in front, his whiskers pulled by a blonde woman, wrapped in a long black cape. A pair of men armed with muskets back her, fitted in bright white uniforms.
“Silla,” Hansi whispers.
The quickest of the three evil-doers starts to run down the alley, but the witch pulls out a revolver and fires with one fluid motion, executed with superhuman speed. The runner crashes into a wall and withers to the ground, leaving a long streak of blood on the bricks. The other two criminals, still alive, freeze on the spot, their hands motionless at their sides.
“Who are you?” the mustachioed man spits out, while he very slowly lifts his foot off the boy’s chest to place it back on the pavement.
“The circus has come to town, didn’t they tell you? Hansi! Can you speak?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Yes, Silla. I know. She was kidnapped by the Loafer, the gang leader of these criminals.”
“Kidnapped? Bad, very bad. Where do we find this champion, the Loafer? Are these two good for something?”
“Hey!” the long-haired one interjects. “Let’s not fool around with weapons. We were just asking some questions. Spare us.”
“I know where they’re holding her prisoner. In my opinion, they’re worthless,” Hansi remarks, still stretched out on the ground.
“Hey!” the man yells once more. “Let’s go—”
“Give me a reason.” Silla lines up the shaft of her pistol with the delinquent’s forehead.
“What do you need?” he asks.
“Shut your trap,” the other intervenes. “Shut that damned trap, or I’ll kill you myself.”
“You can’t let them go.” Hansi gets up on a knee, turning to the witch. “We need to use surprise if we’re hoping to save Alina.”
Silla watches him for a long moment, then she clenches her jaw and fires two shots, making the heads of the Loafer’s assassins explode like two tomatoes. A hot squirt splashes the face of Hansi, who draws back in disgust.
“You’re crazy,” exclaims one of her two companions. “You killed them in cold blood!”
Silla crosses the short distance and helps Hansi up. “What did you want to do? Take them for a nice stroll on the docks with rifles pointed at their backs and bring them on board the Mala Avis? Maybe with a nice Swiss flag leading the procession.”
“That’s out of the question. The Captain would never have let them board the airship. And half the city would have jumped on us before we arrived at the pier.”
“And so we didn’t have a choice. Let’s go, put away your weapons and we’ll walk toward to port. Someone will be here shortly alerted by the gunfire.”
“You’re an assassin,” the other sailor mumbles, sliding the gun into the sheath behind his back.
She grabs him by the collar of his jacket and hisses in his face, “Be careful not to cross my path then. Let’s move. You too, Frenchman.”
“Uh… uh… of course,” François stutters, afraid of meeting the same end as those three.
“How did you find me?” Hansi asks.
“I followed the trail of your questions and, fortunately, I ran into someone who had an urgent need for new friends.”
“Silla, you saved me. Thank you,” the young man touches one of her arms, but she breaks away annoyed and continues on her way.
“I did it for Alina, so you don’t need to thank me. Instead look after yourself, German. I trusted in your judgment and I had to drop three men. Pray that your estimations are correct; if not you’ll be next.”
***
“Descend eighty feet.” Guarischi takes his eyes off the map and points his brass telescope toward the window. Silla sits at the lookout post next to Hansi and François.
“Behind that mountain?” the Swiss man asks.
“Yes,” the French boy answers. “The Loafer has a secure post, an anti-aircraft tower right behind that rock outcropping. His secret warehouses are caverns dug into the rock with entrances on the hillside.”
“Graydar contact! Three thousand feet, North Northeast, unidentified airship,” the communications officer interrupts.
“Let’s come down another forty feet,” Guarischi orders. “If the airship engages us, we’re in trouble.”
“They aren’t expecting an attack,” Hansi asserts, “we might pass ourselves off as a passenger ship.”
“Which flies by a smuggler’s cove?” Leonardo rebuts. “They’re not stupid, and above all I imagine they’re very suspicious. By now they must have discovered the wake of cadavers which you left behind and it’s a question of minutes before word reaches their ears.”
“The next time I’ll bring them on board for you, Captain,” Silla grumbles.
“The next time,” he answers with a strained smile, “I shall refuse to take a witch on board. We unmoored ourselves from the pier in Warsaw followed by shouts and pitchforks, with a fin
e pending for dangerous maneuvers; not to mention the tiresome insinuations, by the port authority, of acts of witchcraft charged to us. We stayed at the Novograd docks for less than two hours and, if we ever set foot back there, they’ll drag us into prison for multiple homicides.”
“No one saw us,” Silla asserts.
“But the whole port watched as three people armed to the teeth walked off my ship and—what a coincidence—a few minutes later, three gentlemen were found stone-dead in an alleyway. Suffice that someone peeped out from behind closed shutters who saw you anywhere near those three men, and no court would hesitate to lock you up. And perhaps, for good measure, they would accuse me as well, given that you act under my command.”
“Captain,” the man on radio interrupts again, “the airship isn’t identifying itself.”
“Maintain radio silence. Engines eight eighths, course sixteen North, mark.”
“Sixteen North,” Kelligh repeats, the first officer at the helm, conveying the change of direction to the Mala Avis.
“Priority. The unidentified airship is moving toward our zenith.”
“It wants to attack us. Battle stations, prepare to engage,” Guarischi commands. A muted alarm sounds on the ship’s decks.
“I see the tower,” the man at the telescope reports. “We need to pull further north or within a few seconds we’ll be in range.”
“Cannon pointed at the tower and machine guns at the enemy airship. Twenty-one North… and let’s hope it’s enough, mark.”
“The unidentified airship transmits: ‘Unsafe air space. Distance yourselves.’”
“Right. ‘Unsafe,’ seems like the right impression to me. Prepare the first injection of potassium chloride in the boiler.”
Silla raises an eyebrow. She’s yet to hear this trick. They daydream, on the docks, of airships with the capability of accelerating instantly, as if pushed by a magic gale, but no one had ever seen one up close; these were only urban legends.
“Torpedo!” the communications officer shouts. The airship swerves abruptly, tilting the cabin. The bomb explodes in the distance but the windows vibrate with the echo off the mountains.
The Codex of the Witch: Fantasy Novel Page 29