Gonzo made an unusual clicking noise, and Ferran saw the green eye-lights flicker. “What is the name of her father?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Ferran, feeling suddenly uneasy. “Why? What is it?”
“My prince,” began the mech, but stopped before he could complete the thought. Mira came stalking out of the woods, carved spear in hand, looking somewhat calmer. She stared at Gonzo as she approached, her gait seemingly careless and confident.
“It works all right?” she asked, sounding a little impressed as she came to a stop near them.
“His mental functions seem to be operational,” Ferran nodded. “His speech, too. The only thing is his legs, we were just discussing—”
“Miracolo!” Gonzo sounded almost awed.
Ferran and Mira both looked at him in surprise. “What?” said Ferran, confused.
Mira fixed her eyes on the mech. “What did you say?”
“Miracolo,” repeated Gonzo, quietly. “Miracolo Vittoria Sophia Fiorente. You have your mother’s nose and chin, but your father’s cheekbones.”
Ferran’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” he exclaimed again.
“How . . . do you know that?” asked Mira levelly, and though her expression fought to remain still, she looked deeply unsettled. Ferran watched her squeeze the decorated spear tighter.
“You poor child,” Gonzo said. “Of course you would not remember. Has your father never told you where you came from?”
“Gonzo, speak plainly. What is the meaning of all this?” Ferran demanded.
“My prince, this is Miracolo Vittoria Sophia Fiorente, daughter of Sophia Volans and the former Duke of Neapolis, the exiled traitor, Dante Fiorente.”
Ferran felt his jaw slacken entirely and he looked at Mira, who stood motionless, her expression stunned. “Is this true?” he demanded.
Mira stared at the metal man, then looked at Ferran helplessly. “I don’t know,” she confessed in a small voice. “My father has never spoken to me about it. I don’t know where we lived before the island, I was too young.”
“How old are you, child?” asked Gonzo gently.
Mira shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you know when your birthday is?” Ferran marveled. She shook her head at him again.
“The former duke’s daughter was born approximately eighteen years ago, and the former duke himself was banished approximately twelve years ago.” Gonzo turned his head from side to side slowly. “It was a complete scandal.”
“Scandal? Why?” Ferran asked. “What happened? I’ve never heard a word about this from anyone. Not my father, not Uncle Bas, not even Duke Torsione, and he’s the current Duke of Neapolis.”
“Your Highness, Duke Torsione is the younger brother of former duke Dante. That would make him your uncle,” Gonzo added, looking from Ferran to Mira again.
“But this is outrageous!” Ferran couldn’t process the idea. “Why on earth would my father banish a duke and a young child to a barren island in the middle of nowhere? What could he have possibly done that would warrant that?”
Mira looked at him almost apologetically, then, as though she had a feeling what might be coming. Gonzo tipped his round head to the side.
“Black magic, my prince,” said the mech. “And ambition.”
Karaburan crouched at the foot of a tree, three dead fish at his feet. He had eaten the bird on the beach this morning, much to Truffo’s insult, along with a few fish, but he was hungry again. It was the usual way of his day-to-day activities. He picked each one apart slowly, the eyes and fins first, then the flesh, then the bones and other crunchy bits for last. From time to time, he looked up at Stephen and Truffo, sitting across the little clearing from him.
They stared at him, eating their own food much less vigorously than he ate his, as though distracted by his display of savoring the meal. Both Stephen and Truffo bore expressions of pale disgust, eyes round and glazed, mouths slightly agape as he slurped and gulped his food down. He sucked one of the fish’s eyeballs out of its skull carefully, and saw both men blanch at the sight of it. These strange, soft men do not like it simply because it is not flame-burned. It is a foolish thing to be choosy about, when building a fire is work and there is enough food to be had without a fire.
“Are the berries to your liking, my lords?” asked Karaburan in as sweet a voice as he could muster. “Or can I offer you some of my meal as well?”
Truffo made a terrified guttural sound, his hand halfway to his open mouth with another round yellow fruit.
“No, no, monster.” Stephen shook his head. He had taken to calling Karaburan ‘monster’ as his inebriation grew stronger. “That is not necessary. We are quite content.”
“It does not do for kings—no, gods! It does not do for gods to go without meat.” Karaburan said a little mischievously. He had seen Dante prepare meals over an open fire, and had seen evidence on scorched bits of earth and ashen pits that Mira, in her ranging about the isle, had done the same. Karaburan was not sure why he didn’t mind the raw fish, but it was amusing to him. “Please, my lords.” He held out two of the half-torn fish carcasses. “Let your servant feed you!”
Truffo gagged audibly. Stephen stood upright too quickly and staggered back into another tree trunk, catching his balance there and shutting his eyes firmly, as though dizzy.
“No, truly, that’s enough of that, monster, we want none of it!” Stephen cried, holding his hand over his eyes. “Indeed, please finish your meal quickly. Tasty though it may be, the sight of it is most insulting to our senses.” Truffo groaned in agreement and put his face into his arms, as though he might be sick.
“I would not wish to offend your lordships,” Karaburan laughed, and eagerly tore into the remaining fish. Truffo rolled over and began crawling hurriedly away into the bushes, possibly to escape the sight of raw fish being pulled apart, but Stephen remained stalwart, gazing in horrified amazement as Karaburan ravaged his food.
When the last bones crunched between Karaburan’s teeth, he spotted Truffo peeping out from between some broad ferns, looking somewhat relieved, but still wary.
“Are you still hungry, my lords?” asked Karaburan, crouching. “I can go and fish for you! Perhaps a bird or two?”
“Not necessary,” Stephen managed to say, closing his eyes for a moment. “We are quite without hunger, now.”
“What, then, would please you most, my lord?”
“More wine,” said Stephen, his expression darkening as he crossed the little clearing to the crate they had dragged up from the beach. Karaburan lumbered closer to watch as Stephen stumbled toward the crate, then caught his balance again and reached for a bottle.
“More wine, and then to our purpose?” Karaburan tried not to sound too eager. He liked the taste of the wine well enough now that they had drunk so much of it, but it did not affect him the same strange way it seemed to affect Stephen and Truffo. It had fascinated him at first, the way their words slurred, their eyes clouded over, and their ability to stand, sit, and move normally became more and more difficult.
But as the afternoon wore on, Karaburan felt increasingly anxious that their window of opportunity to kill the tyrant slipped away. If they could surprise him sooner rather than later, they might stand a better chance. If they waited, Karaburan feared that something would change, that Dante might sense their ill intentions and punish him for even thinking about rebellion.
“Purpose is relative,” grunted Stephen gruffly as he wrestled the bottle open with a pop. His cheeks were red and his eyes were distinctly shiny. He moved past Karaburan, toward Truffo, who had just come crawling back out of the underbrush to sit with his back against the trunk of a tree. “Thirsty, lad?”
“Yes, but not for wine,” complained Truffo, batting at Stephen with his hands as he came closer. “My gullet is dry for water, Stephen, without which we wandering woeful wretches won’t win wars when wars would want winning.”
Karaburan tipped his head to one sid
e at the impressive string of syllables. They talk so strangely! he thought, wishing he had someone familiar to discuss it with, but knowing he was quite as alone as ever, even in the company of these men.
“But the tyrant,” protested Karaburan.
Stephen made a sharp gesture with his free hand. “I will hear no talk of him!” he snapped. “It is time to drink, not to commit murder.”
“But you promised.” Karaburan began to grind his teeth. Truffo looked startled at the sound, but Stephen seemed only to be scornful.
“I am your new king, and I will not have you make demands of me, monster.”
“You will do as you swore to do,” snarled Karaburan, drawing himself up to his full height. “If you knew how long I’ve been tormented—”
“And that torment is nearly at its end. So, why don’t you sit down and celebrate like a real man?” Stephen drank from the bottle.
“Don’t talk to it so!” Truffo hissed. “It’s so much bigger than we are!”
“This monster will not harm us, lad,” Stephen went on calmly. “It is a goodly and gentle monster, and will do us no harm. Isn’t that right?” He waggled the bottle at Karaburan, who did not take it, but simply glowered and went back to sit on his patch of earth across the clearing.
Some lords they are, he thought to himself. They are not strong or wise, they are not kind, and they certainly do not seem powerful. All they want to do is drink that wine. If they will not kill Dante, I ought to turn them in, and kill him myself while he’s distracted by them. Karaburan cocked his head to one side. Now there’s a thought. Yes, I can always give them up . . . and his back will turn as he studies them like specimens, and I will be there, ready . . . ready to twist his neck so sideways it will stop his heart. Finally.
Somewhere in the trees a strange piercing screech went up from a flock of birds, startling the men.
“What was that?” gulped Truffo. He grabbed at Stephen’s sleeve, nearly spilling the wine.
Karaburan gave a little gurgling laugh at how silly they both looked. “It’s only the birds, my lords.” They fear their own shadows! “Very large birds with large claws and hooked beaks for tearing fish in half,” he added experimentally.
Truffo looked nervous, but Stephen was unchanged. He took a swallow of wine. “An eagle or a hawk. Such birds of prey we have back home,” he declared unsteadily, but with great conviction.
Oh, I can’t kill them now, Karaburan thought, entirely amused. “Their wings stretch wider than my own arms,” Karaburan said, standing up to his full height and spreading his arms apart. “And their eyes are like the moon, shining and blind-white.”
“Blind birds? That’s silly. Birds can’t go blind.” Stephen frowned. “How could they fly?”
“They aren’t blind. They see the sounds they make, and hear the smells, and fly on wings like flints.”
Truffo looked horrified. “That doesn’t even sound possible,” he stammered.
“I’ve seen them,” assured Karaburan cheerfully. “It’s true.”
The afternoon was waning on, the daylight becoming warmer in color as the sun traveled farther toward its inevitable sunset. Karaburan tried not to smile too widely at the fear that began to glimmer in both men’s wide eyes. Fear makes men desperate, he had heard Dante say once, a long time ago. Desperate men do almost anything if they think it is their only option.
“Bah, birds. What else?” Stephen wanted to know, lifting his chin a little in defiance. Karaburan shrugged his lopsided shoulders and crouched comfortably again.
“Many things, my lord,” he answered, and glanced around them into the forest for a few moments, listening and watching. Then he turned back to them and lumbered closer. “The most delicate and beautiful insects, but deadly to be bitten by.”
Truffo paled and clung closer to Stephen’s trouser leg like a spooked child. Stephen swayed, trying to keep the bottle aloft. He squinted at Karaburan. “Monster, I do insist you tell us the truth of it,” he said, carefully and slowly. “There is nothing to be gained by frightening us unecessh . . . unnessy . . . unarcsissa . . . without reason.”
Karaburan lowered his head soberly. “Yes, my lord. I promise to tell the truth,” he vowed, amused that his words had held such power over them for a short moment.
“Now speak truth,” Truffo blurted out, “Is there aught on this damnable land that can devour us whole?”
Karaburan shook his head. “No,” he said.
Something moved in the trees, and Karaburan heard a low growl. He turned to look over his shoulder, seeking the source of the noise. There was nothing there. It had certainly sounded like something, but there was nothing there, so it must be nothing.
“What,” Truffo demanded, pushing himself up to his feet awkwardly, “was that?”
Stephen squeezed the bottle of wine tightly. “Monster,” he said cautiously, “what was that noise?”
Karaburan was very still, listening to the leaves rustle in the breeze. He looked at Stephen, his own eyes a little wider. “I don’t know,” he murmured.
“Monster, you promised,” whispered Truffo. “You said! He said there was nothing out there!” Truffo turned his attention to Stephen, scrambling to his feet.
There was another growl, closer this time.
Stephen’s lips worked silently. Truffo trembled like a dry leaf, and Karaburan turned around again in search of the source of the noise.
“Monster,” Stephen said in a tiny voice. “Should we run?”
Karaburan saw the leaves moving, the lower branches of trees and bushes swaying as though forced apart by the body of an animal passing through the greenery. For a moment, he was at a loss. He had only seen the tiger once, and hoped never to see it again. The isle had proven big enough—or at least tricky enough—to keep him from encountering the biggest of the beasts since that day. He wasn’t sure he could best the tiger. He had wrestled with fish and water-dwelling things over the years, had climbed trees and wrangled birds, and chased the littler mammals over the paths and through the forest. But the tiger frightened him.
The growl increased in closeness and pitch, then rose to a series of sharp barks. Karaburan had never heard that sound before, and it frightened him.
“Dogs?” Truffo exclaimed. “Wild dogs?” Other barking voices joined the first, and the sound of running feet approached the edge of their small clearing.
“What is a dog?” asked Karaburan.
The leaves shook and the barking was nearly upon them.
“Run!” bellowed Stephen.
The three of them turned and ran the other direction, into the forest, away from the wine crate, the clearing, and the barking, but the animals followed. Karaburan, more accustomed to the uneven terrain of the island, quickly passed Truffo, and then Stephen, and was now in the lead of their desperate flight. The barking escalated to snarling and howling; the sound of snapping jaws, louder than any beast Karaburan had ever heard, echoed at their heels, even as they ran on.
“What are they?” cried Stephen in terror.
“I don’t know,” yelped Truffo, “I can’t bear to look!”
Karaburan had a thought then, an idea that almost surprised him more than simply the fact that he had an idea in his head at all. He veered to the left and heard the men yelp. “This way!” he cried, and heard them crashing through the trees after him.
Truffo was a relatively good runner, from what Karaburan saw each time he glanced back, but Stephen was crimson-faced and puffing as noisily as any whale breaching the water for air. The dogs snapped their jaws and howled, and Truffo began to sob in between leaps over uneven ground and fallen branches. Stephen was falling behind.
“Take heart,” called Karaburan, “we are nearly there!” There came a yelping, and it sounded as though one of the dogs had tripped, interrupting the momentum of the pack. The dogs snarled at one another, lagging in their speed. The barking and yowling began to fade.
“We’re losing them!” Stephen sounded giddy and short
of breath.
Karaburan found what he was looking for and began to slow, pulling tree branches aside with his large hands so they could follow him.
“Hurry,” he urged, revealing the dark alcove of rock.
“Gods bless us, a hiding-hole,” cried Stephen in relief, staggering toward the stony entrance.
Truffo followed, wordless and gasping, and Karaburan heard the last barking cease as he followed them inside the cool, dark cave.
Stephen had fallen to his hands and knees, sucking in air like a drowning man. Truffo was pressed against the wall of the little cave, his body trembling with effort. Karaburan stood with his back to the entrance they’d used, catching his own breath. They are so fragile, he marveled. So foreign to the island, they cannot even survive a short sprint. Lucky we were so close to the caves.
As they stood panting in the cool shadow of the cave, Karaburan felt something in his gut begin to sink. His plan was not the best one he’d ever had. Now they were all three in the caves together. He had hoped to stir them to action and leave them to their murder. He had hoped to stay out of it, and now he was inevitably a part of it.
I hope we find him before he finds us, Karaburan thought anxiously. If we surprise him, we may stand a chance.
“What,” gasped Stephen, “was that?” He turned to look up at Karaburan, exhausted.
“I don’t know,” repeated Karaburan apologetically, and made a show of checking the entrance for sign of their pursuers.
“You didn’t tell us about the feral dogs,” whined Truffo. “I want to go home!”
“Any suggestions as to how?” Stephen looked sourly at him.
Truffo pulled a pained, tired face. “You know plain well I haven’t.”
“We’re safe for now,” murmured Karaburan, watching their expressions in the dim light of the cave.
“Do you hear something?” Truffo hissed, and they all held their breath for a moment. From somewhere further down the dark, narrow passageway was a sound like running water, or perhaps a wind chime.
Stephen sniffed. “Do you smell something?” There was a distinct smell like roast chicken, and Karaburan saw their eyes grow wide and hungry.
On the Isle of Sound and Wonder Page 16