The Red Pearl

by C. K. Brooke

  He smiled as she patted Maverick. She used to be so jittery around the creature. Now, she seemed comfortable, accustomed to his presence. She turned, and Rob noticed her brow furrowed in thought.

  “Everything all right?” he asked her.

  She plucked the red-dyed copper ball from the bureau. Rob hadn’t even realized they still kept it. “It’s just curious,” she muttered.

  “Hmm?” The man leaned over and dimmed the lantern. “Put that down and come to bed, will you?” He grinned. “I’m getting awfully lonely by myself over here.”

  She gave a tiny smirk, but did not indulge him. “Aren’t we ever going to discuss this thing?”

  He grunted, uninterested. “What’s to discuss?”

  “Well, for starters, why was it there?” She tossed the ball into the air and caught it. “Why would anyone go through all the trouble to create a false map to a fake pearl, as a ruse from the real ones?”

  Rob sighed. He didn’t care about the pearl anymore. Didn’t she get it?

  Antonia only seemed more determined to carry on. “Or, perhaps the map was authentic, but someone already found the real pearl, and replaced it with this.” She jiggled the ball. “But then, why replace it with anything at all?” She frowned. “How long d’you suppose this ‘pearl’ has been masquerading underground as the real—?”

  “Annie.” Rob grimaced. The pearl was like an illness he’d finally overcome, yet had now regretfully passed on to her. “Let it rest, all right?”

  When she only twisted her lips, Rob slid out of bed. “Look, I…I know the whole ordeal has been rather…anticlimactic,” he admitted. “But we found each other, didn’t we?” He placed his hands at her waist. “Love is the fortune we reaped from this venture,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. “And I am just fine with that.”

  “Rob,” she exhaled, taking him into her arms. He kissed her, drinking in the nectar of her sweet mouth, relishing in the softness of her breasts against his chest, the fragrance of her skin like sacred incense…until he was distracted by something solid at his back.

  “What the…? Why are you still holding that?” He indicated the copper ball she continued to clutch. “Get rid of it already, sweetheart. We don’t need it.”

  But Antonia only set it carefully into her valise.

  THEY CONQUERED THE ROAD NORTH through Palomona this time, circumventing the Pirsi Desert altogether. Antonia took in the new country with wonder, imbibing the stony cottages and flat meadows dotted with indigo wildflowers.

  Nights were best, when she and Robin slumbered outdoors in empty fields. His bedroll was barely big enough for both of them—and that was how they preferred it. Beneath the stars, the man held her close, his body melded against hers, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep.

  Antonia watched each golden sunrise in his arms before traversing with him through yet another Palomonan city. His love brought her joy, a euphoria she’d only faintly tasted in her fantasies. She was happier than she ever recalled feeling. And yet, she couldn’t say she was entirely at peace.

  Nay, something restive stirred within her every time she beheld the faux pearl. Robin had insisted she dispose of it. But Antonia couldn’t bring herself to. Some evenings, while he made camp or refueled the prototype, she opened her valise and covertly fingered the object, tantalized by its mystery. She felt as though the strange sphere were trying to say something, as if it were some sort of code to be deciphered, like Skarsköt.

  Presently, her lover’s voice coaxed her from across the meadow. It was their last morning in Palomona before they were to reach the border of Innía. Antonia had been wandering with the copper ball, under the pretense of practicing her meditations.

  “Annie, honey. Ready to go home?”

  She glanced up at the man awaiting her atop the hill. Truly, he was the unwitting knight who’d carried her away, her heart’s dream actualized.

  But what of his dream?

  How cruel and unfair that the goal which had brought the couple together in the first place now evaded him entirely. Antonia felt compelled to unlock the enigma of the Red Pearl, for Robin’s sake. He deserved it.

  She subtly slipped the ball into her skirt pocket, and traipsed back uphill to rejoin him.

  THE INNÍAN BORDER WAS IMMINENT. Together, they greeted a lengthy stone wall expanding through the fields, and answered the gatekeeper’s questions. At last, Robin and Antonia paid their tolls and the gate lifted, allowing the horseless carriage through.

  They rode south alongside the wall for several miles, seeking the eastern road, when the prototype slowed and emitted a familiar, unpleasant stench. Robin parked it. “Time to refuel.”

  Antonia and Maverick stepped out for a stretch and a jaunt as the man worked with one of the last remaining oil canisters. They were preparing to reenter the vehicle when a heart-jolting bang reverberated through the sky.

  The hair on Antonia’s arms stood as she swiveled around in search of its source. Then—bang!—another shot, accompanied by voices calling out to them over the meadow.

  “It’s loaded this time,” crowed a female voice. Antonia shuddered, recognizing it at once. Rowena Wildaison and Jules Adams materialized in the field, swiping off their caps as the woman wielded her smoking pistol.

  Robin swore. At once, Maverick snarled, inching in front of him and Antonia, baring his teeth at their nemeses.

  Rowena approached, aiming her weapon directly at Robin’s heart. “Arms up,” she commanded.

  Chest heaving, the man did as told, slowly lifting his hands.

  Antonia bounded in front of him. “No!” she screamed. On instinct, she reached into her skirt pocket, feeling the copper ball heavy and cool against her hand. Without a second thought, she hurled it at Rowena. It struck the woman square in the head.

  Jules Adams shouted, dropping to his knees as the wavy-haired woman toppled to the grass, unconscious. Behind them, the copper ball smacked against the stone wall and cracked open. Breathless, Antonia squinted across at it. There appeared to be something inside…!

  But Robin’s anguished cry startled her. In her moment of distraction, Antonia failed to see Adams snatching the pistol from Rowena’s limp fingers. The dark-haired man now aimed the weapon at Antonia.

  “Don’t you dare!” Robin raced at him. To Antonia’s astonishment, he leapt atop Adams and grabbed his wrists, trying to wrestle the gun from his grip. Adams swore, attempting to knock him down. But Robin held fast.

  Antonia screamed as Adams pulled the trigger. Yet, Robin redirected the gun, sending the shot firing into the air. “Drop the gun, Jules!” he shouted, still struggling to pry it from him. “Don’t do this.”

  “Rob,” Antonia cried, bolting at him. Maverick followed her at top speed. She met Jules Adams’s cold black eyes. “Let us go.” Her voice trembled. “And you can have the map.”

  Adams flung Robin off of him, and directed the gun at her once more. “Sure,” he sneered. “Because that worked out so well the last time.”

  “You can keep it,” Antonia insisted. “For good.”

  Adams scoffed. “Of course I can. Because I’m sure you already know what it says.” He pulled back the trigger. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

  In that moment, Antonia knew nothing but the sound of the shot that nearly deafened her. She fell to the ground, a warm and solid figure having collided with her, shielding her. She hardly comprehended Jules Adams’s screams as a hairy mass of black attacked him.

  Her breath lost, she gaped up at Robin, who lay atop her. She met his aquamarine eyes. “Rob,” she shrieked, terrified. Had the man just taken a bullet for her? “Are you hurt?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He winced, climbing back to his feet. At once, Antonia saw it behind him: resting at the base of the stone wall, just within her reach, was the broken copper ball. A tiny scroll p
oked through the cracks. Breathless, she extended an arm and extracted the parchment.

  Her head jerked up as Adams howled in distress. Maverick was tearing at his clothes and hair. The man tried to fire the pistol at the dog, but it appeared to be out of bullets.

  Antonia scrambled to her feet, pocketing the little scroll. “What happened?” Her eyes widened as they took in Robin’s blouse, the shoulder of which was splattered with blood.

  He seized her hand. “When Adams fired the gun, I jumped in front of you, apparently just as Maverick leapt at him. Mav diverted the shot enough to save us both. But…I think the bullet must’ve grazed my shoulder.”

  “Oh, goddess,” Antonia whispered. “Maverick,” she yelled, clapping her hands. They had to leave. Robin needed medical attention.

  Maverick turned and bounded back to the prototype, leaving Jules Adams writhing in the grass behind them. Robin made to assume the driver’s seat, but Antonia took his place. “You cannot drive in your condition!”

  He slid over to passenger’s side of the bench instead, as the dog leapt in behind them. Panting, the man passed the key to Antonia. She jammed it into the ignition, and slammed onto the accelerator.

  “How far are we from Pangrove?” she demanded, zooming up the eastern road. She gave Robin a sidelong glance, and her heart hammered to see his shoulder further soaking in blood.

  “Not far.” He lay back in his seat.

  “Rob.” With her free hand, she clutched his knee. “Are you sure the bullet only…grazed you? You don’t think you were—?”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t shot.” He frowned. “At least, I don’t think I was…”

  Antonia dug her heel into the pedal, although the carriage could only move so fast. “I’ll get you home, darling. Just please, stay awake for me.”

  Sweat dripped down his reddening face, his brow creasing with pain. But he nodded. “All right. For you,” he mumbled, “I’ll stay awake.”

  Antonia would never know how she managed to drive into Innía that day. But she was determined to bring Robin to his father. The duty to take care of him overrode her panic. Maintaining an even temper, she shuttled east, until Robin’s voice, sounding alarmingly weary, croaked: “Turn right.”

  She did, merging onto a deserted road dotted with trees and a distant pond she thought she recognized. She continued, casting another worried glance at her lover, whose eyes were closed. “Rob!”

  “I’m awake, Antonia,” he told her quietly. “Just resting.”

  “Don’t go to sleep,” she begged him. “Or else you might never arise.” She was no doctor, but she knew it unwise to permit a wounded man sleep before his treatment.

  She exhaled as his hand found her lap. “Fear not,” he whispered, trying to grin for her.

  But she was already fretting. The miles stretched on before them until, at long last, they bumped along a familiar dirt path. “We’re not far now,” she announced, veering around the bend. “Oh, Dr. Watkins, please be home…”

  She could have cried with relief to see a saddled black horse grazing in the lawn. If Robin’s father had gone away, he would surely have taken his horse. She finally rolled up to the cabin outside of the woods. Barking, Maverick leapt from the carriage before Antonia had even shifted the gear into park.

  She turned to face Robin, and gave a start. His complexion had turned frightfully pale. Hurriedly, she slid from her seat and helped him down. The man winced as she guided him up the porch steps. “Dr. Watkins!” she cried.

  She spotted his wild curls through the front window. The door swung open. “Miss Korelli?” He blinked at her from behind his crescent spectacles, clearly surprised. “Rob—?”

  “Your son’s been hurt.” Antonia’s voice trembled.

  “I’m fine,” said Robin, although he staggered as he passed through the doorway.

  “Oh, yes. Fine, but covered in blood,” muttered Dr. Watkins, ushering his son through the foyer. Antonia grimaced, her boots tangling in lengths of coil and wire. She nearly tripped over a tin can on the floor.

  “Thad.” Rob spoke between clenched teeth. “You have got to clean this place up.”

  Antonia and Dr. Watkins helped him to his bedroom. Antonia made haste to clear the books and papers from his bed. Spotting a clean towel loosely folded on the dresser, she retrieved it, and spread it atop the bedding.

  Robin lay down on the towel, and Dr. Watkins turned to Antonia, his demeanor remarkably calm. “My dear, please fetch a basin of water, and more clean towels from the washroom.”

  Antonia did as told. Dr. Watkins then requested the bottle of whiskey from the pantry. When she returned, Robin lay shirtless on the bed, his father inspecting the wound. Antonia held her breath, awaiting the verdict.

  Dr. Watkins received the whiskey from her. “You’re a very lucky boy indeed, Rob,” he finally pronounced. “It was a narrow miss.”

  Antonia exhaled. “So, he wasn’t shot?”

  The older man gave her an appreciative look. “Nay, child. Just lost a bit of blood. And he’ll need a few stitches.” He patted Robin’s ankle. “But he’ll be just fine.”

  “Oh, thank goddess.” Antonia reached for Robin, and the man grabbed her hand.

  Dr. Watkins glanced between them, looking somewhat amused, but said nothing. After a moment, he departed to retrieve his medical supplies.

  Robin cocked his head, indicating the patch of bed beside his unwounded arm. “Stay with me while he sews me up?”

  He didn’t need to ask twice. Antonia kicked off her muddy boots and climbed onto the bed beside him, curling up in the crook of his right arm. He stroked her hair, resting his chin against her crown. “I won’t even feel the pain now,” he whispered. “Not with a beautiful girl in my bed.”

  She could hear the grin in his voice, and she blushed. She remained in place, even when Dr. Watkins reentered the bedroom. The older man glanced at them, seeming to conceal a smirk, but remained silent as he went to work stitching his son’s shoulder. Antonia clung to Robin, desperate to soothe his discomfort, all the while wildly grateful that his injury had not been worse.

  After the doctor had finished, he brought them dinner. Robin became drowsy as the sun descended, and Antonia helped him under the sheets. She was relieved his father had not lit the hearth this visit, for the evening was humid and hot.

  The old man poked his head through the door one last time. Reluctant, Antonia slid down from Robin’s bed, knowing it was time to retreat to the guestroom. “Either of you need anything before I turn down the lanterns?” he asked.

  Robin shook his head. “No, sir,” Antonia responded.

  “Well,” Dr. Watkins stepped back, “I’m turning in for the night, then.” He cleared his throat. “And I’ll be out like a snuffed candle. So, I’ll have no inkling, nor will I care who is sleeping where in a houseful of grown adults…”

  Robin’s face shaded to the color of his hair. “Thad.”

  His father shrugged, grinning, before closing the door loudly behind him. Rob shook his head.

  “I knew I liked your father,” Antonia giggled. She wasted no time in draping her blouse overhead and removing it. Rob stared. She made to remove her skirts, when she suddenly remembered the little scroll in her pocket.

  She turned away, extracting it so that he wouldn’t see. He was injured, and they were fatigued. Now wasn’t the time to address it. Subtly, she placed the parchment onto the nightstand, and proceeded to undress. After switching off the lamp, she found her way into bed.

  “How I wish I could hold you,” Robin whispered. “But I can’t really move my shoulder…”

  She rested a finger over his mouth. When she removed it, she replaced it with her lips. He gripped her hip with his right hand, and she felt his body stiffen beneath her.

  Antonia could make out his grin in the faint moonlight through the wind
ow. “You know, I’ve just realized,” he said. “You and I will have matching scars now.”

  She smiled, stroking his hair.

  But his grin faded. “What’s the matter?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Your mind is stuck on something.” He squinted up at her. “I can tell.”

  Antonia was taken aback. He was quite perceptive. “Well…” She took a breath. “There was something in that copper ball when it broke open, Rob.”

  He draped his good arm over his eyes. “Annie…”

  “But I salvaged it. It’s right here with me—!”

  “Will you not let it die already?” he demanded. “Hasn’t that thing gotten us into enough trouble?”

  “After all these years, you won’t see it through?” Antonia peered down at him. “Robin Watkins is truly giving up?”

  Even in the darkness, she could tell he ground his teeth. “If anyone knows the cost of chasing that pearl, it’s me. And it’s not worth it anymore.” He squeezed her fingers. “I don’t want to go in the manner of Ricardo Rivera. I don’t want to lose you like he lost Shivana, and she him.”

  “But, your dream—”

  “It’s a pipedream, Antonia! You said it yourself, back in the desert: a wild goose chase. It’s a never-ending search that leads to naught but one dead-end after the other.” His voice cracked with exhaustion. “And I’m tired of it.”

  With one arm, he pulled her back into his hold, and she hadn’t the heart to resist. She held his waist, their legs entwining beneath the linens. “All I want is you,” he contended. “Just…whatever it is, promise me you’ll throw it away and forget about it.”

  Antonia bit her lip. She couldn’t make that promise.

  “Annie,” he pressed warningly.

  She lay her head upon his chest. “Just try to get some rest.” She shut her eyes. “You need to heal.”