“Stop!” Armada screamed.
The soldiers were startled, one of them pulling too hard on the reigns and frightening his horse as well, who reared up and neighed loudly.
Armada was on his feet, his wrists still locked to the cart, and he nearly fell out of the cart when the driver pulled it to a stop. The soldiers on horseback turned around and glared at him angrily.
“What is it?”
Armada realised he hadn’t the time to explain. He needed the soldiers to act quicker than that. He turned to the man sitting next to him.
“I’m going to be ill.” Armada held out his wrist clasps.
The soldier’s eyes went wide and he hurried to let Armada out of his irons.
Once free, Armada leaped out of the cart ,and instead of running to the side of the bridge to be sick into the river as was expected, he instead broke into a run back to the beginning of the bridge.
“Stop! Stop, prisoner!” he heard shouted behind him. And he would. As soon as he confirmed what he suspected.
Armada easily made it to the city end of the bridge and raced round the verracos that guarded it. Instead of going further on toward River Gate, he circled round to a small set of stairs leading down to the riverbank below.
His pursuers took this as a sign that he was making a run for freedom and increased their pace to catch him. But Armada still had a minute or two lead time on them. Just enough…if he hurried.
Armada raced into the water. It was high tide, and it went almost up to his waist before he reached the first arch under the bridge. He found the workman’s ledge and heaved his body onto it as his soaked trousers loudly dripped streams of water back into the river, letting the soldiers know precisely where he’d gone.
Armada examined the walls of the arch, looking for any sign of loose bricks. There was a chance he’d gotten this wrong, that desperation was driving him more than intellect. In which case he was happy to deal with the embarrassment later. But if he was right…he couldn’t leave the city until he knew.
Finding nothing, and hearing the soldiers race down the stairs into the river, Armada dove into the water and made his way to the next archway along. Here, the water was up to his chest, making it difficult to move quickly. Armada pushed his way toward the next workman’s ledge, feeling his feet sinking deep into the muddy bottom, and found it difficult to hoist himself up again, as his body was so much heavier from the extra water and mud.
Here, the workman’s ledge showed more wear from being tread upon much more often. Armada once again inspected the walls themselves, running his hands over the bricks as he heard the soldiers pushing their bodies through the water. He had only moments.
Then, in the middle of the archway, he spotted it. There on the ledge, just in the middle, was a powder that looked out of place on the mossy brown stones of the bridge. The powder was yellow, and Armada took a bit of it on his fingers, holding it up to his nose.
Rotten eggs. It was sulphur.
Armada looked up to find the bricks in the wall in front of him seemed to have little mortar holding them in. Armada began removing these bricks, his nose meeting with a stronger scent of sulphur as he did so.
Not having the time to neatly stacks the bricks, Armada instead tossed them into the water, trying to reach Gregorio’s den of secrets before the soldiers could reach him. The soldiers were already to the ledge and scrambling to get a foothold on it while screaming at him to stop and wait for them.
Armada removed brick after brick, tossing them over his shoulder. And soon, a hidden chamber began to reveal itself as the daylight filled its dark corners. Armada could see canvas sacks stacked in one corner where more of the yellow powder had spilled out.
He’d found it. This must be where Gregorio took delivery of his sulphur and stored it here so the smell wouldn’t give away what he was doing in his workshop. It all fit together.
That’s when the other odour became apparent. There was something stronger now filling the air, a smell of rotting meat. A smell of death. A smell Armada knew only too well.
The first soldier was now racing along the ledge, sword drawn, yelling at him to stop.
Armada ignored this and had now removed enough bricks to squeeze himself inside, if only to buy himself a few more moments.
It was all he needed. The odour was overwhelming in here and as he got closer to it, it was obvious where it was coming from.
The body was sprawled out on top of sacks of sulphur, their canvas bags soaked blood red. The flies had little trouble getting in and now buzzed about the body, which had been inside for weeks now and was quite badly decomposed. But there was enough left to tell it was a boy, late teens, possibly younger. One glance at the skull, the source of much of the blood on the floor, made it clear how he’d died.
The soldier was now close enough to reach him, but he instead glanced at the body, then turned out of the chamber to be ill into the river. The other soldiers saw this and kept their distance, peering into the chamber instead and gasping in horror.
But it wasn’t the body itself that had grabbed Armada’s attention. It was the pin on his lapel. It was tiny, carved out of silver, in the shape of a mint leaf.
And it changed everything.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It had been a long night for Lucas, and he was relieved when the bouncing stopped. He’d had no idea of just how rough the surface of Salamanca’s streets were until he’d spent a few hours riding in the back of a cart, feeling stabs of pain ripple through him with every cobblestone.
The fact that he was lying flat on his back didn’t help. Julian lay beside him, both of them covered in a canvas tarp by Federigo, who had then thrown bales of hay over them to hide their presence. Lucas had been quite clear that no one could spot them leaving the city. If Armada had gotten any indication that they were fleeing in the night and sent a tracker, it would be the end for all of them.
Federigo knew this and did his best to stick to the smaller back alleyways where they were less likely to be noticed, but it also meant rougher roads to traverse. Lucas tried to concentrate on breathing normally and not being sick from the pain.
“Cayate!” he heard Julian whisper from next to him. “Half the city can hear you breathing over there.”
“Sorry,” Lucas said. He didn’t want to get Julian in trouble. Julian was doing him a favour. They were fugitives as of tonight. Julian owed his freedom to him. It showed Lucas was probably more loyal to him than any of the other boys of San Bartolomé. His place at San Bartolomé would now be secure. They would never have reason not to trust him again. He thought of the adventures they would be free to have now. How many more days did Lucas have to look forward to drinking the afternoon away with the boys, kicking a ball about in the courtyard, or smoking tobacco with Julian and Marco, with Ambrosio powerless to stop him or ever scold him again? He would be just one of the boys.
Suddenly, the cart stopped and the sheet was whipped back by Julian as he hopped out.
Lucas was confused. They hadn’t been travelling all that long. Certainly not long enough to get out of the city.
Lucas sat up to find he could still make out the spires of the cathedral in the moonlight. They were on the other side of the church now, somewhere to the northeast, and it was easy to make out the walls of the new cathedral, as well. But they were still well within the city walls.
The neighbourhood was full of grand houses overlooking a beautiful stone-paved street smoother than any other in the city. The villa was the largest on the road, with Romanesque columns bordering the large oak front door. Julian and Federigo had already gone inside, leaving Lucas to get out of the cart by himself, which wasn’t going to be easy.
Lucas shimmied his injured body to the edge of the cart and cried out as he slowly slid over the lip of the back and landed softly on his feet. Lucas took some long breaths until the throbs of pain in his midsection and leg subsided, then grabbed the chair leg he had been using as a cane and followed Julian a
nd Federigo in through the large front door.
Inside, he was greeted by a large foyer, in the back of which was a staircase leading to the rooms upstairs. Beyond that was a brick-lined archway leading to a large kitchen that Federigo was now lighting with candles.
Lucas shuffled his way into the back to find Julian was cracking open a larder that was full of bottles. He picked one out, yanked the cork out of the top with his teeth, and spat it out, unaware that Federigo was going behind him to pick it up. Then he poured a silver goblet full of liquor and took a long drink.
“Where are we?”
“We’re home. My home.”
“You live here?”
“It’s the house I was born in.”
With more candles having been lit, Lucas could see the house was packed full of exquisite things. The kitchen featured long marble countertops and cooking pans gleaming of pure silver. The entire kitchen was covered in thousands of painted tiles that formed beautiful mosaics on the walls, yet Lucas’s attention was drawn to the windows. There were only three of them, and they were quite small, as was the style for most Spanish houses. But what amazed him was the fact that they were all held a perfect reflection of the burning candles. Tempered glass, every one of them. It was a rare sight in all but the most extravagant of homes. Lucas wondered what marvels the rest of the house held.
“You were born here?”
“You’ve probably never seen a house like this, have you? Sometimes I forget what a campesino you are.”
Lucas wasn’t sure if the slur was meant with malice or not. Julian tended to talk with a slightly sarcastic tone much of the time anyway, as if testing to see just how caustic he could be before anyone got upset. Lucas decided he had to let it go. It was true that he’d been born poor and in the country, so he could hardly argue the point.
Julian drank his brandy and poured a bit more. He seemed little interested in offering any to Lucas.
“Wouldn’t we be safer if we left the city? We’re not that far from the university,” Lucas said.
“Left the city? Are you mad? There’s bandits and highwaymen out there. I’m not going anywhere. This is the safest place around. No one would dare enter this house without my father’s permission. He’s the Duke of Frades. Nobody just arrests the son of a Duke, especially not a lowly bellaco like that constable. He would never dare try something that stupid. My father would have his head for that. Federigo!”
Federigo appeared a moment later.
“I’m hungry. I want a bit of supper.”
“Will your friend be joining us?”
“I’m dying for a bit of the jamon my father bought in Tuscany last month. Also, some of that sparkling wine he got in Florence. He hides it behind those empty barrels in the cellar. Old fool. He thinks I don’t know it’s there, but I do. I can always sniff out his sparkling wine. Make it two!”
“Yes, sir,” Federigo said and disappeared again.
“What I wouldn’t give for a bit of Marco’s tobacco right now,” Julian said.
“Shouldn’t we go back for Aurelio?” Lucas asked.
“Augh, don’t mention his name tonight. It makes my head hurt.”
“But…he’s San Bartolomé. We can’t just let him get—”
“I said don’t mention him! And I’m not leaving this house. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to my father and he’ll straighten this all out. He’ll know someone at the Brotherhood who can make that constable go away.”
Lucas wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps the way the candlelight etched shadows into the corners of Julian’s face, making it look more sinister. Or perhaps it was the way he swanned about the room, relaxed in a way he wasn’t at the university. But suddenly, Lucas could see Julian very differently. He made no attempt to be charismatic or be someone to look up to. Here in this house, in this back kitchen with so many candles burning, he looked younger, immature. Lucas hated seeing him this way. It wasn’t the Julian he had followed here tonight.
Lucas tried to shake the image out of his head. It was just the light, he told himself. He was tired. His body was still recovering. It was possible his mind was playing tricks.
“Are we really going to let Aurelio get arrested then?”
“He deserves it.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a little ladron, that’s why.”
Lucas found that answer odd. A thief? What had Aurelio stolen that would anger Julian so much? And did it have anything to do with why Julian had ostracised him from the group?
Lucas knew he should let it go. He was risking angering Julian, who was already halfway through the bottle he’d taken from the cabinet. But if he was going to get any answers, it had to be before Federigo got back with plenty of distractions.
“What did he steal?”
Julian was quiet for a moment, and he opened his mouth to speak.
But then something changed in his face. A new thought had occurred to him, and now his expression soured. He stared back at Lucas with suspicious eyes bordering on rage, the same look he’d given Lucas before he’d begun to beat him before.
“Why do you want to know so much?”
“I don’t…I was just curious….”
“Yes. You’re always curious, aren’t you? Why do you have to ask so many questions? Are you working for that constable, is that it?”
“I don’t…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have….”
“Because that’s none of your business. None of it is! I told you not to ask me about that!”
“I’m sorry…,” Lucas said, keeping his eyes on the floor in a show of submission. He began to wonder just how unhinged Julian could become here, in this dark room with no witnesses.
“I always knew there was something wrong with you. I could feel it. You’re always looking around. It’s odd. I noticed it ever since I first saw you at Ambrosio’s house. Don’t think I didn’t notice it, because I’m good at noticing things like that,” Julian said.
“I don’t need to know. It’s all right,” Lucas said.
But Lucas’s words did nothing to settle Julian’s nerves. He was still on edge. Could it have been the drink? Normally, Julian was so relaxed. But one mention of Aurelio, and suddenly Julian couldn’t relax. He was frightened. Paranoid, even. Why? What was it about Aurelio that could do this to someone as fearless as Julian?
Julian was still staring at him, not drinking, which was a bad sign.
“Tell me something, joven. Did you lie to me?”
“What?”
“Was that constable really going to arrest me tomorrow?”
“Yes. That was the truth.”
“How do you know?”
Lucas froze for a moment. He hadn’t thought of a way to explain that yet.
“I overheard him…at the university….”
“I think you’re lying,” Julian said. “It’s not me he wants to arrest, is it? It’s you.”
“It’s both of us now. He’ll know I warned you….”
“No. It’s just you. You clucked like a chicken at me, telling me about how much trouble we both were going to be in. But you were just trying to save yourself, weren’t you? That’s all you care about. You just needed a safe place to stay. And you’re using me for it.”
“No. I would never do that. I’m San Bartolomé. Kings for Bartolome, Bartolome for—!”
“Well, I won’t let you. You’re not going to get me involved in this. I won’t get in trouble for you! Federigo!”
“Please, Julian…,” Lucas pleaded, but he could already tell it was too late. Federigo had appeared at the door.
Julian pointed at Lucas. “Get him out of this house. He won’t be staying with us tonight, or any night. He’s not welcome here. Get him out before he gets me in any more trouble.”
“No, wait…,” Lucas said, but he already felt Federigo’s powerful arms grab him by the shoulders and begin pulling him toward the front door.
Lucas began to cry out from the pain of having his torso bend back
wards at an awkward angle, shifting his broken ribs around. Federigo took little notice of this, and in a flash, Lucas found himself outside of the house. He was dragged out into the middle of the road and thrown to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Lucas held his ribs and couldn’t help but be ill from the pain. He barely noticed as Federigo marched his way back to the Benaudalla home, closing the door firmly behind him.
Chapter Thirty
By the time the guard had returned, jangling the keys to declare his intentions, Armada would have found hanging preferable. He hated prison cells. He found them tedious to the point of distraction. A room devoid of any kind of stimulation, allowing the darkest of his thoughts to play about in his mind, unfettered. The nights had been spent trying not to go mad as the ghosts of his past revisited him, reminding him of the thoughts he had spent a lifetime trying to hold at bay.
Finding the body under the bridge had allowed him to place another piece of the puzzle into place. If left to do his job, a lot of things would have happened very quickly. The rush of putting a case together was what he lived for.
But his rush had been cut short. Upon discovering the body, he’d been swiftly returned to this cell in the basement of the ayuntamiento building, as his soldier escorts were not sure what else to do. There, he’d been left while the magistrate associated with the case began his slow, laborious process of catching up to what Armada had already worked out. Three times he was visited by a notary sent by the city magistrate to take down all the details of the case Armada had to give. All three times, Armada found the process tedious and demanded to speak to the magistrate directly. The notary, a young, anxiety-ridden man whose eyes never seemed to focus on anything in particular, reminded him every time that this was not possible. Don Torrejón was not to be disturbed. He was a busy and important man, and he had no time to speak to prisoners.
Eventually, after the young notary used up a whole forest worth of paper writing down pointless details that were not important, he gathered his things up and muttered a promise that the magistrate would be in touch soon.
The Domingo Armada Mysteries Box Set Page 72