Order of the Air Omnibus: Books 1-3

by Melissa Scott

  “He could blame the whole thing on us,” Lewis said. “It would get him off the hook.”

  “I’d like to think he wouldn’t do that,” Mitch said, the lines at the corners of his mouth tightening. “But it may not matter. Henry may die.” He stretched out looking toward the window, his back to Lewis.

  “Oh.” Lewis remembered belatedly that they had been friends, back in the original lodge. He felt like he was going slow tonight.

  He lay down on the upper bunk. After a moment Mitch turned the light out. Outside the window ghostly shapes of trees slid past under the moon. It was rising toward the full, gibbous and golden when the train flashed out of forests. Fields lay quiet. In the distance he could see the lights of a town. Trees again, a little river, the sounds of the wheels changing as they passed over the trestle. It was soothing. He should have fallen right to sleep, but he didn’t.

  Next door Alma was sharing the other compartment with Jerry. There wasn’t anything in it. He believed her. Alma wouldn’t lie to him about something like that, and if she did she wouldn’t make up a story like this, like Jerry and Gil. She’d make up something more plausible, something less weird.

  Mitch must have known, Lewis thought. Mitch had lived with them for years, close as the apartment over the garage. Surely he hadn’t missed it if…if all this stuff was going on. And Mitch was a straight shooter.

  “Did you know about Jerry?”

  There was a sound below and a sigh, as though Mitch were turning over. “Alma told you, did she?”

  “Yeah. And about Jerry and Gil.” Lewis waited. He could feel his pulse pounding, the shadows of trees slicing through the compartment under the moon. He hesitated, looking for words. “Did it…bother you?”

  “To each their own,” Mitch said. His accent seemed more pronounced in the dark. “I don’t reckon I get to go around telling other people how to live their lives. And Jerry’s a good friend.”

  That last was a warning, Lewis thought. Jerry was his friend, and Mitch would tolerate questions but not insults. For a moment he wondered if Mitch…. But no. He’d seen the way Mitch looked at the pretty girl at the airfield in Los Angeles, like she was a forbidden treat. He always looked at women that way, at desk clerks and secretaries, even at the occasional pretty woman passenger, who he helped aboard with a special smile and a double dose of Southern courtliness.

  “Was Alma happy?” Lewis blurted.

  Mitch paused as though genuinely considering the question. “I think so. Leastways I never saw anything that made me think she was unhappy. She and Jerry have been like this, like brother and sister, or like two wives of the same man, just like Rachel and Leah. Or maybe it was more like Michal, David and Jonathan,” Mitch added contemplatively. “I always wondered how she felt about that surpassing the love of women bit.”

  Lewis blinked. He hadn’t thought of it quite that way before, like Michal and her brother Jonathan shared a husband, just like Leah and Rachel. Of course a lot of people did things in the Old Testament that you could pretty much count on a priest not approving of. All that begetting sons on handmaids, for one thing. That was definitely not ok. “You don’t think it’s wrong?”

  Another sigh, as though Mitch wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, but he answered anyway, his voice quiet against the sound of the rails. “I’m Moravian,” he said. “God is love. So how can love be evil? That would be like saying God is evil.”

  Lewis stared out the window. The train came out of a culvert, dashing suddenly across a railroad bridge over a river, the moon making a path of light across the water. He hadn’t more than the vaguest idea what Moravians were, though he’d thought they were people from somewhere in Austria-Hungary, not a religion, but the stolen memory came back to him, if that’s what it was. The little church with its plain glass windows, beeswax candles wrapped in red paper ribbon, the scent of spiced buns on the altar, and the clear, high song of the old harpsichord. That was Mitch’s memory. He was sure of it. Christmas Eve and family and peace, a child’s sense of wonder that he could be loved by God.

  “Way back long ago we were Hussites,” Mitch said. “We lived in Moravia. But when the Church called a crusade against us, we had to go into hiding. The Moravian Brethren didn’t give up, though. The Church never stamped us out. We kept on having our love feasts and our lay ministers just the same. And in the middle of the eighteenth century a bunch of us came to America. My mother’s people are from Salem. We’re Moravian. So I’m used to seeing the world a good deal different.”

  “You think it was love?”

  A long pause, as though Mitch was assembling his thoughts. “Gil and Jerry were both wounded in October of ’18, both of them in Vittorio Veneto. Jerry got a piece of shrapnel in his foot. They didn’t take it right off. It got worse later, but right then he was ambulatory. Gil…Gil got gassed. He was real bad. Nobody thought he was going to make it. So there they both were in the hospital in Venice, and Alma half off her head with worry.” A long quiet. The train plunged into darkness again, deep woodland. “Jerry was down there by Gil’s bedside every day, not that Gil knew him or knew anything going on around him. Until they decided that Jerry had earned his ticket home. He was safe to move, you see, so they could ship him back to the states, back to a hospital there and his discharge. And Gil, they weren’t moving him. I guess they figured they weren’t taking him anywhere except in a coffin.” He paused again. “I was there when Jerry said goodbye, not thinking he’d ever see Gil again. It was love.”

  There was a long silence. The train emerged from the wood again, banks and fields running swiftly past, the distant lights of a farm far over the fields. Cattle dozed in a pasture, heads down.

  “Alma pulled him through. You know Alma. Nothing gets in her way, not even death. At least not for a while. They were married two days after the Armistice, when it looked like they were going to send Al off too. I found a chaplain that would marry them in the hospital. We propped Gil up on pillows and he said his vows good and strong. Iskinder (you don’t know him) got the ring. It’s the one you wouldn’t let her pawn today.”

  Lewis nodded though he knew Mitch couldn’t see him. Somewhere a dog barked, and Lewis blinked. He thought he’d seen it running beside the train, a lean white dog like a greyhound, legs stretched out in the sheer joy of the chase, but it couldn’t have been anything but a stray moonbeam.

  “Get some sleep, Lewis,” Mitch said gently. “We’ve got enough to worry about. There’s nothing here that won’t keep till tomorrow.”

  “You’re right,” Lewis said, rolling over so that he faced the window. “Thanks, Mitch.”

  “Anytime, pal,” Mitch said.

  Lewis watched the shapes of trees under the moon, shadows flashing across the window, but it wasn’t long before he slept.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The train was due into Nice at noon, and to no one’s surprise everyone slept very late. It had been a grueling two days. They had barely assembled and eaten breakfast before it was time to get off, Alma looking dowdy and respectable in the plain gray dress. Lewis had shaved and wore a clean second hand shirt, which at least made him look less like a prisoner fleeing arrest. Or an escaped slave, Jerry thought humorlessly. A desperate man seeking Aricia….

  Something teased at his mind, pieces of a puzzle not quite fitting together, but there was no time. The train was pulling into the station at Nice, Lewis picking up the two cardboard suitcases.

  Alma looked at him brightly. “Ok, Jerry. How about getting us some tickets for Rome?”

  “Easily done,” Jerry said. Nice was a major transfer point, and most Italy bound travelers changed trains there. To that end, there was a train for Rome scheduled to leave an hour after the train from Paris arrived, though there were no sleeping compartments left unreserved. “Leaving at 1 pm, arriving Rome at 9 am tomorrow. I’m sorry but there are no sleepers left.”

  Alma shrugged. “Just get us a regular compartment. We can sleep on the benches.”
r />   It was probably for the best, Jerry thought. The regular tickets were much cheaper, and the money they had needed to last who knew how long. He hadn’t started thinking about how they were going to get back to the states. He supposed when push came to shove they could go to the American Embassy in Rome with a story about being robbed and ask the embassy to assist them in getting a wire transfer of funds for steamship tickets home. They couldn’t exactly ask Henry to cover it. What with that and with the lost business from the time they’d spent doing this, it was turning out to be an expensive trip. Being a lodge was hard to manage if you didn’t have a millionaire bankrolling it. Not that they ever had, but in the old days there had at least been more people….

  The front page of one of the Italian newspapers on sale at a kiosk caught his eye, and he dropped behind the others to take a better look. The vendor gave him a fishy glance and he rummaged in his pockets for a franc or two, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. If this was what he thought it was….

  Alma herded Jerry and Mitch aboard as soon as the train doors opened, waiting while Jerry managed the step. Mitch was moving badly too, Alma thought. Something wasn’t right there. A couple of years ago he’d pulled some scar tissue badly, and she wondered if he hadn’t done it again. She’d feel better if he’d see a doctor, but that was unlikely. So she’d just have to see if she could get him as much rest as possible.

  As soon as they were well and truly underway, and the conductor had been by and checked their tickets, Lewis closed the door behind him. He sat beside Alma, who was at the window facing forwards, with Mitch and Jerry across.

  “We need a council of war,” Alma said. “Jerry, we’ll be in Rome in fifteen hours. We’ve got to have a plan by then.”

  “We’ve got a problem,” Jerry began, sinking into his seat.

  “Only one?” Mitch said.

  “You know that the excavation of the Nemi ships is an official dig, right?” Jerry asked rhetorically. “It’s sponsored by the Italian government, with the government footing the bill and everything done right, all the artifacts reserved for Italian museums.”

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” Alma asked. She was certain he’d had a lot to say about the desirability of government digs in the past, no fly by night operations with most of the treasures disappearing untraceably into private collections.

  “Generally, yes,” Jerry said. He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up on his nose. “But in this case, not necessarily. This dig is a pet project of the Prime Minister. He got the funding for it and he takes a personal interest in it. He’s going to make one of his frequent visits to the site day after tomorrow.”

  “And that’s bad how?” Mitch asked.

  It was Lewis who spoke up. “It wants power,” he said. “The kind of power Henry doesn’t have. Being a millionaire is great, but it doesn’t give you the power of life and death. It doesn’t give you the kind of power Caligula had.”

  “Neither does being Prime Minister of Italy,” Mitch said. “Italy is a constitutional monarchy. There’s a big difference between being a modern Prime Minister and being a Roman emperor.” He shook his head. “I’m sure there are a lot of perks, but Italy isn’t even a great power.”

  “But it could be, arguably,” Alma said. “After all, isn’t that one of the things that Mr. Mussolini keeps harping on? It’s time to restore Italy to her former greatness?”

  Jerry had a militant look in his eyes. “Don’t underestimate the Fascists just because they’re following the letter of the law. Mussolini’s party is in control, and he’s their Leader, Il Duce himself, with all that brings with it.”

  Mitch gave him a skeptical look, but Lewis interrupted.

  “Besides, this thing has been trapped for hundreds of years. It probably overestimates the importance of Italy, because in its time Rome was so important. I mean, in terms of sheer power Stalin would be a much better choice, but would it think that way?”

  Jerry grimaced. “A Scythian barbarian? Hardly worth its time. No, Rome has been the center of its world. I think it will return to Rome. And I think it will try to jump into the Prime Minister the day after tomorrow.”

  “If it does, we’ll never get to it,” Alma said. “The security around a head of state….”

  “Ok,” Mitch said. “That’s bad news. He put his feet up on the seat opposite him, between Alma and Lewis. “How do we figure out who this thing is wearing now?”

  “We don’t,” Jerry said with a glance at Alma. “We don’t need to know who it is or where it is, because we know where it will be the day after tomorrow. It will be at the dig when the Prime Minister visits, and it will be someone who can get close enough to jump into him.”

  Lewis nodded gravely. “So we do something like the amulets?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Jerry said. “How would we get the Prime Minister to wear one? Not to mention his whole entourage, bodyguards, chauffeur, everybody…. We’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

  “Ok,” Alma took a deep breath. “Let’s lay this out. We can get to Lake Nemi easily from Rome. It’s only something like fifteen miles. I’m sure tourists hire cars all the time.”

  “Getting there isn’t the problem,” Jerry said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. “But once we get there we have two problems. Number one is that we only have one of the tablets.” He looked around the three of them. “This is the first tablet. But from the way it ends in the middle there is at least one more, and possibly two. We need the full set to make the binding work.”

  “Ok.” Alma put her hands to her forehead, considering. “If the dig has already uncovered it, it’s probably in one of the labs or storage rooms, right? It’s not so intrinsically valuable that it would be taken to a bank vault, right?”

  Jerry shook his head. “It’s a nice piece, but I’m sure if this site is as rich as they say there are many finer artifacts with much greater market value. Statues and sculptures are worth a lot more than tablets, and this one isn’t even pictorial. It’s probably in one of the labs for cleaning, conservation and photography.”

  “So how do we get in?” Alma asked.

  “I have no idea!” Jerry said. “Do you think breaking and entering is part of my skill set?”

  Alma made her voice very calm. “Jerry, you’re the archaeologist. You’re the one who can best figure out where things are kept. Moreover, you’re the only one with a legitimate reason to be there. Surely a visiting American archaeologist might come by the dig during normal working hours and show an interest?”

  “With a stolen artifact in my pocket?” Jerry countered.

  “Which we’re trying to return,” Mitch said mildly.

  “Can’t we do that thing with the map and the tablet and just find out where they are?” Lewis asked. “Like you did back in LA?” Everybody looked at him. “Just an idea,” Lewis said.

  “We don’t have a map,” Alma said, “But the principle works. We could use the tablet to lead us to the others. I can do that.”

  “That would work,” Jerry said. “Of course, if they’re locked up in one of the workrooms….”

  “We’ll get to that when we get to it,” Mitch said. “For all we know they’ve never been excavated. Isn’t that more likely?”

  Jerry nodded slowly. “In which case we have to do some after hours digging. But that ought to be manageable. If they have a security guard he’s probably on the workrooms and storerooms where the artifacts are kept. The whole site is huge and heavily wooded. We ought to be able to move around the site after dark without too much trouble.”

  “And then what?” Alma asked.

  “We need to rebury the tablets with the appropriate invocation to Diana,” Jerry said.

  Mitch sat up straighter. “That’s all?”

  “Well, no. Obviously we have to have the creature there and bound while we do it.”

  “Obviously,” Alma said dryly. “Ok, can we summon it? And would that bring it out of whatever host it’s jumped to?”<
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  “I think so.” Jerry nodded. “If we can summon it correctly, we can force it to abandon whoever it has, wherever they are, and return to the tablets.”

  Lewis looked spooked, and Alma didn’t blame him. “But it can’t jump into us because of the amulets,” she said. “So if we summon it to a location where we’re the only people, the only thing it can do is go into the tablets?”

  “That’s the theory,” Jerry said. “It ought to work.”

  Alma nodded. “And we don’t need to know who that person is or have them physically present?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “That’s the only break we’ve gotten so far,” Mitch said.

  “It shouldn’t matter,” Jerry said. “We’re summoning the animus infernus, not its host. When we summon it, we should force it to leave the host. Then whoever that is can go on doing whatever they were doing with no harm to them except having spent a day or two in a fugue state.”

  “And then we put the tablets where?” Alma asked.

  “That’s something we need to talk about,” Jerry said. “I think that when the Emperor Claudius did the same thing he put the tablets on the deck of the primary ship and then had the ship sunk in the lake. That effectively put the tablets out of reach to anyone, since they were beneath the surface of a lake on which boating was forbidden, and made an appropriate expiation to Diana at the same time. But the problem with us putting them back in the lake….”

  “Is that the archaeological expedition is draining the lake,” Mitch said. “So they’ll just be found again in a few months.”

  “Exactly,” Jerry said.

  “Any ideas for an alternate site?” Alma asked.

  Jerry nodded. “The most appropriate place would be the ruins of the Temple of Diana. The Sanctuary of Diana would be analogous to the lake, and should be as protective. The problem is that the archaeological expedition isn’t just draining the lake. They’re excavating the site of the temple complex as well.”