One of them came slinking up the street, just as one of the soldiers had said he would. The African werewolf kept his head low, sweeping the streets with his eyes and smelling the air. He was only partially transformed, with yellow eyes and large teeth. Not seeing the Bureau officer and soldiers in the darkness across the road, he waved a hand to call his cohorts. A dozen or so more werewolves came scrambling up the street, following him around the next corner.
“Do not fire,” the mustached man said to the soldiers. “Let them pass. Udbala will surely dispatch Yali to the streets soon. She will know they have come ashore, and the beast will handle them. Let’s go.” Jumping to his feet he ordered the prisoners to move again. The group crossed the street and hurried along through the interior of the city away from the action unfolding along the shores.
Soon the group came across a patrol of more Bureau soldiers. Guarding the grounds outside of a former Maratha palace, they snapped their eyes to the mustached man and his prisoners as they approached.
“Halt!” one of the sentinels called out. The dome of wrappings on his head shook as he raised his gun and his dark eyes took aim.
“Hold fire!” the mustached man called back. “Report to the gate. Udbala’s prisoners have arrived.”
“The prisoners!” the sentinel repeated, lowering his weapon. “Open the gate!” he shouted to the watch, who quickly complied. “Move the prisoners inside! Take them directly to Udbala inside the front doors!”
“Yes,” said the mustached man, yanking on Geoffrey’s arm and strutting through the gates. “Follow me,” he said over his shoulder, jerking his head toward the palace. His subordinates latched onto their captives and herded them along toward the front doors.
The sentinels at the doors studied the prisoners, their eyes gazing up and down their faces and bodies like buzzing flies. One of them stopped Chera momentarily, fishing around in her empty pistol holster suspiciously.
“Careful,” Chera told him. “I keep tiny weapons hidden in those.” She gave him a smart look and twitched her nose up obnoxiously, laughing as he shoved her along.
The bottom floor of the palace had a high ceiling that came to a round dome in the middle. A circular court, its floor made up of brilliant, miniscule tiles, was surrounded by a quartet of sweeping staircases that curved upward in pairs to the second floor. From the circular court, the bottom floor split off into two corridors, and beyond the court the back of the palace opened to the air outside and the regal gardens beyond. Five archways, the middle being the grandest, revealed a strange phenomenon occurring on the tiled courtyard outside the palace in the gardens. As the mustached man led the captives outside into this courtyard, Molly saw that a woman was standing at the center of a violet whirlwind of magic that blew at her hair and threw the tail of her robes about as it swept the ground at her feet. The commanding officer ordered his soldiers to stop and wait as the woman moved her hands through the air and prayed quietly.
“Hear this humble request and impart to me the strength to destroy your enemies,” the woman was saying as she raised her hands to the sky. As her outstretched hands waited and she stared into the distant sky, the figure of a great bird appeared. As it approached, it became larger and larger, its wings whipping the stormy, cloud-covered sky in swooping beats. When it neared the palace gardens, it turned sharply upward, so that it vanished behind the obstructing archways and no one inside the palace could tell where it had gone. In the next instant, two great talons crashed to the ground in front of the sorceress, who kept her hands held high, never flinching. Standing on two powerful legs before her was what appeared to be part giant and part bird, the height of two grown men. Standing upright like a human being, it stamped its talon feet and flexed its mighty chest and arms, the powerful wings behind its shoulders flaring outward. Around its waist it wore royal golden trappings and even more over its shoulders and around its wrists. Standing tall and sticking out its chest it opened its beak and cried loudly.
Everyone inside watching was startled. The mustached man unfolded his arms and refolded them, looking around in embarrassment to see if anyone had seen him flinching in his moment of surprise. Geoffrey stumbled into Leon, who pushed him off like a bothersome bug, and Molly jumped with a start. For a split second, her mind and body overreacted, and she vanished from sight, returning the next instant. Only Ine had seen it and looked at her wide-eyed. Molly stared back, both women worrying that one of the guards had seen, but none had. It was a fortunate accident, indicating the spell of silence was either weakening or gone.
“Most holy Garuda!” the sorceress said, “I thank the mighty gods that you have been sent to us. I humbly implore you, please, defend us from the enemies at our gates! Tear the wings from The Howl and drive Jack Darcy and his minions away!”
The awesome Garuda cried again loudly. Jumping into the air, it flexed its shoulders, blasting the courtyard with its powerful wings and was off.
“Molly Bishop,” said the sorceress, turning around and walking softly across the courtyard and through the palace archways. “Or is it Lucia, the one they call The Angel?”
“Who are you?” asked Molly. The crowd of Bureau soldiers parted, all eyes glancing back and forth from Udbala to Molly. “Who…” Molly looked over the woman’s face. She wore exotic, unusual clothes, but her eyes were so familiar. When she walked, the jewelry on her wrists jingled softly and the pair of rings in the right half of her straight nose glimmered. Her dark hair was pulled back and hidden under a hood. “You,” she then said, the hostility in her voice fading. “Why are you here?”
“You do remember then? We met once, in Tangier.”
“Of course,” said Molly. “You saved Thomas’s life.”
“Where is Thomas, by the way?” the sorceress asked, looking at the mustached man, who squirmed uncomfortably.
“He was not aboard the ship,” said the man, looking tense.
“Jack Darcy has failed us,” the sorceress lamented, her eyes pinching shut in frustration.
“This was your doing?” Molly butted in angrily. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You believe I was rescuing you, but I was not. I had you delivered here on behalf of the Bureau of Immortal Affairs. My name is Udbala. I am the Seventh of the Eight.” The sorceress spoke calmly, her robes moving like mist.
“Why?” Molly cried, exposing her feeling of betrayal by her one-time ally.
“Not that it is any concern of yours,” replied Udbala, “but I am protecting my people from the irresponsible greed of those who would ruin the old world in favor of the new.”
“The old world?” Molly did not understand.
“All the things that have made this world the way it is. The immortals and the mortals alike, their religions, their magic … you and I. The Eight seek to do away with all of it and create a new world, a kind which I do not entirely understand.” Udbala’s eyes darkened. “My people are a people of the old world, and I must defend them from the disaster that has already befallen your people.”
“What do you mean?” Molly asked, shaking loose from the grip of her escort.
“England is falling as we speak.”
“But England is here. Out in the bay, fighting with the Order—”
“No,” Udbala insisted. “This new world is not England’s vision. The Metal Man is responsible for all that you have seen. England is his instrument of destruction. He will wield it like a spear and then cast it aside when it is blunt and useless. The Metal Man has no country and no people. He turns country against country. People against people.”
“Why would you do his bidding or speak of your disloyalty to him in front of his soldiers?” asked Molly, looking around at the uniforms. “We could help you!” she shouted angrily.
“The soldiers you see here are loyal to me, not the Bureau. And I already have all the help I will need to combat my enemies. I am sorry, but I require the trust of the Bureau more than the allegiance of the few of you. I must surrender my rig
hteousness if my people are to live. The gods have not shunned me, so it must be right.” Udbala looked away and walked quietly toward the inner court. “I am only glad that Thomas is not among you,” she said. “His mysterious absence will delay the Eight as long as it is not resolved. Perhaps it is a blessing we do not yet appreciate.”
Molly stared at Udbala bitterly, saying nothing more to her. She was angry with her old friend, angry with the world and angry with her poor fortune.
“That will be all, Emaan,” Udbala told the mustached man before disappearing up the stairs. She paused briefly, watching him take Molly, Geoffrey, Ine, Leon and Chera away, each with a personal guard. Then she turned and walked briskly toward the southwest tower.
Only moments after the captives, their guards and Emaan had been dismissed by Udbala, the commander halted the group in the northeast corridor as another squad of soldiers approached.
Taking advantage of the pause, Ine reached over and tapped Geoffrey on the shoulder. “Geoffrey,” she whispered, “that winged being that Udbala spoke to. What was it?”
“Garuda is a holy beast belonging to stories in Hindu texts. It is a being that … until now … I believed existed only in stories,” answered Geoffrey quietly, shifting his eyes in fear that any moment his guard would smack him and tell him to shut his mouth. “Garuda is close to the god Vishnu, who uses the winged deity as a mount upon which to travel.”
“I could feel its power,” said Ine.
As Ine and Geoffrey whispered, Emaan was talking to the commander of the new contingent. “Ah, yes, the artifacts,” Emaan was saying, “you’ll need to take these to Udbala. She has gone to the southwest tower to prepare for battle.”
“Understood,” replied the other officer, gesturing to a pair of soldiers carrying the chest into which Jack Darcy had locked the captives’ belongings.
“You know, Geoffrey,” Leon said in a loud whisper, leaning forward and talking past Ine, “in your infinite wisdom I would have expected you to suggest a means of escape by now.”
“If only it were my wisdom that was infinite,” replied Geoffrey, ignoring the critical tone of Leon’s words. “But my wisdom and knowledge are very unevenly apportioned, I’m afraid.”
Leon huffed, and Ine grew uncomfortable and quiet, withdrawing from the conversation entirely.
“Is that so?” Leon retorted angrily, his voice rising. “Well if your knowledge won’t save us, I will have to,” Spinning quickly to his right he caught his escort by surprise, butting the man in the skull with his own forehead. Coming up from behind the dazed soldier, Leon sank his long fangs into the man’s shoulder and lifted him off his feet using only his clamped mouth. With one free hand he pulled the pistol off the man’s hip holster, and with the other he drew the man’s sword, wielding them both aggressively.
“What? You!” cried Emaan, turning in alarm and yelling at Leon. The soldiers carrying the chest of artifacts let it fall to the floor with a crash as they drew swords. All of Emaan’s soldiers left their prisoners and raised their guns, threatening Leon and ordering him to drop his victim. Molly and the others ducked and ran out of the way. “Unhand those weapons and put him down!” ordered Emaan, drawing Fantome from the sheath on his hip, and Leon, infuriated, swung his captive in a gesture toward Emaan.
“Fire!” shouted Emaan.
As the soldiers fired their weapons, Leon twisted and sidestepped, catching the shots using the flailing man hanging from his mouth as a shield. Transforming, he spread his wings and used them to lash out at the soldiers. One of the men decided to charge him, swinging a sword. Leon put him down with the shot loaded into the pistol in his left hand. When another man charged, he flung the pistol into his neck and then struck him hard across the face with the back of his empty hand, breaking the bones in the man’s jaw and cheek. Chomping down into the dead soldier’s shoulder to get a better grip, Leon strode forward and raised the blade in his right hand, challenging Emaan, who swung Fantome in return. Leon kept approaching, throwing Emaan’s strokes back at him as the two moved down the corridor.
“Leon, your pride’s going to get us killed!” yelled Molly as she cleared the corridor of the remaining soldiers, knocking them off their feet and throwing them through the air with bursts of magic from her palms.
Emaan had no choice but to use Fantome’s special trick. Reciting the spell that empowered the blade, he swung back at Leon with renewed confidence. Leon swiftly dodged the strikes, keeping his own blade out of the way to avoid having it broken to shards. Then Emaan hesitated for a split second, and Leon caught the mistake. Ducking and spinning around in place, Leon slung the soldier in his mouth at Emaan and knocked him across the corridor and to the ground. As Emaan struggled to stand and pull the dead officer off his leg, Leon ran at him and rammed his sword hard through his chest. Seizing Emaan by the wrist, he wrestled Fantome from his grip and hurried back to the others, who were breaking open the chest containing their sorely missed weapons, journals, jewelry, notebooks and even Thomas’s maps as well as items of clothing. The clothes they left inside a sack Jack had stuffed them into, and this Geoffrey slung over his shoulder.
“I did not instruct you to act,” Molly told Leon angrily as she rooted through the chest and distributed everyone’s things.
“I am a prince,” said Leon. “I am sorry, but I will not humiliate myself any longer or waste any more precious time. You are not the only one who must return to London.”
“I hope you have a plan,” said Molly, slipping on her rings and other magical aides. “I was working on mine, but your stunt set me back a few steps.”
“Jack and Udbala are occupied with each other,” Leon said. “I suggest we take advantage of that and slip away unnoticed.”
Chera burst out laughing cynically. “Unnoticed?” she shouted. “The Roatán Butterfly is resting out in the bay, in between the navy and the werewolves!”
“I’m as fond of his plan as you are, Chera, but Leon has given us no choice in the matter. Everyone, prepare yourselves to fight. We’re going to take The Roatán Butterfly and escape. Now!” Molly turned and led her crew down the corridor toward the center of the palace.
As Molly and the others made their way toward the heart of the palace they kept themselves in the shadows, pausing when any one of them heard soldiers in the adjacent rooms and halls. As they moved cautiously into the circular courtyard where the four stairways met, the salt breeze from outside blew in along the curtains in the garden archways, and in the distance bright flashes of magic lit the undersides of the inland storm clouds. Molly gestured to her crew to go back to an outer corridor while she stepped into the center.
“Stop,” a voice commanded them. “Go no further. I will not allow it.”
“Where are you?” demanded Molly. “Come out, Udbala! If you dare to fight, I will fight!” She raised her hands and scrunched her face in a most ferocious way. Strong shadows danced on her face as a burning white glow rose in her palms, making the sweat on her cheeks and forehead glisten.
“I do not hide from you,” said Udbala, stepping into clear view. “I warn you not to attack. I am not alone.” When she said this, a growl rolled in the throat of something large, hidden in the shadows behind Udbala. The oil lamps in the courtyard blew out as a strong wind cut through the palace from the gardens outside.
Molly ignored the growl. “I will not stay here,” she snapped. “I am sorry for you and your people, but I am not responsible for what the Eight have done or will do. I will not die for your cause. My life is my own, and I have come so close to the things I want, you cannot take everything from me now.”
“Little sorceress, you will not endure this,” Udbala warned, beginning to conjure a maelstrom of magical energy in her hands.
“You will let us leave, or I will walk over you,” Molly whispered sharply. She’d almost forgotten she had a fragment of genamite tucked away in her blouse. Confidence came to her aid.
“You should have struck first, before you s
poke,” said Udbala. The violet storm in her hands whistled shrilly and launched a flurry of light at Molly, each ray cutting the air like a deadly arrow. Molly leapt aside, the lethal magic pummeling the stairway and floor in a merciless hail of concussions that made her ears ring. She fell to her knees.
Getting quickly to her feet, Molly moved like a dancer, winding back her arms and slinging two hot white orbs at Udbala. The floor and walls were blown into rubble when Udbala dodged them. As Molly prepared to throw again, Udbala waved a hand through the air as if polishing it with her palm. The floor beneath Molly’s feet turned to mush, and she lost her balance, stumbling across the melting tile. As Molly ran for the garden archways, Udbala cupped her hand and tensed the muscles in her arm. The curtains hanging from the archways stiffened like rock, and Molly was forced backward.
“Let me go!” Molly cried, pulling up her shoulders and clenching her fists. Glaring at the curtains, she wrestled them from Udbala, ripping them from the walls, twisting them together and commanding them to fly across the courtyard and constrict Udbala like a great snake. She soon lost control of them as Udbala unwound them and blew them around in a whirlwind that sucked up the rubble in the room and hurled stone and tile at Molly. Instantly Molly held out her ruby ring and set the curtains ablaze, burning them to nothing and blowing the ash at Udbala, who held her arms to her face, coughing, choking and rubbing her stinging eyes. Knowing she could not lose one moment, Udbala turned, taking a loaded sling from her sash and hurling a round flask full of oil at Molly that traveled through the air much too fast to be avoided. It exploded loudly and uncontrollably, collapsing the garden side stairs and archway. This was a perfect distraction, and it kept Molly at bay while Udbala took a small vial from a pouch at her hip, uncorked it and drank its contents in one gulp. Tossing the empty vial aside, she shuddered at the taste, quickly picking another vial from the pouch and draining it as well. Licking the potions from her lips, her eyes fluttered and she shook her head, holding out her arms to steady herself until the sensation of vertigo left her and a refreshing rush of energy tickled her arms and legs.
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