Time Dancers tm-2

by Steve Cash

  Mowsel almost bumped the table. He stopped short and felt his way to an empty chair. He was mumbling something about glass greenhouses and light. Geaxi saw Sailor instantly and stood still in the doorway. Sailor watched Mowsel without saying a word. Then Mowsel suddenly fell silent and turned his head toward Sailor, but his eyes focused somewhere on the ceiling. He grinned and said, “Do I smell the sea or is that merely the scent of an old mariner?”

  Sailor made no response. He glanced once at Geaxi, who said nothing. He moved his chair closer to Mowsel and held his hand up in front of Mowsel’s face. Mowsel continued to stare at the ceiling. Sailor leaned even closer. “How long have you been blind, old friend?”

  Without hesitation, Mowsel answered, “Since Guernica.”

  Sailor paused. “Do you think it is permanent?”

  Mowsel dropped his grin and angled his head in the opposite direction. He seemed to be remembering something, maybe Guernica. “It is possible,” he said.

  Sailor looked up to see if Jack was in the room. He wasn’t. Sailor’s jaw was set tight with anger and he twirled the blue sapphire on his forefinger round and round. I hadn’t seen him that way since northern Africa when he told me about the Greeks who traded and sold the bones of the Meq who had been slaughtered in Phoenician temples. Sailor turned to me. “These Giza…” he said bitterly, “they will kill us yet.”

  Opari leaned forward and laid her hands on the table. “We cannot change the Giza, Umla-Meq.”

  “No, we cannot, but the Giza are changing everything else!”

  Opari waited for Sailor to look at her. When he did, she pressed one hand against her chest, over her heart and over the Stone of Blood hanging from a leather necklace beneath her blouse. “We will survive, Sailor. We are Meq…we must.”

  Mowsel reached out and found Sailor’s face with his right hand. He gave him a gentle slap on the cheek and grinned. “Do not worry, Umla-Meq, I am well, and Opari is correct—we must survive.”

  Sailor started to respond just as Jack entered the kitchen. Jack looked at me and said, “I thought you might want to use Georgia’s room, so I opened the safe.”

  Sailor glanced over at me. “The ‘List’?”

  “Yes.”

  He stood and motioned for me to lead the way. “Shall we, then?”

  As we left the kitchen, Mowsel fell in behind Geaxi, never touching her and matching her step for step without running into anything. Sailor watched his longtime friend with admiration and affection. I even saw the hint of a smile cross his lips.

  With all of us in Georgia’s room at once, it quickly became close and crowded. Sailor stood by the Tiffany lamp and read Antoine Boutrain’s letter without reaction or expression, except for a single nod of his head, as if confirming something. When he was finished, Geaxi asked him bluntly, “What is this about, Sailor?”

  Jack had left as we entered and there were only Meq in the tiny room. I realized for the second time in my life, all five Stones had gathered in the same place. The last time had not gone well.

  “Zianno,” Sailor said. “Do you recall our final conversation in Norway? I told you the Fleur-du-Mal now had a significant weakness because we knew something he did not.”

  “That there is no Sixth Stone?”

  “Precisely, and I said we could exploit his obsession.”

  “Yes.”

  “Our opportunity has arrived and we must act soon.” Sailor’s “ghost eye” swirled. He looked around the room from face to face.

  “I’m confused,” I said, pointing at the letter. “What does the ‘List’ have to do with it?”

  “Zeru-Meq and I recently became aware of this ‘List’ in Singapore, quite by accident through a family he has known and trusted for centuries. The family had once conducted several clandestine affairs with Captain Antoine Boutrain. I knew nothing of this ‘List’ and I am certain the Fleur-du-Mal is unaware of its existence. Someone on the third list, the list of five names who associated with Xanti Otso, has a descendant we must find and find soon.”

  “Why?”

  “He or she will likely know the exact location of the castle where Susheela the Ninth is imprisoned. Zuriaa is there. The Fleur-du-Mal is not. He seems to be working again, and at fever pitch, as well as searching for the Sixth Stone.”

  “Now I am confused, old one,” Mowsel said, leaning his head to one side.

  “I concur,” Geaxi added. “Make yourself clear, Sailor.”

  Sailor rubbed the blue sapphire on his forefinger. “Yes, yes, of course, you are right. I shall begin where it began, which was India six months after leaving Norway. However, I suggest we do this in another room. This room is charming, Zianno, but not for seven of us on a summer night in this city.”

  “It should be cool in the ‘Honeycircle,’” Nova suggested.

  “Indeed,” Geaxi said, starting for the door with Mowsel a step or two behind.

  On the way out, I whispered to Sailor, “I recognized one of the names on the list of five names. I met him briefly in 1904…and he knew I was Meq, I’m sure of it.”

  Sailor stopped walking, completely surprised. He still held Antoine Boutrain’s letter in his hand. “Who is it?”

  “Sangea Hiramura.”

  “Japanese?”

  “Yes and no. He was Ainu.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “I doubt it. He was at least seventy-five then.”

  “Tell me about him,” Sailor said. His “ghost eye” almost glowed.

  “I will…after you tell the rest of your tale. I want to know what’s going on.”

  Sailor nodded once. “Agreed,” he said.

  “There’s something else. Opari and I discovered an unusual object in Cuba, as did Geaxi on Malta, almost simultaneously. They are old, Sailor, very old, and I know they have something to do with us, maybe the Remembering, or at least one Remembering. They were found underwater.”

  Sailor gave me a quick glance. He seemed intrigued, but turned and started out of the tiny room. “Later,” he said.

  We walked to the “Honeycircle” in silence. Overhead, only a few stars were visible through a dark haze of clouds. Traffic could be heard faintly in the distance, but Carolina’s neighborhood was still one of the most quiet neighborhoods in the city.

  Everyone sat in a loose ring around Baju’s sundial. Sailor sat on the sundial’s stone base, while the rest of us were sitting on the grass, or in Ray’s case, lying on the grass. Lamps inside the carriage house shone through louvered shutters and cast long bars of light across Sailor’s face. “As I was saying,” he began. “Six months after leaving Norway, Zeru-Meq and I arrived in Madras. We had not yet seen, heard, nor felt a trace of the Fleur-du-Mal. In Madras, we were hoping to find the family of his Indian accomplice, Raza. In that effort we were unsuccessful. However, while we were there, on a whim, Zeru-Meq attended a Hindi gathering at which the pacifist leader, Gandhi, gave a passionate speech. When he returned he told me he felt the presence of his nephew at the event.

  “Why the Fleur-du-Mal was present is still a mystery, but finally Zeru-Meq had a trail to track. Zeru-Meq has several unique abilities he has learned through meditation; however, I also learned Zeru-Meq has an innate ability to follow the Fleurdu-Mal without seeing him. We are not certain how or why this occurs, perhaps the reason is because he is the uncle of Xanti Otso. Whatever the answer, he is only able to sustain this ability at a certain distance, which is always difficult to predict. The Fleur-du-Mal moves rapidly, as we all know, and particularly so when he is working. Nevertheless, we followed his ‘trail’ to Goa.” Sailor paused for a moment, stroking the star sapphire on his forefinger. Then, suddenly, he asked Mowsel if he remembered their first voyage to Goa in the late 1500s. “Was the year 1581 or 1591?”

  Mowsel angled his head toward Sailor’s voice and frowned. “It is you who are the Stone of Memory, Umla-Meq…you tease me, no? It was during the winter and spring of 1591. A magnificent voyage; we discovered a great deal.”


  “Yes, yes, of course,” Sailor said quickly, all the time twirling the star sapphire as he spoke. He continued to talk and he talked for half an hour. When he finished, Sailor had revealed more about the Fleur-du-Mal, his activities, his motives, methods, moods, and madness than we’d ever known before, even how he began to establish bases of operation in India, Ceylon, Singapore, China, and Japan going as far back as the 1550s. It was as if Sailor had been corresponding with him—intimately, psychologically. We also learned Zeru-Meq was not and had not been in Singapore. Sailor wanted the Fleur-du-Mal to think the opposite, thus the “necessary ruse.” The Fleur-du-Mal had discovered he was being followed. The false letter Sailor wrote had enough veracity in it to be believable and was purposely allowed to fall into the Fleur-du-Mal’s hands. Meanwhile, Zeru-Meq continued his surveillance and Sailor was able to make his way to St. Louis. He also told us the Fleur-du-Mal had been working covertly for a Giza government, assassinating several political and social figures, though Sailor didn’t know which government or what country. The assassinations had occurred throughout Southeast Asia and along the coast of China and were becoming more frequent. The Fleur-du-Mal no longer took the time to carve roses into the backs of his victims, Sailor said. The kill itself, however, was the same—a quick and clean slash of the throat from ear to ear.

  I wanted to ask the obvious question, but Geaxi beat me to it. “How do you know what you know, Sailor? You seem to have acquired a great deal of knowledge about the Fleur-du-Mal. No, you seem to know more than a great deal. How did you learn these things?”

  Sailor hesitated. “She tells me.”

  “She?”

  “Susheela the Ninth,” Sailor said, and turned to me. “Through dreams, Zianno. She tells me through dreams, though they are infrequent and irregular.” Sailor looked at Opari. “She speaks in Deza’s voice, Opari. She uses Deza’s voice, but she is not Deza.” He looked back to Geaxi and glanced once at Mowsel. “She is…denbora dantza egin… like no other among us.”

  “What the hell is that?” Ray asked.

  “Timedancing,” Opari answered. She winked at me and smiled. “Ask Z about it, Ray.”

  “What is it, Z?”

  “Uh…well…it’s hard to describe, Ray. It’s kind of a strange balance you keep inside, like a weightless walking dream or a dance through time. You’re here, but you’re not here. It’s like a waltz with what’s real and what’s not.”

  Ray stared at me, squinting, then he said, “Hell, I do that all the time.”

  “What do you mean, ‘like no other’?” Geaxi asked Sailor.

  “She goes deeper, much deeper, farther, and for as long as she desires. It is effortless for her. She is a master at it and this infuriates the Fleur-du-Mal. He has imprisoned her for it and vowed to keep her imprisoned until she tells him what she has done with the Sixth Stone.”

  “Why?”

  “Zeru-Meq says it is simply envy and jealousy. He calls his nephew ‘a sad and dangerous pilgrim who chases magic instead of truth.’ The Fleur-du-Mal is obsessed with powers he does not possess, particularly the ‘ability’ of timedancing. He has never been able to do it and knows he never will. He must endure his madness and his pain alone and in real time.”

  “Why is that? Why can’t he do it?” Nova asked. She sat cross-legged with Ray’s head in her lap. Ray sat up when she spoke.

  Sailor looked down at Nova, then at Ray. The long braid behind his ear fell forward into a shaft of light. The tassel on the end was weighted with an oval piece of polished onyx. “Because, like Ray, he was born with green eyes. He is Egipurdiko and the Fleur-du-Mal is fully aware that only Egizahar are able to cultivate this ‘ability.’ It is the one and only true difference between the ‘diko’ and the Egizahar.”

  “Damn,” Ray said under his breath.

  As Sailor spoke, I noticed whenever he mentioned Susheela the Ninth, his “ghost eye” cleared completely. He also stopped twirling and stroking the sapphire on his finger.

  “What about the ‘List,’ Sailor,” I asked.

  “A few decades before the Fleur-du-Mal found and purchased Askenfada in Norway with the assistance of Raza, he did the same in the Far East. One of the names on the list of five was the man or woman who acted as broker for Xanti Otso, finding and purchasing a well-fortified medieval castle somewhere on the Pacific rim in China or Japan. The descendants of this Giza will likely know of the castle and its location. We must find the castle while the Fleur-du-Mal is working and I am certain we do not have long. The Far East is quickly being usurped and occupied by the Japanese. Soon, travel may be difficult, even for us.”

  Mowsel had not said a word. He kept his head bowed, listening to every word Sailor said without showing any emotion or expression. Slowly, he raised his head and leaned forward. “Will there be war in the East, Umla-Meq?”

  Sailor looked at Mowsel and stood up on the stone pedestal of the sundial. He reached one hand out and ran his fingers along the edge of the bronze gnomon. In the darkness, the gnomon cast no shadow and told no time or season. “It is inevitable,” he said evenly. “And from what I read, and also what Zianno has told me of the German bombers in Guernica, there will be war in Europe as well.” Sailor paused and turned to face Mowsel. “It seems this time, old friend, these Giza are determined to slaughter each other by the millions.”

  “What do you propose, Sailor?” Opari asked.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, holding up Captain Antoine Boutrain’s letter between his thumb and forefinger like a winning card in a poker game, “we shall divide the names on the list of five among us and begin our search for each of them and their descendants.”

  “This ain’t gonna be easy, Sailor,” Ray said. “Not if what you say about the Japanese bein’ everywhere is right. The word ‘difficult’ won’t be close to what we’ll run into. We’re gonna need some help.”

  “He is correct, Sailor,” Geaxi said. She stood and began to pace the “Honeycircle.” Her steps made little or no sound in the grass.

  Opari turned to me. “Jack,” she whispered and I knew immediately what she meant.

  “Sailor,” I said, “give me a day or so. I think Jack might know someone who can help us.”

  “Who is it?” Sailor asked.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know who it is.”

  “Then why should he help us?”

  “Owen Bramley knew the man. Owen left Jack a number to call in Washington if we ever truly needed help. When we wanted to leave Cuba together, and quickly, Jack contacted the man and the next day in Florida we were whisked through customs without being asked a single question.”

  “And you do not know his name or identity?”

  “Jack was only given the name ‘Cardinal’ and a password, ‘sunrise.’”

  Sailor looked at Opari, Geaxi, and down at Mowsel. “Do you trust this elkarte, Trumoi-Meq, this association?”

  “No, Umla-Meq, I do not. I believe it is Giza joku—adult games—they play. However, we must respect and trust the judgment of Owen Bramley. This has been proven many times.” Mowsel leaned his head in the opposite direction. “And we have no option, old one. If you think we should make haste in finding these names, Ray is correct, we will require help.”

  Sailor looked at me. With no hesitation, he said, “Talk to Jack, Zianno. Find out what he can do, and soon.”

  Nearby, within twelve feet but completely invisible in the darkness, Geaxi asked, “Sailor, why do we not pursue the Fleurdu-Mal before finding the castle? Is it not logical?”

  A few seconds of silence followed. “We shall need Susheela the Ninth alive, Geaxi,” Sailor said. “We cannot eliminate the Fleur-du-Mal once and for all without her.”

  A few more seconds passed. From the dark, Geaxi said, “I see.”

  Sailor stepped down from the stone pedestal and took hold of Nova’s hand, pulling her upright and folding her arm in his. He started walking, leading both of
them and us toward the opening in the “Honeycircle” and back to the big house. Somewhere in the distance, I heard a cat squeal, followed by a barking dog. “In the morning, Nova,” Sailor said, “I want to walk with you in Forest Park and tell you the story of your father and his wonderful sundial.”

  * * *

  I spoke with Jack the next day and told him our problem. He understood and agreed we should call “Cardinal.” He dialed the number in Washington and someone picked up the receiver after one ring, but said nothing. Jack used the password “sunrise.” Ten seconds later, “Cardinal” was on the line and Jack wasted no time in telling him exactly what we needed and gave him the list of five names. On the spur of the moment, Jack added that we could also use seven diplomatic passports. To everyone’s surprise, and without hesitation or even asking a single question, “Cardinal” said it would all be arranged. A week later, a plain brown package appeared one morning in Carolina’s driveway, lying alongside the Post-Dispatch. Jack opened the package on the kitchen table and spread the contents out. Five separate folders contained long dossiers on each of the five names plus dossiers on their descendants and their current addresses, except for Sangea Hiramura. His dossier contained a single sheet of paper with no information on him and only the names and history of three sons and one daughter, Shutratek, the same woman I spoke with on the train to St. Louis and again at Solomon’s “remembering.” The dossier said Shutratek had returned from the World’s Fair in 1904 and was still living in Hokkaido. Two of the sons had remained in Japan during the Fair. One son eventually moved to Tokyo and the other moved to Anchorage, Alaska, in 1915, where he disappeared. The fate of the third son, the one who had accompanied Sangea and Shutratek to St. Louis, was unknown. Along with dossiers, the package contained seven brand-new diplomatic passports for seven children from the same family in Brazil. The children looked remarkably like us. Jack laughed once, then dealt the passports out like playing cards to Nova, Ray, Geaxi, Mowsel, Sailor, Opari, and me.