Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  Richard smirked loftily as she backed into the doorway, "Without words, yet by touch instead? Engage in loose behavior? Are you daft, or do you truly believe that I enjoyed last night?"

  Suddenly, her back hit something firm -someone's chest. Closing her eyes in humiliation at whoever had heard her, she slowly cranked her head to meet the eyes of Herr Major, a portly man with a monocle on one eye and a sparkling smirk accompanied in the other. Glancing her over only for a moment, he bowed his head in recognition of her noble birth, but Richard could tell he was not interested in her state of being; he looked much longer at Vincent.

  "My Lady, my Lord," Herr Major bowed at Vincent, "Shall ve convene in a more suitable room than the bitter cold of the outside?"

  Walter led the way back into the tavern portion of the inn where the room had surprisingly been cleared. The manservant took only a moment to remember Herr Major's stature to the barkeep, remembering his trembling hand as Walter stated his name. Naturally, the room would be cleared for a major with such stature. Apparently, the major had a reputation, and if it was one that created such a convulsive response from others, Walter would have to be hyper-alert coming into this meeting. Taking a stance in the corner of the wide room, he rested his heels against a pillar holding the fireplace and spit in place. Herr Major waited until everyone in the room had seated and then motioned for Schrödinger, previously unseen, to make himself visible provided by the sparse candlelight. With an intentional and theatrical pause, Herr Major began his long monologue.

  "Constantinople has fallen. The final Christian presence east of the Mediterranean Sea has been hung, drawn, und quartered. The Ottomans believe that it ist their time to thrive; that their religion and Allah ist the one true god. However, religion ist a human construct of an idealized perfection. It is man-made, and therefore faulty to begin vith. But Man vas not meant to follow a higher being; Man vas meant to become that higher being. Vhat ve did not know vas that Man has the capability to become perfection."

  Richard leaned back into her chair and listened carefully to each word Herr Major stated. At first, she believed him to be a heretic, babbling nonsensical verbiage, and discretely began to think of ways to slip out of the tavern. That was…until she glanced at Vincent.

  The major's words seemed to captivate him greatly, alarmingly. By the end of Herr Major's rant, she cleared her throat to break the trance he had seemed to place over Vincent.

  "Am I to understand that you and your companion, Schrödinger, followed my whereabouts, traveled all this way, to tell me that you believe there is some perfect form that a person can take?" she couldn't help but look at him quizzically.

  Herr Major never skipped a beat, "The strength to become this ist not vithin all beings. I have found in my research that the capability ist only bestowed upon very few, perhaps even dating back to one bloodline. Vhere Lord Rodriguez has failed, I have found a treasure trove of knowledge," he pointed to a large stack of papers, each mismatched and written by countless authors. All in Latin.

  Richard tensed, "Yes, I remember Schrödinger informing me of such a treasonous statement. You honestly expect me to believe that a trusted advisor would actually be a traitor to his kingdom? That he was sent here from the Pope himself to exterminate my bloodline and Sir Vincent's on the basis of this…this gift? Curse?"

  Vincent chimed in, "And according to your report of this treason, it happened merely days ago, yet it takes a week in good weather to reach the border where Lady Richard and I are currently stationed. Can you explain how you knew of this if you were here the entire time, or en route?"

  This time, there was a long pause. The dimly lit room suddenly felt ill at ease, the very air heavy with secrecy and illusion. It felt as though Richard and Vincent were both in the presence of a very powerful and very dangerous answer to their questions. Richard realized that the danger itself did not come from the answer, but the fact that it took form in the man before her. She tried to make eye contact with Vincent, tried to warn him that provoking this man would not be in their best interests, but he evaded her gaze.

  "My Lady," Walter approached from the corner from which he was observing, "This pathway is the road to ruin."

  "The road to redemption!" Herr Major corrected, "There ist no God-God ist a fictional creation made by humans to explain vhat they cannot understand! To make it easier for their minds to believe there ist a life after this! But there ist no afterlife, und there ist no God. There ist simply the continuous eternity in vhich ve all live."

  Vincent inhaled deeply, trying to stay alert as he felt a warm sensation embalm his body. Herr Major's words slowly drugged his mind with thoughts that had never been his own; thoughts that strangely made more and more sense with each passing second.

  "Why do you keep saying 'humans'? Is there a different definition by which these perfect beings are classified?" Richard pressed.

  "Humans do not live for an eternity," Walter added.

  Herr Major shrilled in laughter for a moment, "Correct, mild-mannered servant. Humans do not live for an eternity," he turned to Vincent, locking eyes with him.

  Richard stifled a gasp as Vincent curled up in his seat, jaw clenched and arms wrapped tightly around his body. His knuckles began to turn white and his breathing shallow when Richard and Walter both approached the major armed.

  "Whatever you are doing to him, stop," she whispered as she saw Vincent start convulsing.

  Schrödinger leapt off of an adjacent table and barred his teeth in a hiss that tore through Richard's ears. Without removing his trance, Herr Major dismissed his pet and stated calmly, "Show them, my test subject."

  The feline boy relaxed his stance but lunged quite obviously for Richard. With a shriek, she plunged her sword into its mark, swearing at her opponent as she twisted the blade further in. But when Schrödinger did not fall to the floor-when all that showed for Richard's heroic impalement was a small trail of red blood snaking its way down the silver steel, she met his eyes and drew back in shock.

  His teeth were sharp as a ferocious war hound, his eyes were a shade of crimson and black, and his body had physically grown to tower over her frame. She stepped back as his own hand pulled out the sword.

  "Y-you do not wish us to follow God's path but instead preach to become the Devil incarnate?" Richard breathed in realization. She noticed that Vincent had stopped convulsing but was breathing heavily, sagging in his seat. "What did you do to him?"

  "To Schrödinger, or to Sir Vincent?" Herr Major clarified.

  "Yes," she answered as she sheathed her sword.

  Before the major could answer Vincent grumbled, "Th-the…the voices. The whispers…"

  Walter stepped forward and right up to Herr Major's chair, where he upturned his head and smiled delightfully.

  "Major…what do you want?" Walter inflected each word, gripping the wooden frame instead of the man's neck, "It is obvious that you are a man of great invention and great intention. What is it exactly you intend to do with Lady Richard and Sir Vincent? For if it involves physical or mental harm to either, I will hunt you to the ends of this world before I will let you touch them."

  Standing up to measure Walter, the major nodded, "I have been to the ends of this vorld, servant, and vhat I vant ist to create the perfect opponent, vatch him flourish in his new form for centuries to come, und then annihilate him vhen he ist good and bored of everything. Only then vill he realize that perfection ist folly; that perfection ist nothing, means nothing, and that he IST nothing."

  "You will not make a candidate out of either one of us," Richard vowed, stepping back to place a hand on Vincent's shoulder. She looked down only to find that he was donning the same eerie grin as the major.

  "Oh," the tubby leader signaled his pet to leave and bid everyone adieu, sorting the stack of Latin papers, "I think I already have one candidate interested."

  Before Richard warned them never to accost her party again, either on the road or within the walls of Castle Hunyad, both
men fluidly left the room with naught but a whisper from the wind.

  Pip lifted his helmet against the biting wind for a fraction of a second. Clucking his mount forward, he leaned back in the saddle as his steed trotted down a grassy knoll and came to a halt once more. Victor wasn't far behind. Travelling lightly, they made impeccable timing. Just on the horizon, Târgoviște. In all its glory, it seemed the most modern city in the entire kingdom. Her banners waving high and proud, the two men slowly made their way to the city gate.

  A third figure dragged itself in great exertion along the plains with Victor's packhorse in hand. Huffing and puffing for air, his stoutly manner careened off of a boulder on its way down the hill. Cursing and spitting out dirt, he knelt on one knee for a brief and consuming moment.

  "M-my Lord! I am drained of all energy! After spending what felt like an eternity in that Godforsaken dungeon, I do not yet have the strength to keep up!"

  Pip drew his horse alongside Victor's, "My Lord, why did you bring along your…servant? Lackey?"

  "Well I wasn't going to leave him behind," Victor smiled, "Besides, it would be entirely improper to arrive without escort."

  "The news we carry is much more important than stalling for one rotund man," Pip sighed, nudging his horse forward again.

  Calling out in lofty grandeur, Victor cupped his mouth so the message would carry over the distance, "Do not dally, Seneschal Marius! You did not come all this way to stop short of our destination! My bride-to-be awaits!"

  "I'm getting déjà vu," Grinding his teeth, Seneschal Marius stood back up and trundled forward once more. "I'll hang 'im by his toes. I swear it."

  Turning back around in the saddle, Victor shifted to his companion, "As for the news, to which are you referring? The mandate from the Regent stating that all auxiliary forces report to Castle Hunyad to embark for Serbia, or the news of your secret engagement to Lady William?"

  "Apparently, local taverns are rife with gossip these days. People talk, but, then again, people do little else."

  Victor playfully shrugged, "The walls. They whisper."

  Pip grunted, "Well, as long as the walls have ears, they should know that if gossip reaches the Regent, I will personally cut off their ears."

  Victor shook his head, disgusted at his counterpart's primitive answer, "I'm so glad you've been educated in the ways of tact and diplomacy. This is exactly how we will need to bring the news to Lord Vincentislav II."

  "Apparently," Pip stated in a suggestive term, "Lady Richard was capable of convincing the Regent that she could act as an envoy. Whether or not that all is going well, we will have to determine once we arrive."

  Victor paused as they approached the high walled gates, watching men rush to the forefront of the battlements and draw their bows straight down at them, "Somehow, I have a feeling it is not going well…"

  One man signaled for them to stop, "HALT! What is your business? What cargo do you carry with you?"

  Victor motioned for Seneschal Marius to come forward, "We carry only what we could from Castle Hunyad. I am Lord Victor, son of Lord George of Bohemia, and this is Sir Pip, personal knight to the Regent, Lord John Hunyadi. We come bearing news of the war, including reinforcements."

  The guard looked at the three of them, unconvinced for a moment until Pip revealed a sealed scroll as proof. Keeping the innumerable archers aimed at the three of them, he motioned for the gates to open, but not before asking a question first.

  "Have you come by a fair maiden in your travels? She was one of Lord Vincentislav's Court, and she has gone...missing."

  Victor dismounted his horse and met the guard on the inside of the fortress, waiting for him to descend all of the steps, "No, we have not encountered anyone of that description."

  A gnawing sensation built up in Victor's stomach. "Could you elaborate on your description?"

  He hesitated for a moment, knowing he would be speaking out of turn, but the young Lady was so important, perhaps this young Lord who had just arrived knew something. His tone revealed as much.

  "My Lord," the guard hesitated, needing assurances, "You did not hear it from me…"

  When Victor nodded his head, it spilled out.

  "My Lord, it was the fair Lady Richard. She's gone missing, and Lord Vincentislav II just about beheaded both guards posted at her door. She's been missing three days now, and if we cannot locate her whereabouts, the Regent will have us all slaughtered!"

  Frantically glancing around, Victor's mind raced to wild, un-based conclusions. Without hesitation, without pause, he handed his horse to the man and jogged through the market streets, the tanning shops, and smithing corners, to the ruling class district of the city. He had to find Lord Vincentislav II.

  "Do you have it? DO YOU HAVE IT."

  Rodriguez extended his hand and planted the scroll onto the wide oak table.

  Lithe hands picked it up, and after probing eyes consumed the contents of the page for a few moments, they lit up with mirth and intent.

  "So it is true. The Regent plans to send all his forces in a last ditch attempt to regain a foothold on Constantinople. And he wishes the Pope to provide influence for reinforcements."

  "Aye, it's true. But when has our business been truly political?" Rodriguez asked, "Ours is one of life and death. About morality, and doing what is right. What is necessary."

  "Political?" A youthful face poked out from a lavishly adorned hood, "What an interesting phrase to describe it. Should we not feel obligated to give this message to His Holiness? Would we not pray for our good Christian brethren to succeed?" The hood fell back, and long hands stroked back a mane of brown hair as a grin spread across his face.

  Rodriguez felt his fists tighten, "We would do anything to crush the Ottoman heathens. No matter the cost. Whatever it took."

  "After all we have sacrificed to gain this position? After all that we have accomplished?" He tented his fingers and kept a sneer at bay, "If His Holiness does not see this message, and if he cannot organize reinforcements quick enough to answer the Regent's plea who subsequently falls in battle…this might prompt the emergence of a new Pope."

  "God forsake me for ever letting you get this far! Your ego will be your demise!" Rodriguez fumed and strode across the room to the figure before him, "You would let the Ottomans destroy our only soldiers left?!"

  "To start, yes. If The Iscariot Organization is to survive what happens next, we need to be at the helm of history," he turned around slowly and placed his hands atop Rodriguez's shoulders.

  "What comes next, then?" Rodriguez growled.

  "There are bigger threats to Christendom than the Ottoman Empire, for it is filled with only men, and men can be killed," his hands fell from Rodriguez's shoulders and a glowering stare replaced the previous glowing smile, "And since you are here in Vatican City, that means only one thing: you failed to do your duty."

  "Maxwell, it–"

  "You stated earlier that our principles are staked in morality and doing what is right," he chuckled, "but when it comes to political matters, morality takes a back seat to profits. And how well do we profit from our crusaders winning against the Ottomans? What happens, in this case, if we do what is right - what is necessary, and succeed?" Maxwell paused to let Rodriguez think of the answer.

  "…the Iscariot Organization will no longer be needed in the wake of such a victory," Rodriguez felt his chest deflate.

  Maxwell nodded slowly, "I told you to end those two bloodlines, Lady Richard's and Vincent's. And you failed me." Leaning over the table, his eyes glittered as they alluded to premeditated forethought, "Now we do this my way."

  The trail back to Târgoviște had roads and beaten paths from traders and merchants long accustomed to nomadic life, selling wares from one town to the next. Some were lucky enough to wedge in between other merchants in the hot and cramped city outskirts, but a good number of them could not get a toehold into sprawling cities, and so they travelled from place to place, village to village, and region to
region.

  Grooved depressions in the mud from innumerable wagon wheels made it obvious enough which road would lead back to Târgoviște, as it was a favorite for many a tradesman. What made Richard uneasy were the trail of dead bodies that accompanied their journey back. If Schrödinger had not told her that he was paving the way for them to make a safe return, she would have thought a madman on the loose. Then again, perhaps he was a madman...or perhaps she was going mad after stabbing that man and hearing not so much as a peep. Richard shuddered, regaining her train of thought.

  Such as it was, a great many of them were Ottoman troops, some clearly from the recent battle Vincent had participated in. Due to Vincent's loss and the Ottoman's victory, many of their remaining soldiers had tried to gain a foothold within Hungary's boundaries. In truth, if it had not been for Schrödinger killing them along the way back, Richard might have met those soldiers at the end of her blade, or worse – their blade. What did seem intriguing was the way in which the bodies were dispatched. Most were along the side of the road. Impressed, Richard did notice that there were no visible marks, no blood anywhere. Remembering that Schrödinger did not carry a weapon on him, Richard guessed with his near inhuman stealth skills and "powers" Herr Major talked about, Schrödinger probably snapped their necks before the men could retaliate. Smart. Cunning.

  Focusing her eyes on the road ahead, Richard noticed that Walter had pulled up his mount to a hitching post in front of an old house. From the farmland behind it, it was clear that a family lived here, but amidst the trail of Schrödinger's victims, Richard's stomach lurched. Perhaps he had also slain the inhabitants who lived in this home. Based on his character alone, Richard knew he was not beneath committing such an act.

  She hitched her horse, as did Vincent. Upon entry of the residence, which was unlocked, the stench of death was prevalent.