As the horse-drawn wagon rolled by, Lorenzo said in his broken and unpracticed Quechua, “Xiuhcoatl, there are men following us. Be ready.”
The old Aztec nodded ever so slightly as he drove past, and Lorenzo saw him lift the blanket off the seat beside him to reveal his sword. The hidalgo grimaced at the sight of it. It wasn’t a sword at all, only a wooden club studded with obsidian spikes to create a sort of crude blade along its edges. It weighed half a dozen pounds, requiring both hands even from its grim-faced master, and at its fastest it was still as slow as the moon compared to the shooting star of Lorenzo’s espada. But he had seen men dismembered by that sword, their bones crushed, their flesh shredded, their hot blood gushing in a dozen places at once. Lady Qhora called the obsidian sword a macuahuitl. He had never asked what the word meant.
Lorenzo touched the medallion under his shirt. May the Father, the Mother, and the Son spare me such a fate as the macuahuitl.
As the wagon rolled past, he looked over the side at the sleeping mound of Atoq. The great cat would sleep most of the day before wandering out at evening to hunt. Beside him and their bags of clothing and food, the two small cages clacked and thumped against the far side of the wagon. Inside them, the two saber-toothed cubs swatted at each other through the bars. Behind them, Lorenzo saw the strange ripple in the grassy ditch still bending toward them against the wind.
Who can it be now? Do they mean to rob us, or worse?
Ariel’s pale face drifted across his mind’s eye, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if he had really seen her or only imagined it. He swallowed and blinked back the sudden tears.
Ariel, can you see me? Are you watching over me in this strange land?
Only the wind answered him. Lorenzo turned his mare back up the road and came alongside Qhora. “I’d like to put some distance between us and the city before the morning travelers come out. I’d rather they not see us. They might be tempted to rob us, and I’d rather not leave a trail bodies from Tingis to Orossa.”
“If the queen of Marrakesh knew how to provide for her people, or how to police her people, we wouldn’t have to leave a trail of bodies wherever we go,” Qhora said. She glanced at him and her face softened. “But we are here in the name of Prince Valero. For his sake, we will try not to kill too many Mazighs.”
“Thank you, my love.” He nudged his mare into a quick trot just as Wayra broke into a sprint and dashed away down the road with a squawk and a hiss. Glancing back, he saw Xiuhcoatl whip his draft horse into a slightly quicker pace, which would leave him far behind both the hidalgo and the princess in just a few minutes. Lorenzo sighed and lashed his mare into a gallop. “Qhora!”
It took almost three minutes to catch up to the giant bird and catch the princess’s attention. She reined in Wayra and stared down at her escort as he explained the need to stay together with the wagon. As he spoke, he could see the impatience and frustration in her narrowed eyes and pressed lips, but she did not argue as she turned back to join the wagon, which was now hidden by another rise in the highway.
A deep-throated growl echoed across the plain and Lorenzo kicked his horse into another gallop as they passed back over the last hill and saw the old Aztec standing in the wagon’s seat, his obsidian sword glinting in the early morning light. The saber-toothed cat crouched on the ground beside the wagon, terrifying the draft horse into a constant stream of whinnies and sidesteps, slowly pulling the wagon away to escape the growling cat. At the opposite side of the road, two men in faded brown uniforms stood knee-deep in the grass with shining revolvers in their hands.
Lorenzo swallowed. Guns. “Qhora, stay back!” He charged down the hillside and whipped his espada free. Oh Ariel, if I survive this I swear I will never leave home again!
Xiuhcoatl shouted something in Nahuatl that no one within four thousand miles could understand as he jumped down to the ground beside Atoq, brandishing his weapon in a two-handed grip. The huge cat dashed forward to swipe at the first gunman, who stumbled back and fell into the ditch, disappearing under the tall grass. Atoq snarled and paced back to the wagon.
The yards quickly vanished beneath his horse’s hooves and Lorenzo passed his sword to his left hand. With a flick of his wrist, the hidalgo slashed the gunman’s shoulder as he galloped by and heard the revolver clatter on the hard-packed dirt and gravel of the road. Wheeling around, Lorenzo saw the man clutching his arm and jumping back down into the ditch, and the two men scrambled back the way they had come through the waving grasses. When they were out of sight, Lorenzo sheathed his espada and trotted back to the wagon, pausing to hop down and retrieve the dropped revolver. Xiuhcoatl was roughly stroking the cat’s head and patting his side. Atoq purred, butting his head against the man’s hand. And then the cat circled to the back of the wagon, leapt up into the straw, and flopped down again beside the caged cubs.
To his relief, Lorenzo saw that the princess had stayed at the top of the hill, sitting in her strange saddle on her strange beast, the feathers of her cloak fluttering in the cool morning breeze.
The old Aztec warrior dropped onto his seat, picked up the reins, and got the wagon moving again. Lorenzo rode beside him to the top of the rise and Lady Qhora fell into step beside him.
After a moment she said, “They had guns.”
“Soldiers, judging from their uniforms,” he said. “Deserters, maybe.”
“They had guns, Enzo.” She glanced at him. “They might have killed you. We’ve talked about this. You need to be more careful. You can’t fight guns with a sword.”
He said, “No, but I can fight men with a sword.”
“You didn’t kill them. You should have.” Her voice quavered, or at least he thought it did. “Deserters are traitors. Killing them would have been a service to the Mazigh queen.”
Was she this bloodthirsty when we first met? I don’t remember. But that was another life for both of us, in another world. So much has happened, so much has changed. I could never explain to her why I spared these two, or those three men last night. She wouldn’t understand.
Lorenzo reached up to touch the triquetra medallion beneath his shirt. “Perhaps.”
She saw his hand on his chest. “Does it trouble your faith to kill these people? They’re not your people. And they’re not even decent people.”
“It troubles my faith to kill any people. And they are decent people. They’re just going through a difficult time,” Lorenzo said. Do I even believe that? I’ve been hungry, cold, and frightened. I lived on the streets of Tartessos, in the winter, surviving on the charity of others for half a year and never robbed anyone. I crawled through ten miles of vermin-infested jungle with a bullet in my leg and never robbed anyone. “The last time I came here, ten years ago, it was to sing in a choir in Port Chellah. It was different then.”
“You were a boy then. You saw it differently. I doubt the country itself has changed at all.”
He nodded. “You’re probably right. More’s the pity.”
As they continued down the highway, Lorenzo caught sight of a few plowed fields high in the hills to his left, and a few delicate tendrils of smoke from some farmer’s house. Far from the madness of politics. The hidalgo dropped his hand from his medallion. How did life ever become so complicated?
If only I hadn’t met her. He stole a glimpse of Qhora and couldn’t help but smile at the young lady’s profile glowing in the morning sunlight. No, I can’t imagine that.
If only I hadn’t brought her back with me. No, her cousin would have sacrificed her.
If only she would convert, then I could marry her. But that would keep me at court. I would have to keep fighting, and teaching others to fight, and finding myself in these places, forced to kill or be killed.
If only Ariel had never come to me, had never shown me the true path, had never shown me the brokenness of my old life. I could have gone on living with Qhora, loving her, enjoying her, blissful in our sin.
If only.
His eyes darted over to
the young woman beside him, her beautiful face so proud and defiant, her glorious feathered cloak shining in the early morning light.
How can I choose between her and Ariel? Between the real world and a holy life? Between happiness and holiness? Between love and God?
How can anyone? He sighed. I suppose most people don’t have to, do they?
Chapter 9
After two hours lying on the bench with her eyes closed praying for sleep, Taziri was still unable to drift off knowing that she had only the doctor and the girl to deal with Hamuy. So she lay very still and over the lip of the far window she watched dawn break over Port Chellah, a dim and muted awakening out beyond the eastern ridge that shifted the darkness of night into a world of slate blues and pale morning mists. The gloomy half-light cast the cabin’s interior in a hundred shades of gray that revealed hints of the people around her. An old Hellan man with an enormous nose. A shackled prisoner with a burned face and a metal plate in his chest. And Ghanima, sitting beside the hatch with the gun belt around her waist, peering out across the airfield at something Taziri could not see.
A steady rhythm of footfalls in the thick grass outside drew her gaze to the window. Kenan jogged up to the gondola, little more than a boy in a long red coat, his face sweaty and breathing labored. Taziri sighed. I’m going to have to sit up now. But she didn’t move yet. Five more minutes, please.
Ghanima stepped into the open hatchway. “What’s your name?” Her fingers rested lightly on the butt of the gun.
“Did the major come back?” he asked breathlessly.
“Name first.” Ghanima’s thumb slipped down to the snap on the holster.
“Corporal Kenan Agyeman.” The young marshal stopped, still breathing heavily. “That’s my gun you’re wearing.”
“I know.” She smiled brightly as she returned his weapon. “Taziri told me to expect you.”
“Where is she?”
“Sleeping. I woke up a few hours ago and she explained what was going on. And she needed the sleep more than I did. She mentioned the major, too. He saved my life.” Ghanima glanced across the empty field. “Is he all right?”
“I don’t know.” Kenan peered over her head at the prisoner as he slipped on his gun belt. “We got separated. There was a fight. Ambassador Chaou killed the police captain and took off on a horse, and the major went after her on our horse. I tried to follow them, but they were gone. I’ve been looking for him all night.”
Taziri grimaced as she lay on the bench. Now what? Am I really supposed to take Hamuy back to Tingis and report to the Marshal General? Or should I wait for the major?
“So what do we do now?” Ghanima stepped back into the shadows of the cabin. “Do you have any idea where to look for him?”
“No.” Kenan sat down on the lip of the open hatch and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. He told Ohana to report back to Tingis if he didn’t make it back. I never thought he wouldn’t make it back. Or that I would if he didn’t.” He squinted over his shoulder at her. “I guess we should go then, but…we can’t just go. The major is here somewhere. We have to find him. And the ambassador.”
“Then that’s exactly what we’re going to do.” Taziri groaned as she slowly sat up on the bench. “We’ll find them both.”
Ghanima nodded. “Well, that’s fine, but what about the major’s orders?”
Taziri shrugged. “He’s Section Two. We’re Section Four. Technically, he can’t give us orders anyway.”
“That’s true,” Kenan said. “Technically. Although, I bet the Board of Generals would see it differently.”
Ghanima raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but where does that leave us? We have a dangerous prisoner and only one gun, and we don’t know where to look, and apparently the police are as corrupt as the diplomats.”
“Exactly,” said Kenan. “We can’t trust anyone right now. We need to find the major, fast.”
“Wait. We?” Ghanima pointed at the man on the floor. “What about him? What about the airship? We’re not police. We’re not even armed.”
Taziri sighed. “Life is full of small challenges.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just something Isoke says.” Taziri thought for a moment. There’s no good way to do this, is there? “Well, one of us needs to stay on the Halcyon and the other can go with Kenan to look for the major. I know this ship better than you. Are you up for helping him?”
Ghanima nodded. “Absolutely. Besides, I’ve got the best eyes in the Air Corps. Who better for a search detail? Kenan, do you know this town at all?”
“I should. I was born here,” he said.
“Good. Where did you last see the major?”
Kenan pointed out across the field to the west where the streets flowed downhill to the waterfront. “They rode into town along the coast road. I saw them go into the older warehouses and I searched for hours before I decided to come back here. I was hoping he’d be back already.”
“Okay, then we’ll start looking there.”
“But that’s an entire city district, dozens of blocks with hundreds of buildings. Where do we actually start?”
Ghanima smiled. “The closest teahouse. They’ll have heard or seen something, I’m sure.”
Taziri watched them jog away across the airfield and disappear around a distant corner onto some dawn-kissed side street. Alone, she sat and listened to the two men snore until her belly began to grumble and she gently woke the old doctor.
He sat up and yawned. “Is it over?”
“No. I was hoping you might get us breakfast.”
“Oh.” He frowned and wiped at his eyes. “Fine.”
Evander was gone almost an hour, long enough for Taziri to begin worrying what might have happened to him when the little figure in gray appeared at the airfield gates. She took a small paper bundle from the doctor as he stepped inside. “What did you find?”
Evander sat down in his seat at the back of the cabin. “I don’t know. Some sort of tavern, I suppose. What do you call them?”
“A café. There aren’t any taverns in Marrakesh.”
“Whatever it was, it was a mile from here and my hip is aching. This was the only thing they had that I recognized. Leftovers from last night, they said.”
Taziri opened the bulging flatbread and found cold yams, rice, and peas. “Thank you for this.” She eased back into her seat, closed her eyes, and began to eat.
“So, do we feed him or is that against the rules?” The doctor pointed at the unconscious man on the floor as he began to shovel food into the gap in his beard.
Dear God, please give me five minutes of silence. Just five. Taziri raised an eyebrow, shook her head slightly, and continued eating.
“Did you hear me? I said—oh, sorry, I forgot you people don’t talk during meals.” Evander sniffed at his breakfast, and then resumed shoveling. “Well, I hope you don’t mind listening while you eat.”
Taziri sighed and tried to focus on biting, chewing, and tasting. Each warm mouthful slipped down into her belly and quelled the angry demons that had been plaguing her since she first leapt up from the supper table the night before. She thought about each fiber and seed entering her body, all the simple mysteries of plants, water, earth, and sunlight flowing into her flesh, the divine energy sweeping through her blood. The infinite names and faces of God traveling from one form of life to another—
“…don’t understand why these things keep happening to me. That’s the curse of being a doctor, you see, you’re too valuable to everyone. Everyone needs a doctor, sooner or later, and if you’re too good then everyone wants you personally, and you end up sailing or flying all over the world to do look at boils and infections and bloody, maggoty messes…”
Taziri slowly swallowed what was in her mouth, turned a little farther away from Evander, and continued eating with her eyes closed.
“…wasn’t so bad in those days, but after the wars with the Persians, well, you can imagine, my services we
re needed everywhere. They wanted me for everything, every little thing! Stabbings, burnings, limbs hacked off, some clean as a butcher’s stroke, some all torn up and ragged…”
Taziri quickly finished her breakfast and wiped her hand on her pants. “That’s a wonderful story, doctor. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job in Orossa.”
“If we ever get there!” Evander wiped his sleeve through his beard, removing some but not all of the food from his face. “I was hoping to arrive by noon today. Clearly, that is not going to happen. Maybe I need to find a train or something.”
“Maybe.” Taziri stood and stretched, and a shadow of movement outside caught her eye. Two men were approaching the airship from the field gates. “Doctor, stay there.” She picked up her long wrench, the one she had identified just a few hours earlier as her new favorite. The strangers were plainly dressed and clean shaven, and Taziri began to relax slightly. Then she saw long knives poking out of the men’s boots.
Evander knelt on the bench and stared through the window. “Trouble?”
“Well, they’re not the ground crew.” Taziri waited until the men were closer and then called out, “Can I help you gentlemen? I’m sorry, but we’re not taking on passengers here. You’ll need to speak to someone at the office over there to arrange tickets. I’m sure something will be available later in the week.” Then she thought of the Grebe and the Crake and realized there probably wouldn’t be another airship in Port Chellah for quite some time unless they came from the Southern Air Corps in Maroqez.
“Medur!” The men paused in the grass to shout. “You in there?”
Hamuy shuddered awake with a sharp grunt. “Eh?”
“Medur! The old cow sent us. Medur!”
Taziri glared down at the man and tried to force him to keep his teeth together with a silent prayer, but a sinking weight in her stomach told her that God wasn’t going to weld her prisoner’s mouth shut.
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