Aetherium (Omnibus Edition)
Page 61
“Two lives saved and still without pants,” Salvator said. “Most impressive.”
Alonso leapt to his feet as Hector scrambled to Gaspar’s side, but Qhora grabbed Alonso’s wrist as she placed her other hand against the Italian’s chest, holding them apart.
Salvator smiled. “All this pain, all this suffering, and for what? For the Mazighs? For a few foreign spies? Don’t you realize these people want to destroy what’s left of your homeland?”
He doesn’t seem to know about Dante. Qhora exhaled slowly. If only Dante was of any use to anyone. Enzo, where are you?
For a moment, only Gaspar’s strained breathing and soft moaning echoed through the corridor. Qhora felt the tension leave Alonso’s arm and she let him go. The young man stood very close behind her and she felt the heat billowing off his bare chest.
At that moment, a pair of soldiers returned to the near stair to report nothing found in the corridor above them. A minute later, another man returned empty-handed from the kitchens. And another from the stables. And another and another. Soon the entire company had returned and all with the same report. There was no sign of the other women anywhere in La Seo.
“And what now, Señor Fabris?” Qhora asked. She gestured to Gaspar. “This young man needs a doctor. Will you leave us in peace, or do you need to continue maiming children, threatening women, and bullying the gentle priests of this church?” She projected her voice over the crowd of soldiers, scanning the young men’s faces for reactions. She saw many pursed lips and uneasy eyes.
Salvator sighed. “No, I suppose not. Sergeant, please let the good brothers out. And wait here until Signora Quesada and her companions are fully dressed before you bring them back to the barracks with us. I’ll return immediately to summon a doctor, or whatever passes for a doctor here.” He turned and strode away to the stairs.
Qhora blinked. The barracks?
The boys dressed, helping Gaspar to wrap his shirts and coats around his arm, and within a few minutes they were all bundling down the stairs and out into the street over the mealy mouthed objections of the sleepy priests and monks. The first blast of night air snapped her eyes open and left her shivering all the way down the riverside, and then through the maze of narrow stone and ice corridors to the prison-like block of the army barracks.
Moments later she was sitting in a large cell with the three boys posturing around her like overprotective lions. They might have made a more impressive display if they had had their swords and if Gaspar hadn’t been hunched over, cradling his arm to his chest with a spatter of red on the floor beside him. A dozen soldiers milled around the large room on the other side of the bars while Salvator explained to the Espani major why he was holding four prisoners and why he needed a surgeon and why he needed a cup of real coffee and not the watered down piss the Espani called tea. Then Salvator left the room.
As soon as the Italian was gone, the soldiers dropped their rifles and converged on the cell with bright beaming smiles. “Alonso!”
Alonso pressed up to the bars, shaking hands and grabbing shoulders and tousling hair. The next few minutes were a deafening roar of laughter and shouts as the young diestro embraced his old friends and tried to introduce them to his fellow prisoners at a full holler. Qhora just smiled and waved at the young men hanging on the bars and babbling in their sharp northern Espani accents.
Eventually one of the soldiers, a narrow-faced boy with a crooked nose and a booming voice took over the chaos. “Alonso, what’s really going on?”
“I don’t know. One minute we’re on vacation to train at the cathedral and the next minute some fancy Italian is dragging a whole party into my room in the middle of the night, and not in the good way.”
The boys laughed.
Alonso pointed at the door through which Salvator had left. “So who the hell is he? Why are you taking orders from an Italian?”
“Who knows? He just showed up two hours ago, flashed some papers at the major, and suddenly he’s in charge. And he smells.” More laughter. “Like a drunken wad of burnt hair.”
“Boys, boys, please.” Qhora stood up. “Now that we’re all friends, can we please go?”
They exchanged guilty looks. “Sorry, Dona, we can’t do that. Orders are orders. But we do have the doc coming to patch up your friend there. Did Fabris really do that?”
Alonso nodded. “He may smell like dead fish, but he knows which end of a sword to hold. Keep clear of him.”
Qhora approached the bars. “Please, listen, this Italian is hunting innocent people. He says he’s looking for Mazigh spies, but we’ve only seen him attacking Espani. We had another young man with us, Enrique. Fabris attacked him on the road and we had to leave him behind in the care of strangers. He attacked my husband, and now he’s attacked Gaspar. This Italian is as depraved as he vicious. You must help us. Please, I need to find my husband, Don Lorenzo Quesada de Gadir. He’s out in the streets right now, he can’t be far.”
The soldiers hung on the bars outside, casting frowns and squints at each other. The one with the crooked nose said, “Sorry, but if Fabris comes back and you’re not here, we could all end up in a cell, or out in the street. We didn’t exactly join the army because it was the best job available. It’s either this or working the ice.” He shuddered.
Alonso snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Switch clothes with me.”
A smattering of nervous laughs ran through the crowd. The soldier boy said, “The Italian may be stupid, but he’s not that stupid.”
“Just for an hour. Half an hour,” Alonso said. “Just so I can find Don Lorenzo and tell him what’s happened, please. I’ll be gone and back before the surgeon ever gets here, if he’s even coming at all.”
Everyone glanced back at poor Gaspar, doubled over on the stone bench with Hector hovering over him.
The soldier frowned. “Half an hour?”
Alonso nodded. “Or less.”
Chapter 18
As Taziri slipped through the squeaky kitchen door and into the howling wind of an icy alleyway behind La Seo, the Mazigh pilot felt the freezing night air stinging her eyes. Above the dark gray walls she saw a black ribbon of sky salted with cold stars. Taziri shivered as she tried to straighten out her hastily assembled layers of shirts and coats. The sleeves were all snagged and bunched, particularly around the brace on her left forearm.
Shahera stood panting and shaking beside her. The Eranian girl shuffled down the alley toward the road. “Come on, come on! They could be right behind us!”
Taziri glanced back at the door they had just come through. Old and filthy. Grimed and rusted. In her inner jacket pocket she found one of her older screwdrivers and she jammed the tool through the door’s handle. “Let’s go.”
At the end of the alley they found a dark road that ran the length of the rear of the cathedral, and with no sound of pursuit in the alley behind them, Taziri led the way more slowly and carefully. With several inches of snow and ice lumped on the ground, the footing was treacherous and both women kept their eyes on their boots. The next intersection was empty but footsteps and voices echoed to their left so they drew back into the dark recess of a doorway and waited.
First the shadows and then the bodies of the soldiers marched past and Taziri clenched her teeth at the sight of the Italian leading them down the street. Qhora looked as regal and defiant as ever surrounded by the armed men, as though they followed her instead of herded her along. One of the boys was obviously injured, but they were moving so quickly and were so obscured by the soldiers that she could not tell who it was or how badly he was hurt.
When the soldiers were gone, Taziri stepped out into the road. “We have to help them.”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know. But she saved us. It should be us going to prison, not them.”
Shahera shook her head. “No. If they took us, they’d kill us. But they’ll let the Espani go in a day or two. They’ll be fine. I’m sure they’ll all be fine.”
They followed the noisy troop of soldiers through the dark, cold maze of Zaragoza, twisting and turning from one stony lane to another until the men filed into a bleak little building on a dark square where only the flickering candle light in the windows illuminated the road outside.
As soon as the door closed behind the soldiers, Taziri dashed to the wall and eased around the edge of the first window to peer inside. She saw snow and soot, and through the filth a blurry yellow glow.
Damn it. Can’t these people keep anything clean?
She ducked down and shuffled to the next window, which she found as impenetrable as the first. Back in the shadows, she saw Shahera beckoning her away from the building. But Taziri moved on to the front door just as the handle clicked and the door swung open. A young soldier dashed off into the darkness, never glancing back at the dark figure flattened against the wall.
Where’s he running off to?
She turned and found Shahera crouched beside her. The girl said, “I have an idea about how to get inside.”
“How?”
“The next time a soldier goes by, we hit him over the head and steal his clothes. Then one of us can sneak inside—”
“Good lord, you must read a lot of novels. We’re not stealing anyone’s clothes.”
“But it always works in the stories!”
“Well, this isn’t a story,” Taziri whispered. “It’s a cold night in a dark alley, and someone wants us in prison, or dead. Let’s go around back and see if we can find Qhora through another window.” She slipped past Shahera and ducked under the windows on her way to the corner of the barracks.
The door opened again. Taziri glanced back just in time to see Shahera leap forward and take a wild swing at the lone soldier emerging from the building. Her fist connected with the side of his face and the young man stumbled away from her.
“Ow! What the hell was… you!” Alonso rubbed his head. “What are you hitting me for?”
“I didn’t know it was you,” Shahera said. “I thought you were one of those soldiers.”
“You hit one of my favorite eyes. It really hurts,” he said, massaging the side of his face.
Taziri jogged out into the courtyard and dragged both of them toward the far wall, into the shadows. “Shut up, both of you.”
Shahera arched an eyebrow and nodded at Alonso’s army uniform. “I told you it works.”
“And I told you to shut up.” Taziri turned to the young man. “How did you escape? Where are the others?”
“Oh, it was easy. This is my home town. Half the guys in there are my friends. They let me run out to find Don Lorenzo. I have a message for him from his wife.” Alonso took his hand away from his face to reveal the first dark glimmers of black eye. “I just have to get back before the surgeon gets here.”
“What surgeon?”
“For Gaspar. Fabris sliced open his arm.”
Taziri stared. He was hurt because of me and Shahera, the poor boy. What kind of monster stalks strangers and helpless young men like this? “And the soldiers just let you leave?”
“Sure. They know I didn’t do anything wrong, and they sure as hell aren’t loyal to Fabris. In fact, it sounds like the major is pissed enough as it is and after a few more hours of these orders he’ll be ready to throw Fabris out on his ass, papers or no.”
“Then why didn’t they just let everyone else go in the first place?”
He sniffed. “Well, that’s the tricky part of doing the right thing. Sometimes you let your friend go, and sometimes you follow orders because you swore an oath to follow orders.”
“So they chose to let you go?”
Alonso shrugged. “They did what all honest and devout souls do. They split the difference. But don’t worry. They’re not going to let anything happen to the others.”
“What do we do now?” Shahera asked.
“We find the Don. He needs to know what’s happened. And he needs Alonso’s message.” Taziri took off into the city again without waiting for the others. It was becoming second nature. Just decide and go and let the rest sort itself out.
Alonso hurried to keep pace with her. “Dona Qhora said he went out chasing after Dante, so we should probably check the bars along the river.” He froze. The sharp clapping of boots on cobblestones echoed from just around the next corner. “Off the street!”
Taziri slipped sideways into a narrow alley and kept shuffling into the dark hole as the others crowded in behind her. The boots clapped and clicked louder as they turned the corner, and then began to fade quietly into the whistling wind.
Alonso whispered in her ear. “Two of them! A soldier and an older man with a bag. Shit!” They shuffled back out into the street. Alonso clutched his short black hair as he stared after the two men. “That was the surgeon for Gaspar. I thought I had an hour. Shit. They’ll know I’m gone now, I can’t go back.”
Shahera shivered. “Should we try to stop the surgeon then?”
“No. Gaspar needs him. We’ll worry about that later.” Taziri took their arms and steered them back down the road toward the river, or where she guessed the river to be. “Right now, all that matters is that we’re all free and Qhora is in good hands with your friends, right?”
“Absolutely. My friends won’t let Fabris touch a hair on her head.” Alonso led them to the riverside where they stood exposed above the banks of the Elbro, shivering in the starlight.
Taziri clutched her arms around her belly, feeling the hard edges of her brace digging into her ribs. Where is Lorenzo? And what am I doing here? No streetlamps. No trolleys. No telegraphs. But they do have some sort of post service. I can send a letter. It might take a week, but at least I could warn Isoke about the warship and tell Yuba that I’m still alive. How many days have I been missing now? Five? Six?
“Let’s try this way.” Taziri turned right and started walking. Any direction is better than none. Walking is better than standing. The wind blasted through her hair, turning every drop of sweat on her scalp into an icy finger clawing at her head.
“Alonso! Alonso!” Don Lorenzo dashed out from a side street with Dante just behind him. “What happened? I saw the soldiers going into the cathedral. Where’s Qhora? Where are the others? Where’s Qhora? And why are you dressed like that?”
“She’s fine, sir. They’re all fine.” Alonso winced. “Well, almost. It was the Italian, Fabris. He was looking for Taziri and Shahera, but Dona Qhora got them out in time. And then Gaspar tried to fight Fabris and got his arm slit open.”
“Fabris’s arm?”
“No, Gaspar’s. But it’s okay. They took him to the barracks and called for a surgeon to stitch him up, so he should be fine.” Alonso paused, chewing on his lip. “I hope he’s all right.”
“What about my wife?” Lorenzo asked.
“Oh, sorry, she’s with Gaspar and Hector in the barracks. In a cell. But that’s all right, too. She’s absolutely safe there. Most of the soldiers quartered there are old friends of mine. They’d never let anything happen to Dona Qhora or the others.” Alonso blew on his naked hands and rubbed them together. “They’re already on the verge of throwing Fabris out and letting everyone go free anyway.”
“Well, thank God for that. Take me back there now.” Lorenzo checked his espada. “We’re going to get them out.”
“No, sir, wait. I have a message from her. From your wife. She said to tell you not to come for her. She said to tell you to go get the stone and that she’ll take care of Fabris.” Alonso frowned. “I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I swear that’s what she said.”
Taziri frowned too. What stone?
“No, absolutely not,” Lorenzo said. “We’re getting them all out of there right now. I’m not about to take any chance that Fabris might hurt Qhora or the boys. If
your friends are on our side, all the better. We can finish this business with Fabris right now. Tonight.”
“But, sir, that’s not what she wants. She wants you to go get a stone. What stone is that? She didn’t say.” Alonso shrugged. “Whatever it is, she made me swear that I would send you out of town as fast as you can go to get it while she keeps Fabris here in town.”
“But that devil could kill her!” Lorenzo shook Alonso by the jacket.
“Not without killing the entire garrison first,” Alonso said, shuddering as he pulled his ill-fitting uniform tighter around his belly. “They drew up lots and plans before I left. Six armed men guarding the cell at all times, rotating shifts, with another two men keeping an eye on the Italian so there’s no surprises. They know who you are, sir, and they know who your wife is. They’d rather kill their own commander than let anything happen to her. And when I left they were talking about killing Fabris just for arresting her.”
Don Lorenzo stepped back, one hand over his mouth. He stared out over the frozen Elbro. “If we did go back, there would be a lot of questions to answer. Fabris might have a chance to make his case to your commander. And I suppose, regardless of what’s said, Fabris would probably walk out of there alive and well, and this whole business would just repeat at the next town and the next until we’re all injured or dead.” The hidalgo exhaled slowly and peered at Alonso. “You’re certain that’s what she said? To go get the stone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What stone?” Taziri asked, but Lorenzo didn’t even look at her.
The hidalgo exhaled slowly, his breath vapor streaking away on a sudden icy wind. “And you’re certain your soldier friends won’t harm her or the others?”