“I don’t know. But whatever it is, we should have it.”
The boss handed the district manager the glass of wine from the tray. “Tell me everything. Start at the beginning.”
The district manager explained that a slave rebellion had taken place in Roma this summer. The rich aristocrat who headed the secret society of the Exterminati had been killed. His former bodyguard and chief lieutenant, a powerful warrior known as the Iron Shield, had disappeared. Now the strange cult of the Christiani was growing in influence.
“I know all that,” the Clan Boss snapped. “Tell me about the powder.”
“A foreign man and woman recently arrived in Roma. They aided the Christiani and the slave rebels by setting off an explosive weapon. When I heard about this I sent men to investigate. They found some metal shards in the crater, but more importantly they located the place where the weapon was manufactured. It was a remote corner of a Roman nobleman’s estate.”
“So what happened? Get on with it, man! I want the bottom line!”
The district manager nodded. “There was a lot of complicated equipment. Unfortunately, all the supplies had been removed. But we did find some of these.” He held up a glass vial with a cork stopper.
“The powder?”
“Yes, though not much of it.”
“Show me.”
“I want to use it sparingly. I have a team of apothecaries trying to figure out what it’s made of. But there should be enough for a demonstration.”
The district manager set an empty pistachio shell on the table. He filled it with the powder, then fastened the two halves together with thread. After inserting a pine needle through a crack in the shell, he lit it and stepped back. The boss craned his neck toward the device, but the district manager pulled him to a safer distance.
Bang!
The nutshell exploded with a flash of light and a puff of smoke. The boss was so startled he dropped his wineglass, which shattered against the flagstones. He smelled a vaguely displeasing aroma as the white smoke dissipated.
“I want this!” he exclaimed.
“I knew you would. That’s why I have the apothecaries working to determine the formula.”
“No.” The boss waved his hands dismissively. “The apothecaries are useless.”
“But the formula . . . how will we discover it?”
The Clan Boss scowled at the district manager. “Think like a criminal, since that’s what you claim to be.”
“Um . . . we steal it?”
“Precisely.”
“From who?”
“From the only people known to have it.”
“The foreign man and woman?”
“Of course. Somehow they created a powerful and complex weapon. Obviously they learned it from somewhere. They must have a book of lore among their belongings.” The boss gave his visitor a pained stare.
“I see,” the district manager said, tapping his chin. “What would you have me do?”
“I think it’s time the Clan paid these two foreigners a visit.”
Teo stood at the rail of Marco’s Midnight Glider as it floated alongside the main pier of Roma’s harbor. Normally the clipper ship’s captain liked to anchor a short distance offshore in case a fast getaway became necessary. But Marco was becoming more respectable. He hadn’t joined his men on their latest piracy voyage, and now the Papa had even hired him to make the trip to Marsay. Teo attributed this newfound respectability to Vanita’s influence. Marco would do anything for her. Well, almost anything. He hadn’t yet embraced the faith of the Christiani.
Surveying the crowd on the dock, Teo spotted the only woman at whom he cared to look twice. She carried a parcel wrapped in leather and twine under her arm. Teo met Ana at the top of the gangplank.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he said, giving her a light kiss on the cheek.
“If I’m so gorgeous why are you leaving me?”
“Duty calls.”
“No, Deu calls.”
Teo chuckled at Ana’s quip. “As always, you’re right.”
“Since when have you started admitting that, Captain?”
“Since I decided to sail away from you. I want you to remember me in a good light while I’m gone.”
Ana gave Teo a playful tsk, then held up her parcel. “Where are your things? I have something to add to your pack.”
The pair went below deck to the hold. “Marco tried to give me my own cabin,” Teo said, “but I told him this little hammock is all I need.” He stared at it for a moment, recalling the stormy night he had lain there and dreamed of Ana—or was it a vision? He was estranged from her then, and the dream of Ana calling out to him had spurred Teo to restore their relationship. A lot of unexpected things happened after that, things too traumatic to contemplate. Teo brushed the memories away. “What’s in the package? I didn’t think to get you anything.”
“No need for that. It’s you who’s leaving. This is something for your trip.” Ana handed him the parcel.
Teo untied the strings and unfolded the leather. The gift was a bearskin cloak. Ana had made it for him long ago from the hide of the bear that attacked them at their first meeting. She had wounded the bear with arrows, then Teo killed it with his sword.
“Wow,” he breathed, “it looks brand-new.”
“It had gotten so ratty and dirty. I cleaned it up and repaired it.”
Teo was a little puzzled that Ana would think he needed a heavy winter cloak for the trip. “It’s great,” he said, “but the climate is warm at Marsay.”
“It’s warm now,” she agreed, “and it will be for a few more months. But after that . . . ”
Teo frowned. “You want me to stay over the winter?”
“No, I don’t want you to stay. But I release you to stay if necessary.”
“I thought we were going to return to Chiveis! If I stay at Marsay everything will be delayed. All our plans will be thrown off.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“I’m not. What about ‘redeeming the time’? There are tasks that need doing in Chiveis. We’ve wasted enough time out here in the Beyond.”
Ana shook her head. “It hasn’t been wasted. We discovered other believers in Deu—and we discovered the New Testament.”
“All the more reason we should go home now that we have the true message.”
“I agree we should go. But shouldn’t we depend on Deu to determine the timing?”
“How do we know what timing he wants? It’s not like he whispers in our ears.”
“Maybe he does.”
“Well, I’ve never heard it. I think Deu wants us to take action. If the doors close, we’ll know it wasn’t his will. Until then, we should act.”
“But you are acting—you’re going on the mission. I support that, Teo, you know I do. If you can accomplish what the Papa wants and return here this fall, I’ll rejoice. But what if Deu has other plans? Be still and listen. You might hear his whisper, like you said.”
Teo sighed. “I had this all figured out.”
“You don’t have to.”
He glanced at Ana, irritated. “I don’t have to what?”
“Figure everything out. What I mean is—”
“I know what you mean. You think I have to manage everything.”
“No—”
“Look, somebody has to make plans or things never get accomplished. That’s what I’m good at—planning. I set a goal, then strive with all my strength to achieve it. I don’t stop until it’s done.”
“I understand,” Ana soothed. “You’re Captain Teofil, man of action.”
Teo assumed Ana’s words were an attempt to defuse the situation, yet they sounded to him like mocking. Stifling an angry response, he folded up the cloak and handed it to her. “It’s a nice gift,” he said more icily than he intended, “but I want you to keep it for me. I’ll get it when I return here this fall.”
Ana stared at him for a long moment. Finally she hurled the cloak onto the seaman’s
hammock, turned abruptly, and left the hold.
Teo stood with his hands on his hips, watching her go. Good job, Teo. What a great way to say good-bye. How did things turn sour so quickly?
He went up on deck and looked around for her. Sailors scurried back and forth, readying the ship for departure under Marco’s watchful eye. Ana wasn’t there.
At last the mooring lines were slipped free, and the gangplank was raised. Longshoremen pulled warps to tug the vessel so it could catch some wind and maneuver on its own. Marco came to the rail beside Teo.
“Ready for a grand adventure, amico?”
Teo turned to the handsome pirate, his closest friend. “It’s hard to leave,” he admitted.
Marco pointed. “Look there. Someone else feels the same.”
Two women were on the dock. As Vanita waved her handkerchief at Marco, Ana stood next to her with a glum expression. The ship began to ease along the pier.
“Ana!” Teo shouted.
She didn’t hear.
He called her name again. She looked up, her eyes wide.
“I love you,” he mouthed to her.
Ana put her hand to her heart. “Me too,” she mouthed back.
Suddenly she broke into a run. When she was alongside the ship she reached beneath her hair at the back of her neck and unfastened a pendant. She hurled it up, and Teo caught it above his head. It was Iesus Christus on his cross.
“May he bring you back to me,” Ana called.
For a brief moment their eyes locked. Neither of them moved. Then, with a loud snap, the sails caught a gust and the ship began to turn away. Ana was quickly lost from view. Teo draped the pendant around his neck and tucked it in his jerkin.
“Ten weeks, Ana,” he whispered across the water. “Just ten weeks.”
The luxurious coach rolled to a stop. “We have arrived, Your Eminence,” the driver called down.
The High Priestess licked her lips and gazed out the window. The lonely cabin in the deep woods of Chiveis appeared deserted. It was a frontier outpost that guarded a narrow path between two hills. As an entry point into the kingdom, the path was normally watched by the Royal Guard, but tonight they had been reassigned. The High Priestess needed utmost secrecy for what she had in mind.
A decanter of wine sat in a rack on the coach’s floorboard. The High Priestess removed the crystal stopper and poured herself a glass, sipping it slowly, savoring it. Her hand toyed with the iron collar around her neck. She knew that to make others wait would demonstrate her power over them. The crude outsiders could mill around in the forest a while longer. She would meet them when she was ready.
At last she stepped from the carriage. Her diaphanous robe flowed behind her as she crossed the clearing in front of the army cabin by the light of the driver’s lantern. The man belonged to the Vulkainian Order, whose archpriest was responsible for obtaining precious brimstone. All the Vulkainians were fiercely loyal to the High Priestess, which made them excellent bodyguards even if they could never obtain as much brimstone as her insatiable appetite demanded.
The man with the lantern halted. “This is the boundary.” He pointed to a spot where the wagon track that led to the cabin became an animal path in the wilderness.
“You’re not frightened, are you?”
The Vulkainian shook his head. “No. But . . . ”
“But what?”
“It’s the Beyond.”
“So it is,” said the High Priestess as she stepped across the imaginary line between Chiveisian civilization and the terrors that loomed outside.
Men with torches waited down the path a short distance. The High Priestess approached them, then stopped short and turned to her assistant.
“Open the lantern,” she said.
When he complied, the High Priestess used the flame to light a small grenade. She rolled it across the forest floor. Moments later it exploded with a loud report. The waiting outsiders yelped at the unexpected sound. They were still clutching each other and staring with wild eyes when the High Priestess stepped through the sulfurous fumes to greet them.
“Welcome to Chiveis, travelers,” she intoned. “Which of you is the chief?”
It took several seconds for the men to compose themselves. They were true barbarians, swathed in greasy furs and even greasier beards. Eventually a tall man with rust-colored hair raised his hand in greeting. His pinky finger was missing. “I lead these men,” he said in his vulgar dialect. “I am Prince Vlad the Nine-Fingered.”
“Are you indeed? Your reputation has reached me, Vlad, though I imagined you to be a lesser man. Now that I see your virility I understand why the forest folk have made you their king.”
“The gods favor me.”
“No. It is the highest god who favors you.”
“And who is he?”
“He is Astrebril the Great, lord of the gods you worship. I am his chosen queen.”
The confident assertion made the men fall back. As they did, the High Priestess stepped into the space they vacated. Wisps of smoke clung to her, reeking of the underworld. She stared hard at Vlad, knowing her green eyes could weave a spell of lust and fear that few men could endure. When the barbarian prince broke off his gaze, the High Priestess knew he was defeated.
“Why have you called me here, queen of the high god?” he asked.
“I wish to renew an old alliance.”
“We have long traded with the Chiveisi. Our brimstone for your steel. Is there something wrong with our arrangement?”
Smiling, the High Priestess came close to the prince. She noticed him swallow and shift his feet. “No, Vlad, I speak of a much older Pact.”
The warrior did not answer, so the High Priestess reached into her neckline and withdrew a glass vial that dangled from a thong. When she held it up in the torchlight, several men among the outsiders let out a gasp. “The Pact of Beaumont,” someone whispered in awe.
Vlad’s eyes widened. “You wish to renew that ancient alliance between our peoples?”
“Yes. And I believe you know what will happen to those who disregard its invocation.”
Though Vlad nodded, the High Priestess decided he could use a reminder. Closing her eyes, she raised her palm to the sky and said, “Behold! I see a vision of a blighted people. Their crops are withered and blasted. The udders of their cows dry up, and their swine are taken by the wolf and the bear. The wombs of the mothers are barren, and the fathers’ manhood droops. Hunger and disease ravage the kingdom—a land of wailing and despair.” The High Priestess popped her eyes open and drilled Vlad with her gaze. “Do not be deceived! Astrebril the Great can do all these things. He will curse those who disdain the Pact made in his presence long ago.”
Vlad the Nine-Fingered drew his blade from his belt and dropped to one knee. “I shall not let this happen to my people, queen of Astrebril. We are your confederates.” He slid the knife across his palm.
The High Priestess pinched her fingertip until it reddened, then pricked it with a needle. A crimson drop bubbled up. Seizing Vlad’s hand in hers, she dipped her finger in his blood.
“I receive you,” she said.
In the forest nearby someone muffled a sneeze. Every head snapped around.
“Intruder!” shouted the Vulkainian bodyguard.
The High Priestess jabbed her finger toward the sound. “Get him!”
The Vulkainian bodyguard and several of the outsider warriors crashed through the underbrush. There was a scuffle, then they returned hauling a prisoner by his arms. He was a soldier of the Royal Guard. His sword had been taken away.
“What are you doing here?” the High Priestess demanded.
“I . . . I’m stationed at the cabin, Your Eminence.”
“You were supposed to be reassigned for the night.”
“Yes! But I forgot my money pouch, so I returned. I heard voices . . . saw torches in the woods . . . I had to investigate.”
“What did you hear?” the Vulkainian asked.
“Noth
ing! I swear it!”
The High Priestess approached the soldier. “Which regiment do you belong to?”
“The Fifth.”
“The men of the Fifth are disloyal.”
“Not me, Your Eminence!”
The High Priestess turned to her bodyguard. “He has seen us with outsiders. He cannot be allowed to talk. Dispatch him.”
The terrified soldier began to struggle against the outsiders who pinned his arms. He was strong and managed to break free long enough to grapple for his sword with the man who held it.
The High Priestess grabbed a weapon from the Vulkainian’s holster. It was a spray gun filled with acid under pressure. She pulled the trigger and a stream of corrosive liquid hit the guardsman in the face. Some of the acid spattered on the outsiders as well, causing them to pull back, but the soldier was no longer trying to escape. He was down on his knees, clawing at his eyes. The High Priestess pressed him to the ground with her high-heeled boot and held him there, writhing and groaning in the mud.
“I said, dispatch him,” she snarled to the Vulkainian.
The man nodded to his queen and withdrew his knife.
The Midnight Glider made the run up the coast in good time. The winds were favorable, and the weather was fair as the square-rigged vessel sailed north. After six days at sea, Marco ordered his crew to stop at the Likurian port of Manacho to resupply.
“Care to see the city again?” the pirate captain asked Teo as the ship floated offshore.
“No thanks. I didn’t exactly have a great experience the last time I was here.”
Marco offered Teo a wry grin. “You mean being sentenced to public execution doesn’t make you feel welcome?”
“Not so much.” Teo stared at the courthouse of Manacho, which sat atop a cliff, then looked away without saying anything more.
The next morning the ship passed the island of Hahnerat on the starboard side. Marco said everything west of the island was uncharted waters. “Are you afraid?” Teo asked him as the ship cleared Hahnerat. He knew seafarers hated going into unfamiliar territory. But Marco simply shrugged.
“You only live once,” he said.
The Glider sailed west all day, hugging the shoreline. At nightfall the ship sheltered in a bay, then continued at dawn. Near evening a small fishing boat was spotted. As soon as the fishermen caught sight of the new arrival, they pulled up their nets and hurried off. Though the clipper could have overhauled them, Marco let them go. This wasn’t a pirating expedition—and even if it were, no one was interested in a cargo of flopping tuna.
The Kingdom Page 5