Iron William and the Carpenter's Tears

by Michael Gardner

  The snake remained poised like a statue, its gaze hypnotic. The desire to shift his weight and rest his tired muscles became unbearable. Twinges in his thigh signalled the beginnings of cramp. As the muscle began to spasm he noticed the snake shift its attention to his leg. It was a patient hunter and shifted itself subtly to strike. The action was not dissimilar to a marksman locking the firing pin of a pistol. Much like a pistol, valuable time would be spent reloading. The snake had one opportunity to strike, and would choose its target carefully: The point of greatest vulnerability.

  An idea passed through his mind. He lifted his leg to relieve the cramping muscle, and presented the scaly marksman with a target. The snake didn’t hesitate. Its head shot out like an arrow, mouth open, fangs dripping with poison. Kidd thrust his left hand across his thigh and felt the enormous strength of the snake’s bite as it engulfed his hand. Fangs seized the metal. Fortunately Vllen was right about one thing. The snake’s bite could not penetrate tempered Toledo steel.

  While the snake was engrossed with its mouthful of armoured flesh, Kidd punched with his free hand landing a controlled blow to the snake’s temple. It collapsed like a cut rope. He worried immediately that he’d killed the creature, but had no idea how to check for a heartbeat. He decided to take the prudent approach and lifted the giant serpent to return it to its cage. It was awkward and heavy, like handling a thick roll of silk. Once inside the box, he hammered the loose grate into place with the side of his hand, and braced it with a bucket of tools. He ran to the well, gathered a bucket of water, and returned to drench the motionless monster. The snake writhed angrily and hissed at him as it returned to consciousness.

  “Yes, I don’t much like having baths either,” he said.

  The task complete, he returned to the orange grove to find Vllen sitting on the stump. “Your snake is back in his box with a nasty headache. Did it really break out of that cage, or was this some sort of test?”

  “Ya, you could call it that. It would be negligent of me to let you leave my care unfit for a dangerous assignment, as it surely will be.”

  “Manhandling a deadly serpent is a curious means of evaluation.”

  Vllen tapped his forehead. “The only danger was up here. A little bite from the snake would have knocked you out for a few days, but I wouldn’t have let him eat you.”

  Kidd shook his head in disbelief.

  Vllen stood up nimbly and balanced on the stump so he could meet Kidd at eye level. “You have been a fine pupil, Wilhelm. I would remind you again that reckless action can lead to dire consequences, even when your intentions are good. I hope you understand that these lessons were not simply about how to break boards with your fists. Tread the path with clarity of vision and an open mind. If I were able, I would gladly accompany you on your quest.”

  “I would be pleased to have you at my side, but I couldn’t ask it of you, Vllen. This is my responsibility.”

  “Ya ya, you are kind, but we both know I am too old for adventuring and would soon become a burden. However, I have not been idle and have some gifts to help you on your way.” He held out a hardened leather gourd. “For mastering the snake, here is a vial of his venom.”

  Kidd took it, shook it gently next to his ear, and heard a syrupy slosh.

  “Although you will be familiar with its effects from your surgery, use the venom carefully and wisely. That’s a concentrated dose, slow to act on bare skin, and most effective if ingested. It will immobilise an elephant in a matter of seconds.”

  Kidd recalled Vllen’s numbing brews, realising now that they contained more than a simple concoction of herbs. He nodded and stowed the gourd into the deepest pocket of his coat.

  Vllen pressed a purse of coins into Kidd’s hand. “Take this too. You will no doubt be in need of a few florins.”

  Kidd took the money and weighed it in his hand. “I have access to funds,” he said somewhat embarrassed.

  “Ya, but you are short of time. Take it. I have more than I need. Come, I have one last item for you in my study.”

  Kidd was instantly curious. Vllen’s study was the one room in the house prohibited to all, even Hanns. The heavy carved and painted cedar door always remained locked whether Vllen was in his study or not. Passing through it was a privilege.

  The study was strewn with books and papers, stacked in piles on the floor and stuffed into shelves wherever they could fit. Some bore sketches, others had passages of text written in a variety of languages, some contained complex mathematical equations. Despite the seeming chaos, Vllen immediately found the item he was after.

  He opened a leather bound tome, so old many of the pages had come loose from the spine. The title was written in Latin—Liber Nominis de Morandi—a book about names. Vllen opened it to a section marked with a strip of crimson cloth.

  “I have collected books on many subjects during my travels,” he began. “This one is a treatise in genealogy. While you were brooding I looked up the name Jabez.” He ran his finger down the page. “It is not common. In Hebrew, it means sorrow, and nobody wants to be called that after all.” Vllen put the book back on his desk and picked up another. “As you know I also have a particular interest in the science of medicine—”

  Kidd flexed his fingers. “Yes, of that fact I am most aware.”

  “Even though this book is most rare, it would appear the Cardinal’s mistrust of science may have put him at a disadvantage. It is an omnibus of Roman medical journals dating back many hundreds of years. There is an interesting account of a physician in the service of Emperor Tiberius called Jabes, which is the Romanized version of Jabez.” He followed a line of Latin with his finger. “The passage is dated 26 AD. It appears Jabes made a name for himself as something of a medical pioneer. He developed a technique of cauterizing cuts using heated stones. The observer describes Jabes’ patients experiencing little or no pain, rapid healing of wounds, and almost no scaring.” Vllen skipped a number of paragraphs. “However, nobody else has been able to replicate his procedure. Jabes’ more experienced peers describe him as a ‘showman eager to curry favour with the Emperor by using theurgical tricks.’ ” He closed the book with a thump. “I won’t bore you with more details. What do you think? A coincidence or a connection?”

  “Either way, it’s certainly worthy of investigation,” Kidd replied.

  “Ya,” mused Vllen. “I suspect this Jabes, if he is indeed the same man, had a tool at his disposal no others could match.” He grinned. “It appears you should begin your search for The Tears in the heart of the former Roman Empire.”

  “The Vatican Library,” added Kidd.

  “Right under Cardinal Cresci’s huge honker of a nose.”

  Kidd frowned. “Expressly where he forbade me to go.”

  “Ya,” agreed Vllen. “It was a bold request on your part. The Church protects its secrets as a selfish child his toy. It does not like to share.” He smiled. “It is truly a breathtaking collection.”

  “You’ve been inside?”

  “Of course! Every man should break into the Vatican’s secret archives at least once in his life. I would give you the key I made, but I imagine they have changed the locks by now. You will have to find an alternate means of entry.” He took a sharp knife and sliced the book of genealogy along the length of the spine to remove the page. He folded it neatly and placed it in an envelope. “I assume you don’t want to wander around Rome with a big book under your arm.” He handed the packet to Kidd.

  Kidd wrapped Vllen in his arms and lifted him off the ground. “Vllen, I owe you my life and so much more!”

  Vllen gasped for breath in Kidd’s embrace. “Ya, well make it worthwhile and come back alive! I do not wish to see my best pupil’s head on a spike!”

  ~ Chapter 7 ~

  A PILGRIM IN ROME

  The city of Rome, in the Papal States

  Kidd woke early. The dawn sun was peeping through the curtains. He threw off his bed sheets and dressed. As much as he would have liked to sl
eep late for the first time in a month, he had a long journey ahead. Vllen waited in the entrance hall with a pack of provisions chosen from his larder. They exchanged a brief and fond farewell.

  The quest to find The Tears began with a half day trek into Florence to purchase a horse. The Florentine horse-traders were shrewd salesmen and Kidd didn’t have time to indulge in the traditional bargaining ritual, which would involve a day of eating, drinking, and swapping stories to arrive at a fair price. After some haggling, he acquired a mare with a mottled grey coat and a worn saddle. She was in fair condition, but cost twice his preferred price given the limited number of coins in his purse.

  A bag of oats kept the mare busy while he adjusted the saddle and trussed his pack to her back with fumbling fingers. After a drink from the trough, the mare was ready for the ride to Rome. Kidd took the most direct route along the ancient Via Cassia, with only the sound of hoof-beats on cobblestones for company. When darkness fell, he left the road to eat, groom the horse and sleep. He also named the mare ‘Cardinal’ for her large equine nose.

  The road was busy with merchants transporting their goods to and from Rome. Every wagon had at least half a dozen mercenaries for protection. There were regular accounts of atrocities on the open road. Mercenaries and thieves alike had no qualms about drawing arms or taking life. These were dangerous times and it was unwise to travel alone. They eyeballed Kidd as he passed with fingers on the trigger guards of their pistols. Other wayfarers had a greater degree of fear in their eyes. He realised how peculiar he must now appear with armoured hands. Dealing with the unwanted attention would be foremost when he reached Rome.

  The Eternal City was much as Kidd remembered, although visits had been rare of late. His last visit had been at the request of King Henry, to survey the condition of the city after its brutal sacking some fifteen years earlier. As he passed through the outskirts, he saw that many people still suffered from the scourge of war. While the rest of Europe flourished, Rome had descended into dark depression. It was only a matter of minutes before he was harassed by a beggar for coins, and propositioned by a toothless woman in a soiled red dress and heavy face-paint. Others lurked in shadowed alleyways with more dubious intentions. Kidd steered Cardinal onto the main road and kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. Indulging any of these desperate people would only result in a knife in his guts. He noticed a sign above a doorway saying: Gain salvation in the Kingdom of Heaven. Modest fees. The decay had set in deep.

  He dismounted and led Cardinal through the busy streets on foot. Although his skin was tanned, his red hair marked him as an outsider, and he was soon accosted by another wave of street dwellers intent on parting him from his money. Vendors shouted in clipped English as he passed and dangled their offerings of food and trinkets. He ignored most, but growled at the more persistent in their native tongue.

  Passing deeper into the city, he found a horse trader on the hectic streets of the Via del Corso. He sold Cardinal for a few florins. She seemed sad to see him go, but the cost of stabling her was more than he could afford.

  Across the Tiber, Kidd found a tanner who stitched together an oversized pair of supple leather gloves. He immediately pulled them on to cover his metal hands. As he strode away, he caught his reflection in a puddle of water. His forearms looked out of proportion to the rest of his body, but that was less conspicuous than mottled grey bands of Toledo steel.

  Next he set about finding a suitable hideout to prepare for his infiltration of the Vatican archives. There was a modest room available for rent that suited his needs. It was close to the Vatican, the door had a reasonable lock, and the window overlooked the street. Kidd tossed his pack onto the bed and opened the window-shutters to clear the stale air from the room. The Vatican loomed across the cityscape, a fortress with imposing red-brown battlements.

  Without delay he donned a well-worn flat cap and took to the streets for reconnaissance. He circumnavigated the citadel and assessed its security measures. Infiltrating the secret archives would not be easy. Access to the inner buildings was restricted and everywhere the infamous Swiss Guard kept a vigilant watch. No wall was left unguarded and none could be scaled unnoticed under cover of dark.

  Manufacturing a false identity was too complicated and expensive with so little time to find The Tears. Crude and risky tactics were required, and that meant kidnapping and replacing someone who had access beyond the walls. If he were still in the employment of the King he would be armed with detailed intelligence, and a map of the grounds to help find his way to the library. Now, once inside, he faced the prospect of improvising a plan every step of the way.

  Kidd pressed a coin into the palm of any talkative merchant. One hawker mentioned giving recommendations for lodgings to a group of travellers recently arrived in Rome. They sounded suitable, a socially-mixed group of Catholics on a pilgrimage from Northern Europe. They were also to be granted admittance beyond Saint Peter’s Square to the Audience Hall for an exclusive session of prayer and religious teaching. Kidd thanked the hawker with another coin after obtaining directions to the hostel where they stayed.

  Kidd located the pilgrims within the hour. They stood out in the crowded street in heavy woollen robes that were entirely inappropriate for the scorching sun. They also seemed unaware that pointing at the sights and shouting excitedly in their foreign tongue had alerted every predatory Roman like flies to rotten meat.

  Kidd tracked them throughout the day, slipping in and out of shadows, eavesdropping on their conversations. Seven men were certainly from Saxony, at least fourteen were from various parts of Bohemia, and one man named Reinhold, who spoke with a thick Prussian accent, came from Brandenburg. Kidd soon learned they were members of the Order of Saint Lawrence, and had travelled a long way for a special dedication to their patron. Beyond the unity of their faith, the men preferred to keep the company of their fellows. Reinhold was the ideal mark being of similar height and build to Kidd.

  Kidd purchased two bottles of cheap white wine and returned to the hostel where the pilgrims were lodged. The proprietor welcomed a bribe with an outstretched hand and showed Kidd to the room where Reinhold slept. He sneaked inside and added a drop of his snake venom to the water jug. He crawled under the bed and waited.

  Some time later Reinhold returned, hot and tired after a day touring the city. Kidd heard the satisfying sound of water being gulped to quench a thirst, and moments later the young man folded onto the floor, foaming at the mouth. The poison was certainly potent. He pressed an ear to Reinhold’s chest. His heart was beating slow but strong.

  Kidd removed the stopper from one bottle with his teeth and sloshed the contents over Reinhold’s robes so he reeked of wine. He pulled the pilgrim upright, slung him over his shoulder, and escaped onto the street. With a lot of drunken singing and a few swigs of wine from the second bottle, Kidd carried Reinhold back to the privacy of his own lodgings without interruption.

  He heaved Reinhold’s unconscious frame onto the bed and stripped off his habit. The task was not unlike skinning a fresh carcass. He bound, blindfolded, and gagged Reinhold securely. Kidd had killed many men in his life, but rarely in cold blood. He hung the habit on one of the window shutters to air and waited for night to fall.

  When the city glittered with the light of a thousand lanterns and torches, he pulled on his disguise. The woollen robes fitted him well with long sleeves that completely covered his hands. He raised the coarse grey hood over his head, locked the door, and departed.

  He rejoined the pilgrims at their hostel, keeping his face hooded, and excused himself from partaking of the evening meal, claiming he had a sore throat. He slept lightly, waking often to play out various scenarios in his head.

  The sun rose with majestic glory the next morning, laying waste to early fog. It cast a deep orange-gold hue across the brick and tile buildings. Kidd emerged from his room as the pilgrims were preparing to depart for the Vatican. He apologised for being late and explained he still wasn’t feeling well.


  “You should remain in bed, Reinhold,” insisted one of the Bohemians.

  “And miss the very purpose of our expedition?” Kidd wheezed in Prussian. “I’ll manage.”

  On the stroke of nine they were admitted to the inner sanctum of the Vatican through Saint Peter’s Basilica. Pope Paul had been busy rebuilding and there was excited talk of a new dome in the planning. Kidd ignored any discussion that didn’t relate directly to the location of the Apostolic Library. He was too busy noting the movements of the Swiss Guard. The elite pike men of the Holy See were good soldiers, but their attention was focused on the outer walls. There were blind spots amidst the pillars and walkways.

  For now though, Kidd was obliged to endure a gruelling session of prayer in the hot sun with the rest of the congregation. Perhaps Henry had broken away from the Catholic faith in part to avoid long ceremonies. Eventually he retired to the shadows to rest, claiming the illness was getting the better of him. He leaned against a pillar and watched the other pilgrims torture themselves in the heat for the privilege of praying on holy ground. He waited until he could slip away unnoticed, and made his way towards the nearest building with the purpose and grace of someone who knew exactly where they were going. The grand structures, churches and monuments were all proudly marked with Latin plaques and he soon had a bearing on the library, although he now had to replace the grey woollen robes for something more suitable. A practical brown habit appeared to be the common attire.

  He evaded the Swiss Guard with relative ease, their bright red and yellow uniforms as visible as a lighthouse beacon on a clear night. He found the main entrance to the library, crossed a dark marble floor, and climbed a steep spiral staircase to the upper walkway. He ducked into an alcove and resigned himself to waiting in the shadows for a suitable mark. Lurking in such a manner was a trying exercise, marginally more bearable than Vllen’s stump test. Every passing moment increased the danger, especially if someone noticed that ‘Reinhold’ was missing. Crude plans had dire consequences when they went awry.