by Russ Linton
A firm pull and I was on my feet. On the other side of the wide-open parade grounds, I could see across the inlet of the Matanzas River. The Great Cross soared over two hundred feet into a blank night sky lit up by spotlights. Spaniards five centuries ago had planted their own cross in the same spot. Several blocks south though was where they’d founded a city. A city they needed to defend.
“Where else do you find soldiers but at a fort,” I said.
“It’s a date then. I’ll see you there tomorrow. Bright and early.”
“You looking for a date?” I said, walking away and trying not to hide a limp. “I’ll invite Caleb.”
I didn’t turn to see her face, but I heard the mischief in her reply. Just a mention of my man’s name seemed to lighten her mood. “Who’d you think I was talking about? He’ll already be there.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Fuego!” Caleb shouted.
The cannon bucked with the explosion, smoke billowing over the crenellations of the Castillo de San Marcos in a bluish plume out toward the Matanzas River.
The little cannon didn’t seem like much, but it brought the noise. Most of the cannon crew covered their ears, but the guy left holding the giant matchstick? He didn’t have that option. I didn’t bother. A service revolver and the Scorpion had already done their damage.
“There you go! That’s how you do it,” I shouted in Caleb’s direction. He kept his eyes forward, but a smile threatened his serious expression.
Caleb’s outfit was on point and all too. He wore the same damn uniform I’d seen on the walking corpses — blue coat, red vest topped off by one of those folded tricorn hats. Only difference, he’d upgraded his with some bling. A gold medallion on a chain stretched almost the full length of his collarbone.
The demonstration had taken several minutes, Caleb calling out precise commands in Spanish. Araceli wouldn’t admit it, but I think I saw her knees go weak. When they finished, Caleb dismissed his men. The uniformed reenactors responded with military precision while he stood tall, watching them go. Soon as they’d moved on and the crowd thinned, he rushed toward us.
“Hey, guys!” Stern officer Caleb had melted seamlessly away.
“Got your own chain,” I said, snagging his medallion and giving it a look.
“Like it?” he asked. “A gorget. Only the elite officers get to wear them.”
I let the fancy necklace fall. At least he wasn’t wearing a golden plate the size of a garbage can lid. “So, this is what you do with your free time?”
He glanced around confused. Tourists, cannons, and guys in costume filled the broad ramparts. “Yes?” He moved in closer. “Well, this and contract work,” he said with a wink. He aimed another at Araceli, realized what he was doing and his cheeks flushed.
She winked back.
I steadied him before he did a dive into the dry moat.
“Okay, before this date starts bumpin’—”
“Date?” Caleb squeaked.
Araceli stepped up, her hands finding his arm and I could tell he’d gotten an electric jolt through that heavy coat. “Caleb, have you seen anything strange around here lately?”
I started to add “like guys in old uniforms” and another group of costumed soldiers marched by. Below, in the courtyard, even more offered up history lessons and other demonstrations. Aside from stabbing them and seeing who dusted, I had no ideas.
“Strange?” His voice trailed into a hushed whisper. “You mean strange like...M i crooked-letter-crook—”
“Exactly like that,” I interrupted.
Caleb scratched his sweaty brow under the fancy hat. “Nothing like that. Why?”
“I might have run into a few clowns from the barracks and waaay back in the day.”
Caleb frowned. “What day?”
I waved my hand to indicate his uniform. “About then.”
“1780s?” he gasped. “You pullin’ my chain, yo?” He tugged the bling he wore as if that explained the joke.
“Don’t. And no. Where else would those soldiers be from?”
He slipped his thumbs into his vest and gazed toward the city. “Plenty of other places soldiers would’ve been, you know, back in the day. There’s the old military hospital. But it burned down in 1818.”
“Burned?” I asked. The crazy necromancer had mentioned seeing a fire. “With the whole city?”
Caleb shook his head then he was off, spreading his gospel. “No, but there have been several citywide fires. Worst was when the Brits burned everything to the ground after a fifty-day siege right here in 1702. But the fortress never fell.” He smiled proudly. “¡Santiago!” he shouted. The other actors gave a scattered reply. “That attack only strengthened Spanish resolve.” He started walking with us. Conducting a tour. On his day off. “They expanded the battlements so cannons could be mounted on all sides of the gun deck.” He wheeled, excited. “They even built Fort Mose after that to protect the North of the city! Governor Manuel de Montiano granted groups of African slaves from the British colonies their freedom in return for serving in the militia.” He tried to look sly. “You know, I’ve got an old costume for a Fort Mose soldier lying around if you want to join us.”
“Their blood for their freedom? Sign me up.”
Caleb slowed, trying to navigate the sarcasm. “Really?”
“Not gonna happen,” I said. “Tell me more about this fort.”
“Like I said, Castillo de San Marcos has never fallen. If you’re looking for a lasting monument to the soldiers of those times, you’ve found it.”
I glanced below. Locals, tourists, and their families explored the open-air courtyard. Kids raced in and out of exhibits and sprinted across the grass, hands holding imaginary rifles. A park ranger led a larger group, gesturing toward the arched opening beneath the broad stone staircase which led up here. Too many bystanders around to start probing the spirit realm.
“Can you arrange an afterhours tour?”
Caleb backed away, shocked. “This is federal jurisdiction,” he said, so damn serious I almost busted up. “This isn’t like The Fountain of Youth Park! I don’t actually work here, just volunteer.”
“Uh-huh. Free labor. Maybe you should be in the Mose militia.”
“It isn’t completely for free. I got a National Parks Pass!”
“National pass? Come on. When’s the last time you left the state?”
His eyes brightened. “I went to Mississippi.”
He had me there.
“Damn straight you did.” I gave up a dap and he jumped all over that. “But you need to get out more.”
Just then, a little boy approached. “Look, Mom! A soldier!” I clapped Caleb on the shoulder and left him to his not-a-job as he saluted the kid.
Araceli watched, beaming. She really had a thing for Caleb, like he said. A bit of normal in her life would do her good. Like I was trying to find with Sheila.
The battle-hardened alchemist had dressed down for her not-a-date. Painted on jeans and a swoop-necked long sleeve top, she managed to make them look elegant anyway. Cut outs ran the length of her sleeves exposing stripes of tanned skin. The tight shirt revealed the ribbons of a corset underneath, the trailing laces dangling down to settle right above the curve of her ass. Her loose hair played in the gentle sea breeze. Makeup even, she’d added more than her usual forge soot along with gold hoop earrings and a beaded necklace.
“Should’ve worn the leather armor,” I said to her, quiet so as not to interrupt Caleb. “You’d have matched your date better.”
“Hmm?” she said, stirring. “Oh, no. I have everything I need.” She toyed with the beads on her necklace. I took note of how large, colorful and probably not just decorative they were.
“Let me guess, knives stashed somewhere too?”
“I always come prepared.”
I turned the talk to business.
“Hunting undead seems unsafe with all the civilians.”
“We can put together a plan and come back
afterhours.” We wandered to the edge of the battlements and she looked down into the dry moat. “At least getting inside won’t be a problem.”
The wall had a steep slope but plenty of handholds worn from age and stray artillery. A skilled free climber could make it. The alchemist here? She probably had a radioactive spider or something in a pouch.
“As long as you toss down a rope,” I said. “Atofo playing bent has me cutting back on the rituals.”
“Who said anything about rope?” she smiled. The smile got wider as she saw Caleb in action. Our proud artillery commander was hunched down on the kid’s level, mimicking explosions with his hands, keeping the boy in wide-eyed wonder.
“I’ll go look around. You should chat Caleb up. See what more he knows.”
“I’m coming with you. He’s busy. Next time we get together, I want his full attention.”
She sashayed toward the stairs and I wondered if Caleb was ready for all that. Araceli gave him a sly smile and a wave. He blushed and waved back.
“Yo, General, we’re headed down. Come find us later.” He nodded and started to go on with his story. I took the steps two at a time until I’d caught up with her. “So, what are we looking for?”
“Dead people, not you, who are walking around.”
“Girl, I keep telling you, I’m not undead. Or a zombie.”
“Then any weakness in the veil. You’ll sense it before I do.”
“You left the goggles at home?”
She arched a flawless eyebrow. “They didn’t match my outfit.”
We stuck together and started to explore the ancient fortress. Each side of the courtyard mirrored the other, lined with equally spaced doors and windows. Most were open entryways, but the chapel had a sturdy wooden portal studded with iron and painted an ominous black. Above each entry was another barred window and some had windows on either side as well. Araceli and I exchanged a glance and split up to cover more ground.
I’d walked past the monument many times, but always been wary about both the crowds and the latent history. Soldiers had quartered here. Citizens had taken refuge during wartime. Native people had been held prisoner. Criminals and innocents executed. The persistent call of the spirits could be overwhelming.
But my power had been out of step since Duncan Correctional. One minute everything would feel on beat, the next, I’d be skating. All those patrons with their competing interests and energy still hadn’t settled in my blood. Or maybe this accelerated End Times stuff Araceli had been on about was to blame.
Hopefully, none of that was scheduled for today. I’d left my sword and sidearm in the hearse. The security checkpoint at the gatehouse was lax, but not that lax. I might’ve gotten away with the concealed Emperor Scorpion, but I felt good enough smuggling in the breastplate and knife.
I went from doorway to doorway, poking my head inside. Nearly every room had the same basic shape. Arched brick ceilings over a rectangular room, the once white surfaces now pocked with mildew and cracks. Storerooms and cells took up one side of the fortress, living quarters and a kitchen the other.
The officer’s quarters interested me most. A couple hands of cards had been spread on a table between empty bottles and mugs to show a bit of R and R. Old uniform coats hung on the bunk beds complete with hats and period rifles upright in their racks built right into the frames.
But every other room had been open to the higher ceilings. Here, a wooden ceiling separated the space into two stories with a staircase at the back. Trouble was, the display had been roped off.
I eyed the rope then the guy next to me. Crowds weren’t letting up. I was about to duck under anyway when Araceli came in from the courtyard. The tourist made room and wandered off.
“Found a dungeon,” she said. “You should go commune with spirits there. Or whatever.”
She was trying me. Or was she serious?
“No thanks. I recently busted out of a dungeon. I’d kind of like to see what’s up there first.”
Araceli casually moved her hand to her necklace. She peered right then left and detached one of the beads. Smoky gray, it swirled in the bright afternoon sun. She waited until the entrance was clear and Hail Maryed the bead toward the other side of the courtyard.
There was a pop. Too muted to be mistaken for gunfire, but too loud to go unnoticed. A cloud of smoke exploded, drifting toward the wall in an unbroken clump like a cotton ball.
As faces in the courtyard turned away, she raised the rope and we made for the stairs.
My foot hit the second step and I felt a pull. This wasn’t me stepping through a curtain. The feeling came in more like somebody like Mordecai dragging the Below around on him like some rancid aftershave. But it had no source. No direction. As quick as it came, it went.
Araceli noticed the shuffle in my steps and reached behind her back, knives sliding out from the corset. I nodded and drew mine. I took the next steps cautiously, peering into the upstairs room from the landing.
Bright light filled the cramped space through the single window at the far end. An old Imperial Spanish flag stretched across the pitched ceiling. Only one bed and a wardrobe. Private quarters.
A faint scratching started near the window. The sound faded in like somebody slowly dialing up the volume. I knew that sound. Knew I’d find a writing desk in that spot.
Behind the desk a silhouetted figure materialized, getting more solid with the growing noise. He was writing furiously with a quill, the pen scratching against rough paper. Love, passion, some strong emotion drove those words on to the page.
The scratching stopped and the man stared out toward the stairs.
He rose slowly, his coat slung across the chair behind him. He came around the desk with halting steps. His profile seemed fuzzed in the glare. Motes like ash drifted around him. They moved inward, clinging to his form, his profile getting darker.
I froze, disoriented. I’d felt a tug on the veil earlier, but that had gone. We hadn’t crossed over. No, this dude had.
“¿Puedo ayudarte?”
I knew that voice too. The officer from the pub. Undead? Try undying.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I glanced toward where Araceli crouched on the stairs. I signaled for her to hold position and took the remaining steps, concealing Atofo’s knife.
No possible way Caliban the wannabe necromancer had conjured up this three-hundred-year-old corpse with a cheap candle and a little blood. Not once, but twice. No way he’d been the one to send that rabishu after us either. What was this guy’s story?
“Can we talk before I send your ass back to hell or whatever?”
The officer stabbed the quill into an inkwell and spun. I heard the ringing of steel as he drew the sword from under his overcoat hanging across the chair.
“Come to turn yourself in I see.”
I raised my knife. That’s the way he wanted this to go? I’d be happy to see him torn up again but how many times did I need to do it? Araceli came rushing up the stairs. When the officer saw her, he froze.
“Dolores?” he breathed.
I eyed her, stopped in her tracks at the top step. “Dolores?” I said.
Araceli shook her head, no recognition. She was gaping at the corpse before us, part disgust and part wonder.
“Dolores! Move away from that criminal at once!” Soldier boy got closer, but concern for his wannabe girlfriend kept him at a safe distance.
“Whoever you’re looking for,” Araceli said, playing into his drama, “he’s not the one. Stay where you are and we’ll figure this out.”
“Dolores, please, you cannot possibly understand such matters. This is for your own safety! I must insist you move away from that criminal at once.” The soldier inched forward and extended a hand.
Had to give her credit, she’d tried diplomacy. But his response had popped a vein on her forehead. Visions of a courtyard ripped to shreds back in Mississippi came to mind.
“Don’t need you goin’ awwf on the historical build
ing here,” I whispered.
She checked herself. Then it was her turn to test me. “Fine, let’s roll with this,” she said. “Take a trip with him to the dungeons so he can lock you up?”
Could that bring about some leads we wouldn’t otherwise have and let me explore how deep this rip in reality really went? Sure. Caliban, Kitterling, and this joker were all linked somehow. But more cells and dungeons had not been part of the deal.
“Fine,” I said, trying to convince myself. “We’ll try it your way. It’s whatever.”
I only wondered after she’d moved if I could’ve stopped her. She slipped her knives behind her back, sliding them into those hidden sheaths, then her hand was on my wrist. An easy twist and Atofo’s knife popped out of my grip. She backed away toward the window and shouted a melodramatic “Aha!”
Soldier boy lost his shit. He’d been waiting for her to press the back of her hand across her forehead and swoon. Disarming a suspect and fighting side by side? Yeah, naw. She’d misread that part of the script.
“Hand me the knife, my dear.”
Araceli’s hyped up expression faltered and I thought she might ram it into his skull.
“Not the way to play that, Dolores,” I said. “But giving the undead guy my ritual knife is exactly what you are not going to do.”
She responded in Spanish to the ghostly soldier. He didn’t seem convinced, but he let go the idea of taking my knife. With her out of danger, his confidence about dragging me to a cell was growing.
“Behind me,” he said.
Miss Araceli crossed her arms and slipped in behind the officer. He stepped closer and I put up my hands.
“I surrender?”
With no trace of the Below, doubt set in. I caught myself thinking he was maybe another reenactor, grinding on us about criminal trespass. No. Still had the hole in his head, daylight streaming through.
“Down the steps,” he ordered. “And do not think to run.”
I made my way downstairs slow enough not to be considered a flight risk. Outside, the crowds had disappeared. I squinted into the sun and scanned the ramparts as we stepped out. The soldier swatted me with the flat of his blade.