by B A Simmons
“How do you know my surname?” Rob said, looking at Liliana.
Pavana shut the door behind himself. “We have a few mutual friends. They include young mistress d’Silva here, her friend Patrizia d’Benicia and Edwin Johnson.”
“Wait, you know Edwin too?”
“Rob. May I call you Rob? We need to discuss what can be done to end this war. From what you reported to Liliana a few weeks ago, and from what I’ve recently learned, it is dire indeed.”
“What have you recently learned, if I may ask?” Rob said.
“Before I tell you my bad news, perhaps you can tell me yours. I have cause to fear that your presence here as a servant means that some misfortune befell you and your crew on the Entdecker.”
Rob looked at the man, wondering how he knew so much about Rob already. Even Edwin couldn’t have known about the loss of the Entdecker. “Yes, you could call it misfortune. We were betrayed. My crew was killed and my ship, the Entdecker was lost to a car-dun.”
Pavana’s face frowned for the first time. “Geoffrey Morris… he was part of your crew? He was killed also?”
Rob’s eyes boggled at the mention of Doctor Morris. “How do—”
“He and I were friends, once… many years ago.”
Rob started, “You’re a—”
He stopped himself again. Pavana continued to look at Rob, his frown lightened some, but it was clear he felt a loss with Rob’s confirmation.
“I hate to add to your sorrows, Rob, but as I have recently learned. Duce Cesare Aquila approved the invasion of Engle Isle. Imperial forces attacked your island weeks ago.”
The words echoed in Rob’s ears. He felt a lump grow in his throat, threatening to choke him. Swallowing hard, he cleared his throat to speak, though words were difficult to find. Images of his family, of Anna and her son, of Trina, Pete and the others who were there to defend the island forced their way onto the stage of his mind, cutting off the thoughts he tried to form.
“I heard a rumor, but I didn’t want to believe it. Do you… do you know what’s happening? How is the invasion going?”
“My sources tell me there was much fighting in the first day of the invasion, but they knew nothing more beyond that. This is a desperate hour for us all. We want this war to end as much as you do. We are trying to sway the people’s hearts to reject this violence; to see how damaging it is to us.” Pavana said.
“We are not succeeding. It is not enough.” Liliana said.
“Then you must change your tactics.” Rob said.
Pavana looked skeptical. “What else can we do? We cannot become violent in an effort to reject it.”
Rob shook his head. “No, but are you willing to accept the violence against yourselves?”
Both Pavana and Liliana furrowed their brows at Rob. He continued to explain.
“The riots against foreign merchants have hurt your markets, yes?” He asked Pavana.
“Not enough. It will be some time before we feel the effects.”
Rob turned to Liliana, “The students protesting at the university would have been hurt, possibly killed if your father hadn’t intervened. Now I wish he hadn’t.”
“What? How can you say that?” Liliana said.
“Your people won’t reject the violence unless it’s done against them. The effects of the war aren’t harsh enough. Yes, your men are dying, being maimed and wounded from Longbeard to Engle Isle, but it doesn’t matter. Even the loss of loved ones can simply be turned into hatred for the foreigners who killed them. As long as the war remains out there, away from the heart of the empire, it will be justified and continued. Make it come here.”
“But how?” Liliana asked. She saw the fire in Rob’s eyes as he spoke and felt the urge to follow him. Pavana looked at him with concern upon his face. The older man did not like violence at all, though he understood the merits of Rob’s idea.
“I know how this sounds, Signore Pavana. I would not suggest it if I saw any other way of making real change among your people. Last year, I was living my dream of exploring the world, attempting to understand it and learning to love it, despite its dangers. I rejected the war, but it pulled me back in, took my brother and my friends from me. Now you tell me that it has come to my home island. I want it to end, but only a few people have the power to make that happen and they are indifferent to the suffering.”
“No,” Pavana said. “They are causing the suffering. Some are even relishing in it. I want the empire to expand, but it must learn to do so peacefully. No, as much as I don’t want to see my home suffer as yours surely is, I cannot deny what you say, Rob Engleman. This people must have a taste of what their greed is inflicting on others.”
“Again, I ask how,” Liliana said.
Several minutes passed with the three of them in thought. Rob watched Liliana as she paced the floor of her quarters in frustration. She looked magnificent, like a queen deliberating the fate of her people. It occurred to Rob that should her father ascend to the throne after the emperor’s death, she would be a princess. He mused at the thought of being in love with a princess until another thought struck him like a blow from a herdbeast.
“The emperor!” Rob said.
“I’ve tried that route,” Pavana said, “As have others, including Liliana’s father. Even before he became too ill to leave his bed, he wasn’t strong enough to counter Cesare’s influence in starting the war.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Rob moved to Liliana, taking her hand in his without thinking, but was quick to let go, remembering that Pavana was with them. “What would it take for your father to declare himself the heir to the throne?”
“He doesn’t want to be emperor,” She said.
Pavana’s eyes brightened. “The people would have to demand that he assume the throne. He would do it for them.”
“If the emperor died tonight, how would they go about choosing a successor?”
“Since Octavo has never named a successor, when he dies the council will reconvene and elect a blood relative. We can assume it will be the man with the closest family connection but who is also a proven leader. It really comes down to Federico and Cesare. The only other would be Antoni Garibaldi, but he’s out of favor politically.”
“How so?” Rob said, recognizing the name.
“Recent events in the war allowed Cesare to criticize his leadership and relegate him to a ‘redemption assignment’.”
“That’s cunning,” Rob said, “Giving Garibaldi the post of commander on Longbeard as a way to redeem himself when clearly no redemption can be found there.”
“Now we must be just as cunning,” Liliana said. “We don’t know when the emperor will die, so how do we force my father and Duce Cesare to make bids for the throne?”
“Cesare must think the emperor has died. He will make his claim, your father must contend against that claim. Octavo’s sister, Maria, she takes care of him. Can she be persuaded to let everyone think he’s dead?”
“There’s more to it than just that. His personal medic would also have to be in on it, as well as several of the servants who attend to his majesty. If any one of them divulge the deception, it would be seen as an attempted overthrow.”
Rob hummed, rubbed his brow and said, “The medic has been there for some time, yes?”
“Since he took ill months ago.”
“If Maria can convince him to take a holiday. A brief one, so that he’s not overworked. The servants’ access to the quarters can be limited, and I know one of them, at least, who can be trusted. It would only be for a short time.”
“Just long enough for Cesare to proclaim himself emperor, then we reveal that Octavo is not dead and Cesare appears to have attempted the overthrow,” Liliana said.
“Yes. Yet we can’t know that he will make such a proclamation. He would just as likely wait for the council to choose him, appearing to take the throne only at their behest.”
“But if he also hears that Signore d’Silva is going to make th
at same proclamation, then we force his hand.”
“You realize that he has spies in many places. He won’t act on this information without confirming,” Pavana warned.
“What more confirmation will he need than an aunt in mourning and the daughter of his political rival telling all her friends what her father plans to do,” Rob said.
“Everything hinges on that. He must be convinced of both for this to work. Also, once he has declared himself emperor, he will not let go of that power without a struggle.”
“This is how your people get their taste of the horrors of war. They will see their sons and daughters fall at the hands of their own soldiers. Brother against brother, father against son. Even brothers and sisters…”
Rob cast a worried glance at Liliana, knowing that Ludo was just as likely to side against their cause as he was to be in favor of it. Would he do his sister harm?
Liliana added, “If the men loyal to Cesare can stomach killing their neighbors and friends, then the empire is worse off than we imagine it… and yet, it must be this.”
Pavana couldn’t help but smile at the two young conspirators. “I must leave you now. I have to get word to my contacts and set the stage for these actions. Do not say a word to anyone, do not attempt to do more on this until I contact you.”
They watched him go and turned to each other again.
“He saw you take my hand you know,” She said with a smile.
“Yes, I’m sorry about that.”
She reached out and took his hands, pulling him close to her. “Don’t be sorry.”
Rob began to lose himself in her eyes, struggling for balance he spoke to her, his voice softer than he intended.
“This is going to be dangerous. I don’t… I don’t want you hurt.”
“Then don’t hurt me,” She said.
“That’s not—”
He was unable to finish before her mouth reached his. He placed his arms around her and pulled her against him. Lost in the kiss, neither of them heard the door open. Neither saw Liliana’s maidservant enter and stop and stare at them for a moment before retreating back into the hallway.
22
Ruin
“D id you hear that?” Roger asked John. He knew that John couldn’t understand the guards but couldn’t help but ask. John chuckled to himself, knowing that Roger was about to tell him anyway.
“The ship that arrived yesterday, it came from Alimia.”
“They bring in fifty infantry from Alimia and send them straight to the front. We must be giving them—”
“No, no! You don’t see it?” Roger said.
“See what?”
“The guards are still those wounded kids they put over us last week. This gives us our best chance.”
“Yes, I see that,” John said, not understanding what Roger was getting excited about. “I told you that I haven’t quite figured out how to make the escape.”
“Plan or no plan, it has to be tonight.”
“What?”
“That fellow with the limp just told his replacement they won’t have to watch us after tonight.”
“They wouldn’t kill us. That would ensure everyone fights to the death against them. Edward would execute any Falcon prisoners our people have.”
Roger shook his head. “It’s either that or they plan to take us off island when that ship heads out again.”
“Roger, I can’t guarantee our safety if we make a break for it.”
“I know, I know. You, the ever-responsible officer looking out for his men. This is war, John. None of us get out of it without sacrifice. We knew this the moment we joined up with Mark and Rob on Fallen Dome.”
“You and I have more to sacrifice now than we did then.”
“You and Nigel are able to move better than the rest of us. At least the two of you should get out.”
Roger kept shaking his head but said no more. He lost himself in his thoughts, remaining silent during the hot hours of the day. The Falcons spared no canopy to protect their prisoners from the summer sun. It glared down on them and their guards with equal hatred. John kept his face toward the ground and covered his neck with his tunic, but he felt his ears peeling from the exposure.
To make matters worse, the well at the center of Port John’s ruins became overdrawn. The number of soldiers drawing water from the well left little to be divvied out among them. Water had to be carried by the coscrittos from Port John all the way to the soldiers manning the picket lines on the far side of Harrisville as well as to the sailors aboard the remaining ships. This often left many miserable, thirsty soldiers waiting for the next supply to reach them.
John and his fellow prisoners were neglected by several of their guards who chose to drink the water rations rather than give them to the captured defenders. Some of these prisoners, despite their wounds and injuries, and fueled by the heat, shouted curses at these guards. Such became the scene at the goat corral as the sun set in the west. A guard sporting a hideous burn scar over the left side of his face stared Nigel down while drinking the prisoner’s water ration.
Nigel took his broken arm out of the sling. The bandages were long gone from his head and his empty eye socket sewn shut. As his blood boiled inside him, his appearance became something fierce. John watched him approach the soldier at the far end of the corral.
“Come on, you pile of goat dung! Drink it up! Choke it down! The next gulp will be your last!”
Whether or not he realized it, Nigel placed a hand on the guard’s arm. The guard reacted with immediate action, delivering a blow to Nigel’s right shoulder. The Engle Islander didn’t even flinch but answered in kind with a left hook to the Falcon’s nose. Three other guards rushed forward to assist their stunned comrade. While Max and four prisoners joined in on Nigel’s side.
John reacted on instinct. Hopping over the wall, he tackled the young soldier near him, whose left arm was caught up in a sling of his own. With one hand pressing the soldier’s face into the sooty dirt, John located a large stone with his other and brought it down hard and fast against the back of his neck. Striking twice to ensure the neck was broken, John immediately unfastened the helmet and breastplate, lifting both from the dead body.
Roger’s head appeared over the stones of the corral wall. “Hurry, they’re breaking up the fight. Nigel and the others have been beaten badly.”
John placed the breastplate and helmet on himself and took hold of the body, lifting it with the help of the adrenaline coursing through is body. Roger assisted in placing the body where John himself had been sitting inside the corral. John wrapped the sword-belt around his own waist before placing the sling over his neck, all the while hoping the guards stayed far away enough from that end of the corral that they wouldn’t realize he wasn’t their comrade. With the light of day fading fast, there was hope for that.
The soldiers at the far end, having restored order there by giving and receiving fresh bruises as payment for their efforts, began to move back to their positions around the corral. Roger put his arms up into the air and backed away from John. Taking his cue from Roger, John pointed the end of the spear at his friend.
“Allontanarsi,” Roger whispered.
“Allontanarsi!” John repeated, meaning for the guards to hear.
The tension remained constant for several long minutes while Roger limped over to the others, examining wounds and informing them of the deception. A couple of furtive glances came his way, but otherwise none of the prisoners showed interest in him.
John knew he had only an hour or so before the next shift in guards replaced him. He would have to act with precision in the next few minutes. Much had to go right and too much could go wrong. His mind reeling for ideas, John moved on instinct more than conscious thought.
He walked with slow, deliberate steps toward the gate of the corral, doing his best to mask his limp and pretend his arm hurt. He caught the eye of the corporale still nursing the wounds Nigel gave him. Yet the corporale didn’t stop
John from opening the gate and pointing at Nigel with his spear. The brawl caused the new shift to come early, doubling the number of guards. Occupied with positioning the extra support, the corporale paid sparse attention to John. A confused Nigel looked at John and pointed at himself while furrowing his brow.
John struggled for the words he’d heard the guards use. Unsure that his accent would be concealed in the short command, he spoke fast, “Vieni.”
Nigel stepped forward, confusion on his face as his eyes darted between John and the other guards. The corporale’s curiosity was sufficiently roused to warrant a question to John. He approached at the same moment as Nigel.
“Cosa ci fa con lui?”
John did not know what to say in response. He only understood part of the question. He stared at the coroporale, attempting to convey as much anger and hostility in that look as was humanly possible.
“Vieni,” John said to the corporale and gestured for Nigel to walk out into the ruins of the town. With Nigel’s back to them, John signaled the corporale with a finger drawn across his throat and a gesture to their prisoner. The corporale looked surprised before a wicked smile found his mouth.
The three men rounded a pile of rubble: the remains of the Johnson’s house. Out of sight of the corral, as well as any other eyes, John took his arm out of the sling and unsheathed the bronze dagger at his belt.
“Nigel, take hold of his legs!”
Nigel dove at the corporale’s legs, wrapping his arms around them. John brought his left arm around the Falcon’s mouth and pulled back. The joint effort brought the corporale to the ground in silence where John placed the tip of the dagger at the base of his skull and pushed with all his weight.
“Take his armor and weapons,” John said. “Then hide the body and wait.”
John placed his arm back in the sling, picked up the spear and walked back to the corral. There he pointed at two more Engle Islanders and repeated his command to follow him. As they walked toward the pile of rubble, John gave one of them a violent shove, just to help the deception. Before he could go back for more, Nigel pressed him on the plan.