Dark Wolves

by J A Deriu

  It became clear why Odo had smirked. Hoston had put his white jacket on with the inside out. It was not obvious, but a closer look and the stitching could be seen. Felix growled. “It is that kind of carelessness that will get us all shot.” Hoston looked at his jacket, grunted, and began to take it off.

  “Stand close,” Gaspar said. “Listen carefully. This mission is not high risk. We have done more dangerous – not you, Landry, of course. This is a good learning opportunity for you, but also important. This mission is twofold. Let me summarize what we are to do. This is purely a feasibility for a future operation. Not for us, though, for our friends, the Children of Liberty. We are in a theater. In fact, one of the most prestigious ones. Felix says we are the lowest of the low. That is because we are cleaning men. These jobs are filled by the servants of servants – servants who have descended from servants. We are not to be seen.”

  “Why are we wearing white then?” Hoston scoffed.

  Odo elbowed him. “Shush.”

  “It is a color worn by servants. It is not to be worried about. We are not to be seen. There is a show in progress. The patrons will break for an intermission. They will be in the foyer. The servants – that is us – are to clean the seats and aisles. The guests eat food when they watch the show. They leave a mess. We have fifteen minutes to clean.”

  “Damn, unsavory work,” Odo quietly jested.

  “It sounds like a lot of danger for nothing,” Felix said, “but it is not.”

  “The importance of what we are doing is this,” Gaspar continued. “This show is a women-only audience. It is rumored that the governess comes here herself.” Jack noticed the sudden stillness and missed breaths of the others. He had heard much talk of the governess. Cleopatra, she was called. He did not know her real name. The governor was the all-powerful dictator of the largest of the Ottoman American provinces. Yet no one talked of him. The governess dominated all discussion. She ruled the largest province, it was said. Her husband simply acquiesced to everything she said. She beguiled every man that she met, the stories also said, and hence the comparison to the famous woman of antiquity.

  “If we are able to confirm that the governess attends on this night, we can pass this information to the Children of Liberty. This is invaluable information. They will be grateful. We will have proved ourselves to them.”

  “The governess is here?” Hoston said, suddenly serious.

  “Maybe,” Felix answered. “This is what is to be learned.”

  There was silence for moments. They contemplated that the most powerful person on the continent was in the same building.

  “How will we know she is here?” Odo asked. “We are cleaning. They will be in the foyer. We won’t see them.”

  “There are higher levels made up of boxes. I will go up there. From there I can sneak out and look down on the foyer. I will be able to see the audience when they are having refreshments. I won’t need to see the governess to know that she is here. I will only need to see any of her personal guard to know.”

  “The Children will reward us for the information?” Hoston quizzed.

  “My word, they will. Like everyone in this city, they are obsessed with the wife of the governor. They would have men die to find out what she drinks before she sleeps. Fortune will be that no men will die tonight.”

  “You said the mission was twofold,” Odo said. “What is the second part?”

  “The second part is to do with Landry,” Gaspar answered. They all turned to look at Jack. He stared blankly back at them. “The idea for this mission came from his quest. He saw the girl when we were on the harbor. We know that she is in the household of the governess, so she should be here. But we must be certain. Landry will come with me to the galleries. He will look for her. If she can be seen, he is another step closer to fulfilling his quest.”

  There was silence as the new information was considered. Jack thought of his eyesight and about what he had really seen on the harbor.

  “Any questions?” Gaspar asked, looking at Jack.

  “Why are there only women?” he asked.

  “It is the way of the Ottomans. They segregate men and women, particularly for the ruling classes. I know this is strange for someone from the wilderness, but it is their custom.”

  Felix looked at his watch. “It is almost time. Let’s get into position.”

  “Let us have a moment to pray,” Gaspar said. They bowed their heads, and Jack could hear the murmur of words from the Templars.

  They checked their clothes and moved along empty passageways. “Will the servants who normally do this not be missed?” Hoston asked.

  “They are rotated. Roberto has slotted us into a gap.”

  They came to a set of steps. Music could be heard coming from above. A closet was near the door. Gaspar opened it and pulled out cotton bags and short wooden brooms. He handed them out and turned to face the group. “Remember, we are meek servants. Play the part from here on.” He paused for a moment. “Also remember that we are Templars. We have no fear. Peace is made with the sword. God be with you, brothers. Speak no more words.”

  Gaspar led them silently up the steps and opened a door. Brilliant lights dazzled Jack’s eyes. He needed a moment to focus. He was surrounded by gleaming walls that were elaborately decorated with patterns. A chalk-white statue of a prancing horse was next to him. The music was loud and reached a crescendo. There were men standing in front of large doors that were closed. The men wore black suits and were looking sternly at the group. They had leather pistol holsters strapped to their belts. One of them hurried toward them and growled in Turkish. Gaspar replied to him, and he waved them to stand ready next to one of the doors. The guards looked over the group. As instructed, Jack kept his head low and made no eye contact with the men. He could only see their shiny boots against the lush carpet as they lingered near him and then moved away.

  The music stopped, and they could hear cheers, shrieks, and applause. They stood passively as these sounds faded. One of the guards opened a door and went through. He came back in a moment and said something to Gaspar. They walked into the theater. Jack could not stop himself from looking up and around. The rows and rows of red-velvet seats were empty. The ceiling looked like a painted sky with the galleries and boxes suspended in it.

  Gaspar whispered to Jack. “Stay with me.” He turned to check that the guards had gone. Felix, Hoston, and Odo hurried to the job, holding their brooms like weapons and knowing that they had to do the work for all of them. The theater smelled of perfumes and half-eaten candies. There was movement on the elevated stage. Children scurried across it, mopping and moving scenery. They were oblivious to the Templars.

  Gaspar was confident in his movements. He ran along the side aisle and ducked into a recess where steps led to the higher levels. They could move quietly on the thick carpet. Jack’s body was stiff. His mind was clouded with thoughts about his role in this mission. He admitted to himself that he had not seen Joy from the boat on the harbor. He had only seen the same color hair. It could have been anyone. He admitted his vow to rescue her was foolishness and made from reading too many adventures.

  Gaspar stalked forward. They came to a narrow passageway with doors open to the boxes. It was quiet. There was no one around. Gaspar stood still and listened intently. Jack did the same. There was noise, feminine chatter, and laughter came from across the passage, past thick-columned archways. Gaspar crouched and pulled Jack close to him. “We go through there.” He pointed to the arches. “Keep your head down. We will be able to see over the foyer. I will look out one end and you the other. You know what to look for. We are looking for the governess and your girl. If you come across anyone, don’t say anything. You are a cleaner. You take that side.” Jack steadied himself. He knew at this moment he needed to be Landry the Templar.

  Gaspar confidently moved through the archway at one end of the passage. Jack
moved to the other end. He was still holding the short broom. Dim lamps were fixed to the walls. The leaves of large potted plants hung over him. He passed under the archway. A thick stone balustrade was in front of him. An expanse was behind it. He gaped at the high ceiling, which was rimmed by elaborate cornices. He lowered his eyes to see a wall dominated by a large fresco. For a moment, Jack imagined that he was in a grand castle and the broom he held was a sword.

  He placed his hands on the cold balustrade and edged forward to look toward the ground and where the noise was coming from. The laughter and clashing array of vivid colors told him it was a merry gathering. The long hair of the women jounced with the movement of heads. He was a long way above them, and uncertainty swept through him in regard to what he was supposed to look for. Gaspar would be farther along looking at the same scene, so all would not be lost if he were confused, but the Templar would question him in detail later, and Jack needed to talk with confidence. Confirmation that the governess attended this theater was the big prize. Anything to do with Joy was secondary. The easiest way to find the governess was to look for her protectors. They were said to wear blood-red tabards and carry weapons wherever they went. They were also said to be the mightiest young women of the court. They would stand above the rest.

  His head moved wildly. He was not understanding what he was seeing. Time was short. They needed to be out of the theater in minutes. He knew from Gaspar that this was before the bell rang for the play to recommence. He tensed himself to focus and see the detail of the picture below. He was struck by the beauty of the women, the freedom of movement of their bare heads. The women of the city and towns wore shawls and were constantly adjusting them.

  He heard laughter coming from behind him. He stopped breathing for a moment and then remembered that he was a cleaner. He needed to get off the balcony. There was no need for a cleaner to be there. He moved with short steps and kept his head bowed as Felix had instructed.

  The laughter was close. It affected him as if a weapon was being wielded. He passed an open door to one of the boxes. The laughter abruptly stopped. He could not stop himself from lifting his head. An overwhelming smell of perfume licked out of the room and assaulted him. He turned his head. There were three of them, all staring at him. He looked with dark eyes. They were girls, younger than he was. Their hair was elaborate, made into curls and gleaming like polished glass. Their eyes were painted and eyelashes curled to dangerous points. The two on either side wore pale-emerald gowns with the look of the richest fabrics. Their skin was golden from the sun. They looked back at him without care for a moment and then sudden shock. He feared that they had seen past the disguise. The girl in the middle was dressed in a lemon gown, which matched her straw-colored hair. Her face contorted. In a step he was out of their view.

  His mind was a swirl. He saw her. It was her. Then, he was unsure. He did not want to see her. There was a screech from the room and then giggling. He could not look back. “You!” a sharp voice called from behind him. His face strained, but he did not turn. He heard soft pads behind him. “You, stop.” The voice called out with authority. He stopped and turned slowly. His fingers tensed and gripped the broom. He looked down at the folds of her lemon-colored gown. “You, do you speak English or Turkish?” she said. “Lift your head so that I can see your face.” He did not move. “Do it, or I call the guards.” She was within touching distance of him. She smelled like the blue sky. Her powerful radiance made him lean forward. He edged his chin upward. Her eyes blazed at him. He could not look more. He turned and ran.

  He spun around the corner for the stairwell. Gaspar was there, and he banged into his chest. He grabbed Jack by the arms. “What is it, boy?” he urgently whispered. He saw Jack’s face. “We must go.” The ring of a bell sounded. Their bodies hardened. Gaspar fixed his hand on Jack’s collar and pulled him hard down the stairs.

  Felix was waiting for them at the bottom. “What is it? Is she here?” he said to Gaspar.

  The Templar nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then we do this,” Felix replied. He pulled up his coat. Pressed against his shirt was a pistol. “Death to tyrants.” He gripped the gun.

  Gaspar took hold of Felix’s hand. “No, no, this is not what we are to do.”

  “I must do it, brother.” Felix tried to free his hand.

  “No. We would all be dead. This is not our mission. Not today.”

  Their bodies angled. Both of them stared intently at the other.

  “I am the commander,” Gaspar breathed through a closed mouth. “Do not disobey.”

  Jack could see that Gaspar held more of the gun than Felix. In a moment he had it only in his hand. Their eyes did not deviate from glaring at one another.

  Gaspar pushed Felix on the shoulder, and they ran to the exit. Jack was at their side. Odo and Hoston were waiting with their sacks full of rubbish. They handed one to each of them, and they all walked out the doors. The guards were there. They looked over them with disdain and then growled some orders. The doors were closed, and the Templars filed away.

  They did not ease until they were back in the basement. They tossed the bags of rubbish onto a pile. They sat on the floor, backs against the wall, and waited for their breathing to return to normal. Gaspar said nothing.

  “Well, what happened?” Odo asked after some time.

  Gaspar lifted his head. “Ready yourselves to leave. We should get out of here. The mission was a success. The governess is here. We will give this information to the Children, and we will be rewarded handsomely. We aid them. They will aid us. What about you, boy? Did you see your girl?”

  Jack hesitated. He swallowed nothing. “I don’t think so.”

  “No matter, boy.” Gaspar spoke calmly. “We must all continue with our quests. We must never forget that. All of us. We must trust in our destinies. We have completed our missions of stealth. Now it is the time for gunpowder.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The balcony overlooked the dark-blue waters. He tasted the cocktail. It was excellent quality, as good as anything that would be made in the swanky clubs of the Metropolis. Taymoor was savoring his. “I want to improve my language of the Englishman.” He sipped and placed it on the table. Touching the balcony were the trees of a garden. Ernest lounged in a thick-cushioned chair with the sun on his freckly face.

  During their journey to the capital of the world, Taymoor had promised many times that they were doomed to be taken to the sultan’s torturer. Pierre glared at Ernest, thinking that the little man was bound to stupidly mention this. He had taken every opportunity to urgently whisper to him to not jeopardize their situation, which for some reason had turned for the better. They had docked at night when only the lights of the vast city were visible. Pierre expected to be taken to another piss-stinking cell. Instead, they had been ushered onto another boat. Pierre, in his time as an elite banker, had been invited to many functions on the boats of the ultrawealthy. The swank boat that they traveled on was superior to anything he had experienced in the Metropolis. They sat on velvet cushions in a golden interior under a dazzling chandelier.

  Taymoor stood and looked out the windows. “I am home,” he said, breathing out. “The queen of cities is as beautiful as always.” Pierre sat stiffly, too scared to say anything or to look at what the Ottoman and his men were looking at. The boat docked. They were greeted by servants wearing elaborate uniforms made of bloated silk that sparkled under the lanterns. They walked up a long paved path. The smells of cypresses and vines crossed their path drifting from the gardens.

  The villa was atop a hill with lush greenery covering the slope to the water. With no explanation they were taken to five-star, hotel-quality rooms. They had a room each. They were amply furnished with a bed, dresser, table, and chairs. Pierre threw himself onto the bed in his room and felt his body ease like it had not for a long time. He was soon up and bathing in the marble bath, dousing his body with
the exotic bottles of lotions. He shaved and brushed his hair to the level he would when he was attending balls.

  It was obvious that they could not leave. They saw guards in the courtyard. Taymoor returned. He smelled of perfume and was casually dressed, wearing a large cravat. He invited them into the lounge. The Ottoman busied himself behind the bar, mixing and shaking cocktails like a professional. He hummed a tune and behaved as though they were socializing bachelors.

  A large yacht sauntered in front of them. Pierre concluded that they had landed in the wealthiest part of the megacity. Pierre had often heard talk of Konstantinople, the capital of the world, the new Rome. The center of the world, where the day starts, where all distance is measured from. He had not cared, figuring that he would never see the much-talked-about city.

  Taymoor kept looking at his watch, which meant he was waiting for someone. He was less relaxed as they drank more and shortened the breaks between checking the time. Ernest could not control his inclinations. “Do you have family, Taymoor? A wife to prepare your dinner? Little Taymoors running at your feet?” the little man asked, playing with peanuts in his hand before he tossed them into his mouth.

  The Ottoman groaned for a moment and then happily smiled. “Yes, I am the owner of a wife. My son is a captain in the army and my daughter married to a mandolin player. Why do you ask?”

  “You keep looking at the time. I thought you may be anxious to see your family.”

  “Ha, I do not think so. The business of the empire is before all. No, I am worried for the person who is coming to the house.”