Close against the walls and just back from the shores that ran away to both the east and west city were wide, white arms that waved tirelessly, all doing so at the same speed. Those flanking clusters of well-wishers were windmills, turning in the steady wind that now freshened the ship’s sails and brought them closer to the Moorish pier, reaching out toward them like a weathered gray finger.
Dolor looked up into the cloudless light blue sky. “Odd,” he commented, “that you see no beauty in such a view. I would have thought you a man receptive to the romance of so striking a vista.”
“Perhaps the mood is not upon me just now.”
“Perhaps. At any rate, we are passing your new duty station, Captain.” Dolor pointed to the west shore. Set upon a knoblike hill barely a mile beyond the walls of Palma, a collection of round towers dominated the scrub- mottled uplands that overlooked the bay. “That is the Castell de Bellver. Formerly the palace of the king of Mallorca, it declined to a mere fortress, and now is descending in stature yet again-to that of a prison.”
Don Vincente studied the building that seemed to be perched watchfully over the western approaches to Palma. One tower, noticeably taller and a bit narrower than the other three, pointed like a white finger into the sky.
Dolor must have noticed his companion’s attention to that particular feature. “That is the lazarette. The final bastion of the fortress. Which, I might add, has never been taken by general assault. Nor have any prisoners ever escaped from it.”
Castro y Papas could see why, readily enough. The main body of the fortress seemed to be a squat tower itself, now that he had a closer view of it; it rose only two tall stories above the ravelins and ramparts that had been cut into the hilltop around it. At each true compass point of the circular main walls sat one of the structure’s four towers. The lazarette served as the north pointer, and therefore, sat back somewhat from the bay. With the pennons fluttering from the pinnacles of each tower, it looked much more like a white-pink fairy-tale castle than a prison. Don Vincente felt a tinge of pity for so fine a structure, built as the residence of kings, but now a gaol. “It no longer contributes to the defense of the city?”
Dolor shrugged. “Somewhat. There are cannons in the ramparts about its base and a few still on its roof. But as you can see, its design reflects the wisdom of the ages before cannon. The same is true for the substance of its walls.”
“What do you mean?”
Dolor swept his finger along the rough uplands of the west bank. “You will note all the faint white outcroppings, like stumps of teeth along the ridgelines? All sun-bleached sandstone. From which the Castell de Bellver itself was built, quarried from mines in the very hill upon which it sits.”
Don Vincente nodded. “So, if such soft stone was ever subject to bombardment by modern cannon-”
Dolor shrugged. “It would be a shattered ruin within an hour.”
“How many in its garrison?”
“At last report, approximately fifty within the walls, about that many again manning the ravelins and barbican outside. These will be increased now, of course. Although that change will not be welcome to the Castell’s governor.”
“Governor? Not commander?”
“No. Bellver’s situation is unique.” Dolor’s lip quirked in what might have been dark humor or genuine annoyance. “Sometime in the fifteenth century, it became the possession of the Carthusian Monks of Valdemossa. Although it is not staffed by them, they assign the Castell its governor, who has control over the garrison.”
The way Dolor had put emphasis on the word “garrison” prompted Don Vincente’s next question. “The garrison is not very proficient?”
Dolor shrugged. “It is staffed almost completely by Mallorcans. Yes, they are technically soldiers of the Crown, but almost none of them have ever left the island, or been trained and blooded with a real tercio. They are local soldiery. Mostly trustworthy, but not very dependable in a fight, I’m afraid.”
“Hence, your resolve to increase the contingent there.”
“Yes. By drawing troops from the garrison at San Carlos. Only twenty or so, but that will not please the governor. Not at all.”
“I would have expected that he would have seen a larger detachment as an honor, a signification of greater authority.”
“No, because the new troops will not be under his command. They will be on detached duty to the Castell, and under your direct authority.”
“You put me in a most enviable position, Senor Dolor.”
“I do what is necessary, as shall you. You will use the real soldiery from the fort to improve the readiness of Bellver’s current garrison. Your men will train with, and provide examples for, the governor’s.”
“In theory.”
“It is your responsibility to make this theory a reality, and quickly, Captain Castro y Papas. If agents of the USE plan on striking again, they will do so with all alacrity; if they wait much longer, they will be endangering the pregnancy of Stone’s wife.” Dolor moved away from the rail.
“And you, Senor Dolor? Where will you be?”
Dolor stopped and turned to look at the captain. “Wherever I am most needed. I will be at the Castell intermittently. If I am not there, my assistant, Dakis, is likely to be. But I cannot gather and oversee intelligence reports in a hilltop fortress two miles southwest of the viceroy’s palace; I must be where ships and roads bring messages. So I will mostly be in Palma.”
“How pleasant.”
Dolor’s eyes held no hint of present or past emotions; Don Vincente believed it conceivable the man had never had any. “I do not tarry in Palma because it is pleasant; I do so because I have only a month to put things in order here. My instructions are to see to the proper incarceration and security of the prisoners and then return to Rome.”
“And who will be placed in charge of the situation upon your departure?”
“You, Don Castro y Papas, if you prove reliable and motivated enough. If not, I am sure that some mud- caked, understaffed tercio guarding one of the Holy Roman Empire’s surrounded Rhine principalities that could make fine use of your skills.”
Dolor turned and moved unhurriedly toward the pinnace that was being readied for the first shore party. Don Vincente glared after him.
He almost missed the faint movement sidling up to his right. “What is it, Ezquerra?” asked the captain without bothering to look over. “Have you come to complain of another bout of seasickness?”
The career sergeant shrugged. “I cannot tell if it is seasickness, or simple nausea from being too close to Dolor.”
“The man is discomfiting, no question.”
“He is abnormal in every particular, Captain-which I can say without fear of punishment in his case, since he holds no military rank.”
Don Vincente looked after the black silhouette of Dolor. “Do not assume too much about Senor Dolor, Ezquerra-particularly regarding his ability to do you ill. He may not hold any official rank, he may be abnormal, annoying, and yes, even revolting, but bear this in mind: he is dangerous.” Captain Vincente Jose-Maria de Castro y Papas studied the silhouette’s easy, economical motions carefully. “Very dangerous.”
Frank felt as much as heard the portcullis ram home behind him; it jarred the stones under his feet.
Or, to be more accurate, it jarred the finely cut pink sandstone paving that was arrayed not in a typically crude grid fashion, but in a pattern of faint yet perfect concentric rings. The circular motif was reprised in the almost delicate arches that marked the inner orbit of the stacked, porticoed galleries. Frank stared up through the identical levels, finding them both familiar and alien-and then he knew why: it reminded him of the leaning tower of Pisa, except inside out. And a lot wider. And more squat. But still “Senor and Senora Stone, you will come this way.”
The sergeant who had spoken to them was a grizzled fellow, at least fifty, and well-scarred. He was as different from the young, diffident gate guards as a mastiff was distinct from dachshunds. He also seemed very annoyed.
Which annoyed Frank, in turn. “Hey, sorry I’m not moving fast enough for you, Sergeant Rock, but getting repeatedly blasted and beaten by you and your buddies hasn’t done a lot for my basic fitness level.”
