boy tells the truth. No lies to remember, no lies to get caught in. And that’s why he’s going to live a very long time.
“I think we should do something about this ship, captain,” Kenan said. “You and I both know that the major is just going to get himself killed.”
“Most like.” The fisherman nodded. “That’s why I let him go. I’m no traitor.”
“I know you’re not. I’m not asking you to kill anyone or even to damage that ship back there, but I do need your help.”
The old man reached down and tightened his winch line again. “How?”
“The channel markers.” Kenan pointed at the buoy rocking on the rough waves at the mouth of harbor. A small bell clanged on top of it, and just below the below the bell was a ring of mirrors to reflect search lights and starlight. “They’re damaged by rough weather all the time. Waves. Lightning. Driftwood.”
“True.” The fisherman turned the tiller slightly.
“I think some of these markers here are due for a little damage.”
The fisherman shook his head. “We all need the markers. If we muck about with them, then the fishermen start running aground, losing traps, crossing lines, tearing nets. That’s a lot of good men losing their livelihoods for you. No, sir. I’ll take you to Tingis and you can have your blockade. That’s more than fair.”
Kenan frowned, then leaned down to paw through the major’s discarded coat. He sat up a moment later with a tiny Italian two-shot revolver in his hand, pointed at the captain. “I’m sorry about this. You’re a good man and you don’t deserve this, and I don’t want to hurt you. But I will if I have to. So now you’re going to help me break those markers, or I’ll kill you and then break them by myself.”
The fisherman’s eyes narrowed. He chewed his pipe for a moment. “All right then.”
His tone was as flat as ever. It might have meant he was willing to help, or that he was willing to die. But he nudged the tiller and the little sailboat swung toward the first marker buoy.
“Thank you.” Kenan slipped the gun into his pocket and leaned back.
Shifrah slipped her arm down around the young man’s waist and rested her head on his shoulder. It was an uncomfortable position, especially on a cold rocking boat, but she knew it would work. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and held her against his slender body, and he rested his chin on the top of her head.
She smiled. Dangerous, smart, and powerful, yes, but still just a man.
Day Ten
Chapter 28. Lorenzo
They trotted slowly up the wide gravel road from Valencia along the shore toward the huge black docks on the south side of the harbor. Taziri was quick to point out the absence of the warship and for a moment they simply sat in their saddles and stared out over the water at the handful of brave little fishing boats rocking on the wintry waves. Then Lorenzo nudged his mare onward to the docks.
“There must be someone there who can tell us what is going on,” he said.
“The stone is very close now, Lorenzo,” Ariel whispered from the triquetra around his neck. “Very close. Be careful.”
Taziri followed in silence.
Up ahead they saw another rider sitting in the middle of the road and looking out to sea. Soon they recognized Salvator Fabris’s oiled mustache and the golden rapier on his hip. The burned and stained canvas bag hung from the rear of his saddle against his horse’s flank. As Lorenzo and Taziri approached, the Italian called out, “You can imagine my surprise to find the ship rather…gone.”
“Yes, well, clearly Magellan heard you were returning and thought the most sensible course of action was to hide his entire armada and hope you would just go away,” Lorenzo said. “I wish I could do the same, but once again you seem to have something that belongs to me.”
“Stop worrying so much, Quesada. You think I would use it against Espana?” Fabris shook his head. “Give me some credit. Your country and mine are more alike than any two in the world. We are natural allies in all things, from the Roman Church we defend to the wine we drink. This stone will be a sword and shield against the powers of the east. The Empire of Eran. The Constantian Church and the Mazdan Temple. They are the true warmongers, and they are ones who should fear my intentions, not you.”
“You’ve threatened my wife, stolen my property, attacked my students, and murdered two of my companions. A lesser man might take that personally.” Lorenzo smiled. Stay calm, no matter what. My only hope to win here is by shaking his resolve first. “Fortunately, I am not a lesser man. Give me the stone now and I’ll let you go in peace. Go back to Italia and defend your home howsoever God directs you.”
“How long would you keep the stone? A week? A month? How long before Magellan or some other military commander discovers it and takes it for himself and turns it against your neighbors? Magellan is no saint and barely a patriot. I should know, I’ve sat through enough of his egomaniacal tirades. He wants war. He craves it. A great war in which he can cement his place in history. He wants his name to be remembered.” Salvator shook his head. “Men like him cannot be trusted with power, and men like you cannot be trusted to stand against men like him. You’re too forgiving. Too trusting. Too holy. The world doesn’t need holy men. It needs strong men.”
“And who says my husband isn’t a strong man?”
Lorenzo looked up at the figure on the hill above them. Qhora sat astride Wayra, a dagger in her hand, his old army coat flapping about her in the morning breeze, and her tricorn hat perched proudly on her head. The huge eagle strutted carefully down the icy slope. “Good morning, my love.”
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Lorenzo smiled at her. Dear God, she’s perfect. “You’re looking lovely. Well rested. And not at all in prison.”
“I know. Didn’t Salvator tell you? The Espani soldiers threw him out on his ass as soon as they realized what he really was.”
“And what am I?” Fabris asked.
“Not a good man.”
Salvator smiled at her. “Your husband, on the other hand, is indeed a good man. The world would be a better place if more men were like him, but alas, the world is full of monsters in human guise and it will take more than good men to safeguard the civilized world.”
Qhora came down to the edge of the gravel road. “Captain Taziri, it’s good to see you again. Thank you for looking out for my Enzo.”
The Mazigh woman nodded. “He wasn’t too much trouble.”
“I’ve found something you might want to see, captain.” Qhora nodded at the black docks. “The soldiers have something here that belongs to you. They’ve even been trying to fix it in your absence.”
“My plane?”
“I’ve befriended the man in command of this place, a Captain Ortiz,” Qhora said. “I can take you to the hangar right now to see your machine.”
“Won’t the soldiers mind?” Salvator asked with a grin.
“Of course not.” Qhora turned her bird up the road. “It’s Sunday.”
Salvator nodded knowingly as he nudged his horse away from the Incan woman. Wayra snapped her huge head forward and screamed at the Italian’s nervous mount, and then the great eagle raised herself up to her full height to shriek and trill over and over. Qhora stroked the bird’s neck until she fell quiet again. “Shh, shh.”
She smiled at Salvator. “That was her blood song. The hatun-ankas are very protective of family, including their riders. They mate for life, and raise their young quite lovingly and tenderly. And when family is threatened, they sing the blood song. It summons the rest of the flock to war. They are flesh eaters and blood drinkers. Wonderful creatures.” She stroked Wayra’s neck, her eyes fixed on the frowning Italian.
Taziri glanced at Lorenzo, and he waved her on toward the naval base gates at the top of the road. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”
The women rode on toward the base. Qhora called back, “Enjoy your present dear.”
Salvator looked down at the hidalgo. “Present?”
