like to kill?” Rashaken said. “And no doubt, you wish to learn all about the seireiken, and perhaps even walk out of here in possession of one.”
“Or one hundred.” Salvator smiled.
“You spoke of mutual profit. What do you have, what does the king of Italia have, that could possibly be of profit to us?”
“Information. Money. Men. Ships. Land. We can negotiate the finer points later. Suffice it to say that his majesty is a man of business and is ready to be a friend and partner to anyone who stands by him.”
“Ah, the Italians.” A strange little smile twisted Rashaken’s beard. “Your king has many problems. Bad weather. Bad crops. Bad ships. And worst of all, he must share power with your priests, with your pope. Rome must be quite a dangerous place these days with the Guelphs shooting each other in the streets.”
“Yes,” Salvator said airily. “His Holiness seems to have no difficulty in raising funds for his cathedrals and his men-at-arms. And why should he? He offers eternal salvation with one hand and eternal torment with the other. The people don’t love him so much as fear his pronouncements. So I admit, he has an unfair advantage over His Majesty, who must actually work for a living to manage his nation.”
“It would seem to me that, if I were to seek a business partner in Italia, I should visit the Vatican instead of the royal palace,” Rashaken said. “The Temple of Osiris is, among other things, an institution of faith. Why would we ally ourselves with a beleaguered king when we could ally with a powerful pope? But this is all academic. The real question is, why would we ally with any Europans at all? You have nothing that we require or desire, and if you did then we would simply take it for ourselves. You have misjudged us, Mister Fabris, just as you have misjudged your own pope. We exist outside of worldly concerns, as you know them. We rule men’s hearts and minds, and with them follow great wealth and strength of arms. Politics is a game for children, Mister Fabris. When you are ready for a man’s endeavor, we will teach you to play at religion.”
Salvator frowned. “I’m disappointed, of course.”
Rashaken shrugged apologetically. “Of course.”
The Italian touched his sword hilt. “I could threaten to kill you. I could actually kill you, as well.”
Rashaken gestured to the towering smith, who had not moved and barely blinked throughout the conversation. “You’re welcome to try. But Master Jiro might prove an impediment to that.”
Yes, I believe he would.
Salvator sighed. “I can offer you one thing, in exchange for some small hint about these strange swords of yours. If you tell me about the aetherium, I will tell you the name of the contractor who betrayed your secrets to me.”
Rashaken inhaled slowly, cleared his throat loudly, and exhaled. “I suppose that’s worth knowing, so we can eliminate that leak. I’ll tell you a bit about the sun-steel. It costs me nothing to talk, and it guarantees that we will have to kill you as soon as possible, so please, have a seat.”
Salvator sidled over to a bench and sat where he could see both men as well as the closed door out of the corner of his eye.
“The sun-steel is not of our world,” Rashaken said. “It fell to earth several thousand years ago during the early dynasties of Aegyptus here, and the very first empire of Nippon, Master Jiro’s homeland in the east. Our records of the event are incomplete and riddled with myths and legends and prophecies, but we have pieced together a rough story with the ring of truth to it. It began with the sun. There was a flash of light in the midday sky, and for the following six nights men saw beautiful auroras all over the world, not just in the distant north and south. And nine days after that, the steel began to rain down on the earth. It fell in pieces of all sizes, most smaller than your fist, but some larger than a horse. At first glance it looks like ordinary gold, and it took time for anyone to discover its special properties.”
“You say the aetherium fell all over the earth? Then why haven’t we found any of it in Italia? Or Hellas? There had been no sign of it in Espana either, until recently. Why is that?”
Jiro chuckled and muttered something in his native tongue.
Rashaken smiled. “Because, dear boy, we gathered it up. Or I should say, our forebears did. The Temple of Osiris here in the west and the Temple of Amaterasu in the east have been collecting it for centuries. After all, it takes quite a bit of steel to make a single sword, and we have thousands of them. Every now and then some new bit of the steel still falls to earth, as it happened in Espana several centuries ago, but that is vanishingly rare.”
“I see. So the aetherium fell from the sun? The sun is made of steel?”
“We believe so, yes. It was at that same time, thousands of years ago, that the very first ghost stories began to emerge in the north. You know the ones, the old tales of jealous lovers and lost children and angry killers returning from the grave? Well, apparently, no one had ever seen a ghost before the steel fell. We suspect, but cannot prove, that no one had ever seen the aether mist before then, either.”
“Are you suggesting that aether also comes from the sun?”
“There are many theories. Personally, I suspect that the sun is some sort of forge where aether is created and then blasted by heat until it becomes sun-steel, or aetherium, as you call it. And that day, long ago, there was some calamity upon the sun. An explosion, perhaps. Bits of the steel fell to earth and a rain of aether fell with it.”
Salvator pouted thoughtfully. “Fascinating. But aether reveals the souls of the dead, and the aetherium can absorb souls with the aether. So if the aether and the steel fell from the sun, then what is the connection between the sun and our souls?”
Rashaken shrugged. “Who can say? Perhaps we all came from the sun at the beginning of time? Or perhaps the sun is the house of the gods, from which our souls come and to which our souls will return at the ending of the world? It’s a strange universe, and we learned men are but insects trying to comprehend the vastness of the stars.” He threw up his hands in a playful gesture of helplessness. “And here ends our lesson. You now know one of the greatest stories and mysteries of our entire world, which profits you nothing, and you know nothing of the Temple, which might have profited you a great deal. At any rate, my part of the bargain is fulfilled. So now, the name of our loose-tongue contractor, if you please.”
Salvator nodded. “That was a most interesting lesson, sir. Thank you for it. It was certainly worth the life of your operative. At least to me. I first met-”
The door opened and the Italian leapt to his feet as he drew his rapier. He edged toward the door, noting the complete lack of expression on the smith Jiro’s face as the man saw whoever it was coming through the doorway.
Two people stepped into the room. Salvator froze. “Shifrah?”
The one-eyed Samaritan stared back at him. “Sal?”
Behind her, he saw the familiar features of the young man in the black jacket who had boarded the steamship in Carthage. Her Mazigh gunslinger.
Shifrah smirked. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Yes.” Salvator shifted the point of his sword toward the young man behind her. “Well, we’ll see just how much we still fancy one another in a few moments.”
“Master Rashaken.” Shifrah nodded at the older man. “And Master Jiro. It’s been a long time. You’re both looking well.”
“Little Dumah.” Jiro smiled. “Is it harder to throw a knife straight with only one eye?”
The woman shrugged. “Only at first.”
“Excuse me.” Salvator smiled. “Terribly sorry to interrupt, but you all seem to have some catching up to do, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll take my leave.” He flicked his rapier to wave Shifrah and her companion away from the door. They moved aside, never taking their eyes from him but never betraying any hint of tension or desire to strike. Salvator stepped into the open doorway.
“Be quick, Italian, and you might live to see the dawn. But don’t make any plans for supper tomorrow,” Rashaken said. “You have no idea how easy it will be for my boys to find a tall, pale Italian with a striking mustache such as yours. Visit a barber tonight and you might dine tomorrow after all. But I wouldn’t count on it.”
Salvator hesitated. It’s just the sort of bluff I would make in his position. It’s just the sort of threat I would make in any position. But this temple. This temple is enormous. This man commands hundreds of trained killers. Not better than me, naturally, but against an army of hundreds? He’s right. They will find me. They might even kill me.
“Master Rashaken.” The Italian kept one eye on Shifrah as he spoke. “I find that men of a certain age should
