Lorenzo stared at her, frowning, wanting to interrupt, wanting to correct her and to argue with her, but he was lost for words. Slowly, the thought formed in his mind: If she could live such a holy life and still be so far from grace, what chance do I have? He glanced around for a few moments until the queasiness in his stomach died down and he said, “What does that mean for me?”
“It means, poor Lorenzo, that you still have the potential to live a life that is far better than mine ever was.”
He blinked. “How is that possible?”
Ariel nodded at Qhora. “Marry your beloved and have children. God is a creator and sustainer of life. Having children is pleasing to the Mother, especially if you raise them properly. Uphold and enforce the law. Go on serving Prince Valero.”
“As a fencing instructor?”
Ariel gestured toward his espada. “How many men have you killed since we first met?”
“None.”
Qhora looked at him sharply. “None? What about the robbers in Tingis?”
“I slashed their hands and struck them unconscious. It’s easy if you know where to hit,” he said sheepishly. “They probably woke up a few minutes after we left.”
“Yes,” Ariel said. “And you merely disarmed the bandit on the highway, just as you disarmed the woman in white at the marketplace. And you refrained from killing her at the train station. You even offered her alternative punishments. You are not afraid to fight for the law, but you fight with your mind as well as your sword. In fact, few men could do what you do. Destreza is the study of the skillful sword, not the blind sword or the murdering sword or the cruel sword. And you are a master diestro. The youngest in decades.”
“Then you’re saying that I should fight?”
“In the name of the Father, the Mother, and the Son. Yes. Fight for the law. Preserve life. Show mercy. You can do all three in a single stroke of your sword. You’ve been doing it for months, time and again. You are already walking a righteous path, Lorenzo.” Ariel smiled. “But you’ve let your illusions about piety and holiness blind you to that truth. God does not want us to lock ourselves away in cloisters and cells to pray and hide from the world. God wants us to live in the world, to shape the world, to teach the world. You are not a scholar, Lorenzo. We both know that. You are a soldier, but yours is the sword of life and law. Carry it proudly. Teach it to all who are willing to learn it. You could train a legion to fight with courage and honor to preserve life, not to kill. To truly fight in the service of God.”
Lorenzo rested his hand on the pommel of his espada, and for the first time in months he gripped it without fear or doubt. “The sword of life?”
Ariel nodded.
“And children?” He glanced at Qhora for the first time in several long moments and saw a curious look in her eye and slight smirk on her lip.
“But marriage means conversion, doesn’t it?” Qhora asked, turning a colder eye on the ghost. “You want me to be an Espani lady, to turn my back on my people and my gods and everything that tells me who I am.”
“Lady Qhora, you have already sacrificed so much. Your home, your family, your future. I’m in no position to ask you to sacrifice your gods. But you love this man. You want to spend your life with him? To have his children? Yes?”
Qhora nodded and Lorenzo felt a sudden flush in his chilled cheeks.
Ariel nodded back. “Then, as long as you intend to live in Espana, it seems a small concession to perform a brief ritual. Say the words, wear the triquetra, and read enough of the Book to discuss it with your neighbors and friends. You might be surprised how little effort would make you as pious as most Espani. But keep the gods and prayers of your people in your heart, if they bring you comfort and peace. Can you do that for Lorenzo? Can you do that for your children?”
Lorenzo watched the fiery wheels turning behind the princess’s eyes and for a moment he thought the argument he had been fearing was about to erupt, but instead Qhora nodded and turned back to face him. “I can do that. But only if you come back to me. Be my Enzo again. No more sulking, no more hiding. And one more thing.”
“What?” he asked.
“Smile, damn you.” She grabbed his collar and pulled him down toward her face.
The smile came on its own, stretching his cold and stiff cheeks, and they kissed. It was the warmest, softest sensation he had felt in over a year and it only ended when he ran out of air. But as he straightened up he saw clearly how blue her lips had become and turned to say his farewells to Ariel, but the ghost had vanished. “Come.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here. We have things to do.”
“What things?”
He smiled. “Everything.”
Chapter 33. Syfax
The marshals’ office in Arafez was nearly identical to the one in Tingis and Syfax quickly threaded a path through the hallway traffic to the locker room where he took a quick shower and changed into someone else’s clothes and boots. With the slime and smell of the Zemmour Canal finally gone, he found the records room where he took one look at the rows and rows of cabinets before asking the clerk to find an address and any files on Barika Chaou. The young woman appeared to be in no particular hurry until he presented his badge for verification and she saw his name etched along the bottom of it. Within three minutes, Chaou’s file was in his hand.
The first few pages were standard. Education, work history, current and previous residences. But the list of known contacts and associates read as a who’s who of the wealthy elite of Marrakesh, Espana, and Numidia. It went on for pages, names of people followed by brief descriptions of how and why Chaou knew them. Bankers, diplomats, merchants, generals, admirals, princes, and countless others that meant nothing to him. The file was long, detailed, and therefore useless. It gave him a thousand leads and none of them were people he could reasonably shove up against a wall in a dark alley. Syfax flipped to the back of the folder to the errata and found a few pages of miscellany, some letters and memos, most of it several years old.
He tossed the file onto the clerk’s desk and rubbed his eyes.
“No help, sir?” the clerk said.
“Not really. Give me the one on Lady Sade.”
She hesitated for a bare instant before taking back the Chaou file and fetching the one on Lady Sade. It landed on the desk with a heavy thump and Syfax exhaled slowly. “Is there a shorter version?”
The clerk smiled and shook her head. “Sorry, sir.”
He opened it to find a longer and more detailed version of Chaou’s. Lady Sade’s entire family history, all of her business dealings and associates and all of their histories and associates, and on and on. Chaou was there, briefly. So was Fariza Othmani. But he only found them because they were listed alphabetically. There was nothing obviously helpful about either of them.
Syfax groaned and tried to ignore the gnawing in his belly. “All right, help me out. If you were rich and powerful, and doing something totally illegal, would you meet with your friends at your own house where you can control the security or would you meet somewhere else, somewhere hidden, somewhere private?”
“Do you mean Lady Sade and the ambassador, sir?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, if I had to guess, I’d try the Onyx Club. Very exclusive. Tight security. And it wouldn’t arouse suspicion if every rich and powerful person in the country happened to be there at one time.” The clerk drummed her fingers on the desk. “Definitely the Onyx Club, sir.”
The Onyx Club was a long hour’s walk from the marshal’s office, but the major eventually found the towering building across the street from a massive park. The armored doors huddled behind a row of Hellan columns and the ground floor windows were all curtained. The upper windows revealed only the massive chandeliers suspended from the ceilings and the shadows of servants passing in front of the bright electric lights. Syfax paused long enough to observe the two small boys in matching blue uniforms standing side by side in front of the doors before he turned
