Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series

by Carney, Michael

  Some choice curses floated up from below as the climbers started to realize that the ascent was not as easy as Chrymos had made it seem. Even so, they’re still coming, she thought. Either they’re very well paid or they truly fear their masters.

  Whatever the answer, Chrymos still had little choice. Twisting her body around until she could stand on the edge of the lower building, Chrymos steadied herself and then reached out with both hands to the wall opposite. She stretched to the top of the next block of stone and began pulling herself up with both hands until she could get a proper foothold. Her efforts were rewarded with a shot of pain. Ouch! I’d forgotten about those bruises. It was an unpleasant reminder that her left hand was already damaged.

  Two more blocks of stone to go. The building’s roof was tantalizingly close, almost within reach. Then Chrymos heard another shout from below, from near the passageway entrance.

  “Girardus, over here!”

  Chrymos risked another glance down, saw the new arrival leaping into the alleyway, jumping high into the air and bouncing easily from one wall to another. Before she could even realize she was holding her breath, Girardus had reached the shuttered window halfway up the wall and was comfortably perched beside it, deciding his next options.

  No more time to lose. Chrymos stretched up to the next block, pulled herself up in almost a single movement, despite the agonizing pain in her left hand. The surfaces of the highest blocks of stone were wet and slippery—unlike the lower blocks, these had no protection from the intermittent rain—and she almost lost her grip. Fortunately, she was able to retain enough traction to hold on with her fingers until her flailing feet found the gap between blocks. He’s nearly on me, she thought as she hurriedly stretched up to the top of the last block and began the final pain-punctuated ascent.

  As Chrymos pulled her body up, over the ledge that encompassed the roof and then dropped untidily about three feet onto the flat surface below, the rapidly-arriving Girardus overtook her. He leapt above her head, twirling in mid-air, landed on the rooftop, rolled and then jumped to his feet, in a virtually single movement. He turned to face Chrymos, crossing his arms and adopting a self-satisfied expression as he did so.

  “We’re done here,” Girardus said. “You put up a good race, but it’s over. Come quietly. The Academy needs you.”

  FIVE

  An instant later

  Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 9.15 p.m., Monday January 18 1610

  “I don’t think so,” said Chrymos, pulling herself to her feet and drawing the schiavona from her belt. She waved it, menacingly she hoped, in the direction of her assailant.

  “Really? A sword?” scoffed Girardus. “You think that will save you? After you’ve seen what I can do?” To illustrate his point, he jumped vertically into the air, somersaulted twice in mid-jump and then landed lightly, legs bent, arms held straight out towards Chrymos. The effect was spoiled slightly when one of Girardus’s feet slipped on the rain-soaked stones and gravel, airborne gifts from nearby Mount Vesuvius, which littered the roof.

  The schiavona did have one useful effect—it discouraged Girardus from coming too close, which gave Chrymos valuable time to examine her new surroundings. The crescent moon also began to emerge from concealing clouds and partly illuminate the roof, another precious gift.

  Even so, there wasn’t much to see, at least not on the rooftop upon which Chrymos and Girardus were perched. The roof itself was flat, except for a three-foot-high ledge that acted as a safety barrier between the roof and the perilous depths below. Over to the left, Chrymos could see the outline of a trapdoor, flush with the roof’s surface, which presumably led down inside the building. In the right-hand corner, a castellated chimney-pot coughed out smoke and soot—clearly the building was indeed occupied, even though there had been no external signs of life when Chrymos made her agonizing climb.

  What particularly caught her eye, however, was a reflected glow from about four buildings away.

  She looked again, glanced towards the port where the lighthouse, La Lanterna, dutifully warned away ships, did some quick distance calculations in her head. That nearby glow, she realized, must be the Strada di Toledo. If I can make it over to that street, hopefully I can get lost in the crowds.

  First, though, she needed to get past Girardus.

  “You want me for your ‘Academy’, don’t you?”

  “So I’ve been told,” said Girardus, “I have no idea why—you’d be the first and only female student there.”

  “Then—” Chrymos hopped up onto the nearest ledge, wavering for a moment but then quickly regaining her balance. “—you’d better stand back. You won’t want to have to report to your bosses that you made me fall down because you CAME TOO CLOSE!”

  Chrymos shouted these last words because Girardus was edging nearer and nearer. He looked suitably guilty as he took a step backwards.

  “Good,” said Chrymos. “So tell me about your Academy. What’s so bad about it that you have to drag recruits off the streets?”

  As Chrymos talked, she slowly, carefully, slid her sandals along the ledge, aiming to work around the building. She hoped to distract Girardus from noticing her movements—and to distract herself from noticing that she was five floors above the ground, inching along a slippery, narrow ledge from which she might topple at any moment.

  Neither distraction worked. Chrymos felt more and more unsafe as she edged along. And Girardus simply kept pace with her as she made her way from the left ledge to the center. She nearly tumbled as she navigated the ninety degree turn at the corner without looking down, but managed—just—to retain her balance.

  Girardus made no effort to seize her. He was keen to talk, to evangelize on behalf of the Academy, perhaps hoping that he could convince her to abandon her resistance. He launched into an explanation.

  “We’re recruiting on behalf of the Accademia dei Segreti.”

  “The Academy of Secrets? That sounds ominous,” said Chrymos, although her attention was mostly on where she placed her feet as she continued her perilous journey around the edge of the building.

  “As it happens, the Academy gained its name because of the many secrets we learn. Fascinating subjects. Diplomacy, battle strategies, hands-on training in various fighting styles, we even study—” Girardus looked around to ensure that no-one else was listening. “—weapons, deadly poisons and my personal favorite, spy craft.”

  He looked around once more, lowered his voice conspiratorially. “The most important topic we learn about is alchemy. As you may be aware, the Church has banned the use of alchemy, so that’s the main reason why we can’t promote the Academy openly. Even so, we still attract many new students every year, from some of Naples’ finest families. In addition, we’re always seeking candidates with the right kind of potential—” Girardus looked around yet again to ensure that no-one else was listening, a rather pointless exercise on this deserted rooftop in the middle of the night. “—because once we graduate, we’re given a very special Exousía potion—that’s Greek, it means ‘power’—which provides us with our own unique abilities. Henricus—he’s the one leading our team tonight—he’s told us that you yourself have immense potential.”

  Chrymos was both intrigued and horrified. “Sounds like someone’s planning a war.”

  “Oh, the Lost War’s coming, alright,” Girardus said nonchalantly. “The Academy’s helping to ensure that we’re ready for it.”

  Exactly who is ‘we’? Chrymos wondered. But she didn’t pose that question to Girardus, because she had now reached the right-hand ledge that was her intended destination and needed to focus on her next move. She turned and then, before wiser thoughts could prevail, threw herself towards the building that was her next destination.

  SIX

  One second later

  Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 9.20 p.m., Monday January 18 1610

  Chrymos leapt unsteadily across the deadly gap, grasping desperately at the ledge of her target. After a nervous mome
nt, her left hand and the hilt of her sword combined to gain her a safe perch on the other side.

  She lay on the newly-achieved rooftop briefly, steadying her nerves, until Girardus inevitably joined her. For him, the leap from rooftop to rooftop had been a trivial feat.

  Once Girardus could see that Chrymos was unhurt, he began to deliver a stern lecture.

  “That was so foolish. You could have been killed.”

  “I wasn’t, so spare me the lecture,” Chrymos snapped back. She stood up, sword still threatening Girardus, and confirmed her earlier impression. This building was under repair and the rooftop was crowded with construction equipment and materials, including a treadwheel-powered crane. This I can use.

  She adopted a more conciliatory tone. “Thanks for your concern, though. Your jumping skills,” she asked, “are they natural or as a result of Academy training?”

  “Both,” came the quick response. “I was always nimble, but the Academy training very definitely helped—and then the Exousía potion multiplied my skills immensely.”

  “So what exactly can you do?” Chrymos asked. “Could you, for example—” She singled out a number of places on the rooftop. “—leap from where you are up to the ledge, down to that pile of bricks and from there to the top of the chimney, then onto that scaffold and down onto the roof beside that crane?”

  “Watch me,” said Girardus. He launched himself into a spectacular display of hopping, sliding, tumbling, rolling and jumping, as he ricocheted along the route that Chrymos had indicated.

  She wasn’t really watching him, though. Rather she was poised expectantly. As soon as Girardus completed his final somersault and spiraled in to land at precisely the designated rooftop position beside the crane, Chrymos sent the schiavona hurtling towards his landing spot.

  “Missed me,” he laughed, landing safely while the sword flashed past him.

  “Not really,” she said. The sword embedded itself into the stack of wooden beams near the chimney, having sliced neatly through a rope on its short journey.

  That rope, in its turn, had been threaded through a pulley attached to the crane, and had been securing a load of building materials which had been painstakingly hauled up from street level using the crane and treadwheel. Without the rope’s support, the wooden beams were no longer suspended, but cascaded downwards onto the unsuspecting Girardus, simultaneously pinning him to the ground and knocking him unconscious.

  Chrymos casually walked over, retrieved her sword, and secured it to her belt. “Thanks for the offer,” she said to the unheeding Girardus, “but I think I’ll pass.”

  Shouts from behind extinguished her own cockiness. Chrymos glanced back to see that several of the Academy’s men had successfully repeated her original climb and were even now starting to clamber onto the rooftop of the building that she had so recently left. It would be the work of but a few moments for them to rush across that building’s roof and then leap to her current location. I need to move.

  Chrymos rushed to the side of the building furthest away from her pursuers and peered down to the street below. No good—there are even more of them down there, they’ll see me if I try to climb down. I’ll simply have to keep going over the rooftops.

  The distance from her current position across to the next building was significantly greater. I’m going to need a decent run-up for this.

  Chrymos selected a plank of timber and dragged it into place against the top of the far ledge, forming a makeshift ramp. Ignoring the growing shouts from behind her, as her pursuers saw what she was doing, she repeated the action with a second plank, allowing herself a margin of error—at least in the run-up.

  Once I start that jump—Chrymos feared that if she finished that sentence, she wouldn’t have the nerve to make the attempt.

  Instead, she ran back to the opposite side of the building, startling her pursuers who were deciding whether or not they could successfully cross a much narrower gap. Chrymos took a deep breath and then ran at full acceleration across the roof and up the ramp, launching herself over the wide chasm that stood between her and freedom.

  Too late, Chrymos realized that she had misjudged the distance, or the angle, or both. Her trajectory was not enough to take her to the top of the building. Instead, she slammed into the side of the wall, about two feet short of the top, and began to slide down.

  SEVEN

  Long seconds later

  Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 9.25 p.m., Monday January 18 1610

  Scratching, scraping, Chrymos desperately sought to find some handhold, something to stop her fall. Unfortunately this wall was plastered—there were no blocks or bricks that she could grasp.

  Chrymos slid down another two feet. She was moments away from losing contact with the wall entirely, when her left hand finally gained some purchase—a small area of plaster had chipped away, providing a scant edge that she could grasp. She clung fearfully to this small lifeline, but at the same time, she despaired. Her entire bodyweight dangled from that single, damaged hand. I can’t hold on for very long, I can already feel my hand starting to lose its strength.

  Frantically, Chrymos reached around with her right hand, hoping she could find another handhold. She found none—the section where the plaster had broken away was a fortunate but all too rare exception—and its usefulness would soon come to an end, when the bruised hand finally failed.

  Hope was fading—and, even though her mind labored at fever pitch, cycling through possible alternatives, Chrymos couldn’t think of any. The muscles in her left hand were beginning to spasm. The end was near.

  And then a rope came spiraling down from above and a voice shouted. “Hold on, don’t let go. I’ll be right there.”

  A few seconds later, sure enough, someone began climbing down the wall towards Chrymos, holding on to the rope with two hands—while using two more hands to reach out and grab Chrymos by the arms and another two hands to hold her around the waist.

  Her six-armed savior held her firmly in his grasp and began climbing back up the rope.

  EIGHT

  A few minutes later

  Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 9.27 p.m., Monday January 18 1610

  Chrymos was released as soon as her rescuer reached the rooftop.

  She was not alone. In fact, it seemed that most of the Academy’s men were now clustered around her. Listening to their chatter, she gathered that their ascent to the rooftop was rather easier than hers—their leaders had encouraged the building’s residents to allow them access through the building’s internal stairs.

  A well-dressed young man introduced himself as “Henricus, at your service,” and politely asked for her name.

  “You chase me halfway across Naples and you don’t know who I am?” Chrymos was indignant.

  “True, I don’t know who you are,” said Henricus, “but I do know what you are—the most ideal candidate for the Academy that we’ve ever come across.” Henricus bowed low, no irony intended.

  Chrymos appreciated the gesture, though she was convinced that Henricus must be either lying or mistaken, at least about her suitability for the Academy. I’m merely a street orphan. But perhaps I can use that belief to get him to tell me what I desperately want to know.

  “My name,” she informed him as she sat up, “is Chrymos.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Henricus, extending his hand. Chrymos simultaneously shook the offered hand and used it to pull herself to her feet. Henricus continued: “I look forward to getting to know you better at the Academy. It is my very real pleasure to invite you to join our little community.”

  “Really?” Chrymos was non-committal. “But before I can even start to consider your ‘offer’, I need to know what has happened to the others that your men had detained near the bonfire.”

  “Which others?” Henricus looked genuinely puzzled.

  “I guess you would call them all lazzaroni, though only a few deserve to be labeled beggars,” said Chrymos.

  “Oh, those. We le
t them all go when we chased after you,” said Henricus. Chrymos let out a deep sigh of relief, but Henricus wasn’t quite finished. “Well, most of them.”

  Chrymos almost panicked, until Henricus added, “We held onto one fellow, called—what was his name, Zulian?”

  “Adric.”

  “That’s right, Adric. He’s another talent bound for the Academy, along with one other fellow we picked up earlier this evening.”

  Chrymos was finally free to relax. Adric was taken—that was a major concern. But at least the children were safe—from these particular marauders, anyway. Now all I have to do is escape so that I can rendezvous with the three of them.

  Chrymos scrutinized her current surroundings. Another plain rooftop, except that its roof sloped sharply down on one side. She gazed back at the building from which she had launched her nearly-fatal leap. Several more of her former pursuers were busily lifting up a stack of wooden beams, presumably those that had collapsed onto Girardus. They don’t seem to be in any hurry, so hopefully Girardus isn’t badly hurt.

  Henricus interrupted her train of thought. “Chrymos, let me introduce you to your rescuer, Uicenzo.”

  He beckoned to the young man, who came forward and bowed, his six hands performing intricate supplication gestures in perfect unison. “It was my pleasure to be of service to you, signorina.”

  “Thank you for your rescue, Uicenzo,” said Chrymos, “I am very grateful.”

  “Chrymos here,” Henricus informed Uicenzo, “has been trying very hard not to be noticed while she inspects her surroundings. I very much fear that she will soon try to run away from us again. Uicenzo, would you be so kind as to secure her so that such temptations are—out of reach.”

  Before Chrymos could even blink, Uicenzo sprang into action. With one hand, he seized the rope that he had previously employed to rescue her. He used several other hands to wind the rope around and around her arms and torso until Chrymos was completely wrapped in loops of strong cord. Uicenzo tucked one end under the coils of rope behind her back—the other end was still secured to the chimney to which it had been attached during the rescue effort.