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

by Carney, Michael

  “There—that should hold you safely, signorina,” said Uicenzo politely.

  Chrymos stood stunned. He was so fast. He moves like a spider! How did he do that?

  Henricus looked indecently pleased with himself as he smiled at Chrymos. “We will continue this conversation down below.” Then he turned away from Chrymos and began issuing instructions. “Let’s get off this rooftop and take her to the cart.”

  Chrymos glanced at Henricus, and saw that his attention was momentarily diverted. She looked carefully at the knot securing the rope to the chimney and then examined the manner in which most of the rope had been wound around her body. She had a split second to act. Her mind rebelled. I can’t believe I’m going to do this!

  She ran to the edge, the rope tightening behind her, and threw herself off the roof.

  NINE

  Seconds later

  Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 9.30 p.m., Monday January 18 1610

  Henricus stood frozen for a moment—he could not believe what had just happened. Then he rushed to the edge of the roof and looked down, expecting to see the young woman’s body splattered on the ground.

  Instead he saw an incredible sight. Chrymos was unraveling the rope around her body, whirling round and round like an adult-sized spinning top while the rope unwound around her, slowing her descent. Henricus glanced back at the chimney. The other end of the rope was still firmly attached, a factor that Chrymos had clearly taken into account before throwing herself off the roof.

  He turned his attention back to Chrymos, grinning in admiration. Well played, signorina, well played indeed.

  He waited a moment, watched as the rope completed its unwinding. Chrymos had now freed her hands and was well able to control her final descent to the street below. She stooped to retrieve her cap—the solitary casualty of the rooftop plunge, it had tumbled off her head as she spun. Then Chrymos curtsied daintily towards the rooftop where Henricus stood, before accelerating down the street towards the bustle and noise of the Strada di Toledo. Was that curtsey for me, Chrymos? This isn’t goodbye. We’re not done with you yet.

  Shouting out instructions as he rushed towards the trapdoor which led to the interior stairwell, Henricus couldn’t help but grin. He was still smiling as he led the chase down the stairs and back out onto the streets.

  TEN

  Earlier That Night

  In the woods, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 7 p.m. Monday January 18 1610

  The rain had settled in for the evening, intermittent showers adding to the misery of an already cold night in the city of Naples. To make matters worse, Chrymos and the three children in her care were living rough. A week earlier, they had been forced to leave the rooftop attic that had been their home for the past year—Naples was now the fastest growing city in Europe and every available building was needed to house the population explosion. Even properties of dubious merit such as the dilapidated attic—which, thought Chrymos, should actually have been demolished—were being pressed back into service to meet the desperate demand.

  Chrymos and the children—Olivia, Madalena and Sirus—had not yet found a new place to live and so for the past several nights they had found rudimentary shelter in the woods on the edge of Naples’ central residential district. Most of the trees in that area had shed their leaves for the winter so, with rain imminent, the foursome had set up for the night under a stand of evergreen cypress trees. Unfortunately the rain had now arrived and was proving heavier than expected. As a result, the trees and their leaves were becoming more and more soaked, and so were Chrymos and her charges.

  “It’s going to be another dreadful night, I’m afraid,” said Chrymos as the four of them huddled together under a cloak at the base of one of the largest cypress trees they could find, “but at least this rain will discourage the lazzaroni.” The previous night, they’d been forced to move when a group of beggars had turned up in the middle of the night and decided that they wanted the spot that Chrymos and the children were occupying. It hadn’t been worth getting into a fight about, so the four of them had moved further into the woods. This latest location was a compromise—far enough into the woods that they probably wouldn’t be disturbed, yet not so far that the children might get lost.

  “Is there any bread left?” asked Olivia. At around eleven years old—Chrymos’ best guess at her age—Olivia was the youngest of the three children. She was a bright and bubbly girl, usually the most optimistic of them all. Two years earlier, Chrymos had found Olivia, starving and nearly dead, outside Naples’ vice-regal palace. The palace guards had shown absolutely no interest in the young waif, ignoring her feeble cries for help. Chrymos had rescued the girl and taken her to the Pio Monte Della Misericordia, the charity brotherhood, where they nursed her back to some semblance of health. Once she had recovered sufficiently, unfortunately, Olivia was no longer permitted to remain amongst the sick and incurable so Chrymos once again stepped in and took the young girl under her wing.

  Chrymos reached for her treasured swete bagge, the large embroidered bag that she had recovered from discarded trash outside one of Florence’s aristocratic homes. She fossicked around inside the oh-so-carefully repaired bag, careful to shield its contents from the rain, and fished out a solitary chunk of stale millet bread.

  Chrymos broke the loaf into three smaller segments and handed a piece to each child. “We’ll get some more tomorrow.” I hope. She tried not to think of eating, despite the urgings of her stomach, as she watched the children nibbling at what remained of their food.

  “At least we’re going to have fresh water tonight,” said thirteen-year-old Madalena, nodding towards the makeshift bowl they had placed in the nearby clearing to catch rainwater. Occasionally Chrymos was able to draw clean drinking water from one of the hundreds of public wells fed by the Bolla aqueduct, though more often than not the locals chased her away—there were now too many people in Naples and the aqueducts simply couldn’t supply enough fresh water for them all. On those occasions, Chrymos and the children had to settle for foul-smelling—and worse-tasting—water from a horse trough.

  Madalena, quiet by nature, stayed with Chrymos and the others out of choice rather than necessity. The alternative was to live with her mother, Caterina, a woman who survived on the streets by entertaining male guests. Madalena hadn’t said much about her mother to Chrymos—but had clearly opted to run away and hide rather than observe her mother’s slow disintegration. As for Madalena’s father, if the girl did know who he was she hadn’t shared that fact with Chrymos.

  Sirus—newly fourteen and increasingly impetuous—unexpectedly leapt to his feet and began climbing the tree they had all been sheltering under, dislodging showers of droplets that cascaded down onto the others. He responded to their loud protests semi-apologetically. “Sorry about that, but I need to check out one of those buildings.”

  Without stopping to explain further, Sirus clambered up the tree, grabbing rain-drenched branches. Sirus had been living with Chrymos and the others for three months, and had said little about his past life except a gruff “I ran away”. From his occasional comments since, Chrymos had concluded that Sirus must have taken exception to his father’s future plans for his life and had opted to strike out on his own. She had refrained from suggesting to Sirus that life back with his family surely must be an improvement on this current existence It would be best if Sirus reached that conclusion on his own.

  Sirus kept climbing until he arrived at a suitable vantage point on a branch high above. He raised a hand to cover his eyes from the rain and stared down at the residential area bordering the woods. The buildings in that part of the city were mostly tall, multi-story affairs of brick or stone construction, dark and gloomy in midwinter. It didn’t take long for Sirus to discover the exception.

  He shouted down to the others. “Someone’s lit a bonfire on the roof of the old Tirabosco building!” The building in question, once owned by a leading local family, had been abandoned for many years, and not even the
current property boom could make it habitable again—scavengers regularly looted the building, carrying off bricks, timbers and whatever else they could cut or chip away, effectively rendering the whole building unsafe.

  “What else can you see?”

  Sirus squinted through the rain. “It’s not easy to see from here, but—no, wait!” Forgetting where he was, Sirus jumped a little in excitement—not enough to make him fall, but enough to send a fresh wave of raindrops hurtling downward. “I can see people standing beside the bonfire, and at least some of them are local street people that we know. There’s Gasparo, I’d know that limp of his anywhere. And that must be, I’m sure it is, Signore Spizega, he used to chase me away when I was younger.” Sirus smiled at the memory.

  Olivia hopped up and down, tugging at Chrymos’ tunic. “Can we go? Can we go? I’m so cold here.”

  Chrymos looked over at Madalena, who nodded. For such a quiet girl, that tiny movement constituted a ringing endorsement.

  “Get yourself down here, Sirus, we’re going to a bonfire,” called Chrymos. The two girls showed their excitement in their own way, Olivia by clapping her hands and burbling with glee, Madalena with a slight smile.

  While she waited for Sirus to make his descent, Chrymos gathered her precious swete bagge and stashed it inside a gap in a nearby tree-trunk, out of sight and away from the rain. Then she reached down to the ground, scooped up some mud and smeared it on the faces of Madalena and Olivia. It wasn’t much protection, but it might help render them both a little less desirable to some of the street predators who preyed on the weak and helpless.

  Once Sirus had reached the ground, Chrymos called them all together. “We’re going over to the bonfire, but we need to be alert. This could be a good Samaritan being generous—or it could be a trap, perhaps some sailors recruiting for their navy. So let’s go through our standard precautions again. What do we do if strangers get too close?”

  “We run,” Olivia said.

  “To where?” Chrymos knew that the three of them would be annoyed having to go through all this again and again, but she considered it vital that they were all quite certain of what they had to do in the event of danger.

  “Where we always go,” said Madalena quietly. “La Lanterna—the lighthouse at the port.”

  Chrymos persisted. “And what should you do if anything goes wrong at La Lanterna?”

  “Really? Again?” asked Sirus, rolling his eyes.

  Chrymos nodded.

  Sirus sighed. “Run to the soldiers guarding the customs building.”

  “Correct,” said Chrymos. “Remember, they won’t actually help you, but anyone who might want to harm you should run away once they see the soldiers and their muskets.”

  “Yeah, I think we know that now,” said Sirus. “After all, you’ve only told us fifty times this month.”

  I suppose I deserved that, Chrymos thought as they began to thread through the trees towards the welcoming bonfire. They’re not helpless, merely young—and getting older and more street-savvy every day.

  Madalena and Sirus strode along quietly by themselves, but Olivia clung to Chrymos’ hand. She looked up at Chrymos, smiling as she spoke. “You’re so wise. I guess you had to learn all this when you were a similar age to us.”

  Chrymos had been dreading this moment.

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything before five years ago.”

  ELEVEN

  Several minutes after Chrymos escaped from the rooftop

  Strada di Toledo, Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 9.40 p.m., Monday January 18 1610

  As soon as Chrymos was out of sight of Henricus and the others on the rooftop, she turned down towards the port, hoping to find a shortcut through which she could head directly to La Lanterna where the children should be waiting. But every street she inspected had groups of what must surely be Academy thugs loitering at the other end. I’d better try to lose them all on the Strada di Toledo, she finally decided, especially now that it’s stopped raining.

  The Strada di Toledo was the boisterous heart of Naples in 1610—the noisiest place in the world, some called it—bursting with life, art, and commerce, even at this hour of the night. The street was crowded, with artisans plying their trade, with street vendors hawking their wares in a flurry of gesticulating arms and frenetic voices, with beggars pouring out their sad stories to any sympathetic mark—and with pickpockets and other ne’er-do-wells slithering through the crowds in search of easy pickings. Sometimes it seemed that the entire population of Naples was crammed into this single street, endlessly searching for cheap goods, quick meals, transitory entertainment or the promise of exotic treasures from around the world. In short, the Strada di Toledo was a never-ending marketplace that was the envy of Europe, vice and virtue on display day and night—and usually for sale for the right price.

  Chrymos emerged from a side street, paused until she spotted a momentary break in the streaming parade of passersby and then plunged into the mêlée. Obliged to move at the same pace as those around her, she waited as the crowd paused to watch a shoemaker cut out an intricate pattern, advanced a little as the crowd surged in response to entreaties from butchers offering sausages, entrails, and other supposed delicacies, then stopped again as trinket traders displayed a wide range of colorful ornaments made from lava. Locals were dismissive of this cheap junk but out-of-town visitors tended to stop and admire such unusual offerings.

  Chrymos typically avoided the Strada di Toledo—it was a place to buy, sell, steal or beg, none of which Chrymos had any interest in doing—but on this chaotic evening it was an ideal place to hide. The street also slanted down towards the port, her ultimate destination, so Chrymos was content to move with the crowd, despite its stop-start progress. There’s another benefit to being here, observed Chrymos as she waited for the crowd to move along. The Academy people won’t be able to use their powers openly in the midst of this crowd. Witchcraft like that is quickly punished by the most gruesome tortures, even in these more enlightened times.

  The lava baubles were left behind as the crowd inched forward again, and for a moment Chrymos thought that the parade might move along at a faster pace. But no. A popular vendor of macaroni, Naples’ favorite dish—at least among the poorer classes—had his stall set up a short distance ahead, and he was swamped by eager buyers, once again bringing the procession to a standstill.

  Chrymos, hoping to bypass this latest obstruction, squeezed through the crowd to its outer edge. It was a risky move—not only might Chrymos be seen by the Academy’s men, she could also fall or be accidentally pushed into the hectic carriageway that bordered this pedestrian area. A steady stream of carts and carriages, containing the wealthy and the wannabes of Naples aristocracy, constantly clattered through the Strada di Toledo. The noise from carriage wheels on lava slabs was bad enough, but the continual clanging of bells exaggerated the commotion. The bells, fastened to the necks of the donkeys ferrying their passengers through the city streets, were intended to warn away the unwary. Unfortunately, the combined cacophony had the opposite effect, overwhelming the senses of all those within range.

  The crowd ahead was still not moving—this vendor’s macaroni dishes were the most popular on the whole Strada di Toledo—so Chrymos spent a few minutes considering her best course of action. Should I continue to move along gradually with the crowd, and wait to cross the road when they do—or should I dash across the street right here, through the carriage traffic? Of course, if I do that I’ll be in plain sight if any of the Academy’s men happen to be watching.

  A shout from one of the carts made the decision for her. “There she is!” Several men on that cart had been searching the crowd as their vehicle clattered down the street and had spotted her.

  Chrymos plunged back into the crowd, pushing through despite protests from those waiting their turn for the delicious macaroni. Politeness was no longer a luxury she could afford. Behind her, she heard even more strident complaints—two of the Academy’
s men had jumped from the cart and were in hot pursuit. They were in no mood to be gentle as they elbowed through the crowd.

  The crowd thinned again once she was past the macaroni vendor, which was both good and bad news. I can move faster now, but so can they. How can I slow them down?

  As she ran, Chrymos constantly scanned her surroundings, turning left and right in a desperate search for some distraction that would slow down her pursuers. In another fifty feet, she saw that she would be faced with another dense crowd of onlookers, watching enthralled as an itinerant gleeman told bawdy tales whilst showing off his juggling skills. If I can’t think of how to stop those chasing me, they’ll definitely catch up when I hit that next crowd.

  Another ten feet and she was panting now, she still hadn’t fully recovered from her earlier rooftop exertions. She started to lose hope—and then she saw a possible solution.

  A stand not far ahead belonged to a seafood seller, deeply engaged in haggling with a customer who was trying not to appear too eager. Chrymos wasn’t interested in the seller or the transaction—several large barrels caught her eye. The barrels, lying on their side near the stand, were clearly empty, having successfully transported their contents to market. A few boxes had been tossed in front of the barrels to stop them from rolling away.

  The deal successfully completed, the seafood seller turned aside to wrap a large fish that his customer had just agreed to purchase. Chrymos seized her moment.

  The men chasing her were a few feet away when Chrymos kicked the boxes out from in front of the barrels and then began rolling barrels towards her pursuers. They might have avoided a single barrel—in fact, one did so rather easily—but Chrymos rolled three barrels straight at them. The combination of multiple barrels plus the greasy seawater pouring out of each barrel proved too much and the two men slipped, slid, and went down.