Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series
Page 6
He called down to the pier. “Bring me a couple of those torches.”
Two torchbearers hastened to obey, climbing up the side of the derelict ship and passing their torches to Zulian. Two of the thugs already on the deck, either braver than their companions or more likely stung by Zulian’s words, stepped forward to claim the flaming lights.
In a show of bravado, one of the torch-carrying thugs strode determinedly to the darkened passageway and plunged below, followed a minute later by his slightly less enthusiastic colleague.
Not much could be heard at first but the clomping of the men’s boots on the wooden steps. Then the protesting screeches of wood on wood, as the men below pushed open long-unused hatches in search of their prey. Next came a few low murmurs as the men exchanged information and then—a sudden commotion, shouting, crashes, banging.
The men on deck exchanged glances and smiles. This long night would soon be over—and successfully, too, based on the noises emanating from below. All eyes went to the doorway, now not quite so dark as flickering torches began to emerge.
The first surprise was that the two torchbearers were backing rapidly out of the doorway, propelled backwards by whatever was in front of them.
The second surprise was that when their prey came into sight behind the two searchers, the young woman was clutching a small gunpowder barrel under one arm.
The third and most unwelcome surprise of all was that the gunpowder barrel had a fuse cord attached, and the fuse was fizzing and sparking and burning steadily, perhaps a third of its way towards what promised to be a highly explosive encounter with the gunpowder within the barrel.
EIGHTEEN
Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 11.45 p.m. Monday January 18 1610
Chrymos stood on the deck, heart pounding, fuse cord fizzing a few inches from her face. Pretending a calmness she almost certainly did not feel, Chrymos called out to the men around her, who were all backing away from the explosive threat she carried. “Run. Get out of here. Otherwise—” She glanced down at the burning fuse, the fire now halfway through its journey to the barrel. “—I think you know what will happen.”
One of the thugs found his voice. “You wouldn’t dare. You’ll be blown up as well.”
“Are you willing to risk your life to find out who has the biggest fede?” Chrymos threw the challenge back at him.
That did it. The men on the deck of the Napolitana rushed to the side of the ship and threw themselves over, some managing to climb down carefully, others slipping and falling with muffled thumps on the pier below. At least one of the thugs must have injured himself—his panicked screams contrasted with the peace that now reigned on the ship’s deck.
Chrymos could see only a single man remaining—not standing on the deck but rather clinging to its side. She recognized him from her earlier encounter. “Zulian, isn’t it?” He nodded. “Do you have a death wish, Zulian, or are you too afraid to move?”
Zulian smiled. “Neither.” He turned to another Academy man who was just climbing into view. “Tranquilo, it’s all yours.”
The newcomer braced himself with one arm against the side of the ship and then stretched the other arm skywards. A moment later, torrential rain poured down from above, drenching the Napolitana deck in general and Chrymos in particular.
The fuse, overwhelmed by this intense downpour, hissed, sizzled and then died with a whimper, still two inches short of its goal.
Chrymos, still getting soaked as the rain bucketed down upon her, acted almost instinctively. She grabbed the barrel with both hands and threw it towards Zulian, while at the same time rushing to the seaward side of the Napolitana, away from the pier. Perhaps I can swim to safety, she thought as she climbed over the rail and scrambled downwards towards the water.
Alas, her hastily-constructed escape wasn’t to be. The moment that her trailing foot touched the freezing waters of the Gulf of Naples, Chrymos realized that there would be no exit that way, only a miserable death. She looked up. Zulian was gazing down at her from the deck above. “A little bit cold even for you, I think,” he said. He turned, called to someone that Chrymos couldn’t see from her position. “Help her up.”
A few moments later, two of the Academy’s men had climbed down, one on each side of Chrymos, and roughly hauled her back up to the deck. She was still soaking wet, courtesy of Tranquilo’s torrential rain, so at a nod from Zulian one of her rescuers went to fetch a blanket from the cart. The other rescuer held her arm firmly—he was obviously taking no chances that she might escape again.
Chrymos reached up to seize the chain around her neck but her captor was on the alert for such moves. He reached around and tugged on the neck chain, breaking it in the process. “Oh no you don’t, signorina!”
The chain fell to the deck, along with its attached bodice dagger which had been hidden under Chrymos’ tunic dress. A nearby thug quickly scooped up the dagger and tucked it into his belt, well out of her reach.
Chrymos was finally defenseless. Zulian walked over to her, frowning. He held the gunpowder barrel with which Chrymos had threatened her pursuers. “Empty, I see,” he said, peering under the lid of the barrel.
“The ship’s been tied up here for twenty years,” said Chrymos. “Did you truly think there’d be any weapons left onboard? I found what little was left of the armory—a few empty barrels and a couple of fuse cords—and that gave me an idea. I fastened a fuse cord to one of the barrels. Then when your men came below, I was able to light the fuse from one of their flaming torches. They lost interest in capturing me as soon as I threatened to blow us all up.”
“Nice bluff,” said Zulian, “and it might have worked, too, if it wasn’t for Tranquilo and his storm powers.”
He beckoned to Chrymos. “Now let’s get off this wreck. I’m sure Henricus will be very glad to see you.”
NINETEEN
Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 11.55 p.m. Monday January 18 1610
A few minutes later, Chrymos, a blanket now wrapped around her, was escorted to the Academy’s cart. Henricus, standing nearby, smiled as she approached.
Henricus was surprisingly friendly, despite the fact that he and his men had been led on such a merry chase. He took her aside and spoke quietly. “What happens now is up to you, Chrymos. If you hadn’t thrown yourself off that roof—which was amazingly brave, by the way—we would already have had this conversation, and you would either be happily accompanying me to the Academy or heading back for yet another freezing night on the streets.”
Henricus shivered and pulled his cloak around himself before continuing. “Here’s what you need to know. The Academy represents an incredible opportunity for you. I’ve already told you that you show more potential than anybody else at the Academy. What I didn’t have the chance to tell you—” Chrymos blushed, conscious that her own actions had prevented that part of the conversation. “—is that this prediction comes from Contessa Della Porta. She’s the wife of the Master of the Academy, and she’s definitely the power behind his throne.”
“But how,” asked Chrymos, “can she possibly know of my potential? She’s never met me, I can’t believe she’s even heard of me. I’m just an orphan from the streets. I don’t even know who my parents were.”
“I don’t know the answer to your question,” replied Henricus, “but what I can tell you is that the Contessa is one of the most gifted of the Alchemae. That’s what we call members of the Academy who have been provided with the Exousía potion,” he added. “After years of intensive study, those who graduate are given that very special treatment. We all gain powers, but those gifts vary from person to person. Clearly, the Contessa believes that you have great potential. Once you graduate successfully from the Academy, she expects you to manifest mighty powers, to use for the greater good of the Kingdom of Naples, the Spanish Empire, and the Holy Catholic Church.”
Chrymos was shocked—and more than a little flattered. For as long as she could remember—admittedly, only five years—she had been
nobody. Rejected by her parents—whomever they were—then ignored, chased or spat upon by the good citizens of first Florence and then Naples.
“So you’re saying—” she began.
“—that if you don’t want to take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime offer,” continued Henricus, “then off you go, sorry to bother you, have a nice life. Otherwise, come with us tonight. Regular meals, clean clothing, a little money and the opportunity to really make a difference.”
Probably without realizing it—at least, not consciously—Henricus had said the words that Chrymos most wanted to hear. Not food, not money, but being able to do something meaningful in the world. But there was one problem. The children. How can I leave them? Could I still help them if I was at the Academy?
There was one way to find out. She had to ask Henricus. “Could I bring any children with me?”
Henricus was startled. “You have children?”
“No, certainly not—but I’ve been caring for three street kids. Can I bring them along as well?”
Henricus gave an unwelcome answer. “No, sorry, I don’t see how. The Academy is—not a safe place for children. Too many things that could poison them, blow them up or turn them into pillars of stone—and too many reckless students experimenting, sometimes with powers beyond their control.”
“What about free time?” asked Chrymos. “If I can’t bring the children with me, could I at least go and visit them regularly?”
Henricus replied honestly. “You’ll be kept extremely busy, you won’t have many hours to yourself.”
“I was afraid that would be your answer,” said Chrymos sadly.
Henricus wasn’t finished. “Every Sunday, after Mass, we do have the afternoon off. You could visit the children then—the Academy isn’t far from the city. We’re on the Capodimonte hill, close to the Catacombs of San Gennaro.”
Chrymos was about to decline the offer when Henricus spoke again. And his next words suggested that he could finally understand what mattered to his potential recruit. “Let me say this, Chrymos. If you simply care about what happens to those particular children, then leave us and go home now. If you believe that you are absolutely the only person who can look after them and ensure that they survive right now, don’t let me stop you.”
Chrymos started to respond, but Henricus held up his hand. “Let me finish. On the other hand, if you want to be in a position to save not just those three children but in fact a great many people, young and old alike, then the very best thing you could do is join the Academy. This is your big chance to escape the streets, to become somebody—not merely for yourself but for them as well. Then, when the critical moment comes, when you graduate and attain your full powers, you will finally be in a position to reach out and help those in need.”
Henricus’ comments touched Chrymos. “Thank you for saying that,” she said quietly.
She wasn’t decided yet. “I have another question. From what Girardus said, most of the classes at the Academy are geared towards war, fighting, or spying. They don’t sound like topics that I’d enjoy, or even be good at learning.”
Henricus stood very still and stared into her eyes. When he spoke, it was so softly that no-one but Chrymos could hear him. “There’s a war coming, Chrymos, a titanic war in which we will be fighting powers beyond imagining. For reasons that we don’t yet understand, it will be called the Lost War. This war will dwarf the petty battles we’ve seen between countries such as Spain, the Netherlands, France, or England. The only way—the only way,” he stressed, “that any of us can make a difference in this war is if we also have powers. Special powers that, yes, will require us to fight, on behalf of humanity—but powers that will also enable us to protect those we care about.”
Henricus sighed. “My own skill, such as it is, is very minor. It allows me to identify people who have powers—or who have the potential to respond favorably to the transforming Exousía potion that the Academy uses. But you, my dear—” He stood back for a moment, staring so intently at Chrymos that she blushed. “The Contessa prophesied this very morning that you will gain such mighty powers that, in her words, ‘the Master will achieve his greatest success in the forthcoming Lost War.’”
Henricus took another step back, and then bowed. “In other words, Chrymos, you are the secret weapon that can turn the tide in this war. You’re that important to us.”
Chrymos was definitely attracted to the offer. But I can’t leave the children on their own—I just can’t.
“I’m sorry, Henricus, I’d like to come with you but I simply can’t do it,” she told him. “The children depend on me.”
Henricus was taken aback, but he wasn’t about to give in so easily. “Okay, I think I understand. This isn’t just about you. It’s about those children as well. So what would it take to make them comfortable? Money? I can give you that—the Academy pays a signing bonus. Five piastre. The Master is very generous. In fact, let’s say six piastre. Then the children can easily split the money three ways.” He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out six coins. “There you go.”
Chrymos thought quickly. Two piastre was a typical week’s wages in Naples—and represented a small fortune for the homeless. Two piastre each would enable the children to survive for several months.
She took the money. “This isn’t a decision I can make by myself—I need to speak to the children. They’re waiting down by the lighthouse. Can you give me a few minutes?”
“Yes, of course,” said Henricus. “But please don’t take too long. We need to get back to the Academy as soon as we can. This evening’s escapades have already gone on for far longer than we planned. Our allies—” He looked over at the thugs milling around near the cart. “—will be expecting a much larger purse than usual for their efforts tonight.”
Chrymos blushed again—sorry, my fault—as she bustled down the pier towards La Lanterna. She still clutched the borrowed blanket around her but it failed to ease the chill that she felt in her heart.
TWENTY
A few minutes later
La Lanterna, Port of Naples, Kingdom of Naples, 12.05 a.m. Tuesday January 19 1610
Chrymos was immensely relieved to see that the children were unharmed, and waiting for her at the base of the lighthouse as arranged.
“You got away! I was so worried that you wouldn’t, especially when I saw so many of them running after you,” said Olivia, rushing to hug Chrymos. Madalena as usual said nothing but reached for her hand and clasped it fiercely. It was the injured hand, the left hand—Chrymos winced silently but squeezed Madalena’s hand tightly in response.
“Of course she would, I told you so, didn’t I?” said Sirus. He played with a stick of driftwood, pretending unconcern, but Chrymos could see that underneath the bravado he too was greatly relieved to see Chrymos alive, well, and evidently free. He hung back, but allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace as well.
Chrymos hugged the three children close to her for a minute or two. Then, conscious of Henricus’ request for a speedy return, she knelt down, bringing herself to the same height as the children. It’s now or never.
“I need the three of you to listen carefully,” Chrymos began, “because I have something very important to ask you.” She looked into the eyes of each of the children in turn. Madalena looked expectant, Olivia worried and Sirus—He looks belligerent, she decided. He thinks he knows what’s coming. And, sadly, he’s right.
Chrymos took a deep breath. “I realized tonight that I’ve been treating you all as if you can’t take care of yourselves. That’s no longer true. Perhaps it never was. You survived on the streets by yourselves long before you met me. I’ve showed you a few things but you already knew most of them.”
She turned to Madalena. “You know, your mother Caterina always told me that she would look after you—all three of you—if anything ever happened to me.”
Olivia’s eyes began to tear up. “But nothing’s happened to you, Chrymos, has it? Has it?”
Sirus was instantly on the attack. “When?”
Here it comes. “Now.”
“For how long?” That was Madalena.
Chrymos hated to answer that question. “It may be several years. But,” she hastened to add, “I will be able to visit you every Sunday afternoon.”
What happened next was exactly what Chrymos had feared. Olivia burst into tears, Madalena’s face went completely blank and Sirus—Sirus pulled himself away from Chrymos’ grasp and glared at her, as angry and sullen as he had been on the day they had first met.
His response was scathing. “You want us to make your decision for you, don’t you? You want us to absolve you of your guilt at dumping us. Sorry. Not going to happen. This is all on you.”
Sirus stepped back from Chrymos and then turned to the others. “Come on girls, let’s go.”
“What? No!” snapped Olivia, shocked. “She won’t leave us, will you Chrymos?” Her beseeching eyes combed Chrymos’ face, searching for reassurance.
Chrymos could give none. “I desperately wish I could stay with you,” she admitted, “but I can achieve so much more for all of us by seizing this opportunity.”
“More for you, you mean,” scoffed Sirus. “You get the job and the home and we get the street. Thank you so much for the ‘opportunity’.” He spat in disgust and turned his back.
Chrymos spoke quickly. “Wait—I have some money for you all. A signing bonus. Two piastre each.” She held out the coins as a peace offering.
Sirus didn’t even turn around. “Thirty pieces of silver? We don’t need your blood money, Chrymos. Like you said, we can manage perfectly well without you.”
Reluctantly, first Olivia and then Madalena slowly backed away from Chrymos and joined Sirus. He spoke again to Chrymos. “We’re going back to the tree. That’s where we’ll be tonight, if you decide to turn down this ‘job.’ After that, we move on. Don’t bother coming to ‘look after us’ on Sunday afternoons. We’re not interested.”