Ravid bowed his head slightly, embarrassed by the introduction. Archimedes continued.
“Ravid, let me introduce you to the team. I picked them all personally for this mission, selecting them from the volunteers who have been taking part in our enhanced powers program. Over here—” Archimedes nodded towards a young man in his mid-twenties, of average height, with a generous beard and frizzy light brown hair. “—we have Martin Wintour. Martin has been with us at Stonehenge since early 1606, ever since the unfortunate events of the Gunpowder Treason which led to the execution of Martin’s father and his uncle.”
Ravid couldn’t help himself—he looked startled.
Martin sighed. He’d obviously been through this often. “I swear to you, I was not part of the gunpowder conspiracy. I was cleared of any involvement five years ago, by the king’s interrogators.” He winced in remembered pain. “And Archimedes will tell you that your own people have examined me thoroughly and declared me innocent.”
“Your pardon, Martin,” said Ravid, “I was not at all concerned that you might have been involved in the Treason. I reacted the way I did because I was reminded of—another situation. If Archimedes trusts you, why should I do otherwise?”
Martin visibly relaxed. Archimedes continued with the introduction. “Martin’s unique ability is to control light and darkness.” At a nod from Archimedes, Martin waved a hand, plunging Ravid’s half of the bedroom into total darkness. Ravid could still see the others, thanks to his enhanced powers, but they couldn’t see him. “Thanks, Martin. That will be sufficient demonstration for now,” said Archimedes, and the light returned.
“If you find yourself needing to hide in broad daylight, Ravid,” said Archimedes, “Martin’s your man.”
Ravid nodded in acknowledgement. “A useful skill, Martin, thank you for volunteering.”
Martin managed a brief smile. “I am grateful for the opportunity. I cannot atone for the sins of my father and my uncle but at least I can make myself of some use for the greater good.”
Archimedes next beckoned to a stocky middle-aged man with flaming red hair. “Our next volunteer is Lochloinn, who comes to us from Scotland. There is—” Archimedes attempted to find a diplomatic phrase to describe the situation. “—a little bit of ‘history’ between Martin and Lochloinn.”
“Aye, and ye canna blame me fer that,” argued Lochloinn. “This man’s da tried to kill ma king.” The Scotsman all but snarled at Martin.
Archimedes responded aloud to Ravid’s mind-call whilst at the same time attempting to address Lochloinn’s spoken comments. “Fortunately, since we have proven Martin to be innocent of any involvement in the Treason, the two should be able to work together against our common enemies.” he added by mind-call.
“Lochloinn has the ability,” Archimedes continued aloud, “to mimic any muscle movement he can observe. His training at Stonehenge has included careful observation of many of the warriors in our ranks, and we have sent him undercover into a number of European battles to learn even more. He makes a formidable opponent, instantly learning the moves of those he fights against and as a result can quickly blunt their attacks.”
Ravid smiled at the Scotsman. “Thank you, Lochloinn, I look forward to working with you.”
Lochloinn inclined his head and then moved to the back wall of the tiny appartement, scowling at Martin as he did so. Archimedes turned his attention to the next recruit. “This is Sean FitzGerald,” announced Archimedes, indicating a clean-shaven blond-haired man with flashing green eyes. “Sean comes to us from Munster in Ireland. He and his brother Niall over here—” Archimedes indicated Sean’s brown-haired companion, eyes also an emerald green. “—are grandsons of the Earl of Desmond, who—met an unfortunate end whilst leading an unsuccessful Irish rebellion against Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. Sean and Niall are—you might style them ‘political refugees’. They are under our protection and have been enhanced to help us with our crusades.”
“And what power do you have, Sean?” asked Ravid.
“Oi kin stop people from movin’ jest by touchin’ ‘em,” offered Sean. “Archimedes here calls it ‘pah—’.” He struggled to find the correct English word.
“Paralysis,” ventured Archimedes. “The effect is temporary but in the right circumstances the skill can be life-saving.”
“And you, Niall?” Ravid turned to Sean’s brother.
Niall didn’t believe in wasting words. He crossed to the appartement door, bent down and slithered through the tiny gap between the door and the floor. He was obliged to leave his shoes behind but all the rest of him somehow oozed through the gap. Ravid, stunned, looked to Archimedes. “Yes, he can squeeze and stretch and bend and twist into or out of almost anything,” Archimedes confirmed. “I have no idea how that’s even physically possible—but Niall has acquired that power through our enhancement program.”
Niall squeezed back into the room, this time through the gap at the top of the door, and then flowed down to the floor. He then restored his body to normal human dimensions, retrieved his shoes and, with a cheeky grin, bowed low to Ravid and then rejoined his brother.
Archimedes cleared his throat to regain Ravid’s attention. “There is one more of us for you to meet, Ravid. This is the last but not least of the volunteers, Elias. I chose him especially for this assignment, not simply for his powers but because he was raised in Calais—his mother is French, his father English. As a result, he can speak both languages fluently.”
Elias, black-haired and strikingly handsome, beamed a mighty smile at Ravid as he bowed low in greeting. He spoke English with a slight French accent. “It is a true pleasure to meet you, Ravid. And I believe you feel the same about me.” Despite himself, Ravid responded to Elias’s words with a fulsome smile and bow of his own.
“Be careful, Ravid,” said Archimedes, “I suspect you may be falling under Elias’s spell. His powers are not physical but mental. Through his words, he can convince anyone to do his bidding. In fact, this room is only available to us because of Elias.”
Ravid was instantly on his guard, but his resistance was futile. Words of coercion emanating from Elias convinced Ravid that the recruit was harmless, despite the evidence to the contrary. “Well met, Elias,” said Ravid, “I look forward to seeing your powers at work.”
Archimedes smiled, but let the comment stand. “Thank you, Elias,” he said. “We may need your services shortly.” He turned to Ravid. “What now?”
“Now,” said Ravid, “we wait for an update from Jesse. He has remained in London and has been reviewing the futures of the guards who will be accompanying King Henri on today’s journey, in case one of them sees and can identify the assassin for us.”
Jesse’s mind-call was not long in coming—and the message was triumphant in tone.
replied Ravid,
Ravid took notes as Jesse described Ravaillac
as he would appear at the assassination.
Jesse had nearly finished the mind-call, but he had one last request, for Archimedes.
Ravid said his goodbyes to Jesse and shortly later farewelled Archimedes as well. Next, Ravid gave Elias the description of Ravaillac that Jesse had just provided.
“Lochloinn.” Ravid turned to the Scotsman. “I need you to accompany Elias, in case Ravaillac needs to be persuaded physically.” Lochloinn nodded eagerly.
Ravid then dispatched the pair in search of their prey.
FIFTY-FIVE
Later That Day
Paris, France, Early Afternoon, Friday May 14 1610
“I’m bored.”
“Well, there’s a change, Pascol. That must be only the twelfth time you’ve told us that today. Much better than yesterday’s record. What was that—twenty-five times? Twenty-six?” Johannes was understandably sarcastic. As the most senior member of this group of Alchemae, he was in charge of—or, as he put it, babysitting—three of the current crop of Academy graduates, Flaminio, Pascol, and Bitino. So far, they had all been sitting around in their inn in the Les Halles region of Paris, just waiting.
Johannes had been assigned the leadership role because he had the ability to detect intense emotions from a distance. If anyone who came within range radiated an intense desire of any sort, Johannes could interpret that emotion and, if appropriate, dispatch the Alchemae team to deal with the problem.
At this moment, Johannes was hard at work, mentally scanning for unusual emotions amongst a busy lunch crowd at the Les Halles food market. The rest of his team had nothing to do—and had been busily doing exactly that for most of the week. It was not helpful that only Pascol spoke French, so there was little that the rest of the team could do in the French capital. Inevitably, they were bored and fractious.
Earlier in the day Johannes had been obliged to break up a scuffle between Flaminio and Bitino—a disagreement reinforced by the virtual boulders and minor blizzards that they tossed at each other—and he was at the end of his patience.
Johannes was on the verge of lashing out verbally at his team members, which would almost certainly have triggered another unpleasant confrontation, when he began to detect a very strong emotion somewhere in the streets outside. He desperately sought to interpret the emotion he was receiving.
It’s—intense satisfaction. With overtones of—murder! And it affects the king—
With a gasp, Johannes alerted the others. “This is it—the reason why we’re here. We’ll need everyone for this. Let’s go!”
FIFTY-SIX
A Few Minutes Later
Rue de la Ferronnerie, Paris, France, Early Afternoon, Friday May 14 1610
Elias and Lochloinn strode jauntily along the Rue de la Ferronnerie, returning to the appartement where their colleagues awaited news of the mission’s outcome. Elias in particular was in a very satisfied mood. “Lord Ravid should be delighted with us,” he said to Lochloinn, “now that François Ravaillac is no longer a problem.”
“Aye, ye already said as much, laddie,” said Lochloinn, “but I will nay be convinced until this day is but a memory.” Still, the unexcitable Scotsman had a spring in his step that had not been evident earlier.
Lochloinn had watched Elias weave his magic with Ravaillac, convincing the French Catholic that on this occasion he had in fact managed to have his desired meeting with the king. Elias had also made Ravaillac believe that Henri had given secret undertakings regarding the Huguenots.
Certain of this new truth, Ravaillac had undertaken to leave Paris immediately. Elias and Lochloinn had accompanied Ravaillac to the coach depot and then watched him depart on the midday coach.
Elias’s compulsive persuasions were not permanent, but they would easily last for some weeks, which should be long enough for the LOA to make alternative arrangements to protect the king from Ravaillac in the future.
Elias began humming to himself, very satisfied with his day’s work. He and Lochloinn headed to the front door of their appartement, rapped on the door twice as a coded courtesy, and then let themselves inside.
They had no idea that they were being watched.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Palais du Louvre, Paris, France, Afternoon, Friday May 14 1610
The King of France was in a very, very bad mood, and the subject of his displeasure was his carriage driver.
Henri IV made his intentions plain. “No bishop is going to tell me when and where I can ride in my own city. Today, I have urgent matters to discuss with my trusted advisor Maximilien, the Duke of Sully. The duke lies on his sickbed. He cannot come to me, so I will go to him—and that means we will travel through the Les Halles area and along the Rue de la Ferronnerie. Several of my Quarante Cinq, my royal guardsmen, will accompany me—they can protect me from any dangers that might arise. If you, driver, are not willing to take me on that journey, then my new carriage driver will be happy to oblige—while you enjoy your own trip to the Bastille. Do I make myself clear?”
The unfortunate driver, terrified out of his wits, could only nod in obedience.
“Good,” said the king. “Then let’s go. I have a war to plan.”
King Henri, dressed in what his queen assured him was the latest Parisian fashion style, climbed into the royal carriage and took his accustomed place on the elevated throne at the rear, from which he liked to wave at his subjects. Two guardsmen joined him inside the carriage while a third sat outside, next to the driver.
The driver reluctantly took the reins and encouraged the horses to begin their journey towards the area that Bishop de Richelieu had described to the driver as “the accursed maggot pie of Paris.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
23 Rue de la Ferronnerie, Paris, France, Early Afternoon, Friday May 14 1610
“This one?” asked Pascol, gesturing to the door of an appartement. He stood outside the building that the two suspects had entered a few minutes earlier.
“Correct,” agreed Johannes. He reached out and turned the doorknob, which opened easily. Warning the other Alchemae to silence, Johannes led the way into the appartement. They found themselves in a small room furnished with couches and chairs.
On the right, through an open doorway, they could see a fireplace, flanked by pots and pans and the usual cooking utensils.
On the left, a flight of stairs led upwards. They could hear voices above, speaking a language with which Johannes was not familiar. He looked across quizzically at Pascol, who had the greatest language expertise of the group.
“English, I think,” whispered Pascol.
Johannes nodded. The great enemy. That made his next decision easier.
He turned back to Pascol, pointed up to the two huge wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling of the lounge, providing support for the upstairs rooms, then held up one hand and began lowering each finger—a five second countdown.
With his other hand, Johannes gestured for the remaining members of the team to move into the kitchen area, an instruction to which they quickly responded.
Johannes joined them by the fireplace as his countdown reached its conclusion. Two—one—zero.
Pascol stretched out both hands, one touching each support beam. In an instant, both beams liquefied, pouring their essence onto the room below.
A moment later, as Pascol hastily joined the other Alchemae in the kitchen, the ceiling planks, deprived of their underlying support, sagged, spli
ntered, and broke into a thousand pieces. The contents of the upper rooms—beds, furniture, people—cascaded into the room below.
FIFTY-NINE
At The Same Moment
23 Rue de la Ferronnerie, Paris, France, Early Afternoon, Friday May 14 1610
Ravid and the other members of his team were upstairs, listening as Elias and Lochloinn reported on their success with François Ravaillac. Ravid was about to mind-call Jesse for an update on the king’s changed future when the floor collapsed.
None of the team had any chance to react—they simply fell, collecting deep cuts and scratches from the splintering floorboards and then finding themselves buffeted by the beds, cabinets and desks as the furniture tumbled as well. Martin was the first to hit the ground below, breaking his left leg on impact. He screamed in pain before losing consciousness.
Even as the rest of the team fell, Ravid heard a voice from the kitchen, shouting in the Napoletano language, “Now—hit them!” Ravid urgently summoned his wings and managed to slow his own fall but was unable to reach any of the others to help with their descent.
Sean, clinging desperately to some bedding to attempt to break his fall, now found himself bombarded by snow and ice, driven by a vicious windblast. The sneak attack caught him off-guard and he lost his grip on the bedding, landing with a sickening crunch on the wooden frame that formed the edge of one of the couches. Ravid saw Sean hit the frame and then slump to the floor. Has he broken his back? Ravid had little time to consider the consequences if that was truly the case—the Outcast Angel was too busy throwing himself over to the left hand corner of the room, where the team’s weapons had fallen.
Elias and Lochloinn, who had been standing alongside each other when the floor collapsed, were mostly unharmed, thanks largely to Lochloinn’s physical prowess. As a key part of his training, Lochloinn had spent more than a year visiting various circuses across Europe and parts of Asia, learning the muscle movements of acrobats and tightrope-walkers. As a result, he was able to contort his body in mid-air, directing his path so that he landed in a clear space—and then immediately positioned himself to catch Elias.
Academy of Secrets: From the Outcast Angels Christian Fantasy & Science Fiction series Page 17
