Liberating Fight

by Melissa McShane

  “Which means, if the Spanish Army has stood down according to King Ferdinand’s wishes,” Edmund said, “it is the guerrillas who must defend Spain against Napoleon’s return.”

  Amaya eyed Edmund. His words no longer had the manic edge they had had before, but he was still more enthusiastic than she had ever heard him. “Do you suppose Napoleon will return to Spain?” she asked. “I believed him to be a Frenchman.”

  “He is Corsican, and therefore both French and not,” Valencia said. “Spain has proved a tough nut for the Emperor to crack, but we have many more ports than France and a strong presence in Europe. When he has overrun France, he will assuredly come after Spain next. And we will be ready for him.”

  This did not strike Amaya as a conversation requiring her agreement, as it was clear Valencia and Edmund knew more of the matter than she did. So she said, “I am sure you will, but what of his Extraordinary Coercer talent? I understood such a talent to be nearly impossible to fight.”

  Valencia shrugged. “An Extraordinary Coercer is limited in his range and scope. Napoleon is powerful, true, but he can only Coerce so many people at a time.”

  Jennet had gradually come forward until Amaya could see her once more. Her continued attention to the distant hills suggested she was still listening closely. Amaya wished she might change places with Valencia, to converse with Jennet more directly. But that would likely make the woman shut down entirely.

  “I do not know exactly what a Coercer’s talent is,” she said. “We had none amongst the Incas. There is not even a word in Quechua to express the idea.”

  “A Coercer’s talent is to shape the emotions, and to some extent the thoughts, of others,” Valencia said. “A Coercer can make someone feel anger, fear, desire, even love—any emotion imaginable, a Coercer can generate within one.”

  “That does not seem very powerful a talent. Surely it is obvious that such feeling is not real?”

  “Not from what those who have been under a Coercer’s thrall and been released say,” Edmund said. “There is an element of Coercion that convinces the victim that their feelings are natural. And once Coerced, the unnatural emotion persists until the Coercion is removed or some other emotion takes its place.”

  “That is horrid, and I find it difficult to credit,” Amaya said with a grimace.

  “It is unlikely you will ever suffer such a fate, Miss Salazar,” Valencia said. “And it is said there are those strong-minded enough to fight Coercion. It would not surprise me to discover you are one.”

  Amaya made herself meet his gaze without blushing. “I thank you for the compliment, sir.”

  “It is only the truth.” Valencia’s regard was warm, his smile a peculiarly knowing one, and a shiver ran through Amaya that she could not account for.

  “Still, I wonder where Napoleon might have gone to ground,” Edmund said. He seemed unconscious of what had passed between Amaya and Valencia. “There are very few places he might conceal himself without being given away.”

  “I have heard it rumored that he is in Paris, hiding in plain sight.” Valencia looked away from Amaya, relieving her mind. “He has many followers whom he has not Coerced, and their loyalty is said to be unshakable.”

  “It is more likely he has retreated to some distant stronghold,” Edmund said. “A country estate, or an island fortress.”

  “In either case, he cannot depend on Coercion without giving away his location. He must be plotting a grand return.” Valencia brought his horse to a halt. “There, that is Aranjuez. I see the watermill—there, across the river, do you see?”

  Amaya looked where he pointed and saw a wood and stone contraption perched beside a weir across the Tagus River. “What is a watermill?”

  “It grinds wheat into flour. The force of the water propels it so it can work as tirelessly as a man cannot.” Valencia flicked the reins, and they set out walking again. “It is beautiful because one may see it from the palace, and the kings of Spain have always insisted on being surrounded by beautiful things.” Sarcasm tinged his words. “They ignore that which is unpleasant or ugly, which leads them to ignore the plight of their people. How I wish to rid the world of such thinking!”

  “Surely you do not believe ordinary folk ugly, simply because their lives are not so refined as the nobility?” Amaya said.

  “Certainly not. I mean that the nobility believe anything not fitting their aesthetic preferences is ugly. And poor folk do not have the luxury of fine clothing, or homes whose roofs do not leak in the rain.” Valencia’s jaw was set tight with anger. “The Cortes claimed they would prevent the king from abusing his power, but it was all a lie. Now we cannot depend on the government; we must strike for ourselves.”

  “The Cortes is the governing body that ruled while King Ferdinand was a captive in France?” Edmund said, relieving Amaya of the need to ask for clarification.

  “Yes. The Cortes wrote a constitution that should have limited the king’s power and awarded benefits to those who were not noble.” Valencia let out a short bark of mirthless laughter. “Of course, the men of the Cortes are themselves noble, so why should it be a surprise that they wrote a document that favored themselves? Nobles, educated men, the endowed, the wealthy gentry, they all had a hand in writing themselves preferences. And again the common man gets nothing.”

  Amaya could not think of a response to this. Before meeting King Ferdinand, she would have said it was right and reasonable for the king of a people to receive their adulation. The Sapa Inca was a god; should not his people worship him, and give everything they had into his possession? But Europeans did not believe their kings were gods, and having met Ferdinand, Amaya could understand why his subjects might be unwilling to let him exercise unnatural dominion over them. He had nothing of the Sapa Inca’s power and presence.

  “It is true such behavior is unjust,” Edmund said. “In England, the law is intended to apply equally to all men. Whether that happens in practice is another matter. But the intent is there.”

  “Spain will not stand for this injustice any longer,” Valencia said. “You will see, in Aranjuez, that I speak the truth.”

  Aranjuez was a green blotch on the landscape, masses of trees surrounding many buildings, with the Tagus a bright streak beside it. Valencia led his company into the city, whose streets looked as old as Madrid’s and whose buildings resembled those of London. The sight made Amaya curious about whose decision it had been to build all these European cities alike. Surely someone, somewhere wished to impress upon a city its national character?

  She had to admit the design was a sensible one. The walls of the houses and shops were straight, and they filled all the available space in an orderly fashion. They rose high above the streets, taking advantage of the vertical space to double the area people might use. Windows paned with glass dotted the façades of the finer houses, shining in the noon sunlight. It could not have been designed more perfectly to make Amaya feel once more a stranger. Edmund seemed unmoved by the splendor. Well, to him it was likely a commonplace.

  The building Valencia ultimately brought them to was big enough to look to Amaya like a mansion, with its gabled roof and Spanish tiles combining to give it the appearance of a Spanish villa that had fought a war with an English manor. The stable yard could hold twice as many horsemen as rode with Valencia, and teemed with riders and stable hands making enough noise for an army.

  Valencia dismounted and handed his reins to a young man whose awed expression said he knew who had come to the inn that day. “Is Rodrigo in?” Valencia asked.

  The young man nodded. “Yes, sir, please go in, I am certain he will wish to speak to you.”

  Valencia gestured to Amaya and Edmund. “Join me. I would like you to meet my friend. He, too, is a champion of justice.”

  The inn’s front door opened on a dark, narrow space Amaya had not expected, given the size of the building. She blinked rather than Shaping her eyes to see in the dimness, and made out two doors and a staircase befo
re Valencia opened the left-hand door, saying over his shoulder, “Juan, fetch Mr. Cisneros, and I will sit with our guests in the private dining room.”

  The room beyond, a large, low-ceilinged room, was as brightly lit as the little entrance chamber was not, its many glass windows looking out on the stable yard. A dining table ringed with chairs, all made of some dark wood Amaya did not recognize, occupied the center of the room, with armchairs pulled up to smaller, round tables beneath the windows. The room smelled of dinner, of roast pork and chicken and new potatoes that might have come direct from Peru, they smelled so familiar.

  Valencia pulled a chair away from the dining table and gestured to Amaya. “Please, be seated, Miss Salazar.”

  Amaya sat, amused at his good manners even though she was not garbed like a lady. Edmund and Valencia sat on either side of her, while Jennet took one of the armchairs. Amaya’s amusement dwindled. She supposed, as Jennet was passing as male, Valencia could not give her the same courtesies he gave Amaya, but he ignored Jennet completely. Amaya could not understand their relationship. Not lovers, not friends; were Jennet not human, Amaya would have said Valencia saw her as a pet, or a support like a walking stick, something one depended upon but did not give the same respect one did another person.

  The door swung open again. “Alejandro, my friend!” exclaimed the very large man who came through it. Valencia stood, smiling broadly, and the two men embraced with the heartiness of old friends who had not seen one another for years.

  “Rodrigo, thank you for your welcome,” Valencia said. “May I introduce my companions, Miss Salazar and Mr. Hanley. Miss Salazar is an Extraordinary Shaper, and she and Mr. Hanley are newly come to our cause.”

  “Salazar,” Rodrigo said. “Not Don Fernándo?”

  “I am his granddaughter, sir,” Amaya said. She rose from her seat and extended her hand politely.

  Rodrigo did not take it. His gaze surveyed her closely, as if her talent were visible on her skin and he wished to analyze it closely. “Extraordinary,” he said. “What a blessing.” Finally, he took her hand and bowed over it, somewhat clumsily as if he had little practice in doing so. His skin was damp and warm, and out of habit she surveyed his five sunqu and observed that Need was taxed nearly to breaking and Heart worked more rapidly than it should. She judged this was due to his physique and not because he was afraid of her, and released his hand with a polite smile.

  “We will eat, and you will tell me of your great exploits,” Rodrigo said, clapping Valencia heartily on the back. “Ned, join us, you need not sit in a corner.”

  Jennet rose and took a seat at the table as far from Rodrigo as she could manage. Amaya saw the way she looked at the man and judged this was on purpose. She smiled at Jennet, whose expression became briefly confused before settling back into displeasure.

  “Rodrigo has long been a friend of the true Spain,” Valencia said. “He was among those who captured the traitorous minister Godoy and forced him to resign his post, which led to the ouster of King Charles.”

  Rodrigo ducked his head and smiled, pleased and embarrassed at this praise. “I would that we had rid ourselves of Ferdinand as well,” he said, “but even a revolution must have humble beginnings.”

  “We make progress. Enrico Solano will no longer plague Spain,” Valencia said. “Though I regret that his men took three more lives before being destroyed.”

  Rodrigo’s mouth drew down in a scowl. “Let us be grateful there will be no more. And of Don Balthasar?”

  “Balthasar Rubio has gone to ground on his estate, and I judge we would lose many lives in a frontal assault. Even with the use of my talent.” Valencia gestured at Amaya. “However, we may have an alternative solution.”

  Rodrigo turned his attention on Amaya. “And that is?”

  “Miss Salazar has proven adept at stealthy reconnaissance.” Valencia smiled at Amaya, once more that warm, admiring look that flustered her. “I believe she might be capable of infiltrating the estate and eliminating Don Balthasar.”

  Amaya’s discomfort rose. “Mr. Valencia,” she said, “I would appreciate it if you did not treat me as your weapon. Wishing to do good is one thing; killing someone not known to me on your direction is something else entirely.”

  Valencia’s smile vanished. “I beg your pardon, Miss Salazar. I forget you do not know the extent of what you are fighting for. Please accept my apology.”

  A scraping noise from the end of the table caused Amaya to glance at Jennet. The woman had her fierce attention on Amaya, but at Amaya’s look, Jennet lowered her head. Amaya looked back at Valencia. Once more the feeling of rightness in his cause surged through her. “I accept your apology,” she said. “Now, who is this Don Balthasar, and why is he your enemy?”

  “I have no enemies but the enemies of Spain,” Valencia said, “and Don Balthasar is the worst of them. He is an Extraordinary Discerner, Count of Aranjuez and the king’s deputy in this district.”

  “I believed all Extraordinary Discerners to be madmen, driven insane by their talent,” Edmund said.

  “There are some few who overcome the burden of feeling every emotion of every person they encounter. Don Balthasar is one such.” Valencia had answered Edmund, but his attention was fully on Amaya. “He is canny and cruel and uses his talent to oppress the people. He knows when someone near him has even the slightest revolutionary feeling and does away with that person instantly. Even those whose desires are simply those of any man for freedom from oppression.”

  “That is terrible,” Amaya breathed. “I know a Discerner can tell truth from lies, but I did not realize they could Discern one’s deepest thoughts.”

  “Not thoughts,” Edmund said, “but the emotions surrounding such thoughts. Don Balthasar must be skilled to identify someone’s intent from how they feel. Unless he simply punishes at whim and uses his talent as justification.”

  “He has done both,” Rodrigo said. “And his talent prohibits us from getting anyone close enough to him to kill him. Alejandro, what plan have you in mind?”

  Valencia regarded Amaya again. “His estate is too large, and his people too numerous, for me to simply burn it to the ground. And there are many innocents who work for him, mostly under duress, who would suffer if I did. But Rodrigo is correct that Don Balthasar is aware of the intentions of those around him, and has defended against several assassins in the past.”

  “And yet you wish me to attempt it,” Amaya said.

  Valencia smiled. It was not the warm smile he had so often bestowed upon her; it was the look of a predator, one Amaya was familiar with because she had worn it so often herself. “No assassin is as deadly a fighter as you are, Miss Salazar. It will not matter if Don Balthasar knows you are there, because I am certain you are capable of killing anyone who stands between you and him.”

  Amaya did not like the predatory look on his face. “I,” she began, then fell silent. The others said nothing, waiting for her to finish. “I am no assassin,” she said. It was a word she knew from the novels Bess had pressed upon her, the ones filled with dread horror and violence. Amaya marveled that gentle Bess found such pleasure in them. “To take the life of a man I do not know—”

  “Amaya,” Edmund said, leaning forward, “you need not fear. If this Don Balthasar is half the villain Mr. Valencia says he is, you would be doing Spain a service. Think of all the men and women he has terrorized.”

  “Yes, and of those whose property he has claimed after driving their rightful heirs off the land,” Rodrigo said. “I assure you, he is a dreadful villain.”

  “Your reticence does you credit,” Valencia said. “You have a powerful thirst for justice, and justice dictates that one must never take life lightly.” He pushed back his chair and rose. “Permit me to show you something that might convince you.”

  Amaya followed Valencia back into the stable yard, where he stopped a spotty lad crossing the hard-packed earth. “Where is Maria Consuela?”

  The boy swallowed and pointed
rather than answering verbally. Valencia nodded his thanks and walked around the corner. There, a side door hung open, from which emanated more of the delicious smells. Near the door stood an old stone well, its construction as sturdy as anything Amaya had ever seen. A young woman, barely more than a girl by either Incan or European standards, worked the windlass. As Valencia and Amaya approached, the dripping bucket hove into sight, and the girl hauled it onto the stone lip of the well.

  “Maria Consuela, permit me to help,” Valencia said. The girl started, took a step back from the well, and ducked her head as if frightened. Valencia lifted the bucket and set it on the ground beside her.

  “Miss Salazar, this is Maria Consuela Gonzales,” Valencia said. “Her father was a tenant on Don Balthasar’s estate. Maria Consuela, show Miss Salazar your throat.”

  The girl hesitated. Then she lifted her chin far back, revealing a slim neck. Amaya gasped. A dark red slash of a scar at least a handspan in length curved around Maria Consuela’s throat.

  “Mr. Gonzales denied Don Balthasar what the lord deemed his rights,” Valencia said in a low voice. “Don Balthasar’s men attacked and slaughtered almost everyone in Mr. Gonzales’s house. Maria Consuela was left for dead; it is a miracle she survived. But that miracle cost her her voice.” Valencia put his hand on Amaya’s shoulder and turned her to face him. “Do you see what it is I ask of you?”

  Amaya could not stop staring at the girl’s scarred throat. “I do,” she said. “Tell me where to go, and I swear I will end that man’s life.”

  Chapter 16

  In which Amaya’s dance of death ends in an unexpected confrontation

  It was easy to find Don Balthasar’s country estate, just as Valencia had said; there was only one road, and it led directly north from Aranjuez with no branching side roads. Valencia, Rodrigo, and Edmund accompanied Amaya as far as the outskirts of Aranjuez, from which she would begin her journey. Amaya declined the offer of an escort to the estate itself from Edmund, who did not look entirely happy that she was embarking on this quest alone, but understood the need.