Despite the nodding of his head onto his chest, Cade knew he had to stay awake and watch for approaching Grays. If he spotted them before they spotted him, the contenders could slip out of the log cabin and hide in the grass, leaving the enemy to think the place had been abandoned.
A sad consequence of this was they had not set a fire, leaving him bitterly cold as he sat upon an old cannon, staring out over the swaying purple grass.
The moons were clouded that evening, the red and white spheres casting a wan glow over the purple fields. It was difficult to see much at all, and he worried that he had no idea which direction the Grays might come from.
As the minutes ticked by, Cade found himself walking the perimeter; any time sitting down risked falling asleep. Quintus, who had managed to sleep for much of the day in the sled, would take next watch, but it was not for a few hours yet.
It was on one of his circuits of the fort that Cade caught a whiff of the cesspit. Realizing he needed to go, he wandered closer, wrinkling his nose at the stench.
Cade stood at the edge of the giant pit, careful not to get too close as he relieved himself off its edge for fear of falling in. What an ugly end that would be.
And the smell didn’t bother him so much anymore—they all stank of sulfur.
It was an odd thing to do, going to the pit, when he could have easily gone in the grass. But curiosity had taken his feet there. If anything, it broke up the monotony of the night.
The cesspit was more than a hand-dug hole; Cade saw that the Romans had tiled the insides of the pit with clay bricks. This was a useful piece of information—somewhere near here was soil that could be turned into clay. With that, they could make pots, perhaps even mortar and more bricks to repair the broken walls of the fort.
Not that they had time for that. Still, it was an idea.
But there was something odd about the pit’s walls. They shone strangely pale in the moonlight, almost reflected by a white sheen that coated patches of the tiles.
“What is that?” Cade wondered aloud.
There was a flash of blue behind him.
“This substance is potassium nitrate, also known as saltpeter, or salt of the rock.”
Cade gaped, leaning precariously to get a closer look. He swept a fingernail across the clay brick of the rim, only to find a crystalline substance beneath his fingernail.
“Codex, what other way was potassium nitrate harvested, historically?”
“Saltpeter men were known throughout Britain and France in the eighteenth century. By royal decree, these men could enter any premises to harvest saltpeter that had formed on the walls and soil—such was the demand for gunpowder at the time. Saltpeter efflorescence typically formed on the walls of sewers and stables, where the combination of urine and excrement allowed the crystals to form on the surrounding surfaces over time.”
Cade felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This was their solution. Abaddon had given the Romans a year because that was how long they would have taken to make the saltpeter. But over the years they had been abandoned here, they had been producing it in a more … organic way.
That was why the new contenders had only been given a week.
They had the sulfur. They had the wood to turn into charcoal. Now … they had the saltpeter. The only question was, would it be enough?
“Codex, what are the basic ratios of charcoal, sulfur, and potassium nitrate to make gunpowder?”
“Seventy-five percent potassium nitrate, fifteen percent charcoal, ten percent sulfur,” came the reply.
Cade grunted in frustration. The primary ingredient was also the substance they lacked the most.
But now another idea came to him. This was not the only place to have sewers. If they were lucky, Jomsborg would have its own sewage system, long dried and empty, but potentially loaded with crystals too.
The only thing was, they could not rely on that. They would have to harvest what they could here.
“Cade,” a voice called.
Quintus stumbled down the path from the fort, rubbing his bleary eyes.
“Quintus, come see,” Cade called.
The young legionary hurried over, and Cade wrapped him in a hug.
“It’s the solution to all our problems!” Cade said.
Quintus extricated himself and peered into the hole, before wrinkling his nose and turning away.
“Very … nice,” he said politely, then paused. “I am confused.”
Cade laughed, realizing that Quintus had been fast asleep when they had seen the cesspit on their way to the Sulphur Queen, and they had detoured around it on their way back.
“Do we still have some of that rope on the sleds?” Cade asked.
Now Quintus seemed utterly baffled, but he followed his friend as Cade hurried back to where they had left the sleds and began to knot a rope around himself, tucking the loop beneath his armpit.
“Think you can hold my weight?” Cade asked.
“Are you okay, Cade?” Quintus asked. “Maybe you need to sleep.”
“No time,” Cade said breathlessly, hurrying back to the pit. “I want to prove this can work by morning.”
He approached the rim of the cesspit, staring down at the horrible, gloopy mass at the bottom. Cade really, really hoped the rope wouldn’t break.
CHAPTER
22
“What are you still doing awake?”
Cade looked up from his work, and Amber almost recoiled from him as she caught his bloodshot eyes and haggard face.
“You look like hell,” she said.
Cade laughed. “I feel great though.”
It was a half truth. He was swaying on his feet, and it took concentrated effort to keep his eyes open. If Quintus hadn’t been there to help him, he’d have collapsed long ago.
But he’d done it. It had taken all night, and hours of scraping away at the crusted, disgusting walls of the cesspit, dangling on a threadbare rope above a pool of vile waste.
By the time the sun had risen, he had gathered almost all of it, leaving him with an entire sackful of brown-white crystal.
At the same time, Quintus had made charcoal, setting a fire and baking wood within a sealed ceramic pot, leaving it blackened. They were lucky the Romans had been forced to abandon so much.
In the early hours of the morning, the pair had toiled with a blunt stub of palisade each, pounding sulfur, saltpeter, and charcoal into a fine powder.
Now, the finishing touch. There were no scales here, but Cade used the end of an old clay pipe to measure out seven and a half dashes of saltpeter, one and a half of charcoal dust, and another of sulfur crystal. This used up a good tenth of their saltpeter supplies, but it was a necessary sample to see if it had worked.
The black powder mixture that remained was now being poured gently into a scrap of Roman parchment, taken from the dusty interior of the log cabin. He made the final twist, grinning as the others emerged from the cabin.
“What is that?” Grace asked, staring at Cade’s sooty hands and Quintus’s worried expression.
“This…,” Cade said, seeing double as he held up the package to the light, “is going to get us into the Grays’ fort.”
* * *
Cade woke to the sound of Latin shouts, and the scrape of the sled moving onto pebbled sand. He jerked upright, only to find himself in the shadow of the gates, Scott and Yoshi grunting as they hauled him over the rough surface.
He had resisted riding the sled for the first half of the journey, near delirious as he shambled behind the others, but Amber forced him to lie down on the sled and rest when he began to slow them down.
“I’m up, I’m up,” Cade groaned, rolling off the moving sled and sprawling on the ground. They were in the harbor basin of Jomsborg, where the campfires of the Romans were already lit, and curious glances were tossed in their direction.
He saw Marius at the head of a half-dozen men and checked surreptitiously to see if the Codex was still visible. Lucky for him,
it had a knack for knowing when to hide itself from others. How thoughtful of Abaddon to program it that way.
“The liars have returned,” Atticus’s voice called from behind, in Latin. Cade turned to see Atticus standing on the thin lip of the gatehouse doors, the same one he had hauled himself into when the Grays had attacked.
“We come bearing gifts,” Cade called back in Latin, his voice surprisingly hoarse.
The sun was beginning to set, for the poor contenders had trekked all day to return to Jomsborg. But they had no time to dally.
“Gifts, you say?” Atticus laughed. “Perhaps the Codex, in exchange for our protection?”
Cade shook his head. “A weapon,” he called back. “The key to the Triton fortress.”
His answer seemed to catch Atticus by surprise, and Cade thought he saw the man’s face pale. Emboldened, he drew the package from where he had placed it in the sled and held it up to the Romans.
“Quintus,” Cade said. “Tell them.”
Quintus bit his lip, but took a few steps away from them and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Romans,” he yelled. “Hear me!”
Atticus disappeared from the doorway, and Cade heard the slap of his footsteps.
“Quickly,” Cade said urgently. “He’s coming.”
“We have with us a substance from the future. Greek fire, but more potent. Lightning straight from Zeus’s fingertips.”
“Seize them,” Atticus screamed, now on the ramparts. “I will tolerate their corruption no longer!”
Quintus ignored him, even as Romans stood from their campfires, peering at them with curiosity. Only Marius moved, passing unheard orders to his men, who jogged in tandem down the beach.
Cade stumbled forward as Quintus spoke, finding a small fire where a pair of men warmed their hands beside it.
“Leave,” Cade hissed in Latin, jabbing the package at them as if it were a poisonous snake.
The men scrambled away, and Cade held the package aloft for all to see once more. By now Marius’s men were closing on him, but Cade had circled the fire, putting it between the approaching soldiers and himself.
“Look!” Cade bellowed.
He hurled the package into the fire, then threw his hands up to protect his face.
There was a fizzle. Silence, but for the chatter of men.
Laughter. Then …
Crack.
Cade felt the heat hit him like a wave, accompanied by a sudden flare of light. Coals scattered from the fire, pelting him across the hands and torso.
He fell on his back, half-blinded by the light, and smoke billowed in a mini–mushroom cloud into the sky.
“Whoa,” he breathed.
It had not been as spectacular as he had thought it would be, but it was enough to get his point across. He lay there, waiting for his world to stop spinning. Whether it was exhaustion, hunger, dehydration, or the explosion, he did not know, but for the life of him he could not find the energy to bring himself to his feet.
So he lay there, staring as the breeze pulled the ash cloud away, until hardly a trace remained.
A shadow fell across his face. Marius stared down at him, his face twisted in a strange mix of consternation and anger. Rough hands pulled him up, and Atticus’s visage swam into view.
“Filth,” the man hissed, taking Cade’s throat in his hands. “Filth and lies.”
Cade’s world darkened, the grip of the soldiers pinning his hands to his sides. The edges of his vision blurred, and he could only focus on choking down a last breath before the viselike fingers tightened.
As Atticus’s face swam, Cade kicked his feet, and Atticus’s laughter at his feeble efforts rang out. Beyond, he could hear Amber’s screams, seeming to come from far away.
The pressure eased. Pain flared in his neck as a ragged fingernail dug down, prizing Atticus’s fingers away, one by one.
He collapsed to his knees and caught the blurry sight of Marius standing in front of him.
“We will hear him speak,” Marius said.
Cade fell onto his side and saw the rage in Atticus’s face.
“You dare touch me?” Atticus spat. “I will see your men decimated. Step aside.”
But Marius stood firm.
“You would entertain this charlatan’s tricks?” Atticus said, spinning and addressing the men. “You would allow him to con you into throwing yourselves against the Triton walls?”
His words seemed to rouse the Romans, though through the haze of pain and suffocation, Cade could hardly discern what they were saying—the Codex did not whisper a translation of everyone in his ears, only those of Atticus and Marius.
“Continue with this nonsense and I shall declare a decimation!” Atticus yelled, his voice taking on a high-pitched whine.
The murmuring of the soldiers grew louder. And from the recesses of Cade’s memory, the meaning of Atticus’s repeated threat came to him.
The origin of the word decimation came from a different meaning, back in the days of the Romans. Where soldiers who were to be punished were separated into tens and drew straws. One man in each group would eventually draw the short straw, and then his comrades would be forced to execute him together, often through stoning or clubs.
It was a brutal form of discipline, and one that had only been used in the direst of circumstances. Atticus’s threat was a foolish one, though, and showed to Cade just what a poor tactician the legatus was.
To lose one tenth of his men was foolish enough, let alone forcing comrades to harm one another in such a random fashion. These men who had lived through so much together would never submit to such an order.
“No, Atticus,” Marius said. “I think not.”
His words were almost gentle as he pulled the legatus aside. He spoke softly, and it was only the dagger in his hand, pressed into Atticus’s spine, that told Cade of the veiled threat.
“You will step down as legatus,” Marius murmured. “You will do so without complaint, nor violence. We can afford your cowardice no longer.”
This was mutiny. There was no denying it.
Cade knew not of the politics in this Roman camp. If there were men loyal to Atticus, or Marius, or both. But what was clear was that Atticus had overplayed his hand.
“We thank you for your leadership,” Marius said, this time loudly for the benefit of the others. “But if there is a chance to leave this place, we will listen.”
His words met with approval from the legionaries, who clapped and nodded their heads.
Marius turned to Cade and motioned for him to rise.
“Speak, Cade,” Marius said. “Tell us how we will end this.”
CHAPTER
23
The legion crowded close as Cade stood beside the crater that had once been the fire, while Atticus stared silently.
Men watched him with hungry, hope-filled eyes. And despite the truth he knew he would speak now, he felt a surge of guilt. He had lied to these men about the Codex. About the imaginary leader of theirs waiting back at the keep.
Now, he would ask them to risk their lives on a half-baked plan.
“The substance that I threw into the fire is called ‘gunpowder,’” Cade called out, sweeping his hand at the blackened sand. “It is an … invention … from my time.”
He struggled to form the words, his fuddled mind forgetting his rudimentary Latin.
“At your … old home … there were metal weapons called ‘cannons,’” Cade said, and the murmuring and nodding of the men told him Marius had shared what Louis Le Prince had spoken of before he died.
“Gunpowder is what makes them work,” Cade went on, each word seeming to scrape his battered throat as it came out. “We know how to make it.”
A man stepped forward, his eyes flicking to Marius as if asking permission to speak. Marius inclined his head.
“Will it destroy the doors to their fortress?” he asked.
Cade nodded. His response elicited a cheer, and he felt the back of
his neck burn with shame.
But these men needed confidence in him. He could not sow seeds of doubt—not when they were mutinying for his cause.
“If we are to make this work,” Cade said, his words silencing the crowd as they listened eagerly for more, “I will need your help. Some will need to bring the cannons here. Others must help make…”
He struggled for the word for charcoal, then plowed on.
“… the powder. But have no doubt. Tomorrow, we march to war.”
His final words were said breathlessly, trailing off as he lost his confidence, yet another cheer rocked the dry harbor and hands clapped him on the back. He grinned, and felt Marius’s arm about his shoulders.
But when Cade turned to him, Marius did not look at him with joy, or friendship in his eyes. There was a warning there, and the first green shoots of hope in Cade’s chest shriveled at the sight.
Marius steered Cade toward the other contenders, beckoning them to follow as they walked beside the sleds. Marius paused, then bent down.
“Tonight, we have meat!” Marius bellowed, lifting a sack of sauropod jerky from the sleds.
More cheers followed, and Marius tossed the sack to one of his men. Famished hands reached in, and Marius took one sack, then another, throwing them to the grasping fingers of the legionaries crowding forward.
Cade did not begrudge them it, but Marius’s requisition of their supplies made him uneasy—not to mention the firm grip about his shoulders as they walked through the thronging legionaries, Marius’s entourage following.
It was not long before they were walking through the doorway of the longhouse, and Marius grunted for the accompanying guards to wait outside.
He led Cade into the farthest recesses of the room, the others following. Cade could see the alarm on their faces, but Marius did not seem to mind being alone with them—at the very least, violence appeared not to be his aim.
“Sit,” Marius instructed in English, pushing Cade down onto the hunks of stone that served as seats, beside a crumbling fireplace. A small, smoldering pile of grass burned there, casting an low light through the room.
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