The Codex of the Witch: Fantasy Novel

by Federico Negri

“We’ve just raised anchor from a pier filled with people dead set on skinning us alive and, sure as hell, right now a Dutch airship is releasing its mooring to follow our wake. Stations, everyone! You,” Kasia points her index finger at Hansi, “come below deck with me.”

  “Our course, Captain?” asks Silla.

  “Take us away from here, as quickly as possible. Follow the wind.”

  Kasia waits for Alina to sit at her lookout post and press her nose to the monoscope, to scan their surroundings. She almost wants Alina to dare raise her eyes from the instrument again so as to resume her lecture, but the young woman remains obstinately turned away, her jaw so tight it’s a wonder she doesn’t crack her teeth.

  “Come on.” She takes the German boy by the shoulder and—in part leaning on him, in part pushing—climbs down to the lower deck.

  “Here,” Kasia swings open the door to the sick bay, impiously converted into a broom closet. “Get in and keep quiet until further orders.”

  “But, my lady—”

  “Captain. Aboard the ship, you must call me Captain. On the ground, once we’ve offloaded you at the first port, you can call me what you like, assuming we make it there and we don’t throw you overboard mid-flight.”

  “Captain,” he tries.

  “Get in! Do you need to piss?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Anything else can wait.” Kasia shut the door in his face, turning the key.

  The voyage already promises to be problematic enough without a clumsy stranger wandering around the ship and risking he’ll break his neck during maneuvers.

  She drags herself to the bridge, cursing her wounded ankle with every step. The crew focuses on navigating, but Kasia’s gut twists in expectation of what’s to come.

  “Sisters,” she starts, “we have a problem. This morning I met the merchant Leonardo who offered me money to transport a passenger to Londion. A lot of money, a hundred and twenty thousand pieces.”

  A soft whistle escapes Riger’s lips.

  “Right,” Kasia continues. “But the deal smelled fishy to me so I asked for some time. Nevertheless, a Dutch nobleman, that Baron Dietrich, approached me on the Walkway because he too was interested in the passenger. I didn’t think much about it because I didn’t know we’d already fallen into the false magistrate trap.”

  “He was perfect!” Alina exclaims. “You should have seen him, he had the stamped papers.”

  “Alina, you…” Kasia forces a breath out her nose. She lowers her voice and continues, “you need to understand that you must be careful. And before taking the initiative it’s better to consult with a more experienced crewmember. You should have waited for Riger.”

  “But she would have fallen for it as well! Even you would have…” the words die in her mouth.

  Old Riger raises an eyebrow and is about to interject, but Kasia foresees this—the last thing she needs is crewmembers arguing on deck.

  “Maybe I would have been fooled too, you’re right. But maybe I would have noticed an inconsistency in the man’s request, seeing as it’s the two hundred and twelfth time I’ve docked on a pier and your third time. Maybe I would have questioned why an official from the magistrate would stop to talk with a junior crewmember, when they normally insist on speaking to the captain or the commanding officer. Regardless, it happened how it happened; we’ve all learned something—I hope.”

  “He was very well dressed,” Riger remarks, with a sigh.

  “Through sheer luck,” Kasia moves on, ignoring the aside, “we’ve managed to recover you and get back to the airship unharmed. I decided to bring that young man aboard. We would have needed to kill him otherwise, and I didn’t consider that an option. Not an option I wanted to live with anyway. But it’s a matter of small moment, we’ll dump him first time we dock.”

  “I heard them threaten him,” Alina says.

  “Yes, but words are cheap on the docks. We’ll see. I’m not worried about it at the moment. Baron Dietrich, on the other hand, fabricated a false claim with the port authority to keep us stuck there. Leonardo popped out of nowhere like a flower in the snow, et voila he cleaned up our papers. In exchange for transporting his inconvenient passenger, of course.”

  Silence on deck. Clearly no one dares comment on her decision.

  “I know, sisters. We’ve gotten ourselves into a fine mess. But we’ll get out of it, and Leonardo also promised me a heap of money.”

  “Promises,” Riger mumbles.

  “Promised wood won’t light the stove, I know,” Kasia gripes. “However, Leonardo is a fairly honest guy. What’s more, we didn’t have a choice. Going to Dietrich mansion with those madmen destroying the pier in the meantime, it’s certain we would have stayed in Frank Fort. In prison or stuck on a pyre tied to fir stakes.”

  “Captain,” Silla interrupts, “an airship has cut loose from one of the far piers. Fourteen or fifteen.”

  “Direction?” Kasia asks.

  “Behind us. The graydar shows a distance of a hundred thousand feet.”

  Kasia pictures the graydar in her mind’s eye, seeing the blip of how far away the ship would show up behind them and whispers a curse. “Stay on the wind and push the engines to six eighths. Calculate their relative velocity as soon as possible. Silla, stay in command. I want to see for myself who we’ve dragged home. Alina, come with me.”

  Kasia faces her sisters on the bridge a moment longer.

  “Lili, everything okay?” she asks her sister with straight dark hair, like a cascade of shadows, whose head is turned away and who has been dead silent up until then..

  “Yes, Captain,” the other responds, without rotating her neck an inch, the helm’s wheel in her hands and a few minutes from a potential chase by armed enemies. Kasia’s eyes consult Silla who nods curtly. Everything’s under control, Captain. I’ll take care of her, Captain. There isn’t much need for words when you’ve shared the hold of the same vessel for over thirty years. Before the war, Silla had to put up with grimmer company in the holds of attack airships.

  Kasia heads toward the weapons locker and hands Alina a big fat revolver. “Check that it’s loaded and the safety is firmly in place.”

  A shiver runs down her arm as she leaves the heavy metal in the girl’s palm. Assembling and disassembling weapons was one of their few pastimes on Gothland, during the exile. Even for little children.

  For herself, she chooses a short blunderbuss with a gilded bronze barrel. A weapon useful both as a firearm and as a blunt instrument in a quick scuffle. They climb down to the hold where the pale wooden crate awaits them.

  “Give me the revolver and open it,” Kasia orders.

  Reluctantly, the young woman relinquishes the weapon and, grabbing on to a short pulley, starts to force the boards with her foot.

  Kasia positions herself a few yards away, trying to keep an open line of fire between Alina and the container. With a loud snap, the first board gives way tumbling to the floor. The crate is stuffed with jute sacks and written on in black paint: “pepper,” “cumin,” “coriander,” and other names of spices.

  Alina looks at it, gawking with her big gray eyes, and shrugs.

  “Try cutting a bag open, one of those on top,” Kasia suggests.

  With her knife, the girl slices into the one labelled pepper. A handful of granules pour to the ground, but after a short time the sack runs dry—empty.

  Alina grabs the jute and throws it aside, revealing a black cavity, a false bottom inside the container.

  “Step away from it,” says Kasia, levelling her gun. “Hey you, inside,” she raises her voice a bit. “We know you’re in there. Who are you?”

  A coughing fit. Then a deep voice, in English: “Ehm, I am Guild Poe. Where am I?” A very strange accent, as if he were speaking with his cheeks full of apples.

  Alina and Kasia look at each other dumbstruck; then the Captain answers, “You’re on an English airship, headed to Londion. I am the Captain, Kasia Santuini. Now, we’re going to
pull you out of there. Stay still. If I hear movement while we’re opening it, I’ll shoot first and afterward ask myself what would have been the best thing to do. I have a seven ninety arquebus in my hand, for your information.”

  “Okay, Captain. Stay calm, eh? I’ll be a good boy, but don’t get carried away with your finger on the trigger,” the voice in the crate answers in an amused tone.

  Alina, amid shoves and grunts, pries another two boards off the crate and meticulously puts aside the bogus spice bags. Kasia waits with her gun raised, but the man stays motionless inside the false bottom, completely hidden by the dark.

  “Alright, that should suffice. Alina, come. Take your weapon.”

  Then, in a louder voice: “Guild Poe! The gap is wide enough; you may come out. Very slowly, without making any sudden moves.”

  A dark-skinned hand appears out of the opening and, pushing off of the sacks, it’s followed by a head of frizzy white hair and a smooth face from which two small eyes stand out—black and lively—and quickly focus on Kasia.

  “Captain, I’m getting out. Careful with those doohickeys.”

  “Do come out, Guild Poe. You have nothing to fear here if you stay cool.”

  The man, with a certain amount of caution, owing to his clearly advanced age, wriggles out of the crate until he stands at his full, noteworthy height.

  He isn’t wearing a jacket, just an elegant camel-colored sweater and a pair of perfectly-tailored black pants. He puts his hands up and displays a bezel of white teeth contrasting with his black lips. “It’s a great pleasure, young ladies.”

  “You have very dark skin, Guild Poe. And you’re not English; you have a peculiar accent. Where are you from?”

  “Ooh!” the man responds with a dry little laugh. “I come from inside the crate, Captain Santuini. And frankly I found it much more comfortable.”

  “Alina, search this man and then take a quick look inside the crate.”

  “Ah-ah.” The man raises a finger. “Captain, let’s not start off on the wrong foot. Am I your guest on this ship or your prisoner?”

  “Neither one or the other. You’re a passenger, whom I honestly would have preferred to not take on board, but who I had to accept under duress. And passengers have to conform to a few simple rules. First and foremost, no shooting weapons on my ship. Are you armed?”

  “Of course; I have a revolver strapped to my right ankle.” The man lifts his corduroy trousers a few inches and reveals a brown leather holster. “And,” he kneels, putting a hand inside the crate, “I have this—”

  “Easy!” says Kasia placing the butt of her gun against his back.

  “—overnight bag,” he continues, taking it out an inch at a time, “which contains my hunting knife.”

  “What else is in there?”

  “Oh, my toothbrush, tissues and some other knick-knacks of mine. Nothing important.”

  “Yes, of course. Listen, Guild Poe, the voyage to Londion is long and I trust the man who loaded you on this ship. Unfasten the revolver from your ankle now and place your hunting knife at your feet. After which Alina will take your weapons into custody and frisk you—it’s only fair—to be sure you haven’t forgotten anything. Everything will be returned to you when we arrive. Other than that, you’re free to move around the ship, navigational maneuvers permitting of course. Are we agreed?”

  “Radio transmission from the pursuing vessel,” the brass horn attached to the wall reports Silla’s voice from the bridge. “They insist on speaking to the captain.”

  “Captain on the bridge in four minutes. Relay that. Relative velocity?”

  “They’ve matched our speed and are keeping their distance.”

  “Good. Be right there.”

  “You need to bind that ankle, Captain,” the man says with a half-smile.

  “Yes, unfortunately my medical officer stayed behind on the ground. They didn’t permit her to set sail.”

  The man places his weapons on the floor and meticulously closes the suitcase’s clasps. “I can do it myself, if you like. I studied emergency medicine.”

  Kasia signals to Alina with her chin. In a few quick movements, the arms are confiscated and the man summarily searched.

  “Let’s go to the bridge; we’re starting to gain altitude and it isn’t heated in here. Come, good sir, let us see what you can do. Alina, grab the medic’s kit.” Passing in front of the storage closet, Kasia raps her knuckles against the door. “Ahoy there, inside. Everything okay?”

  “Yes, Captain. But I’d like to make myself useful somehow.”

  All things considered, Hansi has shown himself to be upstanding. And if the tailing airship wants to intercept them, soon the four will have their hands full with problems. Someone to keep an eye on the elderly dandy could be useful. Kasia unlocks the door.

  “Come out. Hansi, may I introduce Mr. Guild Poe. He’s authorized to come to the bridge and to touch my left ankle. Nothing else.”

  “Uh of course, Captain. Herr Poe, it’s a pleasure.” Young Hansi seems to understand that it’ll fall on him to watch the man because he quickly sets himself at his flank and graces Alina with a big smile, which doesn’t escape Kasia. Even though the boy’s sharp and making himself useful, it’s better to drop him at the first port. A hell of a lot better.

  “Captain on deck,” Kasia says, heading towards her pale leather seat.

  “The Captain takes command,” Silla responds mechanically, getting up. “Lili, hold the helm, Riger, artillery, and I’ll take communications. Alina, stay close to me.”

  Kasia lets herself sink into the worn out cushion and extends her foot, placing it at the edge of the footboard encircling the elevated captain’s chair.

  “Sisters: Mr. Guild Poe, our precious cargo headed for Londion. An expert in emergency medicine, he says. Let’s see how you handle the melon I feel inside my boot. Hansi, sit back there, lookout station one.”

  “Captain, the first officer of the pursuing vessel asks to speak with you. Insistently,” Silla says, having just put on her headphones.

  “What is this mysterious vessel called?”

  “The Baron’s Scourge.”

  “I’ll take it.” Kasia puts on the headphones and wags her chin in the direction of the very tall Guild Poe, drawing his attention to her raised foot. “You’re speaking with the Captain of the Needle.”

  “Captain Santuini, this is the first officer of the Scourge,” a male voice bursts metallically through the large loudspeaker fixed to the bridge.

  “Pass me to your Captain, uhhn—” Kasia lets out as Guild Poe pulls off her boot.

  “Please wait.”

  “Hey, First Officer! My patience has its limits.”

  “Please wait.”

  Another voice, fighting with the static, somehow familiar to Kasia’s ears comes through the headphones. “Santuini. This is the Captain of the Scourge, Host Van Thieg. I finally manage to speak with you; you must be rather busy on your ship.”

  “Oh, yes. I was washing my hair. Do we know each other?”

  “We’ve seen each other a few times, yes. Today in fact, in that flea-bitten alley, remember?”

  So the Captain of the mysterious vessel is the man with the oily, raven hair who accompanied the baron and that strange blonde in the mask.

  “And your girlfriend? Did she manage to take off with you or did she stay behind on the pier to have a drink with that madman with the turban on his head who was so anxious to skin us?”

  In the meantime the black man, Guild Poe, has stripped bare her ankle, which presents a worrisome swelling and a purple bruise under the ankle-bone.”

  “Amusing,” Van Thieg answers. “Santuini, you have something that belongs to us.”

  “Is that so? It’s just that my hold is full of goods, therefore I don’t know how I’ll find what you need. You’d better send me an official request, that way I’ll record it in my ship’s log. And once we arrive at our destination, when we check off the discharge list, perhaps
we’ll be fortunate enough to find whatever you’ve lost.”

  “You don’t know what you’re playing with. Stop your engines and let us on board. It won’t inconvenience you in the least and, in exchange for what belongs to us, we’ll even give you a nice sack of gold pieces.”

  Kasia observes Guild who is wrapping the bandages around her ankle. He winds one coil over the next meticulously without leaving even a millimeter between each band but overlapping very little, so as not to make it needlessly thick. Indifferent to the conversation. Apparently indifferent—Kasia notes a bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

  “Captain, another airship has taken off from the docks,” Silla interrupts, on the internal channel.

  “Additional information?”

  “It’s at the edge of the graydar, I think it took off from the middle section, could be pier ten. It’s on the tail of the Scourge.”

  “Let’s hope it’s the good Leonardo, who’s keeping an eye on his affairs.” The Scourge, however well-armed and swift it may be, couldn’t possibly hold its own against two allied airships.

  “Should I try to contact it?” Silla asks.

  “No, let’s keep a low profile. It might not be him after all, but rather some Dutchman coming to lend a hand to our enemy.”

  “Captain,” Van Thieg’s voice erupts again from the shell-shaped speakers. “Have you finished your accounts? Slow down and let us dock, that way we can converse face to face.”

  “Excuse me, Mister, I think you’re mistaken; we don’t have what you’re looking for on board. Now you must excuse me, but I have to attend to our route. Over and out,” Kasia pulls the switch, cutting their communication short.

  “There we go,” Guild whispers, with his deep voice. “With this binding the swelling should diminish and the pain too. Nothing is broken, so in a couple of days you can get back to jumping around like a roe deer.”

  “Very nice. Listen, friend, your passage hasn’t yet been paid, and I have an airship armed to the teeth on my tail that’s demanding you at full volume. I need a good reason not to slow down and deliver you to them.”

  The man assumes a thoughtful air and brings a finger to his chin. “I don’t know this Baron Dietrich, and I don’t owe him anything.”