The Codex of the Witch: Fantasy Novel

by Federico Negri

  “Hey,” Riger tidies her hair, “you don’t even have to say it. Come, pull yourself up and we’ll go get ourselves cleaned.”

  Kasia leaves the crew’s lodgings, accompanied by her first officer. “We came close this time. Too close. Why is she still so unstable?”

  “Before she left, the old ones told her she shouldn’t do it. It’s a miracle she’s been able to control herself this way until now. Naike was eight years old, and she was done in right before her eyes. It’s difficult to recover from a shock like that.”

  “Yes, but it seemed to me she was getting better. And now this.”

  “It’s a times of extreme stress,” Silla remarks. “And then there’s all these Germans and Dutchmen swarming around us. Just hearing their language spoken on board the Needle makes me shudder. But your decision not to cast a containment spell was the right call.”

  Kasia nods, pensively. “Thank goodness. We need the right calls, Silla. Our margin of error now is zero. I need to leave the Needle. If they should keep me away don’t go mad, escape and search for Alina. Those are my orders.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the other mumbles.

  ***

  This time, the entourage that accompanies them to the baron’s is sumptuous to say the least. Four mounted officers ride on either side of them, along with at least twenty guards in dress uniforms, with gleaming swords and well-oiled rifles. In the middle of this platoon, like high-ranking prisoners, march Kasia, Guild Poe and Leonardo. They decided not to take anyone from their crew with them. A small show of force—we don’t need anything more—or a stupid, presumptuous move, depending on which side you view it from.

  Kasia dusted off the heavy jacket in her trunk, burgundy, embellished with black braiding. A garment that conceals secret pockets at her ribs and back, in which layers of newspaper are hidden, capable of stopping knives, but not bullets.

  Guild Poe walks alongside her, with all his considerable stature, eyes lowered and face pale notwithstanding his dark skin.

  The American wasn’t pleased when the visit was proposed, but, after various objections, he could no longer refuse given that his only two protectors, her and Leonardo, agreed to try this sortie.

  The gangway of the Baron’s Scourge is watched over by two ex-convicts with threatening faces. But the place of honor belongs to the blonde woman—in a peculiar mask with seven sections, of different colors—who greets them with a strained smile.

  “Follow me,” she orders, quickly turning her agile back on the group.

  The Scourge’s interior is austere; it looks more like a military airship than a nobleman’s residence. Kasia expected brocade and fine pelts, but instead the furnishings were sparing, designed to add minimal weight.

  The Baron awaits them sitting at a mahogany table, around which half his large crew could eat comfortably.

  To his right sits Captain Von Thieg, his long raven hair weighed down with pomade. The masked woman, always smiling, seats herself to his left, leaving the three stuffed velvet seats across the table for them.

  With a distracted gesture, the Baron dismisses the other escorts, who close the door behind them with a discreet click.

  “Well then, Guarischi,” the Baron begins, tidying his soft tawny hair, “with what type of liquor would you like to wet your gullet? And what can I offer to your… guests?”

  “I’ll have some white wine,” Leonardo banters back cheerily.

  “Whatever you are having suits me, Baron,” Kasia interjects, so as to have her voice heard as well. Have what the host is having is a rule of etiquette and a subtle message: “We aren’t naïve, we’re on guard against your traps and your poisons.”

  “White wine,” Guild Poe mumbles, and the blonde woman serves them, taking the bottles from a metal cabinet.

  Kasia finds her glass filled with cherry juice and a hint of whiskey. Not exactly what she would have chosen, but she wets her lips just the same out of politeness, after having raised her chalice in a customary toast especially because she was urged on by the Baron who threw back a good swig.

  “I have been wanting to meet you for some time,” Dietrich addresses the American. “They’re telling some fabulous stories about you.”

  “I come from far away, it’s true,” Guild Poe says guarded, behind a forced smile.

  “I won’t make you retell your adventures; for the most part I’ve already heard them. I have...” a pause and a small laugh, “done my research. I don’t want to waste the little time your Swiss protector has granted me before leaving for his urgent commercial activities.”

  “Well get to the point,” Leonardo encourages him. “It’s always the best way to conduct business.”

  Irritated by the interruption, the Baron waits for silence before continuing his monologue.

  “I said, Mr. Poe, that you have attracted our attention. Through our… emissaries, we have already learned the extent of the danger overflowing on the other side of the ocean. Which, unfortunately, is now invading our coasts as well. Anyway,” the Baron allows himself a gulp of cherry juice, “you are in possession of some head-scratching puzzles thanks mostly to that little volume, the codex, you always have close by, but which I now see you have regrettably,” he clears his throat, “forgotten on board Captain Santuini’s airship.”

  “May I ask,” Guild Poe answers decisively, although a small tremor betrays him, “why I would ever hand it over to you?”

  “Mr. Poe, you are poorly informed, I fear, of the political situation here in old Europe. The Palatinate, that is to say the alliance between the Germans and the Dutch, has for a long time now been the military and economic power par excellence. We have won the last war and we do not intend to lose the next one. Especially against those abominations come from across the ocean. And so, you,” the Baron points at him with a gloved finger, “have every reason to unite your forces with ours.”

  Guild Poe coughs and breaks into booming laughter, with the skin of his face folding like pigskin into a thousand grooves.

  Leonard quickly joins in the hilarity. “Ha, ha! This man slays me. The way he laughs I can’t hold myself back, it’s contagious! But what is so funny, you old fox?”

  The American quiets his guffaw, which has elicited only impatient frowns on the other side of the table and explains, “Baron, you talk of forces, but I don’t represent anyone here, except myself. You, on the other hand, seem to speak in the name of some government.”

  The sound of deferent knocking at the door interrupts them. After the Captain gives his leave, an officer enters the room out of breath and proceeds to whisper a few words in the Baron’s ear, repeating them then to Von Thieg. The Captain of the Scourge snaps around like a serpent and sears Leonardo with a glare. “Guarischi, your airship has already taken off, without the harbormaster’s permission! What does this mean?”

  A shiver runs up Kasia’s spine. Is it possible Leonardo’s crew rose up in mutiny? Leaving their captain to his fate in enemy hands? He, however, appears calm; he rests his back against the chair and replies, “A long trip awaits us. I’ve asked my first officer to test out the balloons. He’ll fly up to the port’s zenith and rest there for a few minutes, the amount of time we need to finish our chat.”

  “You don’t have authorization for this maneuver.” Baron Dietrich furrows his eyebrows. “One cannot place oneself in a position that threatens the docked ships without permission from the port authority. A military vessel will takeoff shortly to intercept yours.”

  “Oh, I hope not!” Leonardo responds. “My first officer might think I was in danger and make the wrong decision.”

  Von Thieg strikes his palm against the table. “He wouldn’t dare open fire on the Scourge with you on board! You don’t have the stomach for a move like that.”

  Leonardo answers with the most affable of smiles. “Maybe I don’t. It’s true, my dear Dutchman; that’s why I entrusted it to my first officer, an Irishman named Kelligh. He was the captain of a warship, and his fleet was take
n down by your countrymen. He’s a man who leaves little room for doubt.”

  Von Thieg explodes, face red with rage. “You couldn’t have left there without leaving some order behind you! Now tell us the signal—”

  The Baron moves his fingers a few inches in his direction, extinguishing the sentence in his mouth.

  “We are wasting too much time with these,” he sneers, “discussions.” He nods to the message bearer and, after a few words in his ear, sends him out of the room.

  “No pursuer will take flight for now,” Dietrich continues. “Unfortunately we’ll have to dispense with,” a strained smile, “courtesies. Mr. Guild Poe, you must deliver the codex to us.”

  The American puts his back against the chair and begins, in a scholarly tone, “If you think that little notebook in your hands can stop the threat from across the ocean, I’ll give it over without delay. However,” he brings together the tips of his long, dark fingers, “the person who drafted it charged me with specific instructions on where and to whom I should bring it. And you are not on the list.”

  The Baron doesn’t breathe a word, but his sharp gaze hardens a few notches.

  “Perhaps,” Leonardo interjects, “we could trade some information. Dear Mr. Guild Poe could enlighten you as to his next destination and you, in exchange, shall do the same for us regarding the mission you delegated to the Cerriwdens, in the East.”

  Up until that moment Kasia listened to the conversation focused only on not letting any rash statements slip, but the mere mention of the Cerriwden airship, where Alina is held hostage, grabs her attention.

  “So,” says the Baron, “your plan is to… ah, stroll out of here and return to your business, just because the author of the codex didn’t name me as its addressee? You would keep out of the game the greatest player in Europe, in the world perhaps, running the risk you might not have,” he lowers his voice so in the end it’s a whisper, “sufficient forces to win the decisive battle for your civilization?”

  “You want to treat us as your guests?” Leonardo arches one of his blonde forests. “I would like that, but I have other items on my agenda. Furthermore, it wouldn’t be healthy to linger around drinking your splendid wine as the world goes to ruin. Captain Santuini,” Kasia jumps hearing her name, “you shall accompany Guild Poe to deliver the codex. If you want to stay in the game, I’m afraid you’ll have to hand it over.”

  The Baron studies his guests and the look that darts between Leonardo and Kasia. “Where are you headed?” he asks.

  “Where you and I,” the Swiss adventurer answers, “are not welcome. To Gothland, the homeland of the witches.”

  Home! thinks Kasia. Although she’d land on the island bringing a whole sea of problems with her; it might not be the most popular move at the Council.

  “I shall let you go,” Dietrich adds, after a few seconds’ silence, “on two conditions. First of all I want to know why Gothland? Can the codex only be understood by a particular witch? Or is it the place itself that’s important?”

  Guild Poe looks sidelong at Leonardo, who consents. The American shakes his head a few inches, this information falls outside of the agreements they made on the Needle, but then he says, “I need to deliver it to a certain witch. The person who compiled it didn’t explain to me much more than that.”

  “And the name of this witch?”

  Guild Poe examines his fingers thoughtfully.

  “Come now, old boy,” Leonardo interjects. “We have the Baron’s word that he’ll let you deliver it. Right?”

  “Of course,” the German nobleman says with a sigh.

  Guild Poe mumbles, as if he were spitting out a fishbone, “Serena Goldenbit.”

  Kasia holds back a surge of anger. Of all the thousands of witches gathered in Gothland, a Goldenbit? The most orthodox, reclusive, and traditionalist clan on the whole island. The Goldenbits didn’t even participate in the last war against the Palatinate, save when they were forced to by the English in the final weeks before the defeat. They live in their huts, chopping radishes and lamenting how life was better when witches hid in the darkness of the forests and their existence was veiled in myth. And of all them, old Serena was an infamous lunatic, almost incapable of communicating with those outside her clan, so hardened was she with contempt toward the world. She was already decrepit when Kasia was a young witch, a wrinkled face like a turtle that watched her through the branches as she collected the plants for her first potions.

  “Does the name mean anything to you?” the Swiss man asks the Baron.

  “Should it?” Dietrich answers, petulantly.

  Kasia imperceptibly purses her lips. Incredible how ignorant ordinary men are of most of her people. The Santuini clan has been famous for decades, very active in trade thanks to the industrious streak of her Great Aunt Camilla and her Aunt Jolanta, one of the first witches to own an airship outright. The Cerriwden clan too was well-known, especially after the last war when they played the same hand at more than one table—or so they say. The Pimfaeils and the Nimus were prized as traffickers in clothes and arms, in various European ports. All the other witches were pretty muddled in the heads of those on the Continent, in part because few of them owned their own airships; the business begun today with one captain could be completed by another face tomorrow, after the ship passes into the hands of another clan.

  “Good. So we’re in agreement,” Leonardo remarks.

  “The second condition?” Kasia asks.

  The Baron bends his head toward the masked woman, wrapped in grinning silence up until then. “Franziska shall come with you on Captain Santuini’s airship.”

  A lump gets caught in Kasia’s windpipe as she tries to respond with grace. “The company of your attendant would be an honor, but I cannot accept, unfortunately. My crew has been reduced to barebones. I have a wounded officer and my niece was kidnapped by the Cerriwdens; furthermore I already need to look after Guild Poe. It would be impossible to take on another passenger.”

  Not to mention that Silla, her right hand, will be going with Leonardo in search of Alina, leaving all the responsibility for the Needle on her shoulders, with Lili more unstable than ever. But she preferred to withhold these facts from the Baron.

  “A passenger? You’re joking, Santuini,” the masked woman interjects mellifluously, “I’m more experienced than any witch in your crew and I can work all the stations, from the pilot’s to the artilleryman’s. Or the captain’s.”

  “You getting your paws on the Needle’s control panel is as likely as the sun shining at midnight.”

  “Ladies,” Leonardo interrupts, holding his hands out in front of him. “I beg you, try to maintain a constructive attitude. Your request, Dietrich, is very onerous for Captain Santuini. Nevertheless—”

  “Nevertheless be damned!” Kasia hisses. “I’ve had enough!”

  “Nevertheless,” Leonardo repeats good naturedly, “Captain Santuini would be much more inclined to accept if you would tell us something about the mission you delegated to the Cerriwdens, seeing that her niece is a guest on that airship.”

  Kasia was about to answer back, but she quickly shuts her mouth. The Baron nervously stiffens his jawbone and asks, “What would you like to know, Santuini?”

  That shrewd bastard Leonardo always knows where to hit her, in her one weak spot. However he’s also becoming predictable, and a predictable merchant closes few lucrative deals. The dragon in her heart suggests she refuse, that she not take aboard the Teutonic woman in the mask. But why not go all in to see the Baron’s hand and Leonardo’s bluff? She pushes her demon back into the deep and asks, “Where are they headed? And when will they return?”

  The Baron takes another sip of his cherry juice and clicks his tongue. “Delicious. Obviously I can’t be as precise as you would like, given that the mission we speak of is extremely confidential. But nevertheless, if you take Franziska on board, as a sign of friendship, she will divulge that information to you.”

  Kasia huffs
the air out of her nose. “You do not trust in my word?”

  The Baron quietly arranges a light brown lock which obligingly falls over his ear, until Von Thieg breaks the spell. “Santuini, we’re not at the market stall. Here you play hard and you trust in no one. Are you sure you want to sit at the grown-ups’ table, or would you rather keep amusing yourself with your traffick in sand and rags?”

  Kasia feels the dragon snarl inside her and decides to loosen his chains to show those three carrot-eaters the danger they’re running. Her heart tolls silently, like a hammer striking a wineskin bloated beyond all limit. Her lungs fill with fire as if they were being injected with boiling oil. From the wide-eyed stares of those around her she knows it is already painting her eyes black. She leans her hands against the table and lets the dragon penetrate her flesh with its invisible talons. The red-hot steel clears a path under her skin, until it hooks the table’s plane through her fingertips. A blade of fury blossom out of her pubis, ascends to her stomach and slices her heart, freeing the lava swelling inside to flow into her chest. She arches the soles of her feet and pushes hard on the ground with her toes. With that contact, the dragon shakes free of its slumber and roars in rage, spreading its black wings. A violent tremor seizes her arms, immediately spreading itself across the table, which looks as if it’s fastened to her hands. The Baron draws back with a lost look as his two bodyguards grip their weapons.

  “Sand and rags!” Kasia thunders, her voice distorted by the dragon. “I buy souls to feed the Demon, and I pay with fire. Move that hand and your skin will learn how it burns!”

  “Let’s stay calm,” the Baron says quietly. “No one wanted to offend you, Captain Santuini. Lower your pistol, Von Thieg.”

  Kasia lets out a long breath while the dragon reluctantly retreats into the shadows. With effort, she detaches her hands from the table leaving ten little burn marks on the surface. “Hold your tongue, Dutchman,” Kasia says. “If you were on my airship you’d already have a shackle on your throat for having insulted a guest during a war council.”