They cross the clearing and Ahsto points into the dense foliage. “Follow me. I know a way.” And so they climb down from the cliff into the forest.
***
With a shaky hand, Hansi buttons the top of his overcoat. Evening is almost upon them and the temperature is dropping fast. Involuntary shivers seize him at the thought of another night outdoors. Last night he persisted walking around until four in the morning, then when the last gambling house closed, he took shelter in a doorway, covering himself with packaging cardboard. Fortunately, the store on the other side had a bread oven and Hansi rested his back against the warm bricks, while outside a blizzard raged so dense it even discouraged the soldiers making their rounds. In the morning, after a few hours of fitful sleep, with his extremities aching from the cold, he dove into the first café to fill himself with all the boiling black tea he was able to drink to warm himself.
All day he searched for news of Alina, but most passersby ignored him or they didn’t remember having noticed a young woman or an English sailor.
He reaches into his pocket for the umpteenth time. Less than two hundred pieces remain of the money Gabriela gave him.
Cerriwden tried every way to dissuade him. She shrieked and yelled on the bridge of the East Wind: “We need to find help! We can’t do anything, you and I! We won’t abandon Alina, we’ll come back! But we need to repair the airship, find reinforcements, or at least wait for my aunt to recover.”
He wouldn’t waver, and in the end Cerriwden agreed to let him off on the docks of Novograd, with a few coins and a revolver in his pocket.
“You’ll never find her and you’ll get yourself killed,” Gabri said to him as a farewell.
Up until now, the first part of her prediction held true, for the second it would only take a couple more nights outside and the cold would see to it.
Still, he didn’t want to take lodging at an inn; he needed what little money he had to enter the underground gambling dens, the only environment he knew well and where he could move easily. And where he could hope to scrape together some news of his vanished lover.
The thought of those honest eyes, and those soft ever-smiling lips, in the claws of who-knows-what unknown crook made him hiccup with rage.
Is it possible a powerful witch like Alina allowed herself to be surprised and captured without countering? And that dandy Allport, a military man who always seemed ready to throw his fists around and blast guns, where did he end up? How could everything have gone so catastrophically wrong?
The worst is that he, ill-prepared and struggling to take care of himself, is Alina’s only remaining hope. He would have liked Kasia to be there, she would have known what to do, who to go to, who to squeeze with her magic arts in order to get the right confession. Or perhaps the cold Silla, silent and deadly.
And instead it falls on him, a dull young German, whose only weapon is the love he feels toward Alina, driving him to attempt the impossible. He swears between his teeth, rubbing his hands together.
On the other side of the street, amid the steaming pots of the hawkers of fish soup, Hansi glimpses the face he’s looking for. A Frenchman with whom, the day before, he struck a fragile alliance at the gambling table and who seems to know useful information.
“Hey, François,” Hansi calls his name, crossing the street in a few short paces.
“Oh, ho, the German,” the other young man answers, blowing into his cupped hands to warm them. “You’re an early riser.”
“You disappeared last night.”
Right when you should have started singing a helpful tune, Hansi thinks.
“The Loafers’s gang walked into the place. People it’s best to avoid, notwithstanding the fact you’re looking for them.”
“You told me that in your opinion this Loafer might have information on the people I’m trying to find.”
“Shh.” François takes him by the arm, opening his brown eyes wide. “You want to get me killed?”
They move away some from the thoroughfare and withdraw behind the steam of tanning hides. “Last night I was a little drunk and maybe I didn’t give you the best advice,” he continues. “Give up your damned search! The Loafer is one of the most feared criminals in the city and he must have at least thirty conspirators in his service, without counting friends and relatives. Thirty consummate assassins who will kill you as soon as look at you.”
“In truth, I only need some information. I know Alina was kidnapped by the Loafer, he’s the last person she was seen with. But do you know where he might be holding her? Where are his hideouts?”
The Frenchman looks around him, scratching his wiry beard.
“You know what I can tell you? I’m famished. Buy me breakfast and I’ll try to help you out.”
PART TWO: STRANGE COMPANY
“Radio contact,” Riger interrupts the tense silence on the bridge.
Kasia turns her head distractedly, troubled by the unusual tone of the announcement. Everything seems strange to her on this journey: Silla, always on communications during maneuvers, absent; a man, Guild Poe, seated at the first lookout post wringing his dark hands and—omnipresent—a grave silence.
On deck, aboard the Needle, the rules are strictly obeyed during maneuvers but, during the long hours of transit, jokes, tricks and sharp banter, especially between Silla and Riger, were never in short supply. Alina had quickly earned a place of respect in this game, thanks to her shrewd and pointed little tongue. The thought of her niece stings Kasia, a solid unmoving pain, which doesn’t want to leave her chest.
Even the Needle itself isn’t the same ship which, a few months ago, left the docks of Visby. Now it rides on a quasi-aluminum, military frame, which allows it to leap like a salmon at the slightest command, plowing through the atmospheric currents as if they were whipped cream.
“The Visby beacon has engaged us,” Riger finishes.
“Greet our sisters and communicate to them that we are followed by the Baron. Or rather, transmit: ‘Captain Santuini asks permission for the airships Needle and Baron’s Scourge to dock with the Council’s blessing.’”
Their transmissions are being monitored by the Scourge, but Kasia has to get across that the situation is complicated without losing face in front of the Baron and, as a result, his trust.
Such a formal communication will make some young sorceress at the beacon smile, but the more experienced will understand between the lines that something’s boiling in the pot.
No friendly airship arriving in the homeland would announce itself so pompously, mentioning the Council.
“Lili, follow the course indicated by the beacon.” Silence at the helm. “Lili?”
“Yes, Captain, excuse me. New course four-four North, set.”
It was a tense trip, but Lili hadn’t shown any signs of imbalance yet. After the episode in Den Haag, she seemed capable of managing the situation; nevertheless, every so often she has these absent-minded moments, when her eyes glaze over and her thoughts are lost on paths of revenge.
Kasia bats away a lock that’s escaped from her ponytail and pulls the switch for communication with the cargo hold. “This is the Captain speaking. Land in sight, we’ve arrived in Gothland.”
“Santuini!” Franziska’s shrill voice bursts from the loud speaker. “I demand you grant me access on deck! It’s been twelve hours I’ve been shut down here, without even being able to go to the bathroom!”
“It’s been a tough voyage for everybody,” Kasia smiles.
“This is a humiliation you’ll pay dearly for. These weren’t the terms of the agreement.”
“Complain to your master. I agreed to bring you with us to Gothland. We said nothing about room and board.”
“You’ve treated me like a prisoner. The Baron’s not going to be pleased. Come and open this damned door or I swear I’ll break it down.”
“Careful what you do. I could decide to tie you up in the water closet to avoid damage to my ship’s velvet.”
“
Santuini!” the German blonde’s voice seems like it wants to bust the speaker’s acoustic membrane. “I’ll repay you in kind, one day.”
“I doubt it. The day you captain an airship, I’ll be so old I won’t even be able to enjoy blonde jokes anymore, which I love,” Kasia chuckles.
“It will come sooner than you think. I’ll take you for a spin.”
“You owe me that much; I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”
“You can count on it. It will be a long trip; we’ll hit all the most famous cities of the Palatinate and I’ll be sure you remember it forever. I need to go to the bathroom for heaven’s sake!”
Kasia cuts off communications with a smile still on her lips, which quickly transforms into a glower. The treatment she set aside for Franziska will cost her plenty, if she ever gives the German a chance to get her own back. Regardless, she preferred to insure a peaceful crossing, sequestering the agile woman under lock and key.
“The beacon has assigned us a pier. The one for the Scourge is still on standby,” Riger says. “There’s also a transmission, verbatim: ‘Eleanor Viscount greets you all and shall receive the Needle’s captain in the customs offices at thirteen hundred hours.’”
Kasia doesn’t know whether to be happy that her hidden message was understood, or worried about facing further difficulties.
The Viscounts are one of the most ancient clans, who’ve sat on the Council forever taking turns with the Renneaux clan for the office of chancellor. Currently the Council’s direction is in their hands. Sending young Eleanor means her arrival has attracted their attention, but not enough to require the presence of the clan chief, Ehrinna Viscount, or the other elder witches.
Politicians! She imagines them engrossed in reading dusty tracts in the lamp light, in front of a carafe filled with black tea. The whole clan suddenly freezing around the library table, disturbed by her unexpected visit.
What damnation of a problem could this Santuini have? Going to greet her would let old Ehrinna’s tea go cold.
Send Eleanor, the crone must have grumbled, to hear what the devil that insolent woman wants.
So immersed in the games of government, moves and countermoves, that they’ve lost contact with the real world. No wonder the idea of withdrawing into voluntary exile in the North came precisely from them.
“Guild Poe,” Kasia says, “you’ll meet some new witches today, are you pleased? A good number of new sorceresses, you’ll see.”
“I need to meet one in particular. Serena Goldenbit,” Guild answers, stretching out his stiff legs.
“It’s not that simple. My sisters here are shy. Very few are merchants like me; most aren’t accustomed to seeing strangers, especially men. But I want you and Franziska to come parlay. To open the eyes of those self-righteous women. I want to drive the idea into their bony skulls that witches aren’t the only people in the world; but it’ll be necessary to confront them with other forces as well. Let’s go free that delicate little blonde.”
Kasia places her hands on the armrests to lift herself, but the final order must be pronounced. The third officer on deck is Lili; nevertheless, in this unstable situation, perhaps it would be wiser to entrust command to Riger.
Lili would understand. However, a sudden light-hearted thought crosses through the captain’s mind.
To the devil with it! Her niece has disappeared, her first officer is who knows where, there are debts heavy as mountains to be paid—what else could go wrong? Perhaps it’s better then to leave a witch on the brink of madness in charge of the Needle, who if it should be necessary to set fire to the stock of munitions and send them all to hell, wouldn’t hesitate.
She tightens her brass belt and rises to her feet. “Lili, you’re in command. I’m going down to the cabins.
With legs unsteady from exhaustion, Kasia heads below deck, not without noticing the proud, alert look on the face of the other woman, in charge of the Needle during the complex approach maneuvers.
***
The Englishman’s fingers slide under the cuff of her trousers, to caress her calf.
Alina has lived in absolute darkness for four days. They’ve dropped a semi-rigid mask over her face which only leaves her nose free. Her eyes are sealed by two rubber stoppers, while a filthy rag has been balled up in her mouth and shoved down her throat, until it triggered her gag reflex. Every movement of her larynx other than breathing, caused uncontrollable gasps and coughing fits that almost brought her to the point of asphyxiation.
Allport too is gagged, so that up until now she’s only heard him whimper. But, when their jailers went away and left them alone, the English solider managed to stretch out on the floor and touch her leg: the sole, silent gesture of solidarity allowed him by the chains she hears jangle.
The young woman is seated in an inquisitional chair. She’d only read about them in books, or learned of the instrument’s existence from the stories of some old harpy. Along her forearms and thighs, fastened to the wood by leather straps, she feels the iron nails ready to strike. A spring which senses heat keeps the metal spikes withdrawn, but if she were to merely summon the dragon, the rise in her skin’s temperature would set off the contraption and the points would penetrate a hand’s breadth into her muscles and bone. One of many devices invented during centuries of torture, imprisonment and subjugation of witches like her.
Allport’s fingers tap her calf and then squeeze, as if to instill courage.
The young witch grits her teeth around the foul smelling cloth. It’s the second time over the course of two weeks that she’s found herself tied up like a roast and caught in the hands of men with ill intentions. Maybe her aunt is right: she’s not yet ready for this world.
She’s too naïve, too trusting, too green. Only this time Kasia won’t come to save her. A tear runs silently down her cheek. Her aunt will try, using all her might without a doubt, but she won’t make it in time.
These marauders are just waiting for a Chinese airship that they’ll load her on in exchange for a sack stuffed with gold pieces. And, once she’s arrived in Central Asia, her civil rights will evaporate into nothing and she’ll become a slave to some rich, eccentric mandarin. Another strange beast to be added to his menagerie or the passive object of his most brutish desires, day after day, for the rest of her life.
***
Kasia tightens the straps of her boots to her knees, observing the disheartening way her hands are trembling. Almost eighteen hours without sleep with only cold food in her stomach. She arranges her red curls in front of the mirror, tying them in two pigtails she’s meticulously braiding into twists on top of her ears.
This work tidying herself up is admirable, also because of the little time at her disposal: the worry lines and exhaustion haven’t disappeared, but a well-pressed jacket and light-colored pants can work wonders.
Locking Franziska back up in a cabin was an epic task that required all her patience.
She finishes her preparation by redrawing a thick black line around her eyes and she reassures herself with a last glance. Her appearance is sufficiently fearsome, now she needs to translate that into practice.
***
The rooms of the customs office, where Viscount awaits her, seem like a monument to celebrate the many uses of unfinished wooden planks. Planks on the floor, the walks, benches and tables are made solely of raw lumber.
Kasia twists her nose and sits in the chair the other witch indicates. With no makeup and dark hair so disordered it looks like it’s come out of a tropical storm and decked out all in black, Viscount seems like the spirit of the most orthodox witchcraft incarnate. On the other hand, those who are truly faithful to the Rule have always despised the worldliness of the merchant clans. Kasia imagines that Eleanor, wrapped in her dusty shawl of matted wool, hides her contempt for her expensive clothes behind a show of imperturbable composure. And she doesn’t dare imagine the young woman’s thoughts on the presence of that lumbering German woman, sheathed in a bright,
sensual jumpsuit of green leather, buttoned from ankle to neck with silver clasps, garnished with a red, boiled-wool jacket, matching the lacquer mask that covers her face.
Kasia smiles involuntarily, the most exotic element, the black man Guild Poe, is perhaps the one who’s attracted the fewest looks of reproach.
Behind Viscount sit two other witches, from the Renneaux and Scintiha clans, two important voices at the Council. She hoped there would be a Pamfeil or a Nimu, merchant clans more accustomed to dealing with strangers, but today doesn’t seem to be her lucky day.
“Eminent Sisters,” Kasia begins, “I am honored by your presence and happy to have completed another voyage successfully, finally returning to the homeland. However my voyage was afflicted by terrible events which decimated my crew and drove me here in search of answers.”
Viscount clears her voice and asks, “What events, Santuini?”
“My airship was attacked by unknown forces while I was crossing the Channel. The Baron’s Scourge, the ship awaiting permission to land, aided us, helping us to retreat to Den Haag. The lady present here,” she points at Franziska, “is an emissary of that vessel.”
“The attack was launched by pirates?”
“Yes, Sister. Unidentified forces.”
“Did you file a complaint with the flight security authority in the Palatinate?” Viscount asks, pointedly trying to push a curly black lock from her face.
“Of course. I know the code of navigation. We’re here because a document in the possession of Mr. Guild Poe here present, may be the keystone to better understanding the nature of this attack. We consider the Goldenbit clan—”
“We consider?” the witch interrupts, putting an end to the pleasantries. “How many of you are there to ‘consider’ it?’”
Franziska springs up from the table and is about to open her mouth, but Kasia places a hand on her knee and continues, “Myself and Captain Von Tieg, of the Scourge, have shared in this opinion. Furthermore, there’s also an airship flying the Swiss flag, the Mala Avis, captained by Leonardo Guarischi who participated in our rescue and he too is convinced of such an approach. He shall arrive in a few days, after he has managed to recover part of my crew.”
The Codex of the Witch: Fantasy Novel Page 24
