Parabolis

by Eddie Han

  CH 26

  NOT DOING NOTHING

  The coach dropped Dale off in front of his house. In all appearances, it was like any other morning. With the ever-present backdrop of ships both launching and coming into port, the Waterfront bustled with pre-festival activity. Sailors and merchants were at work to wrap up business before the holiday. It was all perfectly ordinary. Nothing spoke of the looming threat from the North. Standing in front of his house in the crisp morning air, it felt like a dream to Dale—poisoned, taken thirteen hours into the lair of the Carousel Rogues, re-united with Sparrow, and warned of an impossible invasion. It all felt like a distant, fuzzy-haloed dream.

  Dale checked his watch. Had it not been the Eve of the Harvest Festival, he would have been late for work. Yet, like most small businesses, the breaker was closed for the coming holiday. He would have been waking up late this morning, looking forward to sharing in the events of the festival with his uncle, auntie, and Mosaic. With some new deals locked up, Dale would have celebrated knowing some lucrative work awaited him on the other side of the festival. As it was, there were no guarantees there would even be a day after the Harvest Festival.

  Dale walked to his door recounting the events leading up to his fateful reunion with Sparrow—the systematic assassinations of high profile targets, rumors of war, the emergence of the Samaeli. Put into context, the warning took on a different level of urgency. Without entering his house, Dale started for the bakery.

  He walked briskly through the crowded waterfront. Every face he saw represented a life. Faces in anticipation of the festival. Faces of workers. Of men, women, children. They were like sheep, completely oblivious to the slaughter gathering at the gate. Dale began to jog. And with each step, with each passing face, the foreboding grew until he was in a full sprint.

  “Uncle,” he called, as he barged through the door.

  “Dale?”

  “Uncle, listen, you need to get Auntie and Mosaic out of the city.”

  “Is everything all right?” asked Cora Tess.

  “I’ll explain everything later. Right now, we all need to get out of the city.”

  Turkish looked at him, alarmed.

  “What in the Maker’s name are you talking about?” he asked.

  “Where’s Mosaic?”

  “She’s at rehearsals. Dale, calm down. Now, whatever this is about, I’m sure we can figure things out. But first, you have to tell us what is going on.”

  Dale tried to compose himself. He said as calmly as he could, “There’s going to be war.”

  “War?” Turkish blurted. Cora Tess had been standing quietly. There was terror in her eyes. They had never seen Dale approach an excited state before. In light of his usual demeanor, Dale appeared to them on the verge of hysterical.

  “Yes. The Balean Kingdom is going to invade tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did you hear this?”

  “I can’t tell you where I heard it. But listen—”

  “You’ve been acting mighty peculiar this past week. And your auntie and me, we don’t like it. If you’re in some sort of trouble, you tell us right now. And don’t you lie to me, boy.”

  Dale grabbed Turkish by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. And with as much gravitas as he could muster, he said softly, “We’re all in trouble, Uncle. Bale is going to invade this city.”

  “Nonsense. Last I heard we still had the Ancile.”

  “The Ancile.” Dale suddenly remembered Darius. Then instantly, Mosaic’s words rang in his ears. Sometimes doing nothing is as bad as doing what’s wrong.

  It was so clear to him. He had to warn Darius. He had to warn the Republic, his fellow countrymen, everyone.

  “The Ancile is going to fall. You have to believe me, Uncle. Auntie. You have to believe me.”

  Turkish and Cora Tess looked at each other. Without a word, it was confirmed.

  “Okay, Dale. We believe you.”

  “Good. Now find Mosaic and get everyone to Hoche. There isn’t much time.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” asked Turkish.

  “Pray that I am.” Dale rushed out the way he came in.

  CH 27

  SSC

  The headquarters of the City Guards were located in the government quarter of the Central District. It was surrounded by the City Hall, the High Courts, and various other marble structures dating back to the founding of the Republic. The lobby of the headquarters was crowded and noisy. On the third floor was the Criminal Investigations Department. Detective Graham Lei’s desk sat in a row of desks. Detective Graham Lei was not at his desk. He was behind a closed door with two sentinels of the State Security Command.

  The sentinels wore their customary sheen black suits, black ties, and red armbands bearing the crest of the Republic. The crest was a white eagle, wings spanned wide, carrying in its talons a star framed in a crown of laurels. The older sentinel, Norman Walsh, was an out-of-shape veteran who seemed to always be out of breath. In contrast, his junior partner was tall with an athletic build. An ethnic descendent of the Nilotian plainsmen of Loreland, his skin was as dark as the harvest earth, his head polished—bald with a tuft of a black beard just around his lips and chin. And his voice was deep and commanding. His name was Gabriel Helell.

  “How many?” Gabriel asked, referencing a case report folder.

  “We’re guessing twelve,” the detective replied.

  “All Shaldea?”

  “Mostly. Hard to tell when all you have are bones and ashes. But we found scimitars. They were dead before the old factory was set ablaze. Some of the more intact bodies showed signs of stab wounds. A skirmish.”

  While the sentinels quietly tried to piece it together, Detective Lei continued to postulate. “According to their records, Machina invested primarily in securities, raw minerals, and various construction projects outside of Republic soil. Now, we all know the Shaldea have never been keen on Republic investments abroad, right? So I’m thinking maybe they had the Machina investors killed. And in retaliation, the Machina hired some goons to torch them.”

  “Not that simple,” Norman replied. “If anything, it was the other way around. All of the Machina deaths were ruled something other than murder. The Shaldeans could never have pulled that off. And even if they could, there aren’t any investors left to retaliate. Senator Prescott was the last of them.”

  Gabriel closed the report. “You sure your source said the ‘Samaeli?’” he asked.

  “Yes. It’s right here. I wrote it down,” the detective replied, flipping his notepad open.

  “Detective Lei, if your source is correct, if the Samaeli are in this city, then you’re in a world of trouble.”

  “Look, who or what exactly are these guys? And why would they kill Machina investors and the Shaldea?”

  The sentinels exchanged glances.

  “No one knows for sure who they are,” Gabriel replied. “That’s the problem. No one knows where they come from, where they’re going, and what they want. They appear and disappear. Dead men in their wake. Some will tell you that they’re agents of death. Highly trained, highly specialized assassins. Others say they’re from another world, born of demons.”

  “Sentinel Helell here is a specialist on the Samaeli,” Norman added.

  “Detective, we’d like to speak to your source.”

  “My source? My source is just a small-businessman. He doesn’t know anything.”

  “Given the Samaeli’s apparent access to some high profile subjects, our best guess is that they employ sleeper agents to infiltrate various networks. And based on the information you’ve provided, we think your source may even be one of them.”

  “As far as we’re concerned, you could be one of them,” Norman quipped.

  “Funny,” said the detective. “But you know he was a Republican Guard.”

  “We know. Sleeper agents come in many forms, Detective,” Gabriel continued. “The proximity of the
events to the smuggling operation and the fact that Mister Sunday is the only one who has seen the Samaeli and isn’t dead yet, indicates his involvement may be more than cursory. Now, where can we find him?”

  Just then a clerk knocked on the door. He poked his head in. “Detective, there’s a Dale Sunday here to see you.”

  After a pause of pleasant surprise, the detective indicated for Dale to be shown in.

  Dale entered. The blinds rattled against the frosted glass as Sentinel Helell shut the door behind him.

  “Take a seat,” Detective Graham said. “We were just talking about you. This is Sentinel Norman Walsh and—”

  “Sentinel Walsh and Sentinel Helell with the SSC,” said Walsh, cutting off the detective. “We’re glad you’re here, Dale. There are some questions we’d like to ask you.”

  Dale had come with a plan. He was going to drop in to tell Detective Graham Lei what he knew of the invasion. In his mind, it was going to be a way to make the most of his time. Get the word out to proper authorities and they’ll handle it from there. He would have done his part. Be absolved of the responsibility for all of those nameless faces he passed on his way there. But one look around the room, and Dale knew his plan had hit a serious snag. It was time to forego his conscience. He needed to get out of that room as quickly as possible. And the best way to do this, Dale resolved, was to play dumb.

  “Oh, yeah? What about?”

  “Look, Dale,” said the detective, “twelve more bodies turned up just a few days ago. Shaldea. We believe the Samaeli were involved.”

  “What do you know about it?” asked Sentinel Walsh.

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “You don’t know anything?”

  “No. Why would I know something about dead Shaldeans?”

  “Like the detective said, we believe it was the work of the Samaeli. You may be the only person alive who has seen the Samaeli in the city. As far as we know, you brought them here. Now, think. Do you have anything you want to tell us?”

  “Look, I don’t know what you’ve been told. But I was forced by the Rogues to lease out my breaker. I had nothing to do with what came in. I don’t know where they came from. I don’t know where they went. Nothing. You want details, ask the Carousel Rogues.”

  “It’s obvious your intent is not to cooperate,” said Gabriel.

  “If I was involved, do you think I’d be walking into the headquarters of the City Guards?”

  Both sentinels rose from their seats. Dale jumped to his feet. The sentinels grabbed him before he could fully stand and held him down.

  “Like I was saying,” said Gabriel, “it’s obvious to us you are not going to cooperate. We have some things we can do to get you more interested in working with us. Now if you’ll come with us.”

  “Wait! Wait a minute! Okay. What do you want to know?”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  Dale began to struggle. The sentinels responded with force, throwing him to the floor and pinning him down with a knee on his back. When he had been subdued and shackled, they lifted him to his feet.

  Dale pleaded with Detective Lei, “Please, Detective, you can’t let them do this. I came here to tell you something. You want to hear what I have to say.” As he was dragged to the door, his voice rose. “You can’t let them take me! We’re all in danger!”

  Detective Lei looked at him apologetically and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Detective! Doing nothing is just as bad as doing wrong! Damn it! Detective!”

  CH 28

  THE INQUISITION

  The unmarked carriage pulling a prisoner’s trailer arrived at the West Gate of the Temple of the Benesanti. Six templar stood guard at the gate. One of the six approached the carriage window and knocked, while another inspected the horses and cab. The portly Sentinel Walsh lowered the window and presented a badge and passport identifying himself. Sentinel Helell did the same. Once they cleared inspection, the carriage was driven up to the portico. They stepped out and started up the gray marble steps to a set of massive double doors. The doors were two stories high, solid oak, and held in place by iron hinges. They were surrounded by ornately decorated archivolts. A watchman cleric within the vestibule opened the door.

  “Welcome, sojourners,” she said, with a bow and a blessing. “Alunde andra.”

  “Alunde ver ti,” Norman replied.

  They surrendered their swords and percussion cap pistols and were consecrated with a sprinkling of myrrh from a chrismarium before given the blessing to enter the temple halls. As they made their way through another set of large doors into the softly lit nave, they passed through a draft of burning incense. On the other side, two more templar stood holding their shields to their chests.

  A haunting choir’s chant echoed off the high vaulted ceiling. There were frescos, sculptures, and stained glass windows. Stone tracery and tapestries depicted stories found in the sacred texts of the Benesanti. Directly below the dome of the sanctuary was a golden seal on the marble crossing. Engraved on the seal were lesser gods recognized by the Order. And kneeling in the center of it all before the Great Altar was Sir Thomas Grail.

  The sentinels approached down the aisle, past the empty pews. Just before they reached the crossing, Sir Thomas Grail rose and turned around to greet them.

  “Blessings of the Maker be upon you. Can I help you, gentlemen?”

  The sentinels removed their badges from their inner coat pockets and held them up.

  “I’m Sentinel Norman Walsh and this is my partner Sentinel Gabriel Helell with the Republic of Meredine’s State Security Command. We’re here to see the marshal.”

  “May I ask, what is the nature of your business with the marshal?”

  “I’m afraid that’s classified.”

  Virtually everything the State Security Command dealt with was classified.

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I will summon him.”

  “Have him meet us by the monument. We have a prisoner with us.”

  “Very well.”

  They took the carriage around the north end of the temple, near the barracks, and stopped next to a rounded building that appeared to be a mausoleum. Adjacent to the round structure was a large monument dedicated to the brethren lost in the Battle of Geraloki. The towering sculpture was of a wounded templar on horseback, doubled over. In one hand, the immortalized figure gripped his mid section while with the other hand he held a banner with their coat of arms.

  Sir Thomas Grail emerged alone from the marshal’s building along the Northern Wall.

  “Champion Linhelm is in a meeting with the Bene-seneschal. I’ve been sent in his stead to oversee the inquisition.”

  The sentinels opened the back of the prisoner’s trailer. Sitting inside with his arms shackled behind him was Dale. The prisoner squinted as he looked out into the noon sunlight.

  “Out,” said Sentinel Walsh.

  “He’s not an Emmainite,” observed Thomas.

  “He’s affiliated with the Samaeli.”

  “I already told you—” Dale began, but was quickly squelched.

  “Quiet! You’ll have your chance to make a statement. Not here. Not now.”

  “Then hurry up! Get me to the judge! Who’s in charge around here?”

  Sentinel Walsh punched him in the gut.

  “I said quiet!”

  “That’s not necessary,” said Thomas. “Please conduct yourself with more restraint. You are on sacred ground.”

  “Just take us below.”

  “You intend to join us?” asked Thomas.

  “This is our prisoner. We intend to conduct the investigation ourselves.”

  Thomas noticed Sentinel Gabriel Helell was carrying a large leather medical bag. “From my understanding, the Mizraheen Treaty states—”

  “Get the marshal,” Sentinel Walsh curtly injected. “We don’t have time for a history lesson.”

  “Like I said, he
is occupied with other matters. I’m here to oversee the inquisition.”

  “Listen Sir Grail, we are looking into over two dozen assassinations. Some of the most influential figures around the world have been murdered. Now this prisoner may have vital information regarding what we believe is a conspiracy. The longer you keep us from accessing that information the further you jeopardize this investigation. Get out of the way and let us do our job.”

  After a momentary hesitation, Thomas signaled for a fellow templar standing guard to escort them into the holding cells below.

  “I will relay your urgency to Champion Linhelm,” he said. “Do not proceed until I return.”

  Then he departed for the North Wall.

  Dale and the sentinels were taken through the stone doors of the rounded building. The walls were decorated with more reliefs—the Lords of Emmaus, their judging eyes, cold and colorless. A spiral staircase led them underground into a deceptively long hall. At the end of the hall was a door that led to the holding cells below the templar barracks.

  Dale was led into a small room and he was shoved into a chair. His wrists and ankles were shackled to it. The sentinels spoke briefly with the templar outside of the room to reassure him that they were following protocol.

  The sentinels entered with the templar. Sentinel Walsh removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. As he paced, he fixed his beady eyes on Dale.

  “I don’t understand what I’m doing here,” said Dale.

  “You don’t understand?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’re here because you’re a Samaeli sleeper agent.”

  Dale shook his head in disbelief.

  “A what?”

  “Tell us when you became activated. And then you can tell us your role in these assassinations. What’s your interest in the Machina Investment Group? What is your agenda? Why are you in the city?”

  “I was born here, you idiot.”

  Sentinel Walsh reared back and threw a punch at Dale. At the last second, Dale turned and recoiled to make the strike a glancing one. The sentinel then punched him in the stomach. Strapped to the chair, Dale could do little to avoid the second blow.