by David Talon
Working my fingers so the blood would rush warmth back to my forearm, I set the tankard on the table-side near the hearth, and went to another shelf, where the wooden boxes of dried herbs were kept. Meanwhile, the air next to the fireplace began to swirl, picking up ash and bits of debris from the fireplace as the air whirled, faster and faster. With a sound like an indrawn breath, the swirling air vanished.
In its place stood a man-like figure, a yard and a half high. It was nude but sexless, with three fingers and three toes the same length as Smoke’s claws, with a smooth head and ill-defined features. Behind me I heard Mistress Margaret’s indrawn breath, and Belle-M’ere’s reassuring voice. “That is an air golem. Smoke can craft much more detailed figures, but this one is simple for her to make, and takes much less of Tomas’s strength.”
I smiled, as from the courtyard I heard Martin squeal, “Get it, Tiger; get it!”
Behind me, both women chuckled as I took a piece of soft, supple leather as large as my palm, and began gathering herbs: from the black mortar a generous pinch of goblinsbane, mint and cacao for flavor, ginger to settle the stomach and bright-eye to banish the grogginess, finished with a long, thin piece of sugarcane for sweetening. But goblinsbane above all, for it washed away the pain from the headache. When I had all the ingredients I returned to the side of the table near the hearth. Smoke had one hand of the air-golem cupped over the fire, while she gently blew on the water. Mistress Margaret asked, “What is the golem doing?”
“Smoke,” Belle-M’ere emphasizing her name, “is drawing heat from the flames and using it to warm the water, so the herbs will properly disperse.” I heard a note of pride enter Belle-M’ere’s voice. “Smoke was a little thing when she found my son but fierce as one twice her size. She is still fierce but well disciplined and even Lord Tiberius was impressed with what Tomas has done with her.”
Smoke moved her head away from the tankard as the water began to steam, and her hand away from the fire. I carefully poured the herbs into the now hot water and stirred the mixture with the piece of sugarcane. “Someone had to keep her out of mischief.”
“Considering you’re the one who gets us into mischief in the first place,” Smoke said tartly, “I don’t think...” I reached out to pinch her nose and the air-golem vanished, blowing my hair back as the mixture gave off a minty scent. She continued in a sing-song voice, “Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me.”
My foster grandfather, Gran-Pere as I called him, clumped down the stairs and walked into the shoppe. He was thin with a belly like a large pot, what remained of his grey hair sticking out to either side, and wore his customary leather trousers and linen shirt, its stains covered by the apron he wore over it. His hand was pressed to his forehead, and I carefully took the tankard by its handle and brought it to him.
Gran-Pere took the tankard from my hand, tasted it, and then took a long swallow. He sighed gratefully as he swirled the sugarcane stick in the mixture and walked over to where the two women stood. Belle-M’ere reached over and removed the sugarcane. “Too much sugar is bad for your teeth.”
Gran-Pere snatched it back and stuck it in the mixture. “They’re my teeth and I’ll do with them as I please.” He looked beyond her and gave a small bow. “Mistress Margaret, I thought I recognized your voice. Pray forgive my present state, but your husband and I were overlong in the tavern last night.”
Mistress Margaret gave him a sour smile. “Precisely the reason I am here. My husband requires the same mixture I believe you are drinking.”
“Ah, I would imagine so. Tomas, go blend another mixture and place it in one of the little Artifact boxes. The one with sunflowers carved on the lid.” As I began gathering ingredients into another, smaller piece of leather, he asked, “So, how do you find St. Augustine thus far?”
Looking around the room, she said, “Very different from Barcelona. But then the world is different than it was before the Red Queen of England and her Dragons destroyed the Armada, and sunk all our hopes with it.”
“Surely not all our hopes,” Belle-M’ere said as I folded the soft leather and placed it into the black box. “Yours are certainly rising with your husband’s appointment as aide to the royal governor.”
Mistress Margaret gave her a wan smile. “One does certainly hope so.”
I handed Mistress Margaret the box as Gran-Pere said, “Rest assured they are. Mistress , please take both the mixture and the Artifact box with my compliments.”
Mistress Margaret gave Gran-Pere a speculative look. “Master Rios, this is an unexpected kindness, of which my husband will be grateful.” Taking Belle-M’ere by the hands, she kissed her on both cheeks. “I look forward to learning more about Dragons, as surely will my son.” Letting go of Belle-M’ere’s hands, she raised her voice. “Come Martin; it is time to go.”
Martin came to the doorway with a dirt smudged face. “But mama, it hasn’t been a quarter-hour yet.”
Mistress Margaret took him firmly by the hand. “You will say has not, not hasn’t; I will not have you speaking like a common tradesman. Now come along.”
They walked out of the shoppe and into the street, Belle-M’ere trading a wave with the lady before she closed the door. Then she turned on Gran-Pere. “My, aren’t we feeling extravagant today. Have you lost your wits? That was the nicest box Jeremiah ever carved for us; we could’ve got several Reales for it, if we’d ever needed to.”
Gran-Pere pulled a leather bag from inside an inner pocket of his apron and tossed it to her. “We may need the governor’s favor sometime soon, so consider it an investment.”
Belle-M’ere looked inside the bag and gasped. “It’s full of gold Reales. Papa, what have you involved us with now?”
“Come outside into the courtyard and I’ll tell you.” He headed for the doorway and we followed him outside. The courtyard of his house was spacious, open in the back, filled with row after row of herbs and beyond them fruit trees, oranges and green lemon, the fruit of which we used in many mixtures. Gran-Pere sat on a wooden bench just outside the door, while Belle-M’ere sat on a low stone wall separating the garden from a small area lined with paving stones. I sat on the pavers, next to her legs with my back against the wall. The air around us swirled before Smoke appeared in another form she liked, that of a wolf. The air-golem was too weak to do more than look impressive, but she sat beside me as the little dog-golem jumped up on the wall and sat near my head.
Gazing at us, Gran-Pere shook his own head before leaning forward. “What I’m going to tell you must stay between us. Smoke, are there any of your kind close by?”
Smoke didn’t bother to have the air-golem open its mouth. “Only a few wild ones, hoping Tomas will have need of them.”
“Good,” Gran-Pere said with a sigh. “My friend, Carlos Gomez, has done a very bad thing.”
Belle-M’ere’s voice was sharp. “Please tell me this has naught to do with the African slave who was so far gone with the black pox that Smoke couldn’t cure her.” When Gran-Pere sighed again, she added, “Does Tomas need to have Smoke cure Master Gomez of the black pox once more?”
Gran-Pere gave a start. “How did you...no, Tomas doesn’t need to cure Carlos; he’s learned his lesson.”
“Then who?”
“I don’t know exactly. Instead of putting the girl out of her miserable condition, Carlos sold her to the Timucua tribe, without telling them she had the pox.” Belle-M’ere made an exasperated sound, and he said, “You know Carlos; if there’s profit to be made he loses his wits. It would’ve been alright, since their shaman is a Dragon of sorts, but instead of keeping her, they gave her to the Tequesta, the fierce tribe living to the west of us, as part of a peace treaty between them.”
I groaned. She’d been in the last stage of the black pox, her mind so overcome that she’d begged me to lay with her, which was how the black pox was passed. Smoke had said she’d end up killing the girl if she tried to save her, and Master Gomez had told Gran-Pere he’d take care of t
hings. “Gran-Pere, who laid with her? The chief?”
“Worse...the chief’s son. None of them had ever seen an African before, so I’ve no doubt they thought the black growths on her were normal. Now they know better, but it’s become a matter of honor between the tribes.”
Belle-M’ere put her hand on my shoulder. “Such a matter can easily get out of hand. You have no business involving Tomas.”
Gran-Pere grimaced, and a knot of fear began to grow inside of me as he spoke. “I have no choice. The royal governor refuses to give Carlos any support; he even roundly criticized Carlos in front of the tribe’s envoy. So Carlos looked to another source.”
“Not the Draco Magistris, surely. Lord Tiberius took the smuggling trade away from Master Gomez what, five years ago? His order won’t lift a finger to help your friend.”
“That isn’t the order he requested aid from.”
Belle-M’ere was on her feet in an instant. “Draco Dominus? He requested aid from them?”
“Johanna...”
“They are pirates, slavers, black ravens feeding on the spoils of war.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “Templars.”
“That was a long time ago. Johanna, they already know about Tomas and about this shoppe, but their knowledge is incomplete. They think he’s a healer who knows nothing of fighting, but they are, by nature, suspicious. If we try to hide him, it will confirm their suspicions and they’ll take Tomas away. But if he goes out to heal the chief’s son, their suspicions will be lulled to sleep.”
“It won’t work,” I blurted out. “The moment their dragon-ghosts see Smoke, they’ll know I can fight.”
A man’s voice spoke from the doorway. “Then we will keep her hidden.”
Belle-M’ere ran to the doorway as a man in leather armor with an Artifact breastplate stepped into the courtyard. “Alfonzo!” She threw herself into his embrace and I turned my head away, embarrassed as they kissed. But I turned back as I heard Belle-M’ere urgently say, “You know of this foolishness?”
I scrambled to my feet as he let my foster-mother go and strode over to quickly embrace me, the hilt of his sword pressing against my leg for a moment before he let me go. His voice was deep, as I hoped mine would someday be. “Even though the governor has washed his hands of the matter, he needs me to be his eyes and ears.” Alfonzo was tall and black-haired, clean-shaven, with dark eyes like a hawk’s. “I agreed in order to keep Tomas safe. Draco Dominus is forever looking for wild Dragons to corrupt to their service, and if they discover I’ve taught him the use of a sword they’ll have him aboard one of their ships in a thrice.”
“Alfonzo,” Belle-M’ere pleaded, “we cannot take that chance.”
Alfonzo took her hands in his. “We have to, for if Tomas isn’t there to heal the chief’s son they truly will be suspicious. Lord Marcus is already considering bringing you up on charges of heresy.”
Belle-M’ere’s hand flew to her mouth. “Heresy? But...I’m a true catholic. My parents were protestant Huguenot’s, not me; I keep the true faith.”
Belle-M’ere had been a fosterling the same as I was. She originally came from the settlement a few miles north of here, Fort Caroline, which had been owned by the French as a place to launch raids. But the Spanish soldiers had destroyed it, killing most of the people there, but sparing a few of the women and children. Gran-Pere’s wife Maria, who’d been one of the people I hadn’t been able to save from the fever, had fallen in love with little Johanna and had insisted they adopt her, even letting Johanna keep her native French language, which she taught to me as well, though we only spoke it at home. Now, Gran-Pere sighed. “I thought everyone had forgotten where she came from.”
“Old records never forget,” Alfonzo said. Gran-Pere got a white clay pipe already filled with tobacco out of an inner pocket of his apron, and an Artifact striker: a device that struck a small wheel of rough, transmuted wood to a tiny piece of frozen quickfire that Smoke had created, using it to ignite his tobacco. He drew upon the pipe, filling the air with fragrant smoke as Alfonzo continued. “Lord Marcus evidently sent an Inquisitor in disguise to investigate Master Gomez, discovering Tomas and Johanna in the process. He found the adoption records, along with the then governor’s report on Tomas.”
The knot of fear in my belly had changed to worry for Belle-M’ere’s safety, along with puzzlement as a thought crossed my mind. “Alfonzo, we tried to treat the African girl over six months ago, and according to Smoke she only had another month to live. This means the chief’s son has had the black pox at least five months.”
Belle-M’ere understood immediately. “All of the pox’s spread through the natives like wildfire. Tomas will not be able to cure him.”
Alfonzo glared at Gran-Pere. “He will if someone’s been supplying Master Gomez with herbs meant to slow the disease’s progression.”
Belle-M’ere whirled around. “Papa, you didn’t?”
Gran-Pere wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Well, what was I to do?”
“Tell me the truth, perhaps?”
“And have you go hailing off to Campeche with Tomas, to go live with that upstart Valencia?” He stabbed a finger at her face. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Setting up shop with him while his half-blood children crawl around on the floor.”
“Had Alfonzo been able to go with us, we would already be there.” Gran-Pere stared at her in shock as she smiled. “When Tomas and I travelled to Campeche to attend Master Valencia’s wedding, he told me there was more than enough work for three apothecaries there, not to mention the order of Draco Magistris. When Lord Tiberius renewed his license, he told Tomas anytime he came to Campeche to live he could enroll in their university there and get the classic education he will never otherwise have.”
“Tiberius sits like a vulture in that fortified monastery on the Campeche cliffs,” Gran-Pere sneered. “If you ever set foot there, he will snatch Tomas away and you’ll never see him again.”
“He could’ve done that when he came here,” Belle-M’ere shot back. “He did say if we lived there Tomas would owe him some service. But he also said he would teach Tomas how to use his gift wisely.”
“Bah,” Gran-Pere said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “the Magistris are little better than the Dominus. They will teach him to fight...”
“And why not,” I shot back. “I’ve had to fight ever since I was a young boy.” Gran-Pere’s face grew hard, but I made myself look him in the eye. “At least Alfonzo taught me to fight with honor...not that Seth’s bully-boys know a whit about it,” I grumbled.
Alfonzo gave me the crooked smile I knew Belle-M’ere loved. “Were you my son, I could ask no better.” I forgot my fear as my heart grew warm from his praise, while his face grew troubled as he turned to Belle-M’ere. “Johanna, there is a Dutch Flyte anchored south of St. Augustine, filled with contraband and headed for Campeche with tomorrow’s tide. I can get you passage upon it, you and Tomas both.”
Belle-M’ere put her hand to his mouth. “I will hear no more talk of this unless you are coming with us.”
Alfonzo spoke in a voice of exasperation. “Johanna, the governor will never let me go.”
“He will not be governor forever. Dear heart, how could I go there to live without you?”
“Fools,” Gran-Pere growled, “all of you. This is what will happen: Tomas will go with Alfonzo tonight to the Mission at San Sebastian, where the healing is to take place. There he will have Tiger remove the black pox from the chief’s son, lulling the suspicions of the Draco Dominus, and in the morning, everything will return to the way it was before.”
“Now who’s the fool,” Belle-M’ere threw back at him as she burst into tears.
The night sky was ablaze with stars as I rode behind Alfonzo, both of us on the back of his horse as we made our way out of St. Augustine. The mission of San Sebastian was only a short distance away, being the place where the natives lived who labored in and around the town, and we rode along the beach rather than take the norma
l path, since the light from the moon was better. The sea was never quiet but tonight she was gentle, her waves making a soft sound as they lapped at the shore we rode along, the night itself quiet as I remembered making the same ride during happier times.
Alfonzo had been the governor’s eyes and ears for several years, often riding the circuit between the Spanish missions, strung up and down the coast like sea-pearls in a necklace. Belle-M’ere and I had often travelled with him, my foster-mother ignoring the scandal it caused, for we had found a good trade among the natives with both our herbs and Smoke’s healing. The royal governor, in turn, was pleased, for the goodwill we fostered helped reinforce the peace between the Spanish colonists and the native tribes, who were mostly of the Timucua, but others as well. Gran-Pere was also pleased, for the foodstuffs we traded for helped us through times of want.
It was during those trips that Belle-M’ere and Alfonzo had grown close to each other, while I had made friends with the Timucua boys. Their tribe had a game involving two teams using thin clubs to hit a leather ball across the field where a wooden stake was driven into the ground at either end, a point given every time the ball hit the stake of the opposing team. Most of the game, though, was spent hitting each other with clubs. Afterwards, Smoke had spent much of my remaining strength healing broken bones, and I’d always ended those days bruised, exhausted...and happy.
Alfonzo brought me back from my thoughts. “You’re quiet tonight.”
“I was just thinking about the days when Belle-M’ere and I rode with you on the circuit of the missions.”
“Those were happy times,” he quietly replied.
“We won’t see them again, will we? Whatever Gran-Pere says, nothing will remain the same after tonight.”
Alfonzo was silent for a few moments. Finally, he said, “There’s no possible way we can fool the Draco Dominus, not completely. However,” he added more hopefully, “I believe they won’t try anything until we return to St. Augustine. This afternoon I had a long talk with the governor, and he’s with us.”
