She shook her head slowly. “You’re taking a terrible gamble. Ambitious military men are dangerous, and the mountains in winter even more so. A terrible risk to cross either.”
“It’s not so terrible. Just a little walk up to the glaciers to look for a rock. I’ll even take a few of my better students along and try to whip them into shape in the mountains. Meanwhile, the others can stay here to practice or go home to rethink their decision to be here in the first place.” He held up his empty gloved hands. “Everybody wins.”
“And Qhora?”
Lorenzo grimaced. “Well, I have all night to figure out how to tell her, don’t I?”
Day Three
Chapter 7. Qhora
It was close to noon when she caught the boys saddling the horses. They were muttering in low voices and stumbling around in the dark. A single open window or door would have flooded the stable with sunlight and snow glare, but every window and door was closed. She only found them because she was going to check on Wayra, who had been trilling and squawking in her pen all morning.
When she threw open the door and a bright rectangle of light fell on them, the two boys froze with expressions of extreme guilt.
“I expect this sort of thing from you, Gaspar, but you, Alonso?” She crossed her arms. It wouldn’t be the first time she had caught some of the boys sneaking off into town for a drink or a girl, though never in the middle of the day. Keeping an eye on Enzo’s students could be exasperating, but she also enjoyed the role, particularly bossing them around and watching them struggle to make up plausible excuses for whatever they shouldn’t have been doing.
Gaspar dropped his gaze to the saddlebag in his hands and was seized by a sudden coughing fit. Alonso glanced at his confederate and then looked back at Qhora. “We’re just getting ready to go out for a while, ma’am.”
“I see that. Uptown or downtown?” It was a meaningless distinction. Madrid was barely large enough to warrant being called a city, even by Espani standards.
More squirming and guilty looks. Alonso said, “Who, us? No, no, no. We’re just going out to see if there are any elderly farmers in need of a little wood chopping or snow shoveling. You know us young men, always looking for a chance to help old people do boring things.”
Qhora smirked. Alonso was many things, but he was not a good liar, which was why he never bothered trying to deceive her. He always went for the laugh instead. Her smile faded. Two boys, even two boys up to no good, only need two horses. “I’m sure. Carry on then, gentlemen. I’m just going to have a little chat with the head wood chopper and snow shoveler.” She spun around and stalked back through the snowy yard to the house and marched back to her husband’s study where she found him at his desk speaking to Enrique and Hector, but she entered too quickly to catch any part of their conversation before they broke off to look at her.
“Good morning, darling,” Lorenzo said. “You’re looking as lovely as ever.”
“You’ll tell me how beautiful I am later. Right now, I want to know why Alonso and Gaspar are saddling five horses in the dark.” Qhora folded her arms and noticed the heavy canvas bags in the corner. “And why you have those in here.”
Her husband nodded and asked the boys to leave. Enrique and Hector slipped out through the door past her without looking her in the eyes.
“Well?” she asked.
“I’m taking some of the boys on a little trip. Training.” He played with a pen on his desk. “It’s something Don Jeronimo did with us sometimes back in Gadir. I think if I just push these four harder, make them really work like they’ve never worked before, I can get through to them. Show them what they’re really capable of.”
“Really?” She moved closer to the desk. “And where will you go?”
“Zaragoza,” he said. Humming, he began very slowly shuffling his papers into a semblance of order and slipping them down into his desk drawers.
“Really? That far north at this time of year?”
He sniffed and glanced up at her. “Sure. Why not? They’re all city boys, southern boys. They need to suffer a little. When they’re older, they won’t remember the drills or half the things I’ll tell them. But they’ll remember the two weeks riding up and down the old roads in the dead of winter. Grumbling and shivering and cursing my name. It’ll bring them closer together, and make them feel special. When they come back, they’ll lord it over the others. They’ll feel elite, special, more confident. At least, that’s the plan.”
“That’s the plan,” she echoed. “Not to go to the mountains? Not to look for the stone?”
Lorenzo leaned back in his chair and stared into her eyes. “Yes, while we’re up there, I may look into it. Ask a few questions, discretely. I’ll see if there’s a garrison up there, and if there is, I’ll ask if they know Faleiro or Magellan.”
Qhora exhaled slowly. “This is what Ariel told you to do?” Say yes. Say yes so I can blame that frigid witch of a nun.
“No. She said to give it up. Forget the stone. She wants us to make babies.”
Qhora sputtered out a short laugh. “And when she talks sense for the first time, you stop listening to her for the first time. Fine. Enjoy your little trip. Get it out of your system.” She had expected to be angry, or angrier at least. And she had been for a minute when she caught him lying, but there was nothing to be angry about now. It’s better this way. Let him go poke around his snowy mountains now, long before Faleiro and the soldiers ever get there. It’ll be safe enough for him to go now. She smiled and tried to think of something nice to say.
“Don Lorenzo!” one of the boys called from down the hall. “Visitors!”
Enzo scowled. “I’ve told them to stop yelling in the house.” He stood up and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you straight away. I am. But I’ll only be gone a short while. Two or three weeks, I think. Will you be all right here?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I know you will.” He kissed her. “Now let’s see what all the shouting is about.”
In the foyer they found Hector lingering by the front door. He thumbed outside. “You’re never going to believe this, sir.”
Qhora followed Enzo into the yard and saw six strangers who were clearly not Espani. Three of them wore matching orange jackets and padded black trousers, all stained and grimed with frozen mud spatter from the road. Mazigh uniforms, she guessed. The three almost looked familiar, but nothing specific came to mind. No names, no places.
Then there were the Italians. They had to be Italians. Only Italians would wear such hideous, garish, ridiculous clothing. The tall man was practically sparkling in baby blue and silver patches and stripes and sashes, and though travel-worn, he still looked rather fresh. His little lady friend in purple and pink had not fared nearly as well. Her jester’s motley was crumpled and discolored and torn a bit here and there. She was huffing and puffing just standing still, and her huge brown eyes were darting around the yard as her pale lip trembled. The third Italian was clearly the sanest, dressed in plain browns and blacks, though his face didn’t merit a second glance. His dark eyes glared out beneath his heavy brows on either side of his horse’s nose, and his lip seemed frozen in an angry sneer.
Enzo forced a smile and said, “I am Don Lorenzo Quesada. Is there something I can do for you ladies and gentlemen?”
The woman in the orange jacket stepped forward. “Sir, I’m Captain Taziri Ohana. You may not remember me, but we met in Orossa two springs ago. When the queen died.”
The hidalgo nodded. “I remember. A dark day, to be sure. You were the pilot of the airship that crashed, weren’t you? I can’t imagine a more tremendous display of courage and loyalty. I wish I had actually seen it for myself. I didn’t reach the airfield until just after it happened.”
“I actually don’t remember the crash myself,” she said.
The big man in orange grunted. “I sure as hell do.”
Qhora circled the yard slowly to inspect the group.
Her first instinct was to look for weapons, for Italian blades and Mazigh guns, but she didn’t see either among them. Nor did she see horses or mules, carts or bags, or anything a traveler needed in the Espani winter.
Enzo said, “So, what can I do for you and your friends today?”
The woman in orange, Ohana, stepped closer to the hidalgo. “Sir, I was flying these passengers from Rome to Tingis when we passed over the harbor of Valencia. A ship in the harbor opened fire on us and I was forced to land halfway between there and here. I don’t know why they shot us down, and honestly I don’t want to know. We’ve walked for two days without food to find you, in the hope that you would help us reach the Strait and cross safely into Marrakesh. And I know that’s a lot to ask of a stranger, sir, but I know you’re a man of honor. I know that in Orossa you protected the queen’s children on the airfield. So anything you can do for us, anything at all, would probably save our lives.”
Qhora stared at the woman for a moment before striding up among the strangers and asking, “What sort of ship in Valencia shot at you?”
Captain Ohana turned. “A big one. An ironclad steamer with huge cannons on her deck. Clearly some sort of warship, but like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Qhora walked straight past her and up to her husband with her back to the strangers. “Magellan, Enzo. Magellan.”
“I know.” He pursed his lips and stared over her head at the Mazigh pilot. “Did you see any soldiers on the road? Were you followed here?”
“Hell no, we weren’t followed,” the big man said. He had a slow way of talking and sleepy way of staring at the young diestros-in-training that Qhora didn’t like. And when the chill morning wind tugged at the man’s coat, she saw the thick-bladed hunting knife sheathed on his belt. She didn’t like that either.
“Well, they’ll be coming sooner or later,” Qhora said. “If Magellan wants you dead, then he’ll find a way to make it happen. His officers are thieves and liars. And I’ve heard that he employs Italians and Hellans to train his sailors. What sort of man, what sort of patriot, hires foreigners to rebuild his military?”
The big Mazigh grinned. “One who wants to win.”
Qhora glanced at him coldly. “Exactly.”
Lorenzo shoved his hair back. “This is all very interesting, captain, but you’ve come at a bad time, not that there would ever be a good time to harbor fugitives from the military. I don’t have the resources to protect you here or on the road. I’m not sure I can help you.”
“Good God!” snapped the ugly Italian in brown. “It’s perfectly simple. Give us some food, give us some horses, and we’ll be on our way. As soon as we get out of this God-forsaken country, we’ll send you some money in return. Or is that too complicated for you people to work out among yourselves?”
The tall man in blue cleared his throat. “I think what my countryman means is that whatever small assistance you can give us would be greatly appreciated. We have nothing. Absolutely nothing. If we don’t resort to stealing food by the end of the day, we will be dead by the end of the week.”
Qhora squinted at the tall Italian. He looked and sounded rather effeminate. She didn’t like that either. Why can’t anything in Europa be simple? The politics, the religion, the food, and even the clothes are all ridiculous. And now the men and women are starting to look the same?
Lorenzo spoke to the captain. “Food I have in abundance. You can have all you can carry. But horses are dear, and I’m taking all of mine north this afternoon. And I can’t allow you stay here to rest even one night. I’m truly sorry, but I can’t jeopardize the safety of my students and servants to shelter you.”
“I understand,” said Captain Ohana. “The food will be fine, and directions to Tartessos. We’ll leave within the hour, I promise.”
Qhora stood aside as the six ragged travelers filed into the house and the students drifted away across the yard to talk or spar with sticks in the snow. She considered going back to the stable to steal a few moments alone with Atoq and Wayra, but she went back inside the house instead.
She hovered outside the kitchen until Lorenzo was finished telling the cook what to feed their guests now and what to pack for their immediate departure. When he stepped out into the hall, she followed him. “What am I supposed to do when Magellan’s troops show up looking for them? Do I say I never saw them, or admit to feeding them and sending them on their way?”
He sighed. “Tell them the truth. We fed them as we would feed any hungry travelers, and then we sent them off. But there’s no need to mention that we know the pilot, or that they’re going to Tartessos, not unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Oh, Enzo, how can you still be so naïve? She grabbed his arm and pulled him into his study. “Do you really think that will be good enough? Magellan shot them out of the sky just for being near this warship of his. If he’s willing to kill them, what are the odds he’ll leave us in peace?”
Enzo shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re right though, it’s too dangerous. As soon as the Mazighs are gone, I want you to get the rest of the boys packed up and take them to my father’s house in Gadir. We’ll call it a winter holiday or something. When the soldiers come, they’ll find no one here.”
“Won’t that look suspicious?” she asked.
“Better to look suspicious, my love, than be arrested or worse.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll meet back here in a few weeks when this has all blown over. It’ll be fine. It will. You’ll see. And you can spend some time where the weather isn’t quite so harsh.”
“I don’t care about the weather, Enzo, I care about you. And you’re not taking this business seriously enough.” She gave him a little shove. “I’m coming with you to Zaragoza, and wherever else you’re going. Those boys don’t need me to get to Gadir or anywhere else. They know the roads better than I do, they’re bigger and stronger than I am, and they’re almost as old as me besides.”
Lorenzo smiled. “I love sparring with you. It’s so reassuring to know who the winner will be from the outset every time. North it is.”
Chapter 8. Taziri
Lunch consisted of roast beef stew, boiled potatoes and carrots, and all the hard black bread in the country, as far as Taziri could tell. The only spice on hand was salt, and plenty of that, too. It was a flavorless feast compared to the simplest café lunch in Marrakesh, but after two days of hard marching and two nights almost without sleep, the Espani fare was a feast all the same.
After she had wolfed down two bowls of stew and half a loaf of the crusty bread, Taziri left the table in search of her host, hoping to apologize for Dante and maybe negotiate with Don Lorenzo for something more than a bag of food, something like clothes and boots, and even some Espani reales in exchange for her pocketful of Italian florins. She moved warily through the old house, intensely aware of the fact that she was snooping through her savior’s home, when she heard the hidalgo’s voice and she entered the open doorway of a small office with a few hardwood shelves bearing a dozen or so books. Don Lorenzo and his wife turned to look at her. His last words hung in her mind. North it is.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” Taziri said. “But I was hoping to have a word with you about our arrangements.”
“I’m having my people put together some bags for you with food for the road,” he said. And then he smiled broadly. “And I’ll see if I can find some better clothes for your Italian friends. I don’t think those fancy outfits of theirs were meant for long strolls in the snow.”
Taziri smiled back. “I asked them about it. The girl, Shahera, was only visiting Italia for a short time and she was going to miss Carvinale, so she got the costume anyway and her tall friend indulged her by getting one as well. They were planning to buy more clothes in Tingis as soon as we landed.” The pilot shook her head. “It was just a silly impulse, and it almost got them killed walking here. They both could have frozen in the night.”
Lorenzo nodded. “Again, I’m sorry to be hurrying you back out
onto the road again, but as I said, I’m responsible for quite a few people here, and even if I wasn’t, there’s very little I can do against the military. The rank of hidalgo protects me from the tax collectors, but not from soldiers.”
“I understand perfectly,” Taziri said. I’m not asking you to fight a war for me, just to help me get my people to safety. Why is that so difficult? “I’m sorry, but I heard you speaking just now. You’re heading north today?”
“I am. A training expedition for my students, and I’m also hoping to do a little research of my own. The roads will be unpleasant, but we’ll all be safe from Magellan’s people, should they come looking for you here.”
“Safe.” Taziri nodded. “In your opinion, how difficult will it be for us to cross the Strait of Tarifa back into Marrakesh?”
The hidalgo glanced at his wife, his eyes dark with doubt. “If you could get there quickly enough, no trouble at all. But if Magellan is looking for you, then as soon as his messengers reach the ports, everyone will be looking for you. Even so, I suppose if you could find a little village on the coast and a fisherman willing to make a very long detour, you might slip across the water undetected. Maybe. For a price.”
“What my husband doesn’t want to say is that you’ll probably be caught,” the little woman said. The peacock feathers arrayed around her collar shimmered and swayed with every tiny movement of her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. Three Mazighs traveling with three Italians? You’re far too conspicuous. And now, in the dead of winter, there will be plenty of hungry people willing to tell Magellan where you are in return for a handful of reales.”
Halcyon (The Complete Trilogy) Page 44
