The Midnight Spy

by Kiki Hamilton

  “Good afternoon, Becknah,” Shanks said. “Has the Stone revealed any secrets to you yet?” He smiled at the older man, putting his arm around Nica’s waist and pulling her closer so there was room on the bench for Becknah to sit.

  “Ah, yes, thank you,” Becknah said with a sigh, as he pulled his crimson robe up and sat. “Don’t mind if I do.” He peered at them over his glasses. “I’ve found something interesting I think you should know.”

  Shanks raised an eyebrow, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “Have you been able to see the future?”

  “Yes, I’ve made some headway with the Stone,” Becknah replied in all seriousness. “The archaic terms have taken a while to decipher, but I believe I’ve come to understand their intent and I’ve applied the concept to a few quatrains with some success.”

  “What have you learned?” Nica asked.

  “I have to tell you—it’s disturbing.” His lined face sagged into a worried frown. “Extremely disturbing.”

  Shanks and Nica exchanged a glance. “How’s that?” Shanks asked.

  Becknah leaned forward. “From what I’ve deciphered so far, the future looks grim—very grim, indeed.”

  “Why?” Nica gasped.

  “Death…war…” Becknah’s face twisted with a sorrowful expression. “Perhaps Getheas was right to withhold the knowledge of what is to come. It is a much too painful burden to bear.”

  “If what you’re saying is true, Becknah, the best course of action might be to destroy the Stone,” Shanks said. “Should access to the future fall in the wrong hands it could be catastrophic. Not everyone may care about the outcome of certain actions.”

  “That would be such a tragedy,” the old man whispered, “but perhaps that’s why the Stone has been hidden all these centuries. Getheas may have realized the price for knowledge was too great to pay.”

  “We can never let Mosaba get his hands on it,” Nica said. She rested a slim hand on Becknah’s arm. “He would not be dissuaded by the prospect of death or war. In fact, I think he enjoys them.

  “You might be right, my dear,” Becknah said. “There appear to be verses within the Avedla that speak of Mosaba.”

  A chill coursed through her. “What? Are you sure?”

  “Even translated, the quatrains are still somewhat obscure, but they speak of the thief of Sartis, the stealer of children. They call him Sathos, which is the Jarisan name for Santos.”

  “And what do they say of him?” Shanks said with a guarded tone.

  Becknah leaned close and whispered. “They speak of betrayal, of significant death, but they also say he is a descendant of Getheas.”

  Images and lost conversations danced in front of Nica’s eyes. ‘I am the true ruler of Jarisa. I am descended from Kings. It’s my destiny to find the Getheas Stone.” Mosaba had ranted and raved about many things, but those topics had repeated over and over. Ancient maps and books, to which she had paid little heed, now pricked at her memory. One conversation in particular came to mind. There will come a time when you will help me in my quest, Madanica. It is your purpose for existing.

  A chill raced down Nica’s arms. Was that why he’d stolen her? So he could control the timing of when she and Jaaniyah would reunite? Knowing that would put into motion the search for the Stone? Mosaba had claimed he owned some of the texts of the Avedla himself. Did he have access to some of this ancient knowledge?

  “What are you suggesting?” Shanks asked. “That Mosaba might have some claim to the throne of Jarisa?” His words echoed his disbelief.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Becknah said. “But there’s something…I need to dig further.” He straightened up. “I just thought you should know. If Mosaba believes the throne of Jarisa is his destiny then it might explain the exceptional risks he seems willing to take. My brief experience with the man suggests he has slipped into madness. Perhaps this belief is the prod that has pushed him over the edge.” Becknah patted Nica’s hand. “Whatever the truth, we must all be on guard constantly. Mosaba is a violent man with little mercy. We can’t take any chances.”

  Nica shivered. Should Mosaba ever catch up with her again she was sure there would be no mercy.

  Becknah departed and Nica looked down at her hands clutched together in her lap. The scholar’s words had shattered her fragile bubble of peace.

  Shanks slid his long fingers over hers. “This isn’t the best time to tell you, but I have to leave for a few days.”

  Nica jerked her head up. “Now? Why? Are you bringing Jacoby back?”

  He nodded. “Once he’s here, things will be easier. We can announce your presence and all of the troops will be here to fortify the gates. Life can go on.”

  “It would almost be like waving a red flag at Mosaba though,” she said.

  “We’ll track Mosaba down and deal with him,” Shanks said with confidence. “I don’t care who he thinks he is descended from,” he muttered.

  The clock tower tolled the hour and Shanks stood up, pulling Nica to her feet. “We’d better go,” he said.

  “How is Sebande?” Nica asked. “I haven’t seen him since our return. Perhaps he can give me a few more language lessons while you’re gone.”

  “I don’t know,” Shanks said in a strange tone. “He’s been gone himself.”

  “Where?” Nica asked, sensing something.

  Shanks shrugged. “He’s been distant since we’ve returned. I’ve asked him if I’ve offended him and he says no. But, he keeps to himself.” He shook his head. “Maybe it’s the war.” But his words weren’t convincing.

  everal days later the palace courtyard was buzzing with activity. Soldiers moved about in small groups, some practicing their sword play, others visiting the smithy, some standing guard at strategic points within the structure. The raucous barking from the hunting dogs, kenneled in their small shelters, echoed in the distance. Fragrant smells from the kitchens filled the air. Servants went from here to there and groups of men filled every corner, many she’d never seen before. Nica hurried down the courtyard steps to catch up to the tall figure striding away from her.

  “Sebande,” she called. “Sebande—wait!” The tall young soldier glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his name, then paused as she hurried toward him. “How are you?” Nica asked in a breathless voice as she came up beside him. “I miss seeing you glare at me all the time.”

  Sebande looked down at her with narrowed eyes and Nica laughed.

  “Yes, exactly like that.”

  “Does Shanks know you’re out here?”

  Nica’s eyes lit up. “Shanks? Is he back? Have you spoken to him? He’s been so worried about you.”

  “You need to go back inside right now.” He seemed very distracted and Nica wondered at the expression on his face.

  “What’s wrong? Are you unwell?” she asked, concern etching her brow. A sharp gust of wind blew across the courtyard causing the flag of Jarisa—a white crescent moon on a black background—to snap on its standard above the palace. Distracted by the flag’s movement, Nica glanced up at the dark sky. A storm was blowing in.

  At that same moment, the bong! of the clock tower resounded through the cool air. Drawn by the sound, Nica glanced at the clock. High noon. The astrological sign for the lion was perfectly aligned with the number 12. As though a voice whispered in her ear, Nica heard the quatrain Becknah had asked her to read:

  Between the cross and crescent moon

  When the lion stands at high noon

  A secret of blood, hidden by ancient lies

  At last revealed before one dies

  In what felt like slow motion, Nica turned and gazed at the spires of the cathedral in the distance behind her. A thin cross was mounted on the tallest peak. She looked the other way at the crescent moon emblazoned on the Jarisan flag. Her head swiveled to the clock tower and she stared at the symbol of the lion standing at high noon.

  “Sebande….” she started to say, but the first volley of arrows sprayed the court
yard. Screams of pain and terror filled the air as people rushed this way and that to avoid being hit, creating a scene of absolute bedlam. Beside her, Sebande grunted in pain and Nica swallowed a scream when she saw an arrow embedded in his thigh.

  “Oh blessed Gods,” Nica cried. This was what Becknah had been trying to warn them about—Mosaba was attacking as the King returned. Her worst fears were realized as she spotted Mosaba’s tall dark form standing on the steps which led toward the Great Hall. Even from a distance she recognized the familiar nine-headed whip tied at his belt.

  Nica was jerked off her feet and slung over Sebande’s back as he ran for cover. He dropped her between a tree and the wall.

  “Crawl under the bench.” He barked out commands in a low voice. “Don’t move unless you have to. Keep your eye above us, make sure nobody comes over that wall.” His fixed his gaze on her. “And find a way to cover your face.” Then he looked down at the arrow protruding from his leg. Gritting his teeth, he broke the shaft off and tossed it aside, leaving only an inch of wood protruding and the arrow buried in his thigh. He drew his sword and held a dagger in his other hand and advanced into the melee.

  Nica crawled under the bench and peered out at the madness before her. The guards who had been on the wall were firing down into the courtyard, while those on the ground were battling hand to hand. She slipped the dagger from her boot. She would do what had to be done if necessary.

  In the courtyard, Sebande’s tall silhouette battled against the men attacking and she watched in horror as soldiers and servants alike were slaughtered by Mosaba’s soldiers. Where were all the Jarisan soldiers?

  She lost sight of Sebande and with an uncomfortable pricking sensation, realized she was alone. The battles were becoming fewer and fewer, the moans from the wounded strewn across the courtyard becoming louder. Only a handful of men held out as most sank to their knees in defeat, their arms held high. Nica tried to scan the bodies lying on the ground but she couldn’t see Sebande’s large form.

  Suddenly two pairs of boots came to stand near the bench under which she was huddled. The men were speaking in Sartish. As she listened, Nica realized they were Mosaba’s soldiers. They were discussing the lure they’d used to trap the bulk of Jarisan soldiers and then locked them outside the palace walls.

  Nica shifted her position, trying to move further under the bench when a pock-marked face suddenly appeared to stare at her.

  “What’ve we got here?” A rough voice asked. “Come out, my little pretty,” he said with a cruel laugh. He reached under the bench and grabbed hold of her arm. Nica tried to pull away but with a great heave he yanked her out of her hiding spot.

  While his arm was raised to pull her to her feet she slammed her dagger into his side between his ribs as hard as she could.

  Blood spurted out, covering the front of her coat. The man’s look of shocked surprise quickly faded to a blank stare as his grip loosened and he slithered to the ground. As he fell, the man standing behind him was revealed. Nica stared up at the orange shock of hair.

  “Toppen?”

  “Nica?” Toppen’s mouth opened in surprise. “What are you doing out here? I thought you were inside the palace.”

  “Why were you with that Sartisian man, Toppen?” A terrible suspicion suddenly filled her. She gripped her dagger and held it at her side, hidden in the folds of her cloak.

  “What do you mean? What are you suggesting Nica?” He hedged, his face grim and unhappy.

  Nica bit her bottom lip, fighting what her intuition was yelling at her. “Toppen,” she finally blurted, “are you somehow involved in this?”

  A multitude of emotions flitted across his face, before his lips twisted in a sneer. “And what if I am—” he whispered in a scathing tone— “you can’t prove anything.”

  “Prove…” Nica gasped in utter shock. “Oh no, Toppen, you can’t be. Why? Why would you let Mosaba in? Look at the people dying here. For what? He’s a madman!”

  “And you’d rather live among your new family, wouldn’t you?” He derided her. “You and your soldier friend, Shanks. Life in Pont d’Suree isn’t good enough for you anymore now that you know you’re a bloody Jacoby. You think you’re a peg above the rest of us, don’t you?”

  Nica’s jaw dropped. “What are you saying?” She stared in him in disbelief as her mind raced through memories of the time they’d spent together, searching for something—anything, that would explain his attitude. “Was this always your plan, Toppen? Did you leave Sartis with the intent of spying on Jarisa and finding a way to let Mosaba in?”

  “So what if it was?” Toppen said in a mocking tone. “I’m going to be rich.”

  “Rich? And what about me?” Nica struggled to grasp his duplicity. “Was I part of the plan too? Did Mosaba know I would run?” She could barely force the words out of her mouth.

  Toppen gave her a cruel laugh. “He was counting on it. With a little encouragement from me, of course.”

  Nica swayed. “He paid you, didn’t he? To convince me to try and escape,” she whispered with dawning awareness. “That’s why Mosaba had you deliver wine so often. So he could bribe you into making sure I got back to Jarisa and learn I was Jaaniyah’s sister. He wanted us to go after the Stone.”

  “Well, that part was mostly luck. Mosaba was going to have someone capture us after we got closer to Pont d’Suree and turn us over to the Jarisan soldiers. He figured your face would keep you out of the prison and that you’d keep me out of a jail cell.” He puffed his chest out. “I had no idea that Shanks fellow would show up so conveniently, but that’s fate, right? Things work out the way they’re supposed to.”

  “So very true,” a voice said from above.

  Nica and Toppen both looked up in surprise. Shanks was crouched like a carpidi on the wall above them, a feral look in his eye. Toppen only had a split-second to react before Shanks sprang from the wall. Toppen turned to run but Nica kicked her foot out in front of his ankles, sending him sprawling. Like a cat, Shanks landed next to him. In one smooth move, he grabbed a handful of orange hair, yanked Toppen’s head back and slit his throat.

  “YOUR KING IS DEAD.” Mosaba’s nasal voice cut above the din as though magnified.

  “Are you all right?” Shanks whispered to Nica. At her nod, he stepped close and crushed her mouth under his. “You need to get out of here,” he said. “I’m going to lift you up so you can climb over the wall. There are Jarisan soldiers on the other side that will help you.”

  “I AM YOUR NEW KING—MOSABA SANTOS.” The words reverberated across the courtyard.

  Nica started to open her mouth, but Shanks put a finger to her lips. “No arguments this time.” He slid his dagger into his belt and threaded his finger as a step for Nica. “I’m going to bounce you on my hands and on three, you jump, all right?”

  Nica nodded and placed her foot in his hands, resting her hand on his shoulder for balance. “One, two, three.” Shanks catapulted her into the air. She caught the top of the brick wall with her arms and walked her feet up the wall until she was crouched on top, hidden behind the branches of the tree.

  “Good,” Shanks called softly. “I’ll find you. Be safe.” For one long second his eyes held hers then he turned to face the courtyard, crouching down as Mosaba began to speak again.

  “I, Mosaba Santos, am the true descendant of Getheas.” He motioned toward Becknah, who stood nearby being held by a Sartish soldier. “Even your own scholar will testify this to be the truth. For that reason I will be taking up residence in the palace with my daughters.”

  A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd like a wave.

  “Yes, daughters. Your princess is an identical twin.” Mosaba motioned to someone in the shadows behind Becknah. A Sartish soldier pushed Jaaniyah out onto the step next to Mosaba. Nica’s heart dropped into her stomach.

  “One princess has been living with me in Sartis waiting for the time to reclaim her place in line for the throne. The other has been here in Jarisa
with you. We have all been waiting for these two girls to reach the age when they could reclaim the legendary Getheas Stone. That time has come. And with it, change for the better.” Mosaba reached over and casually rested his hand around Jaaniyah’s neck where a thin rope rested.

  Shocked cries could be heard. Those in hiding crept out, realizing a powerful shift was occurring.

  “I will be taking up residence in the palace immediately and seeing to the affairs of state.”

  “Mosaba.” Shanks’ voice echoed in the stillness as he walked bravely toward the center of the courtyard. Nica gasped in alarm. She wanted to cry out for him to stop.

  “You’re a liar.” Shanks held his sword and dagger at the ready as he stepped cautiously toward Mosaba. One brave soul lunged for him, but with two swipes of his blade Shanks dispatched the man to a bleeding heap. Another form rose and Sebande stood at Shanks’ back. Several other Sartish men made a move as though they would approach but then thought better of it.

  “Ah, Jonn Shanks,” Mosaba said. “We meet again.”

  “You’re a thief. A child-snatcher,” Shanks called. “You stole Princess Jaaniyah’s twin when she was a baby. Just for this purpose. You were willing to sacrifice her life for your gain.” Shanks continued to move forward. “You were so desperate you plotted for seventeen years in the hope this day would come. But it’s here and you still don’t rule. Jacoby lives.” Shanks rested his boot on the bottom step leading to where Mosaba stood with Jaaniyah. He readjusted his grip on the dagger.

  “SILENCE!” Mosaba screamed “JACOBY IS DEAD!”

  “It was a corpse your men attempted to murder this afternoon,” Shanks shouted. “The true King lives.”

  “I am the new ruler of Jarisa,” Mosaba roared. “The Ancients decreed it centuries ago, and I have answered the call of destiny.”