The Guns of Ivrea

by Clifford Beal

  They turned left and then right at a large tavern and straight into a group of drunken revellers who were singing and dancing their way past. A surge of Perusians, men and women both, pushed them to the side and Acquel found himself with Timandra between him and the wall of a house, their bodies close. She was laughing at the ludicrousness of their situation—the first true laugh he ever heard from her—and he too broke into a wide grin. As she looked up at him, cheeks red, her green eyes glistening, he found he was lowering his face to hers. He cupped her face in his hands as kissed her mouth. He felt her lips pushing his as she returned the kiss but in an instant, so too, he felt her hands pushing away his chest. For another instant, the kiss continued, lingered, and then she broke away. She looked down, pulling one end of the shawl closer about her.

  “Who will hear your confession now? Or mine,” she said softly.

  “Timandra… I am sorry.” He leaned in again and she gently placed two fingers on his mouth.

  “No,” she whispered. “It cannot be.”

  Acquel pulled back, the crowd now thinning behind him. “But why? Because I am a monk? I have not taken final vows, you know that!”

  “No, it is because… It is not for me.”

  Acquel’s brow creased. “I do not understand.”

  But Timandra had regained her steely edge. “We must go—now!” She pushed past, snatching his hand, and led the way.

  They approached the Row from a stinking alley full of hissing cats, emerging at the opposite end. Timandra looked about her trying to remember where the shop was. She saw an oversized breastplate and helm hanging over a door—an armourer she had visited last time—and now remembered where the premises of the oculist lay.

  Timandra was practically dragging him now, Acquel’s head spinning with choked desire and the urgency of their mission. She scanned the shop fronts, doorways, and the hanging shingles of the craftsmen. After a few anxious moments she finally saw it and turned to him. “There!”

  Acquel looked to see a pair of round spectacles fit for a giant hanging over an archway. He had seen a few of the monks wearing these devices fashioned of crystal and horn that gave them goggle-eyes like some monstrous frog.

  She turned to him just as they were about to enter the doorway to the grey stone building. “Keep your hood up,” she said, looking him in the eye. “And do not let on you are a monk or where you found the amulet. I will do the talking. Understood?”

  Acquel nodded. “I will follow your lead.”

  They entered and found themselves in a room filled, ingeniously, with natural light. Two large workbenches stood in the front room and at one a man laboured with a small knife over the horn he was carving to fashion rims for lenses. Acquel looked up to see how skylights had been cut into the roof two floors above. The sunlight poured down and filled the workshop.

  The young man looked up from his work. “Yes? What do you require, sir?”

  Timandra spoke up. “We are looking for the master. He may remember me.”

  The apprentice gave a look of annoyance and hopped down from the stool he was perched upon. “Wait here.”

  He returned with an older and shorter man wearing a grey gown and a tight-fitting leather skull cap that covered his ears. Acquel marvelled at the round glass device that was strapped to his right eye with satin tapes tied about his head. The man slowly lifted the lens off and scratched at his thin grey moustache. “Do I know you both?”

  “I am a trader for one of the free companies in Maresto,” said Timandra. “You may remember that I have bought merchandise from you in the past.”

  The man took a few steps closer and shook his head. “No, can’t say as I remember either of you. What is it you want. More stock?”

  Timandra smiled. “Not this time. We were hoping you might assist with a translation we are puzzling over. I remember your knowledge of old Valdurian when you showed me your library.”

  The old man squinted at her. “Ah, now perhaps I do remember. Company of the Black Rose? Yes?”

  “May we take a few minutes to show you something we have found… while on the march in Maresto?”

  “What? A book?” The oculist impatiently gestured to his apprentice to return to his work. “I have little time to translate something of that length.”

  “No,” said Timandra. “It is an artefact that has some writing on it. Maybe old Valdurian. We found it when clearing the ground for our camp. May we show you?”

  Ever a curious man, the oculist looked at Acquel for a moment, assumed he was a mercenary, and then turned back to Timandra. “Well, I may be interested in seeing what you’ve found. But it will cost you. I’m a busy man.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Then come back here with me, into the rear workshop. And don’t touch anything.”

  Acquel followed Timandra into the next room where more work tables were arrayed with panes of glass, polishing stones, and strange delicate metal tools that Acquel could only assume were for working the raw crystal into lenses. Like the front room, it too was lit by skylights supplemented with lamps on the table where the master himself had been busy.

  “It is so wonderfully bright in here, as if one were out of doors,” remarked Acquel as he followed the oculist to the rearmost work table.

  The oculist cleared some documents away and plopped down a leather-bound book upon the table. “Mirrors. The proper placement of mirrored glass above reflects the sun’s rays down here. I would have gone blind otherwise.”

  Timandra gestured to Acquel to take off the amulet. He did so and handed it to her, his heart filled with apprehension as to whether any of this was a good thing. Timandra took it from him and turned to the oculist.

  “It is a piece of jewellery. An amulet of sorts.” She placed it into his outstretched palm.

  “Hmm. Yes, rather ancient…” He moved to another table and retrieved a lamp, bringing it back to where Acquel and Timandra stood. He looked again at the amulet, turning it over. He then sat on a stool and pulled down his magnifying lens over his right eye.

  “You are right. Old Valdurian... but a very unusual script. A charming piece of lapidary skill—if a little crude.” He paused and reached for a piece of parchment and drew a quill from the marble inkpot that sat at the corner of the cluttered table. “This script is most often seen engraved on old stones of worship around the kingdom. Places where they eventually built temples.”

  He began muttering to himself and then scribbling as he turned the amulet in his hand to catch more light. “Yes, it’s devotional. You’ve noticed the sunburst symbol of the Faith?” He paused again and then turned around to face the pair. “Neither of you know what you have here. The script around the sunburst says: ‘Eldred had me made.’”

  Acquel looked at Timandra who did her best to look unimpressed. “And the rest?”

  The oculist lowered the amulet. “This is clearly a relic of importance—and value. And it will cost you some coin to learn the rest, I’m afraid.”

  Timandra pursed her lips and reached into her belt purse. She pulled out five pieces of silver and held them out. The oculist tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in disappointment. Timandra dug again into her purse and pulled out a gold ducat. The oculist nodded and motioned for her to place the money on the table. He then turned his back and bent over the amulet again. He quickly picked up the quill and began writing.

  “The reverse of this medallion carries the seven commandments of the blessed Saint Elded.” He recited haltingly as he copied these down on the parchment.

  “There is no God… but the Lord your Creator… You shall give thanks to the Lord in the Temple on the first day of the new moon… You shall not steal nor shall you fornicate. I am writing these down but I am sure you know them all, even if you don’t follow them.” He chuckled to himself and continued writing. Then he went quiet, the quill motionless in his hand. “But there are ten here,” he whispered. He then started writing again, his head shaking in either dismay or surprise. H
e looked up quickly and leaned over on his seat to see where his apprentice was. He looked at Timandra, distrust sweeping across his face. The magnifier made one eye look a third larger than the other and Timandra was repulsed.

  “There are ten commandments here!” he hissed at her. He turned and read the amulet, his voice suddenly becoming tight and strangled with his rising agitation. “The eighth says, ‘He who serves in the Temple of the Lord is no higher than he who worships there. Beware false prophets.’ The ninth—my God. ‘Treat the Children of the Sea as you would treat one another; they are your Brothers and Sisters.’” He looked at Timandra and Acquel, his face changing again as the import of his words sank into his mind. “This is rank heresy! Where did you find this?”

  Acquel felt his body go tense as the words filled his ears. Timandra grabbed the oculist by the shoulder and gave him a shake. “Tell us the tenth, damn you!”

  The old man gave her a look of fear and anger mixed. He held the amulet up to his eye again. “The tenth,” he whispered. “The tenth says, ‘The union of Man and Mer is blessed in the eyes of the Lord.’”

  Timandra took a step back. Acquel put a hand on her shoulder. “Timandra, we should leave. Now.”

  “First, he finishes writing it down,” said Timandra, spinning the oculist on his stool. “Pick up that quill!”

  “It’s heresy!” he shot back. “Vile heresy. Take this away and get out of here! I could burn for helping translate this thing!”

  Acquel reached under his cloak and slowly pulled his dagger out of his scabbard. He sidestepped Timandra and in an instant had its point placed at the neck of the oculist. “Do as she says!”

  The old man reached again for the quill, dipped it into the well, and then scribbled again upon the parchment. “This will come to no good. I beg you to melt it down once you leave here.” He threw the quill down. “There. Now get out.” He pushed Acquel’s arm away. And then he grasped Timandra’s arm as his other hand whipped off the magnifier. His face was a mask of outright fear as panic gripped the old man. “Don’t tell anyone I did this! I beg you!”

  Acquel picked up the parchment and read the hastily scrawled words.

  “Is it what he spoke?” asked Timandra. Acquel nodded, the implication of it washing over him again and again. “Yes.”

  Timandra snatched the amulet from him and gave it to Acquel. “And you would be wise to take the same advice. Tell no one we were here.”

  The oculist nodded and fair leapt off the stool. He ran to the back stairs, back hunched, and turned before he ascended. “Go! Now, damn you!”

  Acquel took Timandra by the elbow as he crumpled the parchment in his fist. “We have to get back.” She pulled up her shawl and strode rapidly from the house with Acquel right behind. They entered the crowded street and began diving and pushing between the townsfolk, working their way back to the quay.

  They crossed the teeming piazza and walked briskly down the wide stone stairs that led to the tangle of wooden docks and back to the ship’s berth. Suddenly, Timandra stopped and Acquel saw her head bow. He placed an arm around her shoulders and reached over and lifted her chin. Her eyes were moist but no tears fell.

  “Sweet God, what have you found, Acquel? What you saw in the tomb… your dreams… the merfolk. Now this. What have you done. What have I done?”

  Acquel felt a strange calmness fill him. “It is Elded’s will. And his spirit is showing us this for a reason. I have to let him guide me. Guide me wherever it leads. I have nowhere I can run.”

  She looked up at him, his rough unshaven face suddenly looking older than a week ago when she had fed and clothed a young and frightened holy man; a holy man that doubted himself. “I am not sure I can follow you there. The Temple is hunting you. Now we know why. They will kill all of us. Just as they killed those other monks in the tomb.” She grabbed his arm. “We mustn’t tell Strykar! Nor Danamis.”

  “Very well. We keep the secret between us for now. Until I think of what to do next.”

  Timandra nodded. “Maresto. We will be safe there.”

  A cold, salt-laden breeze suddenly blew up from the bay and whipped across the quay, rattling mast lines and sails and tipping over stacked wicker crates on the dock. Acquel pulled her into an embrace, his cloak billowing, but she was limp in his arms.

  KODORIS TAPPED AT his thigh with the flat of his palm. Repeatedly. She was late. They had arranged to meet in the gardens at the hour but time had moved on and Lavinia had not appeared, and he felt his skull was ready to burst with worry. Lucinda had not yet found and captured the young greyrobe and every passing day meant he could be spreading the word of what he had seen. Bad enough he had made it by ship to Perusia but why there if not to alert the king or the prelate? And why did she have so much trouble in seeing him when she could easily find others?

  Brachus seemed to be more doddering and feeble-minded with each passing day. He had not even asked for further reports on the search. That was because he had forgotten the entire incident. It was only a matter of time before he would need to be replaced by one of the Nine. And thanks to his arm-twisting, he was now one of that number. He did not want to engage in that struggle without first ending the problem of Brother Acquel once and for all. But more than that, his little chats with the canoness had begun to unsettle him.

  It had really only begun to sink in a few days previous just how peculiar a young woman she was. Perhaps no surprise for someone possessing the gift that she did. At times naïve, at others playful and almost lascivious, she teased and tantalised without really understanding what she was saying. And all this casual talk of her sister’s interest in the days of Elded and the disciples. Random snippets of the sisters’ conversation about Belial and the old gods, the missions of the early saints to stamp out the old ways, the worship of trees. The sacrifice of children. Why?

  He adjusted his white leather belt and scanned the apartments of the palace cloister. He saw her staring out of a window. Not looking at him, but out into the distance. He suppressed an oath and stormed back inside. It took a chamber girl to get inside the apartments. Kodoris approached to find her still at the window, pale, her face frozen into an expression of intense concentration. He reached out and touched her shoulder. She collapsed at his feet. Kodoris cried out in alarm and lifted her up, carrying her over to the bed.

  “You there! Fetch me some wine! Quickly!” The servant had stuffed her apron in her mouth but now turned and ran from the room.

  “Lavinia, can you hear me?” Kodoris propped her head up with pillows. She was breathing but seemed as if asleep even though her eyes were still open. “Lavinia, girl!”

  She made a sound in her throat and her eyes slowly came back into focus. Her eyes closed and then opened again. She turned her head slightly towards Kodoris.

  “Magister. I have been away.”

  Kodoris nodded earnestly. “Yes, my lady, you have. What have you seen?”

  “I was preparing to come down to meet you when I had a vision. Very strong. I have seen the monk and the woman in Perusia.”

  Kodoris snapped his fingers as the servant returned, beckoning her over. He took the cup and offered it to Lavinia. She delicately took it in both hands and sipped, Kodoris supporting her golden head. She leaned back.

  “It was odd. I was not even using the scrying mirror. It just washed over me and I was there.” She tried to push herself up on her elbows. “They did take something from the tomb. Something small with writing.” Her eyes shut as if the effort of memory was too much.

  Kodoris grasped her wrist and tightened his grip. “What did they find? Think! Concentrate.”

  Her eyes fluttered open again. “There are ten commandments here! Heresy! You must go—now!”

  Kodoris leaned in close to her. “Where? Where are they now?

  Her voice hesitated, and she stared upwards at the canopy as if she saw with her mind’s eye. “The Lawgiver’s words. His commandments to us all. That which was lost.”

  Kod
oris lifted her head and helped her to more wine. She coughed. “Where are they?” he demanded. “Look!”

  Lavinia sat up, red wine dripping down the corners of her mouth and chin onto her chemise. She turned and looked up at the Magister.

  “The craftsman. A master. The man… who makes spectacles.”

  Kodoris put both hands on her shoulders and looked at her, his dark brown eyes burning into hers. “You must contact Lucinda and tell her. You must do it now.”

  She smiled strangely at him and put a hand on his. “Have I pleased you, Magister?”

  Kodoris felt himself go cold. Ten commandments.

  Twenty-Three

  STRYKAR JAMMED THE butt of his hunting spear into his right stirrup and slid his grip down the shaft. “Fucking useless thing,” he grumbled, as his horse ambled through the broken terrain and laurel bushes of the royal forest.

  “It was afforded you as an honour,” said Danamis, riding alongside and concentrating hard to keep control of the royal destrier atop which he was perched. The beast, to Danamis’s dismay, kept snorting and ducking its head with obvious annoyance.

  “An honour I could have done without,” Strykar replied.

  The sun beat down strongly but in the cool of the forest canopy it was comfortable, almost dank. Somewhere far ahead they could hear the barking of the greyhounds as they pursued their quarry deep into the oak and beech wood. They were well back from the main hunting party. Behind them came the royal household with pack mules laden with the moveable feast and a few of the more bored noblemen who rode even slower than Danamis, chatting all the while. In front, and just within view, they could see a cluster of riders: the dukes of Colonna and Milvorna and their retinues, and the Sinaen ambassador and his two councillors plus their guards. The latter walked on foot, clad in their enamelled black armour and leading the mounts of their lord. Each bore a nine-foot spear with a wicked-looking leaf-shaped blade, a red horsehair tassel just where the head attached to the pole. The ambassador cradled a red parasol against his shoulder as he rode, he and his advisors resplendent in their shining silk robes of many colours and sinuous designs. And just in front of them, Sempronius and his men trotted along, their voices bellowing among the trees.