And then there were the unexpected allies. Adina had proven to be substantially powerful, and whatever power lingered within Minu provided an intangible strength. Boudica might be powerful as well, but if so it had yet to be required. As for Yitz, he was a shifty man, but a good soul. Adina seemed the sort to not tolerate a lesser man than what she deserved, so that vouched for his character too.
Despite having lost almost all of his gear, four powerful people were looking out for him. When he heard about the record loss of life flooding the gates, Hephaestion knew he to take advantage of the swelling, sinful masses. His planning for this was minimal, but still his fortune could not be denied. Perhaps God’s Grace stretched beyond Heaven, and occasionally touched rogue souls such as Hephaestion. Could this providence be an endorsement?
“Thank you.”
Three sets of eyes drifted to him.
“All of this was simpler in my head. I was content to wander below, searching for Alexander. I was an ass.”
“Are you still going down? Is this a change of heart?” Adina asked cautiously.
Hephaestion understood her worry: who would look out for her boy? “I didn’t come this far on a whim. I just realized what a desperate idiot I’ve been up to this point. I’ll get to your boy, and, after that, I’ll find Alex.”
“You’ll need steel, and—” Boudica said.
“Most of all, you’ll need maps,” Yitz interrupted, his eyes keen. Something in his gaze made Hephaestion uneasy. “You and I will book a railcar to the Songhai enclave. Just us.”
“With what money, husband?”
“With credit. I don’t think we should wait on the first payment to arrive.” Yitz was uncharacteristically commanding.
Boudica nodded in agreement. “The Africans have good steel. Songhai javelins are feats of balance and weight.”
Adina chimed in, “The Japanese claim to have the best steel in all of New Dis. You can stop at their ward on the way there.”
Shaking her head, Boudica interjected, “The Japanese have a proven process in their forging, but their iron is little more than pig iron. You want hellsteel from a hellfire crucible, which means Persian steel. The Persians have their ward next to the Africans. Songhai will have access to that steel. I know.” Boudica pulled her short sword in its scabbard, exposing as little of the blade as possible. “They made me this gladius with their own Damascus steel while I was there.”
Hephaestion crept closer, leaning in to examine the blade. A dull red with dark swirls, almost like the metal had frozen while still in a liquid state. Heat radiated from the blade.
“I won’t take it out of its sheath here. But I assure you, Lord Hephaestion, there is nothing sharper than this steel.” She snapped the blade back into its resting place.
“Besides,” added Yitz, “the Japanese in New Dis’s enclave are all Christians. They’ve run out all their Buddhists and Shinto. They’re run by the Jesuits, now. You want to avoid them.”
Hephaestion nodded. “All right, the Africans win it. Songhai, is it?”
“Yes, there you’ll get the best maps. The Songhai are mathematicians, and many of them have descended here simply to measure and calculate Hell’s rings. You’ll need to speak to the Queen herself to get access to them, however.”
Hephaestion had heard that Hell itself couldn’t be charted, so what aid could a map possibly be? Given his recent poor decisions, he opted to take the advice of wiser people.
Adina wandered over to Yitz and plunked down next to him, her head on his shoulder. “Will this mean you’ll be leaving me alone for a few days then, husband? You certain you can trust me in such a town as this?”
“With two hundred years of credit to our names, you mean?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Buy me something nice.”
Chapter 13
Minu proved a master at her craft. She produced two lovely kameezes: one red with copper threading and the other black with silver needlework. Both fell below his knees, but the hems were high enough not to impede his stride. She’d elegantly cuffed each sleeve, and the red one featured a high, regal collar.
“Something nice for you. I heard through the door that you are meeting a Queen,” Minu said as Hephaestion tested out his new garb. “You can fight in this. I picked dark colors to hide blood.”
“I’m having a hard time figuring out if you look better naked or not, Hephaestion,” Boudica remarked from her pillow.
Hephaestion wore the red kameez first since it was Minu’s favorite color, and he hoped it would please her. Despite the fine, thin cloth, the tunic kept him warm to his core as all five of them returned to Yitz and Adina’s abode.
Hephaestion examined the city streets with more confidence, relieved to be dressed. People from all time periods and regions bustled about, many sporting walking canes or decorative swords on their hips. Occasionally, a steam-powered trolley car would rumble by, parting the murmuring crowd. A man wearing a stovepipe hat rode by on a steel horse, the skeletal frame glowing from the blazing fire within its ribcage. He nodded politely, doffing his hat at Adina.
Hephaestion took note that nearly everyone, no matter how well-dressed or imposing in station or stature, stepped aside for Boudica. Many nodded in respect, and several outright bowed at Minu as Hephaestion’s entourage passed.
“Are all of you well known?” he asked.
Minu tugged on Hephaestion’s elbow. “Good deeds spread faster than bad news,” she cooed.
As pleasant a thought as this was, Hephaestion immediately knew this was not a low-profile he was maintaining. If the Jesuits caught word of the famed Hephaestion in New Dis, they would try to monitor him, which wouldn’t be a hard task given his current company.
Grateful when they returned to the apartment, Hephaestion warmly thanked Boudica and Minu. Minu bowed back, and Boudica returned a small, single nod.
Through the use of a courier, Yitz secured a lavish railcar for the journey to Songhai. “We aren’t travelling in high luxury for the sake of opulence,” he insisted. “Extreme luxury and expense provides the best security available. I don’t want us vulnerable on the rails.”
A horseless carriage carved from volcanic glass came for them the next day. The spoke wheels were of polished red steel, and the driver sat high on its rear, facing over the roof, a giant steering wheel gripped in his hands like he was piloting a schooner.
The valet, his powdered wig bouncing as he leapt off the carriage’s side, snatched Yitz’s bag. With a stiff tug, the door swung open on metal hinges, inviting the two men to enter and make themselves comfortable amid the interior’s cushions and hookah offerings.
The door glided closed, encasing them both in momentary darkness until cords of light began to glow in a spiral pattern on the ceiling.
“An electrically lit horseless carriage,” Yitz marveled. “And I don’t even hear the street outside.”
The car swayed gently from side to side as Hephaestion appeared to be avoiding any enjoyment of the sumptuous comfort.
Yitz eyed him. “What is it with you, anyhow? You’ll be in the pits of fiery Hell soon enough. You should take advantage of what fruits your violence has already yielded. Besides, you and I both know you aren’t going down there to rescue Alexander.”
Shocked, Hephaestion stared at Yitz as though the smaller man had slapped him. Yitz took the hookah’s hose into his hands and fiddled with the tip, wondering if someone cleaned it periodically.
“You better explain that accusation, Yitzhak,” Hephaestion snapped.
“Don’t start with me—I’ve got you figured out. You convinced all your buddies in Purgatory to let you go after this senselessness by telling them that you were going to rescue your man when, in your heart, you know you’ll fail. You just can’t stand being without him, and you feel guilty that he’s down there and you’re not. You’re puni
shing yourself. Know how I know that? Ask me how I know that.”
“Is this your idea of being a friend?” Hephaestion snarled.
“Actually, yes. Now ask. Go on.”
The massive warrior glared. “How do you—”
“Thank you for asking! First off, every time you look comfortable, like when you sit in a cushioned carriage or when Minu drapes you in heavenly silk, joy crosses your face. For just a moment, mind you, but it’s there. And the instant you realize you are having a moment of happiness, you punish yourself and reject the notion that you are pleased. In a room full of pillows, you sit on a tiny, uncomfortable stool. You clearly are blaming yourself. New clothes? Never! Time for a tantrum!”
“I honestly don’t think I should take your judge—”
“You damn well better take my judgments and take them to heart. Do you know how often I’ve wanted to be down there, in the frozen wastes, away from God’s light, next to my son? I’ve wanted to cling to him for all eternity so badly. It’s my fault he’s down there. He saw my gambling and learned my vices—I failed him as a father. How is it I was spared Hell and dumped on the rocks of Purgatory instead? It’s unjust, and God made a mistake. I tell Him that in my prayers.”
The buggy’s gentle motion continued to lull. Yitz hazarded a puff from the hookah hose, blowing a smoke ring toward the spiral light above. “You were a general of one of the bloodiest armies in Earth’s history. You can’t make sense why you were sent to Purgatory instead of Hell with the man who committed every sin at your side. You’re just like me in that regard. And you hate yourself for it.”
“I’m going down there to get Alexander out.”
“On the surface, maybe you think that. And bless you for trying, but you will fail.”
“Then why are you helping me?”
“I owe you. A fortune, it seems. And you might make it down there to tell our boy that he is still loved. Just drop the act with me, is all I’m saying. From one Purgatorian to another. You and I both landed on the same rocks and spent years wandering the same cliffs.” Yitz smiled, eyes crinkling at the memory of Adina standing high on the precipice, her tichel dancing in the salty breeze. He’d stumbled into her arms, sobbing and apologizing for not being a good enough man for her. She’d bound him in wool, shushed him, and sang to him. It had been the best moment of his existence.
Perhaps Alexander would feel the same way if he saw Hephaestion standing in the distance, as well.
Yitz looked at Hephaestion, seeing a hint of doubt in the mighty warrior. A pang of guilt weaseled into Yitz’s chest. “Look, you’ll find Alexander. You will. And you’ll either stay with him or spend eternity trying to rescue him. Who knows? But you can’t hide that you’re going down there to be near him and the rescue is an afterthought. Like Adina left Heaven to find me. Good people, even the guilty feeling ones like you, lower themselves to those they love.”
The rest of the carriage ride was silence and smoke rings.
Chapter 14
The carriage’s swaying gradually eased, and the door swung open to reveal the valet bent in half, genuflecting, Yitz’s bag already in hand. Yitz and Hephaestion stepped out into what appeared to be a gigantic tent adorned with hanging Chinese lanterns, and, at its center, sat a sole passenger car. Polished black steel with brass ornamentation offered no indication of its price tag, and a small staircase had been lowered into position.
“Each railroad car is designed to look identical from the outside, but I assure you that once within, you will find opulent comfort unbound,” the valet lisped as they walked along the rails. Following the valet’s exaggerated gesture bidding them to enter, Hephaestion and Yitz stepped inside.
Every inch of the interior had been painted by a true master. The curved apex lent the car a grandeur belying its size, and, on each wall, murals depicted ships and sea life populating a chaotic ocean. The ceiling shone with hand-painted stars in a vibrant night sky. Each point twinkled with a tiny electric light, their brilliance emphasized with the closed window shades.
Lost in the beauty, Hephaestion wandered the space, but Yitz sniffed the air, his nostrils swelling with the scent of a roasted meal at the dining table. “I smell honeyed ham!” He rejoiced, tossing his travel bag into an empty chair. “Wine?” Yitz asked, reaching for two empty glasses.
“Yes, thank you,” answered a voice from deeper within the car, drawing Yitz’s surprise. A stark man reclined in a wing-backed chair, his face angular and sharp, dressed in a simple, yet flawless, cassock. His presence had gone unnoticed due to his intense stillness—Yitz noted his lack of breathing—and the distraction of the ornamentation and food.
The stranger stood, pale hands folded, his dark eyes evaluating Yitz and Hephaestion.
“This is our car,” Yitz said flatly.
“Which is why I’m here. Yitzhak, is it? The man known for his wife, instead of the other way around. And this tall and marvelous fellow must be Lord Hephaestion, champion of Alexander’s Companions? It appears both of you are defined by your betters.”
Yitz could feel Hephaestion’s alarm—no doubt the ancient general was searching the table and surroundings for possible weapons—but Yitz was unfazed. “As are you. Aren’t all Jesuits defined by the love of their lives as well?”
The Jesuit nodded, his lips twitching with humor. “My name is Father Jose Acanth Franco, and please know that I am vowed to nonviolence in the name of Christ. I do apologize for appearing before you two gentlemen in this manner, but it is very urgent, and I am in desperate need of your attention.” With that, he sat down at the head of the table, poured himself some wine, and rifled through the bread basket for a suitable loaf.
Yitz slid close to Hephaestion and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Sit down and keep quiet,” he whispered, barely moving his lips.
They sat opposite each other as their unexpected guest piled food on his plate. Hephaestion used the distraction to sneak a knife under the table, but Yitz decided he was better served with his mouth.
“So, we all are men defined by our loves,” Father Franco continued. “It is natural that love moves us to all ends. God intended as much for us. This is why I am here, actually. This is why all Jesuits have descended to New Dis to provide Christ’s light: love.”
“So we’ve heard,” Yitz said, casually tucking a napkin into his collar and then diving into the meal.
Father Franco nodded in approval. “Excellent. As you may know, the Japanese ward has already converted, and the Jesuits have brought the light of Christ to several other wards and enclaves, converting many—Indians, Goths, and the like.”
“Your mantra is ‘that we may be all together of the same mind and conformity,’ if I recall,” Yitz offered, his mouth full and his speech dropping crumbs onto his beard.
“Right you are. We are indeed soldiers of God. And I come under a banner of peace as one soldier to another.” Father Franco smiled toward Hephaestion, who still sat motionless.
“And one Purgatorian to another,” Yitz said with an unrestrained grin, mashed food in his teeth. This statement seemed to give Father Franco some pause.
“Indeed,” he continued after gathering himself. “I was not steadfast enough in life to earn my place in Heaven. But as you both know, we all can still find salvation even in the darkest places in the afterlife. Which is why I come to you two gentlemen today. You have drawn some considerable attention to yourselves as of late. Major financial success through rigging the largest gambling event in New Dis is an impressive and astounding feat. I heard that even a member of the friars—what is that order’s name again?”
“Order of Mercy.”
“Yes, the Order of Mercy, as quaint as it is, now has several talents of wealth in their coffers because of their involvement via a member named ‘Albrecht.’ A well-played gamble indeed. All under The Peruvian’s nose.”
“You assume that Hephaestion and I planned the wager?”
“Clearly, but no matter. This is The Peruvian’s business, I suspect. I’m just remarking how flamboyant your fame has become,” Father Franco said, gesturing to the rail car’s interior. “But we, soldiers of God, can’t help but feel that all of this ‘walking naked’ in the streets is a diversion of sorts. Perhaps the real intentions are to act out in plain view until everyone eventually becomes numb to such flagrant behavior. Then the real plan is enacted.” Father Franco paused to savor a mushroom that had been soaked in bourbon.
“Aside from our food and hospitality, what is it you want from us?” Yitz pried, shooting Hephaestion a sideways glance, hoping he took it as a signal to stand down.
“It isn’t what I want, per se, but what Provost-General van der Meer wants. He needs reassurance that you will, on your souls, swear an oath that you will not descend into the pit. Especially in some ill-conceived attempt to contact loved ones.”
“What do you mean?” Yitz widened his eyes innocently.
“Some people with enormous resources think that they have the privilege or right to descend into the lower reaches in an effort to aid or even abscond with their loved ones. It is a wrongful thing to do, and very much a crime against God and His judgment. No one but Christ may ever go down there. To do so is to interrupt the order of things and the natural progression of sinful people’s salvation.”
“Yet many Buddhists do it. They spend years below in campaigns providing warmth and prayer for the punished in the Malebolge.”
“That practice is becoming more and more discouraged by Provost-General. We simply cannot permit it further.”
“Those Buddhists are Heavenbound,” Yitz pointed out. “Perhaps you do not like being humbled by the sight of true soldiers of God?”
Trampling in the Land of Woe Page 7
