Without a word they dropped to the ground on the other side, sprinting away from the city, the older brothers leading the way to where they had hid the horses. The Polo’s jumped onto their steeds, Giuseppe onto his, holding his arm out for Roberto to climb on behind him. The pace set by the brothers was brisk and Giuseppe soon found himself falling behind, his horse carrying an extra passenger. Within minutes the Polo’s were out of sight, the snow and darkness making things even worse.
He glanced behind him as did Roberto.
“I don’t think we’re being followed,” said the young man.
“Neither do I,” agreed Giuseppe, easing off on the demands he had been putting on the horse. “Let’s not break our necks. We’ll catch up with my master eventually.” They traveled in silence for several minutes, the only sound the wind and the clopping of the horse’s hooves on the trail. Giuseppe continued to peer into the darkness for any sign of the Polo’s and saw nothing but shadows playing tricks on him. He cursed his bad luck and for a moment resented his passenger.
But only for a moment. The look of terror in the poor boy’s eyes had been genuine, and were a memory he wouldn’t soon forget. And he had to realize that this young man was but a boy. Eighteen at best, and living under the protective umbrella of the church, his maturity compared to most young men his age was probably severely curtailed.
He glanced over his shoulder, curiosity finally demanding an answer as to what had happened. “What went wrong?” he asked of his passenger.
“It was terrible. As soon as you were out of sight we returned to the church to find Father Salvatore dead in his bed, stabbed. Two men attacked us. We fought them but Vincenzo was struck down almost immediately. I managed to flee, but not before more joined in. The only thing that saved me, besides you and your friends, was their apparent lack of horses!”
Giuseppe’s eyes narrowed as he stared at their path ahead.
No horses? That’s odd.
“Why wouldn’t they have horses?” he finally asked, their own now at a trot, Giuseppe having given up in catching his master and elders. As they passed a bend in the canyon, his eyes caught sight of a shadow to their left. He reached for his sword when a voice called out.
“Giuseppe, is that you, brother?”
His heart leapt in relief as he let go the breath he had been holding. “Yes, Master. I have Roberto with me.”
“Good, good! Dismount now so I can tell you of our plan.”
Roberto jumped down, as did Giuseppe, Marco’s father taking the reins of their mount and walking it over to a sheltered area where the other horses were resting, Marco’s uncle feeding and watering them.
“What happened?” Marco asked Roberto, who then relayed the story Giuseppe had already heard. Giuseppe took several swigs from a skin of water, then chewed on a small pouch of dried meat and fruits tossed to him by Marco.
“No horses?”
He was happy to hear his master was as surprised at that point as he was. It almost sounded to Giuseppe as if they intentionally didn’t capture Roberto in hopes that he would lead him to those who had stolen the skull. And it had worked, only thankfully none had survived to tell the tale.
Which might explain why no one is following us?
The thought was comforting, but only fleeting.
“More will come,” said his master, echoing his subconscious.
“Agreed,” said Marco’s father, Niccolo. “We must act quickly.”
“Agreed.” Marco turned to Giuseppe. “You will take the idol ahead, rejoining the caravan. You should reach them by morning. We will stay behind to intercept any who may follow you.”
“But, Master, there could be dozens!”
“Hundreds!” piped in Roberto.
“There could be, but I doubt it. We have no choice but to chance it otherwise we shall fail in our mission. Should the numbers be overwhelming, we shall know so in advance, and retreat to join you,” assured Marco. “Don’t worry, brother, I have no intention of sacrificing myself needlessly.”
“Nor I!” piped in his father with a smile. “Now, take a good horse and make haste. We will join you most likely mid-afternoon.”
“Let me go with him,” said Roberto. “Speed is not of the essence for his journey, but it may be for yours, and we’ve already seen how two on one mount doesn’t work.”
Marco looked at his father who nodded. “Very well. The two of you shall take my horse. She is the strongest and fastest. If I rode her hard, I’d just leave these two old men behind which I would end up regretting.”
“You’re damned right you’d regret it!” his father replied, punching his son in the arm. “Castration comes to mind!”
His father and uncle roared with laughter, Marco grinning but turning his private parts slightly away from the elders. Giuseppe grinned, taking another drink then handing the skin to Roberto. He strode over to the horses, taking the reins of his master’s beast and swinging atop the mighty steed. He held out his hand and pulled Roberto on with him as Marco soothed the creature, gently stroking its face and neck, rubbing his cheek on the long snout.
“You treat my brother well,” he whispered. “Be fleet of foot, but sure of it too. They need you to be steady for a few hours. Be their eyes and ears. Warn them of dangers, guide them through those dangers, and tomorrow you will be rewarded with apples and sugar, I promise!”
The horse neighed, as if it understood, and Giuseppe silently hoped it did. Marco handed him the bag containing the idol. “Be careful with this. A lot of people have died because of it.”
Giuseppe nodded, tying it at his waist. “I won’t let you down.”
Marco grinned. “I never thought you would. Now go, we have wasted enough time,” he said, stepping back.
Giuseppe nodded to the Polo’s, then gently nudged the horse with his feet, the creature tossing its head then complying. Within moments the family he had lived with most of his remembered life was left behind to defend against an enemy of an unknown size, to perhaps be massacred, all because the great Kublai Khan had “requested” they retrieve a crystal idol worshiped by citizens of his northern capital.
It was ridiculous.
Why should he and his masters risk their lives for this man? He wasn’t even their liege, ruler over any of their lands. If anything, he was a rival to the mighty Venetians, though a distant rival. Giuseppe was no fool. Should the Khan turn his attention to Venice, he knew it stood little chance of withstanding a foe so powerful.
But it still didn’t justify, in his mind, the family putting themselves at risk over something so trivial as a crystal skull worshipped by a bunch of crazies of so little faith that they’d toss the real God aside and worship some carving.
It disgusted him.
If it were up to him, he’d smash the idol right now against the rocks they were rushing past, but alas, it wasn’t up to him. He had no doubt the Khan wanted proof the idol had been retrieved, and for now his mission was to obey his master’s wishes.
To safely deliver the idol to their caravan and await the arrival of the family.
The horse was guiding itself, there little choices for it to make in the mountain pass they found themselves. Giuseppe barely held the reins, letting the beast do its own bidding. They were making better time than if he were in control, the animal able to judge for itself the speed at which it was safe to travel. Giuseppe kept an eye on things, ready to pull on the reins at any moment, their pace one far faster than he would have been comfortable with, but with the sky cloud-covered, and the night not yet over, he could see little regardless.
No horses.
The thought had been nagging at him, and with his mind free of guiding their transport, he returned to them. He retold the story in his head, breaking it down into the facts. They watched he and Marco head for the wall, leaving once they were out of sight. That at most was five minutes. They then returned to the church via the main streets, probably not running. That would be at least ten minutes. They found the
father, fought the enemy. Another minute or two, perhaps three. Roberto then ran, full tilt, from the church to the wall. At that pace, still a ten minute journey.
Giuseppe’s eyes narrowed at the mental tally he had just calculated.
Almost thirty minutes!
Their walk to the wall had been about fifteen minutes, at most twenty.
Yet Roberto reached us before we had a chance to climb it!
It didn’t make sense.
“Is something wrong?”
Giuseppe almost jumped but caught himself. Roberto’s body was pressed against his back so he didn’t fall off the horse, and also to share body heat in the frigid cold.
So he definitely would have felt the muscles tensing in Giuseppe’s body.
“No,” replied Giuseppe hastily. “I just keep seeing things in the shadows.”
It seemed a reasonable reply, one that would explain his tenseness. He glanced over his shoulder to flash a smile when he caught something glinting in the moonlight above and behind his head. He threw his elbow back, catching Roberto in the nose then pulled on the reins, bringing the mighty beast to a halt as he threw his elbow again, knocking Roberto off the back. The horse reared on its hind legs, catching Giuseppe unprepared, tossing him off as well, the impact with the hard ground cushioned by the body of Roberto.
Giuseppe quickly rolled away, drawing his sword, Roberto leaping to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose, the dagger he had been about to stab Giuseppe with held out in front.
“What the hell is going on?” demanded Giuseppe. “You never had time to return to the church!”
Roberto smiled, approaching him, the much smaller blade still a danger if he could counter Giuseppe’s first thrust. Instead, Giuseppe kept his distance, knowing full well the risk if he committed.
“You’re right,” replied Roberto, continuing to circle. “There was no need. You had the idol. I merely had to gather some worshippers to help me.” He feigned a quick attack, but rapidly fell back when Giuseppe pointed his sword directly at him.
“What happened to Vincenzo?”
“I killed him of course.”
Giuseppe felt his chest tighten as he pictured the young man who had risked his life to save complete strangers only an hour before, now dead. It enraged him that this young altar boy should die such a senseless death over something as trifling as a crystal idol with a grinning face.
“Then I shall kill you,” said Giuseppe, advancing, his sword held high, the muscles in his arms flexing as he swung the blade. Roberto easily sidestepped the blow and lunged forward with his dagger, Giuseppe letting the blade continue as he used the momentum to swing him away from the attack, the blade arcing around his body as he spun on his toe. Roberto cried out in pain as the tip of the blade, not even a fingernail in length, sliced open the murderer’s belly.
Roberto dropped his dagger as he fell to his knees, gripping his stomach. Giuseppe flipped his sword, blade down, ready to thrust it into the exposed nape of his opponent’s neck when the sound of horses filled the canyon. He backed away, readying his sword to defend himself, when three men burst onto the scene, quickly coming to a halt and expertly jumping from their mounts.
“Brother, are you okay?”
Giuseppe dropped the tip of his blade to the ground, his shoulders sagging as he nearly cried in relief at the sound of his master’s voice. He was so tired of fighting, of running, of fearing for his life, that the sight of these three men, the Polo family, was like a font of warmth springing in his heart as hope returned.
“He killed Vincenzo,” he gasped, exhausted physically and emotionally from the day’s events. “And he tried to kill me.”
“We suspected as much,” replied Marco, circling the kneeling Roberto.
“You did?” Giuseppe knew his voice sounded incredulous, and there was also a tinge of anger. If you knew, why didn’t you tell me?!
“Didn’t you wonder why we went on ahead and left you two behind after we scaled the wall?”
Giuseppe shrugged as Marco’s father lit a torch so they could see each other. “I figured you didn’t notice we weren’t behind you.”
Marco shook his head, a smile on his face. “Oh brother, how I thought you knew me better than that.” He looked at his father and uncle. “We went far enough ahead so that we could talk for a few minutes before you arrived. I knew right away it was impossible for Roberto to have returned to the church then make it to the wall in the time he had. I figured if he were innocent, then Vincenzo had been killed by their pursuers as they returned to the church, and Roberto had been able to run away. In which case you were perfectly safe.
“On the other hand, if he had betrayed his God, he would have killed Vincenzo, found some of his compatriots, then staged his escape. And again you would be perfectly safe since you didn’t have the idol.”
Giuseppe looked at his master, not totally convinced that he had been safe on that first leg of their escape, but certain he hadn’t been on this final portion.
“And now? Despite your misgivings you let me travel alone with him, with the idol?”
“We had to be sure. I honestly didn’t expect him to make his move so soon. You must have figured it out yourself.”
Giuseppe nodded. “Just before he attacked me.”
“So you were ready for his attack.”
It was a statement of fact that happened to be true to a point. But his being ready didn’t mean he wasn’t covered in bruises and scrapes from his fall, or exhausted from one final bout of swordplay.
“Yes,” was all he could manage, and it was barely a murmur.
“Then all is well!” pronounced Marco’s father. “We have the betrayer, he has been incapacitated. We have the idol, and we have escaped our pursuers. I think the day has been a success!”
“You will never escape,” muttered Roberto, wincing as he tried to straighten himself to glare at his foes. “You will be pursued to the ends of the earth until either the idol is retrieved, or you are all dead. Your victory today shall be short lived.”
Marco eyed their prisoner, then looked at his father. “What do you think?”
“I think he’s right. The sooner we get to Khanbalig the better.”
“I say we destroy it, leave it here to be found, and then there’s no reason to pursue us,” said Giuseppe, sheathing his sword.
Marco’s head bobbed in agreement. “That’s a good idea.”
“But it isn’t what the Khan wanted,” replied his uncle. “We must obey his wishes.”
Marco frowned. “Then we must move forward, and quickly. We will be safe in Khanbalig.”
“You may be safe there, but the moment you set foot outside its walls, you will be pursued once again,” said Roberto, his eyes filled with hate.
Giuseppe turned to Marco. “You could be in hiding for years. Decades!”
“If that is God’s will, then so be it,” replied Marco. “We have rid a city of its false idol and freed a people to worship the true God once again. When this idol is safely hidden away, it matters not what happens to us. Should we die, we die. But the idol will never disturb another soul again.”
“You will spend the rest of your lives in exile for your actions today.”
They all turned toward Roberto.
“Do we need him for anything?” asked Marco’s uncle.
Marco shrugged. “I can’t think of anything.”
His father plunged his sword into Roberto’s belly, twisting the blade. “Neither can I.”
Unknown Location
Present day, one day after the kidnapping
Grant Jackson lay on a cot, his left hand cuffed to the frame, his right free to pull at it uselessly. He had woken here several hours before and determined that “here” was a basement of some type, it seemingly old, the beams over his head solid wood that clearly showed its age, and if he knew his home renovation shows from television, they hadn’t made them like that in decades, if not nearly a century.
No lam
inated beams here.
The musty smell and tiny windows set high in the walls had him thinking a century old home, perhaps even a farmhouse. His head had pounded for the first couple of hours, now it was a dull ache that had him closing his eyes and massaging his temples with his free hand. No one had come to check on him yet, but he had heard muffled voices and footsteps overhead the entire time.
He wasn’t alone.
And with his hand cuffed, the windows tiny, and the only set of stairs probably leading directly into the room where his captors were, there was no hope of escape.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
He had debated this for much of the past hour after his racing heart had settled and he could begin to think clearly. Don’t panic! had become his mantra, something he repeated over and over every time he felt a twinge of fear begin to settle in again. He knew he had to keep a cool head if he were to survive this.
Survive!
What were their intentions? They had killed his security detail, so he knew they had no qualms about murder. He was still alive, so this wasn’t an assassination attempt, though why anyone would want to assassinate him was beyond him. Then again, why anyone would want to kidnap him was equally so.
What would Dad have done?
Asking this question was how he solved most problems where the answer wasn’t immediately evident. The outcome however wasn’t always to his satisfaction, either he misjudged what his father would have done, or he was naïve enough to think his father had never been wrong.
He got himself assassinated by his best friend. How on the ball could he have been?
The Venice Code (A James Acton Thriller, Book #8) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 8
