by Jon Monson
Since Sanborn was ostensibly on his father’s business, the man would have an appointment at the Fortescue mansion. Yet he was likely to drop off the letter first at some secret location. Barrick was determined to find that location.
The ship lurched as it made contact with the docks, and several sailors rushed to secure the vessel. Calls cried out as the crew scurried into activity. Barrick itched to be off the ship.
Finally, the gangplank was lowered to the dock with a resounding thud, which reverberated in Barrick’s chest. The ship’s passengers began to file off the ship. Men, women, and children hurried, anxious to see their loved ones and to put their feet on solid ground.
To Barrick’s surprise, Sanborn didn’t seem to feel any need to rush. He leisurely sauntered down the gangplank amidst a group of fellow passengers onto the dock below. Once he reached the concrete, he paused to yawn and stretch. After checking his pocket watch, the man strolled off the docks and towards the city streets. Barrick followed, doing his best to remain inconspicuous.
Without stopping, Sanborn tossed a few bank notes at a beggar who sat leaning against a wall. The beggar nodded his thanks as Barrick’s prey kept walking. Sanborn’s casual strut didn’t change, but Barrick knew something was wrong.
It struck him as odd that anyone - especially someone as parsimonious as Sanborn - would give bank notes to a beggar. The most that even the most generous of passersby generally spared would be a few small coins. Yet he’d given the man what appeared to be a small fortune.
Barrick walked past the man, his head down and face covered by his hat. He tossed the beggar a small coin, just slightly to his left. The beggar stretched to pick up the coin, opening his jacket slightly. Neatly tucked into one of the pockets of his torn, dirty jacket was the letter.
Barrick once again had a choice to make, and he silently cursed the tactic of discreetly changing messengers. He slowed his pace slightly, and he could hear the soft shuffling as the beggar rose to his feet. Barrick changed course, heading across the street and into a small alley. As soon as he was out of the beggar’s view, he lurched to the top of a nearby building.
Not for the first time, Barrick was glad for the flat rooftops of Maradon. Lurching on the rooftops had been practically impossible in Albona, where steep pitched roofs were the norm due to the severe winters. In the capital city of Somerset, his powers had been next to useless.
Here in Maradon, he had been able to escape from more than one tight spot by lurching from rooftop to rooftop unseen by pedestrians below. He had learned that as long as he was silent, people were not inclined to look up.
His eyes scanned the street, looking for the sickly beggar. The road was full of carriages and dockworkers. Already, the man was hard to find.
Then he saw the wretch. The sickly man was hobbling into a nearby side street, much larger than an alley, but much narrower than the main avenues. The man kept looking over his shoulder, almost twitching - apparently, he was a suspicious fellow. Fortunately, he wasn’t suspicious enough to look at the rooftops.
Barrick began to lose patience as the man wound his way through small streets, sometimes doubling back or going in circles. The man was obviously used to being a messenger, and he was nervous enough to not go directly to his destination. The man was good.
I wonder if he’ll ever get to it, Barrick thought. The man seemed to be enjoying himself, taking breaks to sit down and beg for coins before resuming his journey. Then the most horrible thought struck him, and his blood ran cold.
Sanborn had given the beggar a decoy letter. He knew that Barrick had been following him. The man was clever, and Barrick had been completely fooled.
Barrick collapsed onto his stomach, unable to support his weight anymore. He’d failed. He’d crossed an ocean in search of that letter, and now it had escaped him.
He looked up one last time at the beggar to see the space he’d occupied empty. The man was halfway down the next street, and he was walking with a sense of purpose. There was no meandering, no looking over his shoulder. He was finally going to deliver the letter.
Leading Barrick out of the narrow streets, the beggar entered a neighborhood filled with mansions. His prey once again stopped to survey his surroundings, although with less suspicion. He wasn’t looking for signs of a pursuer, but for something much more mundane.
Beggars were confined to the more humble sections of the city. If he were caught by the jandarm, he would be beaten, and a beating could mean the end for a beggar. However, this man was crafty and likely used to penetrating these streets.
The messenger ducked down an alleyway that ran behind the main street of palatial estates. These roads were for trash removal and served as the back entrances for the servants. The main roads would be used by the aristocracy, leaving these narrow roads almost unnoticed.
Approaching an adobe wall with an iron gate, the beggar stopped and rang a small bell. Barrick’s eyes were glued to the man as he tapped his foot in impatience. Obviously, the messenger was as anxious as he was.
A middle aged servant with perfectly slicked hair and a waxed mustache opened the gate cautiously. The beggar pulled the letter out of his torn jacket, and a look of comprehension dawned on the servant’s face. He pulled out a sizeable coin purse and exchanged it for the letter before quickly shutting the gate.
Barrick could see the beggar smile and begin to furtively sneak out of the wealthy neighborhood. Barrick Lurched to get a better view of the estate. He nearly fell off the roof as he realized where he was. He was home.
Chapter 23
Well, husband, I do believe we need to be moving along,” Byanca smiled. She couldn’t believe this man was now her husband. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine being married by the High Priestess of Katala. Of course, she never dreamed of being married to a man she’d only known a week, leagues away from her family and friends.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Aydiin smiled at her. “This is the coldest place I’ve ever been, and I have very little desire to see snow – especially if it traps us atop this mountain.”
“As it stands, we won’t make it down the mountain before nightfall,” Byanca said.
“I’ve been sleeping outside for days now,” Aydiin chuckled. “I’m not afraid of one more night spent outdoors on the mountainside.”
Byanca wondered what was going through her husband’s mind. Her entire world view was now shattered, her understanding of history obsolete. Yet she didn’t have the added weight on her shoulders of saving the world.
“My guide is waiting outside,” Byanca said, rising from her chair. “I’m sure he’s more than ready to return home.”
“I believe Seb is also awaiting us outside,” Aydiin said, also rising from his seat, albeit somewhat shakily. The poor man had just been through quite the ordeal. “Truth be told, I kind of forgot about him with everything that happened.”
“Well, you’re a god now,” Byanca laughed. “I think he’ll forgive you.”
“That’s a terrifying way of putting it,” Aydiin said, opening the door for her. She walked out into the hallway. Aydiin joined her, offering his arm, which she took with pleasure.
“I’m sorry to be so frivolous with all this,” Byanca apologized. “I guess that even with everything we just learned, I’m just so happy to have found you safe.”
“And I assume you’re equally as happy to know that I didn’t abandon you,” Aydiin smiled. “I’m also glad you can joke about this. I’ll probably need to hear more of those.”
“So what do we do first?” Byanca asked as they strode arm in arm through the entrance hall. Just as before, dozens of colored robes milled about in organized chaos. Yet this time, she could tell that everyone was trying to catch a glimpse of Aydiin while trying very hard to make it seem as if they didn’t notice him.
“Well, we need to find the other Great Stones,” Aydiin sighed. “Beyond that, I have no idea. Only two of them have been found, and I don’t think that the own
er of either one will be overly eager to part with it.”
“And with each one we find, you’ll grow more powerful,” Byanca said. “That will probably help – you could intimidate your father into giving us the Stone of Surion.”
“My father is much too prideful to be intimidated,” Aydiin shook his head. “And you can forget using any religious sentiments to woo him. The man only believes in the Divines as a way to oppress the people and fill his coffers.”
“I think we’ve found all the answers we can in this place,” she said, looking around the fabled monastery as they reached the large stone doors leading to the outside world.
“I’ve discovered more here than I could have ever imagined,” Aydiin said, also scanning the chamber. “I came here looking for answers. Now I’m afraid I’ve got more questions than ever.”
“Well, no matter what’s next, I’m glad we’ll be together,” she said, pulling him towards the exit. They slipped through the partially open door and into the sunlight.
Joon sat chatting amiably with an aging gentleman with a grey beard and shaved head. His frame was slight yet powerful, obviously a man who could hold his own in a fight. She assumed this was Sebastian, the man who had saved Aydiin from his captors.
“Aydiin, I’m pleased to introduce you to my guide,” Byanca smiled, nodding to Joon. “He has been gracious enough to accompany me on this adventure, and I can’t adequately express my gratitude for his services.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Aydiin said, bending slightly to shake the man’s hand. “And Byanca, this is Seb. He saved my life and is the only reason I made it here in one piece.”
“Lady Byanca, it’s my pleasure,” he said, taking Byanca’s hand as she curtsied. “I can see now why Aydiin almost returned to Palmas for you. Please forgive him – it was my opinion that returning to the city was too dangerous.”
“No forgiveness is needed,” Byanca smiled. “All is well, and I do agree that Palmas may not be the best place for Aydiin’s health.”
“So did yeh learn anything in there?” Seb asked, nodding to the monastery. “Anything that will help?”
“For every question I had before, I have ten more,” Aydiin sighed. “I’ll explain as we walk – we need to move.”
Aydiin recounted everything that had happened as the group walked down the path. Byanca found herself grateful for her trousers and heavy boots – nothing about this would have been possible in a dress. Now, she could just enjoy the journey.
The trees smelled wonderful, the scent of fallen leaves filling the air. A chill breeze blew through her hair, and she was glad indeed that they were leaving. Mount Pietra’s winters were notorious.
As she listened to the sound of Aydiin’s voice – mixed with the occasional comment from Seb or the Gorteon – Byanca let her mind wander. There was so much to do. There was so little time. She wondered what was next.
Then a thought entered her mind. She tried to dismiss it, but found herself unable to do so. It planted itself and germinated.
“Aydiin, how much have you thought about the assassination attempts back in Maradon?” Byanca asked, waiting for a break in the conversation.
“Well, there was really only one assassination attempt,” Aydiin said. “It was on the train before reaching Maradon.”
“And the other?” Byanca asked.
“The other was in some alleyways in the city,” Aydiin said. “They seemed more intent on capturing me than killing me.”
“Have you thought about who would want to do that to you?” Byanca asked, hoping he had an idea and that her thoughts were needlessly worrisome.
“I’m nearly positive the assassination attempt was from my dear younger brother,” Aydiin smiled. “He’d do anything to have nothing between him and the throne. The abduction attempt has me a little more confused.”
“From what yeh told me, they seemed to know you had the Stone,” Seb chimed in.
“That’s true,” Aydiin said. “The police officer who tried to kill me on the train made no mention of the Stone. The Lusitaan Jolt who nearly killed me in Maradon seemed to know exactly what I’d found.”
“That leads to my next question - how could anyone know you had the Stone so soon?” Byanca asked. “The attempt to kidnap you was less than twenty four hours after your return home. How could anyone have found out about it?”
“My guess is that someone on the train noticed the Markings and sent word,” Aydiin said, rubbing his chin. “After all, my father received word by telegraph days before my return. Whoever told my kidnappers must have done the same.”
“That makes sense,” Byanca replied slowly. “Aydiin, I’m worried you’re not putting enough thought into this. You didn’t let anyone see your face, right? You wore a veil the entire journey back to Maradon to avoid this type of disaster.”
“True,” Aydiin said. “But that doesn’t mean that someone didn’t see it. I’m far from perfect, and I could have easily slipped at one point.”
“I know that’s possible, but what are the chances that you let the veil slip at the exact moment for someone who knew what the Markings actually meant to see?” Byanca replied.
“It doesn’t seem that far-fetched to me,” Aydiin shrugged. “Seb saw them the very first time we spoke. I don’t know what makes them come and what makes them go.”
“Yes, but you were being careful, especially when you were around people you didn’t know,” Byanca said, hoping he would see what she saw. “What is the most likely scenario? Who is the one person that not only saw the Markings, but also could have known what they meant?”
It was like an electric lamp being turned on, the realization slamming into Aydiin with enough force to light up an entire room. She could tell he finally understood.
Barrick.
Chapter 24
As the sun set, Barrick stepped up to the back gate of his father’s estate. Pressing his hand against the adobe wall, he lurched and his insides squirmed at the use of his powers. As he appeared on the other side of the wall, he let his body convulse or a moment – moving through such solid objects never felt pleasant.
The grounds were immaculately kept in the Salatian style. Cobblestone pathways wound through the thick greenery that thrived on the coastal plain. Parrots squawked and Barrick could hear the trickling of water from the various fountains interspersed throughout the garden.
A direct path led from the back gate to the manor, allowing quick access for the servants and those who brought in the supplies required by such a household. Barrick crept along the cobblestones, ready to lurch away at a moment’s notice. Fortunately, the entire house was quiet and not a single worker felt the need to be in this part of the estate.
The door to the kitchens was open in hopes of enticing a breeze into entering. Barrick slipped in through the open doorway and immediately felt the sweltering heat emanating from the ovens. The heat was accompanied by the smell of sweet bread, which almost made up for the sweat that was forming at his brow.
Making his way out of the kitchen and through the attached dining room, memories of the time he’d spent living here crept into his mind. Despite his icy relationship with his father, not all the memories were bad. However, most of the pleasant ones didn’t involve the elder Fortescue.
In the darkness, Barrick could still make out the magnificent oak table - stained with a dark mahogany - that dominated the room. It was accompanied by a dozen hand-crafted chairs, each one worth more than the monthly wages paid to the servants. A crystal chandelier hung above the table, the light bulbs just barely visible in the darkness.
Walking through the dining room, he could almost taste the creations perfected by Ophelia, the family’s cook. She’d spent time in Lusita and Margella, and she somehow managed to blend the two very different culinary styles in perfection. His mouth watered just at the thought, or it could have possibly been from the smell of the bread baking in the ovens. It had been too long since he’d eaten.
Footsteps sou
nded from the kitchen, and Barrick lurched to a crouching position under the table. Thick legs with a plain white dress were visible, walking through the dining room. The wood floors creaked ever so slightly as the legs sped by the table and the man using it for cover. The legs stopped.
“I can see you under there, Master Barrick,” a familiar voice whispered. “Just because you choose not to live here doesn’t mean you have to sneak in like some common thief.”
Barrick scrambled out from underneath the table, squeezing in between two chairs. Rising awkwardly to his feet, he saw the most welcoming face he could imagine in these circumstances.
“Why hello there, Ophelia,” he drawled, sporting his best smile. “I was just testing you, yeh know.”
A stout woman stood before him. Her olive skin and black hair pulled into a tight bun marked her as a native of Salatia, yet her accent spoke of someone who had travelled the world. She stood almost two heads shorter than Barrick, but he knew she could bend him over her knee and strip his hide bare without breaking a sweat.
“You think I don’t know what’s going on in my own kitchens?” the woman laughed. “I’ve been cooking in this manor long before you and your father moved here and I’ll still be cooking here long after you’re gone.”
“Well, it’s just been so long, that I wanted to surprise the old man,” Barrick chuckled.
“Oh, he’ll be surprised to see you alright,” Ophelia wagged her finger. “You shouldn’t be staying away so much.”
“I’m sorry ‘bout that, ma’am,” Barrick said. “I do miss yer cookin’, if that makes yeh feel any better.”
“That it does,” she beamed. “Arathorm always eats his meals without any fuss, but there’s no pleasure in cooking for a man who eats so little. I hope this means you’re staying for while – I’ve got sweet breads in the ovens and fresh butter.”
“That sounds right decent, it does,” Barrick smiled, for the first time feeling real joy at being in his father’s house. “But first, I need to have a few words with the old man.”
