Kidd held up The Tears again, and closed his iron fist with all his strength. “The Tears do not belong to me,” he said, grunting with the effort. “Nor are they yours!” The veins bulged in his temples. “These Tears were shed for Lazarus alone, and that is how it shall remain!”
As Kidd spoke the words, The Tears shattered into pieces as small as grains of sand, shrouding him in glittering particles. Each melted and vanished as it touched the floor. As they fell, he heard the whispers fade. When he opened his hand, no trace remained, just the gold chain that had anchored the jewel to his neck. He dropped it.
Cresci shrieked. “You shall suffer dearly for this! After your most-painful death, I will make certain that history remembers you as a minion of the devil!”
“No,” said a new voice, a voice filled with strength and assurance. “Cardinal, this sham ends now!” An old man sitting among others threw off his cloak and hood revealing crisp white robes subtly decorated with gold thread. His hair was cut short, but his beard was most impressive. Overall, Kidd wasn’t sure if he should fear this man or revere him. The assembly fell to their knees. This was only done for one man in the Vatican, the Pope. Kidd felt his heart beat faster.
“William Kidd is right in his contentions,” said Pope Paul. “The Tears were shed for Lazarus, and Lazarus alone. No man has the right to possess them.” He came forth, appearing rather to glide than to walk, and stood between Cresci and Kidd. “We were aware of Suleiman’s intention to destroy Rome. Had the Ottoman Emperor come to our city with The Tears about his neck, he would have destroyed our people and our faith. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Now, we will give thanks, for that day will never come. We forgive you your crimes, William Kidd, and no harm shall come to you.”
Kidd saw the Pope turn his powerful will upon Cardinal Cresci. From his sleeve he drew out a glassy-blue stone attached to a gold chain. It bore a striking likeness to The Tears. “We also knew of your intention to replace The Tears with a forgery and keep them for yourself.” He threw the bauble to the ground. “For that you will have to account to God,” he said with withering force. The Cardinal collapsed to his knees sobbing, begging for forgiveness.
Pope Paul ignored Cresci’s pleas and instead took Kidd by the shoulders, fixing him with a penetrating gaze. “Go, with Our blessing, Iron William Kidd.”
~ Chapter 39 ~
BARE FEET
The sun was hot and Kidd’s feet were sore. As he passed beyond the outskirts of Rome, it occurred to him that for all he’d accomplished, he had little to show for it. He’d lost his ability to bear arms, he’d returned Philip’s ring without reward, The Tears were gone, and he didn’t have a single coin to his name. Nor a purse, for that matter. Just a pair of iron gloves.
The hope that The Tears would heal his hands, freeing him from his inability to touch, was lost. As his closest friend was lost. A round dent in his palm from Tom Flint’s pistol ball served as an enduring reminder of that.
He tried to imagine what life would be like without the armour to protect his hands. He’d grown accustomed to it now, and for the most part, there was little pain and discomfort. The metal needed regular maintenance, but really, no more time than he used to spend stripping and cleaning a pistol, or sharpening a sabre. Even though he could never take them off, he hadn’t lost every pleasure of touch.
Most of all, he was a free man walking away on his own two feet.
He pulled off his boots, tied the laces together and slung them across his shoulders. As he walked, he enjoyed the sensation of the grass tickling his toes.
More than once he thought of Harissa. She would be short-handed, and despite his dislike of sea travel, she had made him feel welcome aboard her homely ship.
The ancient Roman roads stretched out before him to every part of Europe. He could go anywhere in the world he pleased. There were new adventures to be found, mysteries to solve, and reward aplenty, but they could wait.
He didn’t feel like doing much more than paying a visit to an old friend, to ask him if he might be allowed to take a long hot bath.
Iron William will return in Iron William and the Aztec Curse
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MG
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About the Author
The marketing experts say authors need a compelling biography. They say we should answer the following four questions, because this is the information you, the reader, really want to know.
1. Why do I write? I write because I have an obsession with writing which borders on a mental disorder. I’ve often wondered if I can get medicated for this condition, but it’s much cheaper and easier to spend time at a keyboard.
2. How long have I been at it? I’d love to tell you I had some magical writing awakening, but the truth is I’ve been writing since I could combine a noun and a verb to form a sentence. Not sure when that was or what I used. Probably the red crayon on the kitchen wall incident. It was a good story, but not well-received.
3. What is my inspiration? I’m inspired to write so I don’t have to find another pastime. I’ve tried stamp collecting, golf and other forms of self-harm, and writing seems to be the least destructive to my mental well-being and the environment. I also I have an allergy to churning out books in a specific genre, which makes me a difficult author to follow. Sorry about that.
4. Do I have a pet, is it cute and what’s its name? I do have a pet. My wife thinks it’s cute. It’s actually the embodiment of evil with a soft coat. If you’d like to know why, read The End and Other Stories.
Thanks for reading,
MG
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