by C E Johnson
“Such a gentleman,” Maaca jested. She gave Edvard a kiss on the cheek so rapidly he couldn’t begin to dodge from her. He rolled his eyes at her making her laugh. Today she had been assimilating the last of the elves she had killed in the battle with Shadoe. She was high on life and she was truly happy. Studying the ash and alder branches weaving in the wind, she thought they looked like the arms of conductors. She was beginning to love nature. Closing her eyes and letting Edvard guide her, she imagined she could hear a symphony.
“She’s called the Royal Zuriel,” Edvard began, waking Maaca from her dreamy contemplations. “With five masts, she’s the largest sailing ship that I could find. The original crew took her on transatlantic crossings each year.” Maaca focused on Edvard, his face somber. “Only a few of the original crew remain to teach their new additions, but I think they can take us where we need to go quite safely.” They passed a tall old Manor House of an ancient king on the banks of the water. The mansion was stuck haphazardly in the middle of dilapidated apartment houses, and the river was shielded from their view for a time.
“I can’t believe they’ve kept a crew together at all,” Maaca marveled to Edvard.
Graciela gazed down a side passage and sighed while glancing at a stack of corpses. “I hate the way the dead humans remain until the rats eat them.”
Maaca followed Graciela’s line of sight. She saw the cluster of dead bodies stacked in an alleyway. She was witnessing the destruction of the fabric of society. “I’m glad these sailors that Edvard has found are organized and ambitious,” she said in a hopeful tone to her Black-blades. “Most of the people on this planet seem to have given up when they lost their treasured electricity.”
“I hope you take us back home to Acacia soon,” Graciela said softly. She was speaking earnestly while peering into Maaca’s eyes.
Maaca wasn’t sure how to answer her. She didn’t know what was going to happen to them at all. “We will see what fate has in store for us,” she said tenderly.
Reeking of alcohol and body odor, a pale man with long hair and a rust-colored bloodstained bandage on his forehead staggered out of a doorway toward Maaca. “You’re pretty,” he blurted, reaching for her with dirt-stained hands.
“Begone!” Edvard roared pushing the drunk individual away with a worn black boot. The street wanderer wobbled away shaking and lurching in a zigzag pattern before tripping over a mound of garbage and falling to the ground. Cracking his head on a curb, he remained motionless. Snorting in disgust, Edvard balled his hands into fists. “Many things are falling apart, but you’ll like the ship.”
Maaca felt surprised by the unexpected pity she felt for the injured man. She didn’t normally feel these kinds of emotions. “How many people are on the ship?” she asked, attempting to focus on other thoughts. She wondered if the vessel would be flooded with refugees.
“They keep it optimally manned,” Edvard answered, “and only a few individuals are on the list for the upcoming voyage.”
“What do you mean?” Graciela asked. “Who has booked passage?”
“Individuals who want to return to family or friends in the United States,” Edvard answered. “They’re supposedly all very excited about going home to see loved ones.”
“I would think we should have booked passage long ago,” Graciela worried. “How long will we have to wait if the passenger list is full? Are more ships preparing to sail?”
“I haven’t found another suitable mode of transit,” Edvard answered in a calm and even tone. “We’ll just have to find a way to assure our place on the Zuriel.” Appearing to have already thought over contingency plans, he gave Maaca a wicked smile.
He doesn’t seem worried, Maaca thought to herself. They rounded a corner and she studied a grand vessel that loomed before her in the dying light of the approaching gray dusk. The ship was long and lean like a great snake. “It’s bigger than I thought,” she said slowly. She was impressed. The Zuriel indeed had five tall masts and it was one of the largest sailing ships she had seen. Men with machine guns patrolled the wharf around the vessel. Food and supplies were arriving on carts, and the packages were being carefully taken along the gangplank onto the ship.
“I’ve arranged a meeting for you with the captain,” Edvard said. He took the lead and made an overly grand gesture toward the pier.
“Where are you all going?” A broad man with a dirty brown beard and green eyes pointed his gun at them. He blocked their path. “You aren’t passengers.” His finger trailed lightly over the trigger of his firearm.
“I’m taking my queen to meet with your captain,” Edvard answered. He unfasted his sword belt and placed it on the ground. Graciela followed suit. Edvard then lifted his arms to show he wasn’t carrying any other weapons. Everyone in their small group did the same. Maaca was wearing a new outfit of leather armor that they had discovered in a medieval and renaissance store. Over everything she wore a heavy dark cloak lined with brown fur. She had even found a small white gold circlet that she wore on her head. The crown lacked a blackstone, but its presence soothed her soul like a mother’s caress.
“Queen, huh?” The guard wiped his nose with a stained handkerchief he pulled from a pocket. “I guess you can talk with Captain Barkley, but we don’t have any cabins available. You can bring your ladies with you, but the other three need to wait here.” He pointed at their three magicians. Brazenly studying Maaca’s curves, he stroked his beard as he moved out of their way.
I’d like to bite him, Maaca thought, angry at his audacity. Although it would ruin everything, she had a strong desire to suck the blood from his carotid artery. It was pulsating in a slow, but steady rhythm at a superficial level just below his skin. The vessel began pounding more and more rapidly as she walked closer to the man. So obvious in his desire, she thought with distaste as he continued to ogle at her chest. She painted a polite smile on her face and strode past him quickly before her inner urges took control of her mouth.
Graciela proudly strutted up to match Maaca’s stride taking her arm in her own. “Somehow, I think you’re going to get us on board this vessel,” Graciela whispered in a conspiratorial manner to Maaca. She giggled like a young schoolgirl as she took in the ship.
“It’s so beautiful,” Maaca whispered while looking at the lines of the ship as she walked along the dock.
Graciela stopped suddenly and looked at the tallest mast. “Did I ever tell you what I did in my life before Ater?” she asked Maaca.
Maaca shook her head back and forth. “You haven’t, but I’m beginning to think it had something to do with boats.”
“I was the commander of a small fleet of ships,” Graciela said in a hushed voice. She sighed in reverie before she continued moving. She released Maaca’s arm and went up the gangplank first. She ran a hand along the railing of the ship in a reverent manner. “I called my vessels my Black Fleet.” Graciela twirled on the deck with expert balance.
“Perhaps you’ll become the captain of this ship one day,” Maaca said in a loud voice while glancing back at the guard who was still watching both of them with admiration. She smoothed her leather armor with one hand.
“I don’t think Captain Barkley would go along with that,” the guard with the machine gun said while flashing a devilish smile, “but I think it might be fun for the crew.”
Graciela narrowed her eyes at the guard before turning to speak quietly to Maaca. “Are you sure we need to make this journey?” Maaca could tell Graciela was speaking from her heart as she continued, “We could rule all of Europe from a headquarters here in England.”
“We have a mission that supposedly Drogor has dreamt of for a thousand years,” Maaca said softly. As she spoke Drogor’s name, a chill went down her spine and she felt suddenly uncomfortable.
A breeze came up from nowhere just as the sun disappeared over the horizon. “Talk of the devil, and he’s bound to appear,” Edvard said quietly as he moved into the lead.
Pulling her away from her ob
servations of the ship, Maaca drew Graciela close to herself. She ran one hand along Graciela’s hair tenderly, almost as a mother would do to sooth her child. “A final war is approaching, Graciela. A war that will decide the future of both Earth and Acacia.” Graciela’s hair felt soft and smooth under Maaca’s fingers. It smelled of fresh flowers.
“I have a bad feeling about Drogor,” Graciela whispered. “Let’s stay here,” she urged. Maaca studied the concerned frown on her Black-blade warrior. Graciela had placed swirls of pearls in her braids and she appeared stunningly beautiful. She wore black leather armor similar to Maaca’s, but she had shaped the fabric to look like a bodice. She also wore a similar cloak to Maaca, but hers was pinned with a silver brooch in the shape of a wolf, while Maaca’s brooch was of a dragon in black onyx.
“I have a bad feeling about him, too,” Maaca whispered in a low tone, “but we must go to him and discover our fate. All roads lead to Drogor.” They resumed walking, passing more sailors and warriors with their guns in a ready position in their hands. Graciela began to open and close her hands as she walked along, deep in thought. Unconsciously, Maaca’s own hands flitted to the empty double scabbard on her back. She had left her new swords at home, and her hands ached to grasp firmly on their hilts.
“The Captain’s in here,” Edvard said. Opening a cabin door for Maaca and Graciela, he motioned to a passageway.
As they entered, a thick man rose from a wooden desk. He had dark skin and darker eyes. He wore a clean sweater with the blue uniform of the Royal Navy, and he had a glistening bald head. “Queen Maaca, my name is Barkley Hooten.” He stuck out a hand. His forehead was creased. “I’m commonly called Captain Barkley.”
Maaca took his hand in hers. She unintentionally studied the bounding radial pulse in his lateral wrist. She was all about blood and vessels. “I would like to book passage on your ship for myself and my five associates,” Maaca said confidently while studying the other men in the room as she spoke. There were four of Barkley’s warriors present, all carrying an arsenal of firearms, all wearing navy uniforms. We’re in such close quarters, she thought to herself. I wonder if I can kill each and every one of them if the need arises before they can spray us with their bullets.
The captain remained silent as a frown creased his forehead. Maaca wondered if he could read her thoughts. “She’s trying to gain passage just before we leave,” a crew member scoffed to himself while chuckling at her words.
“We can all stay together in one room,” she added quietly.
The captain took out a ledger and studied it. “We’re booked up. I’ve given my word to the passengers. Each has given me everything that I need for this journey.” He closed the record book and gave Maaca a long look. “In fact, I’m sure I’ll have everything I need for the rest of my life after this voyage.”
Maaca arched her silver brows. “Can you place us on your waiting list?” She approached one of the guards whose face was burned a deep brown by the sun. She ran a finger along the dark black metal of his gun, and he studied her intently. “Accidents happen daily. I would like to be at the top of the list.” Maaca wasn’t challenging them or threatening doom. She just wanted to see where she stood.
“Perhaps …” The Captain hesitated. He took out a different register and peered at a set of names on a list. “I haven’t promised anyone to be first on the waiting list.”
Maaca whirled to face the captain, her silver hair spinning irreverently. “I’m certain I can grant you whatever you desire.”
Captain Barkley revealed a ghost of a smile as he regarded her while rubbing his strong jaw. “I leave tomorrow, and all my passengers are healthy today and in safe quarters, so I doubt you’ll be granted passage.” He stretched his brawny arms and massive shoulders. “I guess I could always use more gold.” He sighed and rubbed his bald head. “But life has changed, and I have new priorities.”
“Just for allowing me to be first on the waiting list, I will be here tomorrow with gold for you,” Maaca promised. She whirled on the heels of her boots. “Perhaps an opening will arise. I’ll bring more gold and treasure in case I gain a berth on your ship.” She departed the room. Outside, darkness ruled. Once they were clear of the ship and its guards, and they were back with their magicians, Maaca leaned toward Edvard and spoke softly in his ear, “I assume you have the guest list.”
“I do,” Edvard said as he flashed his pointed canines. His moody eyes were suddenly excited and laughing.
“I like you so much better when you’re dreaming of killing people,” Maaca whispered.
Edvard let out a short laugh. “Should I make sure the current occupants of the nicest cabin are dispatched to a much different place?”
“That would be wonderful,” Maaca answered. She pulled her long silver hair off her shoulders and tied it in a knot. “While you send a few earthlings to their early grave, I’ll go on a search for some gold with Graciela.”
“I’m definitely up for a little mischief,” Graciela said in a sultry voice. Her laughter tinkled on the wind.
Maaca sent one magician with Edvard. The mage was prepared to shield Edvard if the need arose. The other two magic users followed her. She retrieved her weapons from her room in The Shard, and Maaca felt her heart rate slow to a normal rhythm as her swords were replaced in their scabbards.
“Where to?” Graciela asked, eyebrows raised.
“The Tower of London,” Maaca answered. She had killed enough Londoners to know that although there was a gold reserve kept by the Bank of England, the tower was a much better place to obtain unique treasure. She wanted something easier to transport and more priceless than bars of the metal to impress the captain. They took a short walk down Druid Street and crossed the Tower Bridge to arrive at the Tower of London. Everything was dark now, but Maaca and Graciela could see impeccably in the deepest night. The swirling wind came hard off the river blowing their cloaks behind them. A pack of emaciated dogs appeared out of nowhere. They glanced at her small band once before thinking better of an attack. As one, they turned and departed in a new direction. Maaca closed her eyes and let the warm rush of wind sigh over her face. She didn’t sense anyone in their vicinity.
“Do you think it’s still guarded?” Graciela asked. Her head was cocked to the side. She was listening for enemies. “I don’t hear anything at all.”
“One of my recent kills was an old soldier who used to work here,” Maaca explained as she pulled Graciela along. She led them through the main entrance in one of the towers. “I’m certain we’ll experience a few minor challenges.” She glanced at the two magicians who were right on their heels. “Besides, I want to test these two,” she whispered in Graciela’s ear. They moved rapidly past a vaulted span of stone with the words Byward Tower stamped in a plaque above a portcullis which was smashed open. They passed through another tower with dried blood coating one portion of a wall and entered the inner ward to arrive at the door of the Jewel House. There was an arc before them, made from a pale cream-colored stone, with a similar material making up the square tiles in the floor. Black wooden doors with solid wood at the base were fashioned in the center of the stone arch. Large panes of a square glass were lined horizontally in the upper margins.
Graciela tried the door. “It’s locked.” She looked to Maaca for direction. “Do you want me to break the glass and try and enter?”
“Show me how your opening spells are working,” Maaca addressed her gold magician. A pair of jet-black ravens sat fidgeting just above the door. Maaca waved at them, and they flew off into the deep night.
The gold magician stepped forward and began his incantation in a low voice. The doors weren’t mage-locked, and the lock easily opened after he completed his spell. Smiling, he held open the doors for Maaca and Graciela. Although Graciela could have easily broken the doors open on her own, Maaca nodded appreciatively to the magician. He beamed with pride and they entered in silence.
“I’ve learned about the way their security used t
o work in the old days,” Graciela revealed to Maaca. She pointed out rounded dark shapes on the ceiling. “Normally, scores of cameras would be watching our approach, and alarms would be sounding, but with the lack of power, we will be greeted only by the dark.”
“Hush,” Maaca whispered. She gestured toward a single soldier, likely the guard on duty, who lay slumped against a wall, sound asleep. She made hand signals to her magicians ordering them to stand still, while she and Graciela approached the man and crouched at his side. Together, they delicately bit into his neck while Maaca put a hand over his mouth. Choking and gasping, the man gazed at them wide-eyed, more in surprise than pain. They absorbed his surface information immediately as he died.
“Only ten soldiers and their families are here,” Maaca informed the magicians. She gave their small group more information as she rapidly assimilated further portions of the guard’s thoughts and memories.
Graciela stood and addressed Maaca, “Should we kill all of them before we take the treasure?”
“Only the men,” Maaca said firmly. “We’ll spare the women and children.” I’m losing my backbone, she thought to herself. With every elf I kill and assimilate, I find myself murdering less and less.
“Very well,” Graciela nodded, but Maaca could tell she didn’t agree with her plan.
“They should be sleeping, but try to be quiet,” Maaca told her squad in a hushed voice. She led her three followers to the current barracks housing the earthling warriors. Noiselessly, she motioned to her two magicians to be prepared to cast a spell to shield their group upon her signal. They inclined their heads acknowledging that they were ready. Approaching an archway with two closed, solid oaken doors, Maaca listened intently. There was only silence. Shadows flickered on the walls of the hallway where a pair of torches, providing a weak light, had been placed. Without warning, the doors were thrown open from within, catching Graciela unawares.
“Bloody Ater,” Graciela cursed as the wood thudded against her shoulder. Leaning back, she rubbed her armor where she had borne the impact.
