February 26, 1582
Gathered in a slumped mass, the figures in the open stables gorged on the warm flesh of the recently dead mares. Their cold fingers grasped at the steaming entrails of their victims as they slobbered the bloody mess into their gaping maws nearly swallowing it all without chewing.
To the horror of those who may have been awake at that late hour, they may have caught a glimpse of the members of that carnivorous congregation as they ripped flesh from bone mercilessly. Unfortunately for the viewer, despite the repugnance of the actions of these monstrosities, it merely matched the ghastliness of their disfigurement.
Indeed, if one were to catch some in the light, one may have noticed the peaks and valleys of their skin, contracted like a mummy’s face. The rigidity of their movement coincided with the boniness of their structures. If one had the misfortune of looking one in the eyes, they may have been greeted with an aimless pair of receded, half rotting, and dull globes. These windows, indeed, portal to no soul within.
For the orphanage-school, their stable was now under siege by such creatures; creatures that moved in the shadow of night guided by the smell of flesh and the living. Stumbling and crawling, they had found their way to the nearest available food—the poor helpless horses.
Amidst the horror of that midnight hour, Amin erupted from the side door of the building and, holding his scimitar to defy the moonlit atmosphere, screamed a guttural roar at the intruders. There was no response from the main group which busied itself with the satisfactions of the stomach. But a few, who had wandered aside, now turned awkwardly to face their aggressor.
Meanwhile, within the building, the lady Carmen was quickly waking the various children under her charge. In the main ward where most slept peacefully, she had burst forth with the concern that echoed through the hall.
“Children, wake up and follow me!” she cried out to them immediately startling most to attention.
Luckily for them all, the children were used to emergencies and to taking up in the middle of the night to hide from thieves, kidnappers, or even those who simply held a prejudice against their guardian or themselves.
Obediently following their teacher, Carmen hurriedly led them to the back room where a deadbolt could be locked from the inside, and a secret passageway lead to the outskirts of the town if necessary.
Renault was stumbling his way down the staircase to the first floor. It was a combination of drowsiness and sore injuries that kept him and his espada from whizzing down the remainder of the steps. His espada clinked against the wrought iron railing of the staircase until finally he grunted himself onto the first floor and out the side door. Already his first glance was of his noble sidekick Amin hacking his way through a group of these non-men into the direction of where the remaining horses—including Kit—were stabled.
“Get back you monsters!” screamed Amin towards the mob as they amassed closer to him and walked into his blade.
What shocked that Arabian the most was that he would slice an arm, a side, or sometimes even a leg and yet these abominations—ugly in sight and putrid in their smell of dankness and death—would not relent in attempting to grasp onto him. If he had been less courageous of a man, he might have fled in the opposition of such demons!
But these demons did not possess the articulation of the deceptive shadows he would have thought of. Instead, their cold and ferocious demeanor was a staggering wave of rotting flesh and lustful destruction. Their communication was the subtle moans that they frothed from their decaying throats. It sent chills down Amin’s back as he hacked his scimitar into shoulders and skulls having to do so multiple times before whatever these were stopped from moving.
Renault came quickly to the aid of his companion as his espada pierced right through the chest of one of these wheezing creatures.
“Use the torch from the pillar, Amin!” Renault called out as his arms retreated to pull the blade out of that creature’s chest and then plunge it again into another incoming body piercing the skull expertly before the opponent slid backwards to truly die.
Amin, with the weight of the frontal rush of the abominations now focused to his master, quickly swirled around and withdrew the hanging lamp from the stable side and inserted a nearby torch into the casing to catch the tip ablaze.
Returning now to his friend’s side, he pushed against the coming darkness with the intense heat of that fired rod. It appeared as if by the very movement of the searing redness of the flames, the figures withdrew their gazes to darker corners.
Renault quickly grabbed the torch and held it parallel with his sword poking and swiping at the perimeter of the incoming mob.
“Get the other horses out of here quickly,” he ordered to his friend and Amin swiftly obeyed working first on Kit’s cell before unhinging the others.
Kit, assuming the lead and almost seeming to calm the others, led all the horses straightaway into the exit portal that Amin had opened for them. Rounding them around the edge they fled to the opposite side of the building without further harassment. With the vulnerable creatures rescued, Renault receded more and more into the rear of that stable structure as the horde seemed to jostle and jockey towards him.
Carefully awaiting and anticipating their movements, Renault withdrew backwards until there began the soft crunching of straw underfoot mingling with the lifeless moans of those that approached him. At that point, tossing the flaming device ahead of him he lit the stable floor afire and quickly jumped through a side window as the flames began to engulf the inside.
Too slow to effectively escape, these walking corpses succumbed to the hellish licks of the fire underneath them, collapsing in heaps of charred mesh on top of each other.
Renault was caught by the friendly and helpful arms of Amin holding him up as he struggled to keep balance. His bandages were already glistening with the crimson blood from his worked muscles. Carmen similarly came forth from the doorway and took the other side of that weary knight.
Bringing Renault to a nearby bench they helped him to sit as he panted unceasingly.
“I’ll go alert the Constable of the fire,” Amin said and, after receiving a nod from his master, hurried off to gather one of the remaining horses to speed to the Constable’s tower.
“I was watching from the window,” Carmen said quickly, “what are these things?”
As she asked, she looked at some of the corpses that Amin and Renault had disabled with their swords before the climactic conflagration in the depths of the stable. She curled her nose in the stench and sight of the abominations.
“I’m not sure,” Renault replied in between deep breaths. Carmen looked back towards him with a concerned face.
“Looks like I’ll have to bring out the ointment and bandages again,” she said unable to help a little grateful smile from the edge of her lips.
At that, Renault seemed to groan the same way these monstrosities once did.
---
After the struggle and fire at the orphanage, the Constable had quite the few words at the brashness of his visitors. The Mayor was also present that morning for the inspection but seemed to recede hopelessly behind the tirade of his taller companion.
Renault explained that bandits had attacked the stables and a fire was accidentally started. Not knowing how to break the news that an undead horde descended upon them, they decided to keep it a secret for now. They had added most of the rotting bodies to the funeral pyre of their ‘comrades,’ but one body was preserved. It was kept, unnervingly, in one of the deep cellars of the orphanage building.
The children had been sent to various religious boarding houses that very morning hoping to avoid putting the children in harm’s way during the course of this audit, and the huge mansion now settled into an eerie silence.
After patching Renault up again and discharging the children, two of the three descended into that dreary depth of an old wine cellar. The previous owner of the building had been a rich merchant who had brought wine from the valleys to the north to age in these dark recesses. Empty barrels covered in cobwebs still decorated the interior of that dim chamber. The children used to joke amongst themselves that naughty boys and girls would be kept in one of these barrels to “age” before being consumed.
It was in this secluded and dusty room that the remaining corpse of that troupe now laid flat along a table. The espada mark through his chest was the freshest thing on that body.
“What have you found out?” Renault asked as he entered the chamber. He had been upstairs bidding farewell to the Mayor and assuring him that any damage to the city would be covered by the crown.
Carmen and Amin nearly jumped at that voice coming from the stairwell before sighing a fatigued breath together.
“This corpse looks like it used to be a Mexican worker,” Carmen noted as she washed her hands in clean water and soap from a local bowl.
“A worker from these parts?” Renault asked curiously.
“Yes, aside from accusations of abuse, it’s been known that a lot of the workers imported here from the central region have gone missing or unaccounted for. The guilds especially Schwarzschild have simply claimed that they ran away or some ridiculous reason like that.”
Carmen looked back at the corpse again as Renault approached the table with the lamplight above shining a disgusted glow onto the corpse.
“Aside from that,” Carmen continued, “I don’t know what in the world turned him into a monster like this…”
Renault studied the body carefully. “Amin,” he commanded, “prepare a sample and send it by personal courier to Osaka immediately. Make sure you use the best preserve when you jar the sample. Have it sent to Don Jakob DeWitt care of Duque Jimenez. Have the return courier know that we’ll be receiving the response from the regional office in San Francisco.”
“San Francisco, sir?”
“Yes, that is where you said the regional Headquarters is for the Schwarzschild Guild is located, Carmen?” he asked as he looked now towards the woman who nodded in reply.
“Then it’s settled, we ride to San Francisco tomorrow after the next courier sails.”
---
March 20, 1582
The creak of the great ships counterpointed the melodic swashing of the South China Sea. In a magnificent line extending at least fifteen capital ships wide and five or so frigates, the patrol flotilla flying the Cross of St. Andrew spiked through those waters borne on friendly winds.
Aboard the flagship San Martin a spyglass surveyed the seaside coast and adjacent cities. Making a careful account of each discernable mass of soldiery and fortification, Isabella dictated to Sweet.
“I count four other flag formations here,” Isabella said to her scribbling apprentice, “and at least two thousand in the garrison. That makes a total of fifteen thousand troops in Guangdong in total.”
Sweet obediently scripted the words in his own specific shorthand. His expression, as usual, was a listless half sleepy frown. The fanned sails wafted just as lazily on that thirty first day of their cruise down the Chinese coast. Their mission was simple, get within range to estimate the sizes of the forces of Ming in order to formulate the best plan for invasion.
After her final iteration, Isabella lowered her spyglass and snapped it shut. Despite the back and forth movement of the large vessel, she sat quite comfortably on the edge of the crow’s nest’s railing and merely leaned back and forth in accordance with the way the waves tilted that burgeoning ship.
Several feet below, the young Akanishi Jun leaned up against the edge of that powerful gunship and watched the passing coastline with more innocent intentions.
“Are you enjoying your first cruise, Matsujun?” Antonio asked as he flanked the boy on his left.
Matsujun was the little one’s nickname. When the young boy of only thirteen years had awakened to find foreigners tending to him, he had explained that he was the son of Akanishi Suzuhuara and his wife Kaorin. A month or so after learning about the death of his parents by the perfidious Oedo clan, he was able to watch the leader of that group put into a Spanish prison to work in hard labour for the rest of his life. At first, he resented his new guardians for allowing the man to live, but in time his fundamentally good heart instinctively understood the wisdom of the punishment. In an effort to create a new future for the young man, his new guardians gave him a Spanish style name. That is to say, that his middle name was now the maiden name of his mother. In the Spanish style, he was Jun Matsumoto Akanishi. Hence, Matsujun… or sometimes, when he was being too cute, Bakanishi.
“It’s nice,” the boy replied casually, “I’ve never seen the land of the Ming before, and it’s enormous!”
At that, Antonio seemed to laugh.
“The total count is at least one hundred thousand along the entire coastline,” came the descending voice from the ropes above. Antonio did not have to gaze upwards to greet his spy master and her apprentice approach his side with the tabulations.
“And here in Guangdong alone?” was the measured response as Antonio narrowed his eyes to focus his view on this southern part of the empire of Ming.
“Only fifteen thousand, it’s assaultable,” was the stoic response from the currently professional Sweet.
Matsujun looked back at his other guardians. Sweet gave him that half sleepy stare again which the young boy had grown in those few months to laugh at while Isabella seemed to warm into a smile from the very sight of that curious young one. Matsujun couldn’t help but smile back at her. There was something of his late mother in that gaze, he thought. He quickly turned back to the water before the memory softened his eyes into tearful rivulets.
“Gather round, everyone!” came a yell from the other side of the San Martin. Jakob had emerged from his chambers into the open sea air. “It’s time for a little entertainment!”
Normally, Jakob was a bit of a reserved individual, but sometimes—and especially around their new young traveler—the young Lion would burst forth with unusual energy.
His friends noticed a trend, however. These highlights of Jakob’s otherwise soft spoken yet kind personality were the result of his restless mind. That is to say that when Jakob came up with a brilliant new idea, he would share it generously with his friends.
As the others gathered around him, he was flanked by General Grubby and a few of the Lions under his command including Lieutenant Toledo and Ensign Gibson. These men were slowly gathering seats at the center of the vessel for the others to sit upon.
“What’s going on this time, Jakob? Another brilliant epiphany?” quipped Antonio but with a friendly tone.
“Actually, yes,” replied Jakob, “but this time it’s a parlour game!”
“A parlour game? How exciting!” Isabella replied perking her ears as she eagerly took her seat. “What is it called?”
Jakob grinned kindly as all eight of them sat down in a circle. “I call it Lycanthropos,” he announced.
“Rykanturuposu?” the young Matsujun asked innocently. His Spanish was not necessarily the best despite having learned the language at an incredibly accelerated rate.
“It’s a Greek word for a man,” Isabella explained as she leaned over to the young boy, “that… during the night… turns into a wolf!” She nearly scared the young lad by raising her hands in a claw like fashion and opening her mouth violently before giggling it all away.
“So how does this game work?” Antonio asked keeping a careful smile on his face after chuckling at Isabella’s antics. The young Matsujun also chuckled as he sat in between Antonio and Isabella in that circle.
“It’s simple,” began Jakob, “I have written on these cards assignments. I will be the moderator, two of you will be the Lycanthropes, and the rest of you are simple townsfolk. One of you is also the Saint who has the ability to see through the disguise of a Lycanthrope! We play in sequences of day and night and, starting with night while all eyes are closed, the two Lycanthropes will secretly choose someone to have been eaten that night. The Saint then silently gets a chance to inspect one person from the group, and lastly in the morning, when everyone’s eyes open again, everyone except the dead person must talk to each other to vote someone to be hanged on suspicioun of being a Lycanthrope. The Lycanthropes win if they achieve parity population with the townsfolk and the townsfolk win if both Lycanthropes have been hanged.”
There was a little bit of laughter mixed with intrigue at the proposed game. It seemed simple, but then again most games that are successful don’t propose to complicate things with their rules, but with the very actions and words of their participants. In this case, it was an aspect most of these people knew well—deception.
Antonio took a minute as the cards were being passed out to take a look at the young Matsujun gleefully awaiting his role. He seemed to radiate his own smile at the enjoyment of the younger one. Turning now to look at his card, he had caught a glimpse of Isabella similarly looking at Matsujun with an affectionate happiness. It was endearing, he thought to himself.
With their eyes closed they listened to Jakob give further instructions. “Lycanthropes please open your eyes.”
As Antonio’s eyes readjusted back to the light, he looked to his right for his partner in crime only to scan to his left to find that Isabella was grinning at him. For a moment he stared at the woman’s eyes in their hidden secret. He turned back to Jakob when he realized his cheeks were beginning to burn again.
“And now Lycanthropes please select a—”
“Courier frigate just delivered an urgent package, Sir Jakob!” was the sudden interruption by one of the ensigns on deck. It was followed by a collective groan as Jakob stood up and excused himself.
“Awww, will Jakob come back?” Matsujun asked. Although the rest of his companions already reopened their eyes, he kept his shut hoping for the game to continue.
“I’m sure it won’t take long we always get packages like these,” Antonio responded giving a roughling sway of his hand against that boy’s hair.
“Antonio, Isabella, I think you two should have a look at this,” Jakob said from the edge of his doorway. “This is very serious.”
Rodrigo came to the couch rather quickly. Despite the loud tenor of the television, he grabbed onto Tom’s shoulder and shook.
“Grah!” Tom suddenly yelled out as he nearly placed his hands on Rodrigo’s neck. The perspiration was evident on that young man’s face as his eyes widened in heart stopping astonishment to see Rodrigo standing next to him on the couch.
“Tom, you have to get dressed now, we’re leaving. The Captain said we have to switch safe houses—what’s wrong with you? Having nightmares again?”
Tom could only blink as he sat up awkwardly on the sofa. Past Rodrigo’s leaning figure he could see the flashing of the history documentary on Zombies he had been watching. He must have dozed off, he thought to himself.
“W..What’s going on?” Tom stuttered as he brought himself upwards.
“They’re moving us to the safe house in San Francisco,” Rodrigo replied as he turned around to switch off the television.
“San Francisco? That’s a four hour flight from here…” Tom complained groggily.
“It can’t be helped,” Rodrigo responded coldly before rounding the sofa to return to the hallway back to their rooms, “You have fifteen minutes.”
As Tom slowly rubbed his curly hair against the top of his scalp, it still percolated with prickly perspiration. What a terrible nightmare, he thought to himself before cautiously tilting his head to look at that shadowed sliding door. He was half expecting to see a mangled face eating away at the side of the transparent glass. He sighed to himself as he let loose his arms onto the side of his body and turned into the hallway.
San Francisco, he thought to himself. The old colonial town now turned modern day metropolis. As he entered his own chamber he could see his parents quickly packing across the hall. He didn’t mind as much, he didn’t bring nearly as many things as they did. All the better, since he was more so distracted by the morbid nightmare he had just experienced.
With a shake of his head, he began to unhook his shirts from the closet. If only he had watched that historical documentary a bit more, he might have heard that the next segment was about the nerve center of the Zombie Legend: San Francisco.
Chapter XX: San Francisco (coming soon)
Nice end to the Mecca scene, leaves alot room for speculation.
