30 March 1610
“Do you believe what our friends were saying?” Zeren asked while taking a puff from the hookah the two of them reserved for their corner of the coffee lounge. Among the rough and uncouth mix of Balkan and Turkish soldiers, Abdullah and Zeren found themselves comfortably secluded from any hint of Imperial or Persian spies. It was, ironically, easier to talk the closer they reached the Austrian border—the land of the perfidious Westerners.
“About what?” Abdullah asked while letting his eyes wander the loud movements of soldiers. It was usually the Slavic soldiers that gave the most trouble for everyone else. Not only was the cultural divide between these Christians and their Muslim regular counterparts great, but their debauched exercise of being inebriated further incensed the Muslim soldiers from Constantinople who kept themselves busy with their share of tobacco and coffee. Sometimes there would be fights, and Abdullah always kept his eyes open in case such an outbreak made it uneasy for the two of them to be there.
The Slavic contingents were a necessary measure; fighting a massive behemoth such as Spain and their Austrian allies meant that every able bodied Muslim soldier was called to the fronts either along the Tuna River or around Al-Quds. This left a large vacuum for engineering and support work that was now occupied by the conscripted of each individual town—these were the Azabs. In the case of the northern front, it meant having to tolerate the unruly drunkard Hungarians and Romanians who brought their own wine and beer to the coffee houses.
They were mostly Protestants, Abdullah had learned. Most of the Catholics of the area had already fled when news of a war had broken out hoping to use the confusion to run to their cousins in Austria. The Protestants, however, reasoned that it did not matter to them who won—both sides would equally attempt to suppress them. “The Sultan offers me wages to build him roads,” Abdullah remembered one of the Hungarians telling him, “The Emperor”—talking about the Spanish monarch—“offers me the Inquisition.”
Abdullah acknowledged the man’s indifference—after all, the military usually recruited Greeks for the devshirmeh so it was no surprise that this man was not complaining about his son being taken away to be made into a Muslim yeniçeri. “About this artifact they were talking about—the Timepiece,” Zeren whispered back while leaning his head against the uneven wall.
“Allah does what is according to His Divine Will,” Abdullah gave the wise response. “It is not for me to meddle in his Sovereign affairs.”
The answer dissatisfied Zeren a little. Although they were making progress, catching up day by day to rumours of a young girl’s actions cutting through the roadway to the border, there were resting days like this where they waited for more news and more intelligence to surface. It was these days that Zeren allowed himself to muse on the past few months that had taken him so far away from home. “That girl,” Zeren said, “the one in the yellow dress.”
“Madeleine?” Abdullah recalled.
“She told me that there would come a day when the West will progress faster than we,” Zeren said while letting some smoke escape between his lips.
“Fortune telling is also a blasphemy,” Abdullah chuckled out a blanket of smoke over his face and eyes. Zeren couldn’t help but hide a smile. Abdullah always had a way of answering without answering directly. The wisdom continually washed Zeren.
“Regardless,” Zeren continued, “Do you think a day like that will come? She said to me that only her country can protect the Timepiece because they believe in an ordered universe… something their monks came up with back when they were still running away from the coasts from barbarians and trying to live in swamps across their continent.”
“Science has always been a part of our culture, Zeren,” Abdullah responded more soberly, “and although we believe that Allah can do anything he wishes with his creation, I do not think—or at least I hope that this will be enough for our future. All we can do is trust in Allah for he will provide in his mystery. The Christians, as noble as some of them are, are obsessed with trying to know their God—the Catholics at least. For us, it is sufficient that we know Allah is there and try to live according to his Rule. That is why we are not so dissimilar with these Protestant revelers here; they chose to live simply—not in the complicated and strict rationality of the West.”
Zeren passed a moment in silence to contemplate the man’s words before perking his view upward. “Our contact is coming. I’ll wait in the other room… Good luck.”
Abdullah nodded before standing from his lowered position. Walking slowly to draw discretion towards him and attention away, he approached an empty window seat and sat himself down. He brought the hookah with him. A burly Hungarian found the seat next to him.
“I heard you were looking for information,” the Hungarian said in a strange but practiced Turkish.
“I am looking for an assassin—a woman,” Abdullah responded. Neither looked at each other except through the corners of their eyes. Even from such a limited vantage point, Abdullah could sense the slight tingle of interest from the fat man next to him. That man also exaggerated his movements as if he was inebriated, but Abdullah—having seen the movements of drunk men ever since they entered the more northerly provinces of the Empire—could tell this was a ploy; a way for the man to seamlessly meld with the gyrating mass in the coffee house.
“This information will cost you money,” was the simple response from the other fellow who spent some moments feigning a laughing smile at one of his dancing comrades who had teeth that were like rotted headstones—with a few missing tombs in the cemetery to boot.
“I think I have something to exchange that will get you a greater sum,” Abdullah replied after taking some smoke into his mouth before puffing it out. “Information that none of the soldiers will give you; information on a wanted Turk.”
Abdullah took another sample of the beautifully arid vapours while his companion was as stiff as the wall. Abdullah knew very well that being part of the Hungarian criminal circuit, this fellow would not have been told anything about Turkish bounties. The soldiers and Imperial administrators would rather receive the reward themselves than give it to heathens like this barbarian.
“How do I know this is not some small criminal you’d like to exchange this information for?” was the thrifty query, “I know of the woman you are speaking of—her bounty would be enough for me to retire. There are not many attempted assassinations of princes these days.”
“No; there aren’t,” Abdullah agreed before reaching calmly into his sleeve and procuring a small signet. He let it slide quietly towards his ‘friend.’ “There are not that many traitors these days who try to pilfer thousands of gold pieces from the Sultan either.”
The Hungarian took only a second to glance at the insignia before it disappeared in Abdullah’s sleeve once more. For those thieving eyes, however, it was enough: even the lowly Hungarian recognized to what troop that insignia belonged to. “And you have information of where he is?”
“Where both are,” Abdullah answered the trick question—the Hungarian obviously knew the traitors were a traveling pair. “But I will only tell you if you tell me where the girl is and what proof you have for it.”
Abdullah recognized the greedy look in the man’s eyes as the Hungarian motioned for one of his men to come over. A cracked vial no larger than the small finger rolled Abdullah’s way. “She used this to kill one of my men two days ago while he was collecting gambling debts. She used the money to cross the border. You’ll find her in
Vinkovce”
The veteran handled the broken vial carefully and latched it onto the hand he used to puff on the hose with. Bringing both the vial and the smoking device close to his mouth, he took the opportunity to sniff the residual contents. It was definitely a powder that only someone like Leyla would use. “You’ll find your men on the west end of town,” Abdullah said in reply. “If I had men like yours I would be going after the traitor myself; but an old bounty hunter like me works alone. If you want to catch him before he leaves town, you can find him at the Inn next to the river.”
The Hungarian gave out a laugh signifying his agreement while Abdullah rose to his feet. Although the criminal would find that neither culprit would be where his informant said they would be, at least now Abdullah and Zeren would only be two days behind Leyla—and that was definitely more progress than before.
---
2 April 1610
It was a dryer evening that descended on the camp—much to the exultation of the travelers. As they voyaged southward and further away from the curving Gulf of Mexico, the air became less and less saturated with the moisture of the ocean sea. A cool breeze rewarded the travels of the train as they made their rounds in a nearby clearing for the night. Riku had volunteered to take the first watch this time along with some of the marines they had taken with them on the journey so Raul was already in his tent hoping to catch some early rest before being awakened for his turn at the watch nearer to the morning.
It was not that he was particularly greedy of every minute of sleep. Indeed, Raul felt more rested in the thick uncivilization of the jungle than in the barren deserts of the Middle East or the Frozen Steppes of Siberia—although, he admitted to himself, comparing the fruitful jungle to those wastelands was not much of a contest. It was more likely that he just needed more time to fall asleep than his comrades. Thoughts always dominated his mind whenever he lay down and close his eyes; thoughts that made him bite at his sheets and hope no tears betrayed him.
“
In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti,” he said quietly as he made the sign of the cross on himself. Evening prayers had been part of Raul’s life for a while now, but most certainly not as long as he could remember. It was only when his Spanish foster father—a teacher at the Scarlet Academy—had officially adopted him did he start to take evening prayers seriously. The man had lost a son before and was there when Raul was rescued—a story that he did not particularly want to remember anyway; not now at least.
As he spoke his prayers silently, his bent forward head hovered above the pious position of his hands. His stance, however, allowed for that small golden locket hanging around his neck to touch the base of his thumbs. The feeling of semi-warm metal was a constant reminder of what he was praying for. “Only two more days travel,” he recalled Madeleine saying once they had passed another one of those demonic looking statues. Only two more days, he thought. Then, they would retrieve the Timepiece, go back to Spain, and finally he’ll be able to see her again…
“Amen…” he concluded his prayer and turned around to fix the sheets over the grass where he would sleep for a few hours. It was not so dark inside his tent—the fresh campfires made sure that the interior of his enclosure was a dull papery hue. Shades of the passing marines as well as Riku’s laughter while conversing with one of the sailors dominated the night air. In the still dryness of the atmosphere, the sound of the patrolling footsteps and interlocution dominated the still night. Not even the living sounds of the jungle—
Raul stopped short in his thoughts. He was foolish not to notice it before. For once in all of their travels—the jungle was silent. He scrambled out of his tent and rocked his vision from side to side. Immediately, the ones circling the camp looked at him in surprise. Raul’s face desperately found Riku. “What’s wrong?” Riku asked the alerted young man.
“Wake everyone up,” Raul ordered swiftly, “someone’s in the brush!”
Even before Riku could dash to the nearest tent, a crack rippled from one of the circling shrubs surrounding the clearing and the metal twang of bullet hitting kettle woke everyone else up. The projectile was aimed towards Riku, but he managed to step in the other direction in time—a coincidence which shocked him more than the ringing in his ear. “We’re under attack!” Riku called out for all to take possession of their weapons.
The entire camp arose in an uproar and tents began shifting around as random shots ensued. Ducking and diving, the entire place was an exercise in chaos. Raul had tried to follow the train of the bullets coming at them but it only added to a sense of dizziness that was growing inside of him. Two shots from the left then another from the right; four from the north and one more from the south and then in all directions—they were surrounded.
Pistols and rifles were grappled and some of the marines attempted to fire back. Unfortunately, only leaves and bark accepted their offenses. Shooting into the night obtained them nothing. “We need some light out there!” Raul called out and Riku was already preparing a solution. Having attached one of the oil lamps to the end of a halberd, Riku now began a run towards the edge of the encampment pulling back the length of the weapon with both hands preparing to launch it forward. As if the circling opponents sensed the plan, shots began coming closer and closer to Riku’s person.
“Cover me!” the Finn called out.
Willem, who had just woken up from all of the commotion anticipated the move and let lose some horses around Riku’s direction. Better to sacrifice those than the young man’s life. Braying pathetically, the large beasts, on a trotting run, took a volley of bullets on either side of Riku just long enough for Riku to launch the missile into the air. Arcing like a miniature sun through the night air, it landed at the fringe of the bushes and broke. The incensed fire, now free of its glass and metal casing, consumed the splashing oil and brought a stunning light across the southern quadrant of their circle.
Faces, covered in paints that matched the spots of leopards of every colour greeted them. Only the whites of the men’s’ eyes proved their humanity. The visions of metal and polished wood—the guns—were the only things that seemed out of place with the speckled lot. Raul counted three of them; that meant at least twelve in total if they were spread about evenly around them. From the sound of the weapons, each group positioned themselves smartly along the axes unevenly: the northern group was firing southerly from the one o’clock position. The southern group was firing northerly from the seven o’clock position. The western group was firing easterly from the ten o’clock position. The eastern group was firing westerly from the four o’clock position. They avoided crossfire…
While Raul was calculating where each group was, Willem was already returning shots with the southern group which was now illuminated. Struggling to discern their sooty bodies with the dark of the wood, Willem made his best guesses as he discharged pistols before leaping to another corner of the camp. The fire was slowly spreading, however, and it was already forcing the strange attackers to move further and further away from the blaze. Taking cover behind boxes and tents, the small group followed the trail of fire to their targets. Willem saw another figure attempting to flee from the fire and he closed one eye briefly to take singular aim at his target. A millisecond after the discharge, he saw the man roll over from the impact—he got one!
As if taking that as their cue, the offensive hail of bullets stopped and only the rustling of leaves from all sides followed in between the sound of musket fire of some of the marines who gave symbolic chase. Raul breathed heavily as the others around him already began securing their position in case the intruders should return again.
“Natives?” Raul heard one of the sailors asking the other. Raul turned towards Riku who had been similarly gazing out into the burning wood. Both of them knew better—these were no natives. Natives did not have green or blue eyes.
blue eyed prince—it was Rodrigo’s screen name whenever he used Instant Messenger. Most people might have said it was because of his blue eyes if they knew him—or some might have guessed it was because he liked
天空のエスカフローネ (Tenkū no Esukafurōne). That may have been a closer guess, but the reason why he chose that name was an embarrassing story—one that he hoped to keep a secret for a while longer.
blue eyed prince: he’s progressing slowly . Eventually he’ll get better , but ...
Malefactum: You’re worrying too much about it. If Lara’s right and he’s the Twin they’re talking about, then he simply can’t die.
blue eyed prince: maybe .
Malefactum: At least my cousin wasn’t hurt too badly…
blue eyed prince: yeah . taguchi’ll be fine . – sigh - i think i’m botching things up , hayato .
Malefactum: You’ve been Janus shorter than I’ve been Matsujun. Of course you’re not going to do everything right the first time. When I get back there, though, we can finally start moving forward again.
blue eyed prince: thanks for taking care of it for me , hayato .
Malefactum: It’s no problem. I know you want to stay with Tom for now.
Rodrigo sighed tiredly as he placed his blackberry back into his pocket. He had sent Hayato earlier to organize the search for the missing Keys with the local agents and he had been getting live updates from him every few hours. He looked up and watched Tom’s blank expression for perhaps the fifth time that day as the young man lay in bed. Usually, Rodrigo tried his best to make sure they were doing more active things such as taking walks in the courtyard of the Hospital—which was now on high security ever since the incident. Tom was always a bit distant despite regaining a lot of his motor functions. They have even spoken from time to time but it felt as if Tom was slightly afraid whenever he was near Rodrigo. He didn’t blame him.
Rodrigo lowered his eyes and let his vision melt into the dimness of his palms. “Do you want to know what I saw?” was the question from the bed. It startled Rodrigo enough that his eyes strained through purple and red hues before they refocused on Thomas Royce who was staring out the window.
“What you saw?” Rodrigo asked slightly puzzled.
“In the darkness, Rodrigo… The horror… the horror…”
Rodrigo tried to follow Tom’s glance for a moment and he looked out the window towards the courtyard. The leaves of trees waved casually in the afternoon breeze. When Rodrigo looked back to Tom, he was still puzzled, but Conrad’s written words kept reverberating in his mind as if Rodrigo, too, could sense some kind of revelation turning its ebony face at them; ready to tell them some forbidden secret that would sink their hearts into the wide mouth of uncreated blindness. “Tom, what did you see?” Rodrigo asked.
There was no response, but Rodrigo knew. Tom saw something… something that he was afraid to say… something that made him think of that jungle… that journey.
Chapter XCIII: Journey to the Heart of Darkness (coming soon)
. Please feel free to comment as you go along !
