Part IV: Truth
Paragon +10
Woodhouse looked at the torchlight glimmer against his brother's eyes. The cool demeanor by his supposed sibling chilled him slightly and his expression contracted painfully. He could feel Arturo anxiously awaiting him: the agitation of the Spanish agent was evident just from his breathing. It was the heavy slink of Bevan's sword unsheathing cautiously that followed next.
“I'm sorry, brother, but I have to see this through first,” Bevan said heavily as he started to back away from the torch. Gwydion didn't seem to do anything except look at Bevan with that same smile. There was no betrayal of any change in the man's demeanor and perhaps that was what bothered Woodhouse the most. Arturo slipped through the opening first as Bevan watched the unchanged expression his brother was shooting at him fade quickly into the encroaching shadow.
When Woodhouse felt the cold curvature of the rock touch his back, he turned quickly to find the opening and rushed through. Arturo, having been ready, slammed the mechanism and the rock rolled back into place just as Woodhouse cleared it. The sudden rush of the boulder snuffed Woodhouse's torch into a blue crown before erupting in red and orange once more.
Woodhouse sheathed his weapon and straightened himself up to look at the vastness of the large chamber which, he guessed, was at least three times the size of the antechamber preceding it. He blinked worriedly as he lifted up his torch and looked about: caskets half open with silver overflowing while some sat empty and stored sideways or tilted on rocks carelessly. The rich glimmer of the silver held his attention for a while, but he was immediately beset by what was draped along the walls of the chamber. He cautiously approached one side of the slightly curving wall and addressed the object with his torch.
“Unfamiliar, isn't it?” Arturo said coolly without even looking at Woodhouse: Arturo was too busy counting the full and empty chests.
“I'm certainly not an Oxford scholar, but I don't believe I've ever seen banners such as these,” Woodhouse touched the fabric on the walls curiously. His eyes traveled up the long red field and the black stripe near its middle until it branched off into a circle with a cross around it. Inside the circle was a symbol that interested Woodhouse the most.
“Your father was similarly intrigued by it when he first found it,” Arturo explained from the other side of the chamber. “Since your father had been working in the Americas for a very long time, his initial report back to Madrid said that he recognized the symbol as being something the Navajo natives used quite often. He suspected at first that there was some kind of native collaboration going on...”
“I'm guessing that wasn't the case in the end,” Woodhouse commented as he raised his torch higher and found, what looked to him, like some strange variation of a crusader cross at the top right corner of the banner.
“No. Your father did some research while waiting for the silver in San Francisco. The local office there, especially from our contacts in Little China told him that they had seen such a symbol before except they had thought it was a Japanese faction as monasteries apparently used the symbol as a good luck symbol related to their Buddhist beliefs. Those in Madrid knew better, of course, but the information did not reach your father in time.”
Woodhouse looked at the red and black fabric carefully once more before leaning in curiously. Two sniffs from his nostrils and his eyes widened. “It smells like saltwater.”
Arturo nodded somewhere in the darkness as he continued his count. “We believe it's a naval flag,” Arturo commented casually. “Here, come take a look at this.”
Woodhouse finally turned away from the object and walked in the direction of Arturo's voice naturally being careful to avoid the caskets of silver placed about the floor. When Woodhouse reached Arturo on the other side of the chamber, he noticed that he was rifling through some drawers at a desk leaning against the opposite wall. “What did you find?” Woodhouse asked.
“A locked cabinet,” Arturo replied and gave way for the oncoming Englishman. “I don't suppose you have a key for it do you?” Arturo grinned coldly.
Woodhouse attempted the first of the locked drawers and felt it snag against the metallic mechanism. “Is there anything significant about this table?” Woodhouse looked at Arturo who merely shook his head.
“Nothing particularly... I just think it holds papers--”
Almost as soon as Arturo had said so, Woodhouse had pulled out a dagger from the inside lining of his boot, slammed it into the small slit in between the drawer and the tabletop and, with a flash of his arm upward, snapped the quaint metallic lock straight off. The drawer came flying out until it caught its restraint and snapped into place displaying its contents.
Arturo pulled out most of the documentation immediately and laid them out on the table moving the torch above each page at a careful distance while Woodhouse leaned in as well. “A list of names,” Woodhouse commented, “mostly German.”
“A chain of custody perhaps? Or a manifest?” Arturo speculated.
“Cromwell is listed here too, though on a different column. There are some English names I recognize from the general staff... and I think these names here,” Woodhouse pointed as he spoke, “might have been some members of parliament.”
“A list of conspirators,” Arturo seemed satisfied as he pocketed some of the papers. “Anything else?”
Woodhouse checked the drawer once more and pulled out some receipts. “These look like supply lists... food... water... supplies one would take on a naval voyage—an extensive one if these lists are to be believed. Tar, rope... in large quantities. They were all delivered to Liverpool a few months back according to this.”
“It must still be there, then, or at least stationed somewhere else... there haven't been any reports of anyone trying to run the blockade,” Arturo spoke though it was mostly to himself. He cocked his head up and looked off for a moment as if suddenly realizing something and quickly looked at the list again.
“These lists get older the more I--” Woodhouse stopped. His hand was stiffly holding a piece of paper dated decades earlier: the document itself was well spent and almost had a film of dust that gave it a heavier sag. As he stared down at the paper, his father's name was staring back at him.
“It would appear that most of these supplies are packed off to Liverpool every few months,” Arturo interjected, “The next shipment should be due in a few days time. Liverpool would be the next destination, it would seem.”
Woodhouse looked at the paper in contemplation for a moment before Arturo's deft fingers tugged the document away from him and his eyes returned to his companion. “Yes... yes, quite right,” Woodhouse replied.
Arturo was quietly smiling as he moved away from Woodhouse, obviously satisfied with the mystified look on Bevan's face. Woodhouse followed him to the rear wall of the chamber where a simple lever allowed the wall to give way and pull to the side. “We'll leave first thing in the morning,” Arturo said as they entered into the next chamber, “though I won't be coming with you.”
“What do you mean?” Woodhouse asked quizzically as he followed Arturo reluctantly into the other dark room.
This next place was significantly colder and more damp than the previous chamber. There was almost a low hum that Woodhouse could now hear like the sound of a thousand bees buzzing inside a wall. The walls, from what he could tell by the light of Arturo's torch and his own, were covered with careful stone squares that seemed ancient. When he entered, he could barely hear his footsteps and when Arturo spoke again, he was curious that there was barely an echo coming from him.
“I'll be preparing for parliament here,” Arturo replied, “with this list it should help to remember who to be watchful of as well. You will have to go do this mission without me, but... you don't need to worry: you won't have to do this one alone.”
There was a low rumble as another doorway seemed to materialize out of the blocks on the wall. More torchlight invaded the chamber as three figures steadily approached. The one in the lead, sporting at first a helmet and visor before pulling it off gave a nod to Arturo. “We were waiting for you to finally open that thing,” the new figure evenly exclaimed.
“Woodhouse, I'd like for you to meet your new team,” Arturo motioned.
The lead of the three figures stepped forward and, under his torch, seemed to be older than Woodhouse by the wear on his face. The calm demeanor of the man's visage radiated his experience while the way he held his visor under his armpit denoted a casual familiarity with physical prowess. The fiery red hair and the accent betrayed his origins as a Scotsman. “James Mcleod, at your service,” he introduced himself, “best mercenary you'll ever have the pleasure of working with.”
The next of the three stepped to the side of James and Woodhouse could see that, unlike the dashing boldness of the first one, this one bore himself reservedly. He was a bit stocky, but perhaps only because of his age. The grey on his head powdered his crown and his eyes seemed to almost glare a reddish hue. “Pippin O'Hare, weapons expert,” he said with a bow: he was an Irishman.
The last figure who stepped forward was shorter and definitely fatter than the rest. His wide lips were grinning as he brought himself to Woodhouse's attention. His eyes seemed to have a dash of gold in them while black circles encompassed them until they were like coins falling into a well. “Pygmalion Doukas of Constantinople,” he said with his strange accent, “ex-pirate.”
Woodhouse stared at the three and gave them each a nod of acknowledgment before looking towards Arturo firmly who turned his grin into a simple smirk. “You'll find that this team is legendary at getting things done,” Arturo told him, “I picked them out myself, though I do believe that your brother has a few men of his own that might be of trouble to you: he'll obviously know where you're heading next. I know you are a man who is used to dealing with vagrants and mercenaries so I thought this would be a better team for you than if I had assigned to you some of my best soldiers.”
“True,” Woodhouse responded respectfully while turning to the three and examining them. “I look forward to getting to know you three.”
“Just two for now, actually,” Arturo was quick to interject and pulled Woodhouse aside quickly, out of earshot from the others. “You'll have to choose one to stay here to clear out this evidence.”
