Never meet your heroes
Part I
-The Archivist's deal-
‘Perhaps it was fear what had seized the High King during that summer of 188 NC. A sense of foreboding birthed the moment Radin Radpour of Dia Castle, a Prince of Rin An-Pur, declared his intention to participate in the ‘Princess Tourney’, and he could not be swayed. Because, a Prince wouldn’t. Well-aware that Sir Gust De Weer, the Raven of Dawn and the most intimidating of all Issir knights of marriageable age, would be absent, King Antoon decided to open the registers to anyone else of some import. Thus, the Royal Heralds brought to the bustling Riverdor many a knights who were soon to gain fame, including one who needed none, for he was already well-known before our tale began and would become synonymous with the decade of war; even if he did not fight everywhere or all the time…’
No, this doesn’t flow as lyrically as it should, Sirio thought and reached to crumble the vellum, leaving the quill on top of the soft cloth. Let’s try again.
The Historian took a brief moment to observe the smartly dressed crowd as they made their way from the White District to the Artisan Shops, basking in the warm late-spring sun of Regia’s Capital. Upon hearing a sudden cry of despair, which he recognized as Maja's, Sirio rose with concern, took off his reading glasses, and then proceeded to the open terrace stairs of the villa in order to descend to the first floor.
“HE TOOK HER!” Maja screamed whilst he climbed down and now Sirio halted trying to make sense of what his wife was talking about. Whilst pondering on the matter, the historian heard small feet tip-tapping towards him and Silvio appeared, the young boy carrying a small bundle in his arms as he turned the corner to rush towards the terrace, Sirio had just come down from.
“Silvio,” Sirio said and put a hand out to stop the onrushing boy from crushing on him. “What do you have there, boy?”
The startled Silvio slid on the lacquered marble tiles trying to stop and while he managed it, the bundle slipped from his arms. Silvio yelped, face distorted with a grimace of pure panic, the bundle bounced once off of the floor with the diving boy right after it, and then trundled until it touched Sirio’s feet with Silvio arriving a moment later.
Sirio stooped to pick up the bundle and heard a giggle afore Bianca’s rosy face was revealed, the baby’s large blue eyes opened wide as Sirio lifted her up.
“Goodness me,” Sirio said, staring in his daughter’s face confused.
“She wanted to see the world,” a flushed Silvio blurted out, as he stood up with a glance behind his back. “From above.”
“The baby doesn’t speak,” Sirio scolded the boy and Bianca cooed, reaching with a tiny hand for his face.
“I can understand her,” Silvio countered and breathed out.
“How?” Sirio probed and watched a frustrated Maja rambling towards them, with murder in her eyes.
“I know women, uncle Sirio,” Silvio retorted smugly. “Ask Uncle Vinnie. He’ll tell ya!”
“Stop him right there!” Maja screeched, but Silvio was already moving past the frowned Historian in order to escape her. “Sneaky little criminal. You’ll pay for this!” His worried wife yelled at the running away boy, who yelled back at her.
“No, I won’t! Eat shit!”
“Oras Shadows,” a livid Maja griped, taking the baby out of Sirio’s hands. “Did you hear him? That insolent brat! I almost had a heart attack!”
“Eh, all turned out well. She’s fine,” Sirio tried to soothe her anger.
“From what?” Maja snapped suspiciously. “Did he drop her?”
It was a small drop.
“Nay. I was speaking in general,” Sirio mumbled with a sigh and then paused deep in thought. “It needs more real-life anecdotes,” he finally said, while Maja furiously unwrapped the baby girl to check her small body for injuries.
“Who does?” His wife snapped and then realizing her husband had moved on already and was thinking of his manuscript, she hissed narrowing her eyes; “are you serious now, Sirio?” Which the historian found really funny, digging himself into a bigger hole.
“Silvio is just a bit mature for his age. Just yesterday he read me a lewd poem,” Miranda assured the frustrated Maja and gave the munching a huge piece of lemon cake boy’s unruly black hair a teasing tussle with a bejeweled hand.
“Not a bit, your grace, too-mature. More like wicked,” Maja argued cutting in, whilst she attempted to put little Bianca to sleep. The baby kept crying in protest.
“Let him spend time with his half-sister,” Miranda insisted rather unconcerned with the incident. “Forming bonds is quite lovely.”
“He abducted her! Left a folded towel in her cradle!”
“Eh, nonsense. Your daughter loves him. Let them play.”
“Us simpler folk find these games disturbing, ma’am. And she’s not his sister exactly,” Maja reminded the former Queen Regent and the wearing garden-attire or a green chiton Miranda shrugged her bare shoulders indifferently.
“So what? He won’t marry her, Lady Maja. I played with my cousins all the time.”
Married one also, Sirio thought, whilst busy decrypting the Governor’s missive.
“Sirio?” His wife turned to him for assistance and the sitting on the edge of the veranda historian, lowered the scroll he was reading perturbed. “Do you have anything to add, dear?”
“Ehm, I’ve been summoned to Novesium,” Sirio murmured and Maja puffed out exasperated.
“Lord Nattas?” Miranda queried. “Are you to escort us, Mister Veturius?”
“He doesn’t mention your grace unfortunately,” Sirio replied and seeing Silvio standing up interested, he added. “Nor you, Silvio.”
“Fucking hells!” Silvio cursed and then yelped as his mother had snatched his ear without looking his way and twisted it rather hard. “Ouch! Come on! Let go!” Silvio roared in pain at first but then turned to groveling, as Miranda didn’t let go. “Fine! Apologies! Ah! Uncle Sirio, help!”
Sirio breathed out, his eyes going from the Queen to his wife and then the now silent Bianca.
“The missive mentions only myself,” he finally said. “I’m to leave immediately.”
“You need to stop doing Nattas bidding,” Maja griped sometime later. “He treats you like a dog.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Sirio stopped her. “We both owe Lord Nattas everything. Your father,” Maja let out a hiss and walked to the window to stare outside.
“My deal with Nattas has nothing to do with you,” Maja said after a while.
“He loves you in his own way,” Sirio told her. “This is a difficult situation. We must see the positives, dear. Turn the corner. Parkor benefited from the Governor. Vinicius, myself. Everyone around him. Is he a saint? No, but who is truly amongst us in these troubled times?”
“You don’t belong in his world, Sirio.”
“Nor did I belong in yours and yet we stand married. Come on, the pregnancy is messing with your head,” Sirio said calmly. “I would have preferred to finish my work on the manuscript, but duty calls, dearest.”
“You finished Lucius’ chapter?”
“The King’s deeds cannot be contained within a mere chapter,” Sirio replied in a teetotal manner. “I was writing about your father.”
“Whatever makes you think Nattas will ever allow you to publish his deals?” Maja asked tiredly.
“It is an embellished history of our times,” Sirio argued patiently. “People won’t take everything they read at face value. For example, while I’m close with the King, most scenes I have to reconstruct using witnesses and the army’s records or dailies.”
“Close? You haven’t talked to the King in months and that last one was the briefest of consultations! You spend a day with Ramirus instead.” Maja noticed, raising her eyebrows.
“A meeting is in the cards,” Sirio insisted. “Pushed back for when we are both less busy.”
“Drop the cards and the seers, but do stick to Lucius in your book,” Maja advised. “Leave the others aside. People would love reading about him, but everyone else comes with baggage. My father most of all.”
Sirio sighed. “Dearest, while bereft of wealth, I do come from a long line of historians. Don’t worry. I know how to navigate historical events.”
“Aha. What I know is that your uncle isn’t a historian, but it helped him reach old age almost,” Maja argued. “Call me selfish, but I rather you didn’t end up like your other scholar of an ancestor, Sirio. His well-maintained and gold-soaked skull was inside Kaltha’s treasury at one time. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Sirio grimaced, and then removed his glasses to slot them inside a chest pocket of his redingote. “Maja, my dearest wife. To see you worry so is truly touching, but you’ve never been inside Kaltha’s treasury.”
“My sweet and blind to the dangers, husband,” his flushed wife retorted now sounding even more worried. “Please be careful. The last time Nattas sent you away on a task, you almost got killed!”
“Again,” Sirio said, pursing his lips stubbornly. “Do not worry. You are still in a weakened state. Ah, there. Did you hear the carriage arriving? This must be young Tullus Carantus. He’s to travel with me to Novesium. A fellow academic from the University, I came to know during my safe lectures. This isn’t a dangerous mission. These are different times. Peaceful. You really should make the effort to trust and respect your father, dearest wife. It pains me I have to tell you that.”
Tullus Carantus, a student and last aide of Proffesor Di Cresta, dipped his hands into one of the fountains of the lavish Lorian garden and then attempted to tame his rowdy hair, just as Sirio emerged from the villa to greet him.
“Ah, Lector Veturius,” Tullus remarked, tending his forearm, which Sirio —a man who always kept his hair in a well-oiled and perfectly styled manner— grabbed with a pleased grin. “I thoroughly enjoyed your orations last month.”
“Naught but a few short stories for the students to delve into,” Sirio responded modestly after a brief pause. “I casually hoarded as light reading, Vice-Provost Carantus,” he added, now edging into pretentious territory and cast a glance at the stiff, rather bookish man accompanying the other academic.
“You remember Registrar Pythius Sallustus?”
Barely.
“Yes, certainly,” Sirio mumbled and attempted to greet Pythius, only to be met with a frosty glare, which prompted him to withdraw his hand. “Sallustus is the one who organizes the semester programs in the records office, if I recall.”
Sallustus had his name written over the reception desk so it wasn’t much of a guess.
Written twice.
Speak to the registrar, it read in smaller but capital letters, followed by Pythius name.
For a second time.
“All programs,” Pythius grunted, finally speaking and yet again glared Sirio’s way. “And it’s the main registry office of the Academy.”
“My apologies. Isn’t it essentially the same office what we’re talking about?” Sirio shot back, slightly irritated by the man's sour demeanor.
“Yes, but it is the main office,” Pythius insisted in a firm manner.
“Well, then… have you heard about Di Cresta?” Tullus interjected with a nervous grin.
“You mean the unveiling of his statue? It was a horrid job,” Sirio commented, redirecting his focus to young Carantus.
“Not that… him that is, the other Di Cresta. His third cousin, Adam,” Tullus clarified. “And it is a distasteful effigy of the man, I concur.”
“Oh, right... yeah,” Sirio mumbled, uncertain what they were talking about.
“He was killed inside Issir’s Eagle? During operation Main Market?” Tullus explained.
“Um, a tragedy...” Sirio pursed his lips. “My condolences for your loss; I know you were close to the family.”
“Which is why I need to go to Lesia,” Tullus continued. “To speak with them and return some personal artifacts from the late professor. The older Di Cresta.”
“Um. So, do you have any information on what transpired?” Sirio inquired.
“A couple of students have relatives in the camps or near the Issir capital and brought us the news,” Tullus explained. “Anyways, while the King’s invite was uplifting to receive, I do have a serious research in the works. Between the trip and this,” he showed the alarmed Sirio a blank piece of vellum. “I just can’t go to Novesium. Pythius will go in my stead. He’s sharp as a tack and a patient investigator.”
“We are losing time,” Pythius intervened impatiently. “The ship leaves tonight.”
“Wait,” Sirio cut in and turned to Tullus again. “The king invited you?”
What ship?
“Well, yes. He needs an academic to translate the alchemist’s work,” Tullus replied.
“The alchemist,” Sirio murmured with Pythius all but bristling at being ignored, and probably not liking just standing there under the strong Cartagen sun.
“We can discuss it further later—”
“So this is Lucius order?” Sirio stopped the red-faced registrar again and Pythius stood back now doubly insulted. “I understand the paying respect part, but what manner of work stands above a King’s wishes?”
“The king’s wishes are met. Pythius Sallustus shall decipher the charlatan’s work!” Pythius snapped furious.
“Do you know what this is?” Tullus told Sirio waving the vellum in front of his face.
“A piece of paper?” Sirio guessed a tad confused, whilst Pythius started walking up and down murmuring to himself about the needless delay to their departure.
“Exactly,” Tullus chuckled and turned around presenting Sirio with his back. “Quick. Write down something for Di Cresta’s relatives. Do you have a quill?”
“Of course,” Sirio replied matter-of-factly. He got an ink pot out of a pocket, opened a box containing his quill and then went to write on the vellum after placing it on Tullus back, only for the sharp tip of the quill to rip through the thin material immediately. It stained both the paper and Tullus’ tunic. “Oops. Wait… what is this?” He asked Tullus nervously, and the latter turned around and replied with a manic smile plastered on his face.
“Paper, good Veturius. True paper,” Tullus revealed proudly. “Out of cheap wood pulp. I can make a ton of it!”
Oh, you poor fool.
“What for?” Sirio doused the young inventor’s enthusiasm afore he could control himself and stared at the hole he’d created on the paper. “This thing is rather flimsy, Carantus!”
'Which it was famously, but Carantus' paper biggest attribute was -as the young inventor had predicted- its cheapness compared to vellum. People just love low-cost stuff.'
Evening of the 19th of Quintus
Moon Haven’s docks
“Captain,” Sirio addressed the sober Lorian Ulysses Casola, Captain Socrates Casola younger brother, the senior Casola was apparently on his way towards Wetull of all places, and the young sailor grimaced in annoyance. He had enough of the two academics bickering during the brief journey from Cartaport. “Gratitude, for the safe voyage. Know that I shall mention you favorably in the histories of our times.”
“Eh? I rather that you didn’t,” Ulysses grunted, furrowing his brows. “Now if ye please, depart the ship, Mister Veturius,” he finally said trying to sound not too-hostile, but failing spectacularly.
“I apologize for my colleague,” Sirio continued, forcing the Captain to wave him off from the quarterdeck.
“Veturius!” Pythius Sallustus boomed from the docks, as he had already disembarked. “The Governor is waiting!”
Ah, this man is insufferable! Sirio thought and rushed towards the gangplank to disembark as well. When he reached sturdy ground, Sirio paused to behold the only other group of passengers on the ship with them, a tall Issir with his baby daughter and their servants. A Lorian boy and an older Lorian woman. The Issir gave the historian a nod of quiet acknowledgement, something in the unknown man’s noble face sparking Sirio’s interest, but soon after he had to break the moment at Pythius insistence.
Nattas’ Manor was the biggest building in Moon Haven bar none, since originally its grounds and structure stood one third the size of the whole village, although the latter had expanded in the years since the former Baron had purchased the land. Sirio followed after the volatile Pythius and entered the main hall where the Governor waited for them.
Nattas made to stand from the rich table, as dinner had just been served, but gave up with a grimace and just waved for the two men to join him.
“You arrived just in time,” Storm told them. “Sirio, you gained weight?”
“It’s the capital’s air, father-in-law,” Sirio replied a little smugly, but Pythius just bowed his head once with a scoff and got himself seated before a large bowl of broth and meat.
Nattas eyed the academic suspiciously for a moment and then Sirio, before pursing his mouth and ran a hand over his well-maintained goatee. “It’s a local recipe. Boneless beef meat with cut carrots, celery and crushed cabbage.”
“Um,” Pythius approved slurping at the mixture and helping himself to a large loaf of bread. “And the wine?”
“Ours,” Nattas murmured. “Mister Carantus, I presume?” He queried and Pythius blinked as he swallowed. “I expected a much younger man.”
“He’s Pythius Sallustus. Carantus couldn’t make it. A family emergency of sorts,” Sirio explained. “Pythius was his personal choice for the task,” he added, making the point to absolve himself from the pick.
“Everyone has something or other,” Nattas commented sourly, now staring with hostility at Pythius attacking his meal. “Let us hope some progress is made,” the Governor grimaced and then stared at the standing Sirio. “Take a seat, son-in-law. Give word of my boy. How is Silvio?”
“Growing up,” Sirio replied and took a chair across the table from Nattas, with Pythius to his right. “He’s a troublemaker.”
“Something serious?” Nattas asked somewhat concerned. “Was he caught?”
“Eh, he sort of kidnapped Bianca,” Sirio reported and Pythius paused mid-chewing to frown. “But it was quickly resolved.”
“Good. Is she a new maid?” Nattas asked, now relieved.
“My daughter?” Sirio elucidated and Nattas narrowed his eyes, then glanced at Pythius who resumed eating and pretending he wasn’t listening.
“I should have asked about my granddaughter obviously. Congratulations Sirio,” the Governor grunted. “How is she?”
“She’s fine. Your daughter recovered as well,” Sirio retorted a little annoyed.
“I had no doubt,” Nattas cut in rudely. “We are Lorians after all. Sons stand in our thoughts the most,” he added and Pythius nodded unwittingly before he caught himself. “Kidnapping is a strong word, Sirio. Let the boy partake his half-sister how he wants.”
“I rather he didn’t,” Sirio hissed.
“Well, thankfully your opinion matters little on the matter. I stand the paterfamilias. Still sturdy of mind and cock to produce even more offspring,” Nattas corrected him. “Now, mister Sallustus. I need you to head to the camp and speak with our guest.”
“Luikens,” Pythius said, wiping his mouth with a towel.
“Him. All our other guests you are to stay clear from,” the Governor mocked him. “You are also to stay in the village, since I promised the King to take care of this Carantus character and you are not him by your own admission. I don’t know you. Get out of my house whilst you still can.”
“Lord Nattas, this is outrageous!” Pythius protested and Nattas smacked his lips equally annoyed.
“File a report with the Governor! Let me save you some time. Thy request is denied! Ha! Now, to cut this charade short, the village has excellent hostels. Very friendly in prices and meals are included, though the menu might not be as rich as this one,” Storm Nattas told him. “If I was you, I would be much more worried with making Luikens talk and not with fucking accommodations or hurt feelings. Now, since I’m not you clearly –thank Abrakas the Vilest, thou are free to do as you please, but do it outside my manor. Put the fork down and start walking. Back to Moon’s Haven camp to speak to Luikens and learn his secrets. Time is of the essence so work through the blasted night, if you have to, but make the Issir bastard spill the goods.”
“What if he’s a charlatan?” A red-faced Pythius argued.
“He can be a naked pole dancer for all I care! I want to learn how to blow shit up. So, come morning, I’ll visit you for a report, Mister Sallustus. You better give me something. Aye. Else, I’ll chop your darn arms off, toss you in the blasted-fucking river to catch the little fishes and then tell our good king you’ve never made it here!”
“That would be murder, Governor!” A shook Pythius snapped and Nattas’ face was marred by an evil smirk.
“Not if every god-darn witness says otherwise!” The Governor roared back abruptly and then sat back on his chair afore adding. “Allow me to reveal the future to you, Sallustus, in case of such an unfortunate event. Hear me out carefully, son. Every single one of them will back my fucking words.”
“Preposterous,” Pythius protested whilst the carriage brought them to Captain Moore’s office inside the camp. “The man behaves like a thug. I’m sorry Mister Veturius, but it is the truth!”
The historian had gone with Sallustus to smooth things over and catch a personal glimpse of the infamous Wim Luikens.
“Forget about Lord Nattas,” Sirio advised the academic as they arrived at the ‘Reformed’ unit’s compound. “The alchemist may well be a mass-murderer. I have read reports of his actions during the war and he’s clearly very clever. Despite all that, we are talking about one of the most important characters of this era, Sallustus!”
“Pfft. Have you ever heard of Naphtha?” Pythius grunted dismissively. “It’s a substance of an oily form.”
“I have seen it in action,” Sirio hissed. “What does it have to do with Luikens?”
“Everything. It can be found in nature for starters,” Pythius retorted. “Don’t act so surprised. What Luikens has, probably he discovered in some field or under some rocks somewhere, dressed it up with a good tale and offered it to the gullible church-lovers.”
“The Issir surprised the Zilan with unknown and novel weapons and plenty of alchemy. They brought alchemy from Mistland after stealing it from the Alafern,” Sirio reminded the scowled Pythius under the watchful eyes of Captain Moore. The mercenary officer had stood up, the moment they entered his office. “It is mentioned in many histories and memoirs of the times. Not magic. The man holding the key to those lost secrets is here. In this very camp!”
“Gish, weird Folk and the mythic creatures beyond the plaguing sea! Next you’ll tell me that crook Flucht could turn metal into gold!” Pythius barked and Moore crossed both arms over his decorated and armoured-chest to listen to their argument a tad amused. “Narrow-minded people, fooled by seers and clever magic tricks. There is only the science we understand and the faint memory of magic, which was probably manipulative science of the unknown, and nothing in between -for starters! Luikens is a god darn charlatan and I’ll prove it to you.”
Sirio grimaced and returned Moore’s stare.
“Mister Veturius,” Moore commented respectfully. Sirio stood the Governor’s son-in-law after all and Moore was clearly a career mercenary officer, firmly set on getting a good pension out of the job. “Welcome to Moon’s Haven. How can I help you this day?”
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“Where is Luikens?” Pythius grunted and Moore pointed an arm towards the barracks.
“Socius is over there with the Dottore. I can get them for you. The sergeant that is,” Moore added and barked. “VASCOS!”
“SIR!” A man shouted from outside the office.
“I didn’t catch yer name.” Moore told Pythius.
“Oh, for crying out loud, I’ll speak with the man alone,” Pythius retorted stiffly.
“Luikens can’t speak,” Moore pointed out calmly.
“He will to me.”
“Luikens is missing half his face. Mostly at the mouth area,” Sudi elucidated in a tired manner, shuffling his way inside the office from the open door. Sirio turned to look at the scarred half-breed and Sudi acknowledged the historian with a nod of his all but bald head, whilst examining the livid Sallustus. The academic had also twisted around to glare at the vinegary ‘First Associate in the Business’, as Nattas had oft described the ‘family affairs’ to Sirio. Sudi had gotten a towel out to wipe the blood and gore from his arms that stood stained up to the elbows. “He’s also missing a lot blood, hence the Dottore had to be called. His injuries relapsed.”
“Can I see him?” Pythius grunted.
“Show them the barrel,” Sudi ordered Moore, disregarding his query. “And inform Numerius, the man from the Academy arrived.” He paused to eye Sallustus intently. “I assume you are Carantus.”
“His name is Pythius Sallustus, the university’s registrar,” Sirio explained with Pythius bristling for butchering his title again and Sudi nodded his eyes narrowing. “Is the Holy Light inside the barrel?”
“We don’t know. The lads are too-spooked to touch the phials and I ain’t keen on massaging them myself also. I suggest ye leave the Registrar to handle them Sirio, for the sake of your kid.”
“Appreciate the concern, Mister Lotus,” Sirio replied and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a thumb. “My wife has also recovered.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Sudi retorted without missing a beat. “We hoped for a better outcome.”
Sirio furrowed his brows, made to defend Maja, but then realized he couldn’t win Sudi over and paused in awkward silence until the well-dressed Numerius Baro entered the office as well by the time Sirio found his wits.
“Mister Lotus,” Baro hissed irate. “The patient yet again displays signs of heavy torture—!”
“Prisoner,” Sudi stopped him and the Dottore pulled his lips back as if on the verge of an aneurysm. “Doc, you have a wedding to attend to,” Sudi continued in a steady voice and the grimacing Numerius Baro nodded.
“Damn it. I need to catch a bit of sleep for tomorrow,” Baro murmured. “Mister Lotus, no one is to further hurt Luikens in my absence!”
“What if he hurts himself? Them pencil-pushers are accident prone,” Sudi probed seriously and Baro blinked unsure whether this was partially directed at him, then stared at Sirio and Pythius, now confused on top by their presence so late in the night.
“Mister Veturius?” Baro murmured a query.
“We just want to talk with the alchemist, Dottore,” Sirio assured him.
“He can’t talk well,” Baro repeated Sudi’s words. “Bring stylus and paper to make sense of his grunts.”
“How is the capital, Mister Veturius?” Moore asked politely after Pythius followed the Dottore across the street into the guarded ‘barracks-turned-to-prison’. The Dottore waited outside and Pythius marched inside to ‘speak’ with Luikens.
“Busy, Captain Moore,” Sirio replied, feeling good to be amongst people he sort of knew and appreciated him. “How’s Novesium?”
“Yeah, we hope for the same,” Moore replied. “So coin flows into Moon’s Haven in the summer. You are still writing your book?” Sirio nodded smiling pleased. “Any thoughts on casting a kind light on us brave soldiers of fortune?”
“You are a soldier of fortune because you run out of better options,” Sudi reminded Moore sarcastically. “It was either the hangman’s noose, prospecting in the Far North or sucking the Governor’s phallus. Since you hate cold and are a depraved bastard too selfish to atone, you went for the cock like the rest of us!”
“I met the strange knight you mentioned to the Governor,” Sirio told the tired Sudi sometime later, while they waited for Pythius report. “We travelled on the same ship. Juno?”
“Briny Harlot,” Sudi cut in with a grimace.
“I beg your pardon?” Sirio asked not expecting the rebuke.
“The name of Ulysses ship. Juno is the one his brother sails with,” Sudi elucidated. “You need to pay attention to your surroundings, Sirio. Know who is who.”
“I was aware of the name, but my tongue slipped,” Sirio defended himself a little offended he was being called out. “We argued with Sallustus about the alchemist as a matter of fact. He doesn’t believe the man’s achievements are real.”
“What does it matter? Whether he invented stuff or not?”
“This is a chance to learn more both about history and our future prospects,” Sirio explained. “Use what we learn from a rare intellect to better our lives and secure a better tomorrow.”
“You will learn nothing and naught good shall come out of this,” Sudi grunted making a face of disgust. “The power to destroy offers a brief reprieve and an illusion of invincibility, but it ends up inviting disaster. All the fucking time.”
“Reinut build an empire on the back of Flucht’s inventions, which Luikens now has unearthed.”
“For fuck’s sake. Wetull sunk because the earth exploded and the Zilan are still around! He won a battle seven hundred kilometers from Goras after losing all his ships and had to beg the Lorians for assistance to get out of Eplas! Yes, I have read the histories as well, Sirio. I can also read between the lines now, thanks to the Governor,” Sudi paused to lick his dry lips afore continuing. “As for Reinut’s victory, he is about to lose that empire of his, right? Have you read about the state of the razed Issir cities at all?” Sudi said pursing his deformed mouth. “Not an exciting matter to report on, I suppose. Well, I guess the rest of us would go ahead and follow in his blasted footsteps!”
“Not everyone has a Lucius.”
“Lucius didn’t fight the Khan.”
“Fine. And the Holy Light Luikens has, helped Lord Anker defeat the Khan.”
“The might of Midlanor and the heroic sacrifices of a few level-headed Issir Lords stopped the Khan, you romantic fool. The Assayer just turned a hard-fought win into a bloody triumph,” Sudi hissed. “Very bloody, since that callous bastard up and killed a lot of fucking people -for no reason!”
Sirio stood back. “Several reports point out the matter was undecided.”
“No, it wasn’t. Listen to me, Luikens is dangerous and being a visionary genius cannot paint him any other way. A sneaky motherfucker selling water from a poisoned well, would have you killed irregardless of him being a clever motherfucker or an outright idiot,” Sudi warned and a sudden scream of agony erupted inside the silent mercenary camp. The next moment a groaning Pythius burst out of the barracks holding his face and stumbled on the street with Baro rushing to grab him.
“Eh, fucking hells,” Sudi cursed twisting his mouth and stood up from the chair with the help of a cane. “Here we go again.”
“Hold his legs!” Moore ordered Vascos who had carried Pythius Sallustus inside the captain’s crowded office. “Use the chair for all-god’s sake, his head banged the desk twice!”
Sirio stood at a distance in shock, catching glimpses of Pythius’ bloody face and the large nail stuck in his skull above the right eye.
“It’s not too deep,” Sudi commented holding Pythius’ head by the jaw.
“ARGGH!” Pythius groaned in pain, his legs kicking out spasmodically.
“The nail punched through the orbital bone!” Baro snapped, cutting him off, while also trying to keep the shuddering academic still. “I need something to pull it out gently!”
“Allow me to help, Dottore,” Sudi told Baro shoving him away from the injured Sallustus. He stooped and grabbing the nail, yanked it out of the academic’s head. Pythius gasped and jumped up overcoming Vascos’ grip, but then he abruptly collapsed in the chair taking the sergeant with him.
“Oh, shit!” Vascos cursed trying not to crush the unresponsive Pythius. “Is he dead? The eye popped out of his fucking head! Sir?”
“Don’t touch it. Let it dangle. Baro check him out. Don’t give me that fucking exasperated look! You are a Dottore! See if you can put the eye back in. Gently,” Sudi ordered and puffed out whilst staring at the bloody floor nail in his hand. “The idiot got the nail out of the chair.”
“Luikens?” Sirio asked walking near Sudi, his eyes watching the Doctor’s attempts to revive Pythius and stop the bleeding. Nobody was touching the academic’s gory eyeball.
“Your man,” Sudi replied and expounded in a lower voice. “I had Luikens nailed on the chair to reinforce the bindings.”
“Good grief!” Sirio mumbled in utter shock at the admission. “Why?”
“To prevent shit like this,” Sudi retorted and shook his head. “Moore,” he asked in a resigned manner. “You still got that good hammer I gave you?”
“Sure boss.”
“Mister Lotus,” a despaired Baro growled from the desk where they had placed Pythius. “I’ll report your vile conduct to the Governor!”
“Focus on your patient, Doc and leave all other matters to me. Think of yer fiancé waiting in the aisle for you. Good. Bring it and follow me, Moore,” Sudi instructed, casting a final glance at the confused historian. “You’re the next man up, Sirio. I believe you should join us.”
“Ahm,” a numb Sirio stammered, suddenly much less eager to meet the alchemist.
“Come morning,” Sudi reminded him, with a pause to gather his thoughts. “Nattas will be visiting us, and Luikens must be dead; otherwise, he’ll find a way to escape. We can’t allow that. The Governor has no moral boundaries, and one day you might come to understand that. It’s just how he operates, and we must do everything we can, in order to save him from himself. So, Luikens is destined to have an accident to prevent that, and I’ll take the fall for it. No one else has the courage to do what’s necessary here, but if you want a chance to learn what this rogue knows, now is the time.”
“Right,” Sirio swallowed hard.
“Nothing right about it,” Sudi shot back firmly, taking the hammer from Moore, the bloody nail still clutched in his other hand.
“Umm…nuuh…” the frail-looking, covered in gore and filth man mumbled upon witnessing Sudi returning and Sirio halted in shock at the man’s grotesque appearance. Other than the large eyes behind the thick glasses and disheveled very-sweaty short-cut white hair, the rest of the Issir’s face was disproportionate and of foul color. From a swollen dark red at the upper lip and cheeks, to a dark mauve under the eyes. Disproportionate, because the oval-shaped head turned square at the chin, where a crude bronze mask had been fitted and secured with several leather straps that dug into his irritated skin.
“What did I say?” Sudi hissed ominously, walking towards the chair behind the small table. “You thought I retired for the night? That I lost interest or my appetite?”
“Fckun…bastard!”
“I didn’t,” Sudi elucidated soberly, in that menacing whispery voice. “I promised you will feel the steel allover yer body and you will. We’ll let it heal and then start again, well after you’ve told us everything and I’ll cherish every fucking moment of it!”
“Arggh…seartg…helt!” The man groaned and pushed with his legs —one of his arms was tied on the armchair just like his torso— in order to move the chair away from the table, but Sudi leaped forward surprisingly fast given his condition to stop him. He succeeded, grabbing at the tied-up in the chair Issir’s shoulder, and then the same hand moved up to dug a thumb in Luikens’ right temple.
For this was Luikens, Sirio realized, feeling his stomach turn at the smell of stale blood, old piss and foulness emanating from the alchemist.
“I hate hurting people most of the time,” Sudi whispered in Luikens’ ear, whilst digging with his nail into the wailing man’s temple. “But this isn’t one of those times,” he elucidated and with a sudden snap of his free arm stamped the floor nail down.
Right at Luikens right knee.
Sirio grimaced in horror upon seeing one-third of the long pin dig into flesh and cartilage, probably severing a tendon.
“Arglh… Gaah!” Luikens groaned like a muffled pig and then whimpered in panic, when Sudi stepped back raising the hammer, his intention to punch the remaining two-thirds of the large nail fully through the alchemist’s knee and into the wooden chair.
“Mister Lotus,” Sirio croaked. Both Sudi and the ogling behind his foggy glasses Luikens turned to stare at the well-dressed pale man, with the perfectly oiled hair and the similarly bookish pair of glasses.
“You want to speak?” Sudi queried crooking his mouth, and lowered the hammer.
“To him, aye. If it’s not too-much of a bother,” Sirio squawked, the tension grabbing him by the neck and pressing down to restrict his throat muscles.
Sudi smacked his lips and pulled back from the gawking with panic and a good measure of agony alchemist. “Be quick about it. I want this finished tonight.”
Sirio gulped down and then stepped forward, whilst Sudi retreated towards the watching from the open door Moore.
“Should have put another nail in him, or ask Bryce to do it,” Moore told the approaching Sudi.
“Bryce would have used an axe,” Sudi replied tiredly. “Finished too-soon.”
“Arg…bregl,” Luikens mumbled, trying to move both mask and upper jaw in order to form words. Saliva and blood leaked out the corners where the metal fake chin connected with the torn and crudely stitched skin.
“I can help you,” Sirio said trying to steady his cracking voice and Luikens blinked.
“Ugh?”
He hadn’t heard him, Sirio realized. In his attempt to sound confident, Sirio had spoken in a tiny whisper. “I can help you,” he repeated and licked his lips. “You are Wim Luikens. The First Archivist. I’ve read your paper on the volatility of gasses and their ability to exert pressure.”
Luikens’ chin and jaw mask clanked open, which forced his mouth to remain open as well. It wasn’t out of surprise, just a malfunction. The alchemist had to lower his head in order for it to close against his sternum. The mechanism was either too-tight, or in need of further lubrication.
It could also be just a matter of a bad fit, Sirio supposed. Or shoddy craftsmanship.
“Help…” Luikens had finally muttered in a pleading manner.
“That’s right,” Sirio said soothingly and pulled back the only other chair at the small table, right across from him to sit down. “But I want to hear your story first.”
Luikens blinked and other than a shiver of pain, followed by a spasm from his bleeding knee, his expression completely changed. He now stared his way with suspicion. Whatever the small man was, Sirio realized, his capacity to withstand torture was remarkable.
There was no faking the amount of damage Luikens had received.
“Um…” the badly mauled alchemist grunted, with a glance behind Sirio directed at the door where Sudi and Moore waited. Then it returned on Sirio and his free hand parked on the table near a stylus.
“Here,” Sirio told the waiting alchemist and produced the slightly crumbled paper Tullus had allowed him to keep. “Use this. It’s a new type of paper. We call it…ahm… paper.”
Yeah.
Should have brought a proper blasted vellum!
Luikens dragged the sheet his way, stared at the stained tear at the middle of the page, and then used the coal-tipped stylus to scribble something on it.
Sirio reached across the table to take the page from him, but paused midway until Luikens lowered the stylus and placed it down. Luikens expression had hardened behind the foggy glasses.
Sirio stared at the word written down. No question mark. Just the word. The writing surprisingly steady, though on the smaller side.
“Why,” Sirio read out loud and Luikens distorted face moved, half of it that is, in order to offer a small nod. “I’m Sirio Veturius. It is rare for a writer to be afforded the opportunity to insert himself into his own story,” he paused to stare at the strange thin piece of paper for a moment. “I’m a historiographer that found himself documenting the stories of our times. From studying other people’s works, now immersing myself into my own.” Sirio stopped and stared at the gawking in disbelief Wim Luikens, before sliding the page back towards him. “History is written by people and it is created by people also. Less so by events and nature, this is my belief. Special people shape history and move the realm forward, or sometimes they don’t.”
“Ugh.”
“You…” Sirio grimaced and a spasm distorted Luikens’ face even more, “…are an important character. I wish to learn about your story. Not about the Holy Light and the self-igniting lamp, stimulating as they may be, my interest is with the person. Wim Luikens. The man that played a role in the Issirs winning at Red Bridge.”
“Eh… littlh…slit…” Luikens growled incoherently but clearly in disagreement and grabbed the stylus to write down furiously. Sirio retrieved the ‘not-vellum’ and read the alchemist’s words.
I defeated the Khan.
Without my involvement, they were fucked.
Little shit.
Luikens had noted down and now looked at Sirio with a smug expression behind his foggy glasses.
“Here’s your opportunity then,” Sirio remarked maintaining his composure and gradually regaining his confidence. “To share your tale, Mister Luikens.”
The alchemist shook his head, casting another glance at the door.
“Consul...” he murmured, the sound of the bronze device altering the pronunciation of the vowels giving his accent a mechanical quality.
“Same lineage,” Sirio conceded, slowly sliding Tullus’ manuscript towards the injured Issir, who tried —and failed in his attempt— to smirk.
“Um,” Luikens stammered, beginning to write.
Two hours later
“The Golden Spears had already succeeded in their mission by that time,” Sirio noted reading Luikens’ scribblings, whilst the frowned Moore brought another —proper vellum— for the constipated alchemist. “Diverting the reinforcements from the Khan’s main battle line had secured victory for Lord Anker, especially after the unknown squire stopped the elephants, losing near the bridge wouldn’t change the outcome,” he finished raising his eyes to stare at Luikens.
“Nay…” the disfigured Issir grunted, tapping the stylus on the table vexed.
Sirio read the rest of his notes quickly. “What knowledge? The schematics are in the archive… you mean the presence of the Aken? The tales of Zilan scouts engaging in covert operations? This was before,” Sirio paused to examine the alchemist’s tensed face. “Why not retreat there and lose the machines? The Khan didn’t have the time to move or learn to use them with the battle turning against him.”
“Eh… argh,” Luikens growled, making a clacking sound that left his grotesque mouth open. He had to push the metal jaw with a hand to close it again.
“But you couldn’t leave with all eyes on you,” Sirio continued, closing his eyes to calm down and not rebuke in the strongest manner the vile scientist’s logic. “The mules were loaded and you didn’t have a horse nor can you safely ride on one far as I understand. So you fired everything you had available to create as big a distraction as it was possible… when that action defeated the chariots too-fast, you kept firing into the slave camp and this cleared the river shores up to the bridge from friends or foes. You needed the coast clear. Unfortunately the bridge became the next objective and you couldn’t get away immediately. When finally the Khan’s third wave of reserves appeared, you had to risk yet another explosion; at close proximity this time. You made it bigger than it was needed probably, and managed to finally slip away in the confusion and the carnage, while those that could have easily identified you conveniently perished. It was never about winning or saving anyone else right? Just another episode in your attempt to safely get away, years in the bloody making.”
“This isn’t what I… Read… what’s… on… the—” Luikens croaked angrily.
“I did read. Between the fucking lines,” Sirio hissed with a grimace of barely controlled disgust, but then puffed out and tried to make another attempt to get the alchemist’s cooperation. “You could change the public’s perception,” he told Luikens. “I could make it happen.”
“Freedom…” Luikens rustled, managing to work both parts of his jaw to form more coherent words, despite the discomfort the heavy mask caused him. He was still bleeding from the wound on his knee, but other than a permanent crease on his sweaty forehead, the alchemist remained steadfast.
“Can the Holy Light be easily reproduced? It’s what kept these men from killing you, Mister Luikens. You have no friends here, other than me.”
“Eh,” Luikens grunted and wrote something on the fresh vellum.
Sirio read the words when the alchemist turn it around.
Can the Consul convince the king?
“You don’t need the King,” Sirio replied and stooped forward to whisper. “I’m the Governor’s son-in-law and he controls your fate.”
Sudi does too, Luikens wrote on the scroll.
Sirio frowned.
Get rid of the half-breed, the alchemist added. As a show of good faith.
And I’ll give you the nitro-paste formula.
Sirio pushed back on the chair and listened for Sudi and Moore talking under the moonlight outside the converted-to-prison barracks, trying not to reveal his shock. Hearing the stylus scratching on the vellum yet again, the troubled Sirio stared towards the alchemist and Luikens slid the open vellum his way.
“I’m not a killer, Mister Luikens.”
“It’s not… that difficult,” Luikens argued unsympathetically and pointed at the vellum.
Nitro, to help Regia kill its future enemies faster, the crafty Luikens had written down. A stone to turn this hideous bronze mask into gold to please your father-in-law and a way for you to elevate yourself in the Tiger’s eyes.
Sirio grimaced, feeling light-headed and very uncomfortable.
“Regia has no enemies,” Sirio whispered.
“Ask… the governor…” Luikens rustled with difficulty. “After you deal… with his associate.”
“What stone? What can I give the King, he doesn’t already possess?” Sirio asked and the satisfied Luikens let out a small grunt of pain, afore replying cryptically.
“Rhys has the stone… and nitro-paste is an unreliable material… without a Deliverer. The latter… more dangerous than its worth… without proper… propellant,” Luikens muttered, breathing heavy from the effort to control the ruined part of his face.
“A Deliverer?” Sirio croaked.
A delivery system, Luikens wrote down quickly. It’s a euphemism.
“What is a propellant?” Sirio asked furrowing his brows. “Are you pulling my leg, Mister Luikens?”
The alchemist shrugged his shoulders and glanced pointedly towards the door.
“You are a horrible person, Luikens,” Sirio hissed and got up from his chair.
“Yet… an important character… in your story,” Luikens rustled raising his upper lip to reveal several cracked teeth and bloody gums touching the metal jaw. “What is the… saying? Never meet… your heroes, Mister Historian.”
Next morning
The sleepless Sirio rested on a bench outside Captain Moore’s command building, hearing the mercenary camp coming to life. The line outside its recruiting office, and Sergeant Vascos organizing the week’s Emerald River patrols. The latter would plow up the dirt roads up and down the east banks and the three bridges; the Bridge of Silence less than a kilometer from this very camp, Moonhaven Bridge (or Mid-Bridge) facing Novesium’s East Gates, and Queen Regent’s Bridge to the south, near the Fish Docks.
The biggest topic amongst the mercenaries was whether they needed to visit the Gardener’s Cabins, an unknown settlement deep inside the south forest (Queen Regent’s Palms), Sirio didn’t even know existed.
“The Governor’s carriage,” Moore warned, standing in the shade of his office’s door and looking out. Sirio turned his head to the left to catch a glimpse of the officer. “Sallustus, might need a bit of Rhys’ bullshit to survive. Giving ye the heads up, Milord Veturius. Unless you trust Carantus to keep Sallustus involvement and trip here a secret.”
Sirio furrowed his brows at the second mention of Rhys, a man he couldn’t remember at all.
“Where is this man’s location? A local hostel?” He probed hearing Lord Nattas’ iron-reinforced wheels (made to support his heavy carriage) rip through the thin cobblestone as it approached.
“Hah. Beyond Rhys’ Creek, the land is his. Mister Vardran’s,” Moore retorted and Sirio pursed his mouth at the novel information. Seeing his expression, Moon gathered some spit in his mouth, moved it a bit with the help of his tongue and then spat the nasty mix across the entrance’s stairs.
Then the fancy-dressed officer expounded with a tensed grimace.
“Villa Silentium,” he told Sirio. “But you don’t want to venture that way, or near the Gardener’s Cabin, unless absolutely necessary.”
“Ah, nothing like fresh fucking dust, mixed with fat horse turds,” a well-dressed in a black and yellow doublet Lord Nattas griped, the expensive outfit worn under a dark-green, open at the front summer toga. “To stain your new pair of sandals!”
“A fine day, my lord,” Sirio greeted his father-in-law and Nattas halted in the middle of the camp’s main street just a few meters from the Command Building’s doors to perceive first the saluting Moore, then the guards at the Barracks across the street, afore he returned his intense stare on the tensed Sirio.
“I got this strange shiver all of a sudden,” the troubled Nattas explained. “The feel of a fat fucking finger tickling my arsehole, looking for the blasted entry!” He continued half-reasonably, half-angry. “Where is that sour cunt ye brought here, this Sallustus? Ah. And thus a numb silence greets our query.” Nattas remarked rigidly, after taking note of their reaction. “Even more troubling questions arise. Why are you up so early in the morning to greet me, Sirio? Speak son, because in just a couple of hours I also have Baro’s wedding to officiate back in the city. If both the groom and the Governor are late, the lass might get worried!”
“Sallustus is potentially badly injured,” Sirio replied and Nattas sucked on his upper lip in thought, both hands gripping his wedged in the cobblestone cane. “Luikens stabbed him with a floor nail right above the eye. Baro had to cut the eye out and it was a mess. The Dottore left an hour ago. Unless he finds a water barrel on the way to the temple, Numerius is about to make a bloody entrance.”
“Nice yarn there, Milord Sirio,” Moore chuckled.
The much more sober Nattas’ tongue wetted his released lip, now deeper in thought than before and thoroughly unamused. “Is he dead?”
“Pythius is tough, my lord. He’ll make it,” Sirio assured him. “It was his aggressive manner that got him in trouble.”
“Uhm. I meant Luikens, son. Do I look like the kind of man who’ll give a shite about your new friend?” Nattas half-grunted.
“Pythius is not my—”
“Forget about him!” Nattas cut him off abruptly. “Where is Sudi? Pray tell me, did you doe-eyed dullards leave him alone with Luikens? Good grief!”
“Sudi is asleep. I’ve spoken to Luikens,” Sirio informed him and Nattas grimaced, raised his left hand and used a finger to wipe the edge of his eye. Upon realizing Sirio waited for his further reaction, Nattas rolled his eyes and waved for the Historian to continue. “He’ll give us the ingredients, the recipe for Holy Light.”
“Wait,” Nattas stopped him. “Almost scared me to death there, you inexperienced book-lover. This is actually good news! Right, Moore?”
Moore cleaned his throat behind Sirio, probably taken unawares and only managed a one word response. “Milord.”
“Luikens has demands, else he won’t speak and I believe him.”
“Well, everyone talks,” Nattas said in a heartening manner. “In this case and given the dangerous nature of the substance in question, it is better to have a deal and not force the truth out of him.”
“He wants Sudi gone,” Sirio expounded and Nattas nodded.
“Understandable. Sudi doesn’t believe in keeping prisoners,” Nattas elucidated in a reasonable manner. “It’s a tendency we all learned to work around.”
“Luikens’ suggestion is that I should personally murder, Mister Lotus?” Sirio whispered.
“Speak up, son,” Nattas urged him. “You almost died on me there.”
“Luikens wants Socius dead,” Moore said from his spot and Sirio turned to look at him shocked. “What?” Moore retorted, upon seeing his reaction. “It’s a shoddy building and I’ve great ears!”
“What else?” Nattas interrupted them.
“This is a serious matter, Governor,” Sirio protested and Nattas stopped him with a curt gesture.
“For you. Not for us,” Nattas puffed out. “Tell him, you’ll do it. What else?”
Sirio blinked and then added, with another pause to clear his tickling throat. “He wants asylum and the means to settle in the Turtle Isles.”
“Moore, bring me a fresh vellum and a stylus to write on,” Nattas ordered.
“From the King,” Sirio informed the unperturbed Governor.
“Moore, the paper.” Nattas insisted. “What do we get here, Sirio?” He asked turning to look at the Historian.
“If he’s truthful, then it is possible to produce the substance,” Sirio expounded. “Luikens also hinted that it is difficult to use Holly Light against moving targets or in a fluid battle. He suggested an alternative or an altered —more potent— delivery system. I think, we must be wary of his words.”
“We are,” Nattas retorted, then paused to add. “Nobody trusted him but you, son. Which is why I didn’t want you talking to him alone.”
I see, Sirio thought.
No you don’t, Nattas’ eyes suggested.
“You think, Lucius will agree?” An apprehensive Sirio asked and Nattas looked at him yet again confused.
“Sirio… my lad,” the Governor grimaced. “He’s not getting… Listen, we’ll counter his proposal with one of our own, talk it out some, yes? After that we’ll take what we need and then get rid of him. It’s a business. How things work. Unless we truly can’t reproduce the darn thing that is. Then… he’ll remain breathing.”
Sirio gulped down.
“Luikens knows he won’t get a fair deal, but you need to start somewhere,” Nattas continued seeing his gloomy expression. “What did he offer as incentive?”
“Schematics for a different Deliverer,” Sirio murmured. “I believe, he has memorized Flucht’s journal. Or as much of it survived. Claimed these inventions they had taken from the Alafern? Spoke of Zilan scouts and Aken constructs roaming Jelin. This is contaminated knowledge,” Sirio pursed his mouth. “He also hinted there is a way to turn bronze into gold.”
“With Rhys’ stone,” Nattas said surprising him.
“You knew.”
“Yes, Sirio. I’m also running out of time for a wedding. I’m the Governor now, son. Don’t have the time to talk with you as before.”
“Luikens called it an ‘Alchemist Stone’. A rock dropped from the skies,” a flushed Sirio revealed.
“The man in possession of the stone gets naming rights for a while. The same happens with diseases,” Nattas argued half-jokingly. “We of course want to partake in this novel way of mining with all our hearts. This may even buy Luikens better accommodations.”
“Mining?” Sirio croaked.
“Son-in-law, if you can turn metal into fucking gold,” Nattas rustled sternly, making an effort to illuminate the confused Historian. “Then you better make new coins out of this unearthed precious metal, or you’re no kin of mine!”
Sirio blinked at his outburst. “What about Sudi?”
“I’ll sent Lotus on vacation until all this blows over,” Nattas reassured him. “What? You didn’t actually think I’ll have Sudi killed at Luikens’ counsel! By the gods, Sirio. You’ve a callous soul. Fucking hells! Maja married well. Hah. Right, now find a horse. You are to head to Rhys’ River Bridge. State your name when you approach to any shady folk lurking there. Lately it’s left unguarded, but you never know. The fee is a gold Eagle per animal, or a case of summer wine.”
“What am I to do there?” A worried Sirio asked remembering his wife’s warning, although already very curious to find out more about the strange Villa and its occupants.
“Speak to Rhys… you know, the guy with the gold teeth? Ah, you never heard of him. Well, shit. Your wife needs a good beating. It’s just a suggestion. A father knows his daughter,” Nattas breathed out in response to Sirio’s outraged glare. “Anyways, use all that brain power to get ahold of the stone,” Nattas explained. “The alternative is a full blown raid with Moore’s men and while we outnumber them fuckers, the truth is you never know how many of them murderous freaks are around… or out of which fresh hell they might come from! Something doesn’t feel right, just leg it for the gold mines. We have guards there.”
The man sporting gold teeth? Sirio mused. “How distant are the gold mines?” The increasingly more nervous historian inquired, while Nattas tightened his lips and cast a quick look at Moore, who had just delivered the vellum.
“It was merely a figure of speech,” Nattas confessed with a hint of genuine sadness. “Just be cautious not to overreact to Mister Rhys' antics. He’s quite a character and remarkably… eccentric. Folk have casually labeled him as mad, but don’t let this deter you.”