Someone was shaking her shoulder. She hated that. She hated any method of waking her up, but she hated shaking the most. Like she was a dog or a doll or a pepper mill. And it created a dilemma: Do I endure the shaking to steal a few last seconds of pretend-sleep, or open my eye and start the first argument of the day?
“Get up, Shifrah,” Salvator said in that infuriatingly calm, velvety voice of his. The Italian reached over her to grab his belts and sheathes from the shelf over the bunk. “We’re going on a little trip.”
“What are you talking about?” she muttered, her eye still closed. She knew the ship was too large for her to feel the movement of the deck, but she could feel it. And she hated it. The only thing that made it bearable was staying in bed. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re supposed to be teaching some children how stab each other, aren’t you?”
“Not anymore. It appears I’ve worn out my welcome.”
“Already?” Shifrah blinked and sat up, letting the blankets fall off her bare chest to reveal the corded muscles of her arms and stomach and the thin knife scars on her hands and forearms. “What did you do this time, sleep with the admiral’s wife?”
“No. Some Mazigh fool just frightened the old man out of his small clothes and he wants me to hunt him down.” Salvator sighed as he belted his sword around his slender waist. “It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. An airship, but with no air bladder. More like a bird, with wings. It was tremendously fast, but Magellan managed to wound it all the same. It’s heading west, and the old man wants us to find it.”
“Mazighs?” Shifrah scowled as she crawled out of bed and began selecting her attire from the clothes scattered across the floor. “What the hell are they doing out here?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask them before I kill them.”
She smiled. That’s my Sal. “When will you be back, do you think?”
He smiled and leaned down to kiss her. He bit her bottom lip gently as he pulled away. “Not me. We. The good admiral seems to have noticed you sniffing around the officers’ quarters.”
Shifrah pushed him away. “I didn’t take anything.”
“I don’t believe that anymore than Magellan does.” Salvator carefully slipped his folded clothes into his bag along with his books.
Well, it isn’t the first time we were kicked out of a warm bed. Sighing, Shifrah dressed and began shoving her things into her bag. “So, where should we go next? Back to Italia? Or maybe Carthage for the winter. I’m tired of the cold.”
“We’re not going anywhere. We’re going to do exactly what the old man wants,” Salvator said as he slipped into his long coat. “We’re going to track down this Mazigh spy and bring back his head for the admiral’s pleasure.”
“What for?” Shifrah rolled her eye. “Who cares what the Espani want?”
“I don’t give a damn what the Espani want,” he said quietly. “But I’m not about to leave them in possession of the Arkangel. A single warship like this could rule the entire Middle Sea and destroy any coastal city in just a few hours, and as I recall, most of Italia is still coastal.” Salvator inspected his rapier’s hilt. “It galls me to think that we have been here three months and I still have no idea how to steal or destroy this monstrosity. It’s simply too large. And God save us all if they build any more.”
Shifrah flopped back onto the bed, still only half dressed, her glorious black mane draped over her shoulders. She shrugged in agreement as she adjusted the patch over what used to be her other eye. She had been considering having a jeweler make her a new one cast in silver and set with a sapphire where the iris should be, but the idea had seemed too conspicuous even for her. “If you still want this ship, then fine. But why bother with some Mazigh spy? Let’s go back to Rome and see what your friends have drummed up. Maybe they’ll have some ideas about how to sink this whale.”
“No. I’m staying right here until the Arkangel problem is resolved. And who knows? Maybe if we do retrieve this spy’s head, the good admiral will grant us a little more leeway and we’ll begin to make some real progress.”
It’s always about the job, isn’t it, Sal? Shifrah stood up, letting her unbuttoned trousers fall to her knees and she shoved him back against the wall. “Well, if this is our last hour in a heated room with a real bed, let’s not waste the opportunity.”
Salvator glanced at the bunk. “Another time. Get dressed. We have a flying spy to kill.”
Spoil sport. She scowled and turned away to finish dressing and packing her bag.
The long hours on the road passed slowly. The Espani countryside plodded past them, field after house after field. It reminded her of home, of ancient Nablus in faraway Persia (or Eran or whatever they’re calling it now, she sniffed), only poorer and colder. Much colder. Salvator paused to question most of the people they met on the road, or near the road. Most nodded yes, they did see the strange little airship or the strange roaring bird pass by overhead. But on the afternoon of the second day the heads stopped nodding. The farmers and masons and furriers gave Salvator curious looks and shrugs, leaving the Italian to glare at the distant ridges and hills in silence.
When they came to Villanueva, the local soldiers told them about a strange machine they had found at the edge of the frozen lake just beyond the next ridge. So Shifrah endured the rough ride over the cold, windy ridge and saw the metal bird for herself.
Wings. Tail. Yes, it looks like a bird. So what?
The empty aircraft told her nothing except that no one had died inside it. In fact, she was certain no one had died at all, despite the dents and rents in the metal body. The Mazigh had tried to hide his machine under some branches, which told her that he intended to return to salvage it. But the fresh snow had covered any hint of which way the man had gone. Salvator ordered the soldiers at Villanueva to report their find to Admiral Magellan, and to haul the strange aircraft itself to Valencia, and then he and Shifrah continued on the road west in search of the pilot.
The Italian sat glaring in his saddle, lost in thought.
Ah yes, the exciting life of the dashing Salvator Fabris. Why did I ever come back? Shifrah called out to a little man driving his cart of beaver pelts away down the road. “You there! Are you coming from Madrid?”
The furrier turned. “I am.”
“Did you see any strangely dressed people on the road? Maybe wearing orange?”
He nodded. “Yesterday afternoon. Three of them, and some circus people, I think.”
Shifrah glared at Salvator. “Three of them. And a circus. How fun for them. You’re a spy, Sal, why don’t you travel with a circus? Maybe you’re doing it wrong.”
Salvator snapped his reins and they trotted on to Madrid. It was late in the evening when they spotted a slouched rider coming toward them, descending a small hill where the icy road wound its careless path through a skeletal forest. Salvator smiled. “Rui!”
Oh, excellent. Just who I wanted to meet. Shifrah shivered under her coats and muttered, “What the devil is he doing out here?”
The approaching rider perked up slightly and called out, “Fabris? Is that you? What the devil are you doing out here?”
Salvator glanced at her. “Great minds think alike.”
She scowled at him.
“An exciting expedition,” Salvator called out. “We’re looking for a Mazigh airship crew. The good admiral wants to have a word with their corpses.”
Rui Faleiro reined up beside them. “A Mazigh airship crew? Can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that around here. But then again, I haven’t been looking ahead so much as back over my shoulder.” He winked.
“What did you steal this time, Rui?” Shifrah asked.
“Just a book.” The older man grinned. “A sort of treasure map, if you will.”
“Treasure? I do so love treasure. You can buy so many wonderful things with it.” Salvator exhaled slowly, letting the pale vapor swirl around his face for a moment. “Is this treasure of yours anything I should steal from you, Rui?”
Faleiro blinked, his smile suddenly frozen and his eyes rather uneasy. “I doubt it’s anything that would interest you. It’s just an old Espani relic. A magic rock, if you will.”
Salvator shook his head. “You people are absolutely stunning in your faith in such profoundly stupid nonsense.”
Shifrah tugged her scarf away from her mouth. “What sort of rock?”
Faleiro shrugged. “Legend says it was bright and shiny, and the angels sang, and some nun saw it fall from heaven. A friend of mine likes these things. I thought he would enjoy the book.”
“A friend of yours?” Shifrah raised an eyebrow. Maybe this trip won’t be a complete waste of my time after all. “Would this be that gentleman from Aegyptus who came onboard the Arkangel last month?”
Faleiro swallowed. “Uhm. Yes, actually.”
“I see.” Shifrah nodded. “Did you know my broker in Alexandria would probably pay double or even triple for anything your friend might be interested in?”
“Really? Why is that? What do you know about my friend?”
“I know I killed him right after he met with you.”
She only had to glance at Salvator. The Italian drew his rapier and plunged it through Faleiro’s chest, and then withdrew to watch the man choke and shake and fall from his saddle into the road.
Salvator looked up at her. “Now, don’t misunderstand, I’m very pleased that this pathetic pile of offal is dead, but I too would like to know what your broker in Alexandria wants, exactly.” He dismounted and picked through Faleiro’s pockets very carefully to avoid the blood. With the man’s watch, wallet, and a small leather-bound book in hand, the Italian straightened up. He stared at her, waiting.
“My broker wants certain people dead.” Shifrah shrugged. “I don’t ask why. Faleiro’s Aegyptian friend was on the list, so I killed him. I was also told to send all of the man’s belongings back to my broker, which I did.”
“Why did you bother?”
“Because it doubled the bounty.”
“I see. So Faleiro’s friend was dealing in exotic valuables? Tell me, what is the current black market value of a magic Espani rock?”
Shifrah ignored the jibe. “I assume he was dealing guns, jewels, or drugs,” she said. “But all he had on him were some papers written in Aegyptian. Maybe this journal is more of the same.”
Salvator frowned as he dragged the fat little corpse into the ditch at the side of the road. He returned to his own horse, climbed up into the saddle, and then pulled the leather-bound book from his pocket. “I assume you want this, then?”
“Naturally.” She held out her hand.
He smiled and opened the book to flip through the pages. “Hand-written, and in Espani, not Aegyptian. It looks to be a sort of journal. Detailed notes. People, places, things. Dates and maps. How very interesting.”
“Yes, all very interesting. Can I have my bounty please?” She opened and closed her waiting hand. Don’t be a prick about this, Sal. This is business.
“All in good time.” Salvator tucked the journal into the breast pocket of his coat and turned his horse back onto the road toward Madrid.
You snake. Shifrah squinted into the snow-glare of the bright sky and the bright icy field, and followed him. You’ll pay for this the next time you want to see me naked.