There was no one at the Diaz estate. No smoke rising from the chimney, no lights in the windows, no animals in the stables. But the snow in the yard wasn’t as deep as the snow outside the fence, and when she stared at the dimples in the fresh snow beyond the gate, Shifrah could see the telltale patterns of boots tramping along the lane to the left and the thinner trails of horse legs walking up the lane to the right.
“Another dead end,” she said. “What a waste of time.”
“No, this is the place.” Salvator shook the locked doors and pressed his eye up to the dark glass of the windows.
In Madrid there had been more than a few witnesses who said a procession of strange people in strange clothes had arrived in town, asking for Don Lorenzo. A man splitting firewood at the bottom of the lane had described as many as half a dozen of these travelers, which matched the furrier’s description.
And here is Don Lorenzo’s house. His dark and empty house.
“It looks like our Mazigh friends arrived around noon, and then left again just a few hours ago. Assuming this Don Lorenzo was at home when they arrived, it is possible the gentleman is with them now.” Salvator swung back up into the saddle and studied the darkening sky. A light snow was falling, but the evening promised to be mild by Espani standards.
Shifrah glared at the dark gray clouds. She had been daydreaming of desert oases and hot sandy beaches for the last three days. She sighed, the exhaled vapor frosting in the chill air. “So where did they go?”
“South. And north.” Salvator grimaced at the tracks. He rode a few yards one way and then a few the other, staring at the tracks in the fading light.
“Well, which is it?” Shifrah demanded. “I’m freezing. What the hell is wrong with you people, living in the cold like this?”
“I can’t be certain who went where. They may have split up. There’s more than half a dozen people heading both ways.” He sounded, as always, perfectly calm and focused. There was no excitement, no frustration, no fatigue. It was infuriating.
Shifrah shivered. “Well, can’t we assume the Mazighs would go south to get back home?”
“The Mazighs could have gone south from their original crash site straight to Villa Real or Albaset. But they went north to Madrid instead, on foot. They asked for a Don Lorenzo on the road. And at that same time, our dearly departed Rui was stealing a journal also written by a man named Lorenzo. What if it’s the same Lorenzo? Clearly, this Lorenzo is an important person. I can’t be certain how or why, but I believe he may be the key to a much larger puzzle.”
“Well, I don’t care about your Lorenzos. I only care about the Mazighs because that’s who Magellan wants, remember?” Shifrah pulled her hood tighter around her head. “Come on. We’re going south.”
“No, wait just a moment. Consider the possibility that they aren’t trying to return home at all.” Salvator peered into the northern gloom where the long shadows of the hills and trees were already masking the contours of the land. “Maybe they meant to go north all along. They might be continuing their mission as planned, but on foot instead of in the air.”
“What mission? What the hell are you talking about? And why would a bunch of stupid Mazighs be coming to see this Lorenzo person?” Her face was tight and pinched, eyes narrowed to slits, mouth compressed into a long thin line.
Salvator looked up at her. “Wasn’t it you who mentioned that name to me about two weeks ago? A Lorenzo?”
“Did I?” She paused, then smirked as the conversation came to mind. “Oh, yes, I remember. I overheard Faleiro talking to another officer about going to meet with a Lorenzo. It must have been this Lorenzo, this meeting.”
“Did Faleiro say why he was going to meet this Lorenzo?”
She grinned a little wider. “To hire him.”
“To do what?”
Shifrah turned her smile on him. “To replace you, of course. I told you they didn’t like you. I told you they were unhappy with your progress teaching the sailors to fence. But as I recall, you said it was nothing to worry about.”
“Replace me? He must be a diestro, then. A diestro named Lorenzo.” Salvator leaned back and studied the skies again with wider eyes. “Ah! Don Lorenzo Quesada. Yes, I’ve heard of the man. A religious idiot, I think.”
Shifrah looked at him sharply. The swordsman in Marrakesh! The duel on the road, and the chase at the train station. “Quesada? I know that name. That’s the bastard who sliced up my hand on the road to Arafez! Didn’t I tell you? He wanted me to run away with him.”
Salvator raised an eyebrow. “Run away with him?”
Her grin returned. “To a nunnery.”
“Oh, yes. That sounds like him. He’s a zealot, from what I hear. Spends too much time in church talking to the dead, and he won’t kill a man for any reason. I suppose he wants to keep his soul nice and clean for Judgment Day.” Salvator scowled. “And you saw him in Marrakesh. He must be working with the Mazighs.”
“On what?”
Salvator shrugged. “I have no idea. But when I bring Magellan a platter of Mazigh heads and Quesada’s skull for a centerpiece, I don’t think I’ll need to worry about my job for quite some time. And then I can return to business of sinking his precious warship.”
Shifrah shivered. “So we’re going north then?”
“Don’t you want to catch him?” He studied her for a moment. “Or are you afraid Quesada will lock you away in a nunnery after all?”
“The fencer doesn’t scare me. He was good, but he didn’t beat me. If I hadn’t been outnumbered both times, I would have stuck him like I stuck his ugly friend.” Her voice was low and husky, and a bit congested. “It’s the Mazighs I’m worried about. They fight dirty. Guns. Bombs. They’re crazy.”
“This is about the eye, isn’t it?” he asked. “You lost it in Marrakesh, but never said how, exactly.”
She nudged her horse gently over to his, and when they were sitting side by side, she slapped him. “It’s not about my eye. And I am not afraid of anyone. But there are plenty of tracks going south, so I am going south. You can go north and kill whoever you like. I hope you enjoy your cold, empty bed.”
He shrugged. “As you wish. Track them down, whoever they are. If you find any Mazighs, do be so kind as to bring back their heads for me.”
She rolled her eye. “Really? Heads? You’re serious about that? I’m an assassin, not a butcher. How am I supposed to cut off a man’s head with one of these?” She whipped out one of her slender stilettos, twirled the blade across her fingers, and slipped it back into her coat.
“Don’t over-think it and I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Good hunting, my dear.” Without so much as a smile, he turned his mare to the north road and trotted away through the thick snow, quickly plunging into the shadowed lanes between the other large country houses and the rows of small pines that lined the road.
Shifrah glared at his back for a moment, then turned her own horse to the south and hunched down under her coats, praying that there would be a warm inn with a warm fire and warm food and a warm bed just over the next hill. She knew there wouldn’t be, so she prayed a bit harder.
Lewis, Joseph Robert
Halcyon (The Complete Trilogy)
Day Four