Halcyon The Complete Trilogy (48 page)

“It’s an honor to meet you, my lady.” Taziri tried to look calm and professional in her sick bed, but a sudden fit of coughing had her doubled over and clutching her injured side. When the coughs stopped, she felt more exhausted than ever. “Excuse me.”

“It’s all right. It’s been a long day for everyone.” Lady Tzeddig swallowed and exhaled slowly. Then she met the pilot’s eyes and said, “First, let me thank you for risking your life to save my family. Your friend, the pilot who died?”

“Ghanima.”

“She’ll be receiving a medal of honor and her family will be taken care of, of course.” Tzeddig’s hands trembled in her lap. “I understand you were helping the marshals investigating Ambassador Chaou and Lady Sade. The guards have taken over that investigation. They will probably want to talk to you.” Her voice shook and she covered her eyes.

Taziri reached over and took the princess’s hand and they both sat and stared down at their laps for a moment.

Lady Tzeddig looked up and spoke in a soft but steady voice. “The preliminary report says that your airship was electric. All electric. If it had been steam-powered, the boiler would have exploded on impact. Was that your idea?”

“I designed the batteries. It was my captain’s idea to put them in an airship.”

“Captain Isoke Geroubi?”

Taziri looked up sharply. “Yes?”

“I saw her name in the papers last night, I think. One of the survivors from the fire in Tingis. I’m sorry you had to be involved in that.”

Survivor?
Taziri felt a terrible weight lift off her chest.
Isoke’s alive!

“Well,” the princess said, “when there is time, later, we’ll talk more about your batteries and electric airships. I’m afraid I have a great many things to do right now.”

“My lady, I’m so sorry for your loss. Your sister was a—” Taziri broke off, suddenly realizing for the first time that she had never formed an opinion about the queen at all. “—was a wonderful woman.”

Lady Tzeddig nodded and stood up. “It’s a pity that she had to die like this. But at least the rest of us were spared. That Incan woman protected us. Such a strange day. But I wanted to make sure that you were all right, lieutenant. I’ll come and see you again, later, when there’s time. And I’ll have my people contact your family.”

“Thank you, my lady. I mean, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, lieutenant.” Lady Tzeddig nodded again and left.

Taziri lay back into the pillows and closed her eyes.

It’s over.

She wanted to smile. She wanted to cry. But she fell asleep before she could do either.

Epilogue: Syfax

“What?” the Marshal General muttered to the man next to her. “No, we’re not going to wait for her. I want to get out of here on time for once. Are you ready? Fine. Let’s just start.” She cleared her throat and projected her voice across the courtroom. “I hereby call to order this hearing to review the events of investigation 1523-J-12. Major Syfax Zidane?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Syfax stood up from his seat in the center of the room. The Marshal General and her two colonels sat at the table in front of him. A single row of chairs for observers stretched across the room behind him. The only occupied chair held Corporal Kenan Agyeman.

“Major, the facts of this case are not in dispute. Your report has been confirmed by Corporal Agyeman, as well as several members of the Royal Guards and the Air Corps. The ongoing investigation into the plot against the late queen has already led to four convictions and executions, and no doubt will continue over the next year or two as we continue to identify the other parties involved.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Syfax frowned.

“We are here today to discuss your conduct during the investigation. As you know, we’ve had concerns about your methods in the past. The Brassmoon Gang in Lixus. The Tingis Seven. The serial killer in Acra last year. Up until this point, we’ve all rationalized your actions against your results, but in light of recent events, we are forced to reconsider.”

“Recent events being the death of the queen, ma’am?”

“Yes. I have just a few questions. After the initial explosion in Tingis, you left the crime scene to pursue Ambassador Chaou. Who did you leave in command of the crime scene?”

“No one, ma’am,” Syfax said. “I guess I forgot to do that.”

“Mm hm. The night you arrived in Port Chellah, you found a police officer suffering a gunshot wound to the stomach. What actions did you take to care for that officer?”

“There wasn’t anything we could do for him, ma’am. He was bleeding to death. He would have died within the hour.”

“You snapped his neck. Is that correct?”

“It was what he wanted. He said so, ma’am.”

“Mm hm.” The general regarded the pen in her hands. “Later that night you confronted Ambassador Chaou and Police Captain Aknin. You grabbed Chaou’s weapon, which then discharged, killing Aknin. Is it your opinion that Chaou would have killed Aknin in any event, regardless of your actions?”

“Probably not. Aknin was part of their little conspiracy.”

“Then, in your opinion, did Aknin die because of your actions?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mm hm. The following evening, you entered the home of Fariza Othmani uninvited, damaged her personal property, and assaulted her house staff. All without a warrant. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, but—”

The general waved him off. “Later that night, according to your report, you were accosted on the highway by several would-be bandits. But you did not arrest any of them. In fact, you advised them to proceed to Arafez and demand food and shelter from the temple. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am. They had a lot of hungry kids with them.”

“Were you aware that when they arrived in Arafez, they attacked the temple priests and started the largest riot in the city’s history? The violence persisted for three days, during which time over one hundred people died and over eight hundred people were injured. Five city blocks burned to the ground.”

Syfax swallowed. “I am aware of that, ma’am.”

“You also gave a sidearm to a police detective. You assaulted the Royal Guards, stole a horse, and proceeded up a restricted road without appropriate clearance. You then authorized a pilot to crash-land an airship gondola in the middle of the queen’s airfield, destroying the royal skybarge and injuring countless bystanders. Also killing the pilot herself.”

“The queen’s life was in danger, ma’am. At that moment, I had no reason to believe that anyone else would be able to save her.”

The general nodded to herself. “I understand that. But you’ve had several weeks now on administrative leave to review the events of this case. With the benefit of hindsight, in your opinion, were these actions and decisions the best possible options? If you had them to do again, would you make the same choices?”

Syfax frowned. “I don’t know, maybe, some of them. I can’t really say, ma’am.”

“Fair enough. As you know, we were apprehensive about transferring you from the army into Section Two, but your record impressed us and you seemed eager to learn and grow into the position. But we are forced to conclude now that investigative police work is not where you belong, major. Several of us, myself included, would prefer to see you serving a brief sentence before being discharged from the service, but your little stunt in the capital impressed Lady Tzeddig, which places me in a difficult position. Fortunately for us, a compromise has presented itself. Effective immediately, you are transferred to Security Section Four.”

“Transportation?” Syfax glanced back at Kenan, who shrugged. “What am I supposed to do there, ma’am?”

“They have created a new position just for you. Air marshal. As I understand it, you will sit in the back of airships to ensure the safety of the passengers and the airfields. They’re hoping to avoid another attack like the one Hamuy pulled off in Tingis. You’ll be in the air most hours of the day, and you’ll be unarmed, of course. You’ll report to the Tingis airfield first thing next week for orders. Dismissed.”

Syfax saluted, turned, and strode out of the room.

Kenan dashed after him. “Sorry, sir. But at least you’re not going to prison.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s something. Are you going to be okay, kid?”

“Yes, sir. Actually, you’ll probably be seeing me around the airfield.”

“What? Did they make you an air marshal too?”

“No, sir. I met up with that pilot, Ohana, a few weeks ago. They made her a captain, you know, and she put in a good word for me with her superiors. They’re rebuilding the Northern Air Corps right now. Anyway, they let me take the pilot’s test. I passed.”

Syfax grinned. “Good for you, kid. To be honest, I never really thought you were cut out to be a marshal anyway.”

Kenan shrugged. “I guess that makes two of us.”

Book Two:
The Broken Sword

Day One

Chapter 1. Lorenzo

Don Lorenzo Quesada de Gadir pitied the young man in front of him. His older brothers died far away in the New World, and more likely from plague than in battle. Just two more corpses left mauled and half-eaten in the jungle.

Lorenzo drew his sword slowly, feeling the heft of his old espada. He glanced down at the scarred and pitted blade. It felt heavier than before. Across the room, the young man sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

Poor boy. His father’s investments in the wars vanished with the armadas, leaving the family destitute. His mother died of pneumonia last winter. And now he’s all that’s left of a once healthy and prosperous family. Just him. One glimmer of hope for the future.

And he’s rubbish.

The two men saluted, swept their espadas down to their sides, and assumed their stances. Lorenzo immediately marked half a dozen things wrong with his opponent’s feet and hands and eyes. The youth slouched off balance, continuing to shift and turn his body, never coming close to doing anything right.

Lorenzo grimaced. And then he attacked.

The young man stumbled back, barely able to parry, his form sloppy, his blade slow. The smallswords rang and clattered as the master’s fine Toledo steel rained down on his student’s cheap southern weapon.

Lorenzo shuffled forward, speaking in a low and steady voice. “Focus. Focus, please. Eyes up, sword up. You can do this.”

The youth shuffled back, already gasping and sweating. “I’m trying!”

Lorenzo abandoned grace and style and resorted to plain mechanical movements, trying to give his student a chance at squaring his defense and mounting some sort of attack. Slash across the chest. Thrust at the shoulder. Chop at the wrist. The youth stumbled back, his sword swatting clumsily at each attack, barely preventing the simple swipes from drawing blood. His bottom lip trembled, his eyes narrowed in a transparent attempt to hold back the tears.

“Back straight, Diego. Keep your eyes on me, please. You can admire my shoes later.” Lorenzo swung slower and slower, pausing longer between each stroke. “Diego, as your instructor, I can assure you that I am not going to strike you dead. So you might try being just a bit more aggressive than a dead rabbit. Try. Push. Attack. Anything, please!” Lorenzo drove a measured thrust at the youth’s chest.

The student dropped his sword and backed into the wall, his wide eyes fixed on the point of his teacher’s blade. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly, more to himself than to the youth.
Four months. Four months and he has made no progress. Sixteen years old and he has no skill, no talent, no desire, and no focus
. Lorenzo lowered his blade and massaged his eyes with his left hand. “Why did you come here, Diego?”

The young man shuddered, hugged himself as he bit his lip, and dropped his gaze to the hard wooden floor. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, sir. I just thought…I just wanted to be like…I wanted to be someone who could do what you do.”

“And what is it, exactly, that you think I do?” Lorenzo sauntered around the practice room, letting his gaze glide over the ancient stone walls, the wrought iron braziers, the faded tapestries, the small stained glass windows along the east wall, and the huge clear window panes along the south wall that let the cold white sunlight pour in. Outside, he could see men on horses and teams of oxen hauling sledges down the frozen road. At the bottom of the hill, the city of Madrid huddled under its blanket of fresh white snow, and old gray snow, and dark brown mud. There was no need to look at the youth. He knew how this would end. He’d known for weeks. But that didn’t make it any easier.