Dieselpunk: An Anthology (17 page)

“
I’m not sure,” I say in English, “but I no like it.”

“
They got me out of bed, or at least the hotel staff did. The staff was polite, but insistent I get downstairs with my bags immediately.”

“
What they tell you?”

“
That we fly out tonight. C…could that be possible?” She’s still a little drunk.

“
Only if they do me the favor of putting my plane back together,” I say. What she says next is far from lady-like.

The pox-faced man with the gravelly voice walks up and snarls a smile. “Donna, Sr. Lagarto,” he says in Castilian, “it is time to return to your plane.” His bow is formal, but feels contemptuous.

“Thank you, Officer,” I say. “We go, Donna,” I say to her, grabbing one of her bags.

The gendarmes march us down Camino Hueso towards the docks. Lady Catherine clings to my arm as we walk. Her warmth and scent are slightly reassuring despite the gnawing fear. I whisper to her in English, “Donna, you feel me grab you arm, you run with me. Nod you agree.” She nods, and I start looking for a side street or open door. No options present themselves.

We travel about two blocks when Pox Face says to us, “This way, please,” and steers us down a side street to the right, away from the docks. “Road construction. We must go around it.” The donna looks at me with an imploring expression. Not seeing a way to escape, I shrug. Bolt here in the open and we’ll be shot down like dogs in the street.

We travel down the side street, Pox Face in front, the Corpse and Athlete behind. My eyes dart left and right hoping to find an alleyway, a doorway, anything to allow a chance for escape. The road curves to the north…could it really be going back to the docks? My instincts tell me we’ll never get to the docks regardless of where the road goes. I have to find an escape.

We head along the curve. My heart thumps in my chest as the tingle of adrenaline pumps through my body. It gives the world a sharp, surreal edge. Details stand out: the low, waning moon casting strange blue-black shadows on the empty street, Don’s cool weight on my shoulder and his needle claws digging pin-pricks into my shoulder, the slow sway of a young date palm’s fronds in the slight breeze, a single dark cat darting by in my periphery.

There: a narrow alley between a small shop and a picket fence. My adrenaline-sharpened senses can see every trash bin and empty banana crate, every frond from the overgrown plant poking through the fence. My mind reads immediately what these obstacles represent: cover.

I adjust the shoulder strap on the donna’s bag as if to redistribute the weight, but in reality it is to simply grab the main carry-handle. In a split second I commit: I let the strap slip off my arm and swing it with all my might, smashing Corpse right in the face and chest. Dropping the bag, I push over Athlete and I grab the donna’s arm and shove her towards the alley. She gasps but takes the cue and runs with me down the alley, pushing through fronds and leaping over small objects. We disturb a chicken that flaps off, clucking loudly.

I hear a pop and see a spot of the bricks chip by our heads. “Faster, Donna!” I yell, dropping my own bag and grabbing Don. Half in torpor from the cool, his grip is slipping. The alley ends and opens up into a courtyard. We dart around the corner into a small courtyard behind the store just as the sound of a second shot pops behind us. I hear the round zing by in the air. The courtyard is about a street-width square with a single lane road off to the left and the only way out. I pull the donna up that path.

We’re halfway up when a figure steps out into the road. It’s Pox Face and he’s holding a pistol. We stop and he advances; he whistles once sharply. We stop and back up. Behind us, I hear the footfalls of the other two running up behind us. We’re trapped. “Good try, Mr. Lagarto, Lady Catherine,” says Pox Face in perfect English. “I guess there is no more need for the façade, is there? No?”

“
Whoever paid you, I can double it!” the donna says.

“
Save your breath, heathen,” Pox Face says. “We work for a higher calling.”

The Inquisition. Shit. About the last people I expected and the last I wanted to see. I try a desperate move. “Your Piousness,” I ask, “whatever sin the donna has committed, surely it is our duty as good Catholics to save her wretched soul from the Hellfire?”

“Hold thy tongue, idolater,” he says. “When your name showed up in connection with Lady Catherine, we called for background. Quite a career: Crete, Hyderabad, Timbuktu. Working with Protestants and Muhammedans and Pagans. And we are well-informed as to your own heathen ways! Just because your African heresy may call itself Catholic does not make it so.”

I had to buy time! “Lamentable mistakes of my past, but is it not your Christian duty to show me the error of my ways and lead me back into the True Church? Perhaps you can show me the light, brother?”

He aims the pistol. “I shall be happy to.” I start to close my eyes to say a final prayer to Santa Maria.

“
Wait, what?” interrupts Lady Catharine, staring at me. “Career? Muhammedans? You knew Hasan Pasha! You…you’re working with him! You set me up!”

“
Wait, what?” I ask. “I had no idea he was here! Yes, we have a past, but it’s…
past
, damn it!”

“
Wait,” asks Pox Face, “Hasan Pasha is on this island?”

Lady Catharine continues, ignoring Poxy. “Oh, I see how it is now. You lead me to him, gain my trust…‘kind constable, cruel constable,’ is that the trick? I told you everything! I can’t believe I trusted you! I can’t believe I nearly let myself be seduced by you!”

“Seduced?” ask Poxy and Athlete together.

“
Is there no end to your sin?” continues Poxy.

“
That’s ludicrous,” I say to Lady Catherine. “I’m just a pilot! I put that stuff behind me!”

“
Oh, sure you are! Sure you did!” she says, hands on hips. “I’m not nearly as naïve as you assu—”

“
Enough!” yells the Corpse. “Your Holiness, we’re running low on time and if the Virginian isn’t lying, the
Yildiz Teskilati
is on the island! Let’s smite the damned idolaters and get out of here already!”

“
You are wise beyond your years, my young acolyte,” Poxy says, lowering the pistol with finality. “
In Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto, Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum
. Amen.”

A single, silenced shot splits the air with a muted
crump
sound. I instinctually cringe, closing my eyes. Two more:
crump
,
crump
! Silence.

For a second I await the icy hand of Death. When he fails to show, I tentatively open my eyes. The Inquisitor is on his back. I turn; the Corpse is living up to his name and Athlete is lying there beside him, weakly attempting to get up. I look over to the donna. She stands still and in shock. I look around, wondering where the shots came from. Hasan Pasha emerges from the shadows of the small alleyway, a silenced automatic in his hand. “You should not have run,” he says. “I was nearly ready to kill the Inquisitors when you bolted down this alley.” He casually puts a bullet each into the heads of the two Inquisitors behind us and walks up to Pox Face to deliver a third coup de grace. “Why you did not assume the Inquisitors had already explored all the streets and alleys of this island eludes me. You are lucky Lady Catherine talks too much. You are perhaps getting sloppy in your retirement, Antonio.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Hasan Pasha. I’m assuming it wasn’t you who called me in for contraband after all?”

“
No, not us,” he says, casually putting the pistol in a holster under his coat, “the Inquisition. One of my contacts alerted me and I arrived here to make sure Lady Catherine makes it to Virginia. It was as much a surprise for me to see you here as it undoubtedly was for you. And might I add that this is a third that you owe me, ‘Antonio?’ Perhaps you will reconsider my offer? The sultan pays well for freelance work.”

“
Thanks, but no thanks, Hasan Pasha. I’m done with this dagger-and-shadow game.”

“
Um, wait, what just happened?” the donna asks.

“
You were taken by the Inquisition,” Hasan answers. “They were going to kill you. I killed them. Where is the confusion?” Another man emerges from the alleyway. Hasan nods to the man, who starts to drag away one of the bodies.

“
I guess for me it’s the ‘why?’,” I say. “Jesus…Donna, Lady, whatever and whoever you are, what did you do to get on the Inquisition’s hit list, and what in the hell did I do to get dragged into this?”

Hasan laughs. “Let us just say that our Lady is what her people call a ‘pocahontas,’ a naughty, troublemaking little girl. Let us just say she has a philosophy not in keeping with the aims of the Holy See’s more…fundamentalist elements.”

“‘Netop-pewokeesi,’” I say, recalling the words Hasan had used earlier, ones that had so shocked Lady Catherine. “‘Friends of the Spirits.’ A pagan?”

“
Hey, Sr. ‘Kongolese Catholic,’ like you’ve got the right to talk!” sneers Lady Catherine. “I doubt the Vatican will ever officially recognize São Oggún.”

“
Rome is full of closed-minded Euro-jerks that lack the ability to see the divine beyond their shores,” I say. “But we’re digressing; the Inquisition didn’t just target you for worshiping old Indio gods, did they? What are you, a revolutionary? Communalist?
Are
there non-Christian Communalists, even? Am I now so marked?”

“
My apologies, Sr. Lagarto,” says Lady Catherine putting a hand on my arm. “I was wrong to accuse you. You were just caught up in this, it seems. I needed a discrete pilot to fly to Roanoketown and your reputation precedes you. I doubt the Inquisition is going to care.”

“
Reputation,” I say, spitting the words out like they were dirty. “And here I worked really hard to keep my name out of circulation.”

“
Hard work is its own reward, yes?” Hasan says with a dry laugh.

“
Yes, sure…and if the Inquisition doesn’t care about my involvement, then why am I here in a dark alley surrounded by dead Inquisitors rather than still asleep in José’s flophouse?”

“
Don’t worry, Sr. Lagarto,” says Lady Catherine, “I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your trouble when we get to Roanoketown.”

“
That will not be necessary, My Lady,” says Hasan. “You may travel with me. A boat will take us to an airplane moored off the reef. And for you, Sr. Lagarto,” he says, walking up, “just compensation for your trouble and the damage these swamp-dwelling infidels have done to your beautiful aircraft.” He stuffs a wad of cash into my shirt pocket. Behind him his aide has returned and is dragging away the second body.

Before he can leave, I grab his arm and lean in to whisper in his ear. “And Hasan, my friend, I thank you for again saving my life, but I’m not the naïve child you knew in Crete. You could have smuggled the Lady or me off the island at any point this evening.”

“And your point is, my friend?” he whispers.

“
And my point is that if you ever again use me as bait to lure your enemies into the open, I will casually forget about any life-debts you may or may not owe me. Are we clear,
my friend
?”

“
Perfectly,” he whispers, the predatory smile just visible in the low light. “Now, I believe your iguana is getting cold, my friend. You may want to get back to your aircraft and his heat lamp.” He turns and walks to Lady Catherine, extending his arm. “Shall we?” he asks.

“
One moment, Pasha,” she says, and walks up to me. She leans in tantalizingly close, her eyes warm and soft. The jasmine scent of her hair has faded, but it is still potent enough
to disarm me. “You know, you proved quite focused and resourceful in our mutual…difficulty here. We have need for men of your skills in the…coming affair in Virginia. You will be well-compensated,” she adds, smiling invitingly.

The sky is noticeably brightening. Dawn is near. I may be dense at times, but there is no mistaking the scope of the invite. The warmth of her breath and the jasmine scent of her hair are a hard temptation to resist. And yet, what future can we have? A lady and a low-born cargo hauler. At best I can hope to be a kept man, a fun bit of frivolity on the side while she appears in public on the arm of a baron. Or maybe I’d be an open consort, but to a guerilla revolutionary hiding among the frigid hills of the Virginia highlands, fleeing patrols and living like rats in the wilderness. “A tempting offer, M’Lady,” I say with utter sincerity, “but to be honest, I just couldn’t live anywhere where the trees die for half the year. M’Lady, Pasha,” I add, tipping my hat, “best of luck in your endeavors.” I turn around and walk out of the alleyway, picking up my bag from where I’d dropped it.

A rooster is crowing as I walk down the Camino Hueso and the first window shutters are starting to open. Who knows exactly what Lady Catherine a.k.a. Donna Magdalena is up to in Virginia or why it has the attentions of the Inquisition and the Sultan’s secret service? Maybe a revolution in Virginia benefits the empire by hurting the English, or risks spreading to Florida, or could incite anti-Catholic traditionalist elements in Aniyunia. Not my problem, at least for the moment.