Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) (15 page)

Antonio greeted me in the kitchen the next morning with a
hug and a brief kiss on each cheek. He had come for breakfast, and Anatella
made him a plate of dried sausage, cheese, and toasted bread. He sat at the
table and ate as I boiled washing-up water on the stove under Anatella’s
supervision. He was sober and a little somber, and it seemed like the best time—as
if there were a
good
time—to broach the subject of slaves and pirates.

“Antonio, I have a strange question for you. I hope you don’t
mind.”

He brushed crumbs from his hands and smiled. “The strange
questions are the best kind.”

I swallowed and bit my lip, considering how to begin. He had
shown me a great deal of kindness so far, and I hoped his generosity spoke to
his trustworthiness. In this town, on my own, I lacked options, resources, and
allies. Obtaining those things meant taking a great risk, but I was desperate
and therefore willing to gamble on Antonio. “Do you know anything about pirates
and slave markets in San Marena?”

Antonio’s eyes widened, and color drained from his cheeks.
He blinked at me like an owl. “I think...” he stopped and cleared his throat. “I
think, maybe, you need to say this again. Perhaps I did not understand. It
sound like you say ‘pirate’ and ‘slave’.”

I nodded, worrying it had been too risky, asking this
question so soon. “That is what I said.”

“And... do I understand this right? You mean the men who
sail the ships and take the things from other ships.”

I nodded again and grimaced. “Yes. Such as girls.”

He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Girls?”

“A wagon with four girls came through here last night. They
were probably going to a slave market. I thought it might be possible to find
out where they went.”

“To sell slaves, it... it....” His face flushed and he threw
up his hands, obviously discomfited by the notion. “Ay díos....”

Anatella perked up, obviously picking up on Antonio’s
distress. She rattled off a question and he answered her. Another round of hand
gestures ensued. Finally, Antonio said, “This a... a
dangerous
question
you ask. These men are very, very bad.”

“I agree. But they have my friends, and if there’s any way I
can help them, I should try.”

Antonio shook his head. “No. The pirates, the slave men,
they probably kill you. Or they lock you up.”

“They might.” I sighed and my shoulders slumped. Antonio
spoke the truth. What could I do against a group of treacherous outlaws? “Maybe
I could talk to the constable?” Slave trade was supposed to be illegal. If I
told my story to the authorities, they might take up the matter and
investigate.

He shoved his glasses higher on his nose and waved his
hands. “No, no, no. You do not tell the police. The slave men, they pay money
and the police...” Antonio turned his head and covered his eyes.
Ah, the
police look the other way.

“So what do I do? I can’t just forget about them?”

He pressed his lips into a firm line and narrowed his eyes
at me. “Yes, you forget. You never ask these questions to another person. You
forget.”

My eyes flickered to Anatella, the only other woman in the
room. She couldn’t understand my words, but maybe she recognized the
desperation on my face. Her dark eyes cut to her brother, and in a low, almost
threatening tone, she asked him another question.

They talked. They argued. They waved hands and debated some
more. At the end of it all, Antonio shoved back his chair, stood up, yanked the
napkin from his shirt collar and slapped it on the table. He glowered at his
sister, and his accent thickened, a sure sign of his irritation. “I will wish I
never tell you this, but my sister, she can be... ah... very....” He shook his
fist and grumbled, obviously at a loss for words.

“Convincing?” I said.

“Convincing, yes.” He folded his arms across his chest. “There
is a man I know. Maybe he can help you. Maybe not.”

Relief flooded through me. “Thank you, Antonio. Thank
you
,
Anatella. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Anatella smiled, but Antonio waved me off. “Do not thank me.
Soon you may wish you had not asked me this.”

***

Later that night, as Anatella closed up, Antonio slipped
into the kitchen through the backdoor. He ushered in a companion, a man in a
long black coat that brushed the tops of his pointy-toed boots. A floppy black
cap drooped over his brow, and his mustache grew in two thin lines, as if he
had painted it on in two stiff strokes. “This is the man I tell you about.
Diego Morello, te presento mi amiga, Evie. Evie, this is Diego Morello.”

I bent my knee in a quick curtsy. Old habits. Diego Morello
doffed his cap, revealing black hair slicked close to his scalp.

“You tell him,” Antonio said. “I will translate.”

In as few words as possible, I told the story of my capture,
of Captain Alemar, the wagon ride, and my escape. I left out the two girls who
had run away with me and currently, secretly, resided in the attic over our
heads. Anatella might have agreed to let Malita and Jenna stay if I had asked,
but I couldn’t risk her refusal. Those girls were my responsibility.

As I spoke, the expression on Antonio’s face crossed the
scale from surprise and horror, to amazement and awe. “You do all this? This is
true?”

I nodded. “Yes, this is true.”

Antonio and Morello muttered back and forth until Morello
bobbed his head and clacked his heels together. He winked at me, turned, and
disappeared into the gloom in the alley behind the kitchen.

“Where’s he going?” I asked.

“To find your friends.” Antonio shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe
they are gone.”

“But he thinks they could be here? In San Marena?” I had
worried the wagon might have gone through town without stopping, and the trail
would be lost, but if the other girls were here in San Marena somewhere, could
we find them? And if so, could we set them free?

“Why would he help me?” I asked. “Does he like doing nice
things for strangers?”

Antonio chuckled and shook his head. “I do something for
him. Now he do something for me.”

“He owes you a favor?”

“Sí, a favor.”

“And you would use that favor to help me?”

Antonio looked away and shrugged, but a blush burned faintly
in his cheeks.

His generosity left me speechless. I threw my arms around
him and hugged him with all my might. He chuckled and patted my back. “All is
good, Evie. All is good.”

***

Antonio poured a tall glass of port and taught me an
Espiritolan card game called Loba. He drank and we played at the kitchen table
for what felt like hours before Morello returned. When a scratch sounded at the
door, Antonio wobbled to his feet and let the mysterious man in. He eased into
the room, silent and dark as a shadow, carrying a lantern. He muttered to
Antonio and motioned for me to follow him.

“He say he find something. It might be the girls, but I
think it no good for you to go. I think it very dangerous.”

I patted Antonio’s arm. “You might be right, but I can’t
live with myself if I don’t try.”

Antonio’s brow crinkled, and he worried his bottom lip
between his teeth. “I know... I know we just meet, but I—”

I rose to my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,
Antonio. Say a prayer to the gods for me.”

“Which ones?”

I flashed a smile, although nothing about this moment felt
happy or lighthearted. “All of them. Just to be safe.”

I followed Morello into the alley. We skulked through the
darkness and turned onto the main street. Morello looked back and put a finger
over his thin lips, indicating the need for silence. As if he had to tell me.
My heart, however, ignored his suggestion. It hammered like a bass drum in my
chest, and blood whooshed like hurricane winds in my ears.

We crept across the city, shying away from streetlights and
porch lamps. A breeze blew in, and thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm
brewed on the periphery of San Marena, and I welcomed the rain like an old
friend, but prayed it would wait until Morello and I finished our undertaking.
The buildings and streets blurred together, and I lost track of our position
relevant to the Bull and Ram. If Morello changed his mind and left me here, I
would never find my way back.

Morello stopped us at the side of a large brick edifice and
unfastened his lantern’s door. He shined his light on a set of steps leading
down to a basement entrance beneath the building. Morello turned and faced me,
but shadows concealed all details of his face. He motioned to the basement door
and said. “Las señoritas.”

“In there?” I whispered. My gut clenched. What if Morello
worked for the slave owners and had led me to my own doom? How could I trust
him?

His dark head bobbed. “Sí.”

I drew in a shaky breath, bit my lip, and channeled my best
impersonation of Gideon. He had faced danger and survived, all in the name of
my honor and safety. Could I not do the same when someone else was in need?
Yes,
but Gideon is as big as a mountain, and you are more of a small mole hill
.
You
don’t even have your knife or your Thunder Cloak.

I huffed and chased the voice of doubt from my mind. I drew
in another, reinforcing breath and squared my shoulders.
Go now or go back
to Antonio
, I told myself.

And, so, I went.

Morello held his lantern high, illuminating the way for us
both, and I followed him cautiously down the steps. When we reached the landing
at the bottom of the stairs, Morello set the lantern on a step behind us and
sank to one knee. From a pocket in his long coat, he withdrew something like a
wallet, but when he opened it, he revealed a row of metal pins—long needles of
varying thickness, some bent at the ends in diverse configurations. He slid one
pin in the door lock, selected another from the wallet, and jimmied it into the
lock as well.

A lock pick? Antonio sent me to rescue Nathalie and the
other girls with a lock pick?
Or should I call him a cat burglar?

I had read of such characters in some of my more sensational
novels, but never had I thought I would come across one in real life. My father
had either heard my prayers, after all, or fate had taken pity on me after
sending me into the hands of pirates. Either way, with Morello at my side, my
chances of success had vastly improved.

Thunder rumbled again, closer this time, and Morello
grumbled under his breath. He grunted, twisting one of the picks, and something
mechanical clicked in the lock’s mechanisms. He turned the knob and the door
swung open, but the old hinges announced our entrance in a high-pitched whine,
and I cringed. Morello put a hand out, stopping me from moving forward. He
stepped into the room, and a man’s voice called out. His words sounded like warning,
or threat. Feet shuffled, someone grunted, and then came a meaty
thwak
.

Then, silence.

Morello returned to the doorway and raised his lantern. He
motioned for me to enter, and his light fell on the crumpled figure of a large
man. The light reflected on the blood at his temple. I gasped. Morello yanked
my arm and grunted something under his breath. I turned away from the grisly
sight, gritted my teeth, and followed him.

My mysterious companion slunk across the room, silent as a
snake. The night sky glowed weakly through a set of tiny windows bordering the
basement ceiling, and the ambient light outlined his silhouette. I tiptoed
behind him, holding my breath as if the soft susurrus of air passing through my
nose might somehow make things worse. We stepped up, passed through a low
doorway, and entered a smaller and impossibly darker room—no windows this time,
only blackness. Morello flipped open the lantern door again, and a soft beam of
yellow light fell on the iron bars of a holding cage identical to the ones
aboard the pirate ship.

“Nathalie?” I hissed and crouched before the cage.

A scuttling sound came from the shadows beyond the lantern’s
reach. A moment later, the Gallandic girl’s sallow face appeared in the soft
light. She blinked and her mouth fell open. “Evie? What are you doing here?”

“Trying to rescue you. Mr. Morello here is handy with a lock
pic... and a truncheon.”

Morello moved to the lock on the cell door. He removed his
wallet again, selected several tools, and went to work. In no time, the lock
clicked opened, and he swung the cell door open. Nathalie hissed to the other
girls. “Marie, Salma, Heba,
Suivez moi
. Follow me.”

The four girls trundled from their cage, and Marello led us
back through the doorway. The man Morello had dispatched still lay on the floor
as we passed by. “Is he dead?” Nathalie asked.

“I don’t know. I’m afraid to ask.”

“No está muerto,” said Morello. “Está dormiendo.”

I looked to Nathalie. She shrugged. “He says he is sleeping.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Does it matter?”

We exited into the night, and Morello ascended the stairs
first. I motioned for Nathalie to go next, and the other girls followed her. A
cool dampness had settled in the air, and the winds blew stronger. At the top
of the stairs, Morello turned towards the street and motioned for us to follow
him, but we had taken only a few steps when shouts went up behind us.

Morello issued a terse command, “
Corra
!”

“Run!” Nathalie echoed.

Morello flew over the cobblestone street, legs spinning like
pinwheels. Nathalie, the three other girls, and I raced after him. Shouts
followed us, and thunder crashed and boomed overhead. The sky tore apart and
great bullets of rain fell on us, drenching us as we ran. The streets turned
slick under our feet. One of the girls cried out and slipped, falling to her
knee. Nathalie and I grabbed her, hoisting her up by her elbows, and we carried
her until she found her footing.

Shouting voices closed in on us, and I imagined them
breathing down our necks. Someone fired a shot. The rain dampened the sound,
but the bark of gunfire was unmistakable.

“Faster,” I urged.

Morello turned a corner, his lantern light bobbing. If he
extinguished the light, we might have stood a better chance of evading our
pursuers, but he might have eluded the other girls and me just as well. Without
him, I had no idea how to get back to the Bull and Ram.

Another shot blasted the cobblestone, and fragments of rock
and brick pelleted my ankles.
That was too close.
A streak of lightning
illumined the sky, and a crash of thunder answered, loud enough to ring my ears.
The storm’s force thrummed in my gut and electrified my veins—it spoke to me in
the voice and language of my father and our ancestors.

Peace swelled inside me as if my father stood at my side,
holding my hand, assuring me everything would be well. I slowed and stopped
while the others kept running.

“Evie, what are you doing?” Nathalie called as she raced by.

I turned and faced our pursuers as another bolt streaked
down from the heavens. Lightning crashed into a streetlamp and exploded in a
ball of electric blue sparks just as two of our pursuers passed. A deep, raw
bellow of pain tore apart the night.

The light blinded me, turning the night into a world of
glaring, bright whiteness.

Someone whimpered.

It might have been me.

When my vision cleared, two dark forms lay crumpled on the
ground, and the streetlamp leaned to one side, its glass housing shattered and
its iron frame warped and twisted.

“
Merde!
” said Nathalie, standing several feet behind
me. Rain dripped from the tip of her long, thin nose, and her hair hung in limp
strands over her forehead and cheeks. She looked like a surprised, drowned rat.
“I have never seen anything like that before.”

I swallowed and stepped back, moving away from the men and
the deformed lamppost. “Neither have I.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, quieter this time, and the rain
softened. Nathalie cut her eyes to the sky and then back to me. “You must have
a remarkably powerful god looking after you—
Stormbourne
. Perhaps the
legends are real after all.”

My breath froze. Nathalie had deduced my true identity. But
then she must have been a clever girl to know languages like she did. She waved
a hand and turned on her heel. “Do not worry, m’lady. I can keep a secret. I
owe you at least that much, no?”

I fell into step beside her, and we hurried to catch up to
Morello and the three girls who had stopped next to a streetlamp several yards
away. We regrouped in silence and marched away without speaking another word.

I had assumed Morello would take us back to The Bull and
Ram, but he turned off the street again and led us down another ally, one I was
certain we hadn’t traversed before. My stomach turned over.
Where is he
taking us?

We walked a short distance before Morella stopped us at a
door stoop set in the side of huge stone building. I leaned back and stared up
at the arching roofline, the spires, and the grotesque statues positioned like
sentinels in the corners. We had approached from the rear, so I hadn’t
recognized what it was until now—a cathedral, a grand imposing structure rising
above the town, casting its shadow over all of San Mareno.

No such thing existed on Inselgrau—there was no need, the
Stormbournes’ divinity had sufficed the people of Inselgrau for a thousand
years or more—but I had read about holy worship places in one of my father’s
compendiums. As the power of elemental deities waned on the Continent, a new
god had risen to take their places. Apparently, he preferred to abide in
dwellings of outrageous grandeur.

Morello stepped onto the stoop and raised the doorknocker.
He tapped it twice and waited. Moments later the door opened, and a woman in
red robes and a stiff head covering peered out.

I recognized her the same way I recognized most foreign
things: from reading about them in my books. She was a
kareeyatid
—a
priestess of sorts—an unmarried woman who lived in the temple and dedicated
herself to the service of her god. A soft lamp glowed beside the door, and its
light emphasized the wrinkles and lines in her wizened face. Her gaze touched
on each of us before settling on Morello. “Morello, qué es esto?”

Morello motioned to Nathalie and the other three girls—Marie,
Salma, and Heba. “Madre,” he began, and fell off into a long explanation.

“What are they saying?” I whispered to Nathalie.

She rolled her eyes at me. “How can you be who you are, but
you have no languages?”

I glared at her and huffed. “I can speak Dreutchish. Now
tell me what they’re saying.”

Nathalie snorted. “Dreutchish. A language of growls and
coughs.” She shook her head, apparently dismissing her complaints. “He is
asking this woman to help us. To take us in, give us a place to stay. Food,
too, if she can spare it. He is telling her about our situation with the
pirates and the slave merchants.”

“And what does she say to that?” I asked, but Nathalie didn’t
have to translate. The priestess opened her door wide and waved for the girls
to come in. I started forward, but Morello took my arm and held me back.

He shook his head. “Antonio. Anatella.”

I bit my lip and nodded. He was right. This was not my
place. Antonio and Anatella had provided for me, and I had no reason to put
more burdens on this woman and her church. Besides, I had Malita and Jenna to consider.

Nathalie peered at me over the priestess’s shoulder. “Go, Evie.
We will be fine here. I am certain we will see each other again, soon enough.”
She smiled. “And thank you. If there ever comes a day when I can repay this
thing you have done, you can be sure I will.”

A bubble of emotion swelled up from my heart and lodged in
my throat. My eyes burned, but I held back my tears. I smiled at Nathalie and
nodded. The kareeyatid said something else to Morello, then she ushered the
girls away and closed the door behind her.

I turned to Morello. He stared back at me. I lacked the
words to express my gratitude. The dangers he had faced; the risks he had taken—how
could I ever repay him? Maybe he understood the expression on my face, though.
His gaze dropped to his feet. He threw out his hands and shrugged. I would have
hugged him, but he seemed too cold and stiff to want such familiar affection.
Instead, I did the only thing I could think of.

I dropped low, bending into the deepest and most elegant
curtsey I could muster. “Gracias,” I said—the one word of thanks I knew in his
language. “Gracias, gracias, gracias, señor.”

My gratitude clearly unsettled him. He snorted and towed me
up from my curtsey. He flapped his hands and shook his head. “No, no, señorita.”
His mouth worked as if he had bitten into something hard, but then he swallowed
and said, in halting Inselgrish, “Is my pleasure.”

***

Morello deposited me at the Bull and Ram’s back door and
dissolved into the shadows. Antonio, having waited up for me, welcomed me into
the kitchen. The stress of his worry showed in the white lines around his eyes
and mouth.

“All is good, Evie?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes. All is good. They are safe.”

He exhaled a trumpeting sigh, and deflated, sinking into his
chair at the kitchen table and rubbing a hand over his smooth head. “I am very
happy.”

I smirked at him, taking in his rumpled clothing, his mostly
empty bottle of port, and the circles under his eyes. Antonio and I had
different ideas about what happy looked like. Antonio straightened and sucked
in a huge breath. He raised his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and stood. “This
night has been too long for me. I must go home and sleep.”

He stumbled to the back door, and I followed him onto the
stoop. “I can’t thank you enough, Antonio. Without you and Mr. Morello, I don’t
know what would have happened to them.”

Antonio flapped a hand at me as he turned and tottered away.
“Yes, yes. I am not so useless as they say, after all. No?”

“No,” I said. “You are a miracle.”