The Eye of the Wolf (40 page)

With a simple wave, Inspector
Harrison and the police officer disappeared into the rain. Will closed the door
smoothly behind him. He slipped onto the couch and wrapped his arms around
Mikayla as sobs racked her, her body trembling against his.  He whispered
soothing words into her hair as his mind worked through the facts, seeking an answer
and knowing what he would have to do.

He blended into the shadows as
he climbed the staircase carved in the stonewall surrounding the Secluded City.
He melted into the darkness as a guard passed him, within a breath’s distance.
Once the guard’s torch was beyond his reach, he moved on, steps silent on the
stone. Tip-toeing along the parapet, he worked his way to the guard’s hut that
overlooked the sea, a fire glowing brightly in the fireplace. Antonio
Kankaredes’s shadow leaned against the wall in the dark.

“I expect results, Kankaredes.
I expect her to be put away, yet the inspector doesn’t seem to believe she is
guilty, despite the circumstantial evidence we have so carefully put in place.”
The Wolf blew out a stream of smoke and leaned close to the face of the Royal
Minister. “Explain to me why she isn’t in jail.”

Kankaredes drew himself to his
full height and leaned against the wall. “Your Highness, it isn’t that easy to
make one person guilty of murder when she was injured herself. I am doing the
best I can.”

“Why does she still have the
diary, Antonio?” The Wolf’s breath was rank as he leaned in close. His eyes
glittering in the moonlight that had come out after a day of rain. His feet
splashed in puddles formed on the ramparts.

Kankaredes swallowed stiffly.
“I don’t know, Your Highness, perhaps it wasn’t in a place where we could get
our hands on it when we broke into her house.” Nervousness bubbled in him. “I
will speak with the inspector again. I will bring him more evidence of her
guilt. I will have her before the magistrate before the end of the week.”

“And the translation of the
writing on the inside of the crown? You have been working on that for almost a
year. Dejeune was supposed to have already achieved that goal.” The Wolf
laughed softly, already knowing the answer.

Kankaredes cleared his throat.
His powerful voice commanding in the dark as he answered his king. “I am very
close, my Liege. I shall have it within a week.” He kept his eyes on the water
beyond the walls of the castle. “I will deal with this, My Lord. We shall enjoy
your coronation on the night of the nine hundredth anniversary celebration.”

The Wolf turned and moved away,
disappearing into the dark. His voice was faint but still reached Kankaredes
ears. “Don’t worry, my friend, I have already taken care of that problem.”

Kankaredes sagged against the
wall. His heart pounded in his ears as he crushed out the cigarette and flicked
the remainders over the wall. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this frightened
of the person he had sworn his allegiance to, the person he had killed for. He
was afraid, for the first time in his life, he was very much afraid. Afraid
that there was no way out and that another life would have to be taken. He
didn’t mind ruining the life of the American professor. It didn’t bother him,
but he feared that his own life would be next. Once they had the stone, his
life would be forfeit. A piece of him wished that they would never find the
stone so that he may continue to serve and to rule as he was the voice of the King.
King Andrew knew nothing about ruling this island nation, nothing of politics.
The power rested in his hands as the Royal Minister. The power was what he
relished the most, but he knew that once the Wolf had achieved his objectives,
the power would disappear just as the crown would rest on the Wolf’s brow.

As he listened to the waves
crash below and lost himself in his own thoughts, believing he was alone on the
wall, he never heard the rush of feet until he was tumbling over the wall,
rocks rushing to meet him as he met his fate.

The day dawned bright and
clear, a beautiful day with warm breezes blowing flapping flags and waving
merry flowers. More tourists arrived in their chartered planes or sailing in
from distant destinations, prepared to celebrate with the royal family.
Prepared for the largest celebration since the millennium celebration in 2000.

A family of four, small
children in tow spread their towels on the sand. The sun was brighter than what
they were used to in Maine. This had been the once in a lifetime vacation that
the parents knew there would be no money for once the children were older and
college was more of a concern. But they were here now, with VIP passes to the
royal ball on the final night. The father, his brown hair blowing around in the
wind watched his wife jump in the waves with his son and daughter. The water
and sun were different here than in their small town in Maine. It truly was a
place for romance and fairytales. He couldn’t wait until that night, when the
children were safely tucked into their beds, dreams filling their minds. He
would steal his wife away to frolic in the surf, just the two of them.

He adjusted the viewfinder of
the video camera and aimed it up the wall to the fabled Secluded City. He had
read about this place in the travel guides provided by the travel agent. It was
said to be haunted by the original king who had been killed. The legends said
he was seeking vengeance when he walked the parapets on clear nights. Maybe he
would bring his wife back to this section of the beach tonight, if it was fair.
She would get a kick out of that kind of ghost story, just as she had on those
ghost walks they took in Charleston on their honeymoon.

He tipped his head back. He
could just barely make out the spires of the castle that were hidden within the
walls. He was excited. He couldn’t deny it. The ball was to be held inside
those walls. He would be one of the first tourists to ever be inside the walls
of the Secluded City. What an honor!

He followed the wall down to
the water, narrating the history that he had read in the travel books as he
went. He related the story of King Henry and the Crusaders sailing in and
crashing on the rocks so many years ago. He zoomed in on the rocks at the base
of the granite fortress, water lapping over the rocks. Black cloth flapped as
each wave washed over it.

He took the camera away from
his eye and looked to the rocks. From the distance he could see nothing, but
when he returned the camera to his eye, he could see black cloth beneath the
water, moving with the current. He heard his wife’s voice calling him and his
son’s eager voice as he raced after his father, but he paid no attention. He
kept his camera running as he neared the rocks. He waved his son back as he stepped
onto the rocks, moving carefully as eddies pulled at his feet. He kept the
camera trained on the black cloth.

There was a splash and a yell
from his wife as his camera slipped from his hand. He gagged into a hand and
staggered on the rocks, slipping into the water himself. He swam, frantic, to
the shore, tears he wasn’t aware he was crying coursing down his face. His
screams echoed off of the granite walls as the image of the man with the broken
neck, dark eyes staring up seeing nothing now that death had claimed him.

Mikayla stared in disbelief as
the police taped off the beach behind the house. The family of four from Maine
sat huddled in the sand, blankets wrapped around their shoulders. The man cried
inhuman sounds as Inspector Harrison tried to comfort and question at the same
time. The children cried also, innate fear of a father who would cry. The woman
seemed shell-shocked, her arms encircling her children but her eyes staring at
the crystal blue water, unsure of how paradise had turned into hell.

Will stood in the sand, not far
from the police as they dragged the body from the water. He stepped carefully
over to the stretcher that now held the pathetic body of someone who had once
been powerful not only in rank but also build. Intimidating, now nothing. He
looked down at the body for a moment, his face blank before he spoke to the
officers and pulled the blanket over the face. When he turned away, his face
was creased with grief, his hands fisted at his side. He moved through the sand
to the family huddled on the beach. He knelt before the family. He held the
woman’s hand gently in his, stroking a hand over the hair of the boy. Words of
apology and condolence slipped through his lips but there was no warmth behind
them. There was only a deadness that he couldn’t explain to them, nor to
himself. He smiled briefly before rising and then moved away from the scene
towards the house where Mikayla stood on the deck, her hair flying in the
breeze, shorts and t-shirt cheerful despite the death that seemed to surround
them.

He stepped up on the deck, his
feet heavy with dread. He looked into her eyes, and it was written there in
deep gray. She hugged her arms and rubbed the gooseflesh that appeared despite
the heat of the day.

“Who was it, Will?” She asked,
but deep inside, somehow, she already knew.

“Antonio Kankaredes.” His voice
was bland, hiding the emotions that filled him, both fear and celebration. She
gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “They think it was suicide. They
think he jumped.”

Mikayla shook her head and let
her hand drop to her side. “I don’t buy it. Why would he jump? He wasn’t the
suicidal type.” She shook her head vehemently, her voice rising to a pitch that
teetered on hysteria.

Will took her hand and pulled
her through the sliding glass door. He pushed her none-too-gently into a chair.
He forced a glass of water into her hand and ordered her to drink. When she
seemed calmer, even though her eyes were wide, he patted her knee and sat
beside her. “Luv, I don’t know what to say. I can only tell you what the police
said. They will investigate it and get back to me.” He took the glass out of
her hand and tipped her chin up so they were eye to eye. He pressed a firm kiss
to her lips. “I have to go to the police station, Mikayla. I have to go
represent the royal family on this one. I can’t stay here with you.”

She nodded dumbly, shock
blinding her to his voice and words. She clutched at his hand as he pressed
another kiss to her forehead and walked with her to the front door. He pulled
her fingers off of his hand and headed out the door before turning back to her,
worry in his eyes.

“Mikayla, promise me you won’t
go anywhere. Stay here. You can go on the deck, but stay off of the beach.”
When she nodded, he smiled brightly. He pulled her against him, a rough kiss
igniting her senses and bringing her out of her shock. His voice was harsh as
he released her and climbed into the Jeep that waited at the curb. “I’ll be
back as soon as I can. Until I get back, don’t go anywhere and don’t let anyone
in.”

He drove off in a cloud of
dust, leaving her on the porch wondering where her life was taking her and how
she had ended up on this path that was so far from the one she had set for
herself.

Yellow Post-It-Notes lined the
counter-top, covering the Amorian family crest. They were a time-line, a
time-line of the past and present. A time-line of murder and mayhem that
spanned thirty-six generations, 900 years of history.

Mikayla stared down at the
sticky-note artwork spread out carefully on the counter-top. Pride, confusion,
and frustration filled her as she stared at the organized horrors she had put
onto paper, trying to find some sense of the mysteries that surrounded the
people who ruled the isolationist nation. She was proud that she had been able
to remember so much of what she had read and put it into some sort of order.
Confused that there seemed to be pieces missing, pieces that didn’t fit into
the overall puzzle and frustrated that she couldn’t find where those pieces
went. Instead of a Jig-saw puzzle, it was more of a broken vase or lamp that
she was trying to superglue back together. Pieces didn’t fit neatly. Some
overlapped. Some were too small. Some were missing. It didn’t fit nicely, and
it disturbed her. Lessons from undergraduate classes echoed through her mind,
reminding her that history always repeats itself. The sins of the previous
generation would become the sins of the next generation. The only problem was,
she still didn’t understand clearly the sins of the original generations.

She leaned on the counter, her
eyes moving from one piece of paper to the next. Moving from one moment in
history to the next. Whenever she reached the end, with the death of Antonio
Kankaredes, she returned to the sailing of the Crusaders from Jerusalem. Something
was missing, something she couldn’t put her finger on.

She stared at the yellow paper,
bolding proclaiming the death of Antonio Kankaredes. It had been one week since
his body had been found on the rocks below the Secluded City. The investigation
seemed to have stalled at the idea that he had committed suicide, yet Will
continued to go to the police station and the courthouse daily, following the
investigation carefully, waiting for the announcement that she was to appear
before the magistrate. No announcements came and each night he returned, a
mixture of anger and joy that the investigation was going no further. Each
night he wrapped his arms around her, loved her senseless, then fell into a
deep sleep, no more midnight excursions into the darkness where secrets seemed
to rule the life of the island’s inhabitants.