Knowledge Aforethought, page 14
“Are you sure about that?”
I closed my eyes. I licked my suddenly dry lips. “No.”
“In my world, Death is not the end of things. Things do not always flow in a linear fashion. And one choice can spark a thousand, changing the shape of the future,” Time said. He held out his hand, a magnetic power rippling over and through it. “You people are far more capable than you think. You have far more agency than I do, than do Life or Death. We are slaves to our nature. You are changeable. Malleable. And more enduring than you know. Do you honestly think that your friend would wish to be the cause of a future that continues from the current trajectory of events?”
I shook my head. I hated Time, just then. He never once denied that all of this was my fault. And yet… “Charlotte is called the Unkillable.”
“Why?” Time asked, though I thought perhaps he knew the answer.
“Mary…Charlotte’s friend, says it’s because it is impossible to kill someone who works so far into the shadows that no one even remembers her.” There was a pause after I spoke where my chest filled. I let out a sob, the reality of the situation facing me. I didn’t want Charlotte to die. I didn’t want anyone to die. But, like Time said, I worked for Death and couldn’t deny the inevitability.
“Or is it that it is impossible to kill someone that is never forgotten,” Time said.
I laughed, the sound coming through my tears as a strangled croak. “I think Charlotte would like that.”
Time inclined his head, smiling lazily once again. He leaned over and touched the surface of the water, seemingly fascinated by the way the drops came together on his fingers. Then, still leaning over, he twisted his head to look up at me.
“I have to fix this, don’t I?” I asked.
“It is a choice you must make, but yes,” Time agreed. He straightened, cupping some water in his hand. He tilted it over and watched the drops fall out.
“How am I meant to do that?” I asked. That familiar fear I felt when doing something I usually thought was impossible, was nowhere to be seen. The rage that I had been pushing back was gone, too. So was my tiredness. All of it waited behind that veil in my mind. All that was left was an empty feeling in my stomach that I knew needed to be fixed.
“You were hired by Death because you knew how to communicate with people,” Time said. He turned and fixed me in his stare, something wild and untamed there. “So go communicate.”
Then, in true Time fashion, he was gone.
“Sometimes,” I said, speaking to a crow watching my from across the bank, “I really hate my job.”
The crow cawed. I chuckled, the act enough to lighten that pit in my stomach.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Sometimes I really like it, too.”
With that, I pushed myself to my feet, took a deep breath, and turned back towards the direction of Florence. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in shades of colours that were spectacular to behold. Even unable to feel everything as strongly as I normally did, I knew that this was a sight I would never forget. It held beauty, but more than that, it held a promise of a future.
I pulled out my phone and took a picture.
I started walking towards town, thinking of ways to go about finding Life, and therefore Charlotte.
And when I passed some familiar looking men on horseback, I didn’t break stride once. I just started running, knowing full well that they would chase me. I had things to do and no Medici-bought mercenaries were going to get in my way.
Time of Our Lives
When I burst into Machiavelli’s house, he had just sat down to dinner and was raising a bite of chicken to his mouth with a trembling hand. At my entrance, he cursed, dropped the strange two-pronged fork, stared, then sank back into his seat.
“Do you never do anything quietly?” Machiavelli asked after a moment. I sat in the chair beside him, smiling gratefully when a plate was placed before me, though the servant looked very much like she hated me. I dug in gratefully, figuring that it was better to be well-fed than walk into potential—okay, definite—danger on an empty stomach.
“I’m a very quiet person,” I protested.
Machiavelli shook his head and poured me a cup of wine, his hands still shaking. He put the jug down as soon as he realised I saw his tremor. I didn’t say anything, instead choosing to sip at the wine. “You come into my life being chased by mercenaries. Almost immediately, you insult a woman who could flatten you with a single touch, manage to infuriate the Medici—who are both wealthy and powerful, not including your revelation that they are indeed vampiric—goad Death into making a foolish mistake, stage a robbery, get us arrested, then stand between Life and Death. And yet you have the gall to claim that you are a quiet person?”
I couldn’t quite tell whether he was joking or being perfectly serious. Given the shaky state of his hands, I assumed the latter. I took a deep breath and set down my wine and my fork. “Okay, Niccolo, let me see if I can lay things out clearly. You think that being awoken to the state of the world was not a kindness. You think that being made aware of things like vampires and half-giantesses and Life and Death, that it was all too cruel for a normal, regular human, no?”
Machiavelli’s eyes were suddenly glued to his plate. He said nothing.
“Yep, thought so. Well, let me tell you something; I was you. I was a perfectly ordinary person, on my way to a dinner, when I met Death,” I said. He lifted his head and scoffed, staring at me as though I were completely insane.
“You were a person in an age where you can speak with another person across the globe with only a tiny piece of metal in your hand! You could travel places faster than any of my peers could possibly comprehend! You had impossibilities at your disposal and yet you tell me that you were ordinary?” Machiavelli clapped his mouth shut, alarmed at his outburst. I pulled off my glasses, cleaned them, then perched them back on my nose.
“Yeah, I was perfectly ordinary. Just because those things are impossible now doesn’t mean that they are in the future. And even with those things being commonplace, that doesn’t mean I was anything special. I wasn’t Superman.”
“Super-what?” He hunched his shoulders as though I was about to tell him more about the magical world in which we really lived. His eyes were wide, his fingers pulling at the seams of his tunic, his leg jumping up and down beneath the table.
I waved my hand. “Never mind. The point is, had you been born in a different time, it wouldn’t change a thing. You and I? We’re alike. Human. Perfectly, completely, normal humans. The Elsewhere? The supernatural? Magic? All of that was completely incomprehensible to me. But then I met Death and he offered me a job. You know what? I took it.”
“And there you and I differ,” Machiavelli said, his eyes once more fixed on his plate.
“Not a bit. Do you know why? Because you came along with me when I went to speak with the Medici. You didn’t throw me under the proverbial bus—sorry, cart—when I accidentally insulted Charlotte in the pub and had a giant sword pointed at my neck. You willingly went with me to plan with Charlotte and Mary and you, too, met Death. Talked with him. You and I, we were both offered a chance at taking part in some of the most magnificent things the world has to offer. And it’s terrifying.”
“I think that is the only thing of sense you have said,” Machiavelli murmured. He took a deep breath, sinking further into his chair. I sat back, too.
“You know what else it is?” I asked quietly. Machiavelli flicked his eyes up. “It’s amazing.”
“Vampires, Cal!” he spluttered. “Tatzelwurms! Beings so powerful I can’t even comprehend! How is any of that ‘amazing’?”
I pulled out my phone and showed him the picture I had snapped of the Italian countryside. “See this? To you, this is commonplace. Normal. The standard landscape. But to me, it’s a beautiful picture. It shows me a place I’ve always wanted to visit. I’ve travelled through time and I get to meet people like you. People like Charlotte. Even Mary, though I’m fairly certain she wants me skinned alive. But the point is, it’s something that should be impossible, but it isn’t. It’s magical. Beautiful. It happens every day. That’s what learning about this world is like. It’s taking life and turning it into art. It’s looking at a painting and seeing something wonderful in the ordinary. It’s…it’s figuring out a puzzle and seeing the stars. Amazing.”
“I…I see still only the fear,” Machiavelli replied, voice quiet. He lifted his shoulders and looked at me, helpless. “These beings can tear me to pieces without a second thought.”
“Do you know that vampires have really poor sense in fashion?” I asked. Machiavelli gaped at me. “It’s true. They can’t look at themselves in a mirror, so they have to just sort of guess what looks right. And they could get other people to help them, but other vampires are petty, so they don’t always help. If you can appeal to their vanity, you’ve won that war. And that Tatzelwurm? You were the only one who figured out that it liked being scratched behind its ears, like a cat.”
Machiavelli hunched his shoulders. “It had the head of a cat; it was not so difficult to comprehend.”
“See? I wouldn’t have thought of that,” I said. “I would have just kept yelling at the thing. And Life and Death? Okay, yeah, they’re completely terrifying. But Life is far from immune to flattery. And Death loves a good puzzle…All of this that you’ve seen in the last few days, it always existed. You just didn’t see it. It’s okay. But do you really want to go back to how things were, knowing what wonders lie just within your grasp?”
Machiavelli said nothing. He continued to stare at his plate, taking in steady breaths like he was counting the beats. He closed his eyes. “Did you know that I write poetry?”
“No,” I said, though it didn’t surprise me. I had seen the pieces of paper he scrawled on.
“Poetry and plays. It is my art. I am no Botticelli, but I have the means to contribute in that way. To contribute to the higher thought of mankind. But when I think of all of the wondrous and terrible things out there that I could never have grasped, not even in my most outrageous poems? It is…difficult. No,” he said, looking up at me. “It is far better to understand your world than continue in ignorance.”
I nodded. I took another drink of wine and bite of food. “Okay,” I said. “Now with that answer in mind, I’m going to ask for one more favour.”
Machiavelli scoffed, but there was a smile at the corners of his mouth. “I am unsurprised by that,” he said. “What, do you wish for me to go with you and fight a dragon? Perhaps slay a Titan?”
“Ah, no. Dragons are super scary and really awesome. Or so I’ve heard; I haven’t actually met one,” I said. “No, I need your help to go rescue Charlotte.”
This statement brought about a coughing fit that took almost a whole minute to subside. Machiavelli slammed his hand against his chest, eyes wide and staring at me. “Are you insane?” he demanded.
“Probably.” I shrugged. “But Charlotte is my friend and I don’t really want to leave her in Life’s grasp for any longer than necessary.”
“And, what, will you just deliver her to Death? Or had you forgotten that he desires her as well?” Machiavelli said. I shook my head, an idea springing to mind.
“Actually,” I said. “I have a thought about how to avoid that. About how to keep Charlotte alive and well and out of the hands of either Life or Death.”
He took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Your previous ideas have not gone particularly well, Cal. Perhaps it is better this way. Perhaps Life will tire of Charlotte and leave her be. Perhaps Death will prevail without our assistance. Are you certain about this? About standing before two of the most powerful beings ever imagined, and defying them?”
I explained my idea. After I was finished, he nodded. Took a bite of his food. Chewed slowly. Then, he turned and stared at me for a minute, expression solemn. After a few more moments of consideration, he allowed a grudging nod.
“It is possible.”
“It’s more than possible,” I countered.
“They will be furious,” Machiavelli pointed out.
“I know. But what fun is it being human if you don’t get to make really stupid decisions every now and again?”
“I was right,” Machiavelli said, smiling. He ran a hand through his hair and heaved a sigh. “You are insane.”
My plan wouldn’t work without Mary, so Machiavelli and I scoured Florence to find her. I asked around at the town squares, seeing if any of the local gossip could direct me to a slightly crazy and very angry woman with quills and parchment. It took a little longer to find her, even with that specific description, but in the end, she was in the only possible place: the library. Actually, given that the libraries of the time were run by monks or owned by extremely wealthy people who had no intent on sharing them with anybody, Mary was pacing angrily outside of a privately owned library that Machiavelli knew.
She rounded on us before we had a chance to call her name. “Can you believe that these buffoons refuse to acknowledge that I am a writer and perfectly capable of reading these books, just because I am a woman?”
I shrugged, wishing I had some pockets to shove my hands into. “I mean, to be fair, Niccolo here seems to be the only enlightened one of the lot, so…yes?”
“You’re an idiot and I hate you,” Mary sniffed in reply. She lifted her chin and folded her arms. “What are you doing here? Come to acknowledge what an insufferable piece of—“
“Yes, it was all my fault,” I said, holding up my hand to stop her before she could start a long-winded rant about how terrible I was as a person. I really didn’t need that right then. “I messed up. Epically. And Charlotte is suffering for it. I’m sorry, Mary. Really. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Mary glanced at Machiavelli, narrowing her eyes. “And, what, you accept his apology just like that?” she demanded.
“It was rather more dramatic an apology than that, but his arguments do have their merit,” Machiavelli said. He calmly brushed some dirt from his clothes before stepping forwards and holding his hands out to Mary. “I believe that he is sincere in his apologies. He also has some interesting ideas about how to save your friend.”
Mary whirled to stare at me, hands clenched into fists at her side. “You know how to save Charlotte? From both of those…those…”
I answered before Mary could come up with an appropriate term to describe Life and Death. Though, there was nothing that quite really managed to do such a thing accurately. Still, I could think of more than a few terms that would be close enough. “Yeah,” I said, shuffling my feet. “I have an idea.”
At Mary’s sceptical brow, I explained my idea. She had much the same reaction that Machiavelli did; she was quiet for a moment, looked back at the library, fiddled with her pouch of writing supplies, then sighed and nodded. “It is possible.”
“But…?” I prompted.
Mary threw her hands up. “There are so many ways this could go wrong! We have to get close enough to Charlotte to tell her the idea, then you have to actually do it—do you even know how?”
“Well, no, but I figured you could tell me.” I smiled sheepishly. Mary let out a roar of frustration, drawing an angry look from a monk who was watching us through the leaded glass window. I waved, smiling. He pulled back.
“Look, I think this is our best option, okay? If you have another idea, then feel free to let me know,” I said.
“No, this is the only idea I’ve got,” she huffed. After a few moments, she threw her head back and heaved a sigh. “Fine! Fine, I’ll help you! That doesn’t mean I’m not angry, but I’ll help you. Now pay attention…”
Mary explained to me, in many florid and far from uncertain terms, precisely what to do, how it could go badly, what was going to happen to me if I failed, and also why I was an idiot. But she did help me. Nearly an hour later, we were all three of us solid on the plan, except for one small problem.
“Do you even know where Charlotte is?” Mary asked, folding her arms.
“I have an idea about that, too,” I said, pushing myself to my feet from where I had been sitting on the base of a statue while Mary paced and lectured. “But I’ll need some help on that front.”
“Oh?” Machiavelli asked, quirking a brow. He stretched and folded his arms, too. “You don’t know precisely?”
“Ah…no. But I can find out pretty quickly. I just need some money and the busiest tavern in the city,” I said.
“That’s it?” Machiavelli asked, looking suspicious. Mary mirrored his expression and cocked a hip, a move so fundamentally female that it startled me for a moment.
“That’s it,” I replied. “Someone—a really annoying someone—recently reminded me that I was hired by Death for a reason. That reason is my ability to communicate with people.”
Mary snorted. She stepped away from the library, much to the pleasure of the slightly-angry man I saw still staring at us from the window. Mary shoved her hand into a small pouch at her belt and pulled out three shining golden coins. “Oh, I’ll gladly pay to see this debacle.”
“Indeed, it does seem unlikely,” Machiavelli agreed. I huffed and snatched the coins from Mary’s hand, gesturing for them to lead the way. Machiavelli smothered a laugh before heading deeper into Florence.
We found ourselves at a tavern in what I would call the worker’s part of the city. The people here wore the same sorts of clothes as everyone else I had seen thus far, but it was more worn, more well-used. The people themselves had the same sort of look. The two barmaids serving the tavern looked harried and tired. The diehard drunks over in the corner had that look of desperation about them. The rest of the crowd, though, looked like good, solid people who doggedly worked their way through life.
I slipped two of the coins into my own belt pouch, strode confidently to the wall of barrels with various sorts of alcohols inside and ordered a beer. The barkeep didn’t even look at me before putting down a tankard of the amber liquid. I wasn’t really a beer guy, but this—much like the wine—was something unearthly. It was rich, foamy, had flavours I couldn’t even begin to identify and was strong enough to stick a knife straight up.
