Knowledge Aforethought, page 15
I was really beginning to enjoy the beverage selection from this time.
“A round for the whole place,” I shouted, putting down the golden coin.
This did make the barkeep look up. He exchanged a glance with one of the barmaids, who blinked in shock, then took the coin before I could pull it away. This was met with a cheer by those people nearest me. They held out their cups and their tankards and before I could even finish my beer, I was sitting at a table with the loudest and friendliest of the bunch, laughing over stories of how I managed to get that coin—swiped it from a writer, I said, to which they joked that no writer ever made that much money. Mary glowered at me from the corner. Two stories in and I was enjoying a general camaraderie with these people. It felt good to be talking with people. To be sharing their stories, to be communicating. I offered a story of my own about my job, though this was changed slightly to make sense for the time. This led to a discussion of professions in the group, which led to a general argument about the future of Florence and eventually ended with a debate on the merit of sheep farming.
Not an hour later and I had the information I needed. With another loud cheer, I paid for one more round of drinks with one of my two remaining coins, waved as though I were drunker than I was, and staggered out of the tavern. A few moments later, Machiavelli and Mary came up to me just as I was brushing off my clothes.
“Your approach to gathering information was…to buy alcohol for everyone?” Machiavelli asked, seeming to be genuinely curious.
“The people with all the money may seem like they know everything and have all the control, but it’s the other people—those people—who really control things. Win the populace over, win over the world. Or something like that,” I said, wincing at my minced words. Machiavelli furrowed his brows for a moment before an interested gleam shone in his eyes.
Well, great. I hoped I hadn’t just inspired some Machiavellian idea. No, well, pun intended.
“Some great communicator,” Mary snorted.
“Yes, well, what happens when you buy beer for everybody is that they tell you all of the interesting things going on in the hopes that you will buy them more beer. You are suddenly the most interesting and powerful person in the room,” I said. “And what they told me is that something is going on at a camp just outside the city. Something about the mercenaries growing in number and making a whole lot of noise.”
Machiavelli shook his head. “I do not see how that helps us.”
I grimaced, thinking of my last experience with such things. “Life invariably starts a sort of…party, I guess, wherever she stays for more than a few hours at a time. I’d say that if she’s been hanging around, it’s where all of the activity and energy and, well, life, is happening. So I asked about that. And it’s happening in the mercenary camp.”
Mary glared at me, her chin jutted out stubbornly. Machiavelli frowned, but did not say anything. I waited. Finally, Mary huffed. “Is it alright if I hate that you make sense right now?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Good.” Mary didn’t wait for anything else, she just started stalking off in the direction of the city gates. It was well beyond dark at this point and I had no doubt we would catch flack from the city guard about trying to leave so late, but I would not for anything stand in Mary’s way just then. So I didn’t. Machiavelli gave another long-suffering sigh and followed after her.
“This is going to end badly,” he said quietly to me.
“Pessimist,” I quipped. Unfortunately, I had a feeling that he was right. My plan hinged on a lot and I wasn’t certain that it would work. Still, it was worth a shot. Now, I just had to go crash Life’s party. This would be fun.
Killing Time
Finding Life’s party was, surprisingly, quite easy. I would have figured that she wouldn’t want to be found, given that Death was annoyed with her, we were annoyed with her and a whole lot of other people were running around scared. But, then, Life had never been one to hide. She was always front and centre, ready for whatever attention would be thrown her way. So finding the party wasn’t the problem.
The problem was crashing it.
The mercenaries—there were maybe about a hundred or so of them—had set up camp a little ways from the city, their tents gathered together into their own little community. The ground had been churned up from days’ worth of walking around and the whole place was nowhere near as nice or clean as Florence itself. The closer we got to the city, the stronger the feeling was that this was a very, very bad idea.
“You there,” a voice called out, making the three of us stiffen and freeze in our tracks. I turned and saw a familiar face, one that was leering and looking far too pleased to see me. “I thought I recognised you. You were that little fool we chased a few days ago.”
“Ah, yes, well,” I said, eloquent as ever.
“And now you’ve come to play,” the man sneered. He pulled out a longish sword, fitted it into a two-handed grip and looked extremely pleased with himself. “What fun.”
“Actually, I’m looking for someone—“I started to say, but the mercenary lifted his sword to my throat. I lifted my hands and rolled my eyes dramatically at Mary, who snickered.
“Actually, you three are coming with me. It’s about time we had some new meat for our games.”
It was difficult to argue with a sword at your back, even with my inability to die. I didn’t want either Mary or Machiavelli to get hurt and, in all likelihood, this mercenary was going to take us precisely where we wanted to go. Though, the sound of “games” did not appeal.
We were marched through the camp, the centre of which was muddier and more churned up than the outskirts. By the time we reached the other side and were once again on firm ground, we were splattered with mud. Mine was mostly from tripping and nearly falling on my face every time that stupid oaf poked me in the back with his sword. I think the mercenary did it on purpose. All I knew was that my leather boots felt sodden and sludgy and my glasses were spotted with tiny flecks of mud. I quickly stopped worrying about my footwear, though, when I saw what awaited us.
“Charlotte,” Mary breathed, though she had enough sense to keep the word quiet. Even Machiavelli let out a gasp of surprise. I, on the other hand, felt a lump in my stomach. This was, unfortunately, what I had feared.
Charlotte was in the middle of a ring made up of torches, surrounded by mercenaries, all clapping and yelling. She had her sword drawn, but her left arm was cut and she was having a hard time holding the massive greatsword with one arm out of commission. Charlotte’s opponents were two warriors—there was no other word for it—who were wearing armour. And by armour, I mean real, honest-to-goodness, I saw it in a museum armour. None of this boiled leather nonsense for them. No, they wore the plate armour of paintings, with an articulated arm brace and gauntlets. Their helmets alone would have been enough to help them be a match for Charlotte, but they also wielded weapons. One had a sword—smaller than Charlotte’s, but nimbler—and the other some sort of pike.
Charlotte was outnumbered and outgunned…er outsworded? What was worse, though was that this was obviously not her first fight. She had a black eye already blossoming into beautiful colour, a slice on her left ear, and the hunched shoulders of exhaustion. Life was using Charlotte as a gladiator, doing her best to get as much enjoyment out of her champion as she could.
I spotted Life sitting in an ornately carved wooden chair with her legs thrown over one arm, her head leaning casually back, a goblet of wine dangling from her fingers. She kicked her feet lazily, as if she were doing little more than enjoying a play on a summer’s afternoon. Her eyes, though, followed the movements of Charlotte and the other fighters with the eagerness of a cat. The mercenaries standing around the combatants in a wide ring were too eager, too excited, too aggressive. They shouted violently at every movement. They screamed when Charlotte scored a hit and stamped their feet and rattled their weapons when she took one. They were being augmented by Life’s powers and I could see that she was getting a kick out of all the, well, life being displayed before her.
Essentially, things were not going well.
The mercenary at our backs pushed us forwards so that Mary, Machiavelli and I stumbled through the outer ring of people. The three fighters paused for a moment, wavering as we tripped into the ring.
Silence descended. Life rose to her feet and looked down at us, fury plain on her stunning features. “You dare to come here,” she hissed.
I pushed myself off the ground and wiped my hands free of dirt and mud as best I could. I pulled off my glasses and cleaned them on the least dirty part of my shirt, though it didn’t help much. Mary and Machiavelli stood as well, flanking me so that we three faced Life. I could see her power moving towards us like a wave. Machiavelli sucked in a breath as it hit us, but he did not falter. Mary swayed a bit, but eventually she straightened, too, eyes blazing.
“Yeah, we dare. You took something that doesn’t belong to you,” I said once I was certain my companions could stand up to Life’s onslaught. They wouldn’t be able to do so for long, but I had a hope that it would be long enough for us to put our plan into action. Only, the biggest part of our plan was currently standing with her sword pointed into the ground, breathing heavily and bleeding from multiple cuts.
Life seemed to grow taller, her anger making her expansive. “And you think she belongs to you? Or are you just the messenger for my husband, fool that he is.”
I shook my head. “Charlotte belongs to herself. All your champions belong to themselves. You don’t get to meddle like this.”
Life tossed her head, letting out a single bark of laughter. “Oh? I do not get to meddle in my own affairs, in my own domain? These beings are alive, are they not? My champions live, do they not? Death can have the dead, but he needs to stay out of my affairs!”
I winced, my ears starting to ring at the sound of Life’s voice in my ears. Beside me, Machiavelli shifted his stance so he would be less likely to wobble. Mary reached out and rested a hand on my arm, gathering as much support as she could. “I am not here on behalf of Death. Not right now. And just because they live does not mean that you can do whatever you want. That’s not how this is meant to be.”
“And how would you know, mortal?” Life asked. She took a threatening step towards me. “You know nothing of how things are meant to be.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But I know that this is wrong. You are torturing your so-called ‘champion’ into fighting for you because she refused to fight you in the first place. Isn’t life about choice? Isn’t it about choosing which direction you go, even if it is difficult? Yeah, you maybe get to throw obstacles in our way, but we mortals get to decide how to live.”
Life clenched her fists and her figure blazed blindingly for a moment. “Insolent mortal!” Life screamed. Mary and Machiavelli—and pretty much everybody else in the clearing—fell to the ground, their eyes squeezed shut and their hands clasped over their ears. I was pushed back a few steps, but I refused to look away or to cover my ears. A moment later and the shrill sound faded, leaving Life glaring at me, chest heaving to control her anger.
“Fine,” she snapped. “I will make you a deal. You best my champion in a duel and I will release her to you.”
“Great,” I said. “Agreed.”
“To the death, then,” Life said, grinning widely.
And this is why you always get agreements in writing before saying yes to something, Cal, I scolded myself.
Life clapped her hands and a moment later, the fighting ring was cleared. Charlotte stood there with her sword, frowning at me like a dog who got sprayed by a skunk. Mary and Machiavelli were standing off to one side, eyes wide, but arms held tightly by Charlotte’s two previous opponents. Life clapped her hands again. “Begin.”
Charlotte wasted no time in rushing for me, her sword held high. I yelped and dove to the side. “You idiot!” Charlotte snapped, swiping the blade by my head. I had a feeling she missed on purpose. Or, at least, I hoped so. “What did you think you were doing, coming here?”
“Rescuing you?” I asked, jumping aside again. I looked around and saw a discarded pike on the ground. I picked it up and felt the tip of Charlotte’s blade dig into my shoulder. It wasn’t a deep wound, or even a very painful one, but I felt it. “Hey!” I protested.
“Well, try harder,” Charlotte said. She advanced towards me again, slower, as though the pike I held was actually dangerous. “What did you think you were going to do, hmm, Cal? Waltz in here and demand my freedom? Life is not a kind mistress.”
“Oh, no, I knew that,” I said. “And now we’re in a fight to the death. Only I can’t die and you can whoop my tail without even trying. So we’re going to end up at a standstill.”
“I think I’d like to try killing you,” Charlotte said. As if to prove her point, she lunged towards me and sank the weapon into my hip. I yelped, this time louder, and twisted away. It must have hit an artery or something, because my body started to repair itself, just as it did with all fatal wounds these days. “Darn,” Charlotte said drily.
“Will you stop that?” I grumbled. “I have a plan!”
“You brought my friends here to get hurt! To die! Or worse,” Charlotte retorted. She cast a slightly anxious look towards Mary and Machiavelli. “Cal, you’re worse than an idiot.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to be cheerful as I swung the pike around haphazardly. “They’re here to help. Mary brought the Eye of Carteria.”
Charlotte faltered, which made me accidentally prod her already-wounded arm with the pike. I pulled back as soon as I could manage—man, was I out of shape—and winced an apology. Charlotte touched her throat with her wounded hand and widened her eyes when she realised that the Eye was not there.
“How—“Charlotte asked. “I thought after the vault that I—“
“Mary held onto it after you showed it to us in the tavern. Look, I know that you think bringing them here was a bad idea. And maybe it was, but it was important that they come, okay?” I said, breathing hard and pretending to rest on my pike.
Charlotte swung her sword in my direction again, the metal hitting the wooden shaft and chipping it. “They cannot do anything. She—“
“Oh, relax, will you? They’re not going to go up against Life,” I snapped. Charlotte narrowed her eyes and swung her sword at my head again. “Mary’s going to provide distraction. And Niccolo… well, he’s here to help however he can.”
“I cannot use the Eye of Carteria,” Charlotte said. Her eyes darted to where Life was watching our exchange, looking annoyed. Obviously we weren’t trying hard enough to kill one another. “It would… I’m not strong enough for that.”
“I think you are,” I said, “but I didn’t have Mary bring the Eye for you. I had her bring it to be used on you.”
Charlotte took two massive steps towards me and locked my pike in the crosspiece of her sword. I winced, my arms shaking as I tried to hold her back. “What?” Charlotte asked, voice quiet and eyes wide. “What are you saying?”
“Look, you were supposedly meant to die back in the square. You were the appointment Death missed and it’s all my fault. It’s my fault that you got brought here to be Life’s little gladiator. Now both of them want you and there’s only one thing I can do about it that doesn’t involve actually killing you.” I leaned closer, baring my teeth in what I hoped looked to Life like a ferocious snarl. “Take you out of play.”
“The Eye of Carteria—“
“Contains. It doesn’t kill. You wouldn’t be ‘alive’ persee for Life to take advantage of. You wouldn’t be dead. You’d be like me…in a sort of stasis. You could be summoned by the Eye. You’d be bound to it. Not alive or dead. No Death, no Life.” I spoke these words as quickly as I could manage.
I felt the weight Charlotte was pushing down on me lessen. My pike slid an inch or two along her blade. Charlotte furrowed her brows, frowning as she considered my words. Behind us, Life let out an angry hiss.
“Why aren’t you fighting properly?” she demanded. I swallowed, knowing that our few moments of conversation were at an end.
I pushed back against Charlotte, surprised at the lack of resistance. Charlotte stumbled back a few feet, her sword dragging. I lowered the pike, trying to pretend like I was looking for the best place to strike. I took a tentative step forwards, my eyes darting to gauge Life’s expression, her level of anger. Charlotte shook off the shock my words had given her and threw herself back into the fight with a desperation I doubted I would ever be able to match. Charlotte was a fighter, through and through. I was really good with social media, but not so good in a fight.
“What are the consequences?” Charlotte asked, swinging her sword high then low.
“I don’t know. We didn’t have time for research,” I said, doing my best to parry her blows. “But we have to act now.”
“Okay,” Charlotte said, eyes locking with mine. She blinked a drop of blood out of her eyes. “Okay. What do I have to do?”
“Get me close to Mary,” I said. “I’ll do the rest.”
“Cal, you can’t use the Eye,” Charlotte said, looking alarmed. “You’ll—“
“Die?” I replied with as much of a grin as I dared. She rolled her eyes then pushed me back with a massive shove. I tripped over my feet, dropped the pike, fell, rolled, and ended up on my back looking right up into Mary’s furious eyes.
“Hi,” I said. “Where—“
“Belt pouch by the scrolls,” Mary whispered. The warrior holding her eyed her suspiciously as she spoke, but he was too slow to stop me from reaching up and pulling the pouch open. I reached into the bag and grabbed the Eye. I rolled to my feet and turned to face Charlotte. “Stop him!” Life yelled, standing and furious. She pointed at me, but it was too late. I had already held the Eye up and was chanting the words that Mary had supplied to me.
