Days spent shopping and wandering in San Cristobal brought the Heroes ever closer to the party at Don Francisco's on the 18th of August, 1667. Dressed in their finest, they rode to the estate, to be ushered into chambers where they might refresh themselves before the remaining guests arrived, and the Don and his wife, Doña Carla could present them. Henri kept bright spirits, for their reception in San Cristobal had been so cordial that it seemed foolish to suspect any ill intent in the evening's entertainment.
Quinn had met earlier in the day with his Masters in the order, and hoped to see a few other members that evening. Asgard, still suffering from the nausea of their journey, could not attend. Lieutenant Franzesca strove to make up her place and to bring a spark to the group, and looked forward to a chance to relax, now that her dispatch from General Montoya had been delivered, releasing the Heroes from their current duties to the army. Henri's recent acquaintance, Maria Vasquez, would be performing with her troupe for those assembled, and this promised to be a spectacular show.
Finally, the Heroes were summoned, and announced to a crowded ballroom of Castillian nobility. They kept their smiles earnest, struggled to remember names and faces, and found themselves passed through a sea of hands and introductions into a warm, late summer's evening.
In attendance, beside their hosts Don Francisco and Doña Carla, were Maria and her troupe, Profesora Jacinto Navarro y Garza, a keenly inquisitive historian of the University in San Cristobal; Don Marcos Gallegos de Gallegos, the Aldana swordsman who had thrashed Henri so soundly several days previously; Doña Ximena de Gallegos, a breeder of horses, who listened with great interest to the tales of battle at the Wall, for the cavalry there had been largely supplied from her ranches; Doña Paloma Nuñez, a lady recently dispossessed of her holdings in the Ducado of Ochoa, who also followed the tales of the Heroes travels avidly; and the striking Doña Alicia Zaneta de Lazaro, the pre-eminent matadora of Castille.
Maria's dancers thrilled their spectators, and the lady herself seemed inspired by unusual enthusiasm as she finished her performance with a twirling leap that sent her down into the crowd and into the extremely surprised, though nonetheless gratified, arms of Henri.
Dancing, drink, and talk filled the evening air, and at long last the Heroes made their way back "home" to the townhouse of Don Carlos. Sleep passed quickly, and all too soon, it was time to escort Lieutenant Franzesca to her berth on a ship of Castille, to return to the west, and to war. Henri offered his copy of "Summer Nights in the Midnight Archipelago," a volume of pleasant facetiae, and she in turn left with Henri her copy of the Book of the Prophets. He puzzled over the gift, but accept gratefully, and soon the good Lieutenant was on her way.
By the Heroes' return to the townhouse, the morning's callers had left their compliments, among which Profesora Jacinto had repeated her request to interview Henri and Asgard, while Doña Paloma had requested the pleasure of Henri's company at a little country picnic the following day. Henri accepted with pleasure, then he and Asgard entertained La Profesora, who came filled with questions.
She focused quite strongly on the account of El Vago appearing at the Wall, seeming almost to daydream for a moment as she listened. Then her questions became more personal: what did each of them have to say about their companions, what sort of persons where they, what further details could they share about each of them, and about Captain Joaquin in particular. Henri began to feel a vague uneasiness with this woman, and his answers, and soon those of Asgard as well, became increasingly imprecise, under the cover of modesty. Finally, they concluded the talk, and wish La Profesora well, seeing her off and wondering what had just happened-- and how many enemies lurked in this city.
Henri turned to Franzesca's Book of the Prophets to focus his thoughts and better his command of written Castillian, to find matters growing still more complicated. The cover of the book felt odd under his touch. Probing carefully, he found several sheets of paper folded into the cover boards, and rapidly examined them for Blooding. He was relieved to find none, explaining to the perplexed Asgard the source of his anxiety, but lost that relief as he read. Inside the pages, a curious treatise was summarized. Entitled Una Hypotesis de los Mundos, it advanced the argument that Terra was not only one among many planets orbiting Sol, but one among many identical Terras, each differing in trivial ways from the others, none particularly special, and none of them under the eye or guidance of Theus.
"Good heavens," marveled Henri, "some fantastical arch-heretic must have concealed these documents in the good Lieutenants Scriptures!"
It was agreed that the book would have to be either hidden or burned, and that the Lieutenant should be warned of the danger to her when next they met.
The next day brought a picnic in the country, for which Henri dressed in his good if not his finest clothes, in hopes of some hunting. With rapier and musket case, he allowed himself to be picked up in Doña Paloma's coach, and the two passed a pleasant and quiet ride into the countryside. The Doña reminisced about the beauties of her lands, now lost to the Montaigne armies, and Henri attempted to assure her with predictions of the war's speedy conclusion, and the restoration of losses. Soon, the coach pulled up at a small country cottage, the site of their picnic, presumably.
Another coach, black and unmarked, was already there. Henri remarked on this to himself as Doña Paloma let herself out of the coach and walked to the door. His head began to spin, realizing that she had neither waited for her driver to open the door of the coach, nor had she allowed him to precede her to the cottage door, and he stopped near the Doña's horses, watching her knock at the door. A chill went up his spine.
She's knocking at the door of her own cottage...
His hand flew to his rapier, as she leapt away from the door. Henri caught a glimpse of several men in red robes and hoods, brandishing pistols and swords, and bolted towards the door of the cottage, thinking to block the door, and cut down the numbers that were about to be arrayed against him. He shoved the door to, hoping his weight would hold, and cursing himself as he remembered the unloaded musket, still in its case, on the back of Doña Paloma's carriage. He was nearly knocked from his feet as the door crashed open, and he managed to slash one of the men before the pistol could be brought to bear. In a flash, the others swarmed over the body of their fellow, hurling their weight into Henri's chest, and sending him to the ground. He could hear a booming voice demand his surrender to the Holy Inquisition, a demand that shot him to his feet again before the men were on him.
As they leapt out of the cottage, over him, surrounding him, he counted eight, with three pistols among them. Thrusting and cutting desperately, he sent the gunmen groaning to the ground, as fists clubbed him, boots kicked, and swords threatened at every turn to pierce his chest. Gasping for breath at the unaccustomed exertion, he fought to take the rest down, but found he could not take so many blades into account at once.
He leapt back, snatching up a pistol from one of the fallen Inquisitors, and leveled a shot at his adversaries. Through the doorway, he could see one man, bellowing orders and drawing two fine rapiers. Aiming at the leader in the doorway, he fired. And missed. The Traitor searched madly through his array of tricks then narrowed his gaze at the minor thugs, who had stopped their advance.
"That was the courtesy of a warning," he snarled. "Take a step, and you will meet your final reward."
The men eyed each other, and doubt began to appear on their faces. This was not how it was supposed to have been at all. He was supposed to have surrendered. He should have been terrified of them. Their red robes should have had him begging their ungranted mercy, as so many others had done before him.
"Who among you... is without sin? Who bets his soul on that?"
As the barrel of the pistol swept along their line, they began to retreat, and were suddenly knocked aside by their furious leader. As the Knight Inquisitor charged, Henri fired, and for the second time that day expressed his regrets to the tutor who had labored so mightily to interest the young man in proper use of firearms so many years ago. He barely had time to bring his rapier into line as the Knight arrived, raining blows from both swords at once. Henri fought to get through the villain's guard, but it was like seducing L'Imperatrice-- to be done with difficulty, if at all, and certainly not by him. Henri thrust, attempted to cow the Inquisitor as he had the man's lackeys, and found the demon-priest impervious to his threats. Again and again, he thrust, and over and over the beats slashed, stabbed, and battered Henri with blades that could not be stopped. With a last ineffectual thrust, he felt the point pierce his shoulder, tear against the bone, and then he felt nothing at all.
Near the midday, La Profesora returned to Don Carlos' townhouse, with more questions. She asked if she might interview the Heroes one last time, but was told that few new details could be given, and that Henri was unavailable in any event, for he had left with Doña Paloma Nuñez for an outing to the country. Her eyes flew wide, and she asked whether this was in fact true. Assured of it, she urged the Heroes to leave with her at once.
"Your friend is in the gravest danger," she murmured. "We have long considered Nuñez an agent of the Inquisition. If we do not reach them soon... "
She let the implication hang in the air. The rest knew all to well what would follow. A Montaigne sorcerer in the hands of the Inquisition would mean another victory for the Cardinal whose name struck terror into the hearts of the defenseless, and would be the death of their friend.
They rode hard, on the tracks of Nuñez's coach. Reaching the cottage, they soon picked up the trail of the second coach, and continued the pursuit. Sweat began to soak their clothes, and lather bathed their horses as they rode on the trail of the Inquisition. Finally, their speed was rewarded, and the coach sighted.
The Knight regarded his prisoner coolly. Blood was seeping from his several wounds into the deep red cushions of the upholstery, but then, that was nothing new. The heretic was dying, slowly and surely, but he would live to reach his questioners, and that would be long enough. Idly, he wondered what his reward would be. Promotion? Commendation? The blessing of the Cardinal? It was in the middle of this dream of good fortune that the first shot came.
Horses thundered down upon the coach, more shots rang out, and several minor Inquisitors fell from their postillion. As the Heroes leapt, Quinn swung in through the coach window, leveling another pistol at the stunned priest.
"Stop this carriage, and surrender, or you will certainly die, here and now."
Gaping, he began to rap upon the transom, calling for the driver to halt. As Asgard climbed aboard the top of the vehicle, she slid forward, then swung her booted foot in a sharp arc, catching the driver a stunning blow to the side of the head. She laughed as the fellow tumbled to the road, then snatched up the reins. There was a frantic rapping beneath here. She began to wonder just how one of these contraptions was driven.
Cecil and La Profesora dispatched the remaining Inquisitors who offered battle as the coach slowed to a halt. The Knight Inquisitor found himself booted into the dust of the road by Quinn, and the rest were rounded up and bound. Quinn turned his eyes to his unconscious friend, spattered in blood from head to toe. He called for his bandages and instruments, as he began to assess the damage done. He couldn't repair these injuries, not here, at any rate. He could at best get his friend a little way from death's door, and the rest would have to wait for their return to the Chapterhouse in San Cristobal.
As the last of the bandages was tied firmly in place, Henri's eyes came upon with a hiss of pain. Never a more welcome sight greeted him than that of the gentle, perhaps naive surgeon, whom he recalled once finding rather ridiculous. He smiled through spit lips, thanked his friend, and let himself be helped down to the road.
The Inquisitor began to raise his denunciation, but was cut off with a pained hiss.
"You filthy coward! Do you have any idea what you owe me?"
The priest sneered that he owed nothing to a heretic and traitor.
"Traitor. Yes. For the love of your country, I became a traitor. I turned my back on my family, on my homeland, on my honor, all to save the children of Casa Blanca-- to save the children of Castille. When Montaigne came to claim vengeance for your ridiculous little crusade, I turned against her-- to help you. When Ivan Riche de Paroisse set out to build a Porté Gate on Casa Blanca, it was I that found it out, told your people, and saved your filthy, stinking hide from its completion.
"I, a sorcerer? I, a spawn of Legion? You take a moment to picture what that Gate would have done. Picture musketeers and soldiers, marching by their thousands, from Charousse to your islands in the blink of an eye. You picture that, and you can damned well thank me for stopping it, you sniveling little coward!"
The priest drew himself up stiffly.
"No thanks to Legion will ever pollute my lips. I am sworn to fight him wherever he raises his foul head."
"Oh, are you?"
Henri motioned for his friends to turn their heads. He tore a screaming hole into the air.
"Sworn to fight Legion, are you? Well, he's right in there! Shall I toss you a sword, and will you go and fight him face to face? Or do you only fight Legion when that means attacking the helpless, overwhelming the defenseless, and torturing your betters? No answer? I thought not. Your kind are always filled with threats and thunder when your armed and protected, but put your dogma to the test, and you abandon it every time."
Quinn waited to hear the shriek of torn space die away, then turned back to lead the Inquisitor away. The group tied the band of would-be abductors around a nearby tree, naked and defenseless. If Theus were very, very gracious, they would find a more merciful fate than they'd meted out to others. Meanwhile, a great, black coach rolled slowly toward San Cristobal and the Chapterhouse of the Rose and Cross.
The Knights were disturbed indeed to recognize a vehicle of the Inquisition
pulling up in front of the Chapterhouse, and shed great sighs of relief when
Quinn was seen alighting, free and in good spirits. Henri was bundled in,
to a bed in the infirmary, and thence to surgery. Voices drifted in and out
of his hearing as his friend's fingers worked deftly. Clots cleaned away,
stitches carefully put in place, disinfectants gently swabbed, and bandages
lovingly wrapped made the Montaigne nearly more mummy than man, but he would
live and recover with startling speed. At his bedside, the Heroes conferred
late that night. The city was obviously a death trap for them now, and they
would need to leave before dawn brought more Inquisitors. La Profesora had
sent encouraging news, that friends of hers, and friends, she assured the
Heroes, of theirs as well, waited in Tarago. If they would lodge at El Caballo
d'Oro, these friends would make themselves known. She gave thanks that she
was able to help rescue one of the Heroes of Casa Blanca, and her only regret
was that apparently bandits were still active in the area. A group of men
had been found, stripped and bound to a tree and shot quite fatally. Sad,
to be sure. Sad, and a mystery never to be solved...