A tap shifted the door. I grabbed the hilt of my sword.
“Cat?” It was Kofi.
I let him in. Kofi’s plain jacket and trousers in the practical Expedition style and his powerful build marked him as a hardworking laborer, but the crisp confidence in his tone revealed him as a successful radical, a member of the new provisional Assembly in Expedition.
“This is a rare commotion, Cat. Now that we Expeditioners have the chance to rule we own selves, we don’ like to feel the Taino can tell us what to do. But yee running have made the situation worse. Yee shall have to sail immediately for Europa.”
“I haven’t money to pay for our passage.”
“So Kayleigh told me. Expedition owe yee a favor for saving us from the Taino invasion. I shall escort yee to West Quay at dawn. There yee shall board a Phoenician ship called the White Horse, bound for Gadir. The tide turn mid-morning. Then yee shall be out of reach.”
“Thank you.” My legs gave way as an avalanche of relief crashed over me.
“Don’ thank me. Commissioner Sanogo arranged it.” He sighed. “I admit I had hoped yee and Vai might settle in Expedition. There is plenty for him to do here. And I reckon the wardens of Expedition should like to hire a gal with the peculiar talents yee possess.”
“I would like to try that sort of work.”
“Warden’s work ’twould suit yee, for I reckon yee’s not suited for a quiet life.”
“I can live a quiet life!”
Kofi laughed. “Yee should last a month, no more, before yee got restless and found some trouble to get into. I reckon Vai love yee for it, and for the knack yee have of getting out of it. If anyone can fetch him back from the spirit world, yee’s the one to do it.”
We talked a little longer about the logistics of our departure. After Kofi left, Rory and I settled on the cots. I pinched out the wick but could not sleep for fretting about Bee.
“Are you trying not to cry?” Rory whispered.
I sniffled. “I didn’t mean to get into trouble before Bee came back tomorrow. What if I never see her again?”
“If it will help calm you, I can comb your hair, or lick your hands and face.”
“Lick my hands and face?”
“It’s very comforting, I’ll have you know!”
I managed a choked laugh. He tucked his back up against mine and began to sing the oddest crooning lullaby in words I could not understand. The melody wound like a nest around my heart, shielding me from the ills of the world.
I slept heavily and woke before dawn, determined to succeed. Luce arrived with the chests. We walked in a trundle of carts through the predawn gloom toward the harbor. Rory pushed a cart among the other men. I walked in the center to be less conspicuous. Luce held my hand. The menfolk bantered in a half-awake, early-morning way. I could not rein in my thoughts, which galloped from the impossibility of rescuing Vai out of the jaws of the Master of the Wild Hunt to the pain of being sundered from my dearest Bee. It was easier not to think at all.
West Quay was the farthest west of the wharves in the main harbor, mostly used by Phoenician ships, and notably marked by a pair of tall wooden posts the locals called Heracles’s Pillars for the famous straits at the mouth of the Mediterranean Sea. On the opposite side of the jetty was an inn called Nance’s, with a sprawling wooden deck flanked by buildings. The edifice had a grand view of the harbor and of the monumental arch that led into the walled confines of the old city. Almost two months ago, Vai and I had been separated here by an unexpected meeting.
At tables along the railing, men ate with the concentration of sailors savoring their last good meal before shipping out. Barrels were lined up street-side next to the steps. A man leaned against a barrel with an open book in his hands. He met my questing gaze with a polite nod of greeting.
“Blessed Tanit!” I released Luce’s hand. “Rory, we’ve got to run.”
The leaning man closed the book with an audible snap. Kofi looked around with a curse. A piercing whistle cut through the hush of dawn. Rory dropped the handles of the cart he was pushing, and the entire line of carts came to a juddering halt. Taino soldiers trotted onto the jetty from where they had been hiding amid stacks of crates. The men who had been eating clattered down the stairs to fan out onto the jetty, brandishing the short swords known as falcatas that were famous as the preferred weapon of Iberian infantrymen. We were surrounded.
The man with the book approached with a measured tread that drew all eyes. He had height and breadth, the look of a man who fought in wars once and means to do so again. Silver streaked his mane of wavy black hair. His face bore the stamp of his father’s noble Malian ancestors in having brown skin and his mother’s patrician Roman lineage in having a bold nose.
My enemy, General Camjiata.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Cat,” he said with the friendly smile the victor can afford to give the vanquished. “I admire your plan for a bold escape, and your ability to gather allies. But you’re going to have to come to the Council Hall to address the charge of murder.”
4
“Shall I eat him, Cat?” murmured Rory.
“Rory, don’t move. They’ll shoot you.” I faced the general. “How did you find us?”
“You see, Cat, it isn’t that you need to have the dragon dreamer at your side at all times,” said General Camjiata as he strolled up to me. “She does not dream the day before of what will come to pass the next morning.”
“She doesn’t?” I asked, thinking of my dream.
He took no notice because he was too enthralled by the sound of his own voice. “Nor can she walk by purpose into a dream that will tell her what she wishes to know about a crossroads in her future. She may never even recognize what it is she has seen. What you need to make use of a dreamer’s gift is a record of her dreams, so you can study this record until you see patterns emerge and weave the pieces together.”
He opened the book.
“That’s Bee’s sketchbook!” I exclaimed. “The one you stole from her!”
The page was a jumble of images drawn in Bee’s vivid style: a winged horse galloping across waves; the famous twinned bronze pillars known to stand in the temple of Melqart outside the city of Gadir in Iberia; a black saber-toothed cat; nine half-moons. And a pretty little portrait of me from the back, holding by the hair the decapitated head of Queen Anacaona as I looked over my shoulder as if in flight from a pursuer.
“Gah.” I reached across him to turn the page, for the gruesome detail took me aback.
He pulled the book away from me. “The White Horse is a ship that will sail to Gadir from the quay known by its pillars of Heracles, which to the Phoenicians are known to be the pillars in the temple of Melqart at Gadir. On the Nones of November, the fifth day of November, which is today, the fugitive accused of the murder of the cacica will arrive at the quay with her brother.”
“Why nine moons when November isn’t the ninth month? And why the half-moon?”
“In the early Roman calendar, November was the ninth month. Nones refers to the day of the half-moon. If you don’t know that, you can’t make use of the dream.”
“You could just have guessed I might have tried to escape on a Phoenician ship leaving before the tide turns.”
Taino soldiers parted ranks to allow a frowning Prince Caonabo to come forward.
The general indicated me. “Your Highness. I told you I would find her. With this one, you really need to use a rope if you want to capture her.”
He whistled. In his first war his army had been famed for its Amazon Corps, women who fought with more ferocity than men. My mother, Tara Bell, had been a captain in his Amazon Corps, and she had been condemned to death for the crime of becoming pregnant, with me. A woman dressed in soldier’s garb walked forward. Captain Tira sheathed her falcata and unlooped a length of rope. It had a noose, to go around my neck.