Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 41: What Dreams Will Come

Capitano led two men and a cart into the eastern courtyard of the Ducal Tower. There the bodies lay, exact as reported. Two females lying quiet, hands bound before them, livid faces turned to the afternoon sky. Flies circled and drank from pools of blood fast turning black.

A bored guard leaned against the wall, staring at the same sky, brushing away the flies. At the approach of the officer he straightened coat and spine. Capitano studied the single guard, the two corpses, at length nodding satisfied.

"These will do. Load them into the cart."

The guard cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, Captain, but Lady Alexandra ordered they not be disturbed till sun comes down."

Capitano smiled "Quite right of her ladyship. All should see the reward for defying law and saint. But tonight Demetia has need of correctly deceased corpses. So I am authorized to gather such windfall fruit, wheresoever the wind lets it fall."

The guard worked upon this metaphor.

"Authorized?"

"By the Duke. Whose orders precede his daughter's. Correct?"

"Yessir."

"Good man.

They wrapped the bodies in sheets, placed them in the cart, wheeled them out and away.

Beyond the tower gate they made slow progress towards the river. Passersby studied the cart, looking quick away. At length Capitano directed them into a quiet alley.

"We've time," declared Capitano to the two subordinates. "Put the civilian clothes on."

"Are we going to cross the bridge?"

"Hmm, no. The bridges stay closed. We'll go by the corpse-trader's boats tonight. They don't cease even for war."

"Ah. Reconnaissance, sir?"

"Exact so. His Grace wants to know what the black robes mean by sending fiends through our pretty sewers. Maybe they just got lost. Maybe they were practicing invasion. So, we dress as civilians, take a cartload of corpses across river right into St. Plutarch's Cathedral of Resurrection itself.""

"Cartload? This is just two."

"Hmm. Good point. Needs another body to seem believable cargo, doesn't it? Climb in, soldier. Wrap yourself in a sheet."

"Me? I'm not dead."

"Oh, you don't have to be. I'm not corpse-trading, We just need another body lying still till we get inside the Cathedral, see if they are busy constructing an invasion. You'll get to nap beside two pretty things while we do the work and take the risks."

"I guess. I mean, yessir."

The soldier climbed into the cart, twisting a sheet about himself. While Capitano and the other soldier changed to civilian clothes.

Once shrouded, the soldier in the cart lay back. Then shifted, twitching like a caterpillar dissatisfied with its cocoon.

Capitano observed this twitching, equally dissatisfied.

"Can't you keep any more still than that?"

"It itches, sir. And its damned uncanny being next to dead ladies. And they smell."

Capitano sighed, produced a pipe, struggled to light it. Watching as the shroud-bound soldier continued to wiggle, occasionally grumbling within his sheet.

"It's important you not speak or move, or we'll look like fools on a secret mission."

"Yessir."

"So don't speak anymore."

"Yessir. I won't."

"You are speaking now."

"Sorry. Itches. And I'd take oath the dead lady next me moved."

Capitano sighed, gave up attempting to light his pipe. He settled for biting thoughtfully on the stem. Leaned against the alley wall, contemplated the fading day.

"Just between us and these deceased lovelies, we've a second mission."

"Another secret mission?" That, from the shrouded soldier. Capitano scowled in annoyance.

"Seems there's an old statue in a back chapel of the cathedral. Wears a helmet that's a forgotten relic left behind when Plutarch took that half of Persephone. Gives power over the dead, they say. The Duke's decided we need it back now."

"I'll keep that to myself, sir."

"I don't doubt it."

Capitano put away pipe. Drew knife.

"You took the oath to St. Demetia, didn't you, soldier?"

"Yessir.

"You recall it?"

"Yessir. Pledge life and honor to the flag and sword of the lands of blessed Saint-."

"Good man." Capitano thrust knife into the shroud. There came a gasp, a shudder, then a rush of red into the dirty cloth.

Capitano stood awhile, watching the red bleed through the white. Definitely a more believable picture of a corpse-cart. He put away knife, returned to the struggle of lighting his pipe.

At sun's setting he and the one assistant led the cart from the alley, bearing three corpses down to the river.