Enzo said, “So, what can I do for you and your friends today?”
The woman in orange, Ohana, stepped closer to the hidalgo. “Sir, I was flying these passengers from Rome to Tingis when we passed over the harbor of Valencia. A ship in the harbor opened fire on us and I was forced to land halfway between there and here. I don’t know why they shot us down, and honestly I don’t want to know. We’ve walked for two days without food to find you, in the hope that you would help us reach the Strait and cross safely into Marrakesh. And I know that’s a lot to ask of a stranger, sir, but I know you’re a man of honor. I know that in Orossa you protected the queen’s children on the airfield. So anything you can do for us, anything at all, would probably save our lives.”
Qhora stared at the woman for a moment before striding up among the strangers and asking, “What sort of ship in Valencia shot at you?”
Captain Ohana turned. “A big one. An ironclad steamer with huge cannons on her deck. Clearly some sort of warship, but like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Qhora walked straight past her and up to her husband with her back to the strangers. “Magellan, Enzo. Magellan.”
“I know.” He pursed his lips and stared over her head at the Mazigh pilot. “Did you see any soldiers on the road? Were you followed here?”
“Hell no, we weren’t followed,” the big man said. He had a slow way of talking and sleepy way of staring at the young diestros-in-training that Qhora didn’t like. And when the chill morning wind tugged at the man’s coat, she saw the thick-bladed hunting knife sheathed on his belt. She didn’t like that either.
“Well, they’ll be coming sooner or later,” Qhora said. “If Magellan wants you dead, then he’ll find a way to make it happen. His officers are thieves and liars. And I’ve heard that he employs Italians and Hellans to train his sailors. What sort of man, what sort of patriot, hires foreigners to rebuild his military?”
The big Mazigh grinned. “One who wants to win.”
Qhora glanced at him coldly. “Exactly.”
Lorenzo shoved his hair back. “This is all very interesting, captain, but you’ve come at a bad time, not that there would ever be a good time to harbor fugitives from the military. I don’t have the resources to protect you here or on the road. I’m not sure I can help you.”
“Good God!” snapped the ugly Italian in brown. “It’s perfectly simple. Give us some food, give us some horses, and we’ll be on our way. As soon as we get out of this God-forsaken country, we’ll send you some money in return. Or is that too complicated for you people to work out among yourselves?”
The tall man in blue cleared his throat. “I think what my countryman means is that whatever small assistance you can give us would be greatly appreciated. We have nothing. Absolutely nothing. If we don’t resort to stealing food by the end of the day, we will be dead by the end of the week.”
Qhora squinted at the tall Italian. He looked and sounded rather effeminate. She didn’t like that either. Why can’t anything in Europa be simple? The politics, the religion, the food, and even the clothes are all ridiculous. And now the men and women are starting to look the same?
Lorenzo spoke to the captain. “Food I have in abundance. You can have all you can carry. But horses are dear, and I’m taking all of mine north this afternoon. And I can’t allow you stay here to rest even one night. I’m truly sorry, but I can’t jeopardize the safety of my students and servants to shelter you.”
“I understand,” said Captain Ohana. “The food will be fine, and directions to Tartessos. We’ll leave within the hour, I promise.”
Qhora stood aside as the six ragged travelers filed into the house and the students drifted away across the yard to talk or spar with sticks in the snow. She considered going back to the stable to steal a few moments alone with Atoq and Wayra, but she went back inside the house instead.
She hovered outside the kitchen until Lorenzo was finished telling the cook what to feed their guests now and what to pack for their immediate departure. When he stepped out into the hall, she followed him. “What am I supposed to do when Magellan’s troops show up looking for them? Do I say I never saw them, or admit to feeding them and sending them on their way?”
He sighed. “Tell them the truth. We fed them as we would feed any hungry travelers, and then we sent them off. But there’s no need to mention that we know the pilot, or that they’re going to Tartessos, not unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Oh, Enzo, how can you still be so naive? She grabbed his arm and pulled him into his study. “Do you really think that will be good enough? Magellan shot them out of the sky just for being near this warship of his. If he’s willing to kill them, what are the odds he’ll leave us in peace?”
Enzo shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re right though, it’s too dangerous. As soon as the Mazighs are gone, I want you to get the rest of the boys packed up and take them to my father’s house in Gadir. We’ll call it a winter holiday or something. When the soldiers come, they’ll find no one here.”
“Won’t that look suspicious?” she asked.
“Better to look suspicious, my love, than be arrested or worse.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll meet back here in a few weeks when this has all blown over. It’ll be fine. It will. You’ll see. And you can spend some time where the weather isn’t quite so harsh.”
“I don’t care about the weather, Enzo, I care about you. And you’re not taking this business seriously enough.” She gave him a little shove. “I’m coming with you to Zaragoza, and wherever else you’re going. Those boys don’t need me to get to Gadir or anywhere else. They know the roads better than I do, they’re bigger and stronger than I am, and they’re almost as old as me besides.”
Lorenzo smiled. “I love sparring with you. It’s so reassuring to know who the winner will be from the outset every time. North it is.”
Chapter 8. Taziri
Lunch consisted of roast beef stew, boiled potatoes and carrots, and all the hard black bread in the country, as far as Taziri could tell. The only spice on hand was salt, and plenty of that, too. It was a flavorless feast compared to the simplest cafe lunch in Marrakesh, but after two days of hard marching and two nights almost without sleep, the Espani fare was a feast all the same.
After she had wolfed down two bowls of stew and half a loaf of the crusty bread, Taziri left the table in search of her host, hoping to apologize for Dante and maybe negotiate with Don Lorenzo for something more than a bag of food, something like clothes and boots, and even some Espani reales in exchange for her pocketful of Italian florins. She moved warily through the old house, intensely aware of the fact that she was snooping through her savior’s home, when she heard the hidalgo’s voice and she entered the open doorway of a small office with a few hardwood shelves bearing a dozen or so books. Don Lorenzo and his wife turned to look at her. His last words hung in her mind. North it is.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” Taziri said. “But I was hoping to have a word with you about our arrangements.”
“I’m having my people put together some bags for you with food for the road,” he said. And then he smiled broadly. “And I’ll see if I can find some better clothes for your Italian friends. I don’t think those fancy outfits of theirs were meant for long strolls in the snow.”
Taziri smiled back. “I asked them about it. The girl, Shahera, was only visiting Italia for a short time and she was going to miss Carvinale, so she got the costume anyway and her tall friend indulged her by getting one as well. They were planning to buy more clothes in Tingis as soon as we landed.” The pilot shook her head. “It was just a silly impulse, and it almost got them killed walking here. They both could have frozen in the night.”