Eventually one of the soldiers, a narrow-faced boy with a crooked nose and a booming voice took over the chaos. “Alonso, what’s really going on?”
“I don’t know. One minute we’re on vacation to train at the cathedral and the next minute some fancy Italian is dragging a whole party into my room in the middle of the night, and not in the good way.”
The boys laughed.
Alonso pointed at the door through which Salvator had left. “So who the hell is he? Why are you taking orders from an Italian?”
“Who knows? He just showed up two hours ago, flashed some papers at the major, and suddenly he’s in charge. And he smells.” More laughter. “Like a drunken wad of burnt hair.”
“Boys, boys, please.” Qhora stood up. “Now that we’re all friends, can we please go?”
They exchanged guilty looks. “Sorry, Dona, we can’t do that. Orders are orders. But we do have the doc coming to patch up your friend there. Did Fabris really do that?”
Alonso nodded. “He may smell like dead fish, but he knows which end of a sword to hold. Keep clear of him.”
Qhora approached the bars. “Please, listen, this Italian is hunting innocent people. He says he’s looking for Mazigh spies, but we’ve only seen him attacking Espani. We had another young man with us, Enrique. Fabris attacked him on the road and we had to leave him behind in the care of strangers. He attacked my husband, and now he’s attacked Gaspar. This Italian is as depraved as he vicious. You must help us. Please, I need to find my husband, Don Lorenzo Quesada de Gadir. He’s out in the streets right now, he can’t be far.”
The soldiers hung on the bars outside, casting frowns and squints at each other. The one with the crooked nose said, “Sorry, but if Fabris comes back and you’re not here, we could all end up in a cell, or out in the street. We didn’t exactly join the army because it was the best job available. It’s either this or working the ice.” He shuddered.
Alonso snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Switch clothes with me.”
A smattering of nervous laughs ran through the crowd. The soldier boy said, “The Italian may be stupid, but he’s not that stupid.”
“Just for an hour. Half an hour,” Alonso said. “Just so I can find Don Lorenzo and tell him what’s happened, please. I’ll be gone and back before the surgeon ever gets here, if he’s even coming at all.”
Everyone glanced back at poor Gaspar, doubled over on the stone bench with Hector hovering over him.
The soldier frowned. “Half an hour?”
Alonso nodded. “Or less.”
Chapter 18. Taziri
As she slipped through the squeaky kitchen door and into the howling wind of an icy alleyway behind La Seo, the Mazigh pilot felt the freezing night air stinging her eyes. Above the dark gray walls she saw a black ribbon of sky salted with cold stars. Taziri shivered as she tried to straighten out her hastily assembled layers of shirts and coats. The sleeves were all snagged and bunched, particularly around the brace on her left forearm.
Shahera stood panting and shaking beside her. The Eranian girl shuffled down the alley toward the road. “Come on, come on! They could be right behind us!”
Taziri glanced back at the door they had just come through. Old and filthy. Grimed and rusted. In her inner jacket pocket she found one of her older screwdrivers and she jammed the tool through the door’s handle. “Let’s go.”
At the end of the alley they found a dark road that ran the length of the rear of the cathedral, and with no sound of pursuit in the alley behind them, Taziri led the way more slowly and carefully. With several inches of snow and ice lumped on the ground, the footing was treacherous and both women kept their eyes on their boots. The next intersection was empty but footsteps and voices echoed to their left so they drew back into the dark recess of a doorway and waited.
First the shadows and then the bodies of the soldiers marched past and Taziri clenched her teeth at the sight of the Italian leading them down the street. Qhora looked as regal and defiant as ever surrounded by the armed men, as though they followed her instead of herded her along. One of the boys was obviously injured, but they were moving so quickly and were so obscured by the soldiers that she could not tell who it was or how badly he was hurt.
When the soldiers were gone, Taziri stepped out into the road. “We have to help them.”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know. But she saved us. It should be us going to prison, not them.”
Shahera shook her head. “No. If they took us, they’d kill us. But they’ll let the Espani go in a day or two. They’ll be fine. I’m sure they’ll all be fine.”
“That Italian is some sort of butcher. You saw what he did to Enrique. I’m not leaving Qhora with him. Come on!” She strode into the night and a moment later heard the Eranian girl following a few paces behind.
They followed the noisy troop of soldiers through the dark, cold maze of Zaragoza, twisting and turning from one stony lane to another until the men filed into a bleak little building on a dark square where only the flickering candle light in the windows illuminated the road outside.
As soon as the door closed behind the soldiers, Taziri dashed to the wall and eased around the edge of the first window to peer inside. She saw snow and soot, and through the filth a blurry yellow glow.
Damn it. Can’t these people keep anything clean?
She ducked down and shuffled to the next window, which she found as impenetrable as the first. Back in the shadows, she saw Shahera beckoning her away from the building. But Taziri moved on to the front door just as the handle clicked and the door swung open. A young soldier dashed off into the darkness, never glancing back at the dark figure flattened against the wall.
Where’s he running off to?
She turned and found Shahera crouched beside her. The girl said, “I have an idea about how to get inside.”
“How?”
“The next time a soldier goes by, we hit him over the head and steal his clothes. Then one of us can sneak inside-”
“Good lord, you must read a lot of novels. We’re not stealing anyone’s clothes.”
“But it always works in the stories!”
“Well, this isn’t a story,” Taziri whispered. “It’s a cold night in a dark alley, and someone wants us in prison, or dead. Let’s go around back and see if we can find Qhora through another window.” She slipped past Shahera and ducked under the windows on her way to the corner of the barracks.
The door opened again. Taziri glanced back just in time to see Shahera leap forward and take a wild swing at the lone soldier emerging from the building. Her fist connected with the side of his face and the young man stumbled away from her.
“Ow! What the hell was… you!” Alonso rubbed his head. “What are you hitting me for?”
“I didn’t know it was you,” Shahera said. “I thought you were one of those soldiers.”
“You hit one of my favorite eyes. It really hurts,” he said, massaging the side of his face.
Taziri jogged out into the courtyard and dragged both of them toward the far wall, into the shadows. “Shut up, both of you.”
Shahera arched an eyebrow and nodded at Alonso’s army uniform. “I told you it works.”
“And I told you to shut up.” Taziri turned to the young man. “How did you escape? Where are the others?”
“Oh, it was easy. This is my home town. Half the guys in there are my friends. They let me run out to find Don Lorenzo. I have a message for him from his wife.” Alonso took his hand away from his face to reveal the first dark glimmers of black eye. “I just have to get back before the surgeon gets here.”
“What surgeon?”
“For Gaspar. Fabris sliced open his arm.”