The Knights of Sheba, Ep. 16: "Oh, Crap" A

Episode Sixteen: Oh, Crap

 

            A maiden stands alone in a city of steel.  High above, the twilight catches on gleaming spires sharpened to points.  She is in shadows, her gown flowing, chasing her as she moves.  Winding paths lead her to an empty alley, her footfalls stirring the dust.  Time stands still here, frozen speckles of dust catching in the air and glittering in the light.

            Claude watches her quietly.  It is a dream.  He knows this, but he does not know its meaning.  The maiden is familiar to him.  Her eyes are a shining blue, her hair deep, burning auburn, and when she smiles it is springtime, but she doesn’t smile.  She stares at him, watches him, judges him.

            Dark hands grab her, around the neck and around the mouth.  They drag her into shadows.  She screams through their fingers but is swallowed all the same.  Claude hears it on the wind, in the reverberation of the spires.

            He reaches for her, but she is gone.  Approaching where she stood, he finds a trinket left.  It is a locket, forced open, dented and scratched.   Inside is a photo of him, covered only by fractured glass.

            He wakes with one arm draped over his eyes and the other against his stomach.  Sleep has left him foggy-headed, and his dream has left him almost altogether.  He remembers only the locket, only the spires, only the broken glass.

            Shirley moves about the kitchen.  She sets the dishes to dry and pulls the drain on the sink.  The dirty, soapy water disappears in a liquid spiral and gurgles down the pipes.  She rinses her hands and dries them.

            Weeks have passed since their brunch date with Geneva and Kit, and she has been in a pleasant mood since. Today they are both off, and they had just finished lunch when Claude fell asleep.  Now he sits up, rubs his eyes, and she smiles at him over the counter.  Through the window they can see the twilight, which is a thin, pink scar across the sky.

            “Well, look at you finally waking up.”  She winks.  “You looked so cozy that I almost joined you.”

            “Yeah?”  Staring at her he remembers something, a maiden, a smile like springtime.  It is hazy but real, as his dreams often are.

            “Yeah.”  She goes to the sink again and reaches under, grabbing the trash can and pulling the bag from it.  “You were talking in your sleep.  Having a good dream?”

            He stands and goes to the counter, watches her knot the bag and set it to the side while getting a new one out.  “Having a dream.”

            She pauses with the bag open, hanging halfway inside of the can, and she looks at him.  “A dream.  Like, a dream?”  He nods, and she slips the bag inside, pushing the bottom in and folding the edges over the trashcan.  She ties them into place and puts the can away under the sink.  “Anything we should worry about?”

            Claude sighs sleepily.  “You know how these things work.”

            “Not really,” she says, leaning over against the counter.  “I don’t get dreams.  Just dreams.  Not everyone is special like you.”

            “Don’t feel special,” he says.  “Just tired.”

            “Price of being the hero.”  She pinches his cheek and then pulls him into a kiss.  It brings a smile to his face.  “I’m taking the trash down.  Need me to get anything while I’m out?”

            Claude shakes his head.  “Nah.  You want me to take that?”

            “I can handle this,” she says, lifting the bag.  “You’ve got other things to worry about.”  She kisses him again and goes to the door.  “And I know you just woke up, but start thinking about supper, okay?”

            “Yeah,” he says, and she goes out the door.  Claude goes to the bathroom to rinse his face in cold water.  He stares into the darkened mirror.  The daylight is fading fast, draining the color from the apartment.  He stands in darkness.

            Dark hands reaching from the shadows.  They grab the maiden and take her away.  She is gone, like memories, like dreams upon waking, and he is left alone with only a trinket to remember her by.  He clutches it in his hands, still warm, a dented, fractured memento, a broken memory.

            He leaves the bathroom and stares out the window.  From where stands in the room he cannot see the street just below, but he can see the skyline.  Downtown towers over their apartment, enormous towers of stone and steel.  Their windows catch the remaining light and burn like lighthouses.

            Glittering spires stretched out around him, a maiden standing between them in a field of dust.  She stared at him, her eyes blue, and he stared back, comforted.  He knew her, knows her, and she smiles.  It is more than springtime, it is childhood, it is memory, it is everything, and he remembers.

            “Shirley!”

            He grabs his keys and hurries to the door.  The hall is a mad sprint, a rush of threadbare carpet and peeling paint.  He nearly tumbles down the stairs, nearly sends other tenants tumbling after him, and when he makes it to the front door he hesitates. 

            In the first week in the city, Claude found one of the demons and killed it.  Afterward, he returned to his hotel room, and he cried for hours.  He had the water on, for the noise, for the privacy, and it eventually turned cold.  He kept crying, even as the blood ran down his body and swirled down the drain.

            It was red like his.  He didn’t expect that.

            At the time, he refused to leave the room.  He was afraid they would know, that everyone to know, and he hid until his mind became quiet, until he remembered who he was.  He felt sick, but he knew the truth.  He was a hero, the hero, and it was his destiny.

            Now, he stands with his hand inches from the doorknob, unwilling to turn it, unwilling to see the truth.  He knows what he will find and what he won’t, and the thought leaves him rooted.  It was hard to see Shirley after time apart.  It will be harder to go on without her.

            Outside he finds blood, a few drops of it, red, possibly human.  It is near the trash bin and leaves a beaded trail around the corner into a darkened alley.  A fence is at the end, bent at the bottom.  He finds more blood there, the rake-like ends of the chain link wet with it.  On the other side, he sees Shirley’s cellphone lying face down on the pavement.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Nina takes the call and arrives shortly after with soldiers following.  She finds Claude outside, sitting on the stoop and clutching the phone tightly in his hand.  He leads her inside where they talk privately while the other elves walk the streets searching for clues.

            Claude paces in a small circle, and Nina watches him from the counter.  His knuckles are white, he is holding the phone so tightly.  “I’m sorry,” he says after a few tense minutes, and he keeps pacing.  “I didn’t know who else to call or what else to do.  I,” he shakes his head.  “It’s not working the way it should.”

            “It’s fine,” Nina says.  She takes a notebook from out from between the fold of her armpit and opens it up.  Producing a pen from her breast pocket, she begins writing.  “If you’re right, then this is definitely under my jurisdiction.  If I may, and I am not doubting you when I ask this, but what makes you think the demons took her?”

            He stops, scratches the back of his head, and he stares at the floor.  Looking at him now, Nina realizes that he is not the man she met on that first day.  He looks haunted, sleepless, and frail.  His recovery has only just finished, and without weapon or recent combat to call on, he is soft and sunken, and he holds that phone like it is a life.

            “I’m not normal.”

            “We know,” Nina says.  “Old reports, few as they are, make mention of humans displaying strange gifts.”

            “I’m like that, then,” he says.  “I’m special.  Always have been.  And one of my gifts, as you call them, are—They’re visions or prophecies.  They’re not always clear.  I have to decode them a lot of the times, sift through the images.”  He looks at her.  “I saw monsters reaching from the shadows and grabbing a girl, a maiden.  It was the demons taking Shirley, I know it.”

            “And how can you be so sure?”

            “Because, when I know something, I know.”

            Nina scribbles some notes and then taps her pen on the page.  She meets his gaze.  “But can you be certain?  You said yourself that your gifts aren’t as they should be.”

            “That’s not what I—I meant that I should know where she is.  I should be able to find her, to follow.”  Claude resumes pacing, and he frowns at the floor.  “Maybe I’m too close?  Too involved?  Or maybe they left already?”

            Nina watches him, the frantic shuffle of his feet, the anxious movement of his eyes.  He is tense, coiled, but he is also convicted.  “If it makes you feel better, it matches reports.  Something came through just before her abduction.  They left one of my soldiers unconscious.  We thought perhaps it was a demon returning from the initial wave, but this tells a different story.”

            “And?”

            “And,” Nina says, standing from the counter.  She closes her notebook and tucks it under arm again.  “If they’ve returned, then we haven’t seen it.  So, we can safely assume they are still here, unless they somehow managed to sneak through.”

            “And if they have slipped through?”

            Nina’s phone rings, and she signals for silence.  “Yes?”

            “Sir, we’ve made contact, found a group passing through the gate.  Our men saw them carrying a human girl.”

            Nina finds Claude watching her and turns her back on him.  “I see.  And did we pursue?”

            “We did, and we lost them.”

            “Damn.”

            “But there was one lagging behind on our side that we were able to capture.”

            “Good.  Then hold it at the compound.  I will be there soon.”

            “Sir.”

            Nina hangs up and turns to Claude, and she tells him everything she knows.  He sinks onto the bed and stares at the wall.  His eyes are wide and body tense, and he looks nearly in tears.  Nina crosses the room and kneels to look him in the eyes.  “We will get her back.”

            “How?”

            “The one we’ve captured, we can interrogate it.”

            He looks at her.  “But you don’t speak it’s language?”

            “Don’t worry.  We have our ways.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva pulls her blouse on and stares at herself in the mirror.  Then, she makes a half-hearted attempt at smoothing her hair.

            Kit stretches behind her.  She is still naked, in bed, with a blanket tactically covering her most private parts.  She watches Geneva with a smile, and Geneva manages to smile back while pulling her underwear on.

            Leaving for the bathroom, Geneva takes the time to rinse her face and wet her hair.  Before returning, she stares into the bathroom mirror and wonders who she is.  Months of training have made her thinner and stronger.  Her cheekbones are more prominent, her eyes bigger than she remembers.

            She sees someone different in the mirror, a woman, a knight, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it.

            By the time she has returned, Kit is partway dressed, sitting in bed in her underwear, and she is still smiling.  Geneva turns on the light and pulls her desk chair out, and she starts organizing her schoolbooks on the edge of her desk.  Kit remains half-naked while adjusting her own hair.  She looks like a goddess, even in the morning.

            She catches Geneva glancing and leans forward, exposing more of herself as she settles.  “So, want to catch a movie?”

            “No thanks,” Geneva says, separating the books now by who gave them to her.  She makes a stack to the side just for Ms. Olivia’s ‘homework,’ most of which she has read.  “No money.”

            “Come on.  It’ll be my treat.”

            “You don’t have to.”

            “I want to.”

            Geneva pauses, books clutched tightly in her hands.  She stares at the desk, and then she sets the books down.  She starts organizing the scattered papers now.  “I just—I can’t.”

            Kit sits up, watches Geneva move the stacked books from the desk to the floor, watches her shuffle the papers together and toss most of them into her waste basket.  “School work?”

            “Well.”  Geneva finally turns to look at her.  She stares at Kit’s long torso, at her full bosom, at her slender, toned arms, at her pretty, movie-star face.  “Yeah,” she says.  “I’ve got schoolwork.”

            Kit nods, and scoots forward on the bed.  She begins dressing, starting with her socks.  “Think you’ll have time later today?”

            “Probably not.”

            “I see,” Kit says, pulling one sock hard and stretching it over her toes.  She hops from the bed and grabs her pants, stabbing one leg inside.  “Should I just keep my phone on me, in case you want some company later?  Maybe next time I won’t even get dressed.  I’ll just wear a trench coat so we can get it over with quick.”

            Geneva stops.  She is bent over her open desk drawer, holding a stack of books halfway inside.  She sets them down gently and pushes the drawer closed.  Then, she turns to watch Kit buttoning her pants and glaring straight.  “You mad at me or something?”

            “Mad at you or something?”  Kit pulls a long-sleeve shirt over her chest and then starts fixing her hair into a messy but stylish ponytail.  “Of course not.  Why would I be mad at you, Genny?  You treat me with the love and care of the common hooker.  Except you don’t pay me.”

            “Well, I like to imagine the sex is so good that it pays for itself.”  Geneva tries to smile, but it is stopped by Kit’s narrowed eyes and crossed arms, so she sighs instead.  “Okay, not the time for jokes.  So, go ahead.  What’s on your mind?”

            “Us.  We’re on my mind, and I’ve have plenty of time to think about it with you being so busy all the time.”

            Geneva looks at her messy bed, at the covers piled into the center like a ridgeline.  “We just spent the night together.”

            “No, we had sex,” Kit says, her voice going quiet.  “You called me in the middle of the night, snuck me up to your room, and then you fell asleep immediately after.  I was upset, but I figured you were tired.  Now, after a full night’s rest, you wake up and kick me out without so much as a word.  That is not spending the night together, and so help me God, if you tell me how it technically is, I will scream until your whole family comes knocking.”

            “Fine, fine, it’s not.”  Geneva stares at her hands on her knees, bumps her knees together.  “So, what do you want me to say?”

            “I’m sorry would be a nice start, but mostly, I want to know what the hell is wrong with you.  I thought we had all of this behind us.  I thought we went through something special, that we shared something special.”

            “We did, and we do.”

            Kit kneels down, puts her hands on Geneva’s.  “Then talk to me.  Tell me what’s going on with you, why you’ve been so quiet lately.”

            A million thoughts come to Geneva, thoughts of schoolwork and the knights, thoughts of divorce and her father on the couch.  She shrugs.

            Kit sighs, heavily, deeply, angrily, and she rises to standing.  “There we go.  Classic Geneva.”

            “Look, Kit, I’m sorry.  Really, I am, but what do you want from me?  You’re in I.S.S. until the end of the year, so we can’t talk during school, and we can’t talk after because, oh yeah, I’m apparently a freaking soldier.  And then there’s the homework.”

            “You’re a soldier for a war that isn’t even going on.  Your last fight was with your own leader.”  Kit hugs herself, squeezes her arms tightly, and she frowns.  “Besides, that didn’t stop you before.”

            Geneva stands.  She finds her pants and pulls them on, and she stares at the ground.  “It’s different now, with my parents and with everything.”

            “Don’t.”

            Geneva stops, looks Kit in the eyes again.  “Don’t what?  Talk about my parents?”

            Kit sighs.  “It’s not fair.  This isn’t about them, it’s about us.”

            “Kit, their divorce is absolutely about me.  It’s—It’s,” Geneva goes quiet, and Kit sighs.

            “Listen, it’s not that I don’t sympathize.”

            “Could have fooled me.”

            “But you were acting weird before.  You’ve been weird for months now, and it’s like December all over again.  And, Geneva, I can’t nearly lose my life every time you get in a mood.”

            “But what if it is my parents?  What if the fact that my dad, my secretly gay dad, is leaving my mom, better yet, has been cheating on her all long, is making me feel weird about all of this?”

            “All of what?”

            “Us!  This whole dating a girl thing.”

            “Then that’s stupid,” Kit says.  “Whoever your dad is, whatever your dad is, it doesn’t affect who you are.  And it shouldn’t change who you love.”

            “Don’t say that.”

            “Don’t say what?”

            “That you love me,” Geneva says, and she puts her hands into her pockets.   She can feel it inside of her, stirring up, seeking release.  It comes as tears in her eyes.  “Not during an argument.  Don’t make me say it right now.”

            “I wasn’t.  I’m not,” Kit goes quiet.  She stares at Geneva and tilts her head to one side.  “Is that what this is over?”

            Geneva rolls her eyes and then wipes them.  “What are you talking about now?”

            “Is this all about me saying I love you?”

            “No,” Geneva says, and she goes to her desk and resumes cleaning.  “It’s not about that.  It’s not about anything.  It’s nothing and you’re…”

            Kit grabs Geneva, gently.  “Geneva, please, talk to me.”

            “No.”

            “Geneva.”

            “No!”  Geneva pulls away.  “This is who I am, Kit.  This is me.  I hold back, and I’m distant, and I’ve got so much on my shoulders.  I can’t do this, all of this.  I’m not a hero.  I’m not a knight.  I’m a sixteen-year-old girl with a broken family who is failing her classes, and I’m being asked to save the world.”

            “Then quit.  Let someone else save the world.”

            “I can’t.”

            “Why?  It’s clear that you hate it, that you want nothing to do with it.”

            “Exactly,” Geneva says, staring at the floor.  For a brief moment she can see Andromalius scattered in the snow.  She can smell his blood, taste the smoke in the back of her throat.  She meets Kit’s eyes, and she is in another battle, one that is very different.  She swallows her tears.  “I hate this, and that’s exactly why I can’t quit.  I can’t ask someone to do it because it’s too hard.  I can’t force this on anyone else.  It wouldn’t be right.”  She sniffs and flashes her signet ring, and she laughs bleakly.  “Besides, I’m wearing it now, and I can’t take it off.  Thing is like herpes.  Once I get it, I can’t un-get it.”

            “Then, what does that mean for us?”

            “Nothing?”  Geneva catches sight of the hurt in Kit’s eyes, and she shakes her head and paces a small circle around her room.  “It means that, I can’t be what you want, and I don’t think I ever could.  I don’t want you to pry or worry, and I can’t have you crying every time I don’t want to be around you.  I’ll talk to you when I want to.”

            “And until you want to I, what?  Just wait for you with bated breath.”

            “Kit.”

            “I’m not one of your video games, Geneva.  You can’t just take me off the shelf and play with me whenever you have a little free time.”

            Geneva hardens, and she stares at Kit and tries her best not to blink.  “Well, it’s all I’ve got, and if that’s a problem, then maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

            Silence settles, and they stare at each other.  Geneva is hugging herself again, while Kit, looking more angry than sad, fights back tears.  Geneva stays close to the door for her own safety.

            Calmly and carefully, with her voice steady, Kit asks, “Did you just?”

            Geneva hesitates, nods.

            Kit takes a deep breath.  “And you’re sure?  I’m not begging.  I won’t beg, but this is a big decision.”

            “I,” Geneva’s phone rings, and they go quiet.  It buzzes on her desk, the ringtone sounding like a dirge.  Geneva grabs it.  “It’s Ms. O.”  She looks at Kit.  “I have to take this.”

            Kit chews her fingernail, nods in response.

            Geneva turns her back to Kit.  “Yes, hello?  Yeah.  Right.  She is?  Okay, I’ll be waiting.”  She turns her phone off, jams it into her pocket.  “I have to go.”

            “But…”

            “Just tell my parents that I’m late for tutoring and that you left something up here.  You can stay however long you like.  However long it takes.”

            “Geneva.”  She breathes the name.

            “I’m sorry, Kit, really, I am.”  She turns to Kit.  “I didn’t want it to end like this, but I think maybe it’s for the best.”

            Kit swallows.  “Yeah, maybe it is.”

            Geneva turns to the door, pulls it open, and Kit hugs her from behind.  “Kit?”

            “I know that you’re running off to do something dangerous,” Kit says.  “And I want you to be careful.”

            Geneva touches Kit’s hands, squeezes them gently, and she nods.  “I will.  I’ll come back safe and sound.”

            “You better.”

            They part, and Geneva leaves Kit crying in her room and hurries down the stairs.  She grabs her jacket and slips through the front door, into the crisp, foggy morning light.  Viness pulls up then in a black SUV and pushes the door open for her, and she gets inside.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Vinnes drives Geneva to the compound.  The ride there is quiet, save for the occasional sniffle.  Geneva stares out the window, letting it all work through her.  She cries quietly to herself, and Vinness either doesn’t notice or doesn’t ask.

            As they pull in, Geneva wipes her eyes, and she takes a deep breath, and she leaves it behind her.  A fog sits heavy and wet upon the grass.  It darkens the windows and the wood.  Geneva can feel the damp through her clothes and in her hair as she crosses the yard.

            Nina is waiting in the basement with Claude, who looks pale and tired.  Tied to a chair in front of them, and handcuffed for good measure, is the demon.  It a small, thin male with rotting yellow teeth and large, watery eyes.  Its ears are pointed.  Warts grow across its skin, mingling with a web-work of scars.  It regards the room with a mix of fear and rage.

            Geneva stops, wipes residual tears from her eyes.  She takes another deep breath and tries to smile.  “Look at this, you two got me a gift.  And it’s the one I’ve always wanted.”

            “Welcome, Ms. Oaks,” Nina says, clipboard held firmly in hand, pen poised.  “Now, if you would.”

            “Right.”  Geneva strips her jacket and hands it off to Viness, who sets it aside.  She steps in front of the demon and stares into its face.  It stares back at her, expressive, almost humanly so.  It is tense, wide-eyed with fright, aggressive only out of anxiety.  Like an animal, it is more afraid of her than she is of it.  “So, uh, what should I say?”

            “Ask it where Shirley is,” Claude says.  Everyone looks at him, and then Nina nods.

            “Right, one set of damsel-directions coming up.”  Geneva leans forward, bracing against her bent knees, and stares levelly into its eyes.  It is still watching her, its eyes fixed on hers, its breathing increased.  She can see light bruising across its face.  “Uh, hey there,” she says, her voice a bark and growl, “Sorry to interrupt your visit, but I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me about that girl you took.  For instance, could you tell me where you took her to exactly?”

            The demon squints at her, stares harder.  It looks at her like she is on display, like she is something beyond belief.  Then, carefully, in a raspy whine, it growls back, “It’s true.  You can really speak our tongue.”

            “Yup,” Geneva says, standing and pointing at her signet ring.  “And it’s not even my best party trick.  This ring here, it’s a weapon, and it was used a long time ago to hunt your people, to win the war that you waged.  And, unless you want to learn a lesson about history repeating itself, I’d start talking.”

            The demon gazes at her ring, which gleams in the light.  Breathlessly, in awed reverence, it says, “The signet. It’s real.”

            “One-hundred percent,” Geneva says, trying to sound confident while feeling anything but.  “So, talk.”

            “We didn’t believe them, you know.  We thought it was just more noble games. A lord’s madness, prompted by a lord’s lie, but you’re here.  You’re real.”  It stares, blankly, at the floor mats and repeats it.  “You’re real.”

            “What is it saying,” Claude asks, stalking just out of sight.

            Geneva glances back.  “Give me a second.  To the demon, she says, “Okay, what now?”

            The demon meets her eyes again, and it laughs deeply, with false humor.  Viness puts his hand on his gun, and Nina watches closely from behind the chair.  She looks at Geneva, who looks back again and shrugs. 

            “Okay, what’s so funny?”

            “You are the one, the soft, human child who slayed Andromalius.”  It grins at her, yellowed, rotten, and vicious.  “And you will kill another, I am sure.  They took the girl to our lands, to the Duchy of Duke Dantalion.  There, we will hold her for you to come and get.”

            “Why?”

            “It was a threat or a test.  In the games of nobles, it is hard to know what you are or what you are doing, and it is not our place to question.  Neither is it yours.  Your people, your elves, took my things.  I had two maps—one showing the way to our realm, and one showing the way to the duchy from the tree.  Use them.”

            “What is he saying,” Claude repeats, now approaching.  He pulls Geneva back, and they make eye contact.  He looks frantic, more frantic than the demon ever did, more driven and aggressive, too.

            Geneva looks passed him at Nina, and then meets his eyes again.  “They took her to the lands of some guy called Duke Dantalion, in the demon home—world? Dimension?  What’re we talking about here?  Anyway, the guy has maps that show us the way.  He just told me.”

            Nina and Viness share a look between them.  “And why would he tell you that?”

            “Don’t know,” Geneva says, and she looks at the demon.  “What gives? Why’re you telling me all of this?”

            “Because, that is my duty,” the demon says.  “He wants you to seek her, to save her.  That’s why we took her in the first place—to get to you.”

            “To get to me?”

            “She is yours, isn’t she?”

            Geneva pauses, considers his words.  Then, in English, she says, “Oh.  Oh, crap.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            “It’s a trap,” Viness says.  After the interrogation, he followed Nina to her office in the compound.  It is a large, rectangular room with dark wooden floorboards and a heavy layer of dust.  Since Erak’s removal, the office has seen little use.  Nina does much of her work at her home among the humans and travels here only to grab paperwork or leave that which is finished.

            Now, she is standing over a box of books and scrolls, sifting through what little information they have.  She has two scrolls, tightly bound with wet yarn, sitting on the desk beside her.  True to the demon’s word, they were among his things.  Nina, however, doesn’t trust the information entirely.

            In truth, the elves have little information on the demon realm.  In fact, they have little information of the war at all.  The demons had invaded far into their lands and razed everything on the way.  Pushing the invading force past the gate tree had been luck borne of sacrifice and ferocity.  Pushing them back to their own realm had been a combined effort across three acting races.

            The demonic realms are largely uncharted. What information the elves have is outdated and tightly guarded, and even then, it is limited.  The Council of Races, when established, burned any information that painted the elves as anything else than what was publicly approved.

            Nina huffs and pushes the box to the side.  She stares at the scrolls, tied neatly and resting together in a V on her desk, and she frowns.  “It most certainly is a trap.”

            “This is what Erak would have wanted,” Viness says, pacing a small, dusty circle beside a bookshelf.  He has his arms crossed, and he watches Nina’s back.

            “Yes, it is.”

            Viness stops.  “She’ll die.”

            “No,” Nina says, standing.  She unrolls the scrolls again, gives them both long look overs.  They are ancient.  The parchments are stained and stiffened by time.  The text is blocky and smudged, but Geneva had translated much of it earlier.  Dantalion’s home is in the mountains to the north, overlooking the sea.  “She won’t be alone,” Nina says.  “Claude will go with her.  I don’t think we could even stop him were we to try.”

            “Two people can’t fight an army.”

            “I don’t expect them to fight,” Nina says.  She binds the scroll tightly and undoes the other.  It is a map of the Yggdrasil, showing ways that have been long forgotten.  There are worlds there, countless worlds in languages long lost.  This map is localized between the Realm of Man and Realm of Beasts.  It won’t give them any information save for what is vital, but that is enough.

            Nina binds that scroll and takes a deep breath.  Looking over the information again does nothing to calm her.  She grabs both scrolls and turns to Viness.  “They will use stealth.  Sneak in, rescue her, and return, just as the demons did when they took her,” Nina says.  “Something must be done.  If our men had been more vigilant this wouldn’t have happened.”

            Viness takes a deep breath, nods.  Then, he stares her in the eyes.  “This is dangerous.  We could lose Geneva and lose the signet with her.  We could lose them both and incite a war with the demons.”

            “Which is why it will be just the two of them,” Nina says.  “This doesn’t get back to the Council.  And should it, then we call it a rogue action.”

            “You would throw them under like that?”

            “No,” Nina says.  “I’m not throwing them under.  I am simply not stopping them, and I am not sure I could even if I tried.  This is the very reason I offered her the signet in the first place.”  Nina stares into Viness’ eyes, watches him as he watches her.  “Will you turn me in?”

            He sighs and shifts his weight.  His long braid sways with his movements.  Then, he smiles.  “Nah.  I mean, I should, but I’ll be damned if you don’t make me proud when you break the rules.”

            Nina smiles back at him.  It is small but lingering.

            “And, off the record, I agree with what you’re doing.”  He straightens and salutes.  “I was just making sure, as your second-in-command, that you had a full handle on the situation.”

            “And I do.”  She salutes back.  “Thank you ever so much, Lieutenant.”

            He winks.  “Us trouble-makers have to watch each other’s backs.  Now, come on.  I think there’s some rules to be broken.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 116 A…End