Children of the Fountain (12 page)

Father Morant’s handwriting was delicate and Matthias could read it well enough. But he didn’t understand the meaning.

Michael Cortés - born 1502

“I was going to wait until you were old enough to explain this,” said a voice from behind him, instantly recognisable as that of his uncle.

“Until I was old enough?”

The old man sat down on a pew at the end of the bed. Matthias kept looking at the pages in his hand going over each word and number again and again. He’d gone to his uncle’s room, to find out what Alonso had meant. The monk had been sleeping, but the book was there on the shelf with others. It had been easy to spot; it was the only one with dust on the shelf in front of it where it had laid undisturbed.

“You are very special. You are a child of
The Fountain
.” Matthias turned to stare at the old man. He was smiling, wanting to let Matthias know how much he cared.

“My father, your grandfather, was a conquistador. He and six other men ruled vast areas of what we now know as the Americas. They were adventurers, soldiers and their undertakings brought them much wealth; most of which found its way back to Spain. But one treasure they kept for themselves.”

Matthias made his way to the pew and sat next to his uncle. Eyes focused and mouth slightly open he listened as his uncle continued.

“It was Vasco Nunez who first heard the tale. Deep in the jungle he’d come across a tribe of natives who told him of a fountain that granted great powers of life to any that drank from its waters. At first he believed it to be nothing more than a story.

“But the more time he and his party spent with the tribe the more he noticed how they seemed somewhat different. They were all exceptionally fit and healthy, even the elders. Some were able to leap up trees like apes and others run as fast as leopards. Slowly, he came to the conclusion they were a miracle race of what he referred to as ‘God’s Children.’ You see he theorised that whatever had done this to them was a gift from the almighty.

“And so, the young Vasco studied them; indeed some of
his
work is in these books. From their life stories and descriptions he was able to piece together the history of the tribe. He was able to make educated guesses at their ages from what they could tell him about the seasons. Many looked younger than him but he deduced some were several hundred years old.”

Matthias straightened, his head popping back on his shoulders.

“When Vasco shared this knowledge with his six fellow conquistadors they organised an expedition to find the fountain, although unknown to them at the time, they all had different views on what they would do when they found it.”

“When was all this?” said Matthias.

“It was the year of our Lord 1498. Over three hundred years ago.”

Matthias gazed at the old man. Here, in his simple room, illuminated by only moonlight he looked frail and somehow older. His own father was born in 1502; it said so in the book in his hand. James was younger, but by how much?

“May I ask a question?” said Matthias.

Father James laughed and looked down at his robes in embarrassment, “You want to know how old I am don’t you?”

The monk’s eyes shone with mischief. His hand took Matthias’s and he clenched it tight as he spoke. “This October I will be three hundred and four years old. I too am a child of the fountain Matthias, but different from yourself.”

“How?” asked Matthias.

“I will come to that.” The old man paused to collect his thoughts before continuing. “So, the men set off into the jungle. Deep and far they travelled until they discovered an ancient and long abandoned city. There, they found the fountain. And they drank from it.”

Matthias thought he saw pain cross the old man's face and the monk looked solemn as he continued his story.

“They found themselves rejuvenated. Sickness cured, their strength grew and they became convinced they had a gift from God. Then, they argued.

“The seven men were split on what to do with their discovery. Vasco was the most vocal; he said they must take as much of the water as they could and return to Spain. They would be kings. Raise an army of soldiers; each with the strength of ten men and the speed of cheetahs. They would create a force of such power and fortitude as to be unstoppable. Spain could conquer Europe; defeat the Ottoman Empire; take back the holy lands. A Crusade.”

Matthias looked at his uncle, “What happened next?”

“Vasco had supporters; two men Balboa and de Soto agreed. Your grandfather and the others disagreed. They thought it too great a power to bestow upon men and they were right. They suggested the fountain be kept a secret and they all take counsel. A fight broke out. Swords were drawn and one man, Legazpi, fell. Vasco and his two supporters fled. Your grandfather and his two comrades Pizarro and de Ojeda made their way back. Thus began the ‘War of the Fountain.’

“Over the years the families grew in power and wealth. Some attributed this to the fountain itself, but in truth the men used their gains from the Americas to buy favour and the longevity of their lives helped them assail to positions of power.

“Every so often they would fake their death and re-surface again years later when nobody could recognise them. The treachery continued though. You see, Cortés’s
have a great history of cartography and your grandfather was the only one in the group making a map. He was and still is the only person who knows where the fountain lies.

“Over the years he has kept it hidden from the world. Some say within a great tomb others say it was buried under a mountain. My father has never told anyone. To this day Vasco and his ‘Legion’ seek the fountain to unleash its power on the world for God’s glory, or so they say.”

Matthias found himself leaning back, slightly shaking his head, unable to digest much of what he had been told. He looked out of the window into the courtyard. The first trickles of sunrise were beginning to spill over the battlements and into the castle. Soon the other students would be waking, but he felt as if time had frozen.

“You mentioned I am special,” he said finally. “Why?”

Father James looked to the books Matthias had brought with him. “Each of the men bore children who, like them, had certain powers of life and strength. My father had two sons; myself and your father, Michael. Look through these books and you will see generation after generation. As each child was born, married and had children of their own, so the powers were slowly diluted.”

Matthias stared, “But–” he started to say.

“You, are the exception. Your father married another child of the fountain. Your mother was Margaret Pizarro. Nobody else was born of such stock.” As he said this Father James casually waved his hand at the walls.

“The castle?” said Matthias.

“Precisely. The children here are all, in some way, offspring of the houses of Cortez, Pizarro or de Ojeda although the bloodlines are very diluted by now. Several hundred years have passed and many generations have been born and died. But they are the descendants and each can, usually, trace their bloodline back to one of the families.”

“Usually?” said Matthias.

“Some,” replied his uncle, “your friend Harry for instance, were born out of wedlock. The daughter of a lady who made a mistake? A young master sowing his seed? We will never know how some of these children got their powers, but Alonso does his best to seek them out and bring them here where they can be trained and schooled.”

“And me?”

The old man turned to look at him. “You must understand Michael felt you were too valuable to lose. You are a direct descendant of Hernan Cortez and Francisco Pizzao. The bloodline will be most strong with you.”

Strangely, he found his thoughts drifting to his days at the abbey. The long summers which he’d never much counted before. “Can I expect to live so long a life?”

“I think so.”

One final piece of all this fell into place.

“Rebecca, the other children at the abbey? Balthazar, was looking for us wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” he said. “Undoubtedly Vasco has heard of you and sees you as a threat. At least, that is Mr Hardy’s theory.”

Father James’s eyes glistened. “It was not your fault Matthias.” He held him at arm’s length and looked into his eyes.

“They found Nunez,” he said. “They are going to bring him to justice. As a man of faith I cannot condone their actions but I will not pray for his soul after such evil.”

They stood together for some time until sunrise turned into morning. Matthias didn’t share the fact that he knew Nunez was being kept in the castle. Nor did he share his intentions. In need of some sleep, he bid his uncle farewell and headed back to his room.

On his way back he decided to take the long way around the outskirts of the castle and get some fresh air. The icy morning breeze was sharp and he brought his collar up around his exposed neck.

In the courtyard, something caused him to squint against the low sunbeams and it made him stop in his tracks. Two men were moving a large coach into the stables. They grunted and groaned as they guided it through the giant doors. Matthias picked up his pace and headed back to the mustering hall.

At breakfast Matthias sought out his friends and found both huddled over their meals in a corner. Sophie was studying a book but somehow noticed Matthias approach and looked up at him with a smile.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Where did you get to last night?” he said, as Sophie looked on.

Matthias sat down. “I went for a walk. I needed to think.” He picked up some bread and poured a cup of milk from a jug. All around them the hall was busy with children taking their breakfast and gossiping away in pockets. Somehow, in their corner, it seemed silent and darker than the rest of the room. Perhaps a portent of the subject they were certain to turn their attentions to, thought Matthias, and indeed it was Harry who first broached it.

“So,” he said, looking around to see if anyone was in earshot, “did you come up with a plan?”

Matthias smiled. Sophie put down her book. “Well?”

He turned to Harry. “Do you still have to clean the stables on Sunday mornings?”

Harry frowned. “Of course, you know I do. I’ve got two more weeks of it!”

Sophie looked across the table and raised her eyebrows in confusion. Harry sighed, “I tried to borrow a pony to go out trekking a couple of weeks ago and the stable master caught me. He said I had to clean the stables for a month or he’d tell Mr Hardy.”

Sophie gave a little chuckle. “How did you get caught?” she asked.

“Blasted pony bolted and threw me!”

“That’s not all it did,” said Matthias.

“Can we stick to the matter in hand, please?” said Harry.

“Of course.” But Matthias let Sophie know with a quick wink he’d share the rest of Harry’s misfortune with her later.

“I was walking past the stables last night on my way back,” he continued, “when I saw a new coach. A big metal coach with an iron door.”

“A prison coach?” said Sophie. “They must be taking Nunez on somewhere else.”

Harry shrugged, “So what’s the plan?” Children were starting to leave for lessons and it was getting empty in the mustering hall.

“I’m not going to break into the prison,” said Matthias. “It’s too hard. You were right; I’d never get past the guards.”

“You’re going to hide in the prison coach,” said Sophie.

He nodded and pointed at Harry. “But I need
you
to show me how.”

Sophie now too turned her gaze to their friend. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he digested what had been said. His fingers drummed on the table and he scratched his chin.

“You want to hide in the coach so that when he’s put in you’re not seen? Then, I’m assuming, when you’re safely away from the castle on the open road you’ll kill him? Finally, the tough part – you’ll need to get out of the prison coach. Did I miss anything?”

“No,” said Matthias.

Harry thought for what seemed like minutes before finally answering. “It may be possible. Let’s go and take a look at the coach.”

The three friends got up from the table and made their way outside towards the castle’s stables. The journey took several minutes as not only was the building on the opposite side, but all the corridors were filled with the usual morning mixture of students and teachers hurrying and barging to get to where they were supposed to be.

Eventually, they got to the courtyard and as they rounded the corner all three looked up at the enormous and decorative structure. The stables were almost as ancient as the castle itself which some say was hundreds of years old. However, they were of a different construction and had clearly been added on later. Great white stone soared upwards and pillars surrounded the two giant doors at either end. Crows sat idly on top staring downwards and letting out the occasional squawk as the wind ruffled their feathers.

The door was open and the three headed towards it; trying to blend in with the other children crossing the courtyard. Inside, the palatial roof stretched back above dozens of stalls extended down each side. Each one had a door that split in two across the middle allowing a hatch through which the animals could be looked after.

“Looks like there’s a class out on the ponies,” said Harry, as the three nosed through the empty compartments.

It was true, there didn’t seem to be a soul around. Harry popped his head around one door, looked inside and reappeared quickly. "The tack room is empty so I guess Joe the stable master is gone too.”

“Where was the coach?” said Sophie.

Matthias pointed to the other end of the great building where another giant door was sealed shut from within. “I saw them wheel it in that end.” The three made their way there, passing more stalls and rooms full of feed and equipment.

As they reached the end they found a large chamber. In it was the carriage and it was Harry who spotted the tracks on the cobbled floor where dirt and wet had been brought in on the wheels of the giant metal box.

The three approached softly. Harry was first to reach the contraption. It stood at least as tall as two men and the limbers stretched forward enough for six horses to pull it. The monstrous wagon was not only strong, but fast.

The door was solid metal with a small grill so the prisoner could be viewed within. It was open and Harry pulled it wide before peering in. Sophie and Matthias stepped closer to take a look. Inside was a single wooden bench attached to the side and nothing else. The metal cell was designed not for comfort, but security. It was square but with a high roof on top of which were seats for the guards and driver.

“There’s your spot,” said Harry, pointing upwards. Matthias followed his gaze to the dark alcove about five feet above the bench. There a large ledge, presumably for storage and his eyes traced along the wall downwards to an iron ring on the floor; for the prisoners shackles.

“The roof?” said Matthias.

“No,” said Harry, “the shelf. Watch.” He leapt inside and spreading his arms and legs hoisted himself up to the top. As he reached it he stretched himself out further using the walls for purchase and finally came to rest flat against the ledge. With a foot in each of the front corners and an arm held against one of the other two he was hardly visible to the naked eye as the cell itself was enveloped in darkness.

“I don’t know,” said Matthias, “I can still see you.”

“I’ll blacken your face with soot and lend you some of my gear. You’ll blend in like a shadow.”

Sophie looked impressed. “You wouldn’t need to stay there long. As soon as they shut the door and you were on the road you could do it. Then it’s just a matter of getting out.” She smiled to herself, paused for thought and then slammed the door shut.

The bang made Matthias jump and Harry yelp with surprise. There was a loud clatter which sounded much like Harry hitting the floor of the cell via the bench.

Sophie pressed her ear up against the door and swung down the bolt outside. “Can you get out?” she shouted, through the grill.

Harry’s flustered face appeared moments later. “That was unnecessary,” he said.

Matthias held back laughter as Harry looked with contempt at Sophie through the bars. He rattled the door and looked carefully at the iron rods before disappearing beneath the hatch. There was a loud crack and then a metallic click and amazingly the door swung open. Harry stepped out onto the footstep putting something that looked like a blunt, flat knife back inside his jacket.

He looked smugly at Sophie and turned to point at the door. “There’s a small gap between the door frame and the lock lever at the bottom.” Matthias popped his head into the carriage and looked down.

“Underneath the hinges - here.” Harry indicated a small hole in the wooden door just beneath the black iron casing.

“If you can push up hard enough it’ll unlock the door from within. I’ve seen this kind before.” Harry looked oblivious to the implications of what he had just said but Matthias had to ask.

“You’ve been in one?” he said.

“Just the once.”

He and Sophie waited in anticipation of the story but were cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps echoing towards them.

Two figures cast a shadow on the far wall as daylight stretched down the length of the stables around them. There was no time to hide so the only option was to try and not look guilty. They relaxed slightly when the scowling figure of Gerard and his friend Evan turned the corner.

“What’s going on?” he said. The boy’s face was a permanent scowl and Matthias had been trying to avoid him since the fight. His friend Evan’s weasel-like features were a permanent sneer and his greasy black hair lay flat across his forehead. He was wiry and thin but was known to be quick with a blade.

“I don’t think Mr Hardy would like to know you’ve been sniffing around here,” said Evan, in a raspy voice. His bright green eyes looked at Sophie in a way that made Matthias’s stomach turn. She looked back at him, her own eyes widening.

Gerard strode forward towards the nearest of the three, Harry, who was perched on the steps of the carriage. “You’ve no business here. Get out before I report you.”

“Report you?” Harry scoffed.

“Yes,
report
. I’m on watch duty for three months.”

“Ah, so that was your punishment. It’s a shame it wasn’t shovelling dung.” Harry kicked at some straw on the floor, sending it onto Gerard’s boots as he stood up.

Gerard stepped forward, enraged. “If you want to make a fight of this then I’m more than happy.” He put one hand on the knife on his belt, to his side, Matthias saw Evan do the same.

“Don’t!” warned Matthias, catching Harry’s eye. Although angry, he realised there was a greater quarry. All they had to do was leave and they would arise no suspicion. But then, he saw Harry inhale and puff up his chest squaring up to Gerard. Whether through wanting to prove a point or protecting his pride in front of his friends, Harry was about to cause trouble.

“Harry,” said Matthias, stepping forward and positioning himself between the two. “Please?” His eyes begged. He turned to face Gerard. “We were just looking.”

The thug scoffed and looked down at him. He stepped closer, purposefully head to head; so close that Matthias could smell the sweat coming from his shirt.

“You come here uneducated, untrained and ill-mannered and think to join us? We don’t want you.”

“Get lost, Gerard,” said Harry, from behind. The brute pushed forward into Matthias who somehow managed to block him.

“Harry, go!” he said, turning to his friend. “Meet me back at the dorm.”

“What?” said Harry, taking a step back from the affray. “Don’t you want to teach him a lesson?”

At this Gerard roared and shoved Matthias aside to get to Harry who promptly darted behind the coach and disappeared.

“Harry,” shouted Sophie, “there are more important things than this.”

Gerard began circling the coach. He snarled as he checked under the wheels and round the back. Confused he appeared from the other side and looked up only to see Harry sitting on top of the vehicle smiling.

“Harry!” shouted Matthias, and this time the boy stopped smiling and looked down at his friend’s face. “Please, let’s go!”

Harry nodded glumly and slid down off the black metal roof landing like a cat in front of Gerard. The two boys squared up to each other one final time before Matthias finally dragged his comrade away. Sophie followed too, but Gerard and Evan remained behind watching them leave. Suspicious of what they had been up to the two boys turned their attention to the coach. The three friends hurried back through the stables and burst outside.

“We don’t need that kind of attention, Harry!” Sophie gave him an elbow in the ribs to make her point. “Now Gerard is going to be wondering what we were up to!”

“Relax, he doesn’t know anything.”

The clock struck nine signalling it was time for their lessons. Matthias had another session with Lady Taylor for which he was already late; and lateness wouldn’t be tolerated.

Harry stretched and muttered something about making his way to the firing range and Sophie said she would be in the library. The three parted company and arranged to meet that night. The final part of their plan was still missing though. Now they knew where but they didn’t know when. How could they find out when would Balthazar Nunez would be leaving the castle?