Children of the Fountain (17 page)

Mr Hardy had still not returned when the clock struck the hour. Matthias was thinking about getting up and leaving when the door swung open and in strode a powerful looking man with a full moustache and fine clothes. A cape swished open revealing a sword and he held the door open behind him. Matthias shot up not knowing whether to greet the man or prepare for a fight.

The gentleman didn’t acknowledge him but scanned Mr Hardy’s office; although what he was looking for Matthias couldn’t fathom. When the man seemed satisfied, he stood aside, his back to the wall. The sound of quick, bold footsteps was shortly followed by an old gentleman with a neatly trimmed white beard and mischievous eyes underneath a fine black hat.

He sat down on one of the chairs next to Matthias and dusted himself off before speaking to the man at the door. “Thank you, Doyle,” he said, taking off his gloves. “You may leave us.”

The man at the door nodded and left the room shutting it behind him although from the lack of footsteps Matthias could tell he was still stood outside. He turned his attention to the man sat beside him. He wore pale blue breeches with a matching waistcoat, his shirt was silk with delicate cuffs. On his fingers were several rings; all gold and adorned with precious stones. Finally, around his neck, a thick gold chain with an amulet Matthias couldn’t quite study hanging about his chest. The eyes were pale blue and mischievous; he’d seen them before or a pair very like them. Two pair, in fact.

“You’re my grandfather,” said Matthias.

The duke regarded him with a grin, “Very astute.” He paused and looked around, inspecting every corner of Mr Hardy’s office as if reacquainting himself with an old friend. “Well, isn’t this nice?” he said, finally.

Matthias opened his mouth but no words came out. He simply had so many questions and things to say he felt he would make no sense if he did. Slowly, he sat himself down but continued to stare.

“You must have a lot of questions?” said the old man, leaning over to Mr Hardy’s desk and pouring some water. As the drink churned to the top of the cup the duke glanced over and raised an eyebrow, “Well?” he said. His voice was croaky, but sharp. Something about his posture suggested that underneath the clothes his body was not so frail as the white whiskers implied.

“Well what?” said Matthias.

“Well what do you want to ask me?” said the duke, looking visibly irritated. His voice was firm, with a slight accent similar to Alonso’s, and he was clearly surprised at not being understood.

“Why?” said Matthias, after some time. “Why am I here? Why is Rebecca dead?”

“Good questions,” said the duke, sipping from his goblet. “Are you a religious boy, Matthias?”

“I go to church. Father James teaches me as well.”

“Ah yes, James. How is he?” The duke drained the last of his water and placed the cup carefully back on the desk.

“He is well. Have you not seen him?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s told you we don’t get on. You see, Matthias, I am not a spiritual person like my son. I find it difficult to attribute acts we see to that of a divine entity. Until he reveals himself to me I choose not to follow James’s
God
.”

“You have no faith?” said Matthias.

“I have seen too much of the world and for far too long to know that if there is a God, he is not the least bit interested in how we choose to pass our years living and dying. So no, I have no faith in God.

“You’re looking at me and your eyes tell me you pity me. Please, save such sentiments for those who truly need them. Piety I tolerate, but righteousness I do not.”

Matthias had never asked himself how he felt about God, the same God that had allowed the carnage at the abbey. Perhaps he was a believer; or perhaps he went to mass every Sunday just to spend time with his uncle. “I have always had the church in my life,” he stated.

“Man created the church. Not God. Did God tell us to gather every Sunday in a big cold room and mumble our thanks to him in an ancient language? Your uncle would have us believe so.”

“This is because of Vasco?”

The duke’s eyes widened, “You’re quick. How much did he tell you?”

“He told me about the fountain. About the children. About me.”

“You’re very special, Matthias.” The duke leant over and held out his hand, “I would very much like you to take this hand and tell me you want to help end this evil war. That you will help me keep the fountain from the hands of those who would use it to carry out evil deeds in the name of their Lord. I want you to tell me your sister did not die in vain.”

In vain? The old man was trying to make her death sound noble. The fury rising up inside him was quelled only by the fact that this man was his grandfather and a connection to the family had he never had. Every inch of him wanted to cry out in rage but equally, he just wanted to sit and stare at the man.

But the fight, the fight against the Legion, that was all he had now. Dark days were ahead but hopefully, the darkest were behind him. Yes, he would take his hand. And yes, he would take up the fight. For his revenge grew ever hungry. Nunez had not been enough.

“I will.”

The white whiskers parted and the duke smiled, slowly. “Good.”

“What now then?” Matthias asked.

“You will finish your training. I hear you are doing rather well.”

“Well enough. I excel at some things more than others.”

“When the time is right I shall call for you, but you still have much to learn. Pay attention to your tutors, read the books.” The duke tapped his temple with his finger.

“What of my friends? Will they come with me?”

“If you wish,” said the duke, standing and gathering his coat. “You seem to operate well as a team. But remember, for us, friendships are temporary. Family is permanent.”

Matthias stood up too. “What do you mean? Harry and Sophie
are
my family now.”

“Sophie? Ah yes, I believe she is a descendant of my good friend Alonso de Ojeda. Her story is quite sad.” A flash of concern crossed his face and he absentmindedly stroked his chin.

“As I said, you are special. Both your parents are direct descendants so the fountain’s water is in your blood. In fifty years’ time you may still have the body of a young man. Both your friends will be old, maybe even dead by then. Slowly as you drift through life you might have to come to terms with your own immortality.”

“We don’t die?” said Matthias.

“Not yet,” said the duke, with a smile. “‘Although, as they say,
mors vincit omnia
.”

Matthias blinked and stared at the duke. The old man’s face leaned in closer and he kissed Matthias on the cheek, “Death always wins.”

He walked to the door and opened it before turning around to face Matthias.

“Until the next time, Matthias Cortés, I bid you farewell. Good luck with your training. I shall, of course, be taking a very special interest in your studies.”

“What about my father?”

The old man turned to the cold corridor, the draft running through his hair like fingers. “He will be coming with me to London. We have much work ahead of us and my son is…reinvigorated.”

With those parting words he left. His guard closed the door behind him and Matthias heard his footsteps echo away down the corridor.

It was a cold frost which arrived quickly that November. It seemed that one week they were enjoying the last throes of autumn underneath copper-leafed trees, and the next they were fighting their way to lessons through blizzards and snow.

But still they continued. Still they trained. Matthias felt himself getting stronger as all around him suffered and fought the depths of winter. It was the pain. Somehow he thrived on it and found himself looking forward to long runs, target practice in the rain or bruises from sword fights.

Harry and Sophie noticed this change in Matthias as he became more focused and dedicated. He soaked up the knowledge and skills on offer before retreating to his room to study or re-read books. They both said he seemed to spend more and more time alone. The closeness that the three enjoyed seemed to be disappearing and they began to drift their separate ways. True, their classes kept them apart as they specialised in their own subjects, but it was something more. Harry even suggested that Matthias was avoiding them.

Christmas arrived without much change. Some of the other children went home. Matthias and Harry who had no family stayed and, to both their surprise, so did Sophie. It was on Christmas Eve when lessons had officially finished for a week that the two concerned friends managed to sit down and have him all to themselves.

Alone in the mustering hall, Matthias was immersed in a volume on fencing he had sought out in the library. One hand was holding the book and the other an imaginary sword as he tried to replicate the moves he was reading about. Harry, never one to miss an opportunity for a joke, leapt in front of Matthias’s mock blade and feigned a mortal wound.

“Argh! I’m done for!” he exclaimed, dropping to the ground in a heap. His smiling face was met with a frown from Matthias as he rose. Sophie sat down and Harry joined them on the table.

“We’ve been worried about you,” she said. “How are you keeping?”

He sighed and closed his book. His eyes were tired and he rubbed the bridge of his nose and yawned.

“Tired,” he said. “But I really want to make sure I complete my apprenticeship. O’Grady’s got me working harder than ever and biology still confuses me.”

“We don’t see you anymore,” said Harry. “You’re either out training or in the library. You’re never there when I fall asleep and when I wake your bed is made and you’ve already eaten. Is everything alright?”

He thought for a moment. He was only too aware that he had been pushing himself but not realised how isolated he had become.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “It’ll be Christmas soon. We should make arrangements to celebrate together.”

“Matthias,” said Sophie, “Christmas Day is tomorrow.”

He looked a little surprised. “But I thought today was the twentieth?” Sophie and Harry shook their heads. “Maybe I have been pushing myself. But I have to.”

The two friends again looked at each other for guidance. It was Sophie who offered some solace. “You don’t need to prove yourself, Matthias. You killed him.”

“But I failed
her
,” he said. “If I could have done then what I can do now…”

“You weren’t ready,” said Harry.

“I let her down.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” said Sophie.

As Matthias looked into the eyes of his two friends something became apparent. He knew that as long as Harry and Sophie stayed at his side it didn’t matter what trials came his way. Rebecca was gone, but in his place were a brother and sister whom he knew meant nearly as much.

He smiled. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go and find something to eat. Maybe a bit of supper in the kitchens? They’ll be pretty quiet now.”

Harry leapt to his feet. “Now you’re talking,” he said, with a grin. “Let me just go and get out of my field gear.” He slapped his friend on the back and headed off to their dormitory to get out of his thick leather jerkin.

Matthias started to pack away his books. Sophie yawned and turned to face the fire warming her hands.

“Sophie,” said Matthias. She didn’t turn around but responded with a sound of recognition, “My grandfather, he mentioned something about you.”

“Really?”

“He said your story was a sad one.”

He could hear her slow breathing. She kept her back to him; sat across the table staring, he assumed, into the fire.

“A lot of our stories are sad, Matthias. That’s why we’re here.”

He wasn’t sure whether to press, but out of concern for his friend’s pain he asked. “Was it to do with your parents? They’re dead aren’t they? That’s why you’re here for Christmas?”

“Yes, they’re both dead. They were murdered, in fact.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Matthias. “I didn’t realise. Was it the work of the Legion?”

Sophie chuckled. “Good Lord, no!” she said, turning around with a strange smirk on her face. Matthias returned her smile but he wasn’t quite sure why.

“It was me,” she said.

As Vasco Nunez emerged onto the deck a crisp wind sprayed his face with salt water.
The Americas
. He was almost there, but he felt no pleasure in returning. Over the bow of the ship he could see a green crescent of land sitting below the horizon, the sun’s rays hitting the fields and trees, before reflecting off the ocean.

He looked around as the ship’s crew busied themselves for their arrival. She was a fine vessel, one of Mr Greene’s best.
It was such a shame about him
;
it would have been useful to have kept him. A large shipping company, plenty of ties to the Americas. No matter, Mrs Greene could handle the reigns, it just might eat into the time of her other commitments
. As a sailor made his way past, Nunez calmly took the man’s arm and pulled him close.

“How long till we arrive?” he whispered. The seasoned sailor was taken aback and struggled politely from the man’s grip.

“We’ll be docking at noon, signor,” he said.

Vasco nodded and let the man go; then slowly he walked to the bow and leaned over a rail so he could gaze at the churning white waves. Vasco Nunez was an elderly man, unshaven, but immaculately dressed. His hair was a light brown, tinged with white streaks. His mouth, downturned and sour, was closed in a frown.

After some time a figure appeared behind him. A shorter, plump man, dressed in dark red velvet. His eyes were shielded by a round hat, but the unmistakable crucifix catching the light around his neck marked him as a man of the cloth.

“Cardinal,” said Vasco, “I trust you rested well?”

“Well enough,” said the cardinal. His voice was high pitched but soothing and he breathed in deeply the sea air. “We have much to prepare. I take it you have made suitable arrangements for our journey?”

“Yes, we should be underway tomorrow at noon. We’ll spend no more than a day in Rio before we set off. However, I am not comfortable with our choice of allies.”

“We both have a vested interest in the events that may or may not unfold. I ask you to work
with
them, but you do not have to trust them.”

Vasco scoffed and turned his attention back to the horizon. “What of my other task?” he said, raising his voice over the crashing sea. “My son found the boy.”

The cardinal sighed and looked down at the deck. “Your sacrifice has been greatly appreciated,” he said, “but you have to understand some believe he went too far.”

“You were aware of his methods.”

The cardinal came to stand next to Vasco and he too gazed at the ocean. The luscious green land of the Americas was beckoning him and his hand crept across his chest to touch the crucifix. He brought it to his lips before, bowing his head, he spoke softly.

“Yes, I was aware of his methods. Alas, my superiors do not share the same understanding of God’s work as you and I. The boy will have to be dealt with soon enough but, for now, we have our tasks. From what we understand, when we return in two or maybe even three years he will still be just a boy.”

Vasco scoffed, “Just a boy. Indeed!”

Sailors unfurled rigging and the ship started to lurch towards the port side. “You see him as a threat, don’t you?” said the cardinal.

Vasco tilted his head to one side. “Maybe,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because when I was his age I had already killed ten men,” said Vasco. “Matthias Cortés does not even know how truly dangerous he is.”

The End