Hammer of Witches (27 page)

“You weren’t there, Jinni, but he killed a woman in Arabuko’s village a few weeks ago.”

Tears flew from Jinniyah’s eyes as she shook her head viciously. “There must be an explanation. You don’t know him!”

I gave her a dark look. “And why is that, Jinni? Why don’t I know him? Because he ran off to Granada to kill my people, to become a traitor fighting on the side of the Infidel!”

Jinniyah’s hair crackled under the rain, and her fingers twitched into fists. “
Infidel?!
You mean Moorish!”

“What’s the difference?”

Jinniyah dug a finger into my chest. “I’m Moorish. Your father’s Moorish. That makes you Moorish!”

“No!” I fired back. “Actually, Jinni, it really doesn’t!” Words from my memory squalled through the forest: Marrano.
Coward. Traitor.
“You remember that story you told me back in Palos? The one about how your god sent warriors to kill some poor defenseless genies? If that’s what being Moorish means, then I don’t want anything to do with them, not ever!”

Jinniyah shoved me twice through the hammering rain. “How could you?” she cried. “I thought you were a good person. But you’re just like the rest of them! You think you know everything, but you know nothing! As if there wasn’t a reason for it! As if no one from Spain ever killed anyone! Those genies were evil, you know! They were torturing humans — women and children! Anyway, Baltasar Infante, Allah has every right to kill as many genies as He wants! I think when you create something out of nothing, it’s within your rights to destroy it whenever you feel like it!”

She floated to the puddly ground and started to cry. Seeing her there, letting herself be burned by the rain, I felt like I might cry too.

Instead I said, “Fine, Jinni. Believe what you want. But if there’s one thing we can agree on, it’s this. Someone has to stop Amir al-Katib before he kills any more people. I’ll try to talk to him, but if he tries to kill me — if he gives me no other choice — I’m not going to just stand there. I’m going to fight. And if the time comes, if it comes down to me or him —”

Jinniyah looked up at me and cried, “Then I’m going to stop you!”

For a few seconds we stared at each other, letting the rain fall down on us. Finally I raised my arms and let them flop against my sides. “Why, Jinni? Why do you keep protecting him? You keep saying he’s a good man, but he’s not. This is a man who turned his back on his country and mutilated my people. A man who this morning ripped the
Santa María
to pieces. And, oh yes, Jinni — don’t forget, Jinni! This is a man who abandoned you! You protect him, you vouch for him, but what did he ever do for you? Nothing! He left you alone in a necklace for the last — oh, I don’t know — how about
fourteen years, Jinni!
Fourteen years! You act like he loved you, but guess what? He didn’t!”

Silence. Just the sound of the rain’s last downpour before it reduced itself to a drizzle.

I heard a tiny whimper as Jinniyah’s body wilted. With those hollow eyes and huddled, blackened shoulders, she looked as though I’d punched her right in the stomach.

And then she vanished.

At first I didn’t completely understand what had happened. “Jinni?”

I took a few splashing steps forward through the mud. “Jinni.”

Then I understood.

She was gone.

Alone with my words, I sat in the forest.

I don’t know how long
I walked — maybe a few hours, maybe all night. I wandered through the jungle, through the rain and the heat, not caring where I was headed or why. When I couldn’t move anymore I stopped. I fell to the earth and let sleep overtake me.

I awoke the next day with leaves in my hair that I didn’t care to remove. Around me the jungle was alive with the chirps and hoots of unknown tropical beasts. It was raining lightly. Dawn.

Abandoned you
 —

I lay back in my leafy bower and closed my eyes.

Oh. Right.

She was gone.

Well, it was her fault. I had been right, after all. Her emotions got the best of her, that was all. Clouded her interpretations.

But what was it Catalina said, back on the beach? “The truth doesn’t matter. It’s the interpretation that’s important.”

Didn’t I know it. One bad interpretation after another — that’s what got me into this mess.

I closed my eyes. Back on the ship, things made sense. Right and wrong — what were those? Right: the knot held. Wrong: it didn’t. Right: the floors sparkled. Wrong: more work and no dinner.

Or back in Spain. Father Joaquin said: Here’s the Bible. The Bible is the word of God. God is right. Spain fought for God. Spain is right.

I threw an arm over my head and said to no one, “I can’t believe I’m homesick for church.” At least back there things were easy. At least I knew what I was doing. I felt an awful burning in my heart and closed my eyes against the pain. “Dear God,” I thought, “I know how much I’ve sinned. I don’t know if you’ll forgive me. But I’m begging you: Tell me what to do. I’m sick of figuring all this out on my own. Please. Please, give me a sign.”

To the north of me, leaves rustled in the forest. I raised my head and squinted against the sunlight. “Jinni?”

But a tall figure crossed over a log into my leafy enclave. “Hi! It’s me. Rodrigo Sanchez.”

“Rodrigo?” I pushed myself upright in my nest. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you. You left quite a path in the forest.” Rodrigo sat on the log behind him and picked up a fruit from the forest floor. “Where’s your friend? Juan.”

“Jinniyah,” I said. My throat was so dry. “Her name is Jinniyah. And she’s gone.”

“Oh.” Rodrigo struggled against the rind of his fruit with his fingernails. “Do you want some? These things are delicious. The trouble is opening them. Where did I put that thing?” He swiveled his head to and fro, searching for something on his belt. From his side he unsheathed a dagger and held out its shining edge to peel his breakfast. He pressed the knife with his thumb into the papaya’s flesh. Then he brought the knife and the piece of papaya to his mouth.

That’s when I noticed the ring on Rodrigo’s finger, a ring he hadn’t previously been wearing. It was gold and branded with a familiar mark: a circle enclosing the shape of a hammer.

The world swam around me. Holding onto a nearby tree I pulled myself to my feet and backed away from Rodrigo. “You’re from the Malleus Maleficarum. That’s why you followed me.”

Laughing, Rodrigo slurped up the fruit juice that had seeped down onto his chin. “Guilty as charged.”

Feverishly, I pushed my fingers through my bangs. “I should have known. From the beginning I should have known you were a spy! The way you kept falling over, the way you kept bumping into things. It was all an act.”

Rodrigo burst into laughter. “If only!” He pulled up his sleeve to reveal a long red scratch. “This one’s from one of the creepers.” Next he pointed to a nick right above his eyebrow. “And this one’s from bumping into a tree. I’d strip down and show you the bruises I got from slipping down that hill, but it’s a bit early in the morning for that!”

Faking a chuckle, I sneaked a glance over my shoulder. The forest path was clear. I could make it, if I ran.

With all my might I launched a stone at Rodrigo’s head and made a run for it. I tore through the vines, not caring where I was headed. But I didn’t get far. I felt shivery and weak, and in a few steps my legs gave out beneath me.

I bent over the forest floor and panted into it.
“Dios,”
Rodrigo said. He rubbed his head where my rock had hit him. “You know, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I thought I did,” I muttered.

“Come on, Baltasar! I’m not going to kill you! Listen, we’re on the same side!”

I closed my eyes, trying my hardest to keep the trees around me from spinning. “What are you talking about, Rodrigo?”

The bookkeeper knelt beside me and offered me a piece of papaya balanced on his knife. When I shook my head he sat on the ground next to me and stuffed the piece of papaya into his mouth. With his mouth full he said, “I was back in court earlier this year when the queen suggested that the Malleus Maleficarum send a man to spy on this voyage around the world. I was there because my father’s the liaison between the Malleus Maleficarum and the throne, and let me tell you, he wasn’t too keen on this idea. My father said the organization
had no men to spare, that it had its hands full trying to track down Amir al-Katib. The queen doesn’t care; she’s insistent. Then my father gets an idea. He volunteers
me
to be the inspector on the voyage! He gives me this look and says, ‘Rodrigo won’t come back until he’s done something useful for once.’
Something useful!
I think.
How am I supposed to do something useful on a ship in the middle of nowhere?
It was hopeless.”

A smile spread across Rodrigo’s face, and he shook a finger at me. “Ah, but then I saw you translating those documents back in Palos! And on the ship, you were always telling stories. Every day another story out of the mouth of Luis de Torres! I didn’t want to get my hopes up — it was possible, after all, that you were just a good translator who liked telling tales. But I began to think there might be a Storyteller aboard the
Santa María
.”

I buried my sweaty head in my hands. “So you searched my bag and found the parchment.” I should have known, I should have known!

Rodrigo dug in the pouch on his belt, took out the document, and unfolded it with the tips of his fingers. “‘Baltasar Infante, the only living relative of Amir al-Katib the Moor.’ I could hardly believe my luck! I thought,
If I bring the queen al-Katib’s son, I’ll be a hero!
Even my father would be impressed by that. But before I could arrest you, you were attacked by that black bird, that demon. I wondered where it came from and why it would attack Amir al-Katib’s son. It was a mystery,
and I decided to wait and see where it led me.

“And it led me here to this island! To al-Katib himself! He was the one who sent that bird, and that sea monster — and he sent them both to kill you! That was when I realized — you didn’t sail to the Indies to
join
your father. You came here to kill him!” The smile between Rodrigo’s two large ears spread wider. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

I kept my mouth shut, concentrating on recovering my energy. But Rodrigo didn’t mind the quiet. He continued the conversation by himself. “That’s what I was trying to say before, Baltasar. I’m not here to kill you! We’re on the same side! You want to kill al-Katib; I want to kill al-Katib. We can work together! The two of us will be unstoppable! What do you say?”

I answered by climbing to my feet, teetering, and hobbling down the forest path. “Your people killed my family. I say you should go to Hell.”

Rodrigo Sanchez ran in front of me. “Baltasar, wait, wait! That was a misunderstanding! Those soldiers had express orders not to hurt anyone. It was an accident!”

Rodrigo blocked my way, so I paused in my trek and held myself up by a tree. “Listen, Baltasar,” Rodrigo went on. “I know it doesn’t seem that way right now, but I can help you. I understand you, Baltasar. You’re conflicted. You lost control of that dragon back there, and it attacked you. What does that tell me? It tells me you’re confused, and you could use some help. Trust me. I know.”

“You don’t know anything,” I said, feeling guilt the weight of the
Santa María
bearing down on me.

“That is absolutely, exactly, unequivocally wrong!” Rodrigo pointed at me like he was selling me something. “No, I understand you completely! I even understand how you messed up that spell with the dragon.”

“How could you possibly understand?”

“Because I’ve done it, Baltasar! Botch a summon? Done it a dozen times, maybe more.”

“What? How could you?” I let Rodrigo’s words seep in. “Be honest. Was anyone on the
Santa María not
a Storyteller?”

Rodrigo laughed. “Just you and me, I think. And the girl.”

I let my head fall back against the tree trunk and thought about what he’d said. “No, that doesn’t make any sense. How can you be a Storyteller and a Malleus Maleficarum spy at the same time?”