Chapter Ten

From a completed epic fantasy novel told across two time periods.

Cupela

The silence which permeated the interior of the carriage would have been too disruptive for most to ignore. For the man sitting opposite of her, his face in a book which he had already read multiple times, this was not an issue. If he had noticed the change in her demeanor which she had intentionally displayed, he did not care to acknowledge it.

The wheels of the carriage bumped over the cobblestone street, the movement jostling Cupela, yet not disturbing the man across from her who was lost in another book of myths. For a man of numbers and measurements, his love of tales which were obvious fabrications had always mystified her. That he searched the books as though he would stumble upon a revelation was all the more peculiar. A man who never jests, lost in a world of make believe; what an irony.

She looked over at Enfildio again, his eyes jumping between words at a frantic pace, an indication of his vast intellect, a character trait which enchanted her and overpowered the rational side of her brain. He was tall and handsome, though not overwhelmingly so, and more than twice her age. His goatee was gray now, as was his thick hair, which was currently hidden under a black top hat, the accessory matching the rest of his outfit. In the more than three years in which she had known him, Enfildio had only ever worn black. She was certain it was an affectation which he had worked to cultivate, as it was nonsensical considering the sweltering climate of Oslidor. It added to his allure, and helped to give him a mystique which was beneficial for one of his stature.

Cupela did not allow herself to admit her feelings for her employer, the pain of his romantic apathy too much to bear. It was enough for her that he confided so closely in her. He may make time for other women, but it was Cupela he trusted above all the others, and that was not a delusion on her part.

He chose only one of us to accompany him for this task, just as he allows only me to venture out into the city. It is not his fault he does not swoon over me; attraction is not chosen, it is a base reaction. For what truly matters, I am his choice.

Still the man did not look up from his book as the carriage rolled through the docks of the Quartz district, past the last stevedores of the fading day. The streets here were more worn, the ride less comfortable, and the grimy surroundings so dramatically different to what she was accustomed to. Enfildio had insisted on meeting the candidates immediately upon their arrival to the city however, and so this journey along the now empty stalls of fishmongers and stacks of shipping containers was her reward.

It is as though he does not want them to see the city proper so that they will not know what they are missing out on. I understand the sentiment, as it is easier to live without what you are ignorant of than to long for what you know you are missing.

The sky darkened as they rolled down the roughly-patched roads, the pungent smell of the river reaching her and forcing her to close the window. Enfildio had lit a torch within the carriage, allowing him to continue his efforts at squeezing the last drops of knowledge from the text, yet the Quartz district itself seemed a forgotten world at this time of the evening, visibility along the docks evidently not a priority.

The sudden halt of the carriage startled her. Enfildio was now alert as well, the book nowhere to be seen. Instead, his hands were in his long black cloak. His eyes were looking past her, his expression focused, and expectant.

From the front of the carriage, she heard an unfamiliar voice. “Put the reins down. Tell the passengers to slowly exit with their hands above their heads.”

“Sir? Madame?” came the voice of the driver. Cupela heard him get down from his seat and walk to the carriage door. “Beg your pardon, but it is important that you come out now with your hands held in the air. There are some men here…”

Enfildio made eye contact with her. “Stay seated,” he mouthed. In a fluid motion, he left his seat and stepped out of the carriage, raising his hands above his head, two tiny glass vials tucked between his thumbs and palms.

“Gentlemen,” she heard Enfildio say. “I recommend you find another potential victim this night.”

“That’s enough speaking,” the voice from before said. “Stand aside with the driver. If there is a woman in there, she best be dead or asleep.”

“Why is that?” Enfildio asked.

Cupela heard the sound of swords being removed from their scabbards. “I said no more speaking,” the main growled.

The next sounds she heard were an explosion and a high-pitched whistle like that of a tea kettle. Screaming followed, then a second explosion and an identical whistle. The screaming ceased abruptly and for a few moments, the only sound that remained was a low hissing. Cupela’s eyes darted around in her head as she attempted to make sense of what had just occurred.

“What in the depthless sea was that?” the driver gasped.

“Never mind,” she heard Enfildio mutter.

Her curiosity overwhelming her fear, she moved to look out the door. Yellow sparks were popping and dancing on the ground. The light they gave off was just enough to make out the forms of six or seven bodies. Enfildio turned around to see her. “More cost effective that hiring guards,” he said, entering the carriage as Cupela sat back in her seat.

I have never seen nor heard of a tonic that had an effect even remotely like that. How did he hide those from us? And for how long has he been in possession of them? She had suspected for years that Enfildio had kept secrets even from her, though she had believed them all to be of a personal nature. After witnessing this display, the thought of what he continued to conceal was enough to keep her mind restless for days.

Across from her, Enfildio had opened the book again, completely closed off to the outside world. At the very least, he did not react to her stare. Even after years of working alongside him, she was still unsure how to approach him, or where she stood in his regard. She knew enough of him to understand that he did not fully acknowledge what he had done out of a sense of showmanship. He enjoyed having knowledge that others did not possess, and he was fully aware that Cupela’s mind would be racing at what she had witnessed.

And of how he so coldly killed those men, his tone of voice or heartbeat never seeming to change? What does he believe I think of that? Or is he aware how queer it is? He is ever even-tempered, but is it an act? How can it be that I am so utterly unable to answer that question?

It startled her as well that she was less spooked than she would have thought having just witnessed her employer taking the lives of half a dozen men. True, they had assaulted them, but she felt that Enfildio’s ability to take a life had never been in doubt. It was an unpleasant thought, and so she turned back to the more mundane question of how the man had created a life-stealing tonic.

She opened her mouth to voice her speculation aloud, then stopped herself. Enfildio had sought her out not for the menial tasks that could be completed by a grunt, but for intellectual pursuits. He trusted her to solve problems with her mind. Was this, then, a challenge? Did he want to see if she could determine what ingredients, and in what quantity, he had used to make those tonics? Whether from a sense of familiarity with his mind, or a desire to feel important, she believed the answer was an affirmative. She decided to accept the challenge, as she was certain he knew she would. There was no alternative. If she did not solve the riddle, he would find someone else who could. Which is yet another concern…

“We are not progressing quickly enough,” he had told her a few months earlier, apart from the others. “The issue is one of man-power. Even with minimal distractions and four bells of sleep per day, we are unable to move forward at more than a glacial pace. The only solution is to make another hire, yet I do not have the time needed to yet again search the world for talent. We are fortunate that East Saltion remains a war-torn land. Hon Rin has become entangled in a bloody conflict, leaving the Scholar’s Guild surrounded by enemy soldiers. Its graduates are unable to find employment in their own country. Petty as they are, the Hon Rinese council will not allow the graduates to seek out opportunities in neighboring nations, and so I was able to coerce the three top scholars of this past year’s class to sail here.”

“You are to hire three more assistants?” Cupela had asked before she could think twice about stating the question out loud.

“No. Only one. But they are not aware of that as of yet. They will be unknowingly pitted against each other until I, with your help, am able to ascertain which is most likely to bolster our efforts.”

They have heard stories of Enfildio, the master herbalist, the man whose work changed the course of civilization. And so they crossed half the world hoping to stand at his side, an eagerness I understand fully.

As the carriage came to a halt, Enfildio closed his book. He waited until the driver opened the door to leave his seat. Just before he exited, Cupela spoke up, breaking the second long silence of the night. “Beserex root and phosphorous.”

He stopped and looked back at her, a pleased look on his face. “Correct, my dear.”

The gesture, and the words, made her feel as though all was right in the world, inspiring her as she left her seat.

They had stopped in front of an impressively grand ship of four masts, which was moored fifty yards out in the harbor. Their timing was impeccable, as two young men and a young woman stepped out of a boat and onto the docks. Their multiple layers of tight-fitting clothing instantly revealed them as foreigners, the way they hobbled on dry land indicating how long their journey had been.

“Greetings,” Enfildio said when they had closed the distance between them.

One of the men assumed the role of speaking for the group. “Thank you for inviting us to your nation. Even from here, it is obvious that Oslidor is a magnificent capital.”

The man who spoke was a step in front of the other two candidates. The young man behind him had not taken his eyes off of Enfildio, while the young woman, her straggly brown hair hanging down to nearly cover her face, had not looked up since she had gotten onto the docks.

“It is getting late, and you have had a long voyage,” Enfildio said. “I have made reservations for rooms for all of you at the Golden Pearl, a fine inn but a short ride from here. Cupela, my friend and associate, and myself will be staying at the inn as well. I have rented out the downstairs for tomorrow afternoon so that we may speak on the future without distractions. I’m sure you’re all fatigued; come- warm beds await you.”

If the three recent graduates exchanged words as they walked to the carriage, Cupela did not hear them, so overjoyed was she at the manner in which she had been referred to by Enfildio. Her steps felt lighter, her worries washed away out to sea as she reentered the carriage and sat side by side with her employer… and friend.