SINS OF THE DAUGHTER, SINS OF THE SON

Chapter 6:  Blind Man's Buff

By Kurt1K

If you're in pain, you're still alive.

As Siegfried's head burst out of the freezing water he found that quote echoing in his head.  It had been a favourite of one of his sword masters and the man had drilled it into him at every opportunity.

By that standard I'm alive all right, he thought wryly.  He had serious doubts that that state of affairs would last long – a longtime acquaintance of Death, he could feel its cold presence all about him - but he was not about to yield to that particular destiny without a fight.

The water was not deep, but without it he imagined he would be even worse off.  The ground under him was uneven and rocky; had the water not cushioned him he would have been lucky to survive.  Even so the fall had been punishing; at first it seemed that he must have broken every bone in his body at least twice, but of course since he was still able to move that was probably not the case.  His left side had borne the brunt of the impact, arm and shoulder pierced by bright daggers of agony at the slightest provocation.  The arm would not move, he noted with glum surprise – dislocated, or broken.

For a moment he sat in silence, trying to gather his wits.  Sitting, the water came almost to his neck; it was numbingly cold, for which he was almost grateful.  Its quiet lapping was the only sound he could hear, and he could see nothing at all.

Something shifted under his legs and water and noise exploded at his side.  With a rush of alarm he remembered that he was not alone here in the darkness and he scrambled to rise, ignoring the warning flashes of pain which shot through his body at the sudden movement.

Ivy came up noisily, coughing water and gulping for air.  Schtauffen bent to aid her, fumbling in the dark with his good arm until his hand brushed against the cold steel of her armoured pauldron.  Her ragged, wheezing breaths transformed into violent coughing as he tried to help her stand and she pushed him aside.

The outburst faded and for a long moment her rasping breathing was all he could hear.  He edged closer, reaching out tentatively to take her elbow, but she shrugged him off once again with an impatient noise and he backed away again.

"Do you need a hand?" he offered eventually, his voice hesitant.  Ivy did not reply, but the swish of water told him she was moving.

She had gone barely a step when her movement ended abruptly in a splash and a hissed curse.  Schtauffen instinctively stepped forward, blundering into her where she had fallen to one knee.  She did not protest this time as he helped her rise.

"Careful," he cautioned her – a little belatedly, he supposed – as she straightened, "the floor's pretty rough."

She shook her head, wet hair brushing his face as she slung an arm across his shoulders for support.  "I - no… it's my leg."

As they began to move – Ivy seemed to have a firm idea where she wanted to go – he noted that she was indeed favouring her near leg heavily.  Voldo had marked her there, he remembered, but not badly; she must have injured it further in the fall… or when he landed on her, as he was fairly sure he had.

There was a ringing in his head which it took him a moment to identify, and he suddenly realized where Ivy was headed.  After a half-dozen steps she drew away from him, lowering herself carefully to kneel down.  A moment later the whisper of steel as she sheathed her retrieved sword signaled the end of the faint music.

Ivy remained kneeling a few moments longer before straightening and abruptly light flared about her, faint but still startling.  Schtauffen instinctively raised his good hand to shield his narrowed eyes.

Gradually, blinking, his eyes adjusted to the sudden change and he lowered his hand to take in what he could see.  They appeared to be in a natural cavern, the walls rising out of the thigh-deep waters rocky and irregular.  He could not make out the roof above them; the walls rose beyond the light's reach.

The Englishwoman rose slowly.  He could see now that the light was coming from the palm of her hand, what looked to be a small glowing stone - a product, he supposed, of her sorcery or alchemy.  Wondering, he lifted his eyes to her face.

Part of him immediately wished that he had not.

In the pale light Ivy was a ghastly sight.  Blood loss and fatigue had drained her colour to bone-white, her eyes sunk deep in shadowed sockets.  The terrible gash that ran from chin to cheekbone was still bleeding, staining the curves of shoulder and breast below it.  The sight sickened him; not so much the injury in itself, but the knowledge that he had inflicted it, however accidentally.

She would have been better off coming here alone.

The thought reminded him of their brief exchange during the battle and he felt his guilt simmer into anger.  He pushed the feeling aside; they had other concerns now.

"Where are we?"

Ivy was surveying their environment much as he had, raising the light above her head.  "A natural cavern, below the Money Pit," she said, her voice muted from trying to speak without moving her jaw.

"We're under the Pit?  I thought the vault was at the bottom."

"It is." Ivy murmured, "This is below the worked areas.  The original plans extended further, but Vercci changed them.  I think he feared he would die before the Pit was completed and so shortened the construction.  If that is indeed the case he was proven right – he barely survived to see it completed as it is."

Schtauffen squinted upwards, a new thought coming to him.  "Do you think the Guardian will follow us down here?"

"I am surprised that he has not done so already." Ivy mused, following his gaze. "He was injured… perhaps that is why."

Siegfried nodded slowly.  Ivy had dealt the Guardian some brutal blows in their last exchange; she would almost certainly have bested him if – he shook his head angrily.  Damn it, he thought angrily.  Damn it.

"Do not concern yourself with this."

He looked at her to see her tracing the wound on her face with one thumb.  "I – what?"  Is she reading my mind now?

"If we are to escape this we must both be at our best."  Her mouth quirked into a near-smile, bitter and ironic.  "Or as close as we can manage, in any case.  You cannot be distracted or burdened by this.  We… shall deal with it at a later time.  You understand?"

Schtauffen nodded grimly.  "I do."

"Very well, then."  She cast a critical eye over him.  "Let me take a look at your arm."

******

"Paco!"

Francisco del Castellar turned at the call, smiling as he recognized the tall, broad form of Heinrich Rader striding towards him down the length of the cloisters.  Carefully closing the elaborately illuminated text he had been studying he rose from his seat as the big Bavarian approached, wincing at a twinge in his thigh. 

You're getting old, Paco, he thought wryly.  As the man neared del Castellar noted his face was pale and weary under his black beard, the rustle of mail audible under his long cloak.

"Heinz, my good friend."  The two men clasped forearms as he spoke.  "What news from the world?"

"Much news - all of it disturbing." the other man replied.  "I've just come from old Giordano.  He commands your 'immediate attendance as a matter of urgency'."

del Castellar raised an eyebrow at the German's sardonic tone but bowed his head in acquiescence.  "In that case would you be so kind as to bring this volume back to my chamber?  I would as soon not leave it out here – our brother librarian has already berated me for carelessness with his charges twice this week."

Rader grinned, taking the book from him.  "We'll speak when you get back."

"No doubt."  del Castellar turned and started down the sun-dappled passage.  After a half-dozen paces he paused, turning back.  "By the way, Heinrich, it would be more appropriate to refer to Cardinal Giordano by his full title.  I would appreciate it if you would make the effort, for me if not for him."

The German frowned; he seemed about to reply, but merely bowed stiffly.  The older man smiled faintly before asking, "Is it a matter of urgency, Heinz?"

Rader's expression darkened and he nodded curtly.  "Yes."

The Spaniard nodded resignedly as he turned and trudged away.

It took him a little over half an hour to reach the Cardinal's offices on the Via del Quirinale.  There the Cardinal's assistant, a gangly young priest whose name the Spaniard could never quite remember, announced him immediately.

Filippo Giordano was over eighty years old and looked older still, the rich scarlet vestments of his office contrasting sharply with the spotted pallor of his papery skin.  He had been a big, powerful man in his youth and traces of it still showed in his wide shoulders and thick neck, but age had bowed his back and shackled him to the high-backed chair in which he now sat.  His dark eyes were still clear, however, and the mind behind them still sharp.

"It is good to see you again, Francisco."  Giordano's tone suggested it was anything but.  "How goes the monastic life?"

del Castellar smiled.  "I find that it suits me.  After a life out and about in the world-"

"Good, good."  The Cardinal cut him off brusquely.  "You know I have just received a visit from your old associate Heinrich Rader, yes?"

"So much he told me, yes."

"Hm."  Giordano's eyes fell to the parchments spread across his desk.  "He has brought reports from a number of our agents.  The contents are… disturbing."  Del Castellar nodded silently, grim suspicion hardening into certainty as Giordano continued.  "Cults devoted to Ares and Palgaea are springing up in every city from London to Jerusalem and beyond. A galleon lit by ghostly fire has been seen passing through the Straits of Gibraltar.  Lizards that walk like men and other abominations are openly attacking towns in northern Africa and Asia."  He raised narrowed eyes.  "Does any of this sound familiar?"

Without waiting for a response Giordano slammed his hands palm-down onto the desk, his voice rising to a shout.  "It is happening again!  Two years ago you told me it was done with, that this… this demon had been destroyed.  I reported as such to the Holy Father.  And now it happens again!"

It took del Castellar a few moments to collect his thoughts.  "I saw the demon's army defeated and destroyed.  Nightmare fell and… the demon within him… I believed that was destroyed.  I-"

"Clearly you were in error."  The Cardinal had mastered his temper while the Spaniard spoke; his voice was calm once more.

"Yes…"  del Castellar hung his head, shamefaced.  "Yes.  The failure is mine.  If you would honour me with your trust once again I will finish this once and for all."

"Of course you have my trust," Giordano replied silkily, "but you are no longer young, my friend.  Your long struggle against this evil has wearied you, and the Order you served – well, you are the last, are you not?  This needs a younger hand, a… stronger hand.  I have decided to place responsibility for this undertaking in the hands of the Knights of Malta."

The Spaniard glanced up sharply.  "The - your grace?  The Knights have never before contended with such a foe.  They will not be properly prepared, and I have seen with my own eyes the grievous toll such unpreparedness may exact!"

Giordano smiled expansively.  "I have no doubt that you are correct, Francisco.  That is why you will convey the command to Malta personally, and place yourself at the disposal of the Grand Master."

"I see."  del Castellar's voice was weary.  By contrast the Cardinal's was almost buoyant.

"Of course you do.  Naturally, they will benefit from your expertise and knowledge.  You should take ship to Malta as soon as practicable.  Present this letter to the Grand Master upon your arrival, and offer him whatever assistance you can.  Is that quite clear?"

"Quite clear, Your Excellency."  The Spaniard replied almost automatically.

"Excellent."  Giordano smiled in satisfaction.  "You may go."

del Castellar made his way back to the abbey in something of a daze, his mind whirling.  It happens again?  He remembered the Battle of Ostrheinsburg as though it was yesterday, and the years of conflict that had preceded it were equally fresh in his memory.  He had lost many friends and comrades in that long struggle, and when it was over – when he had believed it was over – he had wanted nothing more than to leave it all behind.  The life of monastic seclusion to which Giordano had banished him in his haste to eradicate the terrible truths of the matter had been a welcome respite.

Apparently the victory had been a false one.

"There you are, Paco.  I was beginning to wonder."

The voice startled him; it took him a few moments to regain his bearings.  He was a little surprised to find himself in the courtyard of the abbey, Rader watching him curiously.  He smiled wanly.

"I… I'm sorry, Heinz, I was a little distracted."

"I'm not surprised," the Bavarian replied gruffly, "You know, I was just starting to believe it was over."

del Castellar sighed heavily.  "I, too."  He sat down, suddenly weary, and raised his tired face to look at the other man.  "Cardinal Giordano is… not pleased.  He feels that the Knights of Malta are better suited to deal with this."

Rader's face creased in a frown.  "The Hospitallers?  Huh."  He shook his head.  "He's crazy.  What do they know about dealing with something like this?"

"I cannot say, but I would not imagine that they know enough about it," del Castellar murmured, "Which I suppose is why he's sending me there - to share my experience with them."

Rader harrumphed.  "He probably doesn't mind that it gets you out of Rome, either."

"Probably not," del Castellar agreed, "but still, he may have a point.  It's not as though I've done all that well, is it?  Perhaps…"

"Damn it, Paco," Rader growled, "you're still so bloody eager to take the blame for everything that happened.  It wasn't your fault and you damn well know it."

The Spaniard sighed again, meeting Rader's angered glare steadily.  After a moment he nodded wearily, squaring his shoulders as he drew in a deep breath.  "I know.  Thank you, Heinz.  I just wish…"

The German nodded understanding.  "Yeah.  Me too."

"Well."  del Castellar stood, straightening.  "I suppose I had best begin my preparations."  He clasped Rader's hand.  "It has been good to see you again, Heinz.  I wish it had been under different circumstances."

"Don't we all," the German's grin turned wolfish, "but don't think you're getting rid of me that easily, Paco."

The Spanish knight smiled sadly.  "I cannot ask you to accompany me, Heinz."

"I know."  Rader replied, "That's why I'm doing it."  He smiled grimly.  "Partly, anyway."

del Castellar did not need to ask why else the German was interested; he shared some of the same feelings – a determination to see the matter ended, once and for all.  A desire for redemption of their previous failure.

And, he had to admit, an opportunity to avenge fallen friends.  He knew Rader felt the last keenly; though he could not approve of the motive, he could not deny that a part of him felt it too.  All fuel for the fire, I suppose, he thought, but we will need to tread carefully – our enemy is all too adept at twisting our desires.

He did not allow the thought to show as he smiled at Rader again, broadly this time.  "Thank you, Heinz.  I will be glad of your company."

"Not just mine, Paco," Rader was grinning smugly now, "I figured we'd be heading out after this news so I chased up Elè and Andreas on the way here.  They're back at the inn - if they haven't killed each other while I've been gone."

del Castellar chuckled, shaking his head.  "What would I do without you, my friend?  How are they?"

"Still bloody young." grunted Rader, "Depressing, really."

"You should not complain," the Spaniard grinned, "Even you look young to me."

Rader gave him a wry look, scratching absently at one graying temple.  "Huh."

"I tell you what," the older man continued, "Tonight we will dine at your inn, the four of us.  It will be good to catch up.  Then tomorrow we can begin this task in earnest."

"Sounds a fine plan," Rader smiled somberly, "The calm before the firestorm, eh?"

"Yes.  I will pack quickly and join you."  One of the advantages of the monastic life, he reflected, was that packing was a very short process.

"I'll wait."  Rader agreed.  del Castellar turned and headed for his cell, stopping as the German called after him.  "Paco?"

"Yes?"

"You do know we're going to have to make certain this time, yes?"

"You're referring to the Schtauffen boy?"  del Castellar sighed.  He had known this would come up.   "I know.  I should have listened to you two years ago."

Rader frowned.  "That's not what I'm trying to say, Paco.  You had good reason – but this time, we will have to kill him."

"Yes."  The Spaniard replied sadly.

Neither man spoke for a long moment.  del Castellar turned and shuffled away to his packing, leaving Rader's dark-robed form alone in the silent garden.

*****

"Is that painful?"

"Do you care?" Siegfried hissed through gritted teeth.

Ivy made no spoken reply to the query, but her steel-sheathed fingers probed his wounded shoulder with such painful force as to make the answer clear.  After a moment she lifted his arm abruptly, rotating it experimentally as Schtauffen ground his jaw and kept tears from his eyes through sheer force of will, shifting on the rough shelf of rock he was using as a seat.

"Hm." 

"What does that mean?"

"Dislocated." Ivy's assessment was brisk and clinical.  Schtauffen had barely opened his mouth to reply when the world seemed to explode in a burst of light and pain so intense he could not even manage to scream.  Rearing back his head struck the rough stone wall, but that was nothing to the fire in his shoulder; he shoved Ivy back, gasping as the motion sent new waves of fire radiating from the joint.

"God damn it, woman!"  His voice was raw with pain as he slumped, panting.  "Do you have some kind of… moral objection to giving fair warning?"

"Oh, stop whining.  It had to be done and warning you would hardly have made it less painful."

Schtauffen scowled at her.  It's not worth it, he cautioned himself.  "Right." he muttered finally.  He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he rolled the arm experimentally before speaking.  "How about your leg?"

Ivy met his gaze with slightly narrowed eyes and then shrugged.  "It would be best if the wound were bound, but we cannot do that here.  I was carrying some salves and bandages we might use to treat and bind cuts, but they are in my bag.  I will simply have to endure it – and conceal the weakness from our foe, if possible."

Schtauffen frowned, remembering how badly she had been limping.  "It looked pretty bad, Ivy."  He dropped his eyes to her leg, but in the dim light he could see little beyond the pale curve of her hip.  "You're sure?"

"Yes."  Her response was clipped and quite final.  "We need to try and climb back up to the vault level, and we need to do it soon.  Our light will not last long, the Guardian will not likely leave us in peace indefinitely, and even if he were to do so we have a time limit that is beginning to feel pressing."

He couldn't argue with that.  By his reckoning that less than an hour remained before the Pit began flooding and being at its bottom level at that time was not an attractive prospect.  "How far do you think we fell?"

"Perhaps ten or twelve yards."  Ivy answered, her eyes following his upward. 

"Can you climb with that leg wound?"

Ivy smiled coldly, her face a deathmask in the pale light.  "Given the alternative?  I'll manage."

*****

"They're dead."

The tracker emerged from the trees as she spoke, dusting her breeches with one hand.  She was a tall young woman, whip-lean and sinewy in her battered leathers, her dark eyes grim. "Wilhelm, Jakob – all of them."

Jorgen Dietrich cursed under his breath as mutters rippled through the men behind him.  "What happened?" 

The woman did not respond immediately; fists on her hips she stared at the ground, one heel scuffing at the dirt.  "Anna! What happened up here?"

Snapped out of her contemplation the tracker lifted her eyes to his face.  "Oh - sorry, boss.  Looks like they tried an ambush and… well, it didn't work. Obviously."

"He killed 'em all?"  Dietrich asked unbelievingly. 

Anna shook her head.  "He wasn't alone.  I think there were three of them."  She looked back down the slope, shaking her head.  "Some of the wounds… I've never seen anything like them.  Must have been that English witch we were warned about."

"Still," Dietrich mused, "Three against ten…"  He was rather taken aback.  Wilhelm Becker had been an excellent swordsman, almost as good as he himself; to be killed along with half a dozen others...  "Siggi's improved." he muttered, "A lot."

"I'd say the Englishwoman killed most of them, including Wilhelm and Jakob." Anna interjected.  Dietrich grimaced; he hadn't really taken the dire warnings about the Countess Valentine to heart, and he knew Wilhelm had been even more skeptical about the Frenchman's advice.  Guess we were both wrong, Willi.

"You say they were trying to ambush them?"

Jorgen turned his attention to the new speaker as Anna nodded.  "Yeah, looks like it."

The woman shifted in her saddle to meet Dietrich's gaze, her grey eyes pale in the sunlight.  "I asked you to make it clear to your men that they were merely to keep watch, Herr Dietrich."

"I did, ma'am." Dietrich replied levelly, inwardly furious with Becker for putting him in this situation. "I'm sure Wilhelm had his reasons for doing it."

"It looks like they were headed down towards Bastia," Anna supplied helpfully, "maybe Willi thought he might lose them." 

Dietrich nodded, shooting her a grateful glance.  "Yeah, that's probably it.  He wouldn't have acted without reason, ma'am, I can tell you that."  It wasn't entirely true - Wilhelm could be overconfident and impulsive at times – but there was no need to complicate matters by mentioning that.

The noblewoman looked at him, her gaze tinged with suspicion.  Dietrich was careful to maintain his casually deferential demeanour; although the Viscountess clearly had little experience in dealing with mercenaries, she was neither stupid nor unperceptive.  Eventually she nodded.  "Yes… all right.  From all accounts, if the Lady Isabella was here they probably didn't have much choice.  You believe they were headed for Bastia?"

The last was directed at Anna, who nodded.  "That's how it looks.  One rider, and a horse and cart."

"Then might we perhaps re-acquire their trail there?"  She looked at Dietrich, brows raised.

"We can try, ma'am."  At his response she nodded approval.  Dietrich signaled his men to start the descent, wheeling his horse about.  As he did he noticed the Viscountess looking at him somberly.

"Captain Dietrich…" she said softly, "if you wish to take the time to bury your fallen I have no objection."

Dietrich shook his head.  "Won't do 'em any good, ma'am, now will it?"  He let his smile turn savage, as much to see her reaction as to emphasize his next words.  "Way I see it, all I can do for 'em now is avenge 'em."

The woman tensed at his expression, but her features hardened at his words and she nodded slowly before turning away.  Vengeance was something she understood, he knew; it couldn't hurt to let her think he felt a similar urge.  Always helps to have a sympathetic employer.  Of their two employers the Frenchman was clearly the senior, but it was the Viscountess who held the purse-strings and that was where Dietrich's interest lay. 

Moreover, he suspected that trying to play the Frenchman would be a very dangerous game indeed.  He was rather glad that the man had not accompanied their party on this journey, instead pursuing an avenue of investigation he had not seen fit to share with his minions; the Viscountess was easier to deal with, and her motive much simpler to comprehend. 

She wanted Siegfried Schtauffen dead.  And she was prepared to pay - handsomely - for the deed to be done.  As a good mercenary, who was he to turn down such a lucrative offer?

Shame it worked out this way, really, he thought to himself.  Sorry, Siggi old chum, but a job's a job.

He tapped his heels against his steed's flanks and began the descent.

*****

Siegfried swore feelingly as he hauled himself onto the marble floor.  His entire body seemed to be burning, the fires radiating from his left shoulder to consume him.  Against his better judgment he let himself slump to the floor, breathing deep for a few moments to recover some of his strength before forcing himself to rise.

As he rose he could hear the click-click of Ivy's boots on the marble tiles, their arrhythmic tempo making it clear that she was still heavily favouring her right leg in spite of her determination to conceal the injury.  Even injured she had managed the climb faster than he had, but the strain must be telling now; she was moving markedly more slowly than before. 

Looking about he saw with some surprise that her lantern was still lit, sitting next to her bag where she had set it down before joining battle with the Guardian.  He moved to join her, watching the shadows about them for any hint of motion as she retrieved her possessions.

He saw none.  "It seems you were right about the Guardian," he observed, "He must still be licking his wounds."

"Mm."  Ivy did not look up from where she was rifling through her bag, withdrawing a silver flask from its interior and setting it on the floor at her side.  "You should retrieve your sword."

She gestured vaguely to her left, tossing him the lightstone as she did so.  Schtauffen glanced in the direction she had indicated but even the lantern's brighter light revealed nothing; moving slowly and cautiously he was almost at the edge of the platform before he espied the zweihander where he had dropped it in his desperate attempt to catch Ivy.  Obviously, he thought as he took it up, she had better eyes than he.  His eyes fell on his discarded bag a few paces away and he scooped it up as well.

Ivy slung her bag and started towards the statue.  Siegfried arranged his load and followed suit, frowning as he watched her limp.  "You're not going to look after your wounds?"

"They will keep." Ivy replied as she neared her destination, "We are running out of time."

Schtauffen opened his mouth to argue – Ivy was clearly having trouble walking – but decided against it.  They were running out of time, and more arguments wouldn't help. As Ivy stooped to reopen the doorway he returned his thoughts to other concerns, raising wary eyes to the ceiling – surely the Guardian would react to a second intrusion as he had the first…

After a moment's silence – in which Schtauffen was sure both he and Ivy fully expected the Pit's mysterious warder to strike – the Englishwoman turned away with a shrug and, sword drawn, entered the passage to the vault.  Siegfried, still watchful, moved after her.

As he entered the passageway Schtauffen noted that the stone here was dry, unstained by water or lichen – evidently the door seal was watertight.  Vercci had no doubt taken pains to make certain that his own resting place would not be subject to the same ravages as the rest of the Pit.

A moment later they entered the heart of the vault and such prosaic thoughts fled his mind.

The interior of the vault was a treasure trove indeed, shelf upon shelf laden with gold and gems lining the walls and rising twice Siegfried's height to the ceiling.  At the centre of the room was a raised dais upon which lay a massive sarcophagus, apparently of gold, its intricately carved sides inlaid with precious stones. 

Neither the opulence nor the extravagance of the tomb was what caught the German's eye, however:  slumped against the sarcophagus was a figure swathed in black cloth.  He needed only a glance to know the man was dead.

"Nothing?"  Ivy's voice, though still a little muted, betrayed no reaction to the corpse's presence.  Schtauffen shook his head.

Anger clouded her face, lips curling in spite of the pain the expression must have caused.  "Keep watch."  She strode into the chamber and stooped to haul the corpse upright, dumping it unceremoniously atop the sarcophagus.  Schtauffen caught a glimpse of the man's face as she did so, before turning to watch the door.

"He's an Easterner?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Japanese."  Ivy muttered, examining the body. "Only recently dead, perhaps a day… but some of these injuries are rather older.  I would say that he has been alive down here for at least a week."

"Eh?"  Schtauffen shifted to watch her out of the corner of his eye.  She had unraveled the cloak in which the body had been wrapped; beneath it he was bare-chested, wearing only loose-fitting dark breeches.  Most of his torso was heavily bandaged, and Ivy was peeling the bandages back to examine the injuries beneath.  "Looks like somebody took the trouble to bind his wounds."

"It seems the Guardian is a fastidious torturer."

"What - you think Voldo was torturing him down here?  Why?"

"Presumably he wished to find out where this man came from and who sent him."

Schtauffen blinked.  "You think he was interrogating him?  How – I mean, he's mute.  Isn't he?"

"Is he?"  Ivy murmured.  "We have never heard him speak, true, but remember that he was Vercci's most trusted emissary.  Perhaps the common assumption is wrong, as so many are."

"All right…"  Siegfried acknowledged the possibility reluctantly.  "So you think maybe this poor fellow wasn't alone – that his companions took the shard?"  He frowned.  "It's a bit of a reach… he could just be a treasure hunter."

"I doubt it."

With a swift movement Ivy rolled the corpse over and tore the bindings away from its right shoulder.  Under the cloth an intricate tattoo was visible, dramatically dark against the pallid skin.  Ivy sat back, her shoulders slumped wearily.  Siegfried spared a glance at her.

"What's that?"

"It is a clan marking," Ivy replied, her voice resigned.  "He was a ninja of the Fu-Ma clan."

Siegfried said nothing, but he was sure his face momentarily betrayed his surprise at her words.  A Fu-Ma ninja?  Does this have something to do with Taki?

Ivy glanced at him sharply, as though sensing something in his silence, but after giving him a hard look turned away again to rifle through the man's clothes.  Finding nothing she let him slump back and turned her attention to the rest of the chamber.

"So what exactly does that mean?" Siegfried asked.  He knew the answer perfectly well, but she might think it odd if he did not enquire.  Fortunately, he thought with some irony, he could hardly go wrong playing on her assumption of his ignorance.

Ivy responded without looking at him as she slowly circled the vault:  "It means that we are too late.  The Fu-Ma are assassins, a secretive clan from Japan with a long tradition of hunting demons."  She frowned faintly.  "It was one of their number who struck down Cervantes - I am surprised that you did not see her."

"The masked woman?  I did see her," Schtauffen corrected her, "but she didn't exactly stop to introduce herself."  That was true enough, anyway; it had been over two years later that he had learned her name.  He wondered how much Ivy knew about her; possibly the Englishwoman was not aware that Taki was now a renegade, hunted by her own clan.

Ivy nodded absently, pausing in her examination to study several rather plain items on one of the shelves – the prisoner's belongings, Schtauffen supposed.  "Mm.  Well, at some point we will need to… seek her out.  She has something we - ah."  She had unfurled a battered leather satchel from among the other items, drawing forth a travel-stained parchment.  Schtauffen drew alongside her as she studied it silently, but although the script was vaguely familiar from his travels he could make no sense of it. 

"You can read that?"

"Yes," Ivy said distractedly.  She furled the parchment and slipped it into her bag before turning her attention to him.  "Not all of the world's wisdom can be found in the libraries of Europe, Herr Schtauffen.  My studies required a… broader perspective."

A part of Siegfried couldn't help but smile inwardly; injured or not, Ivy could not resist taking an opportunity to flaunt her superior knowledge.  "So… if these Fu-Ma are demon hunters I suppose you were right - he was definitely here for the shard."

"Yes."

"We can't be sure he wasn't alone, or if he had companions that they took the shard, though."

"That is true," Ivy admitted reluctantly, "but I still think it a likely explanation.  In any case the shard is gone, and there is little else here for us."  She paused, looking around appraisingly.  "Give me your bag."

A little startled by the apparent change of tack Siegfried took a moment to comply.  Taking the bag Ivy started to fill it, sweeping gold and gems from the shelves with one arm.  Schtauffen stared as she went about the business of looting Vercci's tomb with methodical efficiency.

"What are you doing?" he managed eventually.

"If you keep watching I imagine you will eventually work it out," Ivy replied with deceptive mildness.

"Are we to add grave robbery to our list of crimes now?"

Ivy stopped at that, though she did not turn to face him.  "Yes."  Her voice was clipped, laced with irritation and coated with ice.  "Or do you think taking the shard would not have qualified as such?"

"That's different, and you know it." Schtauffen snapped.  "The shard is one thing, but this… I mean… have you no pride?"

Now Ivy did turn to him, the motion slow and deliberate. Even with his limited knowledge of her moods Schtauffen knew this was much worse than outright fury, but he wasn't going to back down now.  Her hateful glare struck him with almost physical force; even across the room he could see she was trembling with tautly-constrained rage.

"If you are asking," she said after a long silence, her voice crackling with fury, "whether I value my pride more highly than my mission, then the answer is no.  Our undertaking will be both lengthy and costly.  We will need this wealth, and more, before our work is done - and I do not care whence it comes. 

"If you are asking something else," her voice dropped to a guttural snarl, "then you can go to the devil."

She punctuated her retort by slinging the full bag at him with all her strength.  Schtauffen caught it with both hands, the impact rocking him back on his heels.  Regaining his equilibrium he hurled it to the floor, its golden contents spraying across the tiles.

"I've no doubt that he awaits us both, Ivy," he snarled, "but why in God's name are you so bloody eager to damn us still further?"

"Further!"  Ivy scoffed, her anger and contempt evidently overriding any consideration for the pain of her burned face.  "You are a fool, Schtauffen.  We cannot be damned further."

He did not reply, and she went back to her looting.  Schtauffen watched her silently, folding his arms across his chest as she went about her task.  Soon, her own bag filled, Ivy stood carefully and turned to the door.  As she passed him he spoke quietly:  "Is that really what you believe?"

Ivy paused for a moment, not turning to meet his questioning gaze.  When she spoke her voice was low and weary.

"Just… pick up the bag."

Without another word she passed out of the room.  As her uneven steps faded Schtauffen took a deep breath, steadying himself.  He remained there, motionless, for some time before dropping to his knees and scraping the nearest of the scattered wealth back into the bag. 

When he emerged from the passage a few minutes later she was waiting, leaning heavily against the marble base of Vercci's statue.  Neither spoke as they fell into step, leaving the great hall without a backward glance. 

As they neared the stairs Ivy pulled a battered gourd from her bag and took a long swig of its contents.  As she started to refasten its seal she paused, and with a faint sigh offered the gourd to Schtauffen.  He accepted it silently, relishing the cool, fresh water as he drank deep before passing it back with a nod.

The wordless exchange was a truce of sorts, he supposed; perhaps even an apology, though he could not have said which of them was offering it.  Perhaps both of us.  Whatever the case he felt the tension between them ease, and a part of his attention turned to other concerns.

He was keenly aware that their deadline was almost upon them, but he said nothing; Ivy was as aware of it as he was, no doubt.  He supposed that with the traps disabled and identified the ascent should proceed much more swiftly – and after all, the flooding would likely take hours.  He could feel his spirits lifting; merely the act of ascending rather than descending was a tremendous relief.  

No reason to let your guard down, though, he reminded himself sternly.  He reached the 'chessboard' a few paces behind Ivy and remembering her previous admonishment started across the platform keeping carefully to the white tiles.

Siegfried was almost halfway across when his skin prickled and without knowing exactly why he whirled, his sword ringing as he drew it.  For a moment he thought his imagination was playing tricks on him; then steel leapt from the darkness to be met by his sword, sparks flaring as the blades screamed against one another for a moment before he was able to shift his stance and push the Guardian back.  Voldo somersaulted away to land in a wide crouching stance, hissing behind his elaborate helm of jet and gold.  A part of Siegfried's mind noted that the Guardian had changed his attire to a close-fitting garment of black and deep red - perhaps because the other was damaged, he mused absently.

Hearing and feeling Ivy's sword being drawn behind him Schtauffen shifted his stance a little, risking a quick glance at his companion.  She was edging across the platform, limping visibly; she evidently no longer had the strength to conceal her injured leg.

Voldo skittered sideways towards her.  Siegfried grimaced; the Guardian already seemed to have decided that she was now the weaker of the two of his opponents.  He started to move towards her, remembering only just in time to keep to the white tiles.  A quick look at Voldo confirmed that his rapid movements were equally deliberate; though moving swiftly and apparently erratically, the Guardian was meticulously avoiding the black flagstones. 

He's not seriously going to fight us here, surely, Schtauffen thought – more in hope than in expectation – He'd have to be-

His thoughts were interrupted as Voldo dashed forward, his first strike stabbing low under Ivy's guard. She jerked her foot back by reflex, the katar glancing off her armour-sheathed boot and the floor, but as she did so her full weight shifted onto her wounded leg and it folded beneath her.

As she fell Schtauffen sprang forward with a shout, Voldo abandoning his follow-through against Ivy as he turned to meet him.  Catching the German's sword-thrust in the V of one of his katars he twisted the blade, almost wrenching it from Siegfried's hands and sending the swordsman staggering sideways.  He felt the floor shift beneath his foot and realized with a sudden clarity that he had stumbled on to one of the black tiles.

He hurled himself sideways with all of his strength as pain lanced through his calf, landing heavily on the next broad flagstone and rolling into a crouch.  The black tile had sprouted a dozen iron spines, one newly stained with his blood.

He had no time to examine his wound; the Guardian was upon him.  Schtauffen rose to his feet, sweeping the zweihander in a rising cross-cut to keep Voldo at bay for a moment.  A part of his mind noted with relief that he had no trouble standing, though his leg burned with fresh pain.

Voldo reared back, the movement all the more serpentine in the accompaniment of the sibilant hiss of his breath.  Schtauffen took the momentary respite to settle into the Queen's Stance, sword hanging behind his back.  He shifted his stance slightly until he could see Ivy, struggling to rise.  Voldo seemed reminded of her difficulty at the same time, circling away from the German towards her.  Schtauffen's experienced eye told him that the Guardian's movements were a little slower, a little less steady than they had been in their last confrontation; his wounds were telling, but he was still much more mobile than Ivy.

Cursing to himself Schtauffen skirted around the spikes and made a dash to head the Guardian off before he could reach his intended prey.  Once again Voldo turned to meet his rush, his katars catching the zweihander once more; this time, however, Siegfried was ready for him.  The young swordsman pressed close, into the shorter reach of the Guardian's deadly katars, but for the moment those blades were tangled with his sword and Voldo was briefly left wide open.  Schtauffen slammed a shoulder into him with all his weight and momentum behind it, knocking the Guardian backwards onto the black flagstone behind him.

At least, that was his plan.  Voldo somehow wrenched himself about in mid-air and landed splayed in a low crouch over the black marble flagstone; it took Schtauffen a moment to realize that the Guardian's feet and knife points were resting safely on the white tiles surrounding him.  In that moment of confusion Voldo resumed the offensive with a flurry of katar strokes that drove Schtauffen backwards to teeter on the edge of the neighbouring flagstone.  The German made a wild leap backwards to avoid the trap, but by the time he regained his balance Voldo was gone.  It took Schtauffen a moment to locate the Guardian, once more closing in on Ivy.

Siegfried started to run, shouting a warning, but he was too far, too far.  Ivy had still not risen, leaning heavily on one knee and almost helpless before the Guardian's approach. 

Voldo paused before her, his rasping breath hollow behind his metal mask as he swayed back flourishing his blades, as though performing for an audience.  Ivy started to stand, unsteady and shaking, as the Guardian bowed gracefully and hurled himself to the attack.

Almost too swiftly to follow Ivy's blade lashed out to spear Voldo in mid-leap, ripping him out of the air to crash to the floor at her feet.  Suddenly standing tall and straight the Englishwoman stamped a booted foot onto the Guardian's back, grinding him into the stone.  Feral glee lit her bloody features as she raised her sword point-downward in both hands, ready for the deathblow.

Yet again Voldo eluded the decisive stroke, convulsing under her foot and throwing her aim off just enough for the tremendous blow to strike splinters from the stone on which he lay.  The Guardian's body seemed to ripple as he sprang to his feet, raising his blades in defense as Ivy straightened, her sword scything upwards in a vicious arc. 

Their weapons clashed violently, Voldo staggering under the impact; Ivy seized the moment to stamp her boot down once more, this time atop her opponent's leading foot.  Schtauffen heard bones crack under the impact and winced in involuntary sympathy as he shook off his surprise and cautiously maneuvered closer.

He could see that the Guardian's fight was slowing, the tall man faltering visibly; blood flowed freely from the deep stab in his stomach and his right foot was all but crippled.  Ivy, by contrast, almost seemed to be getting stronger as she gained the upper hand, raining sword-blows and kicks upon his weakening defense and forcing Voldo backwards.

The Italian tried to break away, vaulting backwards over one of the black flagstones to gain a brief respite; he landed quite gracefully on one foot, but no sooner had he done so than Ivy drove her blade into the ground, the tip erupting from the floor beneath Voldo ten feet away.  Her aim was not perfect; the serrated edge of her blade tore upwards along the Guardian's chest, the wound painful but shallow.  Voldo reeled, his breath now coming in halting gasps, and before he could recover Schtauffen was upon him. 

Siegfried lunged in from the side, his sword slashing at waist height; Voldo barely caught the blow on the flat of one katar but the impact shattered the triple blades in a shower of sparks and steel splinters.  As Siegfried brought his sword up again the Guardian drew his ornately helmeted head back and then slammed it against the young German's skull, the helmet ringing like a gong.  Siegfried fell back dazed, barely aware of the Guardian hissing one final defiant challenge before turning and springing over the edge of the platform a moment ahead of Ivy's sword-lash.

Siegfried blinked, shaking his head to clear it as Ivy drew alongside him.  For a long moment the two remained motionless, staring down into the darkness as though expecting their foe to emerge for another round.  Schtauffen, for one, would hardly have been surprised if he had done just that.

After perhaps a minute he found his voice.  "Damn." he murmured, "You think that's it?"

Ivy made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a soft laugh.  "I sincerely hope so."  Schtauffen glanced at her with a rueful grin.

"Yeah." He chuckled, relief lending the moment a dark humour that eased his spirit.  As they straightened he glanced down at her leg.  "You seem to have healed rather miraculously."

"Indeed."  Ivy met his gaze evenly.  Schtauffen nodded slowly.

"You thought he might be listening."

"There was no way to be certain that he was not."

"So you staged a deception." he finished.  "You knew he would try to eliminate the weaker of us first and lulled him with the promise of easy prey." His mouth quirked.   "Without bothering to let me in on the plan, of course."

"Precisely."  There was a gleam in her eyes that challenged him to call her on the issue.  Schtauffen merely nodded as she smiled wickedly.  "You were convincingly chivalrous, Herr Schtauffen.  I have no doubt that your foolish eagerness to protect me helped to convince Voldo that my incapacity was genuine."

"Foolish?"  The knowledge that she had not told him her plan didn't really bother him – perhaps he was becoming accustomed to it - but this was too much.  "I didn't know you were feigning it, Ivy.  As far as I knew you couldn't properly defend yourself."

"Whether I could defend myself or not is not the issue.  The Guardian was injured.  You would have had a better chance of finishing him off if you had not tried to play at being the hero."

"I wasn't playing at anything!  I thought… I really thought you needed protecting."

Ivy cocked her head at him, brows raised.  "Again, you miss the point.  It was more important to defeat the Guardian than to protect me.  Need I remind you that our greater mission is more important than either of our lives?"

"Need I remind you," Siegfried growled, "that without you that 'greater mission' is over? As you are so fond of reminding me, you're the one who knows what's going on.  Even had I defeated Voldo I would have had little idea how or where to seek the remaining fragments, and even less idea about exactly what to do with them should I somehow manage to obtain them."

He took a deep breath, steadying his temper before continuing.  "It's all very well for you to boldly claim expendability, Ivy, but it's not true.  Try and remember that before you berate me for trying to do no more than keep you alive."

Ivy opened her mouth to retort but did not speak, her face suddenly thoughtful. Siegfried did not wait for her: he turned angrily away and strode to the edge of the platform where he waited silently for her to resume the climb. 

He heard her approach, pausing as she neared him; for a moment he thought she was going to address him but after a long and weighty silence she passed without a word, starting across the next walkway.

They continued the ascent in silence. 

Perhaps five minutes had passed when a deep, rumbling tremor seemed to run through the very stone of the walls and floor.  Siegfried instinctively put a hand to the wall of the narrow stairway to steady himself, feeling the rock almost buzzing under his fingers.  He raised nervous eyes to the ceiling, wondering if it were about to come down on their heads, but after a few seconds the rumbling faded to nothing.

He lowered his gaze, directing a questioning look to Ivy, but the horrified expression on her face silenced him more effectively than anything she might have said.

"No…"  She breathed, her dark eyes wide, "No, no-"

Then she was off, dashing up the stairway heedless of any need for caution, and because Schtauffen could scarcely conceive what could have inspired such hideous fear in his implacable companion, he was close on her heels.

To the top of the stairs she ran, then across another hanging platform and over the narrow walkway beyond, through a twisting corridor and up a spiral stair.  At the top of that stairway she halted so abruptly that Schtauffen piled into her, almost knocking her down.

Opening his mouth to ask why she had stopped – and indeed why she had run in the first place – he saw the answer for himself and froze, his face taking on a horrified expression to match her own.

A few yards ahead of them the stairs ended in a wall of featureless stone.

"What…" was all he could say for a long moment.  Ivy did not answer, turning with a sigh to shoulder past him.

He caught at her shoulder as she passed.  "Ivy, what… what the hell happened?"

"Is it not obvious?"  she replied.  "Poseidon's Gate has been sprung.  The lower levels have sealed."  She turned to look at the stone barrier.  "We are trapped."

"How is that possible?"  Schtauffen was aware that his voice was rising, but under the circumstances did not care.  "I thought the Gate was broken!"

"It is broken, in that the floodgates cannot be closed." She gestured at the stone wall.  "Obviously, the mechanisms for sealing intruders in are still quite functional."

"I don't recall you ever mentioning that before." he growled accusingly.

"I did not know one way or another.  I did not learn everything before coming here – only everything I could."

"So what set it off?  Did we-"

"You certainly possess a rare ability to overlook the obvious, Schtauffen.  The Guardian can no longer best us in battle, so he uses the Pit itself against us."

He stared at her, mind reeling, too shocked to take offense.  What does it take to stop that man? "Well… what can we do? Is there any way round this?"

"It would be a rather poor trap if there were.  This stairway is a choke point, one of several.  There is no alternative route – that is the point."

"So we're just going to wait to drown?  You can't tell me that you have no other options, Ivy – if there is one thing I know about you it's that you plan ahead.  Surely you have some idea?"

Ivy closed her eyes, leaning wearily against the stone wall.  Schtauffen watched her for a few moments before snapping his fingers.

"What about the vault - it was dry, remember?  We could hole up in there till the tide goes out."

"Perhaps - I assume that is what the Guardian does." Ivy murmured, opening her eyes.  "But if the seals have worked as intended we will not be able to get there."

Siegfried snorted.  "That's no reason not to try."

"I suppose you have the right of it."  Ivy agreed reluctantly, pushing herself off the wall.  "Let us hurry, then."

They began to descend again with alacrity.  It took them only a few minutes to confirm Ivy's grim prediction:  featureless stone blocked their descent as it had their escape.

Ivy gave Siegfried a look which so clearly said I told you so that he was momentarily unsure that she hadn't actually voiced the words.  He retorted with an angry look of his own.  "We had to try.  I didn't hear you offering any better suggestions."  Frustrated, he pounded on the wall with one closed fist before leaning his head against it with a sigh.  "Now would be an excellent time to do so, by the way."

The Englishwoman took a few moments to reply.  "Yours would have been the safest option, even if the Guardian was waiting in the Vault," she began "but… there is another possibility."

"Which is?" Siegfried prompted after the silence stretched too long for his patience.

Ivy looked at him.  In spite of the grim reality of their situation there was the faint hint of a smile on her lips.

"You won't like it."

*****

"I don't like it.  It's been too long, I tell ye.  Something's gone wrong."

Marc Rousseau sighed, straightening from his stocktaking of the Bravura's fresh water barrels and turning to face the man behind him.

"I have heard you the first time you said so, my friend." he said patiently.  And the second.  And the third, fourth, fifth…  "But still I do not know what it is that you expect me to do.  Madame Valentine's orders were precise:  she expects us to await her signal." 

His argument made for the third time, the first mate tried to return to his duties – which, he had to admit, looked far better when the alternative was having his ear bent by an increasingly edgy Scotsman.  Mackay was almost bouncing on the spot; he reminded Rousseau of a little boy who desperately needed to relieve himself.

"Aye, I know that," he replied, "but trust me – there's a time factor here.  If they're not outta the pit soon they ain't gettin' out.  We have ta help them!"

The Frenchman pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed.  "What assistance do you think we might be?  You have said yourself that you do not know even how to enter the place."  He let his hand drop as he looked back at Mackay, "And in any case, I think you are worrying too much.  I think that those two can take care of themselves."

Mackay ran a hand through his fair hair.  "Aye… I know that, too… but I've got a really bad feelin' in me gut.  I'm tellin' ye, something's wrong."

"If that is all then I do not think that it is sufficient.  We cannot be running around simply because you have a stomach upset."

"I've never asked ye to do anything before have I? Just this once, Marc."

"You have known me for perhaps a week," Rousseau countered, "so it is not such a wonder that you have asked me for nothing before."  He raised a placating hand as Mackay's hackles started to rise.  "Alastair, please - I do not wish to give offense.  You know what Madame Valentine's instructions were as well as I do.  She did not wish to be interrupted while she was on the island."

"I know," Mackay admitted, playing his trump card.  "but remember how well ye're bein' paid, Marc.  Somethin' happens to her ladyship, well, that's the end of the best-payin' job you'll see for a while.  What would yer Captain say?"

Rousseau scowled at him.  The money was excellent, true, but it was the last point that convinced him.  He knew what Batistelli would say – he had already said it in Corsica, after all.  The old man felt a strange sense of duty to his peculiar passengers.

He nodded wearily, raising his hands in surrender.  "All right, all right.  I will inform the captain."  He turned and trudged towards the quarterdeck.  "Be ready in five minutes.  And when your mistress chooses to kill someone for disobeying her orders, I will be expecting you to volunteer."

The Scotsman just grinned at him.

*****

"How much longer are we going to wait here?"

Siegfried wheeled on Ivy as he asked the question.  The Englishwoman was kneeling on the floor, carefully mixing the contents of several flasks in a small silver bowl – some kind of healing preparation, she had said.

He rather envied her.  By the time their course of action had been decided her familiar stoic mask had slipped back into place and she had gone coolly about her business while he was fretful with the inactivity.  She had cleaned and bandaged his wounds with brisk, callous efficiency and had accepted his assistance in doing the same for her leg wound.

She had refused assistance in dealing with her torn face, however, instead beginning the preparations she was now apparently near completing.  Siegfried, meanwhile, had had nothing to do but wait and fret.

"Not much longer, I would think."  She replied eventually, sitting back   "Check the water's height again."

Schtauffen didn't argue, though her peremptory tone irritated him; it was something to do, after all.  Crossing the platform he descended the spiral stairs at its end until the rising waters came into view – sooner than he had expected, in fact.  The water was rising faster than he had expected, its progress quite visible.  At the rate it was rising it would be upon them in less than ten minutes.  Schtauffen nodded to himself, relieved at the prospect, and started back up the stairs.

As he reached the platform where he had left Ivy a furious hissing jolted him out of his musings and he whirled, expecting to see the Guardian springing out of the shadows.  After a moment searching the surrounding darkness without success he realized the sound was coming from the centre of the platform – from Ivy.

What in god's name…?  Her right hand was pressed to her wounded face, brilliant light gleaming between her fingers and – was he hallucinating? – smoke rising from the wound.  The odour of burning flesh assaulted his senses as he drew nearer to her, halted in his tracks by her upraised hand.

This close he could see her entire body was shuddering, her back slowly arching and the fingers of her outflung hand curving into shivering claws.  Her teeth were bared in a cruel rictus, tears streaming from under the lids of her closed eyes.

"Ivy!" he shouted at her, alarmed.  "Ivy! What is it? What-" As he reached for her she suddenly took a huge, heaving breath and slumped forwards onto her elbows, the breath rattling in her throat.  He dropped to his knees before her, taking a deep breath himself.  "What the hell was that?"

It took her a long time to answer; her breathing gradually steadied, the trembling of her frame subsiding.  After a minute she raised herself to her hands, shaking her head groggily.

He repeated the question, a little irritably but very aware of the charred-flesh odour that pervaded the air.  Ivy straightened, her head lolling back as she breathed deep and evenly. 

His breath caught in his throat; the wound he had given her was gone, but the flesh of the cheek was blackened and blistered as though burned.  Smoke was still wafting from the charred, cracked skin as her eyes opened, hazy and unfocused.

"Ivy?" Schtauffen asked again, shaking her by one shoulder.

She turned eyes bright with unshed tears towards him, her gaze visibly focusing as she blinked.  Her brows contracted into a frown as she registered his hand shaking her.

"What?" she snapped.

"What do you mean, what?" he retorted.  "What the hell just happened to you?"

Ivy groaned, the heel of one hand pressed to her forehead as the other brushed Schtauffen's hand aside.  For a moment they sat in silence; when Ivy spoke her eyes were closed once more.  "I told you.  I was treating my wound."  Her voice had a dry, rasping quality now that gave it a harsh edge.

"What with, a torch?  My god…"

Ivy attempted a wry smile – or so he supposed; what she produced was a rather ghastly parody, the charred skin cracking in places.  "Alchemy has many applications, Schtauffen…" she winced, "even healing.  It is admittedly better suited to mending steel than flesh… but it serves."

"If you say so," Schtauffen replied dubiously, "but the cure doesn't look much better than the injury from here."

"The immediate effect is… unpleasant," she agreed, "but in the long term… it is very effective."

Siegfried shook his head disbelievingly.  "You're out of your mind."

Ivy shrugged weakly, shifting to a sitting position.  "Believe what you will," she muttered.  "How long have we left?"

"Ten or fifteen minutes."

She nodded, breathing deep.  "Good… when the water reaches about a foot above this platform we will make our attempt.  I hope you are as good a swimmer as you claim."

"You should worry about yourself, Ivy," Schtauffen looked at her keenly; this weakness he was certain she wasn't feigning.  Moving slightly he shifted so they were sitting back to back; after a moment she accepted the unspoken offer, reluctantly leaning into the mutual support.

"I will be ready." she replied.

Her words brought the memory of a similar comment to the forefront of Siegfried's thoughts.

"I was not ready," he said slowly, trying to keep bitterness from his tone, "and you didn't warn me."

He felt her tense a little, her back shifting against his.  "You should have realized it for yourself.  Even if I had told you, you would not have believed me."

Schtauffen forced himself to refrain from an indignant retort, tempting though it was; if he were honest with himself, he knew, her words were true.

Not that that entirely excused her behaviour.

"Maybe…" he acknowledged slowly, "but you still should have tried."

After a moment he felt her shrug, but she did not reply. 

They did not speak further; they sat in strangely comfortable silence until cold water brushed against them, spreading across the floor.

Ivy was the first on her feet, much of her strength evidently recovered.  She tossed Siegfried a lightstone as he stood.  "These two are our last, so be careful."

Schtauffen smiled to himself.  If they were still in the Pit when the stones burned out in twenty minutes, darkness would be the least of their problems.  He unfastened the ties of his hauberk, shrugging the heavy mail coat off with some relief. 

"Remember, the sluice gate is two yards below our current level," Ivy pointed, "over there.  The shaft leads to a storage cistern from the top of which another shaft leads to the sea, or rather an underwater cave which opens onto the sea.  The total distance is perhaps a shade over two hundred yards."

It didn't sound so far, Schtauffen mused, though he knew the reality was rather harsher.  Two hundred yards under water, even under the best of conditions, would be an achievement; trying to navigate an unknown route with only the faint illumination of the light stones was another thing entirely.  "Are you certain there are no obstructions - grates or anything?"

"I am certain of no such thing.  I do know that the gates themselves are designed to close when the Pit is filled, but that mechanism is obviously not working; the gates are jammed open.  Whether or not they are open sufficiently to permit escape remains to be seen, but there is only one way to put that question to the test."

"Right," muttered Siegfried, "of course."  Stooping, he pulled off his boots; the water was bitingly cold on his feet but he barely noticed it, focusing on the task ahead.  He checked the fastenings of his sword-sheath one last time; the zweihander would be about all he brought out of this hell-hole.

He spared a glance at the gold-filled bags now discarded on the floor.  After all that, he thought wryly, we have to leave the gold behind.  The irony, he had to admit, was rather acute.

"Are you ready?"  Ivy's voice cut across his thoughts.  Schtauffen nodded as he turned to her.

"As I'll ever be."

*****

Mackay leaned over the side of the longboat, eyes scanning the low wall of rock some twenty yards to its west.

"You're sure that's where you left them?" he asked Rousseau.  The first mate looked to Gaiardi, who nodded.

"No question."

"How did they get ashore?"  Mackay had enough experience as a sailor to know the crew wouldn't likely have chanced getting close to those rocks, even on such a calm day.

"It seems there is a small beach when the tide is out," Rousseau explained.  He turned to Gaiardi.  "We shall have to find somewhere else.  Bring us about to the east - there may be somewhere there we can put ashore."

Gaiardi nodded, barking orders to the oarsmen.  As the longboat began to make headway Rousseau turned to look at Mackay, who was still staring at the shoreline with fierce concentration.

"Where is the entrance?"

"Eh?"  Mackay started at the question, taking a moment to orient himself before answering.  "Uh, I'm not sure exactly."

"You are not sure?" the Frenchman repeated, disbelievingly.  "You are not sure.  You bring us rushing out here - and you are not sure."

"Aye, well…" Mackay defended himself, "We'll just have to look, right?  Don't get all tied up in knots about it."

"It is you who are tying knots in me," Rousseau muttered.  "It will take us hours to search that island!"

"No... well… aye, maybe…" Mackay admitted.  "So the sooner we start the better, eh?"

Rousseau restrained an increasingly familiar urge to pitch the younger man overboard and settled for turning his back on him, muttering to himself.

Ten minutes later the longboat scraped ashore on the east coast of the islet, Mackay wading ashore as the rest of the crew hauled the boat on to the beach.  Rousseau joined him moments later, fiddling with his sword-belt.

"So then…" the Frenchman said, eyeing the sparsely wooded slopes ahead of them, "have you any idea where the entrance is?"

"Pretty much in the middle," Mackay replied firmly.  Good a place as any to start, he thought.

Rousseau grimaced.  "Very well."  He turned to the other crewmen, clumped about the longboat.  "Ruggieri, you and Iacopo cut across to the south.  Taddeo…" he frowned, looking about, "Where is he… Hey! Taddeo! Come over here!"

The sailor in question was standing a little way off to the north, gazing out to sea.  At the sound of his name he raised a hand, but did not turn.

Frowning, Rousseau made his way to the older man's side.  "What is it?"

In answer Taddeo thrust his chin in the direction he was squinting.  It took Rousseau a moment to work out where he was looking, and several more to realize exactly what he was looking at.

A moment later he was sprinting back towards the longboat, eyes straining to keep sight of the two small figures bobbing in the water as he shouted wildly for the others to join him.

*****

It was a clear night, moon and stars bright both in the vault of the sky and the depths of the ocean as Bravura made her way north later that evening.

Siegfried leaned on the quarterdeck railing, watching the islet as it receded towards the horizon and sorting through the thoughts and feelings that their excursion had aroused. 

He had really felt as though he was turning a corner in his life with this new quest, but things had gone so terribly wrong.  They had barely escaped with their lives, and it was in no small part his fault.  Now he wondered if this new hope might not go the way of everything else, turning to ashes in his hands almost before he had begun. 

Careful, he berated himself.  Think that way and you will bring what your fear to pass, Schtauffen.  He knew it was true, but it was more easily said than done; after years of despair, hope – even so dark a hope as Ivy had offered him – did not come easily.

It had been a bad start, true, but he was still alive, and now that he understood his present weakness he could work to correct it.  There was no doubt that it would not be easy – but he knew well that anything worthwhile was worth struggling for. 

It had been one of his father's favourite maxims; for a time, both as Siegfried Schtauffen and as Nightmare, he had forgotten it - but he remembered it now.  The thought bolstered his spirits and he squared his shoulders unconsciously.  You chose this course, he reminded himself.  You may have doubts, but all you can do is hold to it.  

"Hold to your course, boy," he said softly.  Another of his father's sayings, he remembered with a faint smile.

"Talking to yourself, Herr Schtauffen?"

Siegfried started at the sound of her voice; lost in his thoughts he had not heard her approach.  He wheeled to face her as she continued.

"I have given some thought to what you said earlier."

"You... oh?" he stuttered; his mind noted with exasperation that once again he had managed to deliver a response remarkable solely for its doltishness.  He always seemed to be on the back foot when dealing with her.

That, he thought glumly, was a fair approximation of their whole relationship.  Ivy had a knack for keeping him off balance, always on the defensive.  She had all the advantages – the knowledge, the intelligence, and now even the strength - and she knew it; it was a part of the seemingly inviolable self-confidence that seemed to define her.  Even though he knew that assuredness was not complete – she had admitted as much to him when they had met on Corsica – it was difficult to challenge.

Particularly as she's usually right, he thought gloomily. 

"I have come to the conclusion that you were correct."

"I - I… was?"

Ivy gave him a curious look; hardly surprising, he thought, since he was even less coherent than she was accustomed to.  The look lasted only a moment before she replied. 

"Yes."

She did not immediately explain further and Schtauffen eventually felt obliged to press the point.  "About what?"

He did not miss the glitter in her eyes as he asked; she had wanted and expected him to do so, to approach her as a supplicant.  It was perhaps something she needed after making the concession that he had been right, he supposed, but the thought did not make it any more palatable.

"Our venture will likely be more successful if you understand it better." Ivy replied; her voice, he noticed, was less rough than it had been earlier, and her face – though still visibly burned – already seemed less badly damaged.  "To learn everything would take years, even if you were capable of it – but there are thing that you can learn that may prove useful.

"Also," she added, a little more slowly, "I was… perhaps… remiss in not telling you of your weakness, and in not attempting to compensate for it.  You will be nothing but a burden if you do not regain your former ability.  I have need of assistance, not baggage."

Schtauffen almost had to smile at the balance of apology and abuse, which he suspected Ivy had achieved without even trying.  Even so, she looked as though the concessions had left an unpleasant aftertaste.

He couldn't help but rub it in.  "Are you offering to help me, Ivy?"

"Not for your benefit, but for mine, yes.  I will teach you what I can, and I will help you to train - but I warn you, it will not be easy."

"Please."  Schtauffen replied rather haughtily. "I've heard that before.  I am quite familiar with harsh taskmasters.  When I was in the fighting school we had a saying:  Was sehrt, das lehrt."

"What hurts, teaches?" Ivy's irritated expression transformed into a broad, amused smile that the German found quite unsettling.  "I like that."  She laughed warmly as she turned away, "Yes, indeed, I do like that, Herr Schtauffen.  I think that after all I will have much to teach you."

Still chuckling she strolled away down the deck, leaving him to wonder just what he had gotten himself into now.

***************

Author's Notes: …Yes.  Well.  OK.  That was a little more than a week, I grant you…

No, not dead – just slow, so… slow…

If I have any readers left I apologize for the rather lengthy delay in posting this, particularly after my optimistic predictions.  It's been a creative brawl.

I'm not going to risk predicting when I'll update next, only that I will.  Odds are it'll be in the New Year, though you never know…

Reviewers, again, you are wonderful; your kindness helps me through the hardest parts.

In the (likely) event that I do not post before the day, Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it.  If you don't, well, Merry December 25th. 

And all the best of everything to you in the New Year.