33

Doña Christina

The morning sun shone bright and cheerful on the armada ships waiting for launch on the grasses inside the fortified walls of her father, the King’s, military installation. Ten in all, their burnished wood hulls and immense white sails reminded her of the depictions of war with the English done in oils on the walls of the castle. Were it not for the attached air bladders glistening with dew, she might have thought she were back in history standing next to the Duke of Medina himself, sending out the fleet.

The klaxons sounded their signal to board. They drowned out the stomping boots of the approaching soldiers. Christina pulled the hood of the cloak down further over her face, careful to turn away as she passed one of her father’s captains. Men marched into the waiting air ships, their rifles in hand. Row upon row of Spanish warriors ready for battle.

Backlit by the sun, the entirety of her father’s armada hovered just above the ground. The air crew readied the lighter-than-air ballasts. They crawled over the nettings and cables, securing the crafts to their balloons. Cannon wheels squealed as the massive metal guns rolled into place behind the wood doors on the sides of the helms.

The scent of gunpowder and pitch filled her nostrils, and she smiled. The naval prowess of her heritage was truly a sight to behold. Christina felt for Arecibo’s missive in her pocket, his words at once igniting anticipation and fear in her heart. It was beginning. She walked the perimeter of each hull, checking and rechecking that her devices had not been discovered or disturbed.

Her father’s most trusted General strode past her, stopped, and called after her. “Your Highness,” he said, bowing.

“General Espinoza,” she said and motioned for him to rise.

“To what do these men owe the pleasure of your presence?”

Though his words and demeanor were deferential, Christina could not discount the suspicion in his gaze. “I offer prayers for the brave men of Spain,” she answered. “They are an honor to the throne.”

“Yes, of course,” Espinoza bowed. “You are too kind, Your Highness. Shall I…”

“No,” Christina waved him off. “These matters are not to be done in public.”

“As you wish.” Espinoza bowed once more and strode off, glancing back.

Christina clasped her hands in supplication, wandering off with her eyes downcast. Once sure she was out of his line of sight, she went back to her inspection. Almost done, she paused in the aft section of the furthest ship. Squinting, she chanced a glance around before ducking down to better see the device. Adjusting the intricate coils and cogs with her small fingers, she stepped back, satisfied.

The klaxon ceased and the thrum of the air ship engines filled the air. One by one the war craft rose. Slowly at first, then faster, forming the tactical formation they had once performed on the sea. Crimson heralds flared out, snapping in the wind. Four horn blasts signaled the start of the journey.

Christina stood on the grass, head tilted up, watching them fly off into a blue, cloudless sky.

Cheers from those watching the launch sounded on the breeze. Men and women waving kerchiefs and flags shouted for the men aboard to return home safe.

She pulled the cloak of her sleeve back revealing a chronometer, a gift from Arecibo during one of their clandestine meetings. Smile pulling at her red lips, she counted out the hours until midnight. In less than a day’s time, the world would be forever changed. Christina took one last look at the retreating ships.

A man watching her from inside the courtyard caught her attention. He motioned for her to follow.

Raising a delicate brow at the audacity, Christina did as he asked. She strode towards the dark corner in which he waited, turning the large ring on her middle finger with nervousness. When she approached, she smiled with relief. Red hair thinning, nose veined from years of drinking, the Master of Science stood with his back against the stone wall. “Rodrigo,” she said and nodded for him to rise.

“Your Highness,” he said, his gaze jumping to the crowd wandering the courtyard. “I must speak with you.”

“So speak,” she said calmly, fiddling with the band of her ring as she glanced around. Though others readied the market tables and animal stalls for morning trade in the marketplace, no one recognized her. She wondered how Rodrigo had. Had he been following her? “What is it?”

“There have been questions,” he licked his lips. “Some workers are curious about what I had them construct in the waters.”

Her heart rate shot up, but she smiled warmly. “Did you explain about the weather?”

“I did, but…I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” he pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his tunic and unfurled it for her.

Heat rose to her face. The uncanny rendering of her creation in broad daylight sent her heart thumping so loud she would not be surprised if the whole of the crowed turned at its sound. “Who have you shown this to?” She asked, taking it in her delicate hands and forcing a smile. “It is quite good, Rodrigo. You have another calling as an artist.”

“I have made inquiries,” he continued. “There are many of these. All over the coast. Massive and equipped with—”

“Who have you spoken with about this?” she asked, glancing around.

“I thought that the King ordered this, but nothing came from the royal foundries or stores. Where did the materials come from?”

“Rodrigo,” Christina said evenly. “That is not your concern.”

“It is both mine and your father’s concern.” He shook his head. “To keep this quiet…it is treason against my King.” He pointed to the parchment with a dry, cracked finger. “The others may not know, but I do. I have discovered what you are hiding.”

“I see,” Christina pursed her lips, noting the sweat beading on Rodrigo’s forehead and upper lip. She regarded him with as bored an expression as she could manage given her utter panic. “Hiding, you say?”

“Yes,” he adjusted his belt and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I have seen you with that pale snake. That demon of The Order your father loathes. I should tell him that you conspire with him. Show him this.” He tugged on the edge of the sketch.

Christina yanked it to her bosom, half turning to keep her face away from the milling shoppers. Hand closing in a fist, she felt the large stone of her ring cradled in her palm. Its edges dug into her flesh, and she used the pain to focus her fearful thoughts. She laughed lightly, as if speaking with a forward suitor. “Truly, Rodrigo, you must be careful with your words.”

Not swayed, he leaned closer, his breath sour with drink. “You know my troubles. You used them against me. Surely you know my silence will cost you.”

Anger burned in her gut, and she pressed her lips together and fought the urge to slap his smug face. “I understand,” Christina said and twisted the stone of the ring. “Of course. Just please, do not involve my father. I will get you your silver.” A minute needle, no thicker than a hair’s breadth, protruded from the center. She patted Rodrigo on the shoulder, making sure to inject the poison deep into the muscle.

He flinched, waving his hand as if shooing an insect, before nodding resolutely at her. “By tonight or I go to the King,” he said.

“Most definitely by tonight,” Christina said and wandered off. Pulling the cloak tighter around her small frame, she glanced over her shoulder just as Rodrigo collapsed to the ground. She melted into the crowd as the first cries for a physician sounded from behind.