“Geller has an entire army guarding every corridor, every corner of that fortress,” said DePaul. He turned to Zen with his gray eyes. “Even if you find Marcel, the soldiers will prevent you from taking him. You and Marcel would be in danger.”
Enapay tapped the old man on the shoulder. “Don't bet against this kid,” he said with a sideways smirk. “Believe me. You're sure to lose.”
MARCEL'S HANDS ACHED. EARLY IN the morning, Kamau and Geller had brought him to an elegant theater on the second floor of the castle. There were enough seats for hundreds of people, but the audience comprised of only a handful of strangers seated and scattered throughout the auditorium. Sharing the stage with Marcel was an old steam car, a four-seater. Kamau was right. He was going to have to prove his powers to the observers. Marcel had to not only fix it, but he must enhance it using only the leftover components stuffed inside several large crates.
Geller faced the audience. He used large and elaborate arm gestures as he spoke. He assured his audience that Marcel had never seen this steam car before, and no one had fed the boy knowledge of any sort prior to this demonstration.
Despite his queasiness, Marcel swallowed his anxiety and went to work right away. He put his hands on the vehicle, and instantly he felt the car speak to him. Instead of perceiving words, images flashed in his mind. Foreign and familiar components and small parts passed through his vision, and he felt how every single piece worked in harmony with all the other pieces. It was as if the machine spoke to him and showed him every single aspect of its mechanics. Marcel kept his eyes closed and allowed his hands to be led by his intuition.
When Marcel lifted his eye lids, he saw Geller join his guests in the audience. The merchant whispered to a fellow next to him in a tall, funny hat, and Marcel fought the urge to blindly bolt from the stage. Kamau stood at one end of the stage and another guard minded the other. Escape remained at the forefront of Marcel's mind.
He couldn't get far in the steam car on the elevated stage platform. As he stared at the vehicle's gray and brown exterior, he felt drawn to the thing. It was begging to be repaired. Marcel found several cases of tools beside the front of the car, and he sorted through them to decide which size wrench he would use to begin his surgery.
“What is wrong with the car?” Geller's voice echoed across the theater.
Marcel found himself trembling. “The fly wheel is stuck, and the chain powering the governor is broken.”
Geller stood up and put his hands to the sides of his mouth. “Can you fix it?”
It took strength to hide Marcel's annoyance. Geller was putting on a show for his friends. Of course he could fix this stupid car. It wasn't much of a test. The difficult part was in modifying the craft somehow.
All along the rear of the stage, Marcel spotted the mountains of spare parts. He recognized pieces of old artillery, another steam car, and various gears and drive chains. His mind raced, visually putting a design together.
“Yes. I can fix the car,” replied Marcel. “It won't take too long.”
Geller stood from his seat. “How will you modify this machine?”
All of the audience memebers were dressed differently from each other, and Marcel presumed they had traveled from distant lands. Each one of them stared at him, anticipating his reply with open mouths.
“I'd like to keep that a surprise for now.” Marcel forcing himself to grin. He had only a couple of vague ideas, and all of them centered on his escape. He knew he possessed the right spare parts behind him to create something that would kill Geller in his seat. “I promise, it will be something no one has ever seen before.”
The audience applauded, and Geller's belly jiggled when he chortled and took his seat. Before getting to work, Marcel turned towards Kamau, who was not laughing or applauding, so he bent over the tool boxes and decided to get to work.
KAI WAS CAREFUL TO FOLLOW a normal routine the following morning, and he spotted Geller's men watching him from shore. The ship's crew had kept out of Kai's way all afternoon, and he spent the rest of daylight in his quarters below deck preparing. When the sun set, Kai perched on the bow of the ship.
Two armed men stood guard more than one hundred yards away near a small building. They leaned against the brick wall, not bothering to conceal their presence. When Kai turned to them, he smiled and waved his hand at them. When nightfall came, he could still make out the dark forms of Geller's mercenaries holding their rifles and smoking cigars.
Kai exhaled his nervous energy. It was almost time. Time to have one last meeting with Olaf Geller. Geller had squandered his only chance to escape this with his life and several crates of gold in this matter. Kai would enjoy killing him more.
MARCEL WAS LOST IN HIS work. It felt like only several minutes passed, but he was sure that several hours had elapsed before completing the steam car. Repairing it was simple and only took about an hour of labor to finish. Doing the modification was more complicated, and the majority of his time was spent searching through the mounds of junk. He carefully chose the vital components before installing them into the vehicle. The final step included pouring the paraffin fuel from a handful of old broken lanterns into the glass tank he had attached to the car.
With his throbbing hands covered in grease, he pulled himself into the car and started the engine.
The boiler came to life, and soon the exhaust stack in the rear spewed bluish steam. Marcel made the car move forward, and he saw Kamau jump as if he was preparing to thwart another escape attempt. He maneuvered the vehicle into turning a tight circle to the left, facing the audience.
Marcel raised his chin in order to see over the wooden dashboard. His hand felt for the small lever on the left side of the steering wheel he had installed. The front of the car was lined up perfectly with Geller, who was once again on his feet cheering.
All of the guests stood up and clapped their hands. Only three bystanders near Geller were in the line of fire, as the other audience members were seated further away. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Kamau rushing the stage yelling something.
With a deep breath, he pulled hard on the lever and pressed a small button on the front console. He felt heat burst from underneath him and then rush towards the front of the car. A rumbling fireball spewed from the wide hose he had placed inside the steam car's front grill. The shooting flame roared towards its target. To Marcel's dismay, Kamau leaped off the stage and shoved Geller to the floor.
Marcel gasped. Harming Kamau was the last thing he wanted to do, and panic rose from his chest. He climbed out of the car and ran towards the end of the stage. His boots pounded against the wooden planks, and he didn't dare turn around to see if his flame-thrower had successfully killed Geller or Kamau.
He dove behind the heavy red curtain, and his eyes found the small door only a few paces away. When Marcel took his first step, his feet slid out from under him, and he felt something hard strike the back of his neck. He nearly fell flat on his face when something yanked him upwards by his collar.
Marcel was shoved backwards, and he stumbled before collapsing on the floor. When he looked up, he saw Kamau. At first glance, the bodyguard showed no evidence of injury from the fire, and he was sure Geller remained safe too.
“You failed again, little one.”
“Why did you save him?” Marcel said, his fury bubbling inside of him. “Please, let me go.”
Kamau bent down, his eyes like black steel. Marcel wondered if he was going to strike him. He winced and prepared for the punishment.
“Listen to them,” said Kamau. “It's all for you.”
It took a moment for Marcel to decipher what he was saying, but when he quieted his heaving breaths, he heard it. Wild clapping and jubilation. Marcel's flame thrower had inflamed their frenzy.
“You did well today. I will escort you to your chamber where you will get a bath.” Kamau pointed to the open side door with his eyes. “That stunt more than impressed the buyers.”
Marcel taste
d the acid in his mouth. He meandered to the open doorway and began the long journey to his chamber. The cries of the celebrating men in the auditorium felt like kicks to his gut, and his failure was almost impossible to bear. He would never escape. Never see his mother. Slavery was in his future.
“Master Geller will want to show you off at his grand dining hall tonight. You will meet your potential masters. Take this opportunity to further impress them with your knowledge and your loyalty. It will make your new life easier.”
Marcel struggled to lift his heavy feet. Defeat was difficult to swallow.
And he was choking on it.
IT TOOK SEVERAL TENSE HOURS, but they finally came to an agreement. With Neva's insistence that they follow Zen's lead, even DePaul and his furious objections eventually surrendered. Zen was to go into Geller's palace alone and locate the Machine Boy.
Inside a cramped and dim cabin, Zen put on his armor deliberately and with purpose. He took the time to follow his normal ritual before a mission, and he made sure to quiet and focus his mind. He concluded his prayer to his ancestors aloud in a soft whisper.
Those who embrace life, only find death. Those who wish for death, defy it.
Zen's mother would be proud, and he was still in awe of her foresight. This was destiny, and she knew this day would come.
On a small table next to his loaded revolvers was the hand held tele-relay. DePaul had instructed Zen on how to use it. Although the plan called for Zen finding Marcel alone, the others would be following closely behind, waiting inside the underground tunnel connecting the servants building to Geller's palace. Zen was to locate the boy, turn the small crank on the side of the tele-relay, and press the brass button three times. DePaul would have a receiver with him, and the old man would be alerted to bring reinforcements.
Or if the situation deteriorated, Zen was to signal the rest of them to come to his aid. However, Zen was sure that transmitting for help would not be necessary, and he had no intention of bringing the others into harm's way.
Zen studied the blueprints for hours. He memorized every room and corridor. His leg was free of pain, and his body felt rested. Zen allowed the confidence to fill his chest, pushing aside any fears and doubts. All of his training, all of his experience prepared him well for this new quest. He was ready to fulfill his unspoken promise to his mother.
The Triton rumbled and shook, which meant it was surfacing. Zen pressed his hands against the walls to keep his balance. He slid both of his guns into their holsters and tucked the tele-relay into his pocket. When he opened the oval door, he found Neva already waiting outside in the dimly lit hallway. She smiled, but her eyes hinted of the motherly fears he easily recognized.
“We'll be right behind you,” Neva said as she entered the room. “If things begin to fall apart, you transmit the signal. You understand?”
Zen nodded. “I will not hesitate.”
Neva bit her lip and threw her arms around him. Zen took a deep breath and held her close. For the briefest of moments, he felt as if he was embracing his own mother again.
“I only ask that you promise me two things, Zen.”
“What is that?”
“First, you make sure my little Machine Boy is safe and stays that way. Second, you promise to not kill Geller. You save him for me.” Neva's arms loosened, and she stepped back. “He is mine.”
ENAPAY WALKED SLOWLY ALONG ONE of the metal walls of the cockpit. Only McMillan was with him, busy at the controls as the Triton broke the ocean surface. During the last several nervous hours, Enapay had spent his time studying the Triton, amazed at the pure number of controls needed to pilot the submersible boat. In his estimation, a craft as sophisticated as the Triton needed at least ten crew members to handle all the functions. After this was all over, he would like to spend more time in the engine room of the boat and see what made it work. He suspected it was powered by carbsidian.
He walked toward the center of the control room and found the periscope. When he put his right eye to the monocular lens, he spotted the empty dock outside. McMillan must have maneuvered the Triton right up against it.
“You think this is right, sending that boy in there?” McMillan's eyes narrowed while her hands remained at the controls.
“You don't know him,” Enapay replied. “Do not let looks fool you. Take it from me when I say Zen is the right man for the job. He's the only one who can do this and not get killed.”
He watched the woman at the controls. She reached for two levers without hesitation, despite an entire panel of at least a dozen of them to choose from. He wondered how long McMillan trained to even get a basic understanding in piloting the Triton. She was a master pilot.
Enapay stepped away from the viewer after making sure the dock remained clear. “Trust me on this one. If we're to get Marcel back to his mother, Zen is our best chance at making that happen. Besides, we're one tele-relay buzz away. We'll be waiting in the tunnel for his signal if he needs us.”
McMillan turned away. “This is all a big mistake. Geller's men are highly trained mercenaries. I don't know why you insist on placing your friend straight into danger like this.”
Enapay shut his mouth and pressed a finger against his lips when he heard hollow boot clacks approaching the cockpit's hatch. The lever turned, and Zen opened the door to step inside. From the look in Zen's eyes, Enapay knew he had heard their arguing.
“My name is Zen,” he said to McMillan without a hint of spite. He was still fastening his fancy, red armor when he entered the chamber. “I am accustomed to danger, but I do appreciate your concern.”
McMillan left her pilot's seat and went to the periscope. “I don't agree with any of this, Zen.” She pressed her right eye into the viewer, rotating the periscope before stopping abruptly. “I think someone has seen us.”
Enapay dashed over and took a turn with the viewer. “It was clear a second ago.”
Through the periscope, he made out the figure of a man walking towards the dock. The Triton's conning tower was visible to anyone nearby, and now the person was approaching them for a closer look. Enapay squinted his eyes, trying to sharpen the image. It was definitely a man armed with a rifle.
“He's got a gun, and he's coming this way,” Enapay said through tight lips while keeping his eyes up against the glass viewer. “He's likely one of Geller's men.”
Zen grabbed one of his revolvers from his belt. “Then it is time.” Zen was up the ladder and nearly to the conning tower's hatch when Enapay called out to him.
“You watch yourself out there.” A rush of doubt filled his lungs, and Enapay felt his mouth dry up. “We'll be waiting for your transmission should you need us.”
Zen saluted with his pistol before he went up the final two rungs and opened the hatch. From the corner of his eyes, Enapay saw McMillan rush back to the periscope. He could tell her mouth was stifling another protest as she watched.
Without another word, Zen closed the round hatch behind him and slipped outside. Enapay took another shaky breath and leaned against the wall, watching McMillan stare into the viewer. Her mouth contorted with anxiety, and her feet wouldn't stop shuffling. Maybe if the woman saw for herself what Zen could do, she'd stop barking in his ear.
Knowing the Professor, he kept an arsenal on board, and it was time to get ready. Enapay pushed himself off of the wall, but he kept watching McMillan remain planted onto the periscope's viewer. The echo of a single gunshot rang out, and McMillan's body jolted as if she herself had been struck by a bullet.
“You get used to it.” Enapay made his way to the cockpit's door.
“He...” McMillan slid away from the periscope, dragging her feet away before flopping into her pilot's chair. “Incredible. I've never seen anything like that.”
Enapay chuckled as he swung the hatch open. “I know the feeling.”
“Zen moved so fast.” Her eyes focused and turned to him. “Is he even human?”
He had one foot out the door when he said, “B
e happy he's on our side.”
SUPPING IN THE MAIN DINING hall was nothing more than an opportunity for Geller's guests to interview Marcel and ask him all kinds of questions about his abilities. Some questions were thoughtful, like the man from Roma inquiring if using his machine powers drained him physically. Marcel replied it wasn't the power that drained him, it was his need to get no rest until the machine was fixed. This solicited a warm applause from all the guests, and Geller seemed pleased with the answer.
Geller, in fact, looked jovial despite nearly getting incinerated by Marcel's spit-fire car. He looked invigorated by having escaped death without injury. His voice boomed louder than ever, and his eyes gleamed with greed. He stood to make a lot of money, and it made Marcel sick.
Kamau sat next to Marcel, quietly listening to the chatter during the entire dinner. Even he seemed a little uncomfortable with the setting. The old man from Eran kept staring at Marcel, and Kamau must have noticed it. The bodyguard watched the Eranian with intense scrutiny thereafter.
The entire affair lasted more than two hours, and when the guests began retiring one at a time, Marcel felt relieved. Having to put on a show all day was exhausting. He watched Geller whisper into Kamau's ear before dismissing everyone. Kamau signaled it was time to go, and Marcel felt like he could finally breathe.
In his chamber, the bed never felt so comfortable, and Marcel plopped onto the soft mattress while still fully dressed.
“Master Geller was extremely impressed with how you handled yourself this evening, without incident this time.” Kamau sat in the chair next to the bed. “The guests are more than satisfied that your gift is authentic.”
Marcel stretched his limbs, and he let his sore muscles relax. “He's going to sell me to one of his friends. Make a fortune. That should make him happy.”
Kamau paused. “One day, you will be in a position to get your freedom back. With your abilities and your intelligence, you will devise a way to get the upper hand. Some, like myself, are not so lucky.”