Book 1: The Rebirth of the Aztecs

Chapter 7 Part 1: No One Expects The Inquisition

“Guilty as charged Uncle Colt. You’re still eavesdropping from the shadows. You know my mom hated when you did that,” Drake said as he hugged the inquisitor. His robes were black and tight fitting with a single scarlet half cloak over his right shoulder marking his rank as Inquisitor Suprema which was a fancy way of calling him a field commander. Uncle Colt had joined the Inquisitor Legiofurtimo who were more dagger than cloak which meant their robes were all shadows and practicality till they gained enough rank to not be in the field. Even then only a Grand Master Inquisitor Suprema had anything flashier than a medal or a scarlet half cloak. Drake figured it was a state of mind. When you lived your life unseen in the background you couldn’t just turn it off when you were allowed to be visible again.

“Oh, her elaborate traps and endless pranks are the main reason I wear my robe. It’s amazing I survived my childhood intact,” Drake rolled his eyes at his uncle’s melodramatic response. Had his mother made traps when she realized her brother was a sneaky sort? Of course, but nothing more dangerous than hurt pride on the line. Most of the time. Teenage girls were terrifying when vengeful.

“Anyway, follow me to your merry band of drunken near-do wells,” Inquisitor Lancerman said while already padding up the metal grated floor of the maintenance passage. His padded rubber boots making only a light whisper while the pointy dress shoes Drake was sporting clanged up the gangway like a clown on parade. The hum of machinery on both sides of the tight tunnel of pipes, wiring, and insulation combined with the dim lighting made the inquisitor a specter flowing through the tight passages. A ghost in the machine who floated rather than walked across the maze of internal arteries of the ship.

A man with less knowledge of airship function would assume this tunnel was made for the phantom’s theatrics with how perfect the path let Drake’s eccentric uncle pass unseen even with the flying boat bursting at the seams with guests. The pirate captain knew better. A little inspection of the panels and hydraulics mixed with the wiring told him this was a maintenance shaft used to maintain the ramp and pulley system that guided less capable hovercraft pilots into the mooring. Still, only an idiot would miss the convenient flanking opportunities the secret door provided for any hostile boarding at the hovercraft bay, or the utility of making one of your “guests” disappear from the crowd unnoticed. The Housegaurd probably took advantage of this thing more than the monk engineers.

“Your boys are all in one piece, and only a light drizzling of the blood of God Heaven’s Armies’ enemies. They represent the Golden Kingdoms well,” Uncle Colt said as he pulled on a latch that revealed an open “stair” which like true navy fashion was more ladder than stairs. The dark robes almost disappeared in the darker light below as the inquisitor stalked down the stairs. Only the scarlet flow of the cloak gave away Uncle Colt’s position.

“Afraid they don’t serve Catalina anymore old man,” The pirate captain called as he stomped his way down toward the fleeting image of wrestling robes below him.

“But they do my boy, wayward nephew that you are,” Uncle’s Colt’s soft sing-song voice echoed up from the shadows. The only light was a red glow that just revealed the next peg on the ladder making the inquisitor’s echoing words otherworldly in nature,” Mercenaries and pirates always look to their nations of origins. Fellow men of less repute as well men in supposed ‘honorable’ standing gage your performance. After all, if men with no leash to hold discipline retain that discipline the world takes notice. All Catalinas benefit from you being seen as capable if not overwhelming. Like a pebble starting an avalanche even our enemies will have to admit our competence.”

Drake smirked at the high mannered speech and flowing words. Uncle Colt had always been a bit of a bookworm, but after rising to a full fledged shadow inquisitor as the rank and file called the brothers of the Legiofurtimo he’d become down right poetic in his speech. You might even forget that he used to milk cows for a living as a teenager.

“Personally, I’d rather everybody underestimate us Uncle Colt.”

“Ah, but just because the men in uniform respect your capabilities doesn’t mean their generals and politicians do. Enough time will make the rank file cautious as the survivors of your bloodlettings share their horror. Till then, we will enjoy this brief moment of tasting the benefits of both worlds. As men cower to fight us even as their leaders send less than adequate forces to contend with those pesky farmers and upstart island white boys with their pitchforks and airships.” Drake's laugh echoed off the walls. He couldn’t see it, but the pirate captain already knew the self congratulating smirk on his Uncle’s face.

The man always had that look whenever he’d used some logical syllogism or another to drive his mother crazy in an argument he very well knew he was wrong, or mostly wrong about, and win anyway. Drake always suspected there was a dash of sadist in his uncle. The wraith’s profession seemed to have only enhanced his personality. No surprise there.

Unfortunately, the Golden Kingdoms of the Catalina Republic were a small collection of islands and mainland holdings which meant every empire with a thousand miles of land to its name and general proximity to their borders always thought they were just one mouthful away from swallowing the upstart federation of kingdoms. Only when enough military defeats of the smaller force succeeded did that change. Then one of two things happened. Either they thought you were too tough a nut to crack and left you alone for a while or they applied the appropriate force to smash you. Better hope they still underestimated you enough, or the nutcracker would win that round.

But that wasn’t Drake’s problem anymore, and for some reason talking to his uncle made that pill a little less bitter. Wasn’t as if he was the only sheep dog watching the herd, and they were still grossly underestimated by the larger powers yet respected enough that no invasion had graced the islands for a decade. Only raids from the stubborn Aztec wannabes and less friendly tribes of the confederation tried their chances on Catalinan steel now. Still, it only took one empire willing to find you worth the blood bath to end a small nation's run.

Soon a door opened at the end of stairs letting a soft light pass into the tunnel. Uncle Colt's fleeting form faded through in a flash, and disappeared in an instant. Drake was close behind. On the other side of the passage was a loading bay worlds apart from the opulent show for the rich and powerful the pirate captain had left on the other side of the maintenance shaft. 

A whole new world of all business tech and military shrewdness waited for him in the submersible pen. All was right with the world for a brief moment as the marine still kicking around in Drake’s soul soared at the sights and smells around him. The fancy and highborne pleasures were tempting and always welcome, but the pirate captain knew where he belonged. In the trenches, or in this case the sub pen surrounded by the lions, tigers, and bears. Or in the case of his men who were stripping their blood stain wetsuits around him, wolves.

The Story Will Continue Every Monday

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