Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Fluffers ejected through the emergency chute in his cybernetic human-suit. “What do you mean?” he said.

Laughing from the sparking breach in the ruined chest of his own suit, Snugglepuff continued. “We use these suits to move undetected among the humans,” he coughed. “But we’ve been blind this whole time.”

Fluffers’ suit crashed down behind him, and he scuttled up the battle damage on Snugglepuff’s failing suit. “Blind to what?” he shouted. “Tell me, you worthless old fuzzbucket!”

“There are no humans left,” laughed Snugglepuff. “Only hamsters in human suits lying to each other.”

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“Holy shit!”

The air was a roar in her ears, a blast of chilled air to her skin. Flailing instinctively with all her limbs, she reached out toward the medallion.

She had no idea how it had happened, but the thing had teleported her two miles up and it was her only hope of getting back down safely.

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“What are you?” Cooke said.

“What are we? If only you could hear how ridiculous that question sounds. Ask the sun what he is. Ask the moon what she is.”

“I can ask my ship what she is and she will remain in coquettish silence,” Cooke said. “But I still have a word for her, even if she doesn’t answer to it.”

“The Mayans called us alux, the Spaniards call us duende,” said Vega. “Both are outsiders’ names and bitter on the tongue, but you may use them if you must. Some would call us spirits, but we are quite mortal. Long-lived, if not quite eternal, the precipitate of the natural world made substantial.”

“I don’t suppose you could be more specific?” said Cooke. “This vague talk of spirits and the natural world is the first time you’ve sounded like a real priest since we’ve met.”

“If I cannot be more specific,” Vega said, “then ask yourself this: do you have aught but legend to tell me where humanity came from?”

Cooke bit his lip. “Fair enough.”

“Then there you have it,” the luminous being continued. “We were never numerous, such as we know, but we have become scarce of late. Some, like Sally, live in secret among you. Those that do not wish to do so, we have gathered here.”

“I suppose that’s fair enough,” Cooke said. “A remote mission in Spanish territory…I certainly wouldn’t ask any questions, and I doubt a nuncio would either. But tell me this, why let Mercedes go on her pilgrimage-why conceal the truth of her nature from her–with the risk of her true form being revealed?”

“True form?” Vega laughed. “Such a concept is immaterial to an alux. We can take on whatever guise we think suitable, with enough practice. It is how those of us like Sally walk among you unnoticed for generations. ”

“That’s not what I see with Mercedes,” said Cooke. “She gets more golden than a pirate horde as soon as she hits seawater.”

“It is more an instinct than anything else, I think,” Vega said. “A return to the form she happened to wear when she was born. A joyous day, and a sad one as well. I don’t doubt that, like most of us, she finds it more practical to appear ordinary.”

“A joyous day,” Cooke said. “And a sad one. How would you know?”

“She was born here,” Vega said, sounding a little defensive.

“You’re her father,” Cooke said dully. “Aren’t you.”

Vega folded his wings around himself like a cloak, or a sorrowful blanket. “It’s that obvious, is it?” he chuckled. “I suppose I ought to be flattered that there’s enough of me in her for it to stand out so.”

“So Mercedes is half-human, then,” Cooke said.

“No, no. It does not work that way, Mister Cooke,” Vega said. “We alux are like a bright bonfire; wood and fire come together to create it, but the end result is always fire.”

“And ash,” Cooke said.

Vega choked back what sounded like a sob. “You’re more right than you know,” he said sadly. “The moment of birth, when a new alux comes into the world…it’s a rare event, requiring as it does a human father or mother. But it’s also quite an explosive one, the energy of our world being compressed into a form that can move and talk. It is…not survivable. Poor Julia was consumed instantly.”

“It seems a bit odd, if you knew that, to subject your lover to such risk,” said Cooke.

“Surely you, too, have made rash decisions in pursuit of love, young as you are?” said Vega.

“My rash decisions are my own,” said Cooke quietly. “I’ll not blame love or anything else for them.”

“We thought ourselves special. Immune. And we were so deeply in love.” Vega turned away. “She is the first to be born to us in a long time, perhaps centuries.”

“And you almost lost her to Exposito and his gang. Why did you let her leave Villanueva at all, knowing what she was, what was out there for her?”

Vega didn’t answer.

“What if she’d fallen in love, like you? Would you have let her power consume her lover, like yours?”

“It was her choice to make,” Vega whispered. “I did not want my daughter a prisoner.”

“She wasn’t planning on coming back, you know,” said Cooke. “She told me as much. The pilgrimage was just a ruse.”

“Did she, now?” Vega turned back to Cooke. “Do you see me as an unfit father, an unfit guardian, because of that?”

“It doesn’t matter how I see you, as I’ve no high horse to sit on when it comes to that,” Cooke said. He grinned crookedly. “I’d be a terrible father and any child of mine would be liable to share the same hardships I did on that slave galley. I wouldn’t wish it on any tot. Not existing at all is a better lot than that; never being born is the best gift I can give any children of mine.”

“Many of we alux feels the same way you do. They have sworn themselves to celibacy, or hidden themselves away from temptation, masquerading as we often do.”

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Cooke turned to Father Vega. “Well now,” he said. “We do have quite a bit to discuss, don’t we?”

“First, I should thank you,” said Vega. “You returned our Mercedes to us, at great risk to your men and your ship. I’m told you lost nine men in your journey.”

“We did, and while I appreciate your appreciation, a good pirating voyage would likely have incurred similar losses,” Cooke said. “Resisting a navy ship and pirating two prizes are very much in our usual line of work.”

“I can’t say I approve of the latter, but you did what I’m sure you thought you had to. It was a great torment to me personally to see Mercedes leave, as we all worry about her so. But she was so adamant.”

“I’m sure she was,” Cooke said. “Adamant is perhaps the word I would use to describe her. And as to our reward?”

“Oh yes, of course,” said Father Vega. “We have some stores of currency for…mundane transactions, and for proselytizing. We don’t often recieve officials from Ravenna, so we are not as rich as we might perhaps be, but I will be happy to personally reward you with ten thousand reals in addition to repairs to your ship and repairs to your crew.”

“That is most equitable,” said Cooke. “Thank you. Now, what do you say we dispense with the charade?”

“Charade?” said Father Vega, looking flustered. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come now, Father,” Cooke said. “I have just finished returning your Mercedes to you, and every man and every woman on my crew can swear to her transfiguration in salt water.”

“Well, miracles are strange things,” said Father Vega. “We’ve always known Mercedes to be a special one, and-”

“Every man and every woman aboard the Fancy Rat can also swear to me being borne forth from the water, wounded, by a brilliant serpent-woman with iridescent wings, who we all once knew as Sally Coxswain.”

“Well, courtesans and harlots are hardly-” Vega began.

“Father,” said Cooke. “I never said she was a courtesan or a harlot. And I’m quite sure I never told you my first name, and none of my crew could have known it to do so. And Ravenna? It hasn’t been the seat of the Church for centuries. I may not look it, Father Vega, but I was raised by a Catholic mother with a library. St. Veronica was the result of a mistranslation and never existed. I’d also love–love!–to know how a book on the depredations of pirates entered your library, as Mercedes claims, so soon after its publication.”

Vega didn’t say anything; his fatherly expression was now one of guarded neutrality.

“I think people should be honest with one another, generally,” said Cooke. “I hate to do mischief to anyone when it’s not to my advantage. I think it’s best if you put your cards on the table, Father. Because my men will start telling tales soon enough, after what they’ve seen. Shall we let them? Whatever secret you mean to keep guarded here is already at risk.”

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“Hey, Cooke!”

Braxton was in the courtyard below, and rushed up the steps when she saw Cooke emerge.

“You’re dressed in…well…a dress!” said Cooke, surprised.

“Yeah, I don’t like it either,” Braxton said. “I’m used to having pockets. But it’s all these missionaries have in my size.”

“How’s everyone doing?” said Cooke.

“Well, you look like hell and damnation, but that’s about normal so I think we can put that in the plus column,” Braxton laughed. Then, growing serious: “We lost seven men in that fight, Cooke. Foote didn’t make it.”

Cooke bowed his head. “I had an inkling,” he said. “Did you at least do him the courtesy of planting him in some good ground?”

“Look for yourself, over in the mission cemetery. Ordinarily they don’t allow Protestants in there, but I think the head of this place made an exception for us, on account of us bringing Mercedes back.”

Nodding, Cooke continued: “Who else did we lose?”

“I can field that.” Doctor De Groot called out from the entrance of a room that he’d been occupying. He started walking toward Cooke as he named the crew off. “LeFleur, chopped in half by a cannonball. Grimm, splinter through the eye from a broadside. Stanley, overboard and drowned. Van Hoorn, same but in pieces thanks to that Spanish artillery. Brix, disarmed by ball and shot and bled out on the deck. And I’m not sure what happened to Freeman, but I found parts of him that he certainly couldn’t live without.”

Cooke rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “You…saw that they were planted somewhere nice as well?”

“Aside from the ones lost at sea, yes,” De Groot said. “I can’t say that I’m sorry to see any of them go, Mister Cooke, but I want you to know I did the best to save them that any man kidnapped and impressed against his will and the will of the Almighty could.”

He retreated into his room and slammed the door at this.

“That man does know how to bring things down, doesn’t he?” muttered Braxton.

“Still, I’m grateful for his efforts,” Cooke said quietly. “How are the others?”

“Mister Hume is in the hospice wing, with Mister Mott,” Braxton said. “Mott’s consumption has taken a turn, I think, and Hume hasn’t left his side.”

“I wish De Goot hadn’t made himself scarce, I would have liked to ask about that,” Cooke said.

“Come on,” said Braxton. “You can ask Father Vega all about it.”

The priest’s quarters were adjacent to the church, and the entrance was flanked by a pair of rather burly laymen who had the feel of guards. They grunted Cooke and Braxton in.

“Mister Ebenezer Cooke, I am so delighted that you have recovered.” Father Vega was an older man, greying at the temples, but with a strong frame and a piercing stare.

Braxton looked over. “Ebenezer?” she said, incredulous and half-giggling.

Cooke blanched. “Please don’t call me that, Father. I go by Cooke if I must go by anything, and Ben Cooke if you must have a Christian name to go with it.”

“My apologies,” Father Vega said. “I meant no offense.”

“No, I assure you, it is a delight,” laughed Braxton. “What a trendy name your parents gave you, fit for a New York fop! No wonder you go by Ben.”

“Might I remind you,” Cooke said icily, “that you are in no position to judge when it comes to false names, Lydia Braxton.”

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry,” Braxton said. “I was unaware that Ebenezer was a lady’s name. I suppose I should find you a petticoat to complete the disguise!”

“My Scots ancestors called them kilts, and I would wear them every bit as well as you wear men’s breeches,” Cooke replied.

“And I would counter that I wear men’s breeches a damn sight better than most men,” Braxton said. “Less baggage out front means more room for pistols.”

Throughout the exchange, Father Vega looked more and more uncomfortable. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Miss Braxton,” he said. “Would you excuse us? I believe Mercedes is in the chapel in prayer, would you see to her for me?”

“I’m not sure I’m the right one for that job,” Braxton said. “Me and the Almighty have agreed to see other people.”

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“I am…very disappointed, to put it mildly.”

Viceroy Balthazar paced back and forth within his spacious office in the Palacio Municipal. Exposito stood before him, along with Captain Ramirez. A bedraggled-looking Samuels lurked behind them, along with the senior surviving officer from the Magdalena other than the captain: Gutierrez, the cabo of the marine complement who had been promoted in the field.

Exposito was clearly bristling under the viceroy’s scrutiny. “I do not see what the problem is,” he said. “Mistakes have been made, perhaps, but-”

“Mistakes? Mistakes?” Balthazar approached his subordinate closely enough that the spittle from his words lightly dusted Exposito. “You let not one but two precious alux escape from your grasp. You let not one but two crystal skulls slip away, into the hands of pirates no less! You allowed the Magdalena, one of our finest barques, to be blown to smithereens along with the better part of our most experienced crew and my own, personal crack squadron of marines!”

“It was a terrible defeat, Viceroy,” said Gutierrez. “We can only apologize again.”

“Viceroy, if I might-” Captain Ramirez began.

“Quiet!” snapped Balthazar, jabbing a finger like a dagger in the captain’s direction. “I haven’t even begun with you yet, so wait your turn!”

Chagrined, Ramirez nodded and looked at the mirror-shined marble floor.

“Speak when the Viceroy speaks to you, captain,” said Gutierrez.

“With the losses in men, in material, in the components that are absolutely necessary for my plans to come to fruition, where does that leave me?” Balthazar screamed. Retreating to his desk, he slapped a letter atop it that bore the royal seal. “This arrived from Cádiz while you were paddling your way back here at a snail’s pace. It is a royal warrant summoning me to Madrid–MADRID!–to take up Corazon’s place as Chamberlain now that the old fool has died.”

“My congratulations, your lordship,” said Samuels from the back of the room.

“Yes, all glory to the new Chamberlain!” cried Gutierrez.

Balthazar responded only with a contemptuous snort before he went on: “The letter empowers me to fully advise His Majesty on the full, worldwide deployment of our innovations. What am I to tell him? What am I to tell him when we begin seeing pirate ships that can resist our shot and blow our warships out of the water with a single shot?”

“Tell him nothing,” said Exposito. “Just like Corazon did. The Chamberlain exists to shield the king from the results of his own decisions.”

“How dare you suggest we lie or omit to His Majesty!” cried Gutierrez, apparently shocked.

“Bah,” said Balthazar. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have the lot of you strung up or shot.”

“I’ll give you several, if your Excellency will allow me a word in,” said Exposito.

“How dare you speak to the Viceroy that way?” Gutierrez said.

“Consider this: we know exactly where the pirates were headed,” Exposito continued. “The Villanueva Estuary.”

“You merely caught them there. They could have been intending to plunder the mission, or careen their ship.”

“They have the skulls with them, Exposito said. “We can track them. If they’re still in Villanueva, we can assume it was their final destination.”

“To what end, Exposito? To what end? We already knew that the alux was posing as a lay member of the mission there. Surely it will not resume its guise now that it has been found out. And even if it has, what is one alux compared to what we’ve lost?”

“Valid points,” said Gutierrez. “Valid points.”

“I wish you would be quiet, Gutierrez.” Exposito glowered a bit. “And I believe Villanueva is the nest, Viceroy.”

“The nest?” snapped Balthazar. “A Catholic mission? Inconceivable. The alux would never be able to maintain such a ruse.”

“Never,” Gutierrez said.

“It would explain why they have been able to elude us for so long, save the stragglers we have rounded up,” Exposito said.

“And so would the nest being on the moon!” cried Balthazar. “I will not burst into a sacred place and turn the Church against me without absolute proof!”

“What would you have me do, then?” said Exposito. “Sit here, cooling my heels, and ignoring what I know could bring our cause to fruition?”

“Cool your heels while I decide whether or not to string you up in the Palacio Municipal square,” said Balthazar. “Ramirez! Report to the docks for reassignment. Exposito! You and your English monkey are confined to your quarters. I trust you can find your way there.”

The Viceroy swept out of his office in a whirl of his cloak, taking up the crystal skull behind his desk as he did so. Ramirez followed with his head bowed, nodding at the others with only a weak smile.

“Perhaps if you throw yourself on the Viceroy’s mercy,” said Gutierrez, “get down on your knees and beg his forgiveness, and-”

Exposito drew Conchita and plunged her up to her tail into Gutierrez’s abdomen. “Be quiet,” he said. “Adults are talking.”

Gutierrez grabbed at the wound, opening his mouth to scream, but found his mouth covered by the Corregidor’s other hand. Exposito’s eyes flashed amber, and the life rapidly drained from the cabo’s eyes as they rolled back in his head. He also rapidly took on an emaciated look, only partly concealed by his uniform.

“Good God almighty,” said Samuels. “You did that without a skull.”

“Tell me something I am not already aware of,” said Exposito, breathing deeply and flashing a satisfied smile. “Help me dispose of the body, and then we will see what we can do about this…situation.”

“After all,” said Samuels. “As far as anyone in the port knows, you are still the Corregidor of Veracruz with the full faith of the Viceroy.”

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