Konstantin knew what he had seen. His boot heel through the prison’s motor pool door proved him right. There it was, the same race motorcycle from the warden’s photograph. It was the perfect ride to bring him and Deirdre to Rome.

“By the beard of Odin. This is so perfect.” Deirdre liked. “Saddle up, we’ve got a lot of road to cover.”

With a full tank of fuel and a trickle of charge lightning from Deirdre’s index finger, the slumbering road god was coaxed to chest thumping, feral she-bear roaring life. Konstantin swung his leg over the warden’s land rocket. Blipping the throttle, he kicked their red-boned steed into gear and crunched over the fallen door into the dwindling afternoon sun. Settling the goggles she had found hanging from a peg on the garage wall over her eyes, Deirdre followed him outside. Once clear of the debris field surrounding the prison gate, she climbed up to the passenger pillion behind him, careful not to singe her calves on the burbling twin mufflers. Without so much as a nod to their watching troops, the pair shot off in a shower of dirt and gravel.

“Alright,” Lieutenant clapped his dexterous hands together, surveying the strange group of warriors he was now in charge of, “here’s what we’re going to do…”

***

Konstantin leaned into the curves, enjoying both the sensations from the incredibly responsive machine between his legs, and the young woman clinging to him like a backpack. If only she wasn’t who she was. If only he wasn’t who he was. If only they weren’t charging at reckless speeds along unlit, poorly maintained country roads, or hurtling toward the most secure fortress in the post Judgment world, with no set plan for getting in, or saving the girls, or getting free again. If only there weren’t so many bugs in his teeth.

Oh well.

At least it was almost over, one way or another.

The road forked ahead. With a twitch of his wrists Konstantin chose the right fork. What did it matter? All roads led to Rome.

***

The world’s population was a fraction of a fraction of what it had once been. Earth had become a scary, lonesome place. Even in the zone governed by the powerful Church of Rome, the vast majority of the populace resided solely within thick-walled cities, departing only for matters of trade, or war, or to tend the surrounding agricultural collectives, and then only in the daytime. That and supernatural camouflage was how Deirdre’s army had been able escape detection for so long. You were more likely to find a herd of deer wandering along the rebuilt roadways than any person.

Even so, The Church was an organization of considerable might, and its lands were subject to the rule of law. Interspersed among its many religious edicts were a plethora of completely secular regulations. These included traffic laws.

The Italian people have long held a powerful obsession with speed, and their creations were never known for subtlety. Even in modern times, when you went fast in Italy, you got noticed.

Thus the line of flashing blue lights currently cresting the top of the hill Konstantin and Deirdre had just caromed down.

“You’d better punch it,” Deirdre shouted into Konstantin’s ear, fighting to overcome the roar of the wind, “We’re getting close to the wall, and even if they don’t know who we are, when they notice two people on a motorbike running from the police, they’re going to shut the gates right on our faces.”

Konstantin knew she was right. Cranking further on the throttle, he hunched low between the motorcycle’s wide handlebars, resting his chest on the gas tank to lessen the effects of the wind. Deirdre tightened her grip as well, pressing her head between his shoulder blades. They were going to get into the city one way or another.

Timing was working in their favor. They had reached the city during that special twilight hour when it became too dark to work the fields, and the traditional work day ended. The roads leading to the few gates through the city wall were packed with laborers heading home, most walking, but some from the further farm combines riding in buses, or seated on wagons pulled by massive Ag-tractors.

Rome’s rush hour traffic proved advantageous to Konstantin and Deirdre. Cutting between lanes and around the enormous treaded tires of the tractors on their nimble vehicle, the pair were able to easily outpace their police tail. In the general hubbub, the guards at the gate had noticed the pair’s reckless approach too late, and were now impeded in their efforts to close the gate by the slow bulk of traffic. The wagon-towing tractors could only clear the entrance so fast.

Long-barreled machine gun turrets on the barbican tracked the speeding motorcycle’s progress, but the gunners were unable to find a clear shot through the milling populace.

Konstantin was reminded of the last time he passed through a gated checkpoint with Deirdre. He grinned, but there was little mirth in the gesture. With luck and trickery, that ruse had worked. That time he had been buried under sacks of manure as Deirdre smuggled him and his sister out of Munich. Brita. His heart wrenched inside his chest. That first desperate flight seemed like it had happened a lifetime ago. Much had changed since then. Konstantin had changed since then. The Church had a world of hurt coming to it.

They were near the mighty Roman gate now, but the scrambling guards had almost gotten it fully closed. There would be no opportunity for trickery here. They were going to have to do this the hard way.

“When I say three,” he roared back at Deirdre, “you jump!”

Getting a firm grip on the back of his coat, she nimbly hopped atop the small seat pad, balancing with her customary grace on the tail of the motorcycle.

“One!”

Guards had spread out from the grinding gate, establishing a double firing line along the swiftly vanishing gap. They placed themselves with clockwork precision, the front row kneeling to give the standing back row clear lines of fire as well.

It was a straight shot into the city now, just a few hundred more yards of empty ground between Konstantin and the entrance. Suddenly out of nowhere, the roaring motorcycle was joined by a swarming cloud of Deirdre’s familiar winged companions. Konstantin twisted further still on the throttle, his vision tunneling as he demanded yet more speed from the venerable machine. He ignored the brakes. They were going to get through that gate or they were going to splatter spectacularly across it as it sealed shut.

“Two!”

Shouted orders became shrieks of surprise and fear as the guards standing before the wall realized that the fools on the motorcycle had no intention of stopping. Firing wildly, they broke ranks and leapt out of the way, dodging Konstantin’s suicidal rush. Squeezing every ounce of power from the bike’s massive engine, Konstantin tucked in his elbows and rocketed past the thick metal gate into the tunnel beyond just before it slammed shut with a hollow boom, deadening the yells of the soldiers stationed outside.

A heartbeat later, and they were bursting out of the tunnel in a fluttering black mass into Rome proper, as if shot from a nightmare cannon straight at the heart of The Church. The traffic that had preceded them through the gate was waiting for them when they reached the other side, and they were heading straight toward the exhaust stained rear of a parked city bus.

“Three!”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Deirdre and her murder went up. Konstantin went down. Diving from the bike just before it crashed into the unmoving commuter bus, he let inertia carry him sliding and rolling along the pavement between its thick rubber tires, his already tattered coat disintegrating completely, leaving his skin to bear the brunt of the abuse as he cleared the other side and slowly slid to a stop.

With preternatural aplomb, Deirdre had carried out a graceful swan dive off the back of the crashing motorcycle, and after clearing the length of the bus in mid air, she was able to tuck and roll into the landing. She was already standing again, dispersing her spiraling cloud of ravens when Konstantin slid in next to her.

“Safe.”

Konstantin clambered to his feet, bloodied and bruised, but very much alive. They had made it into Rome. Quickly, while everybody’s attention was drawn to the flames of the wrecked bike, they limped into a nearby alleyway before the soldiers realized there weren’t any mangled bodies in the burning wreckage.

Now for the hard part.

***

Someone reported the disturbance at the gate. The Holy See was forewarned. Konstantin and Deirdre’s march on the Basilica was preceded by the peal of alarm bells.

Deep underground, the warriors of the Inquisition heard the call to arms. Three impossibly old men were consulted. Orders were given. The soldiers were mustered. For the first time, the might of The Church was being challenged by one of their own. It was strong in its convictions, secure in its power. It was ready with an answer.

The great bronze doors groaned open. From it marched rank after rank of the Swiss Guard, so many that the ground shook under their perfectly timed footfalls. They were the best of the best, the elite tip of a war machine that had built the biggest empire in the history of the Post Judgment world.

They were the least of Konstantin’s worries. Out of side doors and servant’s entrances, secret tunnels and back alleys, trickled the real threat. Wraiths. Legends. The warrior-monks of the Holy Inquisition were surfacing throughout the city.

***

Deirdre had heard the bells ringing, a distant thunder that rolled through the streets like the beating of a monstrous heart.

They were both tired and injured. She knew it was only a matter of time before they were tracked down and cornered. She had never been to Rome before; it was suicide for a witch as powerful as she to travel this close to the seat of the Inquisition’s power. The Church had ways of discovering those of her ilk. This was Konstantin’s show.

“Do you have a plan?”

Konstantin did indeed have a plan. He didn’t think it would be a popular one, so he kept it to himself.

They trudged into a square dominated by one of Rome’s many ancient fountains. It was nearly deserted. The streets had been getting progressively emptier since they moved from the gate. Where there should have been crowds of people going about their business in the square, there was now only him and Deirdre and one old man sitting quietly beside the gurgling water feature.

Konstantin limped up to the fountain’s rim, pausing beside the old man, who squinted calmly up at him through thick rimmed glasses. Dipping into his vest pocket the old fellow pulled out an antique coin, which he offered to Konstantin.

After a moment’s reflection the young man flipped the coin into the water, watching it sink slowly to lie among the many others resting on the fountain’s floor.

The old man cleared his throat.

“It’s a barbaric tradition really, offering treasures to the spirits of the well in exchange for a wish. Don’t you think child?”

Konstantin shrugged. He had never been comfortable debating theology, even with those inside his own order. Being told what to think had always been easier than thinking for himself.

“Some might argue that the Church itself maintains certain…barbaric traditions. Don’t you think so, Father Clement?”

The old man clapped his hands delightedly. “Quite right my dear boy! Quite right!”

“So they brought you out of retirement to find me, did they?”

The old man wagged his finger like a disapproving Sunday school teacher.

“Now, now Inquisitor-Brother Konstantin, you know that we can never really retire from our job.”

Konstantin nodded, “I know.”

Deirdre’s eyes had narrowed, her suspicions piqued by Konstantin’s easy familiarity with the old man.

“Fred, what’s going on here? How do you know this man?”

Konstantin pierced her with his dark gaze.

“Father Clement taught me everything I know about witch-hunting. With his help I’m going to regain my honor, and my place in the Church.”

Deirdre’s face twisted in horror. “But you turned your back on the Church, you escaped. Why would you go back? Why would they ever forgive you?”

“Because,” Konstantin lashed out suddenly, striking a savage blow to Deirdre’s temple with his clenched fist, “I’m giving them you.”

As the dark-skinned young woman collapsed to the ground, the two Inquisitors were joined by a squad of Swiss Guard that had been hiding in the shadow of the fountain. Clement indicated the fallen witch.

“Tie her up tight men; we’ve been searching for this one for years.” He turned to the tired looking Konstantin as the soldiers set about binding Deirdre and administering the hypodermic cocktail of hallucinogens and sedatives which would keep her incapable of using her power.

“Welcome home, Brother.”

***

They walked slowly into the citadel, their pace set by Clement’s age and Konstantin’s injuries. With them marched a cadre of the Guard, tasked with transporting the unconscious Black Raven to the Inquisition’s dungeons.

Konstantin held his head high. He was a warrior-monk of the Holy Inquisition. He had nothing else to live for. Brita was dead.

The portal to the dungeon rose up before him. Clement gestured for the two jailers to open the door. Konstantin idly wondered if they were the same guards he had tricked when he helped Brita escape. They all looked the same with their helmets on. For all he knew they looked the same with their helmets off too. It probably wasn’t them though. Those two would have been severely punished for their failure. They were just two more souls eagerly awaiting him in Hell.

Konstantin and Clement stepped into the corridor, their footsteps echoing off the sterile metal floor. Their Guard escort dumped Deirdre into the nearest cell, not bothering to remove her restraints.

When unoccupied, the cell doors remained open at all times. Sealing Deirdre’s cell door brought the number of closed cells to four. The occupants of three of those cells were silent. One was not.

In the locked cell at the far end of the hall, muted banging could be heard, punctuated by hoarse yelling. It was a familiar voice.

“Who is that?”

“A disappointment.”

“It’s Solomon Rex, isn’t it? I heard he made it back to the city. He’s been imprisoned then? I should think he would have been rewarded for finishing his mission, and bringing in two additional witches.”

“He is just another beast bearing the Devil’s mark of mutation. Plus,” Clement gestured at Konstantin, “he didn’t actually complete his mission, did he?”

“Of course,” Clement smiled knowingly, “there seems to be a lot of that going around recently. Tell me, these twin girls that we are hosting in their very own cells down the hall. Did they look familiar to you?”

Konstantin wasn’t ready to have that talk with his old mentor. He tried to steer the conversation back to Solomon, but Clement would have none of it.

“He is scheduled for purification by fire in the morning. Forget him. He is no concern of yours Inquisitor-Brother.”

Konstantin disagreed with father Clement. Plucking the keycard from the jailer’s hand he strode over and unlocked the cell. The door whooshed open, filling the block with the angry prisoner’s ranting.

“Solomon Rex.”

Sweat glistened on the bald Inquisitor’s head. His unnatural bulk was pinned to the ground by heavy chains, secured to hooks set in the cell floor. His ghastly wings had been sawn off near the base, leaving only splintered shards of bone protruding from his wide back, which bore the fresh scourge of the whip.

Rex’s eyes bulged in disbelief when he saw who had addressed him.

“Konstantin! You bastard, I killed you!” Gnashing his teeth, the bound prisoner flexed his muscles uselessly. From the neck down he was held completely immobile. “I did as they asked! I was chosen by God! I am meant to be rewarded! I’m the hero! I was chosen!”

Frederick William Konstantin slapped the door control, darting into the cell as the door slammed shut. He still had the keycard, which he dropped into a pocket. Then he removed his vest, tossing it into the corner. He rolled up his sleeves. He had perhaps a minute before Clement retrieved another card. He loomed over the bound prisoner.

“Surely by now you know how the Church rewards Solomon. If you keep your head down and your mouth shut, you are suffered to live. If you stand out however, they are more than happy to hasten your meeting with the Creator.” He stepped heavily on the back of Solomon’s head.

“You killed my sister. You killed my friends. You thought you killed me. You delivered the twins to this evil place.” He raised his booted foot.

“Inquisitor Rex, I give you your reward.”

With all his force he drove his boot down on the restrained madman’s skull. Again and again he struck, the cold black rage knotted around his heart lending strength to his limbs. He welcomed the berserker trance. It felt good.

He was still stomping and kicking the corpse when Father Clement got the door open again. He had been inside the cell for less than a minute. It had been long enough.

The Guards flowed into the cell, truncheon’s swinging. There was no way for Konstantin to protect himself from their barrage.

As he fell, Father Clement shook his head sadly.

“Pity. He had so much promise.”

He addressed the captain of the Guard “Clean up this mess. Bind Konstantin and bring him to the Chamber. He will stand before the Tribunal.”