A Conjuring of Assassins, page 34
I gripped Neri with similar ferocity. “Gracious Mother, little b-brother.”
My eyes blinked rapidly as if staring at two worlds at once. Events sloshed and swirled inside my head—battling each other, aligning with each other, creating a deadly landscape. Monette and Romy … Egerik and the segnori … Rossi and the Assassins List. And Sandro, here.
“Cripes! Didn’t have to stab me!” Neri sucked on his hand that was bleeding freely. The bronze hair-pick had fallen to the floor, leaving a splotch of blood.
“Ssshhh. Ssshhh. So much to tell. But first … Is Placidio truly all right?”
“Aye. They locked him up in the cellar, just up the passage from the lady’s tomb. Told him ‘the master wanted him out of the way.’ Dumond and I were patrolling the tunnels, making sure they stayed clear. Heard this caterwauling up near the palazzo cellars where there’s enough of a dungeon to house three or four prisoners. He’s the one told me I might find you here.”
“Excellent. Excellent.” There was no measure for my relief.
“He says he whistled and sang for two hours, hoping we’d come before the guards drowned him. They kept giving him more wine to shut him up. He’s still there, but we unlocked his manacles and broke the cell’s lock so he can get out when he wants. They took his boot and sleeve knives, but I fetched his main gauche for if they come after him serious. And his sword’s hid outside the cell where he can find it.”
“Now listen, but be ready to hide … or vanish. The housekeeper could come any moment.”
I grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped up in it to quiet my chattering teeth. Neri sat cross-legged on the floor behind the bed, where he’d not be visible from the outer door.
“The Assassins List is here,” I said.
“You got it!”
“Not in my hand. It’s sitting on Egerik’s feasting table, where the guests who know what it is can be intimidated by it. But even if you could snatch it right now, it wouldn’t stop what’s playing out here. Egerik’s used the list to draw seven grand segnori—names from the list—into a conspiracy to overthrow the Sestorale.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and the fragments of Egerik’s offer came together, fitting like a Bettini mosaic. A new captain for Mercediare. Rossi, of course, the new lord who would command our fealty. And persuade the rest to join this happy arrangement, lest they too become obstacles—obstacles Egerik promised to eliminate. Cantagna the first ship in a fleet. Fernand Empire Builder.
“He says that if they support a faction planning to install a new ruler in Mercediare, he’ll give them Cantagna to govern as they please.”
“Give them Cantagna!” Neri puzzled at it. “Why would they believe him?”
“He’s played to their vanities, offered them a bribe they can’t pass over. Egerik is offering to assassinate anyone who opposes their ascendency in the city—including il Padroné.”
“Demonscat! We’ve got to get you and the list out of here right now. You can warn him.”
“Too late. He’s already here.”
The shivers of waning magic yielded to perfect terror. There was no misunderstanding my certainty as the mosaic took on life and color. Why in all the universe had Sandro accepted an invitation to a feast in this house?
“He’s in company with Rossi,” I said. “Egerik and the other damnable traitors are to join them at supper. No matter what else happens tonight, remember these six names. Navilli, our aspiring grand duc. Longello, whose House controls the city gates. Berlinguer, dock access. Secchi, horse farms and stables. Gavonti, market land. Taglino, the Gardia and Sestorale prison—which explains why Rossi got such comfortable prisoning.”
They were Cantagna’s elite, their great Houses onetime allies of Sandro’s grandfather, father, and uncle. All of them filled with resentment at how il Padroné’s reforms intruded on their privileges. Secchi and Malavesi had been Sandro’s boyhood friends.
Another chill shuddered my bones. Careful as Egerik was, he’d never risk Malavesi spreading word of their plan. The young segnoré with a smattering of honor would never make it home alive any more than Sandro would.
“… Berlinguer, docks … Secchi, horses…” Neri repeated them all.
“Do you see?” I said. “These families control Cantagna’s lifeblood. They have fat purses, and together control more fighting men than the other Houses combined—resources Egerik’s faction can use to bring down the Protector. But that’s not all he wants.”
Egerik had promised to send only his own cohorts southward, not Berlinguer’s or Navilli’s or the others’.
“By doing murder tonight, Egerik will be the true power in Cantagna tomorrow. He will control these six traitors through the Assassins List and the tale of their treason, and through them he will control Cantagna’s docks, the gates, the markets, even the Gardia itself. Because his objective is not simply to overthrow Protector Vizio. Egerik and Rossi are going to conquer Cantagna first, not with Mercediaran legions, but using our own people.”
It was damnably clever. The six would think their ancestral rights restored, their grievances satisfied. And after such a sudden overthrow, they’d think it only sensible to eliminate disgruntled rivals and any lingering support for il Padroné, especially if they didn’t have to dirty their own hands. Egerik would do it for them, putting them more in his debt. Meanwhile Egerik would use their wealth to hire mercenaries, choose his own officers from theirs, drill their family cohorts together with the mercenaries and Taglino’s Gardia, luring the fighters to his cause with arms and his bounty. Once Cantagna sat firmly in his grasp, our city would become the war engine that gave Rossi his throne.
“You’re saying six?” said Neri. “Thought it was seven.”
I told him of Malavesi, brought here by his dead father’s signature on the Assassins List. “Egerik sent Cei to escort Malavesi out.”
“The perfect assassin.” Neri grasped the situation right away. “Where would he do it? In the streets? Away from this house for certain.”
“But not far away. He expects Cei back before they begin supper. And they would have to get rid of Malavesi’s servants.… I don’t know how it was managed.”
“Maybe we can stop it.”
“Maybe. Though it’s likely too late for Malavesi,” I said. “It’s Cantagna we have to save.”
“So we kill Egerik and Rossi and the six traitors.”
Possibilities, strategies, and consequences charged through my blood like chariot horses. “We’re only four, while Egerik has a houseful of guards and servants. Even if we could kill all eight, and wanted to do so, assassinating the heads of six Houses is not going to preserve the peace. If the Shadow Lord is the only person who leaves this feast alive, his life won’t be worth a spoonful of spit in the desert. Seven Houses would be certain that he arranged the murders. Add in that Egerik’s tyrant Protector would take it very ill if her ambassador was assassinated in our city. And Rossi has friends everywhere, who will never believe he is Cinque the spy, much less a serious claimant to the lost throne of Mercediare.”
Three times I had insisted that assassination was not the Chimera’s weapon. I still believed that. Our armory held trickery, diversion, impersonation, magic …
“No,” I said, a glimmer of an idea sparking my imagination. “No murder. We have to break the conspiracy. Expose this little gathering to the light like a festering sore. Make it so these six quislings would never in the farthest reaches of reason associate themselves with Egerik di Sinterolla. The only way I can think of to do that is to summon the law to this house before any more murders can be done.”
“Makes sense,” said Neri, downing the remainder of the wine in my pitcher. “But if Egerik’s got Governor Taglino in his pocket, we can’t count on the Gardia. And no regular constable would dare barge into a palazzo—much less a foreign nob’s palazzo—without a magistrate giving them warrant. What crime would a magistrate believe? Even for treason or murder like is happening, Monette di Fabroni’s witnessing wouldn’t be enough to make him move.
“There’s only one arm of the law that pays no mind to palazzo gates, diplomatic protocols, Mercediaran tyrants, or heads of great Houses,” I said. “To attract them here—and have any chance of getting il Padroné, the segnori, and ourselves out of here alive—we will need chaos, confusion … and the crime of magic.”
Neri’s complexion turned an unattractive shade of yellow. “Demonscat,” he said. “You want to call in sniffers.”
* * *
The brass latticework, mounted across an open doorway high on the wall of Egerik’s Great Hall, made a perfect squint. The finely wrought metal strips were variously angled so that every tile of the Hall floor was visible, from the tall painted doors of the reception chamber to the gated archway that opened into the palazzo’s inner courtyard.
Egerik sat at one end of a sumptuously laid table. The ermine-trimmed bonnete at his right identified Navilli, the aspiring grand duc. Scar-faced Taglino, who would bring him the Gardia, sat on his left. The other segnori were distributed along the sides. Short, tight black curls and glinting gold earrings put Rossi near the foot of the table, his back to me, and beside him the man I would recognize in any circumstance. Il Padroné … the Shadow Lord … Sandro. I looked down on the very image of an exquisite coup d’état.
Relaxed, Sandro leaned across the table to converse with the stolid Segnora di Gavonti. Did he suspect his mortal danger? Had he any idea that the leather scroll case, obscured by several other rolled documents at the center of the table, contained the Assassins List—the worrisome article he so desperately wanted found? Did he see the wolf behind Cei’s eyes?
I’d near chewed my lips raw over the past two hours. Watching. Waiting.
My principal task in the scheme Neri and I had devised was a critical one: Prevent the Shadow Lord of Cantagna from getting murdered before my partners of the Chimera laid down enough magic to spark a sniffer invasion of Palazzo Ignazio. The implication that magic was involved with Egerik and his scheme in any way should send the rats scurrying from the ship. We hoped.
In a far corner, a troupe of musicians sawing at vielles made it near impossible to make out the conversation. A servant carried a tray of refreshments through the arch to the courtyard where Sandro’s white-haired bodyguard Gigo waited with other private retainers.
Once Neri had vanished through the walls of my bedchamber, I’d scurried back to the public rooms of the house, evading Mistress Mella, Egerik’s guards standing post in dark corners, and an endless parade of footmen and serving women carrying bowls of scented water, trays of heaped fruit, and troughs of meat. The savory aroma of roasted pig had me near fainting—not that the cramps in my stomach could have allowed me to eat anything.
When I reached the reception chamber, I’d had to hide behind the statue of Gratiana while a maidservant wiped up spilled wine, moved chairs, set burnt candles aside. When she left, I’d raced to the stair closet beside the brass grate. The unexplored passage at the top of the stair led to this squint as well as the one in what Neri called the chamber of momentary magnificence.
For two interminable hours I’d sat here trying to pretend that our hasty plan was not lunacy. Trying not to move so much that someone below would notice me. Trying to will Egerik to forget about Viviana until my partners had everything in place.
They needed time. I’d left them to decide whether Neri or Placidio would work the trail of magic to lure the sniffers. Dumond would stay in the tunnels to maintain his portals. I could not allow my thoughts to dwell on their danger, lest I be paralyzed when my own time came.
Cei glided gracefully among the other table servants, fetching cheeses from the laden sideboard, pouring wine, offering finger bowls or towels. Tonight he was dressed in the same blue tunic and leggings as the rest, but whereas the other servants tended all the guests, Cei served only il Padroné. The food on Sandro’s plate appeared untouched; he rarely ate or drank anything at tables other than his own. But Cei might carry a garrote or a poisoned needle. Or did he kill with his bare hands?
Spirits, how could I know when he would strike? I needed to be closer, yet I needed to see without being seen.
Better if I were devout like Monette. Then I could pray Lady Virtue to bless the Chimera’s endeavors and Lady Fortune to advise how we might do what was needed and stay alive.
The burr of conversation, music, laughter, clinking glass, and the wafting scents of food, spices, and wine poured through the slim openings in the lattice. The remains of the pig floated in a pool of grease on the side table. For the fiftieth time I patted the needle bag, reminding myself that Dumond’s knucklebones and the thorn rattle were there. More fuel for Egerik’s fears.
The conversation faded. The music fell silent.
Skin chilled, nerves aflame, I knelt up and peered through the lattice.
Egerik had left his seat and joined Mistress Mella a few steps from the table. Her arms were spread helplessly as she spoke. Egerik’s complexion flamed so red I could almost feel its heat. A last exchange of words and she dipped her knee and fled, gathering four of the servants to her as she bolted from the room. They knew I was missing.
The world went out of focus, as when the droplets of ice on a window pane began to melt. Whispers of failure and death filled my head like smoke. But I tightened my jaw and peered through the squint, not at the Shadow Lord, not at Sandro, but at il Padroné, who embodied the hopes of Cantagna. This conspiracy must not succeed.
Egerik returned to his guests, gesturing to the table servants to clear away plates and empty the sideboard. Cei passed along dishes and crumpled towels to other servants, but when all was cleared, he alone did not leave. Rather he took up his waiting posture behind Egerik. In the courtyard beyond the arch, Gigo and the other bodyguards were no longer visible.
The time had come.
I’d not told my brother exactly what kind of distraction I planned. In truth, I’d hoped to come up with something better. Alas, I had not. I knew what Egerik feared.
I stripped off one of the sapphire earrings and the silver ornament from my hair and stuffed them in a dusty corner, then pulled out the knife Neri had left me. With a few swift strokes, I shredded the beautiful skirt, slashed the silver-threaded bodice, ripped one sleeve, and left my mantle hanging from only one shoulder. Then, gratified that Neri kept his weapons well honed, I clamped my lips hard and zipped the blade across one temple. Scalp wounds always bled a lot—as did knees and knuckles.
Five shallow cuts should be enough. Though scarce breaking skin, each was more difficult to accomplish than the last. My skin was on fire. But Monette had to be convinced—and convincing.
As I hurried through the dark to the downward stair, I smeared blood all over myself. Across my forehead, in my hair, on my arms and the ruined gown, especially around the rips and slashes, suggesting deeper wounds.
When I reached the stair closet, I tripped the latch of the reception room door. If I allowed myself to think or question, I’d never go through with this. Wishing I had Teo’s talents, I whispered to Neri, Placidio, and Dumond: Create a fine chaos, my friends. Don’t get dead. And remember your promise.
Then I considered a story of malignant spirits, assassins, and traitorous enterprises, reached deep for magic, and became Monette once again.
29
THE DAY OF THE PRISONER TRANSFER
LATE EVENING
I burst from the Night Eternal into a mid-world of smoke and perfume. Vague shapes appeared … chairs, candlesticks, but no human souls. So little light. She could return at any moment … the luminous being with claws of honed steel. My skin yet burned from her touch.
“Divine Lady Espe, protect me!”
Wild with terror, I ran toward the last place I’d seen my master. I had to give warning. For greed, for arrogance, I had submitted to him. To ensnare his favor, I had reached too deep and waked a demon.
I slammed my palms into the painted doors of the feasting hall.
“Master! Beware, beware, beware! The danger Lady Fortune warned of … the malignant spirit … she’s come. She’s in your house!”
They were all present—Egerik, the guests, the two latecomers—sitting around the long table, cups raised in formal salute. Cei, wickedly beautiful like the demon, glided from behind my master to a place behind one of the guests. One of his hands, tucked properly behind his back, held a bright little blade … or was it a claw, extended? Could no one else see it?
“Master, help me!” I cried.
Egerik twisted around and burst from his chair, taking in my bloody disarray. “Viviana! What is this?”
“She desires your blood, as well as … his. The one you told me of.” My shaking finger pointed in Cei’s direction. I dared not speak his name, lest the word summon the demon spirit.
“Boy!” Egerik whipped his hand from Cei to me. “Take her out! Find out what’s going on.”
Cei retracted his claw and glared at me full on. I near fainted. Demon. Why did no one else recognize it?
Several of the guests had bolted from their seats, chattering as one. “What is this blood on her, Ambassador? Have we been attacked? Summon our bodyguards.”
My resolve wavered. If I stayed to give warning, the spirit would surely destroy me. Jealous of Egerik’s kisses, she hated me as well as him. But Lady Fortune’s displeasure with my desire for wealth and acclaim brooked no cowardly retreat. She demanded I make amends.
“The poisonous spirit from the divination … she is here, Master.”
“What say?” snapped crow-like Segnora Longello. “Are you dabbling in the occult?”
“Hysteria.” Egerik’s sympathy was cold. “It often afflicts weak minds that are gifted with divine talent.”
Hateful words, though I knew he believed and was deeply afraid. I had seen it in his dressing closet before the dead woman came tapping at my door.
“Be at ease, friends. My residence is well guarded. My servant will remove poor Viviana, and my housekeeper tend her gently. If someone has tried to take advantage of her fragile state, that one shall be discovered and punished.”
