A Conjuring of Assassins, page 35
“’Tis the malignant spirit has bled me,” I said, hoarse with terror. “She says it is only the first expression of her wrath!”
Cei drifted slowly around the far end of the table as if I wouldn’t notice him.
“She appeared in my bedchamber. She said”—I swallowed a wail at the memory of it—“she commanded I give you these things, else she would rip out my throat.”
With bloody fingers, I held out a child’s thorn rattle and five knucklebones. Egerik stared at them, color abandoning his cheeks in a rush.
As if playing a macabre game, I backed away from the approaching Cei and circled round toward the side of the table he had abandoned.
“Get your house in order, ambassador,” snapped the crow-woman, disgusted. “We must settle this business tonight.”
No, no, no. This business, built on my guilt of greed and arrogance—on my master’s lies—must end. The Lady demanded it.
Cei glided silently around behind Egerik, closing the distance between us.
Take away the foundation of this evil plot, said my Lady’s voice. Then run. Yield to me and I’ll guide you.
I threw the bloody playthings at Egerik and dashed toward the table. But before I could reach for the leather scroll case at rest in the wood cradle, one of the guests stepped up and blocked my way. It was the younger man who’d come too late to share the divination, the one whose laughter had near stopped my heart.
“Who is she, Egerik?” he said, looking on me in puzzled concern. “Is it Mercediaran custom to have bleeding women wander into your feasting hall, warning of malignant spirits?”
My soul shriveled. I lowered my gaze. This was the man Cei’s claws had threatened. Was he an ally or yet another spider weaving this web of deviltry and murder?
My feet took a step backward all on their own … just as Cei locked iron fingers around my arm. Trapped between the demon and his prey, I moaned with fear and failure.
“The lovely Viviana is my household diviner, Segnoré di Gallanos,” said Egerik. “Most talented in Lady Fortune’s service, but new to public attention and household discipline. Your friends here can attest to the astonishing efficacy of her interpretations.”
“A diviner?” Gallanos, startled, peered at me closely.
With a curt bow to the man, Cei marched me toward the high arch that opened to the palazzo’s inner courtyard. His vicious grip drew me so close, his sweet breath brushed my ear.
“Espe might forgive interference, but Master won’t.” So cool and pleasant a voice, as if offering wine. “Your blood will be a poor substitute for il Padroné’s, damizella. But I shall be pleasured to lick it from your tender flesh.”
Il Padroné! I craned my neck to look back at the man. But my feet stumbled and Cei wrenched me up and onward.
Before we could leave the chamber, Mistress Mella, red-faced, her cap all askew, darted past us, while two house guards took up a defensive posture in the archway, their backs blocking our passage. They leveled their spears in the direction of the courtyard.
“Has my household gone entirely mad?” snapped Egerik.
The panting housekeeper dipped her knee to Egerik. “Another grand segnoré has arrived with his full cohort, demanding entry. He says vendetta has brought him here to slay one of your guests! Vigilio refused him entry. But his men threw Vigilio into the slough and are even now—”
“Where is he?” bellowed a giant of a man, from the courtyard. He was armored with cuirass, mail skirt, and a steel cap planted atop a rat’s nest of red hair. At least a dozen men and women, all with wild red hair and variously armored, clustered behind him. Bristling with blades of every kind, they made quick work of disarming the two guards and setting their own backside defense.
The big man strode through the arch and halted, his gaze raking the hall and the company. “We’ve word that Placidio di Vasil lurks here amongst Mercediaran scum. My scouts saw him enter. Give him over, and we’ll leave you to … whatever this sterile gathering is.”
My master stepped up to confront him. “You trespass on soil claimed by Her Eminence Cerelia Balbina Andreana di Vizio, Protector of Mercediare, and so acknowledged by the Sestorale of Cantagna. Leave now or you’ll be hanged by sunrise—segnoré or guttersnipe as you may be.”
“Won’t leave till Vasil’s carcass stops twitching. The stronzo murdered four of my house. Give him over, or we shall raise vendetta against this house and all within. Her Bulbousness, too, if she protects him.”
My master ground his teeth. “There is no one here by that name. I’ve no notion who he is or what liar puts him here, but I’ll give you my word—”
The painted doors from the reception room crashed open.
“Do not perjure yourself, my good ambassador,” announced the newcomer. “Your offer of sanctuary was well meant.”
A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a Mercediaran tabard over a mail shirt sauntered through the open doors, a feather flying jauntily from his conical helm. An ash-colored cloak swirled about his knees, and a black mask covered his face.
“Sanctuary!” spluttered Egerik. “I never—”
“Alas that our partnership was short-lived, my friend,” bellowed the masked man. “Though Digo di Pizotti is a fool, as you’ve said so often, he is not fool enough to accept a Mercediaran’s word. And to be fair, I did fail to mention the vendetta when I sought work in your employ.”
He drew his sword. A shorter blade appeared in his left hand. “Good even, Digo, and Vesci, Tartuno, and the rest of the lunatic House Pizotti. Shall we dance?”
Dance? Fight? One against twelve?
“I know nothing of this person! Nothing of any vendetta!” Egerik gaped at the masked man and the growling red-haired mob pushing through his courtyard arch. An instant’s pause swelled larger, as when an archer draws his bowstring tighter … tighter.
“Remove your slobbering dogs from the ambassador’s house, Pizotti!” taunted the masked man. “He’s got half the Sestorale here as witness to your trespass.”
But the red-haired giant simply lifted his chin and emitted a throaty warbling cry that rattled my bones. A whirl of his sword, and the red-haired cohort echoed their leader’s bawling and raced forward to meet their prey. The feasting hall dissolved into chaos, as more of Egerik’s house guards arrived and gave chase, engaging those at the rear of the mob with spears and swords.
Surrounded by flailing blades, Egerik and several of his guests drew daggers and pressed their backs to the table. The rest of them and Mistress Mella took refuge under the table.
The mob surged and swirled around them, interested in no one save their quarry. How was the masked man not dead already?
My arm jerked. Cei dragged me away from the fighting. I could scarce think amid the noise, the stinging of my wounded skin, the unexpected battle erupting in the middle of conspiracy. The malignant spirit had promised chaos.
A red-haired ruffian with a scabrous complexion and sores on his mouth slid to a stop mid-charge and blocked our path. He clutched my ripped bodice and snatched my hair, drawing my head to his seeping lips.
“Already had your way with this little sweetmeat, pretty boy? Let Tartuno have a turn.”
“Take her.” To my horror, Cei shoved me at the leering man. But then he quickly stepped behind my assailant, twining his arm under the fellow’s shoulder and around the back of his head. In a single deadly motion, he pressed the man’s head forward and plunged a thumb-length knife into the base of his victim’s skull.
Tartuno’s arms fell slack and he slumped to the floor, causing me to stumble.
Nauseated, I staggered back toward the table. The Lady had commanded me to fetch the scroll.
Cei snagged me again. His expression had not changed in the slightest. “You are Master’s possession, else I’d sever your spine as well.”
He dragged me to Egerik and spoke not a word.
“Find Gallanos,” said Egerik, red-faced and sweating. “He must not leave here.”
Cei pivoted on his toes, scanning the crowd.
“There!” shouted the whining Segnoré Navilli from under the table. He pointed toward the reception room doors, where the masked man was battling three of the red-haired crazies at once.
Behind them, a slighter man, also in mail-shirt, Mercediaran tabard, feathered helm, and mask, fought off a leather-armored woman who warbled gleefully at every stroke, hers or his. Tucked away behind the slender fighter was Gallanos—Alessandro di Gallanos, il Padroné.
The slender swordsman gained advantage on the woman and slammed his fist into her chin. She plummeted like a stone. The swordsman waved il Padroné into the reception room and backed through the door protectively, turning only at the last moment to follow him through.
Cei dodged through the melee toward them, knife in hand.
No! The Lady’s voice threatened to crack my skull.
I ran, ducking and weaving between a Mercediaran guard battling one of the crazed Pizottis and the grunting Vasil trading blows with the red-haired giant. I threw myself at Cei just as one of the panel-wall doors closed behind Gallanos and his defender. We crashed to the floor.
A fast runner I might be, but even with the Lady’s strength, I was no match in a grapple. Cei kicked me in the side, leaving me heaving. When he pulled open the door to the stair closet, the two men had vanished. Two lives saved. I wanted to weep.
Cold and expressionless, Cei grabbed my hair, dragged me to my feet, and propelled me back into the feasting hall. My flailing hands and elbows had no more effect than feathers. We passed the masked Vasil, who glanced up from the floor where he had pinned the red-haired giant.
“Chaos!” he called, grinning through his mask.
I hissed at him. “Demon. She brought you here! The devil spirit.”
Cei yanked hard. My scalp felt like to rip.
A backward glance showed the giant Pizotti writhing on the floor alone and the reception room doors falling shut. Piercing terror rose inside me, as if I teetered on the brink of a lightless chasm. Unable to contain a whimper, unable to get free, I stumbled after Cei.
A few skirmishes were still ongoing. Several Pizottis lay bleeding and moaning. More had fled. Cei’s victim and two of the household guards lay dead. Egerik’s guests were slowly emerging from under the table.
Cei shoved me to the floor at Egerik’s feet, his fingers yet entwined in my hair.
“Where is Gallanos?” Egerik hissed.
“He had help,” said Cei. “Another man garbed like Vasil—or whoever he was.”
“Who has also vanished. Damnation.” Egerik growled through his teeth where none but us three could hear. “I want Gallanos’s entrails smeared across the Piazza Livello before dawn.”
Cei released his grip on me, bowed curtly, and pelted away. The remaining guests mumbled to one another, while Egerik snapped orders. To servants to clean up the mess. To his guard captain to seal the palace gates and provide a detachment of guards for the Mirror Room.
The guests gathered close, debating whether or not to continue with their plan. I crawled under the table, praying all would forget me. They had refused to heed Lady Espe’s warnings. I had to take the scroll—the foundation, she had called it—and escape from here. Please, goddess, let Papa be waiting for me at home.
“Come friends,” said Egerik, as the captain hurried away. “Let us retire to a secure room where I can reveal the rest of our strategy.”
“No,” said the stolid Segnora di Gavonti, dusting off her sleeves with trembling hands. “Summon my bodyguards, Egerik, assuming they’re not slaughtered. I knew it was a mistake to trust a Mercediaran. ‘No need for personal servants,’ you said. ‘My house is impregnable; my servants are perfection.’ Pssh.”
“On the contrary, segnora and the rest of you,” said Egerik, clear and confident, now his guards had ended the last skirmish. “This is but proof of the rightness of our course. Who but the Shadow Lord of Cantagna could have orchestrated such an invasion? My promises hold. Alessandro di Gallanos will be dead before sunrise.”
Blaming the man he’d ordered Cei to kill? The Lady was right. Ambition had blinded me.
The segnori did not flinch at the declaration of murder. Nor did the dapper man in the jeweled baldric who had crawled out last.
“This is the lawlessness the Sestorale’s indulgence promotes,” he said. “The Pizottis are a blight. Il Padroné may have schemed to bring them to his rescue, but they’ve no loyalty but to their own foolery. If Egerik’s servant performs as he has in the past, we shall at last be free of the Shadow Lord’s dominance. All will be well.”
“I still don’t know what interest you have here, Rossi,” said the slab-sided woman.
“Nothing happens in the Costa Drago without my knowing,” he said, laughing, “and I’m interested in all of it. How else will I earn my next meal?”
“I don’t like this,” said one of the segnori. “To take down Gallanos while we were here was a stupid plan. His bodyguards knew he was in this house. He’s likely told a hundred people. And I don’t like Rossi here blabbing about this meeting at every supper table in Cantagna. You promised complete discretion.”
I wished they would go. I needed to be gone from here. If only I knew where they’d put Papa. Don’t be dead, Papa.
“Our agreement is a mutual bond, Segnoré di Berlinguer,” said Egerik. “Just like the original agreement that bears your signature. My lord … Rossi has a great deal to contribute to our plans.”
“My lord? Rossi?” Several people burst out laughing. “Have we elevated a scrounger?”
Do you hear me, friend?
Startled by the whisper, I looked behind and to either side, expecting that one of the segnori remained under the table with me. But I was alone. My fist pressed my stinging temple.
I need you to listen carefully. With all of yourself, what is outside, what is inside.
This was not Lady Espe. Not a womanly voice at all. It was a voice of the air, a sea breeze brushing my skin. Clear as morning. Yet those standing around the table took no note. They were still arguing about their plan to seize control of Cantagna.
Take a full breath, my friend. I mean you no harm. Trust me. Heed me. Believe. Feel my presence inside you. Open your heart as is your nature.
Perhaps it was some other divinity. One of the Unseeable …
Your name is Romy. And you need to get out of there right now.
30
THE DAY OF THE PRISONER TRANSFER
NIGHT
Romy I was.
And the voice … Teo. The power of that voice, the mystery of how it was possible he could pull me from Monette, I had no time to consider. The arguments of rattled guests and the clatter of servants as they cleaned up blood and wounded fighters had fallen quiet. And from the direction of the main gates and the residence wing came wordless howling and the clank of chains. Sniffers!
“By the Unseeable, Ambassador, what have you done?” yelled Navilli. “Have you ensorcelled us?”
Somehow my partners had managed to instigate not only the chaotic assault of the Pizottis, but the sniffer invasion Neri and I had planned. At least three screeching hunters sounded near enough to be in the house—and I was stuck under this confounded table with my teeth clattering. I needed to be out of here.
“Impossible,” said Egerik. “No magic has been done here. See to this, Taglino.”
Taglino, the scar-faced prison governor, jogged toward the courtyard arch. Egerik followed with more dignity, only to be waylaid by one of his servants. “Master, one of your guests is killed! Over by the windows. Dead from a knife to the neck like that Pizotti devil…”
“Everlasting curses! Get him out of here before anyone sees.”
But it was too late. The remaining guests could hear as well as I did. As Egerik hurried after Taglino to stave off the sniffers, five Cantagnans followed the guard in the opposite direction.
Seizing my opportunity, I scrambled out from under the table and reached for the abandoned scroll case only to find Rossi with the same idea. As his eyes widened in surprise, I grabbed a porcelain wine pitcher and smashed it into his face.
Rossi crumpled. I rounded the table and scooped up the leather scroll case fallen from his hand.
“Malavesi!” The cry came from the group beside the windows. “Murdered! I’ll see that Mercediaran devil dead!”
Spirits, Neri, you found him! And he’d brought the young man’s body here to bear witness.
The rattle of chains and baying screeches from the courtyard shot frissons of terror up my spine. Of all things I wanted to put distance between me and the sniffers. But if the Chimera’s mission was to preserve Cantagna’s peace, I had to delay once more.
I darted across the feasting hall to the windows, where Arrigo di Secchi bellowed in rage and grief as he knelt beside Vitalo di Malavesi’s corpse. Secchi, Malavesi, and Sandro had once been closer than brothers.
Egerik already had these men and women believing that the Pizotti assault was il Padroné’s work. Just as I’d told Neri, if Sandro emerged from this house unscathed, while these five were tainted with scandal or worse, the resulting upheaval would boil over into unending strife. Whether or not his own plan succeeded, Egerik would leave Cantagna ripe for Mercediare’s plucking.
“Please, excellencies,” I said, dropping to my knees behind them, head bowed, hands over my face, and drawing up what sobs I could muster. “Heed Lady Fortune’s word.”
When I felt their attention heavy on my head, I continued, “My master has done this terrible murder and used magic to raise a malignant spirit. Lady Fortune augurs he’ll have all of you dead or captive of sniffers before the night is out, because you’re witness to his crime. Such was his intent all along—to blackmail you into yielding him control of the city through your ports, your gates, your wealth and lands. Likewise he used me. Used my Lady Espe. If you value your families and your honor, you must leave the Mercediarans and the traitor Taglino to the sniffers. Lady Espe has shown me a way we might escape unseen, if you will but trust her messenger and follow. Whichever you choose, may she ever bless you and Cantagna.”
