Darkness Divined (Dark Devices)

by Gregory House

  Even in the dim light of the alley he could see Annise’s disdainful grimace as her face turned towards him. “Richard, I do have some standards! This one stinks of the offal pits. I was just suggesting to him the rewards of repentance as well as the perils of crossing me again.”

  Richard gave a shiver. It was in that sneering voice of hers that implied, no promised, postponed vengeance. That was dangerous. When she got into one of these moods, she tended towards the unpredictable. However she arose, and without a backward glance, they continued their short passage to the Gryne Dragone leaving the sounds of slow death behind them.

  The rest of the journey was uneventful, especially after Annise muttered to a pair of lounging lads at the head of the last alley. The survivors of the affray had best make good speed to be away. Finally they came to the front of the infamous tavern.

  Richard had instantly noticed the difference as soon as they stepped into the alley. For one thing it was clear of the usual refuse. Ordure and rotting filth was nowhere in sight. Except for the over leaning upper storeys, he’d almost swear they were in a city of the Sultan. The other thing that struck his attention was the generous use of lanterns that lit up the painted front of the tavern. Some talented artisan had done a very good likeness of a Dragone and then emphasized the carving with an adroit touch of colour. From where he stood the scales really seemed to have that iridescent shimmer that he’d seen on reptiles in North Affryca. So Richard paused before he entered. He wasn’t much on portents and omens—that was Annise’s field—but he did have this overwhelming surge of emotion. The best it could be described was as both doubt and elation mixed in equal amounts with fear. Hard to put into words, the dread shiver that jolted up and down his spine. Great threat waited patiently beyond that solid timber door, and it whispered it’s beckoning promise like the scent of a newly broached barrel of wine to a drunkard.

  Annise of course confounded him by pushing open the door and walking straight in. Well that ruined any second thoughts, if any were possible. Where she led he had to follow. So taking a deep breath Richard did so.

  It was like no other tavern he’d seen before in this city. Most tavern keepers made some attempt at improving their interiors, ranging from the simple whitewash once a year to painted canvas tapestries to the extreme opulence of wood panelling for those who could appreciate it. This tavern had examined all those possibilities and rejected them as the simpering artifices of a bawdy house that catered for rent boys and fondlers of sheep. Instead they opted for steel and leather and lots of it.

  As a professional Richard approved of the display of edged iron. It spoke of power, of strength and an appreciation of fine tools of the trade. Looking along the walls he felt distinctly jealous. It was as fine array of weapons and armour as he had seen in any castle, and what’s more, these ones looked well cared for, having that well–oiled sheen that reflected the ample fire light. As Richard surveyed the scene more deeply, he noticed that utility strictly dictated the placement of the arms. It was not so much the spread of implied threat, but rather the deliberate arrangement for instant use. This wasn’t so much a tavern as a working armoury. The realisation sparked a few cautionary signals in his brain. Annise had better behave. Whosoever controlled this moved with rigorous discipline, and was unlikely to put up with her capricious manner.

  Richard increased his pace a fraction to put him just discreetly behind his mistress as they wended their way past the full benches. If Annise had bothered to look at the clientele she may not have strutted so imperiously past. Richard suppressed a quiver of nervousness and kept a pleasant friendly smile upon his face. If the wall betokened the weapons of power, then the men packing the trestles were the hands, and grimly experienced ones at that! All of them exuded that quiet assurance that spoke of veterans. No doubt they had served in the kingdom’s recent wars. Richard was sure that a few had even noted his discretely hidden extras, not that they made any deliberate movements, but he had become aware of a very measured inspection and subtle shifting that betokened prompt action if it should be required. There were too many to deal with here. He fervently hoped that Annise had the good sense that he prayed for and then it was too late. They had arrived at the assignation.

  ***

  Chapter 9: Service with a Sneer—Southwark

  Annise held her head high as she strode between the packed trestles of the tavern. Huh, common rogues the lot of them. As for their attempt at intimidation with the racks of weapons and insolent stares, she gave it not even an eyelash’s twitch of interest. She’d seen worse and faced it down. The fact that she was gracing them with her ‘kindly’ presence should have had them kneeling in thankful prayer with humble respect. No. As Richard so continually moaned, these where decayed times. That minor incident in the alley was but one piddling example. In times past her retainers would have immediately strung up the impudent villain from the nearest ridge pole, and flogged the inhabitants of the street for failing to keep proper order. Annise pulled back abruptly from the happy memory. Sigh, those times were past, and slipping into the regrets of history wasn’t going to help her here and now.

  Instead she focused her attention on the occupants of the high table by the tavern fireplace. The first was tallish man with wide enough shoulders to give the impression of strength, but not so to imply he laboured though a cursory glance at his clothing would have dispelled any such impressions. A good quality brocade doublet and the heavy fur collared cloak casually dropped by his hand on the table must have been worth twenty pounds from the best tailor in London. At a guess he must be at the start of his third decade, experienced and certain in his poise. It was very clear he believed he commanded the gathering at the table. His raven dark hair and face were familiar from her visits to the Royal Court though at present Annise couldn’t provide a name.

  Two others were also present, basking in the warm of the fire. The most imposing was a giant of a man leaning against the wall. He must have topped over six and a half feet easily, with breadth of chest to match. It was difficult to discern much about the face as it was all but overwhelmed by an enormous beard, fiery red and split into two forks that flowed over the man’s chest. Annise immediately marked him as the local captaine of the tavern’s company. She’d seen the like often enough in many retinues, though this one also had an air of intelligent observation rather than the more usual one of barely suppressed violence and intimidation. In this situation he was worth watching.

  And the third person at the table, now he was markedly different from the other two, a lean older fellow with the long narrow face of a scholar and pointy greying beard to match. He wore the plain dark gown she’d noted was the favoured dress of physicians in London. The merest sweep of his costume told her that this was no modest fellow keen to be of service to God and man who laboured long hours within the chantry hospice treating the poor and destitute. His fingers were polished and clean and the cloth was so fine that any mercer would have swooned at the chance to sell even an ells worth of it.

  And then there were his eyes, dark brown shifting to black, deep wells of cunning and calculation. She knew that gaze too damned well—the firm certainly at the centre of his soul that in every way, knowledge was power. Annise had seen it on many men and not a few women, from Granada to distant Constantinople. While Redbeard was violence made manifest, here lay the hand that twitched him into action. No wonder the court gentlemen looked so discomforted. That was a tension she could play. The finely dressed gentleman felt he should be in charge while the ‘doctor’ knew he held the whip hand. The smouldering resentment was almost visible in the tilt of the shoulder and in the way the gentleman looked at her in tempting and weighing inspection. Ahh an ally perhaps?

  Annise took a deep breath and sank into a respectful curtsy. This was going to be more difficult than she had expected. Her usual acerbic comments died behind her lips, unsaid. Every nerve was tingling and instinct was warning her to be more cautious than she could possibly imagine. Th
is was not the usual audience. Something was seriously awry. “Sir, I am here as per your request.”

  Then a deeper bow. She wished that there’d been time to have her dress fully cleaned of the stains of their attack. It gave a slovenly impression, and as for the ruined muff, she was unlikely to find a seamstress in this company. Damn Richard! That ambush was his failing and he’d pay for it later. She could feel the cool eyed regard of the physician as it swept over her from pearl dressed cap to mud splattered shoes and platens. It weighed and assessed slowly, second by second, so at every instant Annise damned to the nethermost region of hell those who had sold her service. It was infinitely unfair!

  “Ahh, ‘Mistress’ Annise Athyney, I am pleased you could join us. I have heard so much about you.” The physician spoke in a haughty knowing tone. It made full play of knowledge he possessed.

  Annise kept her welcoming smile but inside she seethed in boiling anger. This was the fault of that eastern slut! Damn her for this spitefulness. How could that bitch reduce a good servant of the Council to such a pitiful state, serving such as this? Annise shelved thoughts of violence and revenge and bowed her head. Amongst her repertoire the skills of seduction and poison sprang most readily to mind. Tis a pity Marissa was mostly immune to both. However the court gentleman was more than handsome. It would even be a pleasure to try a game or two with him. She’d dressed for such an eventuality. The bodice was open just enough to give a glimpse of the shadowed pale swells beneath.

  Annise tilted her smile a touch his way and for her first play she studiously ignored the physician. “Good sir, it is my pleasure to serve you in any manner that you may require. Who may I ask has summoned me?” Annise put all her tricks into that reply. In prior meetings just the right tenor had men panting within minutes, and in her bed before the hour was over.

  Before the gentleman could speak, the physician bent forward and snapped out a reply. “You can just address me as Dr Agryppa, ahh, ‘Mistress’.”

  What a waspish answer. Excellent, Annise gloated. She’d been given a lead so soon in the meeting. There was a clear strain in leadership or was it partnership?

  “Anyway huh, ‘Mistress’, I wouldn’t bother with those tawdry ploys. Master Bryan here wouldn’t touch you.”

  Annise bowed her head in a demure manner. So, Master Bryan. She had a name! He was a companion of the King if memory served her right.

  After a moment’s strained hesitation where desire it seemed was pushed aside, Master Bryan gave her a brief and wary nod though only after a not so friendly glance at Dr Agryppa. “The doctor has warned me of your peculiar talents, Mistress Athyney. In light of recent, ahh, circumstances, I will allow the doctor’s advice to guide me.”

  Annise kept her smile light and pleasant, and she was sure it even reached her eyes. Inside was another matter though. If she could have exploded in anger she would have. This cursed situation was going to be more difficult to wriggle out of than she’d first thought.

  Dr Agryppa lent back in his chair and gave his beard a satisfied tweak. Yes, she thought, that learned fool thinks we all dance to his tune.

  “Aha ‘Mistress’…Athyney, I’ve had the a most illuminating discussion with your, ahh, patron, Countessa Ameliani. I’m quite sure she left out a great deal concerning the reasons for your servitude, but those don’t concern me.” Now the doctor lent forward and placed his elbows on the heavy table. “Other things however do. You, as I said, do not come to us unknown. It would be in your best interests, ahem, to curb some of your more extreme pastimes and attend to those duties that are given to you.”

  That was a very blandly given statement. Annise kept her face as still as a mask, reminding herself as quietly as possible that the slanderous exaggerations of the arch bitch Marissa could be dealt with another time.

  “As to your doubtful past it matters not. Swear by whatever you hold sacred to give fair and faithful service, and I’ll ensure honourable treatment, while betrayal and faithlessness will receive its just reward.”

  A sudden rage washed over Annise. Damn this to the seventh level of Hell! She wasn’t going to play the meek soul and accept this vile servitude to this prating fool with his hand me down authority. She drew herself up stiffly straight and thrust out a hand, fingers widespread towards the table. Annise felt rather than saw Richard make his own preparations behind her. The rushes at her feet swirled and scattered as sparks arced off her dress and danced in a spiral of blue flame. Annise could feel the power coursing up her legs hitting her thighs in a cool thrilling rush before surging through her body and outwards along her arm. A fierce thrill stretched her lips in exultation, baring teeth in a canine grimace, all hunger and expectant. She gathered it all in to lash out in one searing bolt.

  The occupants of the table didn’t move, not a twitch. Instead Dr Agryppa smiled in amusement and tapped a finger impatiently beside a box on the table. “Very impressive ‘Mistress’ Athyney, but I didn’t ask for a display of your abilities.”

  That sneeringly dismissive tone was the last straw. Annise summoned a focused blast to smite the arrogantly grinning fool. Then two things happened simultaneously. Agryppa’s hand moved a lever on the side of the box and her rising cone of power vanished. Just like that! It vanished. Annise blinked in surprise. What had happened? She hadn’t sensed the subtle purr of power for a circle or conjuration. With nothing else to do she dropped the upraised hand. What was going on? The sneering doctor should have been slammed against the wall. Broken bones should have been the least of his injuries. Where was her power?

  The doctor however shook his head, smirking as if at the tantrum of a truculent child and flicked a finger at the landing that overlooked their conversation. “Now ‘Mistress’ if you would care to look to your left…”

  Annise was beginning to get annoyed by that dryly amused laugh of Agryppa’s. She could taste the blood from her needle sharp eye teeth as they cut her lips. They’d extended from their gum sockets at the first tingle of power, and the salty sweetness of blood pushed her on—leap, tear, attack!

  That was until an urgent tap on the shoulder from Richard forced her to turn and look up at the indicated balcony. It was lined with several men, each with an aimed war bow. Oh shit, a trap!

  Annise took a slow measured gulp and with a painful effort, forced her eye teeth to slide back into their gum sockets. The red glimmer faded from her eyes. She cooled her raging anger before it got her turned into a pin cushion. This ‘doctor’ was too damned clever by half. Unlike the tales and legends, her abilities did not make her invulnerable and shame, anger and resentment aside, she wasn’t into suicide. She enjoyed life and wanted to continue doing so.

  Doctor Agryppa gave a short satisfied nod in acknowledgement of her retreat though it was quite plain the archers would remain in place. The metallic clinking sounds from behind indicated that Richard and whoever he faced had resumed a watchful stance.

  “Perhaps ‘Mistress’, I haven’t made myself clear. My modern philosophy can circumvent your old magicks. If you would both step closer to the table and hold out your right hands…”

  Annise had a dread inkling about this stage of their bondage. Silently she cursed that interfering bitch to the seven most circle of hell. With Richard at her right, Annise did as requested and held out her open palm. The doctor pulled a short hafted iron dagger from his gown, and in his left hand held a small open crystal vial. Annise’s spirit tasted despair. Marissa really had given all their secrets. That was the worst betrayal.

  As expected her hand was slashed open and the blood flowed readily into the crystal receptacle. She then gave the required words with a lightness that belayed the hollow pain gnawing at her soul. The doctor smiled, and in a triumphant glance at Master Bryan, completed the ritual with wax and parchment to seal the twin containers, very thoroughly, before tucking them away into his gown. Annise pulled out a kerchief and bound the wound with it, knotting it tight.

  “So formalities over ‘Mistress’ Athyn
ey. Now to business.”

  The doctor visibly relaxed and waved over a tapster who laid out a pewter ewer and a selection of twist stemmed glass chalices on the table. Another obliging fellow dragged across a pair of stools.

  Annise took the hint and sat down before accepting a courteously proffered glass from Master Bryan. His smile could almost have been inviting, if not for the wary glance he exchanged with Agryppa. Yes, the courtier had understood the play of the velvet glove hiding the gauntleted fist. This wasn’t just to cower her into submission. Doctor Agryppa meant too rule this—this…association. Annise sipped the wine easing back into her accustomed glamour of guile. She was interested in survival. How her minion Richard handled their betrayal, she neither knew nor cared just so long as he obeyed.

  “Well doctor, you have my undivided attention. What is it that you require? Cursing of a rival, afflicting your opponents, discrete removal of inopportune people, name it and we are your servants.” Out of habit she bowed, tilting just a little so that the light best reflected off the ruby nestled between her breasts.

  Master Bryan stirred uneasily and pursed his lips at the display, and put up a hand to forestall his companion’s speech. “Nothing quite so overt, I am afraid. Just a matter that requires investigation within, as the doctor has assured me, your specialty.”

  Doctor Agryppa gave a brief disjointed laugh as if it was the subject of a muffled joke. Annise stilled her impatience at the practitioner of modern philosophy. he’d proven dangerous to cross, and since the bonded blood now doubly so.

  Master Bryan, as if regretting some decision, gave Agryppa a very curious look but refrained from any comment. Rather he turned to face her. “We want you to look at a dead body.”