The Fallen Blade: Act One of the Assassini

by Jon Courtenay Grimwood

  “You’re here at last,” Dr. Crow said.

  “Where’s my uncle?”

  “Busy.” Alonzo’s voice came from an alcove behind curtains.

  “I’ll come back later.”

  “No,” he crossly. “You’ll wait. I sent for you an hour ago. Your lateness could have made matters…”

  “What?”

  “Unnecessarily complicated.”

  Hearing the door open behind her, Giulietta glanced back, expecting her uncle’s secretary or one of the guards. A sour-faced abadessa in the white wimple of her order stood there instead. And next to her, a drunk so blowsy she could have been scooped from the stalls of the nearest brothel. Sweat and alcohol rose from her filthy skin.

  “You,” she hissed, seeing the alchemist.

  Dr. Crow smiled. “Mistress Scarlett.” The air crackled with the early stirrings of a storm. Only to settle when the nun glared between them.

  “We’re all here, then.”

  Dropping the curtain behind him, Prince Alonzo stepped out of the alcove holding a goose quill. It looked like a pen, except it was missing a cut nib and lacked the feathers usually left to balance a pen’s upper end. “You’re certain the time is propitious?”

  “A day off the new moon,” Dr. Crow said. “No time better.”

  “What about her?”

  “If what her linen maid says is true. Scarlett can check.”

  Stepping towards Giulietta, the blowsy drunk scowled when the young woman backed away from her. “This will be easier with your help.”

  “What will?”

  “Everything,” Prince Alonzo said heavily. “Believe me. It will be easier for everyone if you cooperate. Abadessa…”

  Grabbing Giulietta, the abbess spun her round and dug a thumb into the soft flesh of Giulietta’s arm, shocking her into stillness. “Struggle, and I’ll press harder.”

  Piss spread in a puddle around Giulietta’s feet.

  “With the Regent’s permission,” said the abbess. “We’ll begin. Mistress Scarlett, if you’ll confirm we’re not wasting our time?”

  Lifting Lady Giulietta’s gown and undergown, the wise woman pushed her hand between the girl’s thighs and sniffed her fingers. “Close enough. The quill’s fresh?”

  “What do you think?” Alonzo said, lacing his codpiece.

  “It would be surer to…”

  The Regent’s face darkened. “Do you want me damned?” he snarled. “It’s against the rules of consanguinity. I might as well burn churches and eat meat on a Friday.”

  “You can’t…”

  And then Giulietta said no more, because the sharp-faced nun dug her thumb so savagely into Giulietta’s arm she wet herself again, shame spreading in a growing puddle across the floor.

  “Stop snivelling,” the abbess told her.

  “I’m not sure,” Dr. Crow said, “that was necessary. And I’m not sure,” he added, looking reproachful, “you mentioned your niece was unwilling.”

  “If she’d bothered to answer my summons we’d have had time to discuss this. As she didn’t…” Alonzo let his comment hang. He obviously considered Giulietta’s ignorance of his plan her fault. “And I don’t explain myself to my mage.”

  “Duke Marco’s mage,” Dr. Crow said quietly.

  Lady Giulietta thought her uncle would strike him. When the Regent held his tongue she knew it meant one of two things. The alchemist was more powerful than she suspected. Or her uncle wanted this over, whatever this was. Neither choice made her happy.

  “Put her on the divan,” Mistress Scarlett said.

  It didn’t matter that Giulietta struggled. On her back, with her dress and undergown round her waist was where she ended. Although it was only when she began to scream that the Regent lost his temper. “Fetch the bitch a gag.”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “Deal with it,” Prince Alonzo ordered Dr. Crow.

  “As you wish.” Touching both sides of Giulietta’s jaw, he whispered, “Silence.” And that was that. Lady Giulietta’s jaw locked and her tongue froze in her head. When Mistress Scarlett began to force her knees open, the alchemist looked away, then headed for the alcove where the Regent had been earlier.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To get wine. You do have wine, don’t you…?” Dr. Crow muttered something about bloody well hoping so. And then he was gone, the curtain was in place and Mistress Scarlet was raising the girl’s ankles while the abbess held her wrists.

  “This will happen,” the wise woman said, apologetically. “Struggling only makes things worse. So be kind to yourself and behave.”

  Although she hated her own cowardice Giulietta did as she was told. Mistress Scarlett spoke the truth. All Dr. Crow had to do was pass his hands across her hips and those would be out of her control as well.

  “Do it,” the Regent ordered.

  Taking the quill, Mistress Scarlet pulled a fish bladder from her sleeve, blew into it and pushed it on to one end of the quill. The other, she slid between Lady Giulietta’s thighs, cursing when the young woman began bucking hard enough to free one wrist.

  “Hold her.”

  The grip on her captive wrist grew savage. “Such a fuss,” the nun said. “You’d think you were the only girl to do her city a service.”

  Repositioning the quill, Mistress Scarlet squeezed the bladder to free its contents. “See,” she said. “Not so bad. And you’re as intact as the day you were born.” She smiled, as if this should make the difference.

  “Alchemist.”

  “It’s Dr. Crow to you, woman.”

  “My part’s done,” Mistress Scarlett said. “I’ll be taking my money and going.”

  The Regent opened his mouth.

  “I’ll take my money and go,” she repeated.

  Prince Alonzo threw a purse at her. “Witch,” he muttered, as the door shut behind her.

  “If you will,” said Dr. Crow, moving the abadessa back from the divan and indicating that Giulietta should remain where she was. Since the nun blocked her escape Giulietta did as ordered.

  “A son,” the Regent said tightly. “You understand? She’s to bear Cyprus a son. If she fails I’m going to be angry. In fact, you’ll find I suddenly agree with the Pope in Rome’s opinion that you’re a heretic.”

  Dr. Crow ignored him.

  “My lady,” he said. “First babies are often late. Cyprus will never suspect your child is not his. And you will never tell him. In fact…” The alchemist glanced at the Regent, who nodded. “You will never talk of what happened here.”

  The mage held Giulietta steady until she stopped shivering and then touched her face, letting his fingertips brush her jaw.

  “How could you?” she demanded.

  “I need corpses to dissect, my lady. The Regent provides those and keeps me safe from those who regard my work as abomination.”

  The abadessa left next. And Giulietta was made to lie for half an hour with her knees up and a cushion under her hips. Although the nun’s contemptuous parting gift, which was to rearrange Giulietta’s gown, at least meant she had her decency. But when Giulietta was at last allowed up, and turned for the door, her knees weak, her guts vomitous and her bowels on the edge of emptying, her uncle called her back. Her job was more than simply giving Cyprus the son his first wife had not. There were other considerations, matters of policy. He wished to explain exactly what was required of her when she arrived at her new kingdom.

  15

  Stumbling from the room, Giulietta heard footsteps and walked faster, but her stomach was water, the hem of her dress stank of piss, and vomit filled her throat. She refused to believe Aunt Alexa knew of what had just happened. But if she didn’t, why had her aunt been unwilling to see her?

  It was, Giulietta knew, only a matter of time before her guts released at one end or the other. And when they did, she wanted to be anywhere but on cold stairs watched by needlepoint demons.

  “Wait,” Dr. Crow called.
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  Lady Giulietta increased her speed.

  He caught up with her at the end of stairs leading to the loggia. This was easy, since by then, she was on her knees outside the Sala dei Censoi, vomiting up her supper. All Dr. Crow had to do was walk up to her and wait.

  “It’s the shock,” he said.

  She stood slowly. Slapped him hard.

  “You didn’t see that,” Dr. Crow told a guard coming towards them. The man carried a halberd and wore a thick cloak, as befitted someone whose duties involved walking down an open-sided corridor in mid-winter.

  “Saw what, sir?”

  “Good man. Now, get me drinking water.”

  The guard wanted to say fetching water wasn’t his job. He was right, his job was patrolling the loggia. But Dr. Crow had turned an enemy to a black cat, and drowned him. Added to which, he treated the new duke in his moments of madness. About which nobody was meant to know…

  “My lady.”

  Taking the cup from the guard, Giulietta sipped slowly. A second later she remembered to dismiss the man with a nod. Turning, he marched into the wind, his cloak billowing like a shroud. So much in this palace had to be kept secret. No doubt he’d seen worse.

  “Chew this, my lady.”

  She looked at the sticky pill Dr. Crow offered.

  “It will settle your stomach and balance your humours.” Dropping the pill into her palm, the alchemist folded her fingers around it. “You should sleep, get your strength for tomorrow.”

  “I can’t. Not yet.”

  The mage had an old man’s eyes, clouded and watery. But Giulietta felt, as she always did, that he could read her thoughts. And she couldn’t shake the feeling he knew what she’d say before she did. If so, he must realise how furious she was. How revolted. He must also know what else she had to do.

  “I need to light a candle for my mother.”

  “In the morning, my lady.”

  “There won’t be time,” she said bitterly. “Sir Richard, Lady Eleanor and I board at noon, and sail on the tide. There will be farewells first. A formal breakfast in the state room. I will need to say my…”

  She fought back tears.

  “Your own goodbyes?”

  Lady Giulietta’s nod was abrupt.

  “My lady, this is not…”

  “Don’t you dare,” she shouted. “Don’t dare say I’ll see the city again. That this is for everyone’s good. That what you did to me in there…” Her voice folded into sobs and hiccups.

  “It would be the truth.”

  “That this is for everyone’s good?” Lady Giulietta said through tears.

  “No. You will leave this city and you will return. Both will be hard but the second will be harder than the first… Now, think about going to bed. Your uncle will be unwilling to provide guards for a journey at night. You know they’ll not stir without a signed order.”

  “It’s not a journey,” she said. “It’s a hundred paces. And they’re not his guards. They’re Marco’s.”

  “You’ll still need them.”

  “No, I won’t.” Opening his mouth to say she would, he shut it when she said, “I’ll use the way into the Lady chapel.”

  Dr. Crow looked shocked.

  Because she knew about the passage, Giulietta realised. He knew obviously enough. She was meant to be ignorant of it.

  “The door will be locked.”

  “You can open it.”

  “My lady…”

  “Or shall I tell everyone in Cyprus you cut up bodies?”

  Apart from locking her jaw, for which she’d never forgive him, this was the first time she’d seen him perform magic. The first time she’d ever seen anyone perform magic. If one ignored producing fire from your fingers, because every mountebank in Piazza San Marco could do that.

  The door was behind a tapestry at ground level in a wall that adjoined the basilica. Kneeling, the old alchemist rubbed his hands together. Then he placed his fingers on the key plate, while Giulietta kept watch for guards.

  “Hurry up,” she whispered crossly.

  There was a sharp click as a spring let go and a bolt ratcheted back. Opening the door, Dr. Crow put his hand on the far side of the lock and muttered under his breath. “Shut it when you leave,” he said. “It will lock itself.”

  With that he was gone, in a shambling shadow of grey velvet and the mustiness of an old man with no one to wash his clothes.

  Basilica San Marco, the most beautiful basilica outside Byzantium itself, was the duke’s personal chapel. Open on saints’ days and high holidays, it was reserved for the Millioni at all other times. It was begun when Venice was still an imperial city and the mainland beyond owed its loyalty to the Eastern emperor.

  At that time, there was no emperor of the West. At least none Byzantium was prepared to recognise. So, for a while, the Eastern emperor was simply, the emperor. This changed with the rise of the Franks who founded the Tedeschi empire, otherwise known as the Holy Roman empire. The Franks were French and the Tedeschi were German, so Lady Giulietta wasn’t sure how this worked. But Fra Diomedes used his cane willingly and she’d learnt not to interrupt his lessons with questions.

  And so Venice, trapped between two powerful rulers, became sly. She became sly because only this kept her safe. Having changed her saint to one not claimed by the Tedeschi, the Papacy or the emperors in Byzantium, she announced she owed loyalty to no one and would trade with all.

  And so matters remained.

  The same slew of glass stars circled the Virgin’s head, and the same soft smile greeted Giulietta as she bobbed a curtsy, before heading towards a jewelled screen that hid the high altar from public view. She wanted Fra Zeno, one of the few Mamluk converts allowed into the priesthood. Fra Zeno was young, and smiled when he saw her. He would listen without getting cross. But she found the patriarch instead. Or, rather, Patriarch Theodore found her.

  “My child…” His quavering admonition from the darkness made her jump. “What,” he asked, “are you doing here at this hour?”

  “I…” She was about to say looking for Fra Zeno, when she realised that was tactless, open to misunderstanding, and it didn’t matter which priest she talked to. And Theodore was patriarch, after all.

  If he didn’t know what she should do…

  “Seeking help.”

  The old man looked around him and smiled. “There are worse places to seek it,” he agreed. “And a troublesome mind is no respecter of the hour.” Taking an oil lamp from a shrine, he turned and Giulietta realised she was meant to follow him into the area beyond the altar.

  “That’s…”

  “The warmest place here.”

  In a tiny sacristy she’d never seen stood a gold chalice, decorated with emeralds and rubies. Slabs of lapis were set into the bowl and its rim was ringed with sapphires. The cup rested on a chest containing priestly vestments. An old Persian carpet covered half the floor, and a tattered battle flag hung from one wall. In the bowl of the chalice was a wedding ring.

  She knew it instantly. It was the ring with which the Duke of Venice married the sea each year to calm the waters and give fair wind to her ships. Not a year had passed since the city was founded without the marriage taking place. That was what she’d been told by her tutor anyway.

  “How old is the ring?”

  “How old is an axe if you keep replacing handle and blade? The ring’s been repaired this year. And the chalice has had a new base, a new stem and new stones in my lifetime alone. The originals would be six centuries old. Perhaps less. Records undoubtedly lie about which duke first married the sea.”

  The old man laughed at her shock. “You didn’t come here for history lessons. So tell me why you’re here and by a secret entrance. I didn’t realise you knew about that door.”

  “I discovered it.”

  She wondered why he smiled.

  “The devil makes work for idle hands. And between them, Aunt Alexa and Uncle Alonzo have kept you idle for longer than is wise. Sti
ll, there are worse things for girls your age to discover than secret doors.”

  For a moment, Giulietta thought he’d lean forward and ruffle her hair, but he simply sighed and balanced his stolen lamp beside the chalice, looking round for a chair.

  “So,” he said, finding one. “Tell me what upsets you.”

  Maybe he expected doubts about her wedding; God knows she had enough of them. Or maybe doubts about leaving Serenissima, because she had those too. But his smile died and the twinkle left his eyes within seconds. By the end he watched with the stillness of a snake. Although his fury was not for her. Giulietta realised that when he did his best to paste a smile into place.

  “Let me think for a moment.”

  She’d avoided all mention of Mistress Scarlett, the hatchet-faced abadessa and the goose quill, fearing Dr. Crow told the truth. To speak of them would steal her voice forever. But what she said was bad enough.

  “Perhaps you misunderstood?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “Uncle Alonzo’s orders are clear. Once an heir is born I must poison my husband and rule as Regent until he is old enough to rule for himself. My uncle will tell me what decisions to make.”

  “And how are you…?”

  “With these.” Giulietta produced two tiny pots from beneath her dress. One was small, the other smaller; no bigger than a thimble. “This,” she said, holding up the larger, “has three hundred fly specks of poison.”

  “To kill your husband?”

  “No. To habituate myself from the poison in this one.”

  She stumbled over Dr. Crow’s strange word and Archbishop Theodore looked thoughtful. Maybe he heard the alchemist’s echo in her voice. The patriarch always greeted Dr. Crow with a steely politeness Giulietta now recognised as hatred.