Simple in concept, perhaps, but execution was another thing entirely.
It wasn't until the Family had hastily tried to figure how to position people along the anticipated route that dear Pietor had begun to count just how many routes and shortcuts there were in the three tiers between the Gregori apartments and the College. In the end, by whatever calculations, it had proved impossible to cover them all, so Pietor had had to settle for trying to establish a "floating" circle of spotters around feckless Nikki that would advance before him and cover his back as he moved.
Of course, this also meant trying to devise a system of signals to let the others in the guard party know which way dear fool Nikki was heading, which of course increased the chances of Nikki spotting his shadows and thereby negating the point of the whole exercise. There was also a shortage of good hiding and lurking places along the most likely route, that lay along Archangel, forcing them to "cover both ends of the tunnel" in some stretches and ignore some stairways and passages as unlikely. All in all, Pietor's crackpot idea of trying to shadow the fool was proving more difficult than anticipated, and it was altogether so cumbersome as to introduce the possibility of the escorts tripping over each other in their own maneuverings.
Then again, there were the Hannons they had hired . . . or rather the bully boys they were paying to play the role of Hannons. Could they be trusted? What if they took advantage of the situation to collect the Hannon-offered bounty on a Gregori themselves?
No. Not likely. The whole plan was far too complicated and too hastily conceived for comfort, but Pietor had insisted and the Family had gone along with him, if for no other reason than to encourage slack-handed Pietor to take an active hand in running the household: among themselves, they had admitted a fear that if they had refused to aid Pietor in this, his first effort at involvement, he might retreat back into the lethargy he had been showing to date—a laissez-faire Demitri privately reckoned more dangerous to House Gregori than Nikki's fecklessness.
Better to get him moving by cooperating today, then, the consensus in the House was, and once Pietor had a bit of momentum and confidence behind him, they could try to guide their Househead's steps into wiser courses of action.
That was, of course, providing House Gregori survived the day.
Demitri grimaced wryly at the thought. He had disagreed with Pietor's plan from the start, and still remained skeptical even after younger House members had teamed up to vote him down. He felt that Anna had been right in the first place, and Pietor should have simply confronted Nikki and acquainted him with the facts of life. As head of the household, Pietor should have met the challenge of the established procedures squarely and dominated their younger brother with the sheer force of his personality and his anger. That was certainly what their father would have done. . . .
Demitri groped for the wine again, only to find the pitcher empty.
Damn! Why couldn't he keep his thoughts away from his father? He had made a conscious choice between the old man and his pregnant Hannon lover before arranging for the elder Gregori's assassination. Was his current guilt a matter of second thoughts, or was it merely anger that Teryl Hannon's death—and, unknown to either House, Demitri's own unborn child's—had made his father's demise both unnecessary and pointless?
If the latter were true . . .
A furtive movement at the delivery entrance caught his eye.
Nikki.
Demitri had to smile to himself as he leaned back into the shadows and averted his face. If he had not been forewarned and watching, he probably wouldn't have recognized his little brother in that getup. The youngest Gregori was decked out in the garb of a common laborer several sizes too large for him, creating the illusion of underfed poverty in scrounged clothes. With the added touches of a few artfully placed streaks of soot on his face and a slouch cap pulled low over his eyes, Nikki bore little resemblance to the dapper young artist who was prone to spending such considerable time in front of a mirror polishing his appearance and manner.
Demitri waited a few more moments to insure he would not be spotted, then rose casually to follow his brother. Fumbling for a few coins to leave as a tip, he glanced down the walkway . . . and froze. Nikki was nowhere in sight!
In a flash Demitri was up and well along the walkway, casting about in all directions for a glimpse of the disguised artist, but it was as if the walkways had dropped him abruptly elsewhere, into the nether tiers of the city. There were a few people strolling along the boards, but none bore the slightest resemblance to Nikki!
Demitri waffled for a few more precious moments between trying to find his little brother himself and alerting the waiting net of the watchers. Finally, he swallowed his pride and sprinted off to find Pietor—who would curse him for a careless drunk perhaps, not without justification—but Nikki might now be wandering Lord knew what tier of the walkways and bridges without anyone protecting him, and that took priority over any personal affront Pietor might deal him.
As he ran, Demitri prayed that one of the other watchers had spotted his little brother's course somewhere across the bridges and taken up guard duty. If not, if Nikki cam to harm . . .
He forced the thought from his mind and plunged on.
"I don't like it. I should've thought it out more before takin' this job. No sir! I don't like this one bit."
Gordo nodded at his companion's growled complaint. He had been experiencing similar reservations himself.
"I know what ye mean," he said. "I was just thinking the same thing. It sounded easy enough at first, but what if one of the real Hannons comes along and finds us wearing their House colors? It's not going to endear us to them any, I tell ye that much."
He found himself nervously fingering the bits of gold and orange ribbon pinned to his sleeve, the traditional mark of the Hannon household and their retainers. They had been given these badges by the Gregoris when they were hired for what had seemed like a harmless masquerade. The more Gordo thought about it, however, the less comfortable he was with the arrangement.
"Ye got a point there, Gordo," the original speaker grunted, "but that weren't what I was thinkin'."
"Oh?"
"I was more worried about us bein' set up."
"Set up?" Victor, the third man in their group said, joining the discussion. "How d'ye figure that?"
"Well, it occurs to me that if I was the Gregoris and I planned to do some mischief, it wouldn't hurt none to have a couple Hannons around to pin the rap on . . . and here we are, standin' around when and where they done told us, wearin' ribbons to mark us as Hannons."
Gordo felt a quick lance of fear shoot through him, but he tried to laugh it off.
"Come now, Curt. You don't really believe they'd do that to us, do ye?"
"Well I, for one, don't," Victor stated emphatically. "I've worked for the Gregoris afore, and they've always dealt me fair."
"That was old Gregori," Curt shot back. "How about Pietor, this new head of the House? Either of ye dealt whatsoever with him? I haven't. What's more, I'm wonderin' how smart it is to be wearin' Hannon colors out on the walks on nothin' more than his say-so that it's all right. Not that I'm sayin' he'd be up to no good, mind you. Just that we should look sharp if we want to be sure to come outta this in one piece, is all."
They had been stationed at the foot of the last bridge on the direct route between the Gregori apartment and Kass Isle, a point young Nikki would be certain to pass on his self-engineered adventure. Though warned to keep their faces toward Kass so that he would only see their Hannon colors, the three men found themselves glancing around nervously as they continued their debate. What had seemed like easy money now looked increasingly hazardous, and their feeling of vulnerability was growing by the moment.
"It's a possibility," Gordo conceded. "Still, we can't walk off a job because a' some possible danger. We should've thought of all this 'fore we went and took their money. All we can do now is . . ."
"Hullo there!"
Thre
e heads snapped around and fixed on the figure approaching them.
A figure wearing Hannon colors.
"Now what do we do?—Lord, if he recognizes us—"
"That's Lonnie Hannon. Don't worry, he's blind as a bat. So far he only sees our ribbons."
"He'll see well enough to tell we ain't Hannons if he joins us."
"Let him," Curt growled softly, slipping his belt dagger from his sheath.
"Lord, what are ye doing?"
"Can't ye see? This is our chance to be away and free from here. Ain't nobody expects us to hang around after we was jumped by one o' the Hannons, can they? And he ain't tellin' nothin' t' anybody."
Without waiting for a reply from the others, he turned and waved a welcome to the oncoming Hannon . . . hiding his dagger behind his leg as he did.
Helwein Hannon was surprised to find himself regretting, in such bewildering times as this, not having attend the funeral of old Gregori. It was true that old enemies could be as dear as old friends . . . especially when they were known quantities that were reliably consistent.
Of course, his presence would have been interpreted as gloating, though the Hannons had had no part in that notable's demise . . . a fact no one in Merovingen was inclined to believe, especially the Gregoris. With a sigh, Helwein returned his attention to the subject at hand.
"How many are there, again?"
Zahn, who had been haranguing the other family members assembled, broke off his oration to frown at his Househead.
"But Uncle, . . . I already told you . . ."
"So tell me again!" Helwein snapped, then softened his tone. "Have patience with an old man. My ears aren't as good as they were . . . or my mind as quick."
This, of course, fooled no one, as Helwein held his position by the strength and speed of his judgment and could wield a sword with an agility that denied his years—but it did cause Zahn to swallow his impatience and repeat some of the highlights of his report.
"At least a dozen, maybe two," Zahn said. "It's hard to tell for sure, since they're scattered singly or in small groups on the walkways and bridges around the Pile and Kass and Borg. More important is . . ."
". . . But so far, they're mostly around their old holding?" Helwein interrupted. "They're not near our House?"
"Yes . . . but I think it's important that they aren't wearing House Gregori colors, any of them. If anything, they seem to be trying to avoid being seen, staying mostly in shops and in shadowed walks and cut-throughs on the middle tier. To me, that means they're up to something."
A low growl from the others assembled showed their assent, an opinion that was noted by the head of the House as he tried to collect his thoughts.
"It's important, yes," he said. "But so is the fact they aren't making any direct moves on us or our holdings. It's also important to know how many of them there are . . . exactly . . . as well as where each is stationed. Once we have that information, we can decide . . ."
The door burst open before he could complete his thought.
"They're killing us! PAPA!"
Instantly, the room was filled with exclamations and babble.
"I knew it!"
"Who was it . . . ?"
"But what about . . . ?"
"We've got to . . ."
"Quiet! ALL of you!"
Helwein's voice, seldom raised, now roared, shocking the assemblage to silence.
"Now, you tell me," he demanded, fixing the interloper with a steely gaze, "who's been killed."
"I . . . don't know, Papa," the youth faltered. "It was just reported downstairs by a deliveryman. He said that one of our House had just been killed . . . stabbed in broad daylight and dumped off a bridge by three men who ran. He didn't know . . ."
The head of the House was suddenly on his feet, towering in his anger.
"Who's outside right now?" Helwein Hannon asked, not waiting to hear the balance of the report.
"Five, I think," someone volunteered. "William . . . and Uncle Lonnie . . . and—"
"Six. Tellon went out early."
"Tellon can take care of himself. There isn't a Gregori who can match sword with him."
"One on one, maybe. But there dozens of them on the walkways."
"Enough talk!" Helwein bellowed. "Zahn, assemble everyone in the House who can carry a weapon and follow as soon as you can. The rest of you, come with me, now!"
Despite his earlier impatience, Zahn was taken aback by the sudden flurry of action.
"But Uncle, shouldn't we wait . . ."
"There's no more time if the Gregoris have already started their move," was the snarled response. "we've a chance, though, if we can make our countermove in force while they're still scattered. Aye, catch them in their small groups before they can unite or scuttle back to their hole. All of you now . . . with me!"
The assemblage followed Helwein out of the room, caught up in his urgency and excitement, though more than a few were chilled by the bloodlust that shone in his eyes.
Damn Demitri . . . and damn Nikki!
Anger and worry warred within Pietor Gregori as he half walked, half ran toward Kass Middle Bridge.
If harm came to his youngest brother because Demitri had been too busy drinking to keep proper watch . . .
He prayed that Nikki was already at the College. If so, then he would fetch him home if he had to drag him kicking and screaming every step of the way. Safety was more important now than teaching a lesson.
He was nearly at the Pile West Bridge now, but his path was blocked by a shopper speaking with a walkway vendor. Beside himself with impatience, Pietor started to edge past just as the shopper turned . . . revealing a bright gold and yellow sweater beneath his cloak.
Tellon Hannon! Said to be the best swordsman in his House!
The two men stared at each other in shocked recognition.
"Tellon . . . Have you seen my brother Nikki?" Pietor blurted suddenly, voicing the first thing that came to his mind.
The Hannon blinked in surprise and bewilderment.
"The artist? No, I haven't . . . You're asking me?"
The absurdity of the situation began to creep into Pietor's mind. Here he was, seeking assistance from a Hannon, the very ones he feared were threatening Nikki. Still, he had blundered into a conversation with one of the Gregori's arch rivals, and he set himself to make the most of it.
"That's right. The young fool is out here somewhere . . . Say, Tellon, while we're talking . . . I wanted to tell you how sorry I was about your sister's death."
"Teryl?" Tellon's bewilderment changed to a scowl. "Why should you be sorry? I heard the Gregoris paid for her murder."
"My father did," Pietor admitted, "but even he didn't order it. I'm the head of the House now, and . . . Look, my father was killed by your family, but I'm still willing to talk. Can't we . . . ?"
"We had nothing to do with your father's death," Tellon said. "I won't try to tell you we wouldn't have killed him if we had the chance, but no one from my House is laying claim to that death."
"Really? See what I mean? No, . . . I'm saying this badly. Look, Tellon, can you tell Helwein that I'd like to meet with him? If we can't stop this feud, maybe we can at least modify . . ."
"Pietor! There's no sign of Nikki at the . . ."
Demitri Gregori halted his approach and his news in mid-step as he realized who his brother was speaking to. His hand flew to his sword hilt as Tellon drew back, mirroring the move with his own weapon.
"Stop it! Both of you!" Pietor ordered sharply, stepping between them. "Demitri. Take your hand off your sword! We were just talking. I was telling Tellon here how sorry I was about Teryl's death."
"Teryl?"
Demitri blanched at the name, his shoulders tightening as if expecting a physical blow.
"That's right," Pietor continued hurriedly, wondering what was ailing his brother. "You remember Teryl. She was . . ."
"Tellon! 'Ware!"
They all started, then turned toward the hail. No
less than eight Hannons were hurrying toward them across the bridge.
" 'Ware the Gregoris! It's an ambush!"
"What?" Pietor gaped. "No! Wait!"
Tellon's sword leaped from its scabbard as he backed away from the Gregoris, his head turning back and forth between the two groups in confusion.
Demitri stepped forward, shoving Pietor toward the upstairs of the pile as he fumbled for his own weapon.
"Run for it, Pietor!" he hissed. "I'll try to hold them here!"
"Stop, Demitri!" Pietor cried desperately, seizing his brother's arm in an attempt to keep him from drawing his weapon. "We've got to . . ."
"Let go, dammit! I can't . . ."
That was how they died when the Hannons swept over them . . . Demitri trying to do something right, even if it meant sacrificing his life to save his brother—and Pietor struggling to keep a Gregori sword in its scabbard.
"It were terrible," Old Michael returned to the House to report—
Which report stopped cold midway, at the sight of Nikki Gregori on the stairs, paint-smeared and smelling of turpentine.
Everyone stopped . . . of those servants who were there to hear. And Anna Gregori, who came from the parlor to hear the account.
Nearly a dozen had been killed, mostly Gregoris . . . though a few Hannons as well as innocent bystanders had been cut down in the fighting that had ebbed and swirled through the walkways near the College for nearly an hour.
Pietor lost, his brother Demitri—both killed. The servants, realizing the status of things—gave new deference to Anna, who cast a look of amazement and outrage in Nikki's direction.
"Where did you come from?" Anna asked; and Nikki, puzzled, answered his new Househead:
"Upstairs. . . ."
—It being that he had left the House only briefly, to turn back when he realized the afternoon light was perfect, falling on the fact of the upper tiers opposite his studio window—and his study arrangements with Rhajmurti in the College had been informal at best.
Damn you, Anna might have said. But Anna said nothing at all. Anna only stared at him.
MYTH-Interpretations: The Worlds of Robert Asprin Page 15
