by Dave Duncan
"Was it you who killed his brothers and his father?"
The baron emptied a couple of vials into the chalice. "Goodness, no! That was darling Valda. With more than a little help from Nevil himself, I dare say." He uncorked a bottle and added something that looked like fresh blood. Why so much preparation just to kill a helpless man?
Silence became oppressive very quickly. "Were you there when he and Valda tried to conjure Rhym?"
"Fortunately, I was not." Oreste chuckled. "It might have taken me instead! Now, where did I put the ... ah! There is one thing I have been meaning to ask you, Tobias. I have tracked you very closely for years, so I know almost everything you have done and everywhere you have been." He had begun grinding something in the mortar, which left him free to look up and smile across at his victim. "The one matter that still puzzles me is just what happened at Mezquiriz."
No! He would not tell that.
The baron tut-tutted. "Come, my boy! You are about to die. I am doing you a favor. Surely you can humor an old man's curiosity, hmm?" He had only to speak a word to one of his demons and Toby would babble out the whole story in terrible detail. "It is little enough to ask."
It was very little to ask, but it took a real effort to answer. "The hob went berserk."
"Yes, yes! But why? You had eluded me at the border. You were not in danger, and there was no great spirit there to provoke it. So what ignited the hob?"
Toby turned his face away. "I lay with a woman."
"Ah!" The pestle stopped for a moment. "I never thought of that. Yes, I can see what might happen. I wondered if it had been your first attempt to control the hob."
"I can't control the hob. I was told that it would take me over and control me."
The baron began grinding away again. "That is certainly the more likely outcome. The two of you must be very intertwined by now—but you know that, because you refused the exorcism. And the girl? She died? This is sad."
He seemed quite sincere. Why was he keeping up this meaningless chitchat at all? Just to comfort his victim and keep him from brooding on his imminent end? But he was a sadistic, murdering monster. He probably knew how Toby's hips ached already, how his hands had gone numb. One thing was certain—he would not be revealing so many secrets if there was any chance of the prisoner living to repeat them to anyone.
He emptied the contents of the mortar into the chalice and then consulted the scroll, moving his lips in silence.
A condemned man could try a last request, even if there was very little hope of its being granted. "Excellency? It does seem unfair that my friend Hamish should be put to death just for being my friend, when a skilled adept such as yourself is allowed to prosper unmolested."
"Hmm?" Oreste looked up and smiled so broadly that his eyes disappeared altogether. "Ja! It does indeed! But life is rarely just, my boy—even you have lived long enough to learn that! The Inquisition is well aware of my reputation, but there is nothing they can do about me. You don't catch lions in mousetraps. And lions have to tolerate mice. We live and let live, the Black Friars and I—with a few exceptions, that is—so don't worry about Master Campbell. He knows the truth about Rhym, and we don't want him blurting that out on the rack, now do we? I expect he will catch a fever in his cell and die quite soon. In fact, you have my word on it. Well, I am just about ready, I think. Sorry to have taken so long."
"And what happens now?" Toby asked, mouth suddenly dry.
The baron came around the table carrying the candlesticks. He placed them on the floor near Toby's feet, not looking at him. "I am going to exorcize the hob. But at the same time, I will exorcize you also." He peered up at the prisoner's face, perhaps hoping to see some appropriate signs of terror. "Ingenious, isn't it?" Chuckling, the hexer minced back to the table. "You and the hob go into the amethyst, and the soul of Nevil goes into you. When Vespianaso puts his thugs to work, they will be tormenting the wrong man!"
"So it will be Nevil who gets tortured?"
"My master finds the idea amusing."
Toby clenched his teeth and said nothing.
Oreste shrugged. "It was Rhym's idea, not mine. Nevil is a danger, so Nevil must die. This we all know. Of course I shall hex him so that he cannot reveal the great secret he alone knows, the name to conjure Rhym. He may scream all he wants that he is the rightful king of England and not Toby Longdirk, but the tormentors will not believe him. He will have to scream at them in Latin, as he knows no Spanish tongues. Rhym finds this prospect entertaining."
"What happens to me?"
The baron picked up the carved ivory casket and stroked it lovingly. "You become immortal. You and the hob will be one. Together you will make a wonderful demon."
"Don't you torture spirits to make them into demons?"
The baron shrugged regretfully. "This is true. But the worst part of torture is not the pain, dear boy, it is seeing yourself being ruined, joint by joint, muscle by muscle. It is knowing that life will never be as good again, and that you cannot grow back missing eyes or charred flesh. That doesn't apply to an immortal. A little suffering and you will learn to serve me." He laid the casket down and stared at Toby appraisingly. "Don't worry about the gramarye failing, as Valda's failed. I borrowed a couple of convicts from the city jail to practice on. I sent them home in each other's bodies, quite successfully."
"You promised I would not suffer!"
"A trivial untruth. I was being kind."
"It will be my body they are disassembling. I should prefer to remain and die with it."
"You have no option." Oreste opened the ivory casket and took out the leather locket. "It is the penalty of your own success, Tobias. Had I managed to catch you myself, then I would have spared you ... spared your life, that is, not your will. You would have been useful as a man, too. But what you achieved at Tortosa was so extraordinary that you frightened the Black Friars out of their robes. From Gibraltar to the Pyrenees, the Inquisition was screaming for your carcass. When I saw that there was no way I could keep them away from you, I reported the problem to his Majesty, and he thought up this procedure. It is certainly ingenious."
"If the Inquisition finds out about the substitution, then Nevil will live!" Argument was useless, of course, but he could not submit to such an abomination without protest.
"The Inquisition will not find out. The inquisitors will dismiss Nevil's complaints as more evidence of his demon's cunning. Even if I told Father Vespianaso myself, he would not stop now. They are always so convinced that they are right that they accept their own conclusions as infallible evidence. So Nevil goes into you and you go into the —"
The stone he was holding was a smooth black pebble, nothing like an amethyst. He looked up at Toby, but Toby could only stare. What? Who?
"How did you do that?" the baron screamed.
"Do what, your Excellency?" There could be small pleasures, even in a torture chamber.
"Diaz swore he saw the amethyst and put it in this casket! No power could have touched it in there, not even Montserrat itself. You! The hob?"
"I didn't! I don't control the hob. Montserrat had it warded last night, and you have it warded now, don't you?" Absurdly, Toby was suddenly more frightened than he had been by anything that had happened yet. Oreste was far more dangerous than the Inquisition. Oreste could make him suffer forever.
"I will have the truth, Longdirk!" The baron bared his teeth in fury.
Or in fear? He had obtained the soul of Nevil at last and then lost it again, and Rhym the Fiend was going to be very, very mad about that.
"I will have the truth!" He raised his left hand to his mouth and turned in his dance. "Rigomage per nominem tuum igne et tempestate impero semper veritatem Tobias dicat. Now, Longdirk, tell me how you switched those stones!"
"I didn't."
"Did the hob? Can you control it, talk to it?"
Perhaps if he claimed ... Before he could think of a likely lie, the truth spilled from his mouth. "I don't know if the hob did it. I can't c
ontrol it. Only at Tortosa it seemed to follow my gestures. I talk to it, but I have never seen evidence that it hears me."
A friar stepped out from behind the closest pillar and spun around in a swirl of black robe, saying very rapidly: "Rigomage per nominem tuum igne et tempestate impero Orestes dormet." He took two quick steps to catch the falling baron, then lowered him gently to the floor, where he lay still and snored peacefully.
3
It had happened so fast that Toby just hung in his chains and gaped. He had apparently been saved from the baron and was now back in the power of the Inquisition, which was a very questionable improvement.
Or perhaps not, because the newcomer's all-black habit was that of a Benedictine monk, not a Dominican friar.
Certainly not, for then he straightened up and threw back his cowl, revealing not a tonsure but a mop of auburn locks. "Campeador?"
Spirits! "You are a most welcome sight, senor!"
Hopefully he was. Their last meeting had involved Toby's hurling him ignominiously into the mud. Apparently that was not going to be mentioned, for he twirled up the points of his mustache and grinned smugly.
"There is always a sense of satisfaction in lifting a siege." The don stepped over the prostrate baron and peered up at the prisoner's manacles. "You don't have the keys to those rusty things, do you?"
"You could use the demon. My Latin is equally rusty."
"Ah! Of course!" He went through the ritual again, this time commanding, "Tobias liberetur!"
The locks on Toby's wrists and ankles sprang open. He flopped down on the straw to catch his breath. Things were moving very speedily. "Thank you!" He chafed his hands, wincing as they began to throb.
"Thank Rigomagus, not me," the don said cheerily. "'By fire and storm'? It must be a very minor demon to have such a terse conjuration, don't you think? An odd-job demon? Fortunate, that! If the invocation had been longer and I'd got it wrong, we might have been in serious trouble." He chuckled, being understandably very pleased with himself.
"How did you get here?"
"Just walked in. Oh, from Montserrat, you mean? Well, when I learned what had happened, Francisco and I marched into the basilica and told the tutelary that its decision had been wrong and its actions were unacceptable. It agreed at once and begged us to come and rescue you. When we get back you will be granted sanctuary. It sends its apologies."
Alas! For a few dazzling moments Toby had seen rainbows of hope in the clouds, but obviously the spirit had done nothing to untangle the caballero's wits. His story was all moonshine and dragon turds, because one thing a major tutelary would never do was reverse itself like that, and Montserrat had flatly told Toby it was infallible. He was not even out of the frying pan, let alone the fire, and the addle headed don had jumped right in beside him—a moving gesture, but a suicidal one.
"Apologies? It sells me to the Inquisition and then says it's sorry? How very touching!" Without rising from the straw, Toby reached for his shirt and doublet. Apologies, indeed!
"My attitude entirely, Campeador!" The don turned away to scowl at the paraphernalia on the table. "But it made amends by providing this absurd garment and another one like it for you, which I brought. They are spelled to distract attention—I just walked in here and no one saw me."
Poor deluded fool! No one questioned clerics at the best of times, and besides, Toby had seen him, even if he had mistaken him for a Dominican friar, which was easy enough to do. Getting in and getting out would be unlikely twins, for it was not hard to imagine Captain Diaz's reaction should two Benedictines emerge from the crypt and try to walk past the guard without explaining how they had come to be in there in the first place.
"And of course it offered us horses and some food to eat on the —"
"Us? No! You didn't involve Doña Francisca in this?"
The don spun around, blue eyes glaring madness. "What name do you profane, varlet?" He reached inside his robe, and very obviously he had a sword in there—not his great broadsword but still a lethal weapon.
Toby was on the floor, half dressed, totally vulnerable. "I meant to say ... " He was hexed and could not lie. "I should have said 'Senor Francisco,' of course, senor!"
"It sounded as if you named my sainted mother—a lady of paramount nobility and such immaculate reputation that, were you to speak but one idle word of her, I should be forced to cut out your tongue."
"Such was never my intention. I am mortified that my clumsiness distressed you, senor."
"You will receive no other warning." The maniac released his grip on his sword reluctantly.
"Do please continue your inspiring chronicle, which surpasses the ancient tales of chivalry."
Mollified, the don preened and twirled up his mustache. "As it happened, I decided that the journey would fatigue the old man unduly, so I came alone. There is nothing much else to tell. Josep gave me a letter to his steward, so I left Smeòrach at the House of Brusi on the Carrer Montcada and was promised fresh mounts for our return. I put on this absurd garment and walked in here."
He made it sound very easy, but probably no one ever tried to rescue prisoners from the Inquisition—most people would be as frightened of the captives as they were of the friars.
"I admit," Don Ramon said, "that I did not anticipate the baron. He was an unexpected complication, especially when I learned what he was planning."
"I am amazed. Your courage is exceeded only by your modesty, senor!"
"Of course. The first time he invoked the demon, I heard its name, but I did not see the actions. It was fortunate that he invoked it again."
Toby rose. "And how do you propose that we escape from here? There are armed men on the door." Oreste's orders to Captain Diaz had been very specific. "Can we really trust this gramarye of yours to that extent?"
"I no longer expect to escape." Don Ramon frowned down at the sleeping hexer. "By choice, I shall be struck down while battling my way out against overwhelming odds, but that is of little importance. You may take the other robe and depart, because you are only a serf. I am a hidalgo of Castile and must consider my honor. Since this unspeakable hexer has fallen into my power, I cannot refuse the opportunity to slay him. 'Twill be a valorous deed and well worth dying for, but of course I can't do it while he is unconscious. He must know he is going to perish, and at whose hand. As a churl you would not understand."
Toby considered the prostrate hexer and laughed ruefully. "Senor, for years my greatest ambition has been to choke the life out of this monster with my bare hands. Yet, churl though I am, I find I am as helpless as your noble self while he is in this condition."
"Curious! But I foresee trouble when I awaken him and he regains command of his demons. Have you any suggestions, Campeador?"
Toby had several, of which the most important was that the two of them leave Barcelona alive and healthy and soon. How could he talk sense into the maniac while he was conjured to speak nothing except the strictest truth?
"It will not be easy, senor. Baron Oreste has many demons immured in those rings, and some of them are undoubtedly conjured to defend him. I presume that they have not interfered thus far only because he has come to no harm yet, and they may enjoy seeing him shamed like this. Demons obey specific orders only and detest those who control them, but any move to injure Oreste will trigger their compulsions. As you said, Rigomagus is undoubtedly a very weak demon, so others could override it and awaken their master at any time."
The don frowned dangerously. "I have already announced my intentions, Campeador!"
"I am attempting to assist, senor. Pray hear me out." With his mind flapping in frantic circles, Toby went to the baron and squatted down to study his fat hands. "He has a total of ten rings here, and the jewel on his cane may also hold a bottled demon. I was told once that he is hexed to absolute loyalty by a demon immured in a beryl. Are you familiar with jewels?"
"No. What are you proposing?"
"The baron is forbidden to remove the beryl ring, but it
may be possible for us to remove it, depending on the exact terms of the conjuration." It was a very slim chance. Would Rhym have overlooked that loophole?
"Bah!" said the don and began to pace. "I do not see how that would solve anything. You would still have to take him out of the demon's range—to Montserrat, say, or even farther. Only then would he be free of it."
Toby rose and went to the table. He examined the black pebble, then replaced it in the locket and hung the locket around his neck again. There was a mystery that might haunt him till his dying day—whenever that was. He tucked the dagger inside his doublet, making a silent vow that the Inquisition would not take him alive the next time.
"This casket, senor? I have met its like before. It is warded against demons. If we put the beryl inside and shut the lid, the baron will be free of his compulsion."
"So! Ingenious!" Don Ramon came striding back, looking pleased. "But we do not know which is the correct ring, not even which is Rigomagus."
"Nor do we know which holds Rigomagus or the demons that guard his life. We shall have to remove all of them and put them all in the box."
The two men eyed each other uneasily. Would guardian demons stand for that?
Then the don twirled up his mustache again. "And he will be only a fat old man with no powers of gramarye! Very well. Let us begin!"
Gently they pulled the rings from the sleeping man's fingers, and Oreste continued to snore peacefully. Nothing catastrophic occurred, but when the last one came free Toby realized that he was almost giddy from holding his breath. He wrenched the jewel from the end of the cane and put that in the ivory casket also. They had done it!
The don said, "Put the box on the table, Campeador, and close it."
4
"We shan't be able to see much when the light goes out."
"Ah! Good tactical thinking! Wait." Don Ramon stalked off to inspect the furnishings of the cellar. He returned bearing a black robe, a rusty metal rod that was probably a branding iron, and a fierce scowl. The robe he tossed down on the table. "That will get you safely out of here, Campeador. And this bar will have to serve. Ready?"
