by Dave Duncan
"He did what you told him to, you mean?"
"What I asked, yes, but he achieved it. The maestro and I are devising a fatal accident for him. If we can somehow convince the Fiend that his old teacher has perished, he will be much less inclined to suspect treachery."
"How often do skilled hexers meet with fatal accidents?"
"Rarely, alas. It will take some thought."
But Hamish's encounter with Gonzaga in Siena had created a wonderful opportunity to fake a disaster—except that this Shadow, this Unknown, this imposter, had made it into a real one! Double cross. Triple cross!
"Speaking of gramarye, Your Magnificence," the villain continued, "may I have leave to appeal to your distinguished brother, His Eminence the cardinal? No amount of strategy and courage will save us if we cannot field adequate demon power."
The fox snarled. "I have discussed this with him already, believe me! He admits that the Holy Father is being very difficult. He... my brother, I mean... will be here in about a month. Will that be soon enough?"
"I fear the matter is too urgent to delay, messer. I have ways of making brief visits to Rome, if you could arrange a meeting place for us. It would have to be in the middle of the night, I am afraid."
Ha! Wrong! The real Toby Longdirk could not go on demon rides because the hob wouldn't tolerate gramarye.
Marradi clicked his fox teeth in amusement. "Indeed, messer? You would travel by gramarye to a meeting with a cardinal of the College? I admire your audacity, if not your judgment. Certainly I can write and ask him to grant you an audience. Whether he will and whether he will then cooperate, I do not know. He was much easier to handle when he was small and I could thump his ears. Since he gained his red hat, he has developed an unfortunate independence of mind."
The Unknown chuckled politely, as one does at the jokes of the great. "Your Magnificence is most gracious."
"And you are extraordinarily devious! I thought only Italians were capable of such chicanery. But I find it hard to believe that Nevil will willingly walk into your trap." Toby did not. It was a wonderful plan. He wished he had thought of it. "The Fiend, messer Longdirk, is not stupid, and he knows now that you are not."
"He knows, also, Your Magnificence, that I am only a penniless soldier of fortune. I would cheerfully disappear altogether, but that would be suspicious in itself. It seems to me that we should announce the generous terms for a condotta that you have granted me here this morning, and attempt to hammer together a union of the states, because that is what he will expect us to do. Then everything must appear to fall apart like a puffball—which is what we fear it will do. You will make it known that I am in disgrace, that you are overruling me. Block my efforts. Insult me in public. Nevil has spies everywhere. He will hear of all this and discount me."
"It will make you look like a fool!"
The Unknown laughed. "My feelings do not matter! I am not a prickly aristocrat like Don Ramon. I am not even, with respect, a burgher who must watch what his creditors think of his solvency. I have no family or close friends to suffer from my disgrace. The men of the Company know I can fight, and that is all they care about. I am a bastard peasant, the lowest of the low. Shame me all you will. In a worthy cause I can endure a few slights."
Easy for him to say, whoever he was! It was Toby himself who had suffered those months of humiliation and frustration, and apparently all that time Marradi had believed that he wanted such treatment?
The fox scratched the side of his muzzle. "You impress me with this offer, messer Tobias. I know of no other condottiere in all Italy who would submit to such an arrangement, and Nevil will never suspect that you are submitting to it voluntarily. I will not give you my unconditional acceptance now, but let us proceed with the condotta, for we must do that in any case. I shall write to my so-eminent brother on your behalf, while you go ahead and arrange that unfortunate accident to Maestro Fischart. If you can make that appear convincing, and if the College will arm you with the gramarye you need, then I may even agree to tie a noose around my city's neck as you request. Secrecy, above all, will be essential. Who else knows of this plot of yours?"
"Only Oreste and yourself, messer. The Khan knows I want to set a trap, but none of the details. His Eminence the cardinal will have to be told, and eventually the senior military leaders, men like Ercole Abonio and the various captains-general. Less than a dozen, I hope."
Unexpectedly, the fox chuckled. He rubbed his human hands and ran a long red tongue over his chops. "This is a wicked game you plan, comandante! I confess I enjoy such sport, and I am delighted to have misjudged you—as I hope the Fiend will misjudge you—for I confess I suspected your success at Trent was merely a fluke. Forgive me if I ask this, though. I have years of practice at such intrigue, but you strike me as a man more inclined to use his fists than his tongue. I shall keep your secret, I promise you, but are you sure that you can?"
"You mean, can I tell lies with a straight face?"
"I am afraid that skill will be an essential ingredient." The fox showed sharp teeth in a smile.
"No, I cannot. But I told you I have ways of traveling to Rome, messer. I can also invoke gramarye to prevent myself from giving the game away. I can even prevent myself from thinking about it or remembering it when I do not need to."
"This is dangerous, surely?"
"Life is dangerous, messer. The worst I risk is that I will completely forget the strategy someday when I need to remember it. If you ever think that has happened, Your Magnificence, then you will have to take me aside and remind—"
Toby screamed.
Out! Out! Sorghie, get me out of this!
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
He reeled to his feet and stared out at a world made glorious by morning—the broad valley of the Arno brilliant green under the ethereal light of Tuscany, the lumpy hills in their rich garb of olive trees and mulberries, misty peaks beyond rolling off to infinity. He scowled at the disfiguring camps of the enemy ringing the city just out of cannon shot. Already the eastern sky was almost too bright to look upon, heralding the sun. The Allied armies were waiting under their masking gramarye. He had told everyone he would give them the signal before sunup—Ercole, Alfredo, all of them! If he did not appear in time, they would assume that something had gone awry and start withdrawing. Then all chance of a victory would be lost, the great surprise attack would become a panic retreat, disaster.
"You have remembered!" the tutelary said, and there was a sound very much like joy in the normally dead voice.
"Little One, it worked?" Sorghaghtani cried.
"It worked!" He bent to take up his helmet and put it on his head, then he lifted her into the air as he straightened. He kissed her and set her down. "Thank you! Holiness, thank you, also. Excuse me. I must be about my business."
He vaulted over the railing into the sky.
By rights he should have bounced three or four times down the steepening curve of the redbrick dome and ended as a disgusting mess on the roof of the nave. He didn't. At about the time he ought to have made his third impact, his boots hit the flagstones of the piazza a couple of spans away from Smeòrach, who jerked his head up and rolled his eyes, but who was well used by now to his owner's peculiar abilities. Several early-bird passersby jumped and peered in alarm, unwilling to believe what they had seen. The genuine early birds, the sparrows and pigeons, were less gullible and exploded upward in a wild flapping.
The boy had removed the saddle and laid it on the ground so he could sleep on it, with the reins tied around his wrist. Smeòrach's hard tug wakened him; he sat up, bleary-eyed. "Oh, messer, I am sorry..."
"You did well!" Toby said, untying the knot. "I don't have time for the saddle. Keep it. It's yours. And this." He dropped a gold coin, which rang on the stone. It was one of the last of the bagful he had stolen from the Company coffers to use as expense money on his secret journeys.
He vaulted on to Smeòrach's back, and Chabi settled on his arm in another whirring of wings
. He tried to shake her off. "You think I'm going hawking? Be off! This is not safe for you!"
"Who is safe today?" she asked in Sorghaghtani's voice.
He had no time to argue with an owl. Hoping he could leave her behind, he kicked in his heels and sent Smeòrach bounding forward. The spectators saw the big spotted gelding take off across the piazza like an arrow, but after a very few strides horse, rider, and owl became smoky, transparent, then vanished altogether. The hoofbeats, some later asserted, could be heard for a few moments after that. Most of the good folk fled screaming into the sanctuary and were comforted by the spirit.
From Toby's viewpoint, and possibly Smeòrach's, they plunged into a faintly luminescent fog devoid of landmarks or scenery. Iron shoes rang on an endless shiny plain like a dark lake, and their reflection raced along below them.
"Hoo?" the owl screeched, digging talons into the padding on his arm. "Where is this?"
"Are you Chabi or Sorghaghtani?"
"Who? Do I look like Sorghaghtani? Do I sound like Chabi? What part of the spirit world is this?"
"No part, so far as I know. I call it the Unplace." He had settled on this as the least distracting dreamscape for his ghostly excursions—not properly demon rides, because Smeòrach was not demonized. Smeòrach was probably not necessary at all, but he was company, and his presence reassured the people Toby journeyed to meet in the real world. Better a demonized horse than a demonized commander.
He patted Smeòrach's neck. "Faster, lad, faster!" Their speed had nothing to do with him, of course, but the big oaf didn't understand Gaelic anyway. He seemed to enjoy the exercise on the endless flat surface.
"How can you stand it without a drum?" asked the owl-shaman. "How long must we stay?"
"I never know." Even the hob could not move him instantaneously. "I only hope I haven't left it too late."
Busily using claws and beak, she worked her way up his arm to his shoulder. "What went wrong, Little One?"
"I blundered. I think I was just too tired." He had ridden round to all the Allied camps the previous night, returning to Florence just before dawn to do a day's work before he went off to attend Lisa's wedding. As always he had closed off what he thought of as his hob memories, so that he would not need to tell lies to anyone, but in his haste and weariness he must have barred the door too well. He had failed to remember his other existence when he needed to.
Chabi turned her head around, scanning the Unplace. Sometimes she seemed to make complete revolutions with her neck, but that couldn't be right. "How long have you been coming here?"
"You are Sorghie, aren't you?"
"Who? Why don't you answer my question?"
"Who asks? Since just after Trent. In the middle of the battle, Nevil sent demons after me, and I fought them off. Not only demons, though—a couple of arrows seemed to veer away from me, and once I was charging straight at a cannon and their match went out when they tried to fire it. Later, when I had time to think, I decided I'd been using the hob's powers, but the hob hadn't gone on a rampage. Neither of us has gone insane since, so far as I can tell. The Fillan hob and I are pretty much one and the same now."
"Did you not tell us that you feared you would turn into a demon incarnate if that happened?" The familiar sounded annoyed, although Sorghie must have realized she was dealing with two separate Tobys, and the daytime version did not know the moonlight version existed.
"I do. It's my worst nightmare, but if this will help overthrow Nevil, I am willing to take the risk. I try not to use gramarye except when I must." He sighed. "Sometimes it just happens, like a blink happens if something comes too close to your eyes." Or like repelling Lucrezia's advances by dropping a statue across her path, or putting Hamish to sleep so he wouldn't notice the midnight comings and goings.
Smeòrach was flagging, and Toby resisted the urge to drive the big fellow faster. They would arrive when they arrived. Sometimes a jaunt from Florence to Fiesole took longer than a trek to Naples or Milan or Venice. The first time he had ventured on a nightmare ride like this had been his journey to Rome for the secret audience with Ricciardo Cardinal Marradi.
"In this horrible place, why are you laughing, Little One?"
"Who are you calling a Little One, chicken? I was remembering that fight I had with a squirrel in your spirit world, Sorghie dear. I just realized what memory you almost awoke."
* * *
His Eminence had stipulated that the meeting be held at Tivoli, in the hills east of the Eternal City, where he had a summer villa, but this was not summer, and Toby emerged from the Unplace into a chilly drizzle. He had not thought to bring a cloak. Obviously he had much to learn about his new abilities.
The Magnificent had given him directions beginning at the bridge, meaning he must first find the bridge in pitch-darkness without falling into the gorge. Just how he managed that he could not have explained, nor even how he followed the trail once he had located it, but eventually he rode up to the gates bearing the Marradi arms. He was well aware that he was mud-spattered and soaked, reeking of wet horse and wet man, and he towered four or five hands taller than the wizened old doorkeeper who answered his knock, but this ancient showed no sign of surprise or alarm at the mysterious night visitor. Having admitted him in complete silence and barred the door again, he took up his lantern and led the way through a building that seemed much more a mansion than a villa. The wan light flickered on marble and gilt, hinting at riches crouching in the shadows. By the time he was ushered into the great man's presence, Toby had almost stopped dripping a muddy trail for the servants to clean up.
The cardinal had obviously been napping over a book in a comfortable chair. He roused himself and strutted forward like a robin, offering his ring to be kissed, but holding it low enough to leave no doubt that Toby was expected to kneel first. So he knelt and was left shivering on his knees on a very cold marble floor while his host wandered back to stand in front of the hearth. The doorkeeper, having added a few more logs to the fire, had withdrawn, still silent, and no one had mentioned warm spiced wine. No one had said anything about hospitality for Smeòrach, either, but of course he was assumed to be demonized.
"State your case," the cardinal said. "You are wasting our time unless you have something new to say."
The noble acolyte was small, pudgy, and chinless in his grandiose red robes; and for his manners he deserved to be kicked very hard from Sicily to the Alps.
"I have defeated the Fiend in battle, Your Eminence. That is new. No other man can say as much."
The cardinal shrugged. "You bested one of his underlings, not Nevil himself. You did so by using gramarye, which decent men do not touch. Last week your arch-hexer died a deservedly horrible death in Siena, so now you come crawling to the... no?"
"With respect, Your Eminence, Baron Oreste remains in excellent health."
The little man scowled. "Carry on, then."
After that cool beginning, the audience waxed even frostier. His Eminence conceded that the College might possess a few immured demons that had not yet been destroyed, but not that it kept any great horde of them in the crypts of Rome. Even if some could be found and their names determined, the Holy Father was adamant that the College could never allow them to be used, nay not even to defend Italy from the Fiend. That would be a great evil.
Oreste believed that the College used its vast cache of confiscated demons to defend Rome itself. That, he had said, was why the cardinal had insisted on meeting Toby at Tivoli, because any attempt to ride a demonized horse closer to the city would be very quickly fatal. He also suspected that the present Holy Father was senile and the College was badly divided on the question of how far it could bend its principles in order to resist the Fiend.
"If the gramarye were to be strictly limited to defense?" Toby asked. His knees ached, and the cold of his wet tunic had soaked through to his bones.
The cardinal sniffed. "And what is defense, pray? A bowman shoots at you so you wipe out an entire army and cal
l it defense? I see no point in continuing this conversation."
"I am trying to save your native city from total destruction, Your Eminence."
"It sounds to me as if you are exposing it to totally unnecessary risk. I can't imagine why my brother would waste a moment contemplating the wild plot you suggest. The Holy Father would be incensed if he heard that I was even discussing the use of gramarye. It is an evil that has perverted many fine adepts into hexers and so damned them."
"With respect, Your Eminence, the baron believes that he can find volunteers to handle the demons according to his instructions. They would not be jeopardizing their souls with forbidden knowledge."
The cardinal considered that offer, pouting. It was the first time he had hesitated. Oreste thought the arrangement would appeal to the College because it could more easily deny involvement if it supplied only the immured demons and not the adepts to handle them.
"I doubt that that is possible."
"Maestro Fischart will be more than willing to attend Your Eminence to explain how he can arrange this."
Marradi shook his dewlaps in refusal. "I had as soon turn my villa into a public brothel as consort with anyone so notorious. The solution is of very doubtful morality. Granted that war requires taking risks, these volunteers of his, by their innocence and ignorance, would be placed in grave danger from the very demons they expected to control."
It seemed that nothing would work. The cause was hopeless, and Toby was becoming increasingly worried about Smeòrach, shivering outside in the rain. He had only one last desperate plea left in his bag.
"If the use of the demons were strictly limited, Your Eminence? The heart of my plan is that the Allies encircle Nevil without his knowing. With sufficient gramarye, their armies could be concealed from his view until the trap had been closed. If this is evil, surely it is no more evil than resisting his invasion by the use of cold steel or black powder?"
