by Den Patrick
‘Perhaps if you were a little less hasty.’
Dino took a step back and closed the door. ‘Hasty?’
‘I’m merely saying—’
‘Key.’ He held out a hand. ‘Key, Russo. No one gets in here except me.’
‘I am the Domina!’
‘You’ll forgive me for being sensitive on the subject in the light of what’s happened.’ He crossed to a sideboard and poured wine, not offering the woman in crimson a glass. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I need you, Dino, and I need your secrecy.’
‘Too bad. I teach novices the sword now. I’m not interested in spying.’
‘I can’t protect Anea without spies.’
‘We have dozens.’
‘Not like you.’
‘I don’t care. I teach the sword.’
‘Dino, I need to protect Anea; I need to protect her rule.’
The Orfano glowered at the woman, took a gulp of wine and held out his hand. ‘Give me the key and I’ll consider it.’
12
No Honour
– 16 Luglio 325
‘You look dreadful, Lord Erudito. You’re not becoming a revenant, are you?’ Massimo smiled and for a moment Dino could forget his troubles, amused at the mock formality. They were sitting on a stone bench in the House Contadino rose gardens, one of several enclosed courtyards in Demesne. Gleaming windows looked out from under pointed arches on all four sides, each a looking glass to some part of House Contadino itself: kitchens, bedrooms, sitting rooms, offices.
‘I said you’re starting to look like a revenant,’ pressed Massimo.
‘I’m beginning to feel like one.’
‘Perhaps you should stop lurking in the cemetery trying to avenge the dead.’ Massimo smiled again but it was a forced thing, like the joke, undermined by the concern that ghosted across his blue eyes. Dino’s mind strayed to the argument between Duke Fontein and Margravio Contadino in the Ravenscourt before the adjournment.
Contadino wielded the least power of the great houses. It lacked the commerce of House Prospero or the prestige of Erudito. House Fontein boasted a small army, whereas Contadino could only count cooks, maids, porters and messengers among its ranks, although Dino would have taken any of them over the guards of Fontein, trusted all of them with Anea’s life if put to the question.
‘This is probably my favourite place in all of Landfall,’ said Dino, his gaze far away, tone distracted.
‘Mine too,’ agreed Massimo. ‘Sometimes I think it’s the only place I can get any peace.’
‘I think I’m going to buy an estate,’ said Dino. ‘I’ll have a gardener put a rose garden in, just like this one. I’ll pay the people who work my fields a good wage and retire quietly.’
‘How old are you?’ said Massimo with a raised eyebrow.
‘Don’t spoil this; it’s a perfectly good pipe dream.’
‘We have a few decades before we see any rest.’
‘I said, “Don’t spoil this,”’ said Dino shaking his head.
In the centre of the garden, reached by white gravel paths, was a stone dais. Numerals had been etched upon it corresponding to the hours of the day. A statue of a robed man stood at its centre, his shadow dictating the passage of time. His poise was proud, his bearing regal, but the statue had been defaced – nose smashed, cheeks shattered, hands broken off at the wrists. Once a monument to the king’s ego and vanity, it was now testament to the hatred people felt for his memory. The marchesa knelt in a flower bed singing to herself happily. She had spent the last hour watering the plants and was deadheading roses of blood red and delicate white.
‘If only it were so easy to remove the conspirators,’ said Dino. Massimo followed his gaze. ‘How is Medea doing?’
Massimo shrugged. ‘She’s adjusting to the adjournment – I think all the houses are. There are plenty of meetings with representatives. No one …’ The swordsman paused. ‘Almost no one wants to suggest talks. The thinking is that such a suggestion shows weakness.’
‘No one except Medea, you mean,’ said Dino.
Massimo nodded and looked toward the marchesa with an expression somewhere between admiration and sadness, or perhaps it was just the way the shadow caught his face. Dino struggled to take his eyes from the man by his side, then turned away, suddenly self-conscious.
Marchesa Medea Contadino was well liked throughout Demesne. Twelve years younger than her husband, she possessed a delicate, diplomatic touch absent in the man she loved. Maestro Cherubini had already passed through the rose garden that afternoon, entering into a hushed yet intense discussion with the diminutive noblewoman. He’d gone off looking worried, not noticing Dino and Massimo in the shadowed corner of the gardens. Nardo had made a brief appearance, delivering messages from distant parts of the castle.
‘I’ve barely seen you the last three weeks. What’s Lady Diaspora had you doing?’
‘It’s not Anea, it’s the Domina.’ Dino sighed and sat forward, resting elbows on knees, lacing his fingers. ‘I’ve not seen Anea since the adjournment. You know how absorbed she gets with those infernal machines. She’s in the laboratory morning, noon and night.’
Massimo said nothing. Dino plucked at his lip before continuing.
‘The Domina sees plots everywhere. She’s running herself ragged chasing phantoms and rumours.’
‘And it’s not just herself she’s running ragged,’ responded the swordsman.
‘The stewardship of Landfall doesn’t suit her; managing a pack of seething nobili suits her less. I barely recognise her any more. It’s as if some poison has changed her, or she’s under a spell.’
‘Is there another conspiracy?’ Massimo looked as grave as Dino had ever seen him. ‘Is Anea in danger?’
‘No.’ Dino shrugged. ‘Not that we know of. That’s my job now. The Domina’s eavesdropper. I used to spend my nights in Anea’s sitting room, waiting for the scrape of blade on scabbard, willing the fuckers to come and fight face to face. Now I don’t even have that.’
‘What is it Russo has you doing exactly?’
‘I lurk in dark corners and on windowsills; I dress as kitchen porters and messengers. I listen and I watch. It’s like a game.’ He sat back and blew out a breath, crossing one ankle over his knee, casting his gaze over the sea of red and white blooms. Marchesa Contadino’s head bobbed gently as she worked, as if she were swimming among the flowers, not tending to them. Dino hoped she wouldn’t drown. ‘There’s no honour to it, Mass. Sneaking around at night, hoping to catch someone out, see something people would rather I hadn’t, hear things I shouldn’t.’
‘Sounds like it could be fun,’ offered Massimo hopefully. ‘There’s plenty of men who would give a week’s wage for the sight of Stephania in her small clothes.’
Dino stared at him, a frown starting to form.
‘Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.’ Massimo looked away to hide his embarrassment.
‘It’s just …’ Dino almost growled with frustration. ‘It’s no way for a man to live. And I lack the patience for it. If people oppose Anea they should come. I’ll champion her and I’ll cut them all down. Every last crooked one.’
‘Doesn’t sound too much like this democracy Anea’s trying to win everyone over to.’ A playful smile etched itself onto Massimo’s fine lips and Dino found himself caught up in it. They shook their heads with the ridiculousness of it all, settling into a restful silence, but Dino’s unhappiness soon returned.
‘You know that the margravio and marchesa would stand by you if you were in any sort of trouble,’ said Massimo.
‘I’ve never doubted them.’ Or you, thought Dino. You might even fight alongside me, perhaps give your life for me. Dino stared into his companion’s eyes and had his thoughts confirmed. The sun shone with fierce intensity; the pool of shadow they occupied shifted and shrank.
‘I’d give a king’s ransom for a single day of rain,’ said Dino, plucking at his lip again.
‘I’d gi
ve a king’s ransom for a single day of peace,’ countered Massimo. ‘Just one day where I didn’t have to wake up thinking, Will this be the day I die protecting them? Will this be the day they die because I fail?’
‘That’s quite a debt we’re running up.’
‘True enough. But worth it.’
‘I need that money for my estate,’ complained Dino.
‘The fictitious one with the rose garden?’
‘Exactly.’
A messenger from House Fontein entered the garden, and Massimo was on his feet, striding toward Marchesa Contadino in the space of a heartbeat. Dino trailed after him. The messenger was a woman called Speranza, an oddity in the castle, dressed like man in a man’s britches, doing a man’s job. She bowed to Marchesa Contadino, nodding to Massimo and favouring Dino with a broad smile.
‘Good morning, my lady, my lords.’
The messenger produced a note for the marchesa and went on her way. Massimo didn’t take his eyes off her until she disappeared through a doorway.
‘So much for my time among the flowers,’ said the marchesa wistfully after reading the note. She stood and looked to the men. ‘Sorry to break up your conversation, Dino. I’ll need Massimo close by for the next few hours.’
‘Is there anything untoward, my lady?’ said Dino.
‘Duke Fontein hasn’t been seen for four weeks. It’s making my husband suspicious. You can hardly blame him.’
‘But wasn’t the note delivered by a House Fontein messenger?’ asked Dino.
‘Speranza? Well, I suppose she is one of theirs. But you can trust her. The note was still sealed when it arrived.’
‘I understand, my lady,’ replied Dino, stepping forward and kissing her hand, ignoring the muddied fingertips and the faint smell of earth.
Massimo nodded to him, expression grave. ‘Try and get some sleep,’ was all he said before turning to escort Marchesa Contadino from the garden, chest out, shoulders back, hand resting on the pommel of his blade. It would be a foolish assassin that attempted the life of Medea Contadino.
Dino stood before the statue of the old king and noted the fractured cheeks, the missing nose. He wondered how much it would cost to commission a statue of Anea. He was lost in his thoughts until the crunch-crunch of gravel announced he was no longer alone. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his suspicions.
‘You’re a difficult man to find.’
‘I would have thought that was a good quality in a spy.’
The Domina forced a smile. ‘You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this, but you’re one of the few people I know who is absolutely loyal to Anea.’
‘As you keep telling me, but all I’ve discovered so far is a number of affairs that were widely rumoured and a pregnant maid in House Erudito. You could have confirmed the same facts by paying a few known gossips.’
‘Tonight may change that.’
Dino curled his lip in distaste and clenched his jaw. ‘What is it I have to do this time?’
‘Duke Fontein—’
‘Has been missing for a number of weeks.’
‘We knew that already.’ The Domina flushed with annoyance. ‘I’ve just had a message from a source who expects him to return to Demesne. Tonight. I need you to find out why he’s been away and what he plans to do next.’
‘At least he’s not one of the most heavily guarded men in Landfall.’
‘Spare me the sarcasm, Dino. This is important.’
‘It will be significantly more important when I’m caught spying on Duke Fontein.’
‘So don’t get caught.’
‘Have you considered inviting him to dinner and asking him?’
‘He’ll sign a full confession before dessert, will he?’
Dino shrugged. ‘Depends on the dessert.’
The Domina turned on her heel and hurried away, no doubt keen to be free of the sun.
‘I think I preferred it when you were still alive,’ said Dino to the shattered statue of the king. ‘Subterfuge seemed more honest back then.’
The rest of the day passed in a languid malaise, the humidity unbearable to all except Achilles. The drake trotted around Dino’s sitting room, hunting down crickets released to keep the reptile entertained rather than fed. The sun began its inexorable descent, staining the eggshell sky vermilion as it waned. The citizens of Demesne clustered about the kitchens and great halls to take their evening meal. Dino waited in his room, having no wish to join the many professori, assistants and scholars of House Erudito, and took his food alone, waiting for the dark blanket of night to smother the land. He dozed fitfully, scabbard across his thighs, shirt untucked, boots unbuckled. Achilles kept watch with a restless onyx eye.
In time darkness came, and the Orfano slipped away in dark clothes, his destination House Fontein, his objective its many secrets.
13
Over Rooftops
– 16 Luglio 325
Dino set out from his room attired in scarlet and black. A three-cornered hat perched on his head, the peak pulled low. Achilles was stubborn, refusing to give up his perch on Dino’s shoulder.
‘Fine, you can come with me, but if the fighting starts you’re on your own.’
The drake yawned and gripped onto his shoulder more tightly. Dino had taken rooms up on the sixth floor after he’d become Anea’s bodyguard.
The Orfano slunk along corridors on the lower floors, where he would be mistaken for a messenger. He’d made his skin darker with a touch of make-up, and the fake beard would prevent immediate identification.
‘If only it didn’t itch so much,’ he whispered. Achilles stared off into the distance. ‘You’re not exactly helping my disguise.’
Dino had become familiar with the layout of the great houses during three weeks of spying for the Domina. He’d memorised their trackless corridors, the endless maze of corners and curves. There were locked doors with missing keys, secret ways that led nowhere, tumbledown dead ends and loose flagstones. Each floor of the castle was subtly different, just as each house was distinct in its architecture and lighting.
The seventh floor was largely abandoned, a secret kingdom of dust rented only by decay and atrophy, House Prospero the exception, colonised by Stephania’s rooms. Moths feasted on drapes and curtains that had cost riches in their day, while paintings bleached with the passing of each sun. The seventh floor was all but a myth to most who lived below it, a place given over to time long passed. Here and there maids and pages slept entwined, the heat of their passion cooling on their skin. This was forbidden but a reprieve from the overcrowding of the servants’ quarters on the floor below. Cooks, cleaners, porters and messengers slept four to a room. Tailors, scribes, and chefs enjoyed less crowded quarters. The fifth floor was given over to minor houses and the few cittadini who’d won status or celebrity. The corridors between these apartments were not always empty.
‘As much business is conducted between the sheets as it is in the offices on the floor below,’ explained Dino to the drake. Achilles yawned again. ‘I was just making conversation, you know?’
The third floor of each great house consisted of the apartments of the ruling families guarded by loyalists and ex-soldiers. The second floor contained great halls, offices and meeting rooms. In House Erudito this was a maze of classrooms, while in House Prospero it was workshops. At night the second floor was abandoned by all but a few brave mice and the occasional cataphract drake. The first floor was home to the kitchens of the great houses, rarely quiet even at night. When they were not staffed by cooks and porters they were patrolled by guards.
‘Only House Fontein is different,’ whispered Dino. ‘I can’t get a feel for it. It’s as if it was built to defy memory.’
House Fontein possessed training chambers and storerooms, armouries and forges seemingly at random. Dino was least confident in the corridors of the martial house. Even a messenger in the attire of that house would provoke difficult questions from the guards. ‘But there are other ways to move betwe
en the houses.’
Achilles hissed as Dino pressed his back to the cool stone of an arch leading to another staircase. He listened a few moments before ascending. An iron key and a shove from his shoulder opened a long-forgotten door. Wood grated on flagstones, disturbing deep dust, gathered like drifts of snow. The rooftops were a landscape of slanting horizontals and crumbling walkways. Countless pantiles, fired in kilns across Landfall, lay in orderly rows. Stars looked down with wavering silver light, one among them blinking amethyst with a baleful intensity. Only the slim crescent of the moon, spared the impediment of clouds, banished absolute darkness. Rusted weathervanes emerged from spires, threatening to snag his messenger’s tabard. He wondered after the ravens that had lived here during Lucien’s time, long gone these nine years – yet another shift in Demesne’s character. The journey across the rooftops was a treacherous affair. He worked at the route, mindful and without haste. He had become more acquainted with the terrain over the last weeks.
‘I may as well just live up here,’ he complained. ‘Sneaking about like thief or a—’
His foot slipped, eliciting a grunt. Achilles hissed. Something moved in the darkness ahead. Dino crouched on instinct, removing his tricorn with one hand and pressing his shoulder to a chimney. A few seconds passed. Dino dared not breathe. Achilles curled his tail about the Orfano tightly, snout pressed against Dino’s cheek.
The sound of voices. Dino struggled to decipher the words, which were clipped and gruff in a dialect he’d not heard before. The speakers edged into view. Five men in grey rags, each bearing a knife or cleaver or club. Dino knew that these were not seasoned fighters, but five to one were odds sought by the very brave or the very foolish. He clutched his hat a little tighter and covered the crosspiece of his sword lest it shine in the moonlight, then pressed his face to the corner and risked a look at the men in grey. Their path lead them away. Dino knew with certainty he’d be killed should the men detect him. Hot prickles of sweat broke out across his brow and under his arms. The voices faded in the distance, the night silent once more.
