by Den Patrick
‘Why were they up here?’ whispered Dino to the reptile. ‘And why at this late hour? Certainly there’s no food to steal.’
As ever, Achilles said nothing, onyx eyes inscrutable, a frown in the set of his scales.
‘Perhaps they’ve been sent to spy, just as we have?’
The climb down was harder than he remembered. The walls of Demesne offered few handholds, requiring exacting strength and precision at every move. Achilles detected the difficulty and scuttled free, descending on four legs, claws finding easy purchase. The ivy was hard, withering due to the drought; Dino didn’t trust it to bear his weight. Finally he arrived and settled down, resting his aching fingers, resisting the urge to spasm from the growing spike of cramp he felt in his calf. He kneaded the offending limb, stifling curses. The windowsill was just broad enough, squatting with his back to the glass, one ear pressed against it. He breathed. The drake clambered onto the sill beside him, curling up in his lap.
Golden light spilled from the windows and doorway of a taverna below his vantage point, the cittadini inside sharing wine and song. Figures hurried home along the curving streets of Santa Maria.
Dino found a gap in the curtains wide enough to gain a view of the room inside. Duke and Duchess Fontein’s sitting room.
Speranza stood near the door, upright and stiff. There was nothing of the smiling messenger Dino had seen earlier that day. A wariness lurked in her eyes, despite the impassive mask of her face, pale with tiredness. Dino adjusted his position on the windowsill until he could see the couch. Achilles clambered up onto his shoulder and pressed in close to the nape of his neck, a scarf of sepia scales.
Duchess Fontein sat fanning herself. The day’s end had done little to reduce the oppressive heat, and the duchess’s discomfort was evident. Her pinched and lined face betrayed the meagre affection she showed anyone. There was a sour cast to her painted lips, and few if any could remember her smile.
‘Where can he be at such an hour?’ she said irritably. ‘How long can it possibly take?’
A maid refilled her wine glass. Dino recognised her from the cemetery – Isabella Esposito, no relation to Massimo, the last name common among the cittadini.
‘Not long now, my lady,’ said Isabella in hushed tones. Speranza said nothing, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Dino shuffled his feet on the windowsill trying to get comfortable, but it was to little effect. The faint chime of bells could be heard from a distant part of Demesne. Dino didn’t bother counting; he knew all too well they ushered in the eleventh hour.
The wait was long and uncomfortable. Twice he cursed the architects; if the windowsills were just an inch wider … Three times he shifted his weight and regretted it, boots slipping at the edge. Achilles abandoned his shoulder, taking up refuge inside the messenger’s tabard.
Then Isabella approached the window. Dino felt a moment of icy panic as the maid gripped the handle. If the window opened in she’d need to pull back the curtain, revealing his place of concealment. If the window swung out he’d be swept off the ledge, falling to his death.
‘Don’t open that!’ said a gruff voice. The window remained closed and Dino pressed his eye back to the glass.
Duke Fontein stood in the doorway, dusty from the road, a frown fixed on his face. He smoothed his white beard and cleared his throat.
‘Well?’ pressed the duchess, wasting no time on greeting or reunion. She folded her fan, clutching it in one fist, knuckles turning white. She remained seated, spine straight like a spear shaft.
‘He said no.’ The duke turned to Speranza. ‘Leave us.’
The messenger did so, Isabella following, almost tripping over herself in her haste. The door made no sound as it closed behind them.
‘No?’ The duchess threw the fan at the duke, who batted it aside with a deft hand.
‘Keep your voice down!’
‘What right has he to deny us anything?’ she continued in a seething whisper. ‘After everything we did for him? All those long years.’
The duke removed his riding gloves and snorted. ‘Everything we did for him? How much wine have you had?’
‘He still holds a grudge?’ The duchess pressed one hand to her scrawny throat. ‘After all this time?’
‘He wanted to know why you were so keen to leave. He wasn’t taken in by my telling him you were ill. He all but called me a liar.’ The duke threw his gloves onto a side table, the frown on his face deepening.
‘Did you not tell him the dottore said I should have sea air?’
Dino grinned. Sea air could only mean House Marino. The duchess hoped to visit Lucien’s bustling town. A silence descended on the room, the quiet of desperation and despair.
‘I want away from here,’ sobbed the duchess finally. ‘I want no more part in this. It’s only a matter of time until things come to a head.’
‘And what use will going away be?’ thundered the duke, long past weariness or exasperation. ‘You’ll be implicated along with everyone else, and Lucien will hand you over. And he’ll do it smiling.’ The duke stalked to the sideboard, where a caraffa waited, and poured brandy into a glass. ‘It’s too late in the game to lose your appetite, my darling.’
Dino blinked.
Suddenly the long wait on the windowsill didn’t seem a wasted one.
The duchess rose from her seat and crossed the sitting room, her pinched face drained of blood. Her lips pulled back from her teeth. ‘How many more minor houses can we recruit for our cause? How many more can we expend before everyone loses their stomach for it? How many more sons of the nobili will be cut down just so we can hold on to what is rightfully ours?’
The duke pressed a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the woman who stood before him, pressing for answers.
They were a ghastly pair. Dino wondered if they’d ever loved each other. He doubted it. More likely they’d married for politics and gain rather than affection. Certainly no children had been born of this sour union. All they had was each other, their lands and their titles, and Anea’s dreams of republic were steadily eroding the latter.
‘Calm yourself,’ said the duke, attempting a soothing tone. ‘She’s still playing scientist with Virmyre. We’ve another two months. Perhaps I can purchase a small estate from House Contadino. We’ll hide you there.’
‘They’ll never agree to such a thing.’ She was all but shaking now. ‘Never.’
‘I’ll go through a minor house. They’ll make the purchase. You’ll move in secrecy with a small staff.’ He laid a hand gently on each of her shoulders. She didn’t return the embrace. ‘When Contadino falls we’ll get the money back. It’s perfect.’
‘And what then?’
‘And then you wait until Anea is dealt with.’
Dino nearly slipped from the windowsill. The town’s rooftops stared up at him, blank faces willing his fall. He swallowed in a dry throat. Suspecting treason was one thing, hearing it spoken aloud quite another.
‘You won’t be there long,’ continued the duke. ‘I doubt you’ll have to winter there. This business will be concluded soon enough.’
Sooner than you think, thought Dino.
14
Thorny Intentions
– 17 Luglio 325
‘I’m not concerned with what I already suspect, Lord Erudito; I worry about what I’m unaware of.’
The Domina stood in the shade of the Contadino rose garden, pale skin and scarlet robes complementing the blooms behind her. The silver staff occupied her left hand; her right was clenched in a fist. Dino flushed at the rebuke, dipped his chin. The margravio and marchesa exchanged a look, faces impassive, but Massimo made no attempt to hide his frown.
‘Isn’t the point that I heard them plotting with my own ears?’ replied Dino, the words coming to him slowly. ‘Before, we only guessed their intent, but now we have proof. Me. I’m a witness.’
It was early. The sun had yet to climb the walls of Demesne and flood its light into the garden. No
breeze stirred the roses but Dino felt a chill all the same. The statue of the old king stared after them, an eroded gaze from smashed features.
‘Merely knowing intent is not good enough,’ said the Domina. ‘I need details, I need co-conspirators.’ The Domina had recently taken to wearing a circular biretta. Dino supposed the headdress marked a new chapter in her office, but he couldn’t say it suited her. Nor the waspish, impatient delivery of her interactions.
Where is the Professore Russo of my childhood? he wondered. What tight-lipped imperious impostor is this?
‘If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.’ Russo sketched a half-bow to the Contadinos and began to turn.
‘Domina,’ it was the margravio, a note of displeasure in the word.
‘My lord?’
‘You failed to bow to Lord Erudito.’ The moment stretched between them. ‘I believe he outranks you.’ The margravio stared at her coolly. ‘Perhaps you forgot in your haste.’
The Domina regarded him, struggling to keep her features neutral, a tiny flare of the nostrils, a twitch of her brow. Her alabaster features turned red, almost matching her robes.
‘Forgive me, my lord.’ She turned to Dino. ‘It has been many hours since I slept. I meant no disrespect.’ She nodded curtly and went on her way, crisp footfalls loud in the early-morning quiet.
‘Strange,’ said the marchesa after a few moments, ‘That’s not the Russo I used to know.’
‘I was just thinking the same thing, my lady.’ Dino pulled at his lip.
‘She needs to be reminded that we’re allies in this,’ said the margravio, an icy command lingering on him.
‘I fear she suspects disloyalty and betrayal in every house,’ replied Dino.
‘But the Contadino have always supported Lady Diaspora’s rule,’ said Massimo. He cast an angry glance toward the doorway the Domina had departed through.
‘As the marchesa said,’ replied Dino, ‘the Domina is not herself of late.’
‘Or yourself, Lord Erudito.’ The margravio favoured the Orfano with a direct look.
‘My lord?’ Dino suspected he wouldn’t like what would come next.
‘First a superiore, then a bodyguard, now a spy. Can we still trust you?’
‘Emilio!’ said Marchesa Contadino, frowning. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Erudito. My husband forgets himself.’
Dino pressed a fist to his mouth and took a moment to think. ‘Can we dispense with the titles? I want to speak with you honestly, and this pomp is driving me to distraction.’
‘Dino,’ said the margravio, ‘I apologise. I have no right to doubt you.’
The Orfano shook his head. ‘I am a spy, and I hate it, but given the gravity of recent times I have no choice. My focus is on House Prospero and Fontein, as you can imagine. House Contadino has nothing to fear from me.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’ asked Massimo, earning himself a stern look from the margravio.
‘No. The Domina has placed this task before me. I can’t involve you.’
‘We’re very fond of you, Dino. You know that.’ Medea smiled at him and sighed. ‘We were never very good at making Lucien feel welcome, but we’d never betray Anea, or yourself.’
‘I know, but it’s a comfort to hear it.’
‘I have matters that require my attention,’ said the margravio. ‘Send messages to let us know you’re well, Dino.’
‘My lord,’ Dino almost whispered, ‘there was something else – the reason I asked you here.’ The Orfano looked around the garden. Six men struggled under the weight of a great burden wrapped in canvas on the far side.
‘Please, go on,’ said Marchesa Contadino.
Dino recounted Duke Fontein’s scheme to buy a small estate through an intermediary.
‘And he means to hide his wife in this purchase?’ The marchesa had drawn closer, words hushed, fan beating a steady rhythm.
‘Yes. The duchess is frantic to put distance between herself and the events that will unfold here.’
‘She doesn’t believe they’ll succeed,’ said Massimo.
‘No, she doesn’t.’ Dino looked to the margravio. ‘Do not sell any of your estates or villas, my lord, no matter how tempting the price or how trustworthy the buyer.’
Massimo caught Dino’s eye. There was a hint of admiration in the swordsman’s gaze, a tiny glimmer of cheer on a gloomy day.
‘You’ve done me a great service with this information, Dino. I owe you a debt of gratitude,’ said the margravio.
‘We should investigate this,’ added the marchesa, taking her husband’s arm gently. ‘Farewell, Dino.’
Massimo stepped toward him, clapping one arm about his shoulder.
‘Seems you’re just as good at spying as you are at being a bodyguard.’
‘That’s well and good but I’m a maestro di spada, you know?’
‘I’d completely forgotten.’ Massimo grinned, then cast his gaze at the men, who had now got the bulky canvas-shrouded object to the centre of the garden. There was some colourful language on display as tempers rose with the heat.
‘What’s going on there?’ said Dino.
‘They’re replacing the statue of the old king with a new one.’
The porters were struggling to remove the king, grunting with the effort.
‘It’s that ridiculous saint, isn’t it?’
‘Santa Maria. And keep your voice down. Marchesa Contadino herself is quite taken with the new religion.’
‘I thought she at least might have some brains.’
‘She does. Take care, Dino. Try not to become too cynical, lest you end up like Russo. All duty and no sense of humour.’
Dino flicked his fingertips from beneath his chin but couldn’t stop the smile overtaking his face.
‘Into the mouth of the wolf.’ Massimo sketched out a mocking salute.
‘And knock his teeth out, every one,’ replied Dino, giving a salute of his own.
He’d meant to have a night to himself. Due in part to tiredness, but also a response to his treatment by the Domina that morning. The ungrateful carogna could uncover Demesne’s miserable secrets alone. But the evening meal at House Erudito was always a long and cheerful affair, the many academics remaining afterwards to gossip and argue. Good company was much needed after a day of study or teaching. They crowed and cackled like dark birds, their robes making them raven-winged. Dino joined them, entering into conversations with old acquaintances, drinking rather more than he should. Through it all was the nagging memory of the Domina’s words: I’m not concerned with what I already suspect, Lord Erudito; I worry about what I am unaware of.
‘And how fares the most famous prodigy of House Erudito?’ asked Cherubini, settling down on the bench beside the Orfano. Dino smiled in return.
‘Some prodigy of House Erudito I am. Shouldn’t I be the scourge of the sciences, rather than a maestro di spada?’
‘Well.’ Cherubini shrugged his large shoulders. ‘House Erudito is not short of scholars. It never hurts to diversify, especially with talent.’ He gestured to the hall, where the professori discussed various subjects, alchemical to metaphysical. ‘And you are maestro superiore di spada. Impressive at any age, more so given your youth.’
‘Yes, for all the lessons I teach.’ Dino rolled his eyes. ‘Ruggeri treats me like a stranger; D’arzenta can barely stand the sight of me. Hard to believe I learned from them. Those days are long gone.’ Dino swirled the wine in his glass.
‘Hard indeed. You’ve grown so much.’ Cherubini grinned with obvious pride. ‘I barely slept a wink when you left for the Verde Guerra. I barely had a full night’s sleep the whole time you were away.’
Cherubini’s gaze flicked to the side of the room, where a single Fontein guard stood by the door, a formality rather than any serious security.
‘Well, I returned.’ Dino sipped from the glass. ‘How are you sleeping these days?’
Cherubini stared at him with a quizzical look, and a blush crept across
his broad face, although whether it was from wine or heat Dino couldn’t tell.
‘Aren’t all these frictions with the other houses keeping you up at night? I’m finding it difficult to enjoy any rest.’
‘Ah, I see,’ replied Cherubini looking relieved. Dino was confused by the maestro’s discomfort. ‘Well, you know me. I’m not happy unless I’m worrying at some problem or other.’ The large man grinned. ‘That’s why I’m so proud of you – you never give me any headaches. You’ve always looked after yourself.’
‘Except for the Verde Guerra,’ Dino reminded him.
‘That was war, Dino. Any parent would be concerned.’
And then Cherubini really did blush. Dino drank from his glass again, simply to spare the maestro his moment of embarrassment.
‘I think of everyone in House Erudito as my children, is what I meant to say.’
‘But that’s not strictly true, is it?’ Dino caught Cherubini’s eye.
‘No. You’re right, I don’t. I’ve often wondered at the joys having would children bring.’ The maestro’s eyes were pensive. ‘But I never married, and old age is harder to bear when you can’t lavish attention on the young. Perhaps that’s why I’m so fond of you. All these years watching you grow.’
‘You could still marry; you’re not so very ancient.’ Dino smiled and sipped his wine.
‘I’m not sure I could. Ah, look at me being all maudlin. I think I shall order some coffee to lift my spirits. Keep safe, young prodigy.’
‘Good night, Cherubini,’ said Dino, standing up. ‘Sleep well.’ He patted the maestro on the shoulder and took his leave.
Dino emerged from the great hall of House Erudito, jacket unbuttoned, boot buckles loosened, shirt stained with spots of wine. He’d removed his scabbard, carrying it like a walking stick. It put him in mind of the sword cane Lucien had given him, along with the order to protect Anea. He’d been doing just that ever since. The sword cane’s location eluded him, some cupboard of half-remembered things, no doubt.
A shadow fell across him, startling him from introspection. ‘Porca miseria. You scared the life out of me.’ He released the hilt of the blade, felt the surge of adrenaline.
