by Den Patrick
Dino needed no further invitation. He rushed along the corridor, willing his boots to silence as he closed the distance. The Myrmidon, vision much reduced by his helm, failed to see his attacker. There was a muffled thump as bodies impacted. Dino’s arm circled the larger Myrmidon’s neck, even as the tip of the knife slid over deep brown armour, failing to find a gap. The Myrmidon wore a gorget to protect his throat. The tray fell to the floor with a dull clatter. Food spilled wetly. Another thrust. A strangled grunt of shock from the Myrmidon. The sound of steel scoring metal armour.
Dino growled bitter curses. The Myrmidons were armoured front and back. The expense must have been prohibitive. How had the Domina managed it?
An elbow slammed into Dino’s sternum, staggering him. He gasped for breath that would not come, switching the dagger to his left hand even as he gagged. The Myrmidon collected himself, drawing his sword and lashing out, adrenaline speeding the blade. Dino caught the swipe on the flat edge of the dagger, feeling it bend. His own sword came free of its scabbard with practised ease, slashing for thighs less protected than the Myrmidon’s torso. Blood welled from a deep cut. An intake of shocked breath from his opponent. Dino tensed, then mashed the pommel of his sword into the jaw of the helm, hoping it would connect with his opponent’s mouth. The Myrmidon did not call out, if he was able to. What strangeness lay beneath the armour? Did he sport tines along his forearms? Did he weep bloody tears? Could he climb preternaturally? Were they not both descendants of the king? Myrmidon, Orfano, creatures essentially the same, divided by accident of birth. Might it have been Dino who wore the armour had the skeins of fortune spooled differently? This single moment of compassion slowed Dino’s blade; the Myrmidon responded, undeterred by such thoughts.
The blow caught Dino across the brow. Seconds of crawling panic followed until he realised he’d been punched, not slashed. He reeled all the same, body slamming into the wall behind, stone glancing off the back of his skull. He parried the following strike largely on instinct, thrusting his dagger into the Myrmidon’s unwounded leg. Another grunt. Dino dropped his sword and seized his opponent’s helm, slamming it into the wall. Desperate flailing moments, resistance from the wounded Myrmidon, a rising swell of hate as Dino recalled Massimo fleeing through the woodland. He kept slamming the Myrmidon’s head against the wall, lost in the mindless jerk and thrust of it. How many times had they struck Massimo as he sought to escape? And then he was standing over the inert body of the Myrmidon, the acid taste of regret in his throat.
‘I think he’s quite dead now. You can get me out!’ Virmyre’s voice was a harsh and desperate whisper. Dino knelt beside the body, relieved to find a leather cord, a brass key glinting dully in the lantern light. ‘Quickly now!’ Virmyre’s eyes were fixed on the short corridor leading to the staircase. Dino unlocked the cell door and took up the Myrmidon’s lantern, staring at the fallen man, unsure if he was dead or simply unconscious.
‘There’ll be another at the main doors. Two more are patrolling outside. I’m not sure I can overcome them with so much armour.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘I climbed.’
Virmyre nodded. ‘I should have known. You Orfani never use a door when there’s a rooftop nearby.’
‘Come on. We’ll find a rope. I’ll get you back to the Contadinos.’
‘No, you won’t.’ Virmyre laid one hand on Dino’s shoulder. ‘Go back the way you came. I’ll remain here. There are things I need to do.’
‘With the machines.’ Not a question.
‘Yes.’ Virmyre was unable to meet his eyes. ‘I’d prefer it if the Domina didn’t help herself to all of my hard work, much less this Erebus you speak of. There are other things here besides tinctura.’
‘And you’ll not be persuaded?’
‘I appear to have become predictable in my old age.’
‘Let me help you; let me wait for you at least.’
‘Best you get back to Medea and Nardo. And Stephania. It’s my fault this tinctura has been used. Perhaps I can prevent other evils ruining Demesne.’ Virmyre took up the Myrmidon’s sword in the lantern light. ‘I’ll keep this, if you don’t mind.’
‘Take it. More of them will be along soon.’ Dino sighed. ‘How will you escape?’
‘I’m a scientist: I’ll think of something. Go now, before more of them come. Watch for me at House Contadino. I’ll be with you by dawn.’
The Orfano turned away, leaving Virmyre with scarcely more freedom than when he’d entered. He couldn’t help feeling they were both prisoners, chained by the brooding influence of Erebus.
46
Vengeance Stirs
– 29 Agosto 325
Dino woke with the dawn, if indeed he had slept at all. Virmyre’s wish to remain in the sanatorio had haunted him through the night. That the tinctura could reverse the ravages of time was equal parts unnatural and unholy. Still, he’d take a subtly changed Virmyre over no Virmyre at all.
Achilles pulled himself up onto the bed and glowered from beneath a scaly brow.
‘I hope he manages to escape,’ muttered the Orfano. ‘We could use the help at House Contadino.’
Dino watched the pale disc of the sun ascend into Landfall’s faded skies. He rarely drew the curtains these days, better to see assassins who might perch on window ledges. The Orfano rose with reluctance, cold water from the basin sluicing away the dregs of his languor. He dressed quickly and without care, more concerned for the weapons he carried than any sartorial finesse. Clothes were the tools of the court; he had only a need for steel. A scrape and click from the sitting room set his pulse to a staccato, a dagger fetched itself to his palm before he’d drawn breath.
‘My lord?’ A familiar voice, kind and calm.
‘Fiorenza?’ He passed through the doorway to the sitting room. ‘I’d assumed you’d stop calling in.’
‘No, my lord. The Domina has no need of me any more.’ She bowed her head. ‘I came to see if you still require my services.’
‘Yes, of course. Are you well?’
‘As anyone can be, my lord. Strange times – there’s much that’s difficult to make sense of.’
Achilles scuttled out from under the couch, and the woman knelt down. ‘And how are you, young man?’
The drake yawned, hesitated, then clambered up into the maid’s lap.
‘He likes you.’ Dino smiled. ‘We both do. I’d be delighted if you stayed on as my chambermaid. Perhaps in time we can talk about finding you a position within House Erudito that makes full use of your talents.’
Fiorenza looked from the drake to the Orfano and released a contented sigh.
‘But not right now; there’s too much in Demesne that needs resolving.’
‘I understand. I’ve heard … things.’ She forced a smile then turned her attention to the drake.
‘What? What have you heard?’ He should have been blushing as he said it but felt only anger. He wanted to know the full depth and range of the gossip. If Virmyre was unholy for meddling with tinctura, then wasn’t he just as unholy for desiring to lie with men? Not men, he realised. Only Massimo.
‘I heard about what happened in the rose garden.’ She looked down, lacing her fingers in front of her. ‘I’m sorry. He was a good man.’
‘I suppose Demesne is rife with rumours about me.’
‘Perhaps, but you’ve always been good to me. It’s no business of mine who you’ve feelings for.’ She cocked her head to one side; an impish smile appeared. ‘Another lord may have tried to be overfamiliar with me. That’s one worry I’ll never have with you.’
Dino smiled at the simplicity of it. Hadn’t Duke Fontein sired Giolla on just such a maid, and one in the employ of his own house?
‘And are you well, my lord?’
‘I think we’re well past titles now, Fiorenza, don’t you?’
‘Dino –’ she stepped closer ‘– you’ve endured a lot. Is there anything I can do?’
‘Bring Massimo back.�
�� He shrugged, voice cracking as he mouthed the words, struggling to smile through the pain.
‘I hear there are stiff penalties for necromancy in these parts.’ She returned his fractured smile with a gentle one of her own. ‘And I promised Mother I’d only practise hearth magic.’
‘It’s probably for the best.’ He grinned. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed such nonsense. ‘I always preferred hearth magic.’
‘What will you do today?’
‘Try and keep those dearest to me from harm, much the same as any other day.’
‘Well you’d best get to it then,’ she said, gesturing to the door. ‘And you’d best take Master Achilles here. I want to sweep and clean.’
The Orfano took his drake, settling the reptile on one shoulder.
‘Thank you, Fiorenza.’
‘Take care, Dino.’
Down spiral staircases lush with silence, past stilled clocks, pendulums inert. Demesne had run out of time, or perhaps was outside time. The days were blurred and indistinct with oppression, nights sullen with anxiety. Events occurred with ever-increasing frequency and intensity, uncaring of polite schedules or long-held routines.
Tempo. Velocita. Misura.
The sconces of House Erudito were miniature cataphract drakes cast in bronze. Now they grasped only darkness, claws empty of candles, the floor beneath spattered with spent wax. Dino wondered at this as he emerged onto the rooftops to take the air. Erebus had truly ushered in a new dark age. It was only when Dino had the roof’s terracotta pantiles underfoot that he felt anything approaching calm, glad of the sun’s bright rays overhead. Nardo sat on a ridge of the rooftop landscape, already smoking.
‘Hell of a thing,’ said Dino.
A plume of blue smoke jetted from Nardo’s half-cocked smile. ‘It’s the small rituals that keep us human. Huh.’ He took another drag on the pipe.
‘Has anyone presented themselves at House Contadino this morning?’
A shake of the head. ‘Not when I left. Expecting someone?’
Dino nodded. He hoped leaving Virmyre in the sanatorio wouldn’t be the cause of a new regret. He already possessed a score of those and they were all too heavy a burden.
‘Maybe this one’s for you,’ said Nardo, pointing the stem of his pipe at the eastern road. A single rider approached, horse galloping.
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Dino. ‘I was hoping for Virmyre, and last I saw he was on foot.’ The messenger and the Orfano stared at the lone rider. ‘Do you know who it is?’
Nardo shook his head and squinted from under the flat of his hand. ‘Purple and black.’
‘House Prospero then.’ Dino’s lip curled. ‘I wonder what schemes the duchess is hatching. She must be desperate now Guido’s abandoned her.’
‘Desperate doesn’t begin to cover it,’ growled Nardo. ‘I’ll see that puttana dead for her part in Emilio’s assassination.’
The rider approached the outskirts of Santa Maria, which had roused itself, irascible in the heat. Some few townsfolk went about their tasks, wary and with haste. A column of House Fontein guards marched through the town, insects in scarlet and black. All carried pole-arms and bore sling bags. Two wagons followed at the rear, a cluster of women keeping pace with the mules.
‘What are they up to?’ said Dino, nodding toward the soldiers.
‘Leaving, I reckon. Huh.’
Dino turned to the messenger, incredulous.
‘The Domina ordered the House Fontein guards to become part of the Myrmidons last night,’ said Nardo. ‘They refused. D’arzenta resigned with twenty men.’
‘And those?’ Dino pointed at the troops passing through the subdued streets of Santa Maria.
‘The remaining few soldiers with balls enough to walk out of here. They might even be led by Ruggeri. Difficult to see.’
‘Where will they go?’
‘Who can say?’ The messenger shrugged.
Dino stared down at the winding streets of the town as if they might offer him some way out of the maelstrom of intrigue and discord. All he saw was a long fall to a quick death. There was a glimmer of appeal to it.
‘Let’s get down there.’ Nardo tucked his pipe away.
‘Virmyre may yet turn up,’ whispered Dino. ‘And Salvaza Prospero might yet see retribution.’
Nardo fixed Dino with a hard look. ‘Huh. Stranger things have happened in this old pile of stones. I’ve not lost faith in them yet.’
The messenger and the Orfano were met by Maria, who oversaw the children and the morning repast. Medea was still abed. She had yet to rise before noon since Emilio’s death. Maria and Nardo had slipped into the shoes of parenthood with ease. Luc and Isabella were sullen but well behaved, accepting their new guardians with stoicism.
‘You really should eat something, Dino,’ said Maria as the men sat at the table. ‘You’re like a bag of bones.’ He obeyed, but neither his heart nor his stomach was in it.
‘Has Virmyre surfaced this morning?’
‘I’ve not seen him,’ replied Maria. ‘He’s probably tinkering with those awful machines.’
‘He said he’d be here. Said he was done with them.’
‘Is that so?’ Maria frowned. ‘You saw him?’
‘Last night. They had him locked up in the sanatorio.’
‘It was only a matter of time before they used that place for its old purpose.’ Maria’s face was pinched with anger. Dino couldn’t blame her. The whole building was an affront to the women of Landfall. Nardo remained close-mouthed, turning a spoon over and over between his calloused fingers.
The children left the table, keen to be free of the messenger’s silence. The Orfano’s brooding didn’t help.
‘We could try and gain entry,’ said Nardo as Dino regarded the dregs at the bottom of his mug.
‘To the sanatorio?’
‘Where else.’ His fingers continued to worry at the spoon. ‘We should at least try and rescue him.’
‘Virmyre will have been found.’ Dino sighed. ‘I killed a guard. Other Myrmidons would have looked for him, would have discovered Virmyre’s cell empty. After that it would be mere hours until they captured him.’
‘What business did he have that was so important he couldn’t leave with you?’
‘The machines, of course. What else?’
‘Huh.’ Nardo discarded the spoon with a clatter. ‘Trust Virmyre; he knows what he’s doing.’
Dino nodded but felt anything but agreement.
47
Medea’s Justice
– 29 Agosto 325
The morning was spent in the rose garden, teaching Luc Contadino the rudiments of duelling. Master and student clutched two rapiers; heavier swords would come later. The boy’s enthusiasm had yet to manifest. Dino stuck to the task, providing an abundance of praise in the hope the pupil might warm to both subject and teacher. They practised on the east side of the courtyard, immersed in shadow, far from the statue of Santa Maria. Dino couldn’t abide being near the thing.
‘As far as I’m aware I’m still maestro superiore di spada, and you’re the head of a great house.’ Luc parried the strikes and struck back, but there was no velocity to the attack, no passion, not even anger. The movements were perfunctory at best.
‘Tempo. Velocita. Misura,’ Dino chanted. ‘I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least try and teach you something of value.’
The boy remained sullen, steeped in silence and expression blank.
‘Fencing sharpens the mind, Luc. It makes the clutter and din of the every day fall silent, quietens the wants of the heart and the needs of the mind. All becomes one with the blade.’
The boy offered nothing, not even acknowledging the superiore’s words. Dino wondered if the boy’s eyes contained an accusation. Was there judgement in those eyes or merely reluctance? Wasn’t Dino the very maestro di spada sent to protect Emilio on his foolhardy venture? Hadn’t he been Medea’s great hope to defend the boy’s father from the schemes of Salvaz
a Prospero? Dino’s passion for the lesson dwindled, and he dropped to one knee.
‘I never explained … about your father.’ He opened his mouth but found the words he was about to say trite, unsuitable. His apology progressed no further. Luc threw down the rapier and turned on his heel, fleeing through the red and white blossoms of the rose garden, back through the double doors.
Dino regarded the rapier, throwing his own down to join it in the gravel. The weight of his sword remained; he’d not be able to divest himself of that weapon so easily. Nor did he want to. There were still debts of blood to repay, and he would see every last drop paid in full.
Take your nobility, take your vendetta, take your revenge. I want none of it. You want to be absolved? Giolla di Leona’s words came back to him. The easiest route to absolution would be found in revenge. It would be ugly, petty, stained in blood, but what else was there? Giolla had the truth of it.
Dino looked up from his musing, wondering why Luc Contadino had fled. It would be no bad thing if the boy never took up arms, never drew a blade in anger, never fought for survival. Was it possible the boy would never thirst for violence or seek to avenge his father? It was a faint hope, one that would likely evaporate in the heat of the sun.
Dino drifted to the centre of the garden, regarding the hallowed statue, careful not to trespass on the spot where Massimo had died. The bloodstained gravel had been replaced with new chips of stone but the job had been done badly. Flecks of dark brown remained: not the honest hue of earth and mud but the rusty tone of blood long dry. Dino raised his eyes from stained gravel to sculpted saint. The sun scorched him from a cloudless sky, making the air an arid fume Dino had no wish to breathe. It was hard to believe he’d lost his love here, amid the roses. A love not given time to flourish. True, the roots of it ran deep, but he’d never know the beauty of its colour or the richness of the scent. The roses themselves were browning in the oppressive heat, the edges of delicate petals desiccated.
