Termination

by Deborah Chester

  Noel had already figured her out. This woman had the tact and diplomacy of a battering ram. She was power hungry, conceited, arrogant, and easily offended. She expected men to fawn and cringe, deferring to her every opinion. If anyone had saved his life it was Leon, not her. Noel didn’t feel a bit grateful. More than that, he wasn’t anybody’s possession, and he resented her gloating as though he were. He hadn’t asked for her mercy or to be given another chance, and he didn’t intend to. He disliked her on sight, and Leon’s nervous groveling disgusted him. Noel had no intention of becoming another of her toadies.

  Since she had not asked a question, he gave her no answer. Her gaze locked on him with penetration. Noel returned it levelly, one equal to another. It was plain she didn’t like that at all. Noel let no expression cross his face, but inside he was amused. If a stare could upset her, he wanted to see how many other ways he could provoke her.

  “I said your name is Noel,” she repeated.

  Noel inclined his head and kept a haughty silence.

  Color darkened her cheeks. “Have you no tongue? Why do you not speak?”

  Leon pinched his shoulder in warning. Noel ignored him and went on staring at the contessa. He raised his eyebrow at her and said, “My tongue works perfectly, madama.”

  “You are impertinent. I do not tolerate impertinence in my servants or my—”

  “I’m not a servant,” Noel said.

  “He is ill, madama,” broke in Leon with a little bow. “He is not himself just yet—”

  “Silence,” she snapped without even throwing Leon a glance. Her green eyes appraised Noel again, and a measure of caution tempered their anger. “You have been given sanctuary under my roof. The Doge cannot touch you here. Even the Council of Ten dares not reach for you while you remain under my protection.”

  “Sure,” Noel said with deliberate insolence, “since they don’t even know where I am. It’s bound to be safe here.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her face became a stony mask. Leon gripped Noel’s shoulder hard. The contessa snapped her fingers and a page in livery scuttled inside the room with a low bow.

  “Yes, madama?”

  “Send for Messer Tibo at once.”

  “Yes, madama.” The page hurried out.

  She faced Noel again and said icily, “You will remember your place. You will accord me the deference due my rank and you will express the gratitude you owe me. I do not suffer fools, and I do not tolerate mistakes more than once. Learn your manners quickly, for I shall not permit such an interview again.”

  Giving Noel no chance to respond, she turned her back and marched out.

  Leon hurried after her. “Madama, please. He is not—”

  She lifted her hand in repudiation, and Leon let her go without further protest.

  Closing the door, he shot Noel a furious glare. “You idiot! I told you not to insult her, and that’s the first thing you did.”

  “Forget it,” Noel said with a shrug. He tried to find a cooler place on his pillow without success. “She’s a pompous old bag. We’ll be out of here as soon as I’m able—”

  “You don’t understand anything,” Leon said, pacing again. “Why do I fool with you? Why can’t I get rid of you once and for all? You’ve jeopardized everything.”

  Noel watched him stew without any remorse. “Well, sure I have if you are trying to make a nest for yourself here. But why put up with her? She’s not worth it. My God, who could listen to her speeches about her own importance all the time?”

  “She is important.”

  Noel shrugged. “Forget it. I’m going to take a nap. When I wake up we’ll talk about getting out of here.”

  Leon hurried to him and gave him a light shake that jarred Noel’s wound. Noel winced and tried to fend him off, but Leon wasn’t paying any heed. He bent over Noel, and his face was white with fear.

  “You’ve got to listen,” he said urgently. “You’ve got to understand before Tibo gets here. These people are dangerous, him especially. Don’t antagonize them.”

  “Just because you’re scared of them doesn’t mean I have to be.”

  “Noel, listen! We have to stay here and depend on their mercy. For a while at least. It’s important to play along with what they—”

  “Important for whom? Forget it,” Noel said. “I’m not interested in being your partner. I nearly bought it in the Doge’s prison, thank you very much, and my days of being a sorcerer are over.”

  Leon’s face twisted. “Why won’t you listen to me? Why can’t you care for once about someone besides yourself?”

  “Oh, please.”

  “Who saved your life? Who went looking for you? Who found you and hid you and got you help?”

  Noel sighed. He was very tired, and he wished Leon would go have his fit somewhere else. “Okay. All right. You rescued me, and I’m grateful. Thank you very much. I appreciate what you did. Now can I sleep?”

  Leon shoved himself away from the bed. “You never let up, do you? I can never satisfy you, never be good enough for you.”

  “That’s right. Feel sorry for yourself,” Noel retorted irritably. “If you hadn’t messed with that girl, I wouldn’t have been arrested or shot. So I’m sorry if I’m a little grouchy about it right now, but this whole mess is your fault. You might as well face up to it.”

  “I’m trying to help you—”

  “No,” broke in Noel. “You’re trying to help yourself. Just like always. I don’t know why you’ve hung your hat here, but it’s clear there’s something nefarious and underhanded going on with the contessa. It’s also clear that you’re on her side, and now she expects me to join up. Well, I won’t. Got that, Leon? Whatever you’re involved in, don’t expect me to participate. Now give me back my LOCs and go away.”

  Leon started to retort, but the sound of footsteps and voices outside made him whirl around. “He’s coming!”

  “Who?”

  “Messer Tibo.”

  Noel frowned at Leon’s fright and felt suspicion curl inside his chest. “What have you done?” he asked.

  Leon jumped. “Nothing. Don’t say anything to antagonize him. He’s dangerous.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Noel said, not impressed. “There’s something going on. Something you’ve done or told them. You’ve been tampering with events again, haven’t you? Not just with the girl. Something else. What is it?”

  The latch on the door lifted. Leon bit his lip, glancing from the door to Noel, then back again. “Not now,” he whispered frantically, making shushing motions with his hands. “Pretend to be more ill than you are. Anything, but don’t make him angry. And don’t let him ask you questions.”

  Noel’s sense of unease grew. He knew his duplicate too well to doubt that Leon had gotten himself into trouble. He gripped Leon’s wrist hard. “What have you done?”

  Leon wrenched away, glaring murderously, and shook his head at Noel in warning.

  The door swung open and a tall, thin figure in a long robe stood on the threshold. His face was in shadow, and all Noel could see clearly were his hands—bone-white with long, thin fingers like talons.

  “Well,” he said. “I hear that our patient has revived. This improvement is splendid news.”

  He glided forward into the light. His face was long and very narrow, so thin his cheekbones protruded in sharp angles. His eyes were black and gleamed with fanaticism. A large gray rat perched tamely on his shoulder, its pink paws holding the crumbs of cheese that he gave it at regular intervals.

  Leon held himself so still he almost seemed to have stopped breathing. When Messer Tibo approached, however, Leon crept imperceptibly closer to Noel’s bedside, like a dog pressing against the leg of its master.

  Noel frowned. He had seen his duplicate grovel, cower, slyly manipulate, and beg for his life. He’d seen Leon boast, accuse, and attack in a murderous rage. But he had never seen Leon afraid like this, afraid in the sense of defeat, in the sense of whipped submission. After all, Noel and Leon
were stamped from two sides of the same mold. Noel knew when to be scared and run for his life. He knew when to take risks. He’d been afraid often in tough spots, and he’d been scared and horrified by his encounters with the time distortion and its violence, but he had never been terrified of another human being like Leon was now. Puzzled, he looked at Messer Tibo with newfound caution.

  “Not only revived,” Messer Tibo was saying, “but also rather lively. I hear you have the tongue of a devil, signore. Is this true?”

  Defiance rose in Noel but before he could answer, an unexpected wave of weakness spread out from his wounded side and traveled down his legs. He felt suddenly nauseous and trembly. Cold, then heat, swept through him. He shut his eyes and struggled to fight it off. This was no time for his body to give out on him.

  A touch of cold, clammy fingers on his wrist startled him into opening his eyes. He saw Messer Tibo bending over him, long bony fingers taking his pulse. Noel was surprised. He didn’t realize doctors of this era knew anything about either the heartrate or the circulatory system.

  With a frown Messer Tibo touched Noel’s forehead, avoiding the sore abrasion where the nail had hit him, and clucked his tongue. “There is much fever. Has he been bled?”

  “No, Messer Tibo,” Leon whispered in soft subjection.

  “The leeches must be brought.”

  Noel roused himself at that. “Like hell.”

  Messer Tibo’s thin lips stretched in a smile. “Such spirit.” His black eyes bored into Noel’s, and something dark and evil seemed to touch him. Noel remembered Baba Mondoun, the voodoo priest who had once given him so much trouble, and shuddered involuntarily. Maybe Leon was right to be scared of this guy.

  The rat ran down Messer Tibo’s arm and began to prowl back and forth across the foot of Noel’s bed. Revulsion filled Noel. It was all he could do not to kick it across the room.

  “You interest me deeply,” Messer Tibo said. His voice deepened, becoming almost hypnotic.

  Careful, Noel warned himself. He could feel fresh sweat break out across his body, and he was shivering. Deliberately he pulled his eyes out of focus and let his lids flutter closed.

  Messer Tibo drew back, looking disappointed. “Very weak,” he said. “When does the physician come to change the dressing?”

  “At noon, Messer Tibo,” Leon replied.

  “I will discuss matters with him then. We want a quick healing. Matters cannot be delayed much longer.”

  “I understand, Messer Tibo. He is strong and tough. He heals easily.”

  “Let us hope so. The contessa does not like to be disappointed.”

  Leon flinched as though he’d been struck. “My brother will be stronger by this evening. I have seen him ill before, and I assure you he can rally quickly.”

  “So you have boasted. He looks worse to me, not better.”

  A lot you know, pal, thought Noel, lying there trying to look as weak and debilitated as possible. He could feel the rat walk over his ankle. Its claws pricked through the linen sheet. Noel bit the inside of his lip, hating it, loathing having it on him.

  “Please,” Leon said, almost stammering. “He has not been awake long. He was able to talk a little with the contessa. Now it is fatigue. He needs more rest.”

  “Ah, yes, the contessa.” Scowling, Messer Tibo moved away from the bed.

  The rat sat up on its haunches and chittered at him. Its eyes were red and malevolent. Noel found himself mesmerized by the sight of that pink, naked tail. Again, he fought the urge to kick it off.

  Messer Tibo tossed the rat another crumb of cheese. Sitting on Noel’s ankle, it ate the morsel, then turned and started toward the head of Noel’s bed. He’d never liked rats, even clean laboratory ones. Their intelligence, their size, the queer humping motion they made when they moved, their naked paws, all gave him the creeps. This thing was getting way too close. He was looking it in the eye now, watching the nervous quiver of its whiskers, the ripple of muscle beneath its fur. A tiny bit of cheese still clung to its lip. Its eyes watched him, studied him, and it kept coming closer.

  By now Noel’s body was rigid with tension. He would fight it off if he had to. If no one got this thing off him, he would…

  The rat paused and sat up on its haunches, staring at him as though it could read his mind. Noel felt a nameless sense of warning touch him. Was it from Leon? He couldn’t be sure, but he held himself still. Perhaps this was a test of some kind. Its purpose was inexplicable, but still…Messer Tibo had not retrieved his pet and he was watching very closely as though to see what Noel would do.

  All the stubbornness in Noel came to his assistance. He lay there unmoving and let the rat come closer until it was almost in his face. His fever and weakness were real; he didn’t have to fake either. He could feel the heat boiling in his blood, sapping his strength as he forced himself to lie still with his eyes half shut.

  “It would have been better had I spoken to your brother before the contessa,” Messer Tibo complained. “I have many questions. Now he has fatigued himself with his insolence. When he rouses next you should advise him to temper his manner with the lady.”

  “I have already given him a reprimand,” Leon said. “It’s hard to—”

  They went on talking, but Noel didn’t register their words. His whole being was focused on the rat, who by now was sniffing his chin.

  More sweat trickled down Noel’s temple. If the rat got in his face he would knock it to China, no matter what was going on.

  But the rat turned and crawled over his bare shoulder and onto his pillow. It nosed and nibbled at his hair, squeaking now and then as though making a discovery. And Noel let it while his toes curled in disgust and he felt as though he would choke. His mind filled with thoughts of filth, rabies, fleas, and bubonic plague. Leon, he thought furiously. Get it away from me.

  Leon glanced at him now and then, worriedly, but he went on bowing and listening to Messer Tibo, who was giving him detailed instructions of some kind.

  The rat’s paw touched Noel’s ear. He could hear it sniffing. Its whiskers tickled the cartilage of his ear, and yet he closed his eyes and didn’t move. He could take only a few more seconds of this, and then he was going to come unhinged. Hold on, he told himself over and over. Just hold on.

  A shudder came up through him, unstoppable, unsilenceable. It lodged in his throat and clawed higher, into his mouth, and he couldn’t hold it back, couldn’t fight it any longer. He drew in a sharp breath and turned his head.

  “I haven’t any onions,” he said, uttering the first thing that came to his mind in order to deflect the scream. He found himself eye to eye with the rat, but he didn’t look away. “You have to bring your own onions,” he said angrily to the rat. “Bring them with you or don’t come at all!”

  The rat scurried back from his shout, squeaking in alarm. Noel sank back into his pillow, muttering, “Peas are better. Peas will stay put.”

  He knew Messer Tibo was bending over him, shaking him, trying to rouse him. The rat scurried up Tibo’s sleeve and perched on his shoulder. Relieved, Noel opened his eyes and sat bolt upright although the pain in his side felt as though it would tear him in two.

  “Don’t let the scallops in!” he said very clearly and slumped against Messer Tibo’s arm.

  “He is raving,” Messer Tibo said in alarm.

  “We must quieten him,” Leon said. “The bleeding has started again.”

  Noel could feel a trickle of blood, and his side throbbed mercilessly. He’d done enough acting for one day. Now he let himself float into the pain and stay there while they opened the bandage and sprinkled some foul-smelling powder on his wound. When he moaned it was for real. Neither man was gentle, and when they finally left him alone, he was grateful.

  “He is much worse, not better.” Messer Tibo’s voice sharpened in accusation. “We have no time for this. He must improve and quickly. The Lady Francesca has recovered her wits, thanks to his meddling. The wedding has not been postponed.
This must be undone or the contessa will take other, less cautious measures.”

  “I understand,” Leon said. “Let me see what I can do. I—”

  “Give him this, a swallow of it every hour.”

  “What is it?”

  “That is none of your concern. We cannot wait for nature to take its course. You bungled this badly, Leon. I blame you for all that has happened. You did not find him quickly enough. And your arts are meager indeed for he has lain here two days and is no better. Now we shall do this my way.”

  “No, Messer Tibo, please!” Leon said in alarm. “I swear I can—”

  “Silence. You had your chance and you failed. Give him this.”

  No one spoke. Lying there listening while the pain gnawed through him relentlessly, Noel wondered what ungodly mixture Messer Tibo had produced. There was no way he’d take any of it.

  “Lift him up and give him the dosage now.”

  Noel opened his eyes in alarm.

  Leon was frowning but he slid his arm beneath Noel and lifted him slightly.

  “No!” said Noel in protest, choking off the word.

  “Careful, you fool. Don’t hurt him.” Messer Tibo poured a dark and noxious liquid into an ivory spoon and pressed it to Noel’s lips. “Swallow this, Noel. Swallow this.”

  Again Noel was conscious of that hypnotic note of command in Messer Tibo’s voice. He jerked his head away, causing some of the liquid to spill on his chest. It felt cold and unpleasant on his skin.

  “Swallow it,” Leon whispered. The unsteadiness in his voice made Noel glance at him. His face was streaked with tears.

  Noel stared in shock. Leon crying? He didn’t realize his duplicate even knew how. What was the matter with him? Didn’t he know Noel was faking this? Wasn’t it what he’d asked for?