‘What have you done?’ asked Fate, and Lord Medici smiled.
‘I have issued an open contract.’
‘In the city?’ asked Fate.
‘In all the Seven Vales,’ said Medici with relish. ‘Paid in full with the Concilio Condemnabitur.’
‘The Council of the Damned,’ said Fate.
‘The very same,’ said Medici.
‘Then there is nothing we can do to change your mind?’
‘Changing my mind would not change the young man’s fate,’ said Medici. ‘Even if I were to die on the spot, the young man would still be killed by someone wishing to claim the bounty from the council.’
‘That is unfortunate,’ said Fate.
‘That is life,’ said Medici. ‘Now, I really must be getting along. I think this medallion has bought you more than enough time. But let me warn you…’
‘You are warning me?’ said Fate, and the Tutor recognised the dangerous tone in the sorcerer’s voice.
‘Indeed I am,’ said Medici. ‘I have heard the rumours about you giving up magic. Indeed, I would never have believed them if I hadn’t heard it from Master Veleno himself. He tells me that you refused to use magic even when your life depended on it… Ha!’ he exclaimed as he saw the confirmation in Fate’s dark eyes. ‘So, it’s true! The great Decimus Fate is now nothing more than a washed-up do-gooder, the Sage of Blackfell House… champion of the poor.’
The Tutor did not need to see Fate’s eyes to know that the gold streaks would be glowing like fire. Lord Medici seemed supremely confident, revelling in the denigration of someone who was once considered powerful. But then Fate smiled, Lord Medici’s poise faltered, and the shimmering patches of air moved forward to flank him as the Tutor’s hand returned to the hilt of his sword.
‘Thank you for your time, my Lord,’ said Fate with a gracious bow.
‘Enough of these niceties!’ snapped Lord Medici. ‘You come into my home and threaten my family with talk of division and scandal… Get out of my house before I ignore this medallion and break the Ward of Final Parting. And if you ever harm one of my employees again…’
‘Yes?’ said Fate with an eagerness that was distinctly unnerving.
‘I will place a bounty on your head and kill one random citizen every twelve hours until your lifeless body is left at my gate.’
‘Hmm…’ Fate gave a nod and pursed his lips. ‘A most impressive threat.’
‘Not a threat,’ said Medici. ‘But a promise.’
‘And do the Medicis keep their promises?’
‘Always,’ said Medici and with a word, the audience was over and Fate and the Tutor were escorted from the house.
‘How can people like that live with themselves?’ said the Tutor as they left the grounds of the Medici mansion.
‘Because they are damaged,’ said Fate. ‘And because they think they are beyond the reach of consequence.’ He glanced back at the enormous building. ‘That’s what power does to you. It makes you believe you can do anything you please,’ he continued. ‘And if you never learned empathy or honour as a child…’
‘Then you become a monster,’ said the Tutor, and the look in Fate’s eyes made it clear that he had faced such a monster in himself. He took a deep breath before placing a hand on the Tutor’s arm.
‘Come now,’ he said. ‘We have to tell Samuel Culpepper that the Butcher needs to dump another doppelganger in the river. And then I need to tell Motina that we failed to help Madam de Lorni’s son.’
Fate knew Motina would be terribly disappointed. What he did not know was that, even as they headed back to Blackfell House, Motina was fleeing from Medici’s men.
She had noticed them following her as she left Madam de Lorni’s home. Three men dressed like mercenaries, one with a gold tooth that glinted in the light. For almost a mile they had followed her and now Motina was breathless, her hunched back aching as she hurried towards the safety of Fate’s magically protected home.
Turning into an alley, she headed for the main street where the presence of bystanders might offer some protection. She was barely halfway to the busier street when two figures appeared in the alley ahead of her. Motina stopped and turned, only to see Medici’s men closing in on her from behind. The two figures ahead of her now also began to approach. One was tall and wearing the fine-cut clothes of a gentleman. The other was dressed in the crimson robes of one who lived in the desert.
Motina’s heart beat rapidly in her narrow chest. There was something unsettling about the robed figure and she could sense that he was a creature of magic.
Reaching into her sleeve she pulled out her wand, her eyes flitting from the men behind her to the two figures approaching from the front. At the sight of the wand the Medici guards began to back away, but the powerful figure in the desert robes came on. His eyes were covered by a silk scarf tied around his head and, even though he could not ‘see’, the figure looked down at her wand. His mouth twisted into a mocking sneer and Motina’s heart almost quailed.
Those grey lips were stitched together.
29
Motina’s Pantry
Motina was trapped; three men behind her, two men ahead. The only option left was to fight. Glancing to front and rear, she quickly assessed her opponents. The three men behind her looked like soldiers or mercenaries. Any one of them was strong enough to subdue a small woman like her. Ahead of her, the well-dressed gentleman seemed the least dangerous, strange considering he was probably the instigator of this attack. But the well-dressed fop was not alone. He was accompanied by the nomad figure in the crimson robes, and he was clearly the most dangerous of them all.
Even as she watched, the terrifying figure came forward, moving with the confidence of one who knows he cannot be harmed.
Gripping her wand, Motina took a breath and drew in the forces of nature which were frustratingly meagre in the dim alleyway of a city. As the nomad closed on her, she bound this energy to her own spirit and channelled it into her wand. The enchanted wood focussed the energy, magnifying it until the wand began to glow.
‘Dedzinoša bultiņa!’ cried Motina, and her wand suddenly flared as a burning arrow of light shot forward to strike the nomad in the shoulder.
The magical attack burnt a hole in the nomad’s crimson robes and the tall figure reeled back with a snarl of pain, but the mystical brands in his dark skin glowed as they absorbed the worst of the damage. Motina knew she could not stop him, but that had not been her intention. The pause in his advance gave her just enough time to reach into a pouch at her waist and grab a handful of fennel seeds.
Like many common-or-garden plants, fennel was rich in magical properties, the myths of which went back to the time when humans stole fire from the Gods. Today, Motina would make use of that latent power.
‘Užsidegti siršė!’
Calling out the spell in her native tongue, Motina flung the fennel seeds at the three men blocking the alley behind her. Instantly, the seeds burst into flame and began flying towards the men like a swarm of wasps. The men cried out and swatted the air as the enchanted seeds stung their flesh with searing barbs. While they were distracted, Motina tried to slip between them. She might well have got past them had an invisible force not reached out and grabbed the back of her cloak.
Motina’s feet left the ground as she was yanked backwards, sailing through the air before landing heavily on the rain-soaked flagstones. Shaken and winded, she shifted round as the crimson-robed figure loomed over her. Looking up into that blindfolded face, she raised her wand for one last burst of magical force. The polished wood began to glow and Motina was just about to unleash the fire when the nomad’s large hand closed around it. The flesh of his hand began to smoke and the nomad released a growl of pain before clenching his fist and snapping the wand in two.
Even now Motina tried to crawl away, but the nomad took hold of her, lifting her off the ground as if she weighed nothing at all.
‘Hold her!’ said a voice and Motina felt h
erself being constrained as a muscular arm folded across her chest while a strong hand clenched tight in her hair.
‘Open her mouth.’
Panic surged through Motina as the man with the gold tooth stepped forward, leering unpleasantly as he grabbed her chin and forced her mouth open.
Eyes wide and staring, Motina now saw the well-dressed man coming towards her with something in his hand. It was a small bottle, the kind of bottle that was often used for medicine or potions. Once again Motina began to struggle, but the arm tightened across her chest and her thoughts grew fuzzy as some foul hypnotic magic forced its way into her brain. The dim alleyway seemed to close in around her and noises echoed strangely as she lost the will to resist.
Almost as if it were happening to someone else, Motina felt the cold neck of a bottle clack against her teeth. A sweet liquid trickled into her mouth and she was too dazed to resist the instinct to swallow. The liquid burned slightly, but it was not unpleasant and the heady fumes rose up into her nose relaxing her mind and reducing the urge to struggle.
‘It’s working,’ said the well-spoken voice. ‘You can let her go.’
The arm around Motina’s chest relaxed its grip as she was set back on her feet, those same strong hands now steadying her as she fought a wave of dizziness. A plume of fear rose up in her mind as she opened her eyes. She was being held upright while several strange men stared at her.
‘You’re safe,’ said a voice that she knew was dangerous and yet somehow she believed and trusted.
‘Safe,’ she repeated in a dreamy voice.
‘Yes,’ said the voice. ‘Now listen to me… only to me…’
Motina’s gaze came into focus on the face of a good looking man in expensive clothes. He reminded her of someone who had trapped her in an alley, but Motina’s mind now wallowed in a haze between fear and a strong desire to hear what he had to say.
‘I want you to drink the rest of this,’ he told her and Motina glanced down at the half-empty potion bottle.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Something that will make you feel better,’ said the man. ‘Now drink.’
With only the slightest hesitation, Motina took the bottle and put it to her lips.
‘Salvia divinorum,’ she thought as she recognised one of the components. ‘Betel and peyote sap.’ These rare and mind-altering extracts could be toxic and a dim note of alarm sounded in her mind, but it was completely overridden by the man’s instruction for her to drink. She thought she detected several inorganic compounds, but then a less suspicious thought entered her mind… ‘I wonder what they used to sweeten it.’
Motina was mildly embarrassed by the banality of the thought, but her critical thinking was slowly being subsumed by an overwhelming sense of compliance.
‘Good,’ said the man as he noticed the faint sheen of silver appear in Motina’s raven-black eyes.
For her part, Motina felt a strange combination of pleasure and repugnance at his praise. Almost absently, she tucked the empty bottle into a pocket as she tried to think what she should do next.
‘You might be feeling a little confused,’ said Alonso Medici and Motina nodded. ‘You might have forgotten where you were going or what you intended to do next.’
Another nod and a slight smile from Motina.
‘Well, you visited an actress called Madam de Lorni and now you are going to continue on your way as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.’
‘As you wish,’ said Motina, but Alonso held up a finger.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It must be as you wish.’
‘Of course,’ said Motina with something of her customary fire. ‘I don’t need a young upstart like you to tell me what to do.’
‘No you don’t,’ said Alonso. ‘But there are a couple of things that I would like you to do for me.’
‘Certainly,’ said Motina as if such a thing were entirely normal.
‘Excellent,’ said Alonso. With a nod, he directed his men to retreat down the alley before putting his arm around Motina’s shoulders and leading her towards the mainstreet. ‘First, you will forget about being followed and you will forget that this encounter ever took place.’
‘All right,’ said Motina obligingly.
‘And then, at the earliest time of your convenience, you will kill the man called Decimus Fate and the demon hunter known as the Tutor.’
Somewhere deep in her mind, Motina railed against the very thought of harming Fate. However, as the powerful potion was slowly absorbed, that fierce resistance began to sink away as if Motina herself were drowning in a dark body of water. Finally, all resistance vanished and only obedience remained.
‘Killing them won’t be easy,’ said Motina in a voice devoid of emotion.
‘You’re a witch,’ said Alonso with a cynical laugh. ‘I’m sure you will find a way.’ He seemed entirely satisfied with the way things had gone, but his men seemed nervous.
‘We should get out of here before someone sees us,’ said one of the men.
‘No,’ said Alonso remembering what his father had said about subtlety. ‘Someone might have seen us enter the alley. It will be better if they see the housekeeper emerge unharmed.’ He turned to Motina. ‘You will join us as we go up onto mainstreet,’ he told her. ‘I will drop a handkerchief and you will pick it up for me.’
‘With pleasure,’ said Motina, although the smile on her face did not appear completely natural.
With a very different kind of smile, Alonso walked away with his Don’Sha’Vir just a step or two behind. Emerging onto the mainstreet, he reached into a pocket allowing a silk handkerchief to fall onto the cobbles.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ said a voice behind him, and he turned round to see Motina bending down to retrieve the handkerchief from the ground. ‘You dropped this.’
‘Why thank you,’ said Alonso, noting how one or two people looked across to witness the exchange.
‘Good day, sir,’ said Motina and with that she continued on her way.
Alonso smiled again as he watched her go. His father had been right… employing a bit of subtlety was very satisfying. Feeling entirely pleased with himself, he turned in the direction of the Medici mansion.
Motina had the strangest sensation as she continued along mainstreet. It almost felt as if she were waking from a dream. Pausing on the road, she glanced back the way she had come. She remembered leaving Madam de Lorni’s house, and she remembered a sense of anxiety as she turned into a narrow alleyway. And yet she had no memory of being in the alleyway itself.
‘I must have been daydreaming,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Now, what else do I need to do today?’ Her words trailed off as she went through the list of jobs in her mind.
‘I need to get some diced lamb for a stew… And, now that it’s stopped raining, I need to mangle the washed bedding and hang it out to dry… Cut back the rosemary and plant the garlic bulbs… And what was the other thing?’
‘Ah, yes,’ Motina murmured to herself. ‘I need to kill Fate and the Tutor.’
So powerful was the potion that she did not experience even the slightest concern about the prospect of committing murder.
‘Tricky,’ she mused as she turned into the road on which Blackfell House was situated. ‘I could stab them in their sleep, but they both sleep lightly, except for Fate on the night of the Penance Moon.’
‘A sleeping draught might work, but Fate would notice the effects long before he fell asleep.’ She paused in thought. ‘Poison would do it,’ she murmured with a nod.
‘But not just a straightforward poison,’ she thought to herself.
Fate had enchanted tattoos that would alert him to the presence of toxins, so a straightforward poison would not work.
‘But if I used two substances that weren’t poisonous on their own… two substances that only became deadly when they came together in the victim’s stomach…’
Yes,’ said Motina as she reached the boundary fence of Blackfell House. ‘That would
do the trick.’
Feeling a bizarre sense of satisfaction, she reached out to open the gate then recoiled with a cry of pain as the metal flared with fire that burned her hand. The wrought iron fence was enchanted with magic to keep out anyone who intended harm towards Fate, a magical protection that now included Motina herself.
The hunchbacked witch was now in a quandary. Her most pressing imperative was to kill Fate and the Tutor and yet she could not accomplish this if she was unable to get past the fence. For several minutes she struggled with this problem, and so intense was her determination that she even tried the fence a second time before withdrawing her hand in pain. Even standing close to the fence she could feel the ‘hum’ of its resistance.
And then the strangest thing happened…
She began to wonder what might happen if she thought about ‘not’ killing Fate, and even as she entertained the thought, so the hum of blocking energy seemed to recede.
‘That’s it,’ she said to herself. ‘All I need to do is decide not to kill him and the fence will let me through.’ And sure enough, as this thought grew stronger, so the hum of magical force grew less.
So effective was this approach that Motina actually began to question killing Fate at all.
‘What was I thinking?’ she asked herself. ‘Why in the world would I want to harm the man who saved my life?’
The troubling thought was so distracting that Motina was barely conscious of reaching for the gate. There was only the slightest tingle of magical energy as her hand closed on the handle.
‘Something happened on the way back from Madam de Lorni’s,’ Motina frowned as she opened the gate and passed through the perimeter fence. ‘I was being followed,’ she murmured.
Strange memories began to creep into her mind; shadowy memories that were almost like a dream… a dark alleyway, men blocking her way, and a tall figure in red desert robes. Feeling fearful and confused, Motina proceeded down the gravel driveway but, even as she tried to make sense of them, the disturbing images began to fade away.
Decimus Fate and the Butcher of Guile: (Decimus Fate - Book 2) Page 15
