A Summoning of Demons

by Cate Glass

  Ferocious now, he squeezed my hands, reminding me of the strength in those lean sinews. “When the monster speaks, use that power to mask her gaze, to drown his seductive lies. Know the true name of your Enemy. Macheon. Anything else is but myth. Certain, the being who bears that name is your ancestor, but neither he nor she nor it is at all like you.”

  18

  ONE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING

  PERDITION’S BRINK

  EARLY EVENING

  Clouds pregnant with moisture had built over the eastern horizon while I lay fevered with visions in the grotto. The air was heavy and uncomfortably warm and carried the first grumbles of thunder. Teo waited in the courtyard as I returned to the keep long enough to don my Cavalieri disguise.

  Teo’s reassurance had to be enough. Placidio would have Neri back in the pit by now, and I needed to be there. By this time on the morrow, we needed a plan in place for returning our two captives unharmed … and unmarried. Yet Dono remained an enigma. Neither weather nor my horrors could be allowed to interfere.

  “You’ll stay close?” I said, ashamed of my collapse, as we hurried across the rocks and ruin toward Donato’s hole.

  “I cannot … must not … interfere in your ordinary magics in the way I did before. Until my preparation—my learning and all that it encompasses—is complete, such activities can leave me vulnerable. But in the matter of your vulnerability, my hand is at your service until you can hold on your own.”

  I wasn’t sure that would ever be possible.

  Teo inserted himself into a jumble of rock spires and fallen blocks of masonry where he could observe what was going on—with me in particular—while remaining out of sight to those below. I stood at the top of the rope ladder.

  Neri lay unmoving in a bloody heap. Placidio had set Donato’s provision bucket aside and was busy reattaching the shackle to Neri’s ankle—without locking it, of course.

  Donato stood at the limit of his own chain looking on, arms crossed as if observing the delivery of a new furnishing. “You’re just going to leave him like that?”

  “Looks worse’n it is.” Placidio rose and nudged Neri with his boot. “He’s a bleeder as well as a screamer. Jackleg like him don’t need a nursemaid, but maybe he’ll give a thought next time he flaps that sassy tongue.”

  “And doing this to your captives profits you in some way? Who’ll pay for him now?”

  Placidio grinned. Dumond’s blood spatter had stained his teeth. “Sometimes the richest pay comes from putting down a frisky whelp like him. Might could come from doing the same to a rich boy thinks he’s better’n everyone else.” He spit on the ground in Donato’s direction.

  “If I’m damaged, my father will see the Cavalieri Teschio wiped out. Tell your master this is beyond lunacy.”

  “My master…” Placidio strolled slowly toward Donato. “Cavalieri got no masters. Even if we did, what would a stronzo like you know of them?”

  Dono returned to the wall and sat. He glanced up to where I stood, took a deep breath, and again became a shapeless lump in a bedraggled shirt long past help from laundering. His bare feet were filthy; his face smudged; his abundant dark hair an oily mat.

  Placidio looked up at me and shrugged, waiting for me to join him.

  For a moment I held still, examining the scene, trying to explain to myself what I had just seen and heard. Truly, Donato was the strangest—no, the most complicated—person I’d ever observed. Why would he bait Placidio who, no matter threats and bombast, had fed him and otherwise done him no harm? He’d taken note of Neri’s beating, but hadn’t asked Placidio that he be cared for—

  My gaze whipped back to Neri. The bucket with Donato’s evening food and water sat abandoned where Placidio had set it aside. I knew he’d not meant to leave it there. Was it possible the nothing had just done a kindness?

  Oh, smartly done, young man. And not so cold as you try to appear, providing your beaten cellmate with a drink and a bite. Subtle.

  Yet I could not forget my guess about the post Donato would assume on the morrow—or whenever his life took up its assigned course. Defender of Truth. Slavemaster? Would he have ventured this little act of compassion had he known of Neri’s gift?

  And that consideration sent me into the fray angry. Perhaps not the best way to begin what was, after all, a negotiation. As Donato slept, or whatever it was he did, I waited for Placidio to join me. Our plan needed to change. No clever magics—but a different kind of shock.

  “Are you sure?” said Placidio when I told him what I wanted. “No going back once it’s done.”

  “There’s nothing to go back to,” I said. “We’ve gotten nowhere up to now. But there’s a great deal more going on behind his shell than a scared Confraternity boy.”

  Placidio acknowledged the point and was off before I could blink.

  Once down the ladder, I strolled over to Neri and bent over him, as if to make sure he was still breathing. Then I wandered over to stand just outside Donato’s range of freedom—not that I expected violence from him, but then I was risking a lot on my sketchy interpretation of his character. I sat, trying to appear as if I was ready to wait him out.

  A short time later, Placidio appeared on the rim just above Donato’s position. He raised one hand. All was ready.

  I began, “I think it is time for you to stop hiding from the world, Segno di Bastianni. Fail to do so on your own, and I’ll set my brutish partner to whipping your bare feet until you acknowledge us. It’s time you answered for crimes being done in your name.”

  Donato breathed a soft exhale. “You, who have wide experience in crimes, dare accuse me? My ears are open.”

  As were his eyes. Hands and voice seemed firmly under his control. Our position reminded me of Placidio opening a duel. Were we standing, we now should each make a bow and wait for the scarf to drop in between us. Instead, I began with a feint. “Tell me of your contracted bride, segno.”

  “My—?” I thought for a moment he was going to choke, something like when a horse takes off in a new direction and the rider is wholly unprepared. Or when the opposing duelist suddenly sheathes his blade and pulls out a bird.

  “Discussing a virtuous lady with the agents of slavers seems inappropriate.” A decent recovery for a student recitation.

  Back to swords. “But setting her up to be accused of murder is gentlemanlike?”

  “Murder?” He sat up straight.

  Another feint. “Perhaps if you answer a few questions, it might set your mind to thinking instead of reciting your Confraternity lessons. Have you even met this virtuous lady?”

  “Yes, certain. What murder?”

  “Describe her appearance.”

  “So you can snatch her, too?”

  Well done, Dono. Respond to an attack with an attack.

  My turn again. “Answer my questions—”

  “—or I’ll end up like that fellow over there? Excuse me, but tell me the reason for all this or I’ll waste no more breath, no matter your crude threats.”

  He was certainly engaged. And not terrified. That was good. Our purpose, after all, was to persuade him to forgo the marriage, not leave him a bloody wreck. My submerged anger suggested that might come after.

  “Young man with all the blood,” I said, “will you please demonstrate that all is not as it seems … uh … with your state of health?” I daren’t have Neri misconstrue my meaning and vanish. “Then you can make free of the provisions in the bucket that was inadvertently left beside you.”

  “Certain. Best pleasure I’ll have had in a while.”

  While Neri’s shackle clinked behind me, I kept my eyes on our quarry. Donato’s lips parted, and his eyes locked to Neri. On my periphery Neri’s bloody shirt flew into the air and settled to the broken flagstones.

  “You were a spy after all!” Donato shook his head in disgust. “Who are you people? Not the Cavalieri Teschio, but amateurs who didn’t even notice that Cavalieri emblems are most often on the left side of the tuni
c—not centered.”

  Night Eternal! How did a Confraternity man who’d never been anywhere know that? We would revisit that question later.

  “Expound upon your lady’s virtues, and I will enlighten you as to both actual and possible murders, and the reasons we asked this stalwart young man to spend some time with you.”

  “This makes no sense. Why are you even interested in her? Why are you interested in my opinions? My family will either pay the ransom or hound you to your hanging. Perhaps both.”

  “Because if this is to be my last adventure, I would like to understand the people involved. You’ve nothing more pressing to do, am I correct? You have a mind. Presumably you bring it out for exercise now and then. And you have matters to answer for. Since I am interested and available, I must task you with thinking.”

  Our flurry of attacks and parries felt like a testing round, as my swordmaster referred to such back-and-forth with no intent to wound.

  “You don’t even sound like a Skull Knight,” he said, his gaze firmly fixed in the area of his feet.

  “How would you know that?”

  “I—have heard. Everyone’s heard. Brutes. Ignorant. Not conversational.”

  “Masks hide all sorts of things. But then, you know that very well, having used one—a very odd one—for much of your life. Tell me of your unfortunate bride.”

  “If the unfortunate circumstance you refer to is that ours will be a contracted marriage, that is good fortune, not ill. Certainly not murderous.” The note of impatience was rewarding. A true reaction, not playacting. “The lady’s parents and my own believe that a joining of our two families will benefit all. The practice is not uncommon among families of influence.”

  “So she is deemed suitable for a man of your breeding and position in life, a man soon to be granted the red—the mark of a philosophist—and a responsible appointment in the noble Confraternity.”

  My verbal sword must have pricked him. This parry required a moment’s thought.

  “Certain, she is—suitable,” he said, not so smoothly. “Educated. Healthy. Of excellent family.”

  “Educated! How modern of your family to embrace that. What are her intellectual interests?”

  His gaze lifted. His lips parted. But the world waited one moment and then another. Good. I wanted him to work at this. Thunder rumbled more forcefully. The sun slid behind a canopy of gray.

  “Travel,” he said at last, examining the rope ladder as if analyzing its construction. “I understand she has seen a great deal of the world, which I have not.”

  But my press did not slow. “Will she teach your children of what she has observed on her travels?”

  “I—I deem”—only a slight stumble—“that to speak of children before we are wed is presumptuous. And a matter of privacy. But of course, if we are so gifted, we would share in the education of our children.” Back to Confraternity rote.

  “Very delicate of you.” I leaned forward as if to whisper secrets, yet I continued to speak so that those observing the conversation from the rim of the cellar might hear. “To assure that gift, you might have to alter your habits of retreat both before and after the child’s arrival. Quite an adjustment for a tartaruga.”

  The clouded evening light was quite sufficient to see the childhood insult drive the color from Donato’s complexion.

  The testing round was over. Any attack was a gamble, yet I had to believe that he was more than the facade he had constructed, else there was no hope of persuasion. It was time for thrust and slash.

  “I’m delighted to hear that you would share in the blessed children’s enlightenment. Would you teach them of their mother’s friend, the bookbinder and pamphleteer, who was brutally murdered on the eve of your betrothal and slandered with the labels unholy and blasphemous? And if your bride were captive here alongside you, would you be so certain that your father would pay her ransom as you are that your own will be paid? Or might that ransom demand get lost along the way and conveniently leave you a grieving widower before you are even a bridegroom?”

  He leapt to his feet and shouted, “Who are you?”

  “Tell me why your father picked Livia di Nardo to wed his dull, retiring eldest son. If she was not born yet, then how could it be because of her health and education? Perhaps it was all family connection, linking the Confraternity with the steward of Cantagna. Quite opportunistic. Then again, now that I consider it, two-and-twenty years ago Piero di Nardo had only been steward for two years. No one yet understood what honor he would bring to his office or what a force for reason he would become in our city.”

  Bewilderment had replaced dismay on Donato’s well-proportioned face.

  I could not relent. “But then, perhaps you could tell me why your prospective father-in-law cannot quite recall the day he signed that contract, and why it refers to younger Bastianni brothers who were not yet born, rather than ensuring such a fortunate merging of families with some living male of House Bastianni. I’ve sent an inquiry, seeking to learn who witnessed the document when you were but a babe-in-arms and your bride-to-be not yet born. Will I discover that those witnesses are dead? Or happen to be loyal Confraternity brethren presently residing in Paolin or Empyria?”

  “This is slander … gossip … unrighteous.” Dono struggled to find his voice. “I know naught of bookbinders or murder. Nothing of the contract but what I was told. And naturally, the ransom—The lady was in our custod—in our care. My family would take responsibility.”

  With every phrase, he took a step away from me. I did not want him to get so far as the wall, where he would slide down and back into his stupor. I raised two fingers, signaling to Placidio that it was time to engage our next weapon. Then I thrust again.

  “Surely your father informs you of matters that so profoundly affect your future. Tell me of your bride, Donato. Why would she believe your father would prefer her lost to slavers than in your bed?”

  “You don’t know that. How could you possibly guess at my father’s reasoning or know what the woman thinks? She speaks of lands I will never see and people I will never meet, yet she is a child. She writes of fish skeletons and rock strata, yet there are truths in this world—”

  He cut himself off, scraping his fingers through his matted hair.

  So he had read her work. Though curious, I dared not relent. “Do you ever think beyond yourself, Donato? Have you done so even once since Guillam died?”

  And here did my slash go wide of the mark. He charged to the full extent of the chain, his pleasant features a knot of rage. “You know nothing of Guillam di Fere, the insufferable little prick. No one ever knew the truth of him. No one would believe ill of him except those who suffered under his unceasing foulness. It’s no one’s fault who they were born.”

  An ironic claim for one who mutilated sorcerers, but I wasn’t ready to let him know I suspected where his future lay within the Confraternity. “Did a youth of sixteen deserve to die for a schoolboy fight? Or did he suffer worse than death?”

  Then did I fear I’d gone too far, for rage, bewilderment, and every other scrap of human feeling vanished from Donato’s body. He pivoted sharply and dragged his chain toward the wall.

  Thank Lady Fortune that Livia jumped down from the last rung of the rope ladder just then. She came to stand beside me, regal in her dusty white bedgown and crowned with an exuberant whorl of red curls. Placidio, who had climbed down after her, joined Neri behind me.

  “Fortune’s benefice, Segno di Bastianni,” Livia said to Donato’s back. “It seems we are both embroiled in a great deception.”

  He swung around as if the distant lightning had struck him.

  “Child as I am,” she continued with a bitter edge, “I’ve not yet unraveled all this. This morning I had come to the conclusion that this farce we find ourselves party to was your family’s work. But like you, I have been played. Tell me, Dono, what do you make of these Skull Knights?”

  Her glance in my direction had an edge so keen,
a noonday sun would likely have set it glittering.

  It took Donato a moment to comprehend her presence. Her disarray. Her feet, bare and filthy. “They abducted you, too, these impostors? From your bed in the villa? Brought you to this awful place?”

  “I would have preferred a setting more lively,” said Livia, cold as a frost moon. “Yet if this were a masquerade of my devising and I’d known you were to be a part of it, I would have chosen the Dungeons of Kulbaer, barren isles northerly of Eide, the coldest, bleakest pits of iron and cruelty in all the known world. The tides leak into the cells and it is impossible to keep one’s feet from rotting in the cold, salty damp.”

  She stepped closer, as if daring Donato to challenge her.

  “Marsilia di Bianchi was her name. She produced books of poetry, histories, pamphlets containing essays by the brightest philosophers of this bright era. She did it for love of the word. Of the mind. Of truth. And because of one five-page treatise on what an observant girl with a decent mind noticed on her travels, she had to be slaughtered in her home?”

  “I do not condone murder, even for serious matters. This woman”—he jerked his head at me—“whoever she is, mentioned blasphemy which can endanger us all, but I—I’ve no idea what that might mean in this case. My responsibilities lie elsewhere, and I cannot live normally or keep straight ordinary matters.”

  He was trying, at least. He rubbed his forehead and began again. “The Philosophic Confraternity has taken on the responsibility for the world’s safety. I am committed entirely to that work. My own … ineptitude … with words and people cannot convey the seriousness of my belief. Sometimes, it’s true, our work is tainted … mistakes … overreaching … even wrong, but we cannot, dare not, relent.”

  In essence he repeated standard Confraternity preachings against sorcery. Yet I’d never heard them delivered with such raw sincerity or any admission of mistakes.

  One would have thought he had just ascended a mountain. Perhaps he had. He was trembling. Pale. Exhausted. Harrowed. In any other circumstance, he would surely have closed his eyes and left, as Livia described it. What had convinced him that even while marching forward in the beliefs he had been taught, he had to create a way to abandon his own life so completely? Against all expectation, I was fascinated. Frustrated, too, at my inability to decide where to go next.