A Summoning of Demons

by Cate Glass

  As I dithered, Livia shifted her attention to me. “What is the purpose of this farce? Did I need to be snatched from my bed, dragged here in my undergarments, starved, and deceived only to stand here and hear more Confraternity babble?”

  “Damizella, do you wish to marry this man?” I snapped. “You told a young friend of mine that you had reasons for acceptance of this marriage, despite your—despite an outlandish contract you’d no reason to approve.” Spirits, I’d come near revealing she had expressed her disdain for it, but I’d no idea whether she had mentioned her desires to anyone save her vicino-padre.

  “Wish to?” She sneered. “I would sooner wed a tartaruga. Yes, I had resigned myself to it, before … these events. Before I knew of murder and betrayal. Will I do it? Get me out of this place and ask me again. Oh yes, and tell me that my answer will carry any weight whatsoever.”

  She could be no clearer.

  “Segno, do you wish to marry this woman who despises you and everything you stand for? Would you force her to marry into a family she believes murdered her friend and wishes her—under your name—either dead or forever silenced about the things she learns?”

  “I am a loyal s-son.” He could almost not speak for the shaking. “I have d-duties that others cannot— I bear you no ill will, Damizella Livia, but your theories are wrong and dangerous. Believe me. Please.”

  “But your father commands we wed. And you, of course, do whatever your father commands.”

  “You know nothing of my father,” snapped Donato, roused to some semblance of life.

  “And I wish to know noth—”

  “Ware!” snapped Placidio. “Set him loose.” He tossed Neri a ring of keys, sped to the rope ladder, and scrambled up deftly as a spider.

  “Is this more playacting?” said Livia, shaking off my grip.

  “No,” I said. “Something’s coming. Danger. Real danger.” Something Placido’s magic had warned of.

  I reasserted my hold and shoved Livia into the corner farthest from the ladder. Banked by rock spires and dry cedars, it was the dimmest corner in the gray evening light. I drew my own short sword.

  Neri got Donato’s shackle off and herded him into the corner alongside Livia. I tossed him my pearl-handled dagger. He caught it with his left hand, unable to hide a grimace and a clutch at his wounded shoulder.

  “Get behind these two and stay low,” I said. “Out of sight.”

  Holding my sword at ready, I set myself in front of the three—and hoped Livia wouldn’t try to strangle me.

  Placidio approached the rim. I could feel his listening. Carefully, silently he reached over the rim and gripped Dumond’s well-set spike with one hand, drawing his main gauche with the other. He was ready to heave himself up, roll over the rim, and strike all at one. I’d never managed to get even halfway through that move.

  But the next movement occurred halfway round the cellar, where a black-clad figure emerged from the stand of cedars from which I’d observed Dono and Neri the previous night. The newcomer, a man roughly the size of a gate tower, had Dumond wrapped in his arms. Blood smeared our partner’s face and shirt.

  “You fellow with the pigsticker, back down that ladder lest we send your friend here down to join the rest of you—head first.” His gravel voice grated on the quiet evening.

  Worse, a companion appeared and dragged his own dagger’s point across Dumond’s cheek.

  Worse yet, their black capes, tunics, and hoods were blazoned with white skulls.

  19

  ONE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING

  PERDITION’S BRINK

  NEAR SUNSET

  One by one, like crows landing on a rooftop, five more of the Cavalieri Teschio appeared around the rim. The last one—of slighter build, but greater swagger than the rest—squatted at the top of the ladder, as close to our shady corner as the rugged landscape allowed. None of them should be able to see Neri crouched between Donato and Livia and the wall.

  “Look who we have here, good comrades. I do believe our luck has changed.” A woman, then. And one with a bitter edge. She jerked her thumb at the helpless Dumond. “Bind this one securely, whilst we disarm the little piggies down in the sty.”

  Placidio dropped from the ladder and joined us. His back to the center of the cellar, he spread his arms slightly, his cloak and body hiding us from the observers. He nodded when he spotted Neri. “Be ready to walk, lad,” he whispered. “I’ll shield you.”

  Neri’s magic could get him out of the damnable pit, but he had to be walking to trigger it.

  “Who are these new people?” said Livia through clenched teeth. She stood at my shoulder. “Haven’t we played your game long enough?”

  “I’m not at all sure this woman sees hostages as valuable in their present situation,” said Placidio quietly.

  “You down there,” called the woman. “Swordsman. Gather your party’s weapons and tie them to this rope. Overlook even one, and your friend up here will be rolled over the side.”

  She cast our bucket rope over the rim.

  Placidio collected my puny sword and my boot knife and added them to his dagger, his main gauche, boot knife, and the dull, elderly war sword he had carried here for show.

  We needed a story, a plan. Of all things to be caught in our own prison. And Dumond …

  A grim Placidio glanced up to the rim where Dumond’s muffled struggle to avoid their ropes had come to naught. Our friend lay on his belly, his hands bound at his back. They shoved his balding head, his wide shoulders, and torso out beyond the rim, and a hooded cavalieré planted a foot on his backside.

  Fear constricted my heart and breath. The pressure of that foot was the only thing that kept Dumond from plummeting, headfirst, to the broken paving.

  “This is madness,” said Livia. “You’re telling me these are the real—”

  “The true Cavalieri Teschio,” said Donato softly. “Vile. Despicable…” His arms wrapped his chest as if to keep his organs from flying out of it. His eyes were closed, but he did not sink to the ground.

  “As if you would recognize vile and despicable,” snapped Livia.

  “Soft,” I said, “else they’ll hear everything you say.”

  We could not have these two fighting between themselves or persuading the real Cavalieri that they could collect our six-thousand silver solets if they just killed us and returned Dono and his bride to the Villa Giusti.

  Placidio had returned to the ladder. He slowly twined a series of loops in the dangling ropes and inserted our weapons one by one. “Do you wish me to include the lady’s hairpins, dama?” he yelled. “Or my bootnails? Scum like you might be taken down with the feather in my hat.”

  “Send up your blades, piggy,” she said. “Then I’ll come down and teach you who’s scum. A jongleur’s monkey, you are, imitating your betters.”

  “Ah, you’re scared to face an impostor in a fair fight, then. Feared you might find the imitation better than the original?”

  While they exchanged more boisterous insults, I pushed the seething Livia and trembling Donato deeper into the corner, to prevent the gathering Cavalieri from spotting Neri.

  “Listen, quickly and carefully. We brought the two of you here to find some way to stop your marriage. This particular union creates a dangerous imbalance of power between the Confraternity and the city—and raises a risk to Livia’s future.”

  I snapped a finger at Donato, whose mouth twisted, ready to contradict.

  “Don’t! I’ll not debate this with either one of you until we have you safely away.”

  At the cavalieré’s first jerk on the rope, all Placidio’s knots came undone and dropped the weapons on the ground.

  “All right, all right,” he yelled, as the capo yelled and Dumond moaned. “I’ll tie better knots.”

  I took advantage of the distraction. “Understand this: We contrived to make it seem as if your abductors were aided by sorcery. If the Cavalieri suffer for our contrivance, they fully deserve it. But in d
oing so, we’ve brought you two into a danger we did not intend.” I had to make certain they understood. “Donato, if your director enforcer deems the Cavalieri tainted by sorcery, will the snatch-crew who returns you for ransom live to enjoy it?”

  “No.” His voice was scarce audible, but it displayed no uncertainty. “No one will survive that, except—”

  “Except you!” Livia spat on his bare feet. “So I was right. About Marsilia. About your family’s bloody intentions.”

  “Honestly, damize—L-Livia. On my word, worthless though you may deem it, I do not know. Never did I imagine— But I should have.” He stumbled onward. “I just cannot— But there are good reasons. By wisdom’s flame, let me—” His eyelids drooped.

  “No!” I snapped. “You cannot leave, Dono. When these people try to persuade you that they are your salvation, you must not believe them. Yes, this is our fault, but we can get both of you out of this safely.”

  I hoped they were persuaded. My time was up.

  The woman shouted orders.

  One cavalieré started cautiously down the rope ladder; another hauled up the rope containing the last of our weapons.

  Placidio hurried back to our corner. “Time to get the boy away.”

  He crowded up behind Livia and Donato, and then, billowing his cloak, he took off along the wall away from us and away from the Cavalieri gathered atop the ladder. From my vantage, Neri’s bare feet were just visible below the hem of his cloak. No one above would see him. Walking, Neri could invoke his magic.…

  I glanced at the other two. Livia was watching the big man with the graveled voice half climb, half slide down the ladder. He jumped off when little more than halfway down. Donato’s eyes were closed, but his trembling had quieted and his fevered cheeks were pale again. Discipline. Spirits. I needed to learn that from him.

  Placidio’s cloak swirled as he reversed course and returned to us, wearing a smirk between his mask and his beard. Neri had vanished.

  I laid my palm on my breast in thanks. One weight lifted, though I knew my brother was far from safe. I hoped Placidio had given him some kind of direction. He was one man alone with at least eight up top. Certain, there was Teo … yet Teo had warned me that he could no longer participate in our business. Of course I’d assumed that mortal danger would prove an exception to that, as it had earlier. Clearly not this time. He’d not rescued Dumond.

  Something broke inside me at that realization. It was not my heart. I didn’t love Teo, though I deemed him a friend. What fractured was my sense of Teo’s place in the universe—a noble beauty that lay beyond the dirt and hardships of ordinary life. I had never believed in anything like that … until the first time he’d spoken in my head. Not lead. Not dead. Name’s Teo. But he’d been told not to interfere, and he had obeyed.

  Meanwhile Dumond kept lifting his head as if to look on friends, instead of his death waiting so far below, but clearly it was getting more difficult every time. If his captor moved his foot, even slightly, Dumond would die.

  “Show yourselves, captives.” The woman had slithered down the ladder to join the gravel-voiced man and the weedy third, whose exposed chin was riddled with the pustules of unwashed youth. She sauntered toward us. “Bagi, bring them out where we can get a look.”

  “Step out here, you two. Off with the hoods and masks.” The gravel-voiced man yanked me from the sheltered corner and sent me stumbling toward the woman. Placidio followed before the man could touch him.

  Bagi glared at Livia and Dono. “Where’s the other one?”

  “What other one?” I said. I hoped our captives understood their safety might depend on Neri staying free.

  “There were five in the hole,” Bagi snarled, stepping forward. “These two impostors. Three … guests.”

  Livia edged backward, startled to discover no one between her and the wall. Donato glanced around as well, casual as one might when looking for evidence one didn’t expect to find, until, for a brief moment, his eyes met mine. Hard. Cold. He knew.

  I should have taken on Nis or some other impersonation in our meetings, though even then Placidio and Dumond, now stripped of their disguises, and Neri would remain recognizable. How in the great universe were we to get free? Placidio trusted me to design a story.

  “On the ground, you two, or I’ll put you there.” The gravel-voiced man was angry, and his sword waved tantalizingly out of Placidio’s reach. “Where is he—the bloody one without a shirt? Any of you dogs up there see where the other fellow went?”

  A few negatives. A few shrugs. No one else had noticed a fifth. Placidio and I exchanged looks of resignation, then got down on the ground.

  “I know there was another when I first stepped out.” Bagi’s moustache was twitching with anger. “Check the walls, Moro. There must be a hole. Or a way to climb—”

  “Which of you is capo of this crew?” It was Donato asking—and with startling sharpness.

  “What do you care?” The brute plowed his boot into Placidio’s ribs, then moved to examine the crumbling corner for himself.

  Only I, lying two handspans away, could have heard Placidio’s painful grunt. Only Dumond’s situation, moments from death, kept Placidio from taking Bagi to the ground.

  Dono halted Bagi with a firm hand. “Look at me, cavalieré, and answer my question. Which of you is the capo?”

  Bagi’s sneering gaze raked Donato. “What are you, boy, this bully’s ass licker?”

  Dono did not rise to the insult. “Have you not guessed who I am? Are you so ignorant as to misunderstand the respect due me? That’s why you’re not capo and likely never will be.” He gave a knowing nod toward the woman.

  “I am capo,” said the woman. “But my tenente does nothing without my orders. You will answer him and obey.”

  “I speak with no one but the capo, and I will not be touched by hirelings. Nor shall my bride.” One might imagine Dono wearing the red robe already instead of a filthy shirt that scarce reached his knees.

  Bagi snickered, curling his lip. “Stick like her might not be much—”

  “I have a word for your master, Capo.” The brute might not have existed.

  “My master? Why do you think I have a—? Ah, never mind,” said the woman with a steely laugh. “I know exactly who you are and who this red-haired wench is. Every cavalieré still breathing in Cantagna knows—and that’s not so many as of this evening. I doubt there’s any word a soft boy like you could say would interest me lest it was accompanied by a thousand solets. I’ve heard you’re an idiot afflicted by fits when anyone looks at him. If I scare you enough, will you show us one?”

  “You would not care for my fits,” said Donato, unruffled. “If you’ll not heed my warnings, let me say the word aloud for all your crew to hear. Tell Giorgio the Hand—for no other capo’s crews would have been sent on this search—incrocio. Tell him that, as of tomorrow, I shall hold his life in my hand. Your life will be there right beside his, Capo, assuming he doesn’t cut your throat first for forcing me to speak what no hireling should hear.”

  Livia’s eyes could not have been fixed tighter to Donato di Bastianni were a wire stretched between them. She appeared very near fainting from astonishment. I felt a bit light-headed myself to hear so many words—and such focused composure—from the strange young man.

  But then the woman broke the spell, laughing with the manic ferocity of one being led to the gallows. “Oh, Segno di Bastianni, how the world has changed since you were snatched from it! As of tomorrow, Giorgio the Hand will be no more alive than he is on this night. The praetorians hanged and gutted him in the Piazza Livello this noonday for arranging the snatch of a Confraternity director’s son and the daughter of Cantagna’s steward. No sorcery was proved.”

  A Cavalieri capo had been executed for the abduction, but with no magic proved? That meant the philosophists simply wanted this Giorgio dead. Silenced. Yet they had shared a code word … why?

  The capo stepped forward. Donato held his ground.
/>
  “Giorgio did not send us on any search before his guts spewed, boy child. The Cavalieri Teschio are no more. Our little cadre managed to escape the scouring and chose to wait out its spread in this cursed place. Though now it seems Lady Fortune’s generous hand has tossed us a pip to make us grow again. I hear there’s a reward of two thousand silver solets for capturing the crew that pulled off the snatch of the director’s son.”

  Eyes glinting through her mask, the capo smiled down at me and stepped on my hand.

  Pain shrieked through my arm.

  “Atladu’s divine balls, I’d like to know how you people did it—breaking into the Villa Giusti itself. Your father, young segno, put out that the two of you were out in the town when you were taken, so no one would imagine the Villa Giusti vulnerable to the likes of the Skull Knights. But Giorgio the Hand—when he sent word for us all to make a run for it—said he knew better. Street folks said ’twas magic done, while soldiers blame everyone but themselves for their failures. As I said, no sorcery was proved.”

  I forced myself not to upend her at just the proper angle as to break her ankle. Oh, Dumond …

  The capo waved her hand around and nudged my mouth with her filthy boot. “Myself, I doubt the sorcery. What sorcerer would bring anyone to this cursed desolation? What sorcerer would have need of shackles or the broke-down horses we spied below? How the pesky philosophists found Giorgio, I’ve no notion. Old fool thought he was well hid and had the goods that would keep him alive. Clearly he wasn’t and didn’t.”

  I spat at her feet.

  “Giorgio the Hand dead.” Donato spoke the words as if he were examining them for subtle meanings. “Interesting. Are you certain of that?”

  “I didn’t witness it, but ’twas reliable sources.…” It was the first doubt I’d heard from the woman. And it was short-lived. “Someone else must interpret your code word—if it even has meaning any longer. I’m only questioning whether I might profit more by killing you and your bride and turning these three over to your father, or killing all five of you and saying we stumbled on you too late, thus saving him the trouble of gutting the impostors. Which would be better worth a free passage to Mercediare or Tibernia, do you think?”