Speak to the Devil (29 page)

There was a pause.

“A reasonable request,” Zdenek conceded. “It presents some difficulties that I cannot explain in the brief time we have available. Something might be achieved. Such matters should not be written down, so tell him that the password will be ‘Greenwood.’ He may trust anyone who comes with that word.”

“Excellent! There remains the matter of reward.”

The cardinal’s glare was very gratifying. “Your youngest brother is a Speaker. We both know that, and he gave himself away at the hunt a week ago. Had I realized that he was eighteen, I might have approached him directly, but my records inexplicably indicated that he was only sixteen. Women mature younger, but male Speakers’ powers are rarely properly developed at that age. Someone had been shielding him, I suspect. I could not appoint an unknown of sixteen to be a lord of the marches—my action in promoting his brother to the earldom was bizarre enough. I hoped that Wulfgang’s aid would help speed his journey to his new post, but I honestly did not expect such a daunting display of power. Who has been training him?”

“No one, I am certain.”

“He must have the endurance of a seasoned warrior.”

“It is in his blood. He is a Magnus.”

“So now he wants to hold His Majesty to ransom, does he? Will a dukedom suffice?”

“He would spurn it,” Otto said quickly. “He enjoys hunting, so a forest of his own might tempt him, but all the duties and responsibilities of a great landowner would not. That is not what he covets.”

Younger sons of noble houses were always ravenous for land, honors, and titles. It was largely they who kept Europe roiling in a perpetual state of warfare. Yet the cardinal did not seem surprised to hear of an exception.

“Speakers are not as other men, my lord. Or as other women. The best thing I can offer your Wulfgang is my protection. It is limited. If he starts walking through walls or striking men dead, then the Church will have him and that will be the end of him. As long as he remains discreet, I may be able to persuade the archbishop to turn a blind eye. More than that I cannot promise.”

“Your Eminence’s assurance is most comforting, but there is more. The little god with the arrows has intervened.”

“Martyrs pity me!”
The old man rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “The daughter? Are you telling me that we may lose this war because of an outbreak of juvenile lust?”

“It would not be the first such mishap since Troy, Eminence.”

“No, I suppose it would not.” Zdenek leaned back in his chair. “You expect the king to reverse his edict? How bad is it?”

“In Wulfgang’s case, life-threatening—and unprecedented. He has never acted like this before. According to his account, the lady returns his ardor. Anton does not know, and probably will not care as long as his claim to the earldom is preserved.”

The door opened as Brother Daniel returned. The cardinal straightened up. “Well, they must be discreet. Certain acts are irrevocable, you understand?”

Marriage, for example. Otto nodded. What God had joined together stayed joined together.

“If the castle falls,” the Spider said, “the point is moot. If he succeeds, then Jorgary will be deeply in his debt. Meanwhile, I shall report
your good news to His Majesty, and you may be assured that the house of Magnus will stand even higher in his favor than it has ever done.”

Hopefully that would be higher than where it had stood when it needed to ransom one of its sons.

Otto rose, then knelt to kiss the cardinal’s ring. Brother Daniel opened a door for him, but not the one by which he had entered. He walked down a stair and left the palace.

Riding through Mauvnik, Wulf was anxious to consult his Voices, but reluctant to let any of the vendors, pedestrians, or barrow-pullers see him talking to empty space. He had to wait until he was almost at the Bacchus before he found a gap in the traffic.

“Holy Saints, if I ask you, can you take me to Castle Orel, in Bavaria?”

The Light brightened the alley and St. Helena spoke.

—
No.

“What! Why not?”

No answer, of course. That sort of question they never answered.

But the Light remained, so he tried again. “You took me to Koupel, and you took me to Cardice. And Dobkov, and now Mauvnik. What’s different about Bavaria?”

Still no answer, meaning he had to work out the answer for himself. He knew Dobkov intimately and he had seen pictures of Castle Gallant. And the Voices had offered to take him to Marek, not to Koupel.

“Could you take me to my brother Vladislav?”

—
Yes.

Success! “Thank you, but not right now. Can you tell me where he is and what he is doing?”

—
He is in bed
, Victorinus said.

—
Fornicating
, Helena added.

That did sound like Vlad, although the timing was odd. Nor was it a likely occupation while chained to a cellar wall.

“At this time of day? Has he nothing better to do?”

—
No, he is a captive. But his captor treats him well. He is allowed to abuse servant women.

Did the girls regard it as abuse, or a welcome break in their working day?

Wulf thanked the Voices and rode into the innyard. He was starting to define limits to their powers. He felt that this must be significant, if he could just see how.

Copper would not be welcome in Vlad’s bedroom. Wulf returned him to care of the stable hands, and remembered to take the bag of gold away with him, trying not to tilt sideways too conspicuously as he walked. Upstairs he found the hired boy sitting outside the room, cleaning a basketful of boots.

“You carry on with that,” he said as he unlocked the door. “I don’t want to be disturbed by anyone except Baron Magnus himself, understand?”

He locked himself in. The room was probably the best in the house, and even two good-sized beds did not clutter it much. Large windows let in plenty of sun, but they were securely barred and not overlooked by any others. Miracle-working should be safe enough here.

“Holy saints,” he said very softly. “What is Vlad doing now?”

—
Vladislav has dismissed his companion and is asleep already.

“Will you take me to him, please?”

A rectangular slice of reality disappeared into darkness. Stepping closer, he smelled different air. There was a door-sized hole there into somewhere else, a dimmer place, and a wind blowing in his face. Gingerly, he stretched out a hand. It did not fall off, but it was in deep shadow.

—
Step through, quickly!

Wulf obeyed and was plunged into gloom as the doorway behind him closed. A roar of thunder shattered the silence. He ignored it, hoping that the boy in the Bacchus had not heard. Already his eyes had adapted
enough to see chinks of light around a shutter. He made his way to it without tripping over anything and opened it, to find himself looking out a window high up in one tower of a many-towered castle, upon a crag surrounded by green forest. In the distance lay a small silver lake flanked by a road that might be the main approach. White mountains lined the skyline. So this was Bavaria, was it?

Another explosion of thunder …

He turned to survey a circular and drafty chamber. The four-poster bed in the center almost filled it, leaving only space for a chair, a chest, a commode, and of course the ladder connecting traps in floor and ceiling. A pleasant enough jail, if the supply of servant girls held up.

“Saints, can anyone hear us speak?” Or, Speak.

—
Not at present.

“Thank you.”

Another monstrous snore … Why didn’t the curtains billow and the tower sway? Wulf took a firm grip on the bed curtain nearest the window and hauled it aside, thereby exposing a mound of quilt like a haystack under snow.

“Vlad! Vlad! Wake up! It’s Wulf.”

The next snore didn’t happen. “Uh?” Vlad mumbled.

“Wake up! It’s Wulfgang, your brother.”

“Wha—?” The quilt surged up and dropped to expose the top half of Sir Vladislav Magnus, sitting up and blinking.

Wulf had forgotten just how huge the largest Magnus was, and how hairy. His shoulders were thatched. His jaw and brow were massive, and although his hairline was starting to recede, there was little bare skin visible anywhere on his face. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Very few young men wore beards, but his was as huge as everything else about him.

“God be with you, Brother.”

“Fires of hell! How did you get here, Wolfcub?”

Wulf put a finger to his lips and whispered, “I Spoke.”

His brother glowered ogrishly. “After they took Marek, you swore you’d never do that!”

“And I didn’t—not until I had to stop Anton breaking his neck. Once you get started, it’s hard to give it up. Like servant girls. Here, Anton sent
you this.” He dropped the bag on the foothills marking Vlad’s thighs—close enough to his crotch to get his attention, but not close enough to damage.

“God’s breath! Be careful, boy! What’s this?”

“Two thousand florins.”

Vlad drew a deep breath. “From
Anton
?”

Despite the forebodings Wulf had jokingly expressed to Otto, he was looking forward to this discussion. “The first installment on his wife’s dowry. Baby Anton’s been growing up while you’ve been lazing around here, Sir Vlad. At the moment he is keeper of Castle Gallant, in Cardice, guarding the Silver Road north.” He watched the shaggy eyebrows fly up. An honor like that would satisfy Vlad as a worthy reward for a whole lifetime of cleaving and skewering the king’s enemies. “Unfortunately the Pomeranians are invading. Anton doesn’t have forces to withstand a long siege and the king can’t get reinforcements there before the Wends bring up their wall-smashing cannon. Anton needs your help, Brother. He needs a seasoned warrior like you. He needs you very much and very soon.”

Vlad’s always-ugly face twisted into something worse. “You are making this up. How did you get here, really?”

“Before God, every word I said is true.”

The big man scowled as he thought it through. “And how do I get to Castle Gallant?”

“My Voices will take us.”

Vlad crossed himself. “Satanism!”

“If my Voices are evil, why have they saved Anton’s life twice in the last week? Anyway, I can tell you everything when we get to Dobkov.”

Vlad laughed at him. “Just like that? Am I allowed to put on some clothes first? Emilian isn’t here. He won’t be back until tonight, probably late. All this money will have to be weighed.”

“It’s warranted by a Medici seal on the bag.”

“Won’t matter, sonny. And there’s not just me. What about my lance—two squires, a sergeant, and a varlet. You planning to talk the devil into taking all of us?”

“Just you!” Wulf snapped.

“Thought so. Well, they’ll have to follow. You brought the money they’ll need on the road?”

“You sent them home two years ago.” Wulf had forgotten how annoying this brother’s twisted humor could be. He seemed to consider it some sort of hazing, and he would probably be doing it to his youngest brother when they were both in their dotage.

“So I did. Just wondering if you remembered. You have the money to cover my quarter the last two years?”

“How much more do you want?”

“About eighty florins ought to cover it.”

“
Eighty?
I don’t happen to have that much on me.”

“You’ll have to find it before I can leave here.”

“Maybe Anton can get by without you.”

“Maybe he’ll have to.”

Wulf reached out to take back the money bag and a hand the size of a steel gauntlet closed on his wrist; he was helpless in that grip. No matter how hard he tugged, the hand did not budge.

“Well, Wolfcub? You haven’t answered my question.”

For a moment the brothers just stared at each other. The big man had never been known for his courtly manners, and now that he was learning how two junior brothers had lapped him during his captivity he must be feeling especially vicious. Wulf wondered uneasily if Vlad was truly someone he should entrust with his big secret.

“Why don’t you grow a beard, Wolfcub? Or can’t you, yet?”

“Why don’t you write a note for the rest of the money, or doesn’t he trust you? Ow! That hurts!”

The big man released his wrist. “It was meant to. All right, I’ll talk to Emilian tomorrow and see how much he wants.”

“Otto added another sixty florins. What do the servant girls charge?”

Anger bristled the great beard. “You been spying on me?”

“No, but when I asked my Voices what you were doing a little while ago, they told me.”

“That’s a pretty handy trick. You going to stay the night?”

“No. What time tomorrow? Terce? Can you be up that early?”

Vlad scowled. “Could be ready then, or at least I’ll know if I can’t come.”

“Then I’ll ride up to the front door about terce. I don’t want to meet anyone or see anyone. You ride out to meet me. If anyone else appears, then I’ll be gone and you can stay here and rot.”

“For a beardless brat, you give a lot of orders to your seniors.”

“Victorinus, take me to the inn.” Wulf spun around and stepped into a blaze of sunlight. The mystic doorway closed behind him. Screwing up his eyes against the brightness, he laughed. He wished he could see Vlad’s face right then, but imagining it was almost as good.

Obviously Otto had not yet returned from the palace. That left Wulf the choice of wasting his appetite by eating his dinner in the inn, or stretching out on a bed to wait for him.

Hunger won. He went down to the dining room, which was dark and packed tight with plank tables and benches, but he was happily surprised to see how crowded the place was. The food might not be good, but it must be better than the Bacchus’s competitors’. He found an empty space on a bench and paid the wench half a silver penny for water to wash his hands, a flagon of wine, and a trencher of four-day-old bread. He proceeded to heap the trencher with slices of salt pork, fresh boiled mutton, rye bread, and spoonfuls of onion sauce and beans. He had barely put his knife back in his belt before Otto squeezed in beside him.