Suicide Kings (15 page)

“My father believes the balance of power in Firenze currently favors the French. He wished that I get experience and connections in the court of King Charles. It was a favorable setting, and I think I learned much.”

She smirked. “The last I saw of the French they were fleeing across the Alps.” She regretted saying it the moment the words were out of her mouth. She had such a knack for saying the wrong thing whenever in the company of young men.

Bernardo didn’t seem to mind however. “Even should the balance of power shift back to the Empire or, Lord help us, England, there will still be value in having seen the inner workings of the French court firsthand.”

He was right and she nodded. “Very clever.” She glanced over at her father and the Tornabuonis, locked once again in conversation and apparently ignoring them. “I don’t suppose our parents orchestrated our meeting, have they? It would be very much like my father.”

He laughed. “Not that I am aware of, although I’ll admit my parents think themselves quite quick as well.”

“It seems that you have no shortage of female admirers.”

He rubbed his forehead. “I hope you will not think of me the wrong way. I suspect the attention has more to do with my time in France than anything else. I assure you that I am not accustomed to such notice.”

“Spoken like a true Italian man to his betrothed before he ignores her in favor of some concubine.” She said it as a jest and, from his smile, she was relieved to see he took it as such.

“I am sorrowed to learn of the death of your mother. I did not know her well, but she is spoken of in the highest terms.”

“Thank you,” she said. Her heart tugged at the mention of her mother. For a moment, just a moment, she’d been distracted from such matters. “It has been a difficult time.”

“I think she would be proud of her daughter to see you now, planning on attending university at Salerno or Pisa.”

She felt herself blushing. “That may be little more than a dream. I still lack my father’s permission.”

“He’ll come around with time. The work of a physician holds great prestige.”

“My father appears to think differently, at least in my case.”

“Too often, our culture has been slow to acknowledge the formidable power of women. Perhaps you will be one of those who change such opinions.” He smiled at her.

She felt taken aback. She certainly agreed, yet it was a startlingly enlightened statement to hear a man utter. Either he was possessed of a singular free thinking mind, or he was a theatrical artist. She could not think of what to say in response.

Suddenly the music stopped, and they parted, though standing merely a foot apart. “My Lord,” she told him, collecting herself, “I fear I should go. I am still mourning my mother’s death and it would not be appropriate for me to be seen engaged in frivolities all night long.”

“Of course,” he said with a little bow, although his voice was tinged with regret.

She turned to leave, to collect her things and make the walk back to her palazzo, presumably alone save for her guardian Crispino.

He touched her gently on the arm. “Thank you for the dance. I truly enjoyed it.”

She looked back at him and heard herself say, “As did I.” With that, she turned and left.

Chapter Nine

No Nose and Long Fingers

Bernardo and Niccolo, Niccolo and Bernardo. Her coat on, pistol recovered from the silent uncommenting slave girl, Diana’s thoughts bounced from one man to the other. Each intrigued her in different ways. Niccolo intelligent, dark, secretive, both protective and slightly threatening. Bernardo handsome, charismatic, worldly, perhaps too much so in some ways. Diana could scarcely remember the last time her mind had been so occupied with men. Now here she was, in the middle of a quite remarkable and unpleasant time, her mind drifting between two. Diana had never been one to fawn foolishly over the male of the species. Yet she would be lying to herself not to acknowledge finding a certain attraction to each of them. Of course there remained the possibility that Niccolo might have something to do with her mother’s death, although she judged this possibility as quite remote.

Diana pinched herself to break her thoughts. Such concerns were neither here nor there at the moment. She could hardly start courting either of them in the midst of her investigation. Avoiding assassination loomed as a much more pressing concern. At very least she could wait until she got home and safely in her bed before ruminating over the two men. No doubt Siobhan would delight in comparing their merits.

Diana gauged the time as after midnight; the streets now were much quieter. Ahead of her Crispino resumed his patrol keeping his distance as she requested. Despite that she didn’t fully trust him or his boss Niccolo, his footsteps ahead of her were reassuring.

Not a long walk, fortunately. Diana huddled her coat tightly, and kept her head down, ignoring a few wispy flakes of snow that wafted down. Ahead, Crispino turned a corner, leading the way through the dark. Watching her own feet, Diana paid him little mind. In a moment however, she realized his footsteps had stopped.

She paused, listening. No footsteps. For a second she thought she heard a muffled voice, more a gurgle than anything coherent. It was enough for her to guess that all was not well. A course of fear flowed through her veins and her hand at once seized the pommel of her pistol. She looked around, forward and backward. She still remained the only person on the street that she could see. All else was deserted, barely a candle showing in the windows of nearby houses. Up ahead, perhaps thirty paces was the corner where Crispino had vanished. Back just a few paces a dark alley offered a dubious shelter in which to hide.

Diana considered calling out for Crispino. Perhaps there was some simple explanation. He might have stopped to wait for her, or fallen ill. Instinctively she rejected such facile rationalizations. Trouble waited around that corner. She was certain of that. She could turn and flee, go back the way she came. The safest course, yet it would mean abandoning Crispino. What if he were still alive, in need of assistance? No, she wouldn’t leave him behind.

She drew the pistol, cocked forward the hammer. The thought of it being out of her care during the banquet returned to her. Paranoia gripped her. What if someone had tampered with it? Nothing she could do about that now, if so. Looked like she was on course to find out.

Since she couldn’t move forward, and wasn’t about to run away, she ducked into the darkened alley. It was black as coal within, and smelled of urine and filth. No doubt the denizens of the buildings on either side pitched out the contents of their chamber pots into the alley. Lovely. Diana begged God that whatever else happened, nothing knocked her to the ground.

She really had no plan. She could double back around through the alley, approach the point she had last seen Crispino from the opposing direction. Then what? She had only one shot in the event that hostile forces awaited her. At least it was a course of action. Maybe something cleverer would come to her once she had more information.

As she prepared to move off, she heard footsteps in the main street, walking slowly toward the alley. She peered around the corner, hoping it might be Crispino. It wasn’t. The figure, barely visible in the dark, was short, round, similar to Mancini, although not as well-muscled. The glint of a dagger shone in one hand.

Diana stepped backward, hoping she hadn’t been seen. She trod lightly, trying not to make a sound. She looked back behind her, to the other exit from the alleyway. Her breath came fast. The alley had been a good place to hide, but it also might prove to be a trap. If more than one assailant hunted her, she could be caught in this narrow, dark chamber.

So she made for her only escape route. A moment later a glowing orb appeared in the opening, blocking her escape. The glow of a lantern. In its yellow light she saw the image of a tall lanky man with oily hair and fingers long and slender like those of a skeleton. He grinned at her and smiled a smile full of crooked and blackened teeth. Turning around she found the other entrance to the alley now framed the round figure she’d seen in the street. Damn them, she was trapped! Slowly, the two figures converged on her. She swung the pistol back and forth between them, deciding which to shoot. Which of the survivors would be quick enough to catch her when she ran for it?

“Diana Savrano,” the round figure hissed. He came into the glow from the lantern so she could see him better. What she found was a hideous, repulsive man indeed. Squat and squalid, with skin the pallor of a corpse and a gaping skull-like orifice where his nose should have been. She thought at first he might be a leper, although the rest of his face, unhealthy though it might be, showed no other sign of that horrid disease. Instead she guessed he’d lost his nose due to violence. A fight perhaps, or he might have fought as a mercenary at war. He grinned at her and wiped his crusty lips with a blackened tongue. He held up his left hand for her to see. His fingers entwined the hair of young Crispino, whose head dropped below that hand, the face caught in a last expression of suffering. The eyes were rolled back, the mouth twisted open as if trying to scream. A few drops of blood visibly fell from the slight stalk of a neck that remained beneath that head.

Diana’s stomach twisted in a knot at the sight, but she held firm, keeping the pistol trained on No-nose. Staying put had been a waste then. Crispino never had a chance. She should have run.

“Mancini sends his regards,” the leering noseless man sneered. “You seem to have particularly raised his ire. You must have been a rather naughty girl.”

Long-fingers with the lamp laughed, making a hacking sound that sounded of consumption.

“You diseased lot are the best he could find to send after me?” she asked with bravado. “Couldn’t find the balls to come himself?”

No-nose giggled, the sound high pitched and grating. “Well, this signorina certainly can talk. Not knowing your place is likely what got you into this trouble. Come on now, girl. Put that thing down, and we’ll be sure things go for you quick and easy, like with your friend here.” With that he tossed Crispino’s head at her feet. It landed with a sickening thud and rolled a few inches away.

Diana forced herself not to look at it. She tried to swallow but found her mouth to be entirely dry.

“I wouldn’t go waving that firestick around,” No-nose sneered. “Let’s have you put that thing down now before you go hurting yourself.” The fat man kept his distance, no doubt hoping the pistol would be too inaccurate to hit him at a distance. Behind her though, she sensed Long-fingers edging closer.

She met No-nose’s gaze. “You seem like a man who enjoys the pleasures of the table.”

His grin faltered at the unexpected comment. “I’m not sure insulting me is going to do you much good at a moment like this,” he growled.

“It will if it means you can’t run fast.” As she said that she spun and faced Long-fingers. The tall gaunt fellow was still grinning at some comment he’d found funny. His face was beautifully illuminated by the lantern he held in one hand. She aimed her pistol for his face and squeezed the trigger. She prayed the most morbid sacrilegious prayer of her life: that God would help her take a life. Within the workings of the pistol, she felt the internal wheel spin. Would it work? Had the gun been sabotaged? An eternity seemed to go by since she pulled the trigger. She felt a moment of despair. Then a spark caught and the pistol discharged a burst of fury. A round black hole appeared between Long-finger’s eyes. The back of his skull came loose in several messy, hairy globs. The lantern spun out of his long grasp, and his corpse dropped to its knees. Before he fell further, Diana was already past him, darting out of the alley.

“Foul bitch!” No-nose screamed. Behind her she could hear his heavy footsteps. She dared not turn, but she guessed her estimate had been correct and he’d not be capable of catching her. A minute later she didn’t hear the footsteps anymore. No doubt it was too risky for him to follow in a city that had likely been woken by the gunshot. She finally turned and saw she was alone. Coming to a rest, she put one hand against a brick building and collected her breath. Her side stung with the effort of running, and the cold air tore at her lungs as she sucked in deep breaths.

Dear God, she’d killed a man! She waited for the realization to truly hit her. She wondered if she would be ill, would feel herself forever changed. Nothing happened immediately. She felt herself to be the same Diana as before. Was she so heartless a woman that she could shoot a man down and feel so little? Of course Long-fingers had obviously been a particularly vile specimen of man, with clear intent to do her harm. Still, she could not help but wonder how much the last few days had hardened her. Then, she wanted nothing more than to learn how to save lives. Now she’d taken one. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the last. Perhaps her own would be taken as well before all were over.

She should go back. Gendarmes would come to investigate the violence that had been done in the alleyway. They’d come to her with questions. Perhaps it would be Niccolo, inquiring as to the nature of the death of his man Crispino. She wiped her forehead with the hand that still grasped the emptied pistol. Let them come find her. She was done with them all for tonight. She turned her back and walked home where she hoped to find sleep and dreams untroubled by murder.

****

She went straight to her bedroom without speaking to anyone. With candles lit, she took off her dress, and let down her hair, and looked at herself in the mirror for a long while. She pulled down the lid of one eye and looked at the white ball. Still the same Diana. It felt like the world around her had gone all wrong. For better or worse she as of yet felt unchanged.

Staying away from open flame, she reloaded the pistol. At least it hadn’t been sabotaged. It now had at least one human life to its record. So did she. There was little concern about legal ramifications. The clear status differential between herself and Long-fingers, the fact she was a woman…no one would bat an eyelash other than to remark she had taken care of herself so well. Enforcement of homicides in Firenze tended to be sporadic during even the best of times anyway. Killing Long-fingers wouldn’t find her any more trouble she didn’t already have.