The Boy Who Wept Blood (25 page)

‘Only that I can’t find him. If he is even a man. You could be the author of the letters for all I know.’

I am not.

‘If you are,’ said Dino, ‘I’ll kill you myself.’

Anea laced her fingers, green eyes full of anger. They stood, staring at one another, an arm’s length apart at the very most. Dino’s disgust rose like bile.

‘I don’t know what happened in the
sanatorio
, but you should have consulted me – on Erebus, on the Myrmidons, on Duke Fontein.’ Dino reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a turquoise sash, tossing it to the floor. ‘Return this to me when you think to include me on your plans. Until then, stay away from House Contadino. I’ll kill anyone who raises a hand against them.’

Dino turned and unlocked the door, yanking the handle with a snarl on his lips. He had almost passed from the room when he spared her a glance over his shoulder. His anger fled, leaving him with a chasm of loss.

‘I feel like I don’t know you any more.’

Anea stared back, gaze resolute, posture rigid, fingers woven together. Who or what had worked its way beneath the skin of his sister? What animus guided her thoughts?

Dino stalked away from the apartment, hand brushing the drake-head pommel of his sword. Boot heels sounded loudly on the flagstones, yet Anea’s door had yet to close, the lock yet to click. He turned to find her staring after him, not with the eyes of a distant sister but the gaze of a stranger.

45

Decline and Seclusion
–
28 Agosto
325

There were two of them, dark outlines against the bulk of the old
sanatorio.
The curving helms and breastplates gave them away even in the night. Their swords may well have been used to quell the protests, the blood of the rioters wiped clean from the steel. Dino had no doubt the Myrmidons would turn him away. The Domina would brook no interference, nor suffer the undoing of plans so carefully laid by Erebus the unseen.

The Orfano circled to the east, hurrying down deserted streets that had seen frustration crescendo into violence just the day before. Detritus lay across cobbles like wreckage thrown up by the tide. The streets parted – a quick sprint, body bent low – and then he was climbing the ivy that clung to the
sanatorio
, fingers seeking handholds, boots finding purchase on the many ledges and overhangs of narrow windows. He would not be denied the truth, even if his own sister was taking pains to keep it from him. The dire influence now commanding her thoughts would not prevent him from discovering Demesne’s affliction.

Erebus.

Even the name was like poison, and poison was just a chemical like any other. Who better to advise on the use of chemicals than a scientist? A scientist shackled to the king’s machines, by Anea’s reckoning.

Dino climbed easily, a sneer on his lips as two more Myrmidons patrolled below, oblivious. He was another shadow among the foliage, which now quivered in the night’s breeze. A final grunt of exertion and he was over the lip of the roof among gargoyles who had witnessed the previous day’s bloodletting.

The time spent in Anea’s apartment had not been wasted. He had not merely lain in wait to ambush her with questions. A quick search had turned up a iron hoop bearing five keys. He knelt down on the conical roof beside the hatch and tried the first key. The metal slid into the dark hole, failing to turn either way. The same was true of the second key. He fumbled in the darkness for the third, remembering the last time he’d been up here. Achilles had led him to the
sanatorio
rooftop. He cursed under his breath and tried the third key: too large for the hole. The fourth key was bent and no amount of straining or colourful language would return it to usefulness.

Dino looked to the star-strewn heavens. He should entreat Santa Maria to bestow good fortune upon him at a time like this. Small chance of that.

‘I’m getting into this building, one way or another.’

The fifth key turned in the lock; the Orfano grinned.

The upper floors were deserted. He’d expected as much but dared to believe he might find Virmyre at work on his beloved machines. The darkness was held back by the guttering lantern he’d chanced upon in Anea’s sitting room. Doorways lay ahead like despairing mouths, leading to cells that had once housed the afflicted. Not a soul stirred, not a voice broke the silence, just legions of devices in flinty grey and obsidian black. They stared into darkness with amethyst eyes that glowed like stars. Dino recoiled, confident the machines could do no harm yet profoundly wary of the secrets they held.

Curiosity snared him, and he crossed the threshold to a larger room, three cells with the walls knocked through. Lantern light crept along edges and smooth surfaces. At seven feet long it was the largest machine he’d ever seen, like a sarcophagus and just as deep, created from glossy black material. Grooves ran along the edges, smooth to the touch, while the top was a pleasing convexity. A questing finger found a small disc of glass inset at one corner, but the signature amethyst light within was extinguished.

The contrivance yawned open, causing Dino to jump back, afraid of what it might unleash. His sword was free of the scabbard, his stance low, heart hammering a staccato in his chest.

Nothing emerged.

Dino stepped closer, but the sarcophagus held stale air and nothing else. Anything that it had once contained had since been removed. The Orfano cursed the machine and pressed on, chiding himself.

The staircase spiralled down into the heart of the
sanatorio
, offering more gloomy corridors, more darkened cells. Dino tried to imagine what the hateful building must have been like when at capacity. Had the inmates cried out or languished without complaint? Had they even been aware of their confinement? The echos of those captive women lingered still, even after a decade, but not as sound. Melancholy had a made a home of the
sanatorio.

‘Hello.’ A greeting from the darkness. Dino crossed to the nearest closed door and peered through its barred window, spotting a figure sitting on the floor, back to the wall, knees drawn to its chest.

‘Oh, you’ve stopped drinking long enough to find your own arse. Did it take just one hand or both?’

Dino struggled to contain a smile. Virmyre’s barbs were all too welcome despite their situation.

‘I’ve certainly found an arse; I may yet start drinking.’

The huddled form rose to its feet, edging closer to the light that flickered around the bars in the door. The familiar face of the
professore
looked at Dino.

‘I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer you. My cellar is lacking. Please forgive the state of my rooms; my maid has been greatly remiss of late.’

The cell held a narrow cot, and a fetid reek cloyed the air.

‘I see confinement hasn’t dulled your tongue, or your wit.’

‘I sharpen it with a whetstone and hide it in that bucket of excrement. It’s the one place the Myrmidons don’t look.’

‘Ingenious to the end.’

‘I have no intention of ending,’ intoned Virmyre.

‘Care to tell me how you ended up in here?’

‘The Myrmidons, of course.’

‘Anea just told me she didn’t know of your whereabouts.’

‘Then we have to suspect that the order for my confinement came from the Domina.’

Dino held the light up and narrowed his eyes. The
professore
looked in good health, despite his circumstances. Dino again noted the smoothing of the crow’s feet that had lined Virmyre’s face. His lips looked fuller, his brow uncreased.

‘What have you and Anea been dabbling with?’ asked Dino, aware of the many machines on the floor above.

‘We call it
tinctura
,’ said Virmyre.

Dino’s eyes widened. That word again.

‘What is it?’

‘
Tinctura
is the appellation for a pharmacological mixture the formula for which we found written inside the king’s machines.’

‘I should have known.’ Dino’s mouth curled in disgust. ‘Those machines will be the death of us.’

‘Quite the reverse. We made up a batch and tested it.’

‘On who?’

‘Myself, at first.’ Virmyre shrugged in response to Dino’s incredulous scowl. ‘There’s not exactly an abundance of volunteers for the king’s secrets. Especially when you consider the king used to administer
tinctura
to himself.’

‘How?’

‘Two drops of the mixture in each eye. At first I thought it was a stimulant, nothing more, but there are other qualities.’

‘Go on.’

‘According to the king’s notes,
tinctura
stops the degradation of bodily tissues and regenerates portions of the brain. A side effect seems to be a lessening of empathy and an aversion to sunlight.’

‘That would explain the king’s decline. And seclusion.’

‘Quite. And also why Anea and I were so keen to continue research.’

‘But you stopped taking it?’

Virmyre nodded.

‘And Anea?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Virmyre looked away. ‘She hasn’t been herself for some time. She was taking it twice a day. I insisted she take some rest, which is what she has appeared to do. Now I can’t be sure.’

‘And you were sending this
tinctura
to the Domina?’

‘No.’ Virmyre shook his head. ‘We never told the Domina about it.’

‘Well, someone did. Someone called Erebus.’

Virmyre grasped the bars of his cell. ‘Have you seen this Erebus?’

‘No, but he corresponds with the Domina, giving orders couched as favours.
Tinctura
is how he buys her obedience.’

‘It would certainly explain her behaviour,’ rumbled Virmyre.

‘She’s been mired in suspicion and resentment for some time. A lessening of empathy just makes her more …’

‘Dangerous.’

‘I was going to say inhuman, but that would be rich from an Orfano.’

‘You’re a lot more human than most out there.’ Virmyre flicked his gaze beyond the end of the corridor, insinuating Demesne. ‘And you’ve always struggled for what was good for everyone, not just pursued your own comfort.’

‘Comfort?’ Dino snorted with contempt.

‘I heard fighting in the streets yesterday.’

Dino nodded. ‘The Domina produced the Myrmidons, her new army. After so many months of raids the people were angry. Understandably so.’

‘And Anea?’

‘She sat on the throne, barely moving.’

‘I see.’ Virmyre’s face remained impassive, his voice betraying the responsibility he felt.

‘Is it permanent? This lessening of empathy.’

‘I can’t be sure.’ Virmyre sighed. ‘The quantities she was taking …’

They lapsed into silence until a jagged spike of anger rose in Dino’s chest.

‘I trusted you to watch over my sister,’ he whispered, ‘not allow her to become an addict.’

‘We didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into,’ admitted Virmyre.

‘And now look at you.’

‘So do you plan on rescuing me – like a damsel?’ said Virmyre, but the line sounded strained to Dino’s ears. ‘Or were you merely seeking counsel?’

The Orfano produced the keys he’d stolen from Anea. Each proved useless.

‘Well, at least I can work on my memoirs,’ said Virmyre.

Feet scuffed on flagstones in the depths of the
sanatorio.

‘Here comes the solution,’ whispered Dino, drawing a dagger. He passed it through the bars of the door.

‘Just in case.’

Dino discarded the lantern in an empty cell, orange light spilling out, wavering on black flagstones. He watched from the shadows of the curved corridor, waiting inside another open doorway, barely breathing. The Myrmidon emerged from the stairwell bearing a lantern of his own, his other hand holding a tray of food. Dino eased a dagger free of its sheath, the usual cool detachment settling upon him. The Myrmidon faltered in the corridor, confused by the second source of light. He edged to the cell where the bait had been set. The Myrmidon stepped into the cell with an unintelligible grunt.

Dino needed no further invitation. He rushed along the corridor, willing his boots to silence as he closed the distance. The Myrmidon, vision much reduced by his helm, failed to see his attacker. There was a muffled thump as bodies impacted. Dino’s arm circled the larger Myrmidon’s neck, even as the tip of the knife slid over deep brown armour, failing to find a gap. The Myrmidon wore a gorget to protect his throat. The tray fell to the floor with a dull clatter. Food spilled wetly. Another thrust. A strangled grunt of shock from the Myrmidon. The sound of steel scoring metal armour.

Dino growled bitter curses. The Myrmidons were armoured front and back. The expense must have been prohibitive. How had the Domina managed it?

An elbow slammed into Dino’s sternum, staggering him. He gasped for breath that would not come, switching the dagger to his left hand even as he gagged. The Myrmidon collected himself, drawing his sword and lashing out, adrenaline speeding the blade. Dino caught the swipe on the flat edge of the dagger, feeling it bend. His own sword came free of its scabbard with practised ease, slashing for thighs less protected than the Myrmidon’s torso. Blood welled from a deep cut. An intake of shocked breath from his opponent. Dino tensed, then mashed the pommel of his sword into the jaw of the helm, hoping it would connect with his opponent’s mouth. The Myrmidon did not call out, if he was able to. What strangeness lay beneath the armour? Did he sport tines along his forearms? Did he weep bloody tears? Could he climb preternaturally? Were they not both descendants of the king? Myrmidon, Orfano, creatures essentially the same, divided by accident of birth. Might it have been Dino who wore the armour had the skeins of fortune spooled differently? This single moment of compassion slowed Dino’s blade; the Myrmidon responded, undeterred by such thoughts.

The blow caught Dino across the brow. Seconds of crawling panic followed until he realised he’d been punched, not slashed. He reeled all the same, body slamming into the wall behind, stone glancing off the back of his skull. He parried the following strike largely on instinct, thrusting his dagger into the Myrmidon’s unwounded leg. Another grunt. Dino dropped his sword and seized his opponent’s helm, slamming it into the wall. Desperate flailing moments, resistance from the wounded Myrmidon, a rising swell of hate as Dino recalled Massimo fleeing through the woodland. He kept slamming the Myrmidon’s head against the wall, lost in the mindless jerk and thrust of it. How many times had they struck Massimo as he sought to escape? And then he was standing over the inert body of the Myrmidon, the acid taste of regret in his throat.

‘I think he’s quite dead now. You can get me out!’ Virmyre’s voice was a harsh and desperate whisper. Dino knelt beside the body, relieved to find a leather cord, a brass key glinting dully in the lantern light. ‘Quickly now!’ Virmyre’s eyes were fixed on the short corridor leading to the staircase. Dino unlocked the cell door and took up the Myrmidon’s lantern, staring at the fallen man, unsure if he was dead or simply unconscious.

‘There’ll be another at the main doors. Two more are patrolling outside. I’m not sure I can overcome them with so much armour.’

‘How did you get in?’

‘I climbed.’

Virmyre nodded. ‘I should have known. You Orfani never use a door when there’s a rooftop nearby.’

‘Come on. We’ll find a rope. I’ll get you back to the Contadinos.’

‘No, you won’t.’ Virmyre laid one hand on Dino’s shoulder. ‘Go back the way you came. I’ll remain here. There are things I need to do.’

‘With the machines.’ Not a question.