The Boy Who Wept Blood (26 page)

‘Yes.’ Virmyre was unable to meet his eyes. ‘I’d prefer it if the Domina didn’t help herself to all of my hard work, much less this Erebus you speak of. There are other things here besides
tinctura
.’

‘And you’ll not be persuaded?’

‘I appear to have become predictable in my old age.’

‘Let me help you; let me wait for you at least.’

‘Best you get back to Medea and Nardo. And Stephania. It’s my fault this
tinctura
has been used. Perhaps I can prevent other evils ruining Demesne.’ Virmyre took up the Myrmidon’s sword in the lantern light. ‘I’ll keep this, if you don’t mind.’

‘Take it. More of them will be along soon.’ Dino sighed. ‘How will you escape?’

‘I’m a scientist: I’ll think of something. Go now, before more of them come. Watch for me at House Contadino. I’ll be with you by dawn.’

The Orfano turned away, leaving Virmyre with scarcely more freedom than when he’d entered. He couldn’t help feeling they were both prisoners, chained by the brooding influence of Erebus.

46

Vengeance Stirs
–
29 Agosto
325

Dino woke with the dawn, if indeed he had slept at all. Virmyre’s wish to remain in the
sanatorio
had haunted him through the night. That the
tinctura
could reverse the ravages of time was equal parts unnatural and unholy. Still, he’d take a subtly changed Virmyre over no Virmyre at all.

Achilles pulled himself up onto the bed and glowered from beneath a scaly brow.

‘I hope he manages to escape,’ muttered the Orfano. ‘We could use the help at House Contadino.’

Dino watched the pale disc of the sun ascend into Landfall’s faded skies. He rarely drew the curtains these days, better to see assassins who might perch on window ledges. The Orfano rose with reluctance, cold water from the basin sluicing away the dregs of his languor. He dressed quickly and without care, more concerned for the weapons he carried than any sartorial finesse. Clothes were the tools of the court; he had only a need for steel. A scrape and click from the sitting room set his pulse to a staccato, a dagger fetched itself to his palm before he’d drawn breath.

‘My lord?’ A familiar voice, kind and calm.

‘Fiorenza?’ He passed through the doorway to the sitting room. ‘I’d assumed you’d stop calling in.’

‘No, my lord. The Domina has no need of me any more.’ She bowed her head. ‘I came to see if you still require my services.’

‘Yes, of course. Are you well?’

‘As anyone can be, my lord. Strange times – there’s much that’s difficult to make sense of.’

Achilles scuttled out from under the couch, and the woman knelt down. ‘And how are you, young man?’

The drake yawned, hesitated, then clambered up into the maid’s lap.

‘He likes you.’ Dino smiled. ‘We both do. I’d be delighted if you stayed on as my chambermaid. Perhaps in time we can talk about finding you a position within House Erudito that makes full use of your talents.’

Fiorenza looked from the drake to the Orfano and released a contented sigh.

‘But not right now; there’s too much in Demesne that needs resolving.’

‘I understand. I’ve heard … things.’ She forced a smile then turned her attention to the drake.

‘What? What have you heard?’ He should have been blushing as he said it but felt only anger. He wanted to know the full depth and range of the gossip. If Virmyre was unholy for meddling with
tinctura
, then wasn’t he just as unholy for desiring to lie with men? Not
men
, he realised. Only Massimo.

‘I heard about what happened in the rose garden.’ She looked down, lacing her fingers in front of her. ‘I’m sorry. He was a good man.’

‘I suppose Demesne is rife with rumours about me.’

‘Perhaps, but you’ve always been good to me. It’s no business of mine who you’ve feelings for.’ She cocked her head to one side; an impish smile appeared. ‘Another lord may have tried to be overfamiliar with me. That’s one worry I’ll never have with you.’

Dino smiled at the simplicity of it. Hadn’t Duke Fontein sired Giolla on just such a maid, and one in the employ of his own house?

‘And are you well, my lord?’

‘I think we’re well past titles now, Fiorenza, don’t you?’

‘Dino –’ she stepped closer ‘– you’ve endured a lot. Is there anything I can do?’

‘Bring Massimo back.’ He shrugged, voice cracking as he mouthed the words, struggling to smile through the pain.

‘I hear there are stiff penalties for necromancy in these parts.’ She returned his fractured smile with a gentle one of her own. ‘And I promised Mother I’d only practise hearth magic.’

‘It’s probably for the best.’ He grinned. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed such nonsense. ‘I always preferred hearth magic.’

‘What will you do today?’

‘Try and keep those dearest to me from harm, much the same as any other day.’

‘Well you’d best get to it then,’ she said, gesturing to the door. ‘And you’d best take Master Achilles here. I want to sweep and clean.’

The Orfano took his drake, settling the reptile on one shoulder.

‘Thank you, Fiorenza.’

‘Take care, Dino.’

Down spiral staircases lush with silence, past stilled clocks, pendulums inert. Demesne had run out of time, or perhaps was outside time. The days were blurred and indistinct with oppression, nights sullen with anxiety. Events occurred with ever-increasing frequency and intensity, uncaring of polite schedules or long-held routines.

Tempo. Velocita. Misura.

The sconces of House Erudito were miniature cataphract drakes cast in bronze. Now they grasped only darkness, claws empty of candles, the floor beneath spattered with spent wax. Dino wondered at this as he emerged onto the rooftops to take the air. Erebus had truly ushered in a new dark age. It was only when Dino had the roof’s terracotta pantiles underfoot that he felt anything approaching calm, glad of the sun’s bright rays overhead. Nardo sat on a ridge of the rooftop landscape, already smoking.

‘Hell of a thing,’ said Dino.

A plume of blue smoke jetted from Nardo’s half-cocked smile. ‘It’s the small rituals that keep us human. Huh.’ He took another drag on the pipe.

‘Has anyone presented themselves at House Contadino this morning?’

A shake of the head. ‘Not when I left. Expecting someone?’

Dino nodded. He hoped leaving Virmyre in the
sanatorio
wouldn’t be the cause of a new regret. He already possessed a score of those and they were all too heavy a burden.

‘Maybe this one’s for you,’ said Nardo, pointing the stem of his pipe at the eastern road. A single rider approached, horse galloping.

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Dino. ‘I was hoping for Virmyre, and last I saw he was on foot.’ The messenger and the Orfano stared at the lone rider. ‘Do you know who it is?’

Nardo shook his head and squinted from under the flat of his hand. ‘Purple and black.’

‘House Prospero then.’ Dino’s lip curled. ‘I wonder what schemes the duchess is hatching. She must be desperate now Guido’s abandoned her.’

‘Desperate doesn’t begin to cover it,’ growled Nardo. ‘I’ll see that
puttana
dead for her part in Emilio’s assassination.’

The rider approached the outskirts of Santa Maria, which had roused itself, irascible in the heat. Some few townsfolk went about their tasks, wary and with haste. A column of House Fontein guards marched through the town, insects in scarlet and black. All carried pole-arms and bore sling bags. Two wagons followed at the rear, a cluster of women keeping pace with the mules.

‘What are they up to?’ said Dino, nodding toward the soldiers.

‘Leaving, I reckon. Huh.’

Dino turned to the messenger, incredulous.

‘The Domina ordered the House Fontein guards to become part of the Myrmidons last night,’ said Nardo. ‘They refused. D’arzenta resigned with twenty men.’

‘And those?’ Dino pointed at the troops passing through the subdued streets of Santa Maria.

‘The remaining few soldiers with balls enough to walk out of here. They might even be led by Ruggeri. Difficult to see.’

‘Where will they go?’

‘Who can say?’ The messenger shrugged.

Dino stared down at the winding streets of the town as if they might offer him some way out of the maelstrom of intrigue and discord. All he saw was a long fall to a quick death. There was a glimmer of appeal to it.

‘Let’s get down there.’ Nardo tucked his pipe away.

‘Virmyre may yet turn up,’ whispered Dino. ‘And Salvaza Prospero might yet see retribution.’

Nardo fixed Dino with a hard look. ‘Huh. Stranger things have happened in this old pile of stones. I’ve not lost faith in them yet.’

The messenger and the Orfano were met by Maria, who oversaw the children and the morning repast. Medea was still abed. She had yet to rise before noon since Emilio’s death. Maria and Nardo had slipped into the shoes of parenthood with ease. Luc and Isabella were sullen but well behaved, accepting their new guardians with stoicism.

‘You really should eat something, Dino,’ said Maria as the men sat at the table. ‘You’re like a bag of bones.’ He obeyed, but neither his heart nor his stomach was in it.

‘Has Virmyre surfaced this morning?’

‘I’ve not seen him,’ replied Maria. ‘He’s probably tinkering with those awful machines.’

‘He said he’d be here. Said he was done with them.’

‘Is that so?’ Maria frowned. ‘You saw him?’

‘Last night. They had him locked up in the
sanatorio.
’

‘It was only a matter of time before they used that place for its old purpose.’ Maria’s face was pinched with anger. Dino couldn’t blame her. The whole building was an affront to the women of Landfall. Nardo remained close-mouthed, turning a spoon over and over between his calloused fingers.

The children left the table, keen to be free of the messenger’s silence. The Orfano’s brooding didn’t help.

‘We could try and gain entry,’ said Nardo as Dino regarded the dregs at the bottom of his mug.

‘To the
sanatorio
?’

‘Where else.’ His fingers continued to worry at the spoon. ‘We should at least try and rescue him.’

‘Virmyre will have been found.’ Dino sighed. ‘I killed a guard. Other Myrmidons would have looked for him, would have discovered Virmyre’s cell empty. After that it would be mere hours until they captured him.’

‘What business did he have that was so important he couldn’t leave with you?’

‘The machines, of course. What else?’

‘Huh.’ Nardo discarded the spoon with a clatter. ‘Trust Virmyre; he knows what he’s doing.’

Dino nodded but felt anything but agreement.

47

Medea’s Justice
–
29 Agosto
325

The morning was spent in the rose garden, teaching Luc Contadino the rudiments of duelling. Master and student clutched two rapiers; heavier swords would come later. The boy’s enthusiasm had yet to manifest. Dino stuck to the task, providing an abundance of praise in the hope the pupil might warm to both subject and teacher. They practised on the east side of the courtyard, immersed in shadow, far from the statue of Santa Maria. Dino couldn’t abide being near the thing.

‘As far as I’m aware I’m still
maestro superiore di spada
, and you’re the head of a great house.’ Luc parried the strikes and struck back, but there was no velocity to the attack, no passion, not even anger. The movements were perfunctory at best.

‘
Tempo. Velocita. Misura
,’ Dino chanted. ‘I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least try and teach you something of value.’

The boy remained sullen, steeped in silence and expression blank.

‘Fencing sharpens the mind, Luc. It makes the clutter and din of the every day fall silent, quietens the wants of the heart and the needs of the mind. All becomes one with the blade.’

The boy offered nothing, not even acknowledging the
superiore
’s words. Dino wondered if the boy’s eyes contained an accusation. Was there judgement in those eyes or merely reluctance? Wasn’t Dino the very
maestro di spada
sent to protect Emilio on his foolhardy venture? Hadn’t he been Medea’s great hope to defend the boy’s father from the schemes of Salvaza Prospero? Dino’s passion for the lesson dwindled, and he dropped to one knee.

‘I never explained … about your father.’ He opened his mouth but found the words he was about to say trite, unsuitable. His apology progressed no further. Luc threw down the rapier and turned on his heel, fleeing through the red and white blossoms of the rose garden, back through the double doors.

Dino regarded the rapier, throwing his own down to join it in the gravel. The weight of his sword remained; he’d not be able to divest himself of that weapon so easily. Nor did he want to. There were still debts of blood to repay, and he would see every last drop paid in full.

Take your nobility, take your vendetta, take your revenge. I want none of it. You want to be absolved?
Giolla di Leona’s words came back to him. The easiest route to absolution would be found in revenge. It would be ugly, petty, stained in blood, but what else was there? Giolla had the truth of it.

Dino looked up from his musing, wondering why Luc Contadino had fled. It would be no bad thing if the boy never took up arms, never drew a blade in anger, never fought for survival. Was it possible the boy would never thirst for violence or seek to avenge his father? It was a faint hope, one that would likely evaporate in the heat of the sun.

Dino drifted to the centre of the garden, regarding the hallowed statue, careful not to trespass on the spot where Massimo had died. The bloodstained gravel had been replaced with new chips of stone but the job had been done badly. Flecks of dark brown remained: not the honest hue of earth and mud but the rusty tone of blood long dry. Dino raised his eyes from stained gravel to sculpted saint. The sun scorched him from a cloudless sky, making the air an arid fume Dino had no wish to breathe. It was hard to believe he’d lost his love here, amid the roses. A love not given time to flourish. True, the roots of it ran deep, but he’d never know the beauty of its colour or the richness of the scent. The roses themselves were browning in the oppressive heat, the edges of delicate petals desiccated.

‘Pity you couldn’t intervene.’ He addressed the blissful saint in a whisper. ‘He was right here at your very feet, within arm’s reach. There were few more noble, more selfless, more dutiful in all of Demesne. None more beautiful in Landfall. Not to me, anyway.’ So much blood. The memory of it stained him even now.

‘But it’s the nature of prayers to fall on deaf ears.’ His lip curled, fingers clenched into fists. ‘Anyone who says different is dreaming.’

If the saint took offence she didn’t show it.

‘Do you know what I’ve been praying for?’ Dino turned at the voice and found himself face to face with Medea. She was wild-haired, attired only in a silk nightgown of midnight blue, damp with sweat as if from fever. The gown clung to the recesses of her spare body, thin with grief. Her eyes, always a store of kindness amid the harsh realities of Demesne, harboured only darkness. She’d woven a rose stem around her forearm, the thorns puncturing her soft flesh. Tiny rubies of blood glittered on olive skin. Her hand clutched a stiletto, the ricasso etched with the house motto, a word on each side of the triangular blade, each a foundation of the Contadino way.

Dovere. Lavoro. Fedelta.

Duty. Labour. Loyalty. The watchwords of those who toiled in fields.

‘My lady.’ Dino sketched a bow and realised how ridiculous they must look.

‘Do you know what I’ve been praying for?’ she repeated, a faraway cast to her eyes, deeply unsettling.

‘I can’t say.’

‘I’ve been praying for Salvaza to die.’

Dino was addressing someone who looked like Medea but at heart was a stranger. Were any of them the people they had once been? Hadn’t grief and suspicion wrought parodies from the proudest, tragedies from the honest?

‘Sometimes I dream of strangling her,’ continued Medea, ‘or putting out her eyes with my thumbs.’

Dino swallowed, struggling for words.

‘Other times I think of knives, or swords, or axes. A beheading would not be so very grotesque, certainly not for the architect of Emilio’s murder.’

‘We can’t be sure tha—’

‘It was her letter that summoned him.’

‘Forgery is not so very difficult to—’

‘In her own hand.’

Dino’s thoughts conjured Stephania in the courtyard the very hour they’d departed for the foolhardy rendezvous. He hoped she’d not been party to her mother’s plans. Medea took a step forward; the acrid tang of the unwashed assailed him.

‘I want her dead, Dino. And I want you to do it. I don’t care how.’

‘I’m not sure I could acquire poison without arousing suspicion.’ Dino retreated a step. ‘Not after Duke Fontein.’

‘I said I don’t care how. If she wakes with a dagger in her heart all the better.’ Medea came closer still. ‘At least people will know that to cross Contadino means death.’

‘My lady, Medea, listen to yourself. These aren’t the words of a Contadino, they’re not words you’d even dare whisper.’ He retreated another step.

‘I thought you at least would have the stomach for this.’ The disdain in her voice was unbearable. ‘Are you not capable? Have you not killed?’

Dino thought back to the many raids of the last few months, the raiders he’d slain. He thought of the single Myrmidon he’d killed in the depths of the
sanatorio
, mashing his head against the wall until he stopped moving. He thought of Duke Fontein, eyes rolled back in his head, mouth agape, poison slowing his heart.

‘I’ve killed. But never women. And rarely in cold blood.’

‘Do you think me cold, Dino? Feel my skin, Dino.’ Medea proffered an arm, thrust it forward, a weapon. ‘Do I feel cold to you? Do I?’

Dino made no move, as if contact with her might infect him with the darkness she carried.

‘I’d say not. I’ve been consumed by a fever. I mean to have my cure by way of Salvaza Prospero’s death.’

It was as if a malignant spirit had expelled Medea Contadino’s soul, taken her over. Dino scarcely recognised the gaunt apparition, much less her murderous entreaty.

‘Will you kill her?’ she pressed.

‘There’s no sense to it. She’s not a danger any more. Salvaza is just as at risk as the rest of us.’

‘I don’t care for threats to come, I care for justice. I want justice for Emilio.’

‘What you’re speaking of sounds a lot like revenge.’

Medea showed no sign of having heard him.

‘Isn’t that what
you
want? Justice.’ The repetition of the word hammered his resolve, shattering his resistance.

‘Of course. But—’

‘Well stop pouting in my rose garden and set to it.’

‘I just think that—’ He got not further.

‘There are scores of rumours circling you, Dino. None of them kind. Hardly the sort of rumours a man of your skills would want.’ Medea’s eyes gleamed. ‘But as an assassin …’ She smiled. ‘No one would dare speak ill of you.’

‘I’m not an assassin, Medea. I’m
superiore
. I teach, I don’t kill.’

‘You killed during the Verde Guerra.’

‘That was different, that was war.’

‘You killed when the men in grey raided Demesne and Santa Maria.’

‘I was protecting people, not seeking a fight.’

‘Who else, Dino? Who else has succumbed to the finest swordsman in Landfall? That’s quite a title for someone so reluctant to kill.’

‘I can’t just walk up to Salvaza and kill her in cold blood.’ His voice was all but a broken whisper.

‘I expected more of you, Dino. Did Emilio mean nothing? Didn’t Massimo die in this very place?’

The Orfano looked down. Medea’s cruel petition had forced him back, his boots now planted on the very spot where his love had died. Dino looked up, fresh sweat prickling across his scalp, down his spine, on the palms of his hands.

Don’t leave me, Mass.

‘We should consult Anea,’ he said, the words weak. The odious task would not be so easily deferred.

‘Anea is gone.’ Medea’s seething was replaced by a more forlorn tone. ‘You know only too well that she serves herself; she cares nothing for us.’

‘I can’t do it, Medea. I can’t. I can’t be an assassin for you.’

Medea made no acknowledgment, turning away, gliding back to her apartment on naked feet.

‘There’d be no way of undoing such a thing once it’s done,’ he called after her, but she continued on her way. Dino looked down at the gravel beneath his boots, choking down the rage that kicked and roiled in his gut. He couldn’t kill Stephania Prospero’s mother, he couldn’t kill the woman who had engineered Massimo death.

The finest swordsman in Landfall?
Medea’s words haunted him long after she’d departed.
That’s quite a title for someone so reluctant to kill.

The evening summoned a blood-warm breeze as the sun drenched the horizon in scarlet and orange. Clouds burned magenta. The trees in the town sighed with discomfort, parched and browning leaves desperate for rain. The people of Santa Maria journeyed home from their travails, downcast and cowed. The taverns were watched by pairs of Myrmidons, mute and immobile. Customers seldom stayed long, keen to be among their families.

Dino watched all of this from the roof of House Contadino, hunkered down with arms wrapped about his torso, belt weighted with sword and stiletto. The smaller weapon was plain and businesslike, undecorated and unrecognizable. The single-minded hatred that consumed Medea’s soul had infected Dino. He felt it spreading icy fingers through his chest.

‘Huh. Thought you were a gargoyle for a moment there.’

Dino turned, wanted to smile by way of greeting to the messenger but managed only to chew his lip. He turned his eyes toward the horizon.

‘Hell of a thing Medea’s got you doing.’ Nardo’s hands fussed at his pipe, spilling twists of moonleaf.

‘She told you?’

‘Didn’t need to.’ The messenger tamped the weed into the bowl of the pipe. ‘Only one reason a women deep in grief leaves her bed and comes to you.’

‘Am I so obviously an assassin now? Is this what the Domina has made me?’ The first question was spiked with anger, the second forlorn.

‘You’re whatever you choose to be, Dino. You don’t think of me only as a messenger, do you?’ He lit and dragged on the pipe and narrowed his eyes.

‘I think of you as a father to those children. Luc will certainly need someone reliable like you in the years ahead. He’s going to be angry. He’ll be rash.’

They waited, the messenger calm amidst his smoke, the assassin a coil of tension on the roof’s edge.

‘Do you need anything?’ Nardo cleared his throat and shifted his feet.

‘Only darkness, and that’s contingent on my friend there.’ Dino nodded toward the sun, gradually being consumed by the lip of the world.

‘Things are going to be more complicated when your friend there rises tomorrow.’ Nardo blew plumes of smoke out of his nostrils.

‘I warned Medea as much, but she won’t be turned from her course.’

‘And what of your course?’

Dino pursed his lips. ‘I want Salvaza dead for Massimo. Being in the rose garden reopened the wound. I want her dead for Emilio, and Abramo, and Marcell. I’ve no doubt her hand bears the blood of Bruno too.’ Dino thought back to the night the farmer had given his life so that he might live. Was he not worth avenging too? Did he not deserve justice as much as any lord or swordsman?

‘When you list her sins in lives it’s difficult to mount a defence,’ replied Nardo.

‘And are you?’ Dino stood and pulled the stiletto from the sheath, his eyes settling on the point, which was bathed in the bloody light of the dying sun.

‘Am I what?’ The messenger frowned and blew out another jet of smoke.

‘Trying to mount a defence for Salvaza? Didn’t you stand here just this morning and say you wanted her dead?’

Nardo looked away to the horizon, then nodded.

‘And do you still want her dead?’

The messenger nodded again, then turned on his heel, entering the corridors of Demesne, back to the fatherless children placed in his care.