The Dark Knight (5 page)

The light spilled out from the bedchamber and he found a small face staring up at him, the expression seeming more curious than startled. The boy sat cross-legged on an old wool blanket, a sunken look about his eyes. Dante’s view from the secret room had not revealed the extent of the child’s starvation. His body was almost skeletal, his arms and legs little more than flesh-covered bones. After a long, tense moment, the child leaned sideways to look past Dante into the chamber where the bodies of Lorenzo and Donna Maria were clearly visible. His gaze moved next to the dagger in Dante’s hand and he gave a long, shuddering sigh. It was the look of resignation in his eyes that awoke something in Dante that he had thought long-dead.

There was no way he could take a half-starved urchin on the journey that lay ahead. It was crazed to even consider the notion. Still, the decision was made. “What is your name?”

The boy hesitated, and then whispered in the same low tones as Dante, “My name is Rami.”

“Well, Rami, if you remain silent and do exactly as I say, you may yet live through this night. If we are alive on the morrow, I will make certain your life changes for the better. Agreed?”

Dante kept his dagger at the ready while the boy stared back at him. He was beginning to wonder if the child was fluent enough in Italian to understand his meaning when Rami’s eyes began to take on a light of hope and he gave a slow, uncertain nod.

“The collar will have to stay for now, but I’m going to use my dagger to pick the lock attached to this chain on the wall. If you make a sound, we are both dead. Do you understand?”

This time there was no hesitation. Rami nodded even as he cradled the metal cup and spoon so they would remain silent.

Dante made short work of the chain, then picked Rami up and carried him to the balcony, amazed at the lightness of his burden. He pointed over the railing toward the rope that disappeared into the fog.

“There is a boat at the end of this rope where two of my men await me. Are you strong enough to climb down by yourself or do I need to tie the rope around your waist and lower you?”

“I am strong, master.” Rami lifted his arm to flex a pathetic little muscle, then gave a fierce nod. He shouldn’t trust the child’s strength, but there was something in Rami’s eyes that made his claim believable. Whatever his ancestry, it was obviously warrior stock.

“My men are named Oliver and Armand, but do not speak to them unless spoken to. They will not harm you.” He pulled up a length of the rope and made sure Rami had a firm grip. “Be quick about it, boy. I will follow in a few minutes.”

Rami climbed over the railing and Dante watched him
until the child disappeared into the fog. There was no hesitation in Dante’s steps as he returned to the bedchamber and checked the bodies again, just to make doubly certain his job was done. Next he went to the doorway and grabbed Rami’s blanket. There was a growing pool of blood beneath Donna Maria’s body, and he carefully blotted as much as he could onto the blanket without making its absence from the pool noticeable. The blanket was returned to Rami’s place outside the door where he arranged it to look as if the boy had been killed there. With luck, they would think he had thrown the child’s body into the canal.

He went again to the balcony and then he turned around for one long, last look at the carnage he had wrought, satisfied that justice at long last had been served. A moment later he disappeared over the railing.

Avalene de Forshay was in a foul mood. She was the kind of woman who expected others to perform their duties as well as she performed her own, and she thrived on order and routine. In a castle the size of Coleway there would always be unexpected problems, but she had learned to calmly work through them, one at a time, and soon everything would run smoothly again. Having three cooks, a pantler, and a baker fall ill on the same day qualified as the unexpected. To compound her problems, this was a feast day and the steward took great delight in reporting all manner of woes. One in particular had set her teeth on edge.

“The minstrels have arrived but they are not the troupe from Chester you requested,” John had told her that morning as he brushed nonexistent wrinkles from his sleeve. At the same time, he had made little effort to hide a sly smile. “They are the troupe from Blackthorne you dismissed during the last Hocktide feast. I cannot imagine why they would come back to Coleway, especially
after the scolding you gave them last year. If I recall correctly, you called them a third-rate troupe of drunkards. Such a shame. Lady Margaret made particular mention that she was looking forward to hearing the Chester minstrels perform. ’Tis too late to send for the Chester troupe, of course, but perhaps the Blackthorne troupe’s skills have improved since we saw them last. Shall I quarter them in the great hall?”

Under the circumstances, Avalene had little choice but to grit her teeth and nod. Aside from his relation to the lord of Coleway Castle, there was little to recommend John to his post as steward. He had but one brilliant ability, and that was to make himself look better in the eyes of Lord Brunor and Lady Margaret by making everyone else around him look worse. There was little doubt that he was behind the mix-up with the minstrels. He delighted in anything that would give him reason to point out some failing or flaw in Avalene to her aunt and uncle. If he could not find a genuine flaw, he manipulated the circumstances to create one.

It was little comfort that she was rarely his only victim. John routinely tormented those who were directly accountable to Lord Brunor and Lady Margaret, and made specific targets of anyone who appeared to be gaining special favor with the lord and lady of Coleway Castle.

Even more infuriating, no one had ever been able to catch him in an outright lie or deceit. Complaints about him were invariably rebuffed with one of his pitying looks, as he claimed that attacks upon his honor were festered by jealousy and his accuser’s inability to live up to the high standards and expectations set by their illustrious master and mistress. All of this nonsense was carefully calculated to be spoken within earshot of said master and mistress.

Aye, John knew every trick to ingratiate himself with the lord and lady of the castle and, to Avalene’s great disgust, her aunt and uncle vainly lapped up his false charm like cream. Things would be very different in her own household, she vowed, as she took a deliberate route from the kitchens to the great hall.

The main course had just been sent out to the hall to be served, and she had stayed in the kitchens to make certain the final course would follow at an appropriate interval. With the most pressing crises taken care of in the kitchens, it was time to see if there were any disasters lurking in the great hall.

“Oh, good Lord.”

The first thing she saw was a flaming torch fly through the air and land on one of the long dining tables that were set up on all four sides of the hall. Fortunately, nothing caught fire before the hapless juggler retrieved the torch, but everyone in his immediate vicinity looked nervous when he resumed the entertainment. Unfortunately, his was not the only blunder. Indeed, the entire troupe showed more ineptitude than talent and her hopes that they had improved in the past year faded fast.

There were almost a score of performers clustered together in groups and partnered according to their particular entertainment. To one side of the hall, four musicians provided a cacophony of discordant sounds from a psaltery, flute, and drums, while a buxom young woman sang loud and off-key about spring tulips. Near the high table where the lord and lady of Coleway were seated, half a dozen young men were attempting to form a human arch in which three men stood shoulder-to-shoulder to form the bottom row, two men would then stand on their shoulders, and then one would stand at the very top. The arch collapsed just as the men on the
second row were in place, and she couldn’t decide if it was determination or a complete disregard for their lack of talent that made them try the maneuver again with no more success. Three jesters moved around the long tables of diners to make fun of themselves and members of the audience in ways that should make the audience laugh. The looks on the faces around the jesters ranged from somber to annoyed.

She quickly glanced away from the jesters toward the group that worried her most. Four jugglers stood in the middle of the hall, paired together and facing each other to toss pairs of flaming torches back and forth. Already the hall smelled strongly of burnt rushes, and she carefully examined the floor for any telltale wisps of smoke. It was only a matter of time before a true disaster struck. Unfortunately, the strike came sooner than she anticipated and it came from behind her.

One moment she was debating the best way to apologize to her aunt and uncle for allowing this farce to take place. The next moment something struck her squarely in the back and propelled her forward. A boy’s voice cried out in surprise as the pressure on her back pushed her to the floor, then she felt a body and something else fall on top of her, pressing her face into the rushes.

Nearly two hundred people were seated in the great hall for this feast. A hushed silence fell across the crowd, so sudden and so complete that Avalene was certain she could have heard a pin drop. She blinked twice from the shock of finding herself in such an undignified position, and then quickly pushed herself up until her weight rested on her knees. There were streaks of something wet and greasy on her skirts and a young page named Cedric suddenly appeared before her.

“My lady, are you hurt?”

She glanced over her shoulder and saw an empty tray
with a small roasted piglet on the floor beside it, the roast looking as if it had lain down in the rushes for a nap. The grease from the piglet was the source of the streaks on her gown and the now-distinct smell of roasted meat. Her gaze moved back to Cedric and she stared dumbly at his offered hand.

“I was watching the jugglers,” Cedric said in a shaky voice. “I—I did not see you until it was too late. ’Tis my fault you fell. Are you hurt anywhere?”

She did a brief inventory. Everything seemed fine. “Nay, Cedric, nothing is injured but my pride.”

Cedric held out his hand and helped Avalene to her feet. The conversations began again as if they had never been interrupted. Unfortunately, the performers went back to work as well.

“Pick up this mess and take it back to the kitchens,” she told him. “Have one of the scullions wash off the piglet and it should be fine to serve again.”

“Aye, my lady.” Cedric bowed low, and then went about cleaning up the mess.

“Avalene!”

She turned to see Lady Margaret waving her forward, summoning her to pay attendance. Avalene sighed and prepared for the long walk to the head table.

Lady Margaret looked her best tonight in a deep blue gown that matched the color of her eyes. A crown-shaped barbette made of stiff white linen and topped with a short row of tightly bunched lace ruffles gave her a regal air. Its matching snood covered blond hair that now showed telltale streaks of gray, and the cloth wound tightly beneath her jaw effectively covered a chin that was beginning to sag. Avalene favored her aunt’s coloring, although her own hair was more gold than flaxen and her eyes a much deeper shade of blue. Their features were dissimilar as well. Avalene towered a good head
taller than her tiny aunt, and, according to Margaret, her feet were too large for a true lady, which likely contributed to her clumsiness. And there was no competition when it came to their faces. Margaret was considered one of the great beauties of her age. Avalene, on her best day, might be called pretty.

Her spirits sank lower when she realized Margaret was listening intently to something her husband and the steward were saying, and then Lord Brunor made a gesture in her general direction.

Lord Brunor was much closer in looks to his steward. Both men were of medium height with brown hair and hazel-colored eyes. Both had builds that were neither lean nor fat, but neither were they flabby nor muscular. “Nondescript” was the best way to describe their physical appearances. Only their positions of power at Coleway and their appreciation for fine clothing set them apart from more common men.

That, and Lord Brunor’s failing eyesight, the result of an unfortunate accident at a tourney a few years ago. At his insistence, members of his household were only allowed to wear clothing of a certain color. Lady Margaret wore blue, his children wore yellow, other children of rank wore orange, John and Avalene wore red, knights and ladies of rank wore green, and so it went throughout the keep from the highest born to the lowest. Soldiers wore white tunics with gray pants. Servants wore their regular homespun clothing in shades of brown and gray, their position at the castle distinguished by the color of their head covering or hose or tunic or apron.

Many had initially balked at the change, Avalene most of all, as she had no wish to wear such a flamboyant color each day of her life. Eventually she had become accustomed to the new attire and even came to appreciate
its unintended consequences. There were hundreds of people within the walls of the castle and the colors certainly made identification of a person and their duties a simple matter from almost any distance. Then there was a certain artistic touch to gatherings such as today’s feast when the hall turned into an enormous palette of neatly grouped colors. However, the splash of red seated next to Lord Brunor put a considerable damper on her enjoyment of the scene.