The Shades of Time (21 page)

The ship rocked
fore and aft as if meeting swells. They must be getting underway.
She heard no more shouting other than the deckhands going about
their business. Stefano knocked softly, then opened the door. He
grinned at her.

"Definitely
father's men. They were too late. We'll be safe now, my
darling."

"But how would
they know to come here?"

"This is
Venezia, my love. The walls have ears." Stefano pulled her toward
the narrow bunk. "Now, we have all the time in the world. I have
some ideas how we can spend that. Do you want to hear…?"

Veluria cringed
inwardly. No, she did not want to hear. She fervently prayed for
seasickness or some malady to keep her bed-ridden for the extent of
the voyage. The best she could do was tamp down her energies so as
not to feed the young man's fantasies. Though fully schooled to
indulge her partner's every proclivity, she found Stefano's
fixation on pain and submission personally distasteful.

Confused and
wishing for guidance, Veluria fingered the talisman hidden in her
bodice—her escape route, her court of last resort. She had been in
this dimension less than two months yet it seemed a lifetime and
she was no closer to divining the who, the what or the how that
would soon impact their worlds. She wished their statisticians were
wrong, but they never were. And Reverend Mother, gifted with
prognostication, had foreseen something so dire that she had taken
a personal interest in the selection and training of her, their
most experienced operative.

She listened to Stefano's hurried explanation, thinking
…
yes I can do that thing, just this
once
.
If I shut my
eyes and imagine…

Her mind's eye
filled with the image of a giant of a man—a dangerous, dark
man—frightening in his intensity. Yet his touch was gentle, his
heart fragile and welcoming. He seemed to haunt her every waking
moment, her every dream, her every retreat into the safe house
implanted by the sisterhood to shield her from the deprecations of
her male prey. He was more than just the holder of the key. He had
the potential to be the key—his violence, his energies, his
connections, his family—all these things made him the nexus around
which the drama would unfold. And she had left him in Venice … or
had she?

Somehow he had
managed to stow away in her heart, hijacking her carefully shielded
feelings and giving her surcease from the sick mind of his damaged
brother. She would need to find a way to rectify her mistakes
before it was too late for all of them. She knew it was already too
late for her.

****

Andreas leaned
against the pillar next to the dock. All of his players had
scattered to the four winds. The youngest brother, and he assumed
the operative, had sailed that morning. The eldest had left for the
mainland on a "journey of some importance" according to a chatty
oarsman. The elder Medici made plans to return to Florence. Even
the Cardinal had deserted the city.

For once,
Andreas felt at odds with his assignment. His entire leg ached no
matter how much energy he fed it. He feared he faced surgery and an
extensive period of painful rehabilitation if he could not have a
real medic tend to the ankle, and soon. Though he walked in a
shadow existence, whatever transpired in this world affected his
physical being in his own. He no longer could afford to ignore the
warning signs. He would return to his dimension and report to the
Council, perhaps prevail upon them to send someone else while he
healed. Whatever their decision, however uncomfortable they made
him, no matter how much derision he would endure, he desperately
needed to let his battered body repair itself. Otherwise he, and
they, had no hope of figuring out the specific threat to their
timeline. He could not fix what he could not identify. And perhaps
one of the scientists would have figured out how to deal with an
operative from the Sisterhood. Better yet, how to get rid of
her.

Andreas slipped
away from the docks. No one noticed or remarked on the odd cleric
with the pronounced limp, a smallish man in a cowl, head bent in
silent prayer, ghosting into the shadows.

****

"I don't like
it, Tonio."

"I'm not asking
you to like it, Nico. But I am out of options. The Duke's men
arrived a day ahead of me. They have position and we do not. We
play this my way and we have a chance to secure the prize."

"And that
being…?"

"The
woman."

"I still don't
see how sacrificing our brother is worth the price just so you can
drag this tart to hell and gone to do some experiments. If she is
like us, so what?"

Antonio stared
down at Nico. "More than like us, brother. Much more. There are
depths to this one that must be explored."

"And what
happens when you are finished with her, huh? Do you go to Tyrol and
rescue Stefano, bring him home? Or is he relegated to life
imprisonment just so you and father can have a new toy to play
with?"

The allegation
that Veluria was nothing more than a plaything stung. At one level
it was true, by necessity. As long as he treated her as an object,
a specimen, he avoided the adolescent pining that disrupted his
nights and corrupted his days with racing thoughts and yearnings.
He'd never before felt such the fool. There seemed no logic he
could bring to bear to change his circumstances.

Nico asked,
"Tonio, are you all right?" His voice held an edge of concern. "I'm
sorry. I meant no disrespect."

Tonio
acknowledged the apology with a slight nod but quickly pressed to
explain why he had changed his position on Stefano being under the
hegemony of the Habsburg court. It had nothing to do with Cosimo's
plotting and everything to do with keeping his confused sibling
safe for the time being.

"Nico, you know him, you know how he shines with all that
pandering and preening at the courts. He lives for that. He will
adjust to his surroundings. He always has, it is
his
special gift. Without
Veluria's influence, he will once more flower as the herald of
Florentine culture and sophistication."

Nico roared
with laughter. "Such pretty words, spoken with eloquence. Tell me,
what have you done with Tonio? Fetch me my brother for I miss him
sorely."

"This isn't
funny, Nico. Don't make light of what has happened to Stefano. And
for that I must take the blame."

"Yes, for that
you must and will. And I warned you, brother, do not hurt him
again. I meant it then, I mean it now."

Nico held up
his wine goblet and motioned for the innkeeper for a refill. As
they waited for their wine, he probed his brother discretely.
Exhausted from the trip Tonio allowed the intrusion, taking no
offense. But when he probed into areas that Tonio designated
off-limits, even to himself, he shut down. Nico gave him a grimace
of pain—the experience would have been akin to ramming his fist
into a psychic stone wall: solid and secure and opaque.

"Don't bother,
Nico, you can't do that anymore. I learned this from her."

And from that
stranger who dared to control my actions.

His younger
brother looked surprised. "Well then, perhaps you are correct. That
is a useful skill. I may have need for her myself. Are we going to
share the bounty or must I petition Papà for my fair share?"

"Petition away,
you greedy bastard. You were always into my things."

Tonio smiled
indulgently at Nico—so different in looks and coloring from the
rest of the clan—that most did not immediately recognize him as a
Medici. That simple accident of nature often bought him valuable
time and goodwill under stressful circumstances. It also made him
inordinately attractive to the ladies of the Spanish courts who
favored his exotic good looks and stocky build.

The innkeeper
returned with wine and plates of cheese and fruits. The brothers
settled in to talk of better times when all three were boys with no
worries other than getting each other into trouble. When the
afternoon shadows grew long, Tonio stretched and mumbled, "Time to
go, Nico."

"Yes. I will
take care of the dock master. No one will interfere, no one will
ask questions later. Do what you have to do and I wish you
Godspeed, brother. The arrangements at the coast should meet with
your approval."

Nico rose from
the table, leaned forward and squeezed his brother's shoulder. A
short blast of energy flashed between them. Nico shuddered and
backed away unsteadily, unsure of what Tonio had just fed him.

"
Dolcissimo Gesù
, che cosa
era quella?"
he husked, "what the
fuck...?"

"Now I am the one who is sorry,
mio
fratello
. Now you know what I
know."

Mostly, but
hopefully not everything.

Some things
were not to be shared no matter how close he was to his brother. In
any case, Nico would need quiet time in the arms of his mistress to
mull over all the chaotic images and thoughts he'd just imparted.
With luck, perhaps his smarter brother could sort out the jumbled
mess and come up with another plan. A plan that did not involve
putting his heart at risk and his youngest brother in the clutches
of conniving dukes.

Tonio watched
Nico exit the inn. Already he regretted involving his brother,
though he'd had little choice given the few assets at his disposal.
Fingering the goblet he lost himself in introspection. Wherever he
turned his world seemed on the threshold of disintegration,
decisions that once could be justified with cold logic were now
riddled with hidden consequences.

Who am I?
Was he the man who would
betray his own brother in pursuit of some nebulous greater good? Or
was that betrayal based on something baser, more self-serving? He
knew many like that. He just never thought he would become one of
them.

Maybe the question is:
What am
I?

Antonio threw
some coins on the table and stalked out the door. The inn sat two
long blocks from the harbor. His men had sighted the ship carrying
Stefano and Veluria out by the point. If they were correct about
the wind shifts and the tide, then he could expect them to
disembark before dusk. He knew the Duke's men were stationed about
the wharf.

The Reichstag
pretender would leave nothing to chance. Stefano was a prize well
worth extra effort. The position of Friedrich's duchy in the
shifting alliances of the Reichstag rested on convincing the
reluctant bridegroom to accept Teutonic hospitality and provide him
with heirs. With three daughters and a proven stud of impeccable
pedigree, his Duchy's future would be secure.

Tonio found a
narrow alleyway running crosswise to the docks where he settled in
to wait, out of sight of the Duke's men. He still had time to once
more examine his motives. The reasoning, the logic was sound. The
outcomes reasonably predictable.

At some point
he would come to terms with the fact that it was all a lie.

Chapter
Fifteen

Antonio crossed
to the opposite side of the narrow passageway, still keeping out of
line of sight of the Duke's men stationed at all points that
bottlenecked egress from the ship. He could see the gangway clearly
and kept a sharp eye as it disgorged deckhands to secure lines and
see to arrangements for off-loading cargo.

To his
knowledge his brother and paramour were the only passengers. Angry
voices from the stern caught his attention. He recognized Stefano's
irritated bark, the plaintive note prominent when he was not
getting his way. Tonio was surprised that the irritation was aimed
solely at the tiny figure emerging from the cabin. He could not
make out the words nor could he fathom from the intonation what the
argument was about. Whatever it was, it appeared to be mutual.

Stefano made
one last comment, then stalked down the gangway into the waiting
mass of the Duke's guard. Antonio was still too far away to hear
clearly, but it appeared that the captain of the guard made a
strong case for his brother to accompany the group. He was shocked
to see Stefano march away with nary a backward glance at the woman
now standing stranded and alone at the top of the gangway.

The small
figure seemed wan, tired, her hair a tangled mass of dull black
strands. She moved awkwardly, stiffly, as if she'd been ill for a
long time. Her energies tracked as weak and diffuse—she looked
pathetic, confused and in need of a bath and a good meal.

Veluria? What
the hell—?

Antonio willed
patience, keeping his senses tuned to the woman while he watched
his brother and the Duke's escort squad retreat toward the town
center. He couldn't risk being seen by Friedrich's men—his sheer
size removed any hope of anonymity and he had no wish to explain
his presence and risk upsetting his plans, such as they were.
Nico's intervention and assistance rested on a confluence of luck
and timing—there would be no second chance.

He also knew
there were other, more compelling reasons to hesitate. For all his
resolve, just seeing Veluria sent his gut into a tailspin, heat
flooding his groin and making him light-headed. And that had
nothing to do with her using any special siren powers … no, he
seemed quite capable of driving himself mad with lust all on his
own.

He approached
the gangway cautiously until time seemed suspended, divorced from
the frenetic movement and incessant noise of commerce. A familiar
bouquet of brine and the rank odor of decay assaulted his nostrils.
The wave of dock workers swept about him, giving him wide berth.
With his face set in the comfort of a scowl he lifted his eyes to
stare at the deck, fully expecting the woman to have bolted for the
safety of her cabin.