The Silver Devil (6 page)

I
mumbled something and bent my head over the pots. I could not explain; even if
it had not meant telling her of how I had sat in the sun and seen the
procession in spite of her, I could not have said why the memory of something
so trivial should prey on my thoughts. I felt like a criminal waiting to be
arrested; every footfall set my heart pounding with a guilty fear.

Antonio
came in presently, grumbling at the wickedness of the strayed servants and the
folly of dukes who took bread out of honest men's mouths. "If he had to
make his living by feeding the beggars in this stinking city, he would not give
bread away so lightly. How can I make any profit when half the population is
out sniffing after the garbage from his supper?"

"Perhaps
they will all come here later," I ventured.

He
snorted. "Yes, stuffed too full for aught we can sell them—they will all
be surfeiting on veal and roast partridge and turn up their noses at the food
in this house! We will be lucky if we have a dozen customers in the rest of the
night!"

He
strode off, fuming, and Celia followed him. I could hear her voice in the
distance, berating him for letting the servants slip away; he should have
stayed here, she said, instead of coming with her to stand like a stock, when
the man near her had proved to know more about the notables than he! He would
have been more use staying at home, and now perhaps he would take her counsel
another time!

Antonio's
rumbling reply was lost in a sound from the gateway. I tensed instinctively, my
hands dangling unmoving in the greasy water as I listened, and I found myself
holding my breath. Late visitors, I told myself. Merchants, probably, come from
a distance to see the duke's triumph and now looking for somewhere to stay out
of the reach of their careful wives. Well, they would have a lean night of it,
for the courtesans were where the pickings were, waiting outside the gates of
the Palazzo della Raffaelle.

The
soft clop of hooves and the jingle of harness passed under the gateway and into
the yard. Swiftly, I darted across the kitchen and peered out; riders, some
half-dozen of them. I could see them distinctly in the light of the lamp—the
horses were too good for tradesmen, and yet the clothes were too plain for
ordinary citizens. One of them dismounted and walked towards the door of the
taproom, and as I listened to the voices of the others, a chill of fear began
to take possession of me. They were wearing dark cloaks and broad hats that hid
their faces, and their whispers sounded furtive, like a conspiracy.

"In
this place?" came softly. " 'Slight!"

"It
is a fool's errand." Another voice, less muted, sounded full of
indignation. "We have asked everywhere, doffed caps to the goodsirs for
streets around, and still the answer is the same—none such in the house."

One
of the others murmured something, and I caught the words, "a
mistake." A light laugh trilled in answer.

"Do
you dare think that, dear fellow? Obey orders, and keep such thoughts locked
between your teeth!"

"He
is very sure," said another voice.

"He
is always sure. When the search proves fruitless he will say he never really
believed what he spoke."

I
gripped the windowsill tightly, the rough wood hurting my wet hands. My mind
was suddenly full of remembered stories of the tyranny of the duke's guards, of
the men and women who had vanished simply because they caught the attention of
the royal guards. They said that the Raffaelle soldiers would first take a
prisoner and then invent a crime....

The
riders were shifting, letting their horses take them towards the doorway. They
were silent now, their grumbling stilled by a caution from the man who had
spoken first. Then I saw Antonio's bulky outline filling the lighted doorway
and heard the clatter of riders' feet on the cobbles as they dismounted. The
noise sounded like a knell.

I
did not stop to reason—like a trapped animal, my one thought was to escape. It
did not cross my mind that the cloaked riders could be anyone but soldiers sent
after me. I was giddy and lightheaded through lack of food, but I did not
realize that then.

Panic
took me to the door of the kitchen before I realized I could not reach the
stairs without crossing the long passage that ran the length of the house, the
passage in which Antonio was standing now, receiving his belated guests. I
would have to go through the taproom, across the yard, and in at the side door
to reach the back stairs. My palms were wet with fright as I struggled to think
clearly. I did not know how long the men would take to tell their errand; there
was no time to be lost.

I
caught the sound of cultured voices raised in talk as I went back towards the
other door, and I hesitated for seconds that stretched into eternities. It was
hard to judge where the sound was coming from, but I prayed that Antonio had
gone with them into the dining parlor. I would have to trust that I could slip
through the taproom unnoticed and escape to the safety of my room.

I
hesitated again with my hand on the latch of the taproom door, casting an
uneasy glance over my shoulder, but all was quiet. Then, hands clenched hard in
the folds of my skirt, I pushed open the door and sped blindly across the room
to the welcoming darkness beyond.

A
voice, soft and almost teasing, stopped me in my tracks. "Little
crow!"

I
spun around, staring incredulously at what had seemed to be an empty room; then
a shadow moved beside the hearth, and I saw the man standing there.

He
had been stripping the gauntlets from his hands and now stood as though he had
frozen at the sound of the opening door. My first thought was that he was
supernaturally tall: I could not see his face, for his broad hat cast a shadow
that hid his expression. Then as he moved, the light caught him, and I saw his sensual
mouth curve slowly in a smile of pure satisfaction.

I
clutched savagely at the coarse black stuff of my skirt, shaking as I stared
back at him. If I had been afraid before, it was as nothing to the terror of
seeing this tall stranger leaning lazily against the fireplace in Antonio's
taproom.

"I
thought no one was here." My voice was a craven whisper.

"What
was your haste?" He straightened in one supple movement. "You look as
though all the legions in hell were at your back. Why were you running away?"

I
shook my head and spoke through dry lips. "I must go back to my room. I
ought not to have tried—if Antonio finds out—"

"Antonio
is the fat landlord? Your husband or your lover?"

"My
kinsman." I dared not say brother. "I lodge here with him and his wife,
but he has forbidden me to trouble his guests."

"A
fair trouble." The man's eyes flickered over me in such a way that I
blushed uncontrollably, and a mocking note entered his voice. "Yet the
noise of guests brings you creeping out to spy on them. Are you commonly
disobedient?"

My
voice seemed to die in my throat, for I had seen a silver-fair gleam of beard
fringing the firm jaw; this was the man I had seen riding alongside the duke,
and I had run straight into his hands.

He
was idly stripping the black gloves from his hands as he watched me, waiting
for my answer. Once I had seen a caged leopard stand just so, idly, and purr
so, deep in its throat; and it had had the throat out of a man before anyone
saw it spring.

He
must have sensed my fear, for the laziness drained from him and his eyes
narrowed. "You are trembling," he said softly.

My
lips parted, but no sound came; I was praying as I had never prayed before for
the power of flight. His presence seemed to drain all the strength from me as I
stood pressed back against the door, held by his relentless gaze like a bird
before a snake. Then as he moved forward, I wrenched myself away from the door
and backed away from him. If only I could reach the door that led into the
yard...

My
outstretched hand touched a chairback and I retreated behind the chair, putting
what little barrier I could between us, and he smiled then as though he were
really amused. I was retreating before him with agonizing slowness as he
rounded the room towards me; I could not—dared not— take my eyes from his, and
I found my way by instinct and the blind groping of my fingers.

It
was when they touched the edge of the table that I knew I had misjudged. I was
being driven back against it like an animal at bay, my fingers moving
frantically along it for some way of escape. But it stayed there, heavy and
solid, biting into the backs of my thighs and cutting off my escape. I turned
away now, trying to avoid that relentless stare. I felt suffocated,
over-whelmed in his shadow, and unable to frame a word of protest.

When
I felt his fingertips against my cheek, I flinched as I would have done from a
brand. But he turned my face up to him as casually as he might have turned a
rose to smell it, and unwarily I looked straight up into his eyes.

I
wondered if I was dreaming. They were black; so dark that they were
unfathomable, and impossibly, horrifyingly dark in that fair face. I thought of
Lucifer as I looked at him, of a demon's eyes in the face of a fallen angel.
Then, as I watched, a strange light began to grow in them—the darkness was
swallowed up in a brilliance that made them blaze silver. I caught my breath,
and the room, the house, the whole city, was suddenly breathless with waiting.

The
crash of the passage door flung back on its hinges was like a noise from
another world. I hardly heard Antonio's bellow of outrage; all I was aware of
was the light touch of the stranger's fingers against my cheek.

"Santa
Maria!" The oath escaped Antonio before he could check it, and he made
haste to repair his credit with a low bow. "Your pardon, excellency. Your
noble companions are wondering where you are."

"Are
they so officious?" The dark eyes never left my face. "Go and tell
them, then."

"They
sent me to bring you to them, excellency."

The
stranger swore softly. "God's death, will they set watches on me even
here? Say I will come soon."

Antonio
bowed again. "Yes, excellency. But first I shall..."

"Carry
my message, sirrah." It was only a whisper, but it sent Antonio out of the
room without a word.

I
was shivering as the door closed, and my voice sounded unsteady. "He is
angry—I must go. Please..."

"What
is it you fear?" The even voice was faintly curious, the eyes narrowed and
searching. My gaze fell before his, but his fingers caught my chin and forced
my face up as he studied it silently. "It must be the devil at least. What
is your name?"

The
click of the latch saved me and Antonio's voice.

"Your
companions say they attend your pleasure, excellency."

"I
am indebted to them." There was an unpleasant curl to the man's lower lip.

"Had
I known your excellency desired a private chamber, I would have given you the
finest. There is one but a step upstairs...."

"I
will not trouble you. I did not desire uncommon entertainment; I came only to
have some talk of business with you."

"With
me, excellency?" I saw the peremptory jerk of Antonio's head towards the
door, but I could not stir; now the tale of my folly would be unfolded, and I
knew I must stay and defend myself. Antonio scowled at me, then turned a look
of obsequiousness on the stranger. "How can I serve your excellency?"

For
a moment the man's eyes dwelt on my face. Then he said softly, "I heard
lately — I do not know how truly—that this inn can boast a rarer wine than any
in the duke's cellars."

Antonio
bridled, his broad face flushing crimson. "Alas, sir, you have been
misled! It is true," he added hastily, "that the Eagle's wines are of
the first growth, but our store is for strength, not subtlety. I would not
presume to rival the duke's vaults-—I have not traded long in this part of the
city, and I have no substance to spend on imported wine."

"I
said a rare one. Rare and foreign are not the same word. The tale, as I heard
it, was that the wine was of recent vintage and made from the fairest grapes—grown
in the vineyard of some friend of yours, or perhaps a kinsman." The dark
gaze held Antonio's. "Might it be so? I am some judge of wine and would
pay well for the tasting."

Antonio
looked as though he could hardly believe his ears; nor could I, for all my
fears had been wasted. The stranger's visit had nothing to do with me—it was my
own folly which had made me suppose he remembered catching my eye in the middle
of the procession. I wanted to laugh at my own stupidity.

Antonio
said at last, "It may be so, excellency. But I have but the one flask, you
understand, and my wife and I prize it greatly; it is a delicacy we would not
sell on the open market."

The
man inclined his head. "We understand each other, I think."

"Certainly,
excellency. If we can but agree on the price..."

The
stranger's smile was mocking now, and he spread his hands in a liberal gesture.
Antonio, his face fiery red with excitement, turned suddenly to me.