All the Plagues of Hell

by Eric Flint

  “A good suggestion,” she said coolly. “See his mercenaries are suitably informed. I shall deal with the court.”

  “I shall do so, Your Grace. Now, excuse me. I must see to him.” He went and knelt next to his commander, hoping his rage-shake had not betrayed him.

  “Quite. To your work, bleed him well,” she said. He did not look up. He kept his calm, somehow.

  The door closed.

  “Do you want cupping bowls or your instruments, Captain?” asked one of Sforza’s men.

  “Don’t be a fool,” growled Francisco. “You. Sergeant Nils.” He picked out one of the Swedish bodyguards, a man known for being effective and hard. “We need to get the commander out of here immediately. Get my troops, organize a clear path to a carriage with as little noise and fuss as possible, but they’re to kill any of these bastards who try to stop them. Sword or knifework preferably, no shooting if they can help it.” He pointed to two of the others. “On the door. No one but Nils and his boys comes in. Make excuses to the duchess. Just tell the others if they try, I said to kill them. You three—we will need a stretcher. He’s still a heavy man.”

  A few minutes later, a hundred-strong group of Sforza’s men formed a shield around Francisco and the three men who carried Sforza out to the waiting carriage.

  Once inside the carriage, Francisco beckoned to one of the men who had served Sforza even longer than he had. “Galeazzo, go find a courtier. Any one of the useless bastards will do for the purpose. Tell him to tell Her Grace”—he all but spat out the title—“that we’ve rushed the commander to Cantu Castle near Como. We’ll take the right gate out of the city. I’m not telling you where we’re actually going in case you get caught and questioned. Rejoin any one of the commander’s units, and I’ll see you well rewarded for this.”

  The man didn’t move. “Is the commander going to be all right?”

  “If I can get him to safety, I hope and pray so. But he needs to get away from here, fast.”

  Galeazzo saluted, turned on his heel, and was gone within seconds.

  Francisco opened the small window that allowed him to address the man on the box. “Val di Castellazzo. Spring ’em.”

  Inside the carriage, he did the things a good physician should do and kept his calm. But he knew, had from the moment that Sforza’s man told him of the red urine, even before he saw the two puncture marks on Carlo’s hand, that his greatest friend had been poisoned by Lucia. The woman who called herself his wife was the same woman who had orchestrated the murder of any others who might have taken her place. It was obvious now. He doubted there was much Kazimierz could do to help, although he wished that he’d listened earlier. But there were two hundred men there, and he needed to organize to get his master to Venice.

  * * *

  Back in her chambers, Lucia considered what the physician had said.

  “How long,” she asked the asp, “until he dies?”

  Weeks. Maybe a month. He is stronger than most men. I could have killed him outright, but I thought that you did not wish that.

  Sforza had terrified her with his sarcasm and rage, when he’d come in to tell her he’d found that she’d poisoned him. His threat to put her in a tower somewhere and keep her there to trot out to show that he still had a living claim to be the Lord Protector of her duchy had been the final straw. The asp had struck. He deserved to die, slowly and horribly.

  But slowly, and then without telling anyone he was dead, until she had all secure. That fool physician could go on trying to keep him alive. She would tell him to remove the piece of filth to Cantu Castle.

  So when one of her courtiers brought word that he had done so, she was actually quite pleased with him. It was just as well Palmeri had been such a hopeless, hapless failure.

  * * *

  Francisco found himself relieved to arrive at the Val di Castellazzo. Master Kazimierz looked somewhat taken aback to see them. But then, having a second visit from the Lord Protector in two days did suggest something to worry about.

  He got out of the carriage and said grimly: “I should have given Carlo your advice. But he wouldn’t have listened anyway, any more than I did.”

  “Is he dead?” asked Kazimierz.

  “No, just comatose. I have no idea if he’ll recover.”

  “You need to get him to Venice, to your friend Marco Valdosta, as soon as possible. He is the only possibility of your obtaining the only cure we know of. And, also, he is the only creature of reasonably goodwill powerful enough to repel the serpent Orkise, so long as he is in his own territory.”

  “That was exactly what I had planned. I wanted him out of Milan first, and then away as quick as possible with as strong and secret an escort as we can manage. Some men and this carriage must proceed to Cantu above Lake Como. I am going to steal some of your guards and use this as a base to arrange transport. I wish I could have arranged this in advance. The Venetians might not take kindly to Sforza arriving with an armed escort, and it will be hard to keep quiet.”

  “Use your nyx friend and a boat. They can make a mist on the water that will hide you by night. You could be in Venice by morning,” said Kazimierz.

  “I would be tempted if I could. She comes to talk to me in one place in Milan. I suppose I could go back.”

  “Most unnecessary. Water carries sounds well. I have a device which can be used to summon their kind”—the man’s cheeks betrayed a smile that the mustache hid—“and I have protection against them. There is a fair-sized river close by. Give me a few minutes to prepare, while you see him comfortably bestowed in the house, and we will send the carriage and some guards onwards.”

  It was rapidly enough done, but not before Francisco had had a confrontation with Captain di Nebbiolo and Lieutenant de Malarde. “Yes, I see the need for a suitable decoy, and I’ll see no human gets in to see him, no matter what,” said the lieutenant. “But what are you going to do, Captain Turner?”

  “Get him to the best help I can. A young physician in Venice, whom I rate as having the best chance of helping him to recover. He was poisoned, but apparently there is some kind of magical antidote. I need to go in person to make sure he gets there, and in as good a health as possible, and then I shall do my best to see him recover.”

  Di Nebbiolo, who had known Francisco a long time, shook his head. “Get him there, see him safely bestowed, Captain Turner. And then get back here as fast as possible. He gave you orders to see to things while he was recovering.”

  “Yes, but that was…”

  “No buts,” said Di Nebbiolo. “If you trust this physician, that’s good enough for me. For all of us. You, too. The commander gave orders, he wants it done, and it will be done as he wished. I’ll keep you and him here if need be, Turner. I’ll start getting things ready, but we’re going to have a fight on our hands when this gets out—and it will.”

  “The commander does not abandon his men,” said the lieutenant. “That’s why we stand by him.”

  Francisco ground his teeth. They had a point: Carlo would not thank him, or forgive him, for abandoning his task. Eventually he nodded in reluctant agreement. “Very well. I’ll need an escort waiting near the Venetian Republic’s border. At San Penti.”

  Di Nebbiolo nodded. “It will be there. Now, jump to it, Lieutenant. You’ll want Captain Turner’s hat for whomever you put in the carriage.

  “Hmph. When all of this is over,” said Francisco, “I want it back. I like that hat.”

  A little later, he and Master Kazimierz, and some ten guards, set out for the river. When they got there, Kazimierz said: “Send them off to buy you a boat. The water-women have no liking for admiring crowds…that leave alive.”

  He plainly knew them. So Francisco did as he was bid. He wanted to get this done, and to get back to Sforza’s bedside.

  There was no mistaking the calm professionalism of the man preparing his ritual. He might be a scholar, an experimenter with gunpowder and other devices, but he was a competent practitioner of magi
c, too. He handed a long horn to Francisco. “I place myself at some risk doing this, Caviliero. I trust you will remember, when I need your help.”

  “If I get Carlo to help…I’ll be deep in your debt. If he survives, Milan, he and I will be in your debt forever.”

  “I’ll settle for life, and hopefully that’s longer than a few months,” said Kazimierz. “Now, allow me to concentrate. A mistake and I could get a river monster less amenable to conversation. She is closely related to that.”

  He began walking widdershins, tingling a bell with one hand, dribbling river water from a wooden goblet in the other, and muttering a string of words too fast for Francisco to recognize any more than the fact that they were not Frankish. “Put the horn mouth in the water and call her name down it,” he instructed.

  So Francisco did. And again. Several times.

  “It may take a while. But if she is within twenty miles, she heard you,” said Kazimierz.

  They waited. It wasn’t easy.

  Suddenly the still water rippled, and Rhene thrust up from the depths.

  “Hello. I was hoping you’d call,” she said, artfully flicking back her hair. Then she saw Kazimierz. “Who is he? He has all sorts of nasty protections about him,” she said crossly.

  Master Kazimierz bowed. “I am merely the fellow he used to make the call. You need to teach him. And yes, I am protected, and yes, I could compel you to do my will. But I will not, since the caviliero has assured me he has no need or desire for me to do so.”

  Francisco spoke up: “I won’t let him compel you to do anything. I just have a huge favor to ask. I need to get a…a very dear friend to Marco Valdosta in a hurry, in secret. I was hoping, if we got a boat, you might help us.”

  “It’s not a very dear female friend, is it?” she asked, eyes sharp.

  “Good gracious me, no,” answered Francisco. “He’s my commanding officer, and the man to whom I owe my life and liberty.”

  “Oh, then, nothing easier. But only the two of you. I can hide you and move your boat easily. You would be there by midnight, I would guess. Are you ready right now?”

  There was a risk to just the two of them. There would normally be bodyguards. But this would be fast, far faster than he had dreamed of. “I need to get the boat and the commander safely bestowed in it. I hope within the hour?”

  “I’ll be waiting for you,” she said.

  On the ride to the nearby village, Kazimierz said: “You have indeed snagged a very old one there.”

  “It doesn’t show,” said Francisco, thinking of the smooth skin.

  “Old and powerful. The older they are, the more they forget, and yet the more human they become. A sort of full circle. Now, I do have a small favor to ask. If you would take this mirror with you to Venice? I was going to use a bird, but that would only be to the borders of the Lion of Etruria’s demesne. You see, if we have to flee, I can use it to magically transport myself and Tamas and Emma to where the mirror is. I think you would be able to ask if they would take me as a refugee, if Orkise or the woman come hunting me. A cell would be acceptable,” he said wryly. “It would mean that I thought it would be safer than here.”

  “You think they might want you in a cell?” asked Francisco.

  “I don’t know. We have a common enemy—in fact, common enemies. I am no threat to them, and they have nothing to gain by imprisoning me. But I was once in the employ of a deadly enemy of Venice, the demon Chernobog, who had possessed my prince. I tried to kill that employer, for my own safety, for what that is worth.”

  He looked at Francisco’s face. “No, I had nothing to do with your master—my current employer’s—present state. The opposite is true, and I would like to see his fortunes revive. This place and situation suit me. I am getting old,” he said, mildly plaintive. “All I want are my books and a reasonable degree of comfort. Tell the Lion, from me, that Lucia needs to be captured and, at all costs, not killed. She is the only one who can restrain the wyrm, and it cannot be killed by ordinary means.”

  The man sighed. “The university idea…is something I can daydream about. It has been very pleasurable doing this work, to my surprise.”

  They caught sight of the troopers, and confidences were at an end. The men had located and bought a boat. “Bit smaller than we’d like, Captain. It won’t take more than about six people.”

  “There will only be two of us in it.”

  There was a silence. Then one of the older men cleared his throat. “That’s not wise, Captain.”

  “I know. But it’s what we have to do. This will get the commander to help in the fastest and, oddly, I think the safest way possible. You all know he trusted me with his life, and has on many occasions in the past—so you will have to do the same this time. Let’s get to it.”

  And so, less than an hour later, the boat was pushed out into the stream with Francisco at the oars, and Carlo Sforza lying on a stretcher, and a mirror in Francisco’s hastily gathered gear.

  A few yards from the shore, the boat began to move a lot faster than Francisco could paddle. He shipped the oars and looked over the gunwale, where he could see the fish all around it. They moved very fast and, oddly, the villages on the bank seemed lost in a forest, a huge, ancient forest. In the twilight, they moved on into a country of rattling marshes, alive with mosquitos and the song of frogs. Francisco had no conversation except for the stentorian breathing of Carlo Sforza. That suited him, although he would have liked to know where he was, especially when he heard what sounded very like a lion’s roar somewhere in the distance, as they sailed on into the darkness.

  And then there were lights. And the characteristic smell of Venice’s canals.

  “It was quite different, back then,” said Rhene dreamily. “I still have it within me though. He was a soldier, too, and just as loyal to our chieftain. Do you wish to go to the chapel where we usually meet Marco, or to his home? He is at his home at the moment, according to the others.”

  “His home, please. You are a marvel, Rhene!”

  “I am? Why, thank you.” She preened.

  A few minutes later, the door to Casa Montescue was opened by a sleepy-looking servant. Fortunately, he was one who recognized Francisco, and agreed to call Master Marco immediately.

  Chapter 39

  Venice

  Marco Valdosta looked incredulously at the travel-stained, tired-looking Francisco Turner, who had insisted on staying on the doorstep, rather than waiting in one of parlors.

  “Forgive me for intruding and for not coming inside, but I have my commander, critically ill, on the boat.” He pointed behind him, to a boat tied in front of the mansion. “He’s been poisoned, just like Violetta de’ Medici, and I think you are the only man who could possibly save him, Marco. Or at least that’s what Kazimierz says. I don’t know any more.”

  Marco was surprised to see a tear on the tough mercenary’s cheek.

  He did not waste time talking, but went out and got down into the boat. Even in the light of the house windows, Sforza’s pallor was obvious. Sforza had aged since the last time Marco had seen him, but he would still have recognized his tough sort-of-stepfather. Marco wondered if the hard man had ever realized that he’d hero-worshipped him for a while, until Carlo and Mama’s fights had drawn him away to her side. He looked very odd and still now, but he was still breathing, and his pulse was still beating.

  “The snake that poisoned Violetta de’ Medici got him, too,” said Francisco, his voice low, gruff, and angry. “I found the bite on his left forearm. And I know where it is coming from now. It’s that hell-bitch Carlo married—Lucia Maria del Maino. I wish to God she’d stayed in that castle in Arona and never come to Milan.”

  Arona. Marco thought about the words from the book that had been brought to him.

  Francisco’s voice cracked. “Please, Marco. I don’t ask this lightly…but I will be forever in your debt if you can help him. It needs magic, and I have no knowledge or skill with that.”

  Marco fe
lt the weight of the request. He also wondered if, magical skill or not, he could do anything for the man. But he had not been reared in Venice and on her intrigues for nothing. He also knew that this was a political deathtrap, possibly for Venice, certainly for Milan, and would have far wider repercussions. Even here and now, there was probably a spy edging closer. He was Marco Valdosta; he was watched.

  He took a firm grip on Francisco’s arm, squeezed, and said loudly: “Yes. Undoubtedly an infectious complaint! He must be isolated at once. I believe the infection is carried through the air at this time of year. You will have to be isolated with him, Signor. Now, you say his name is Captain Parolo and he came all the way from Verona. We have special quarters for the infectiously unwell: the lazaretto on the Isla Santa Maria di Nazareth. I will instruct your boatman to take you there.”

  “Rhene brought us,” said Francisco quietly.

  “Excellent,” said Marco, equally quietly. “I need him taken to the Doge’s palace unseen. To the water door on the Rio di Palazzo. She can use her power to hide you, I think.” He handed his signet to Francisco. “Give that to the door guard. I will be there within minutes.”

  He got out of the boat, waving his hand in front of his face. “Off to the lazaretto with you. I pray to God you have not spread the contagion to me,” he said loudly.

  To the doorman, just in case, he said: “Do not admit him again. It was some kind of skin complaint the fellow had. Thank heavens it was not necessary to touch him. I will go to bathe.”

  Marco didn’t have his brother’s skill on the rooftops. But he did have enough skill to drop himself off the roof of the casa, to the water door of the adjoining house where, by long-standing arrangement, a paddle was hidden, and there were, as anywhere in Venice, a selection of small boats. Now he let the Lion within guide him, down quiet waters. He might not be quite unobserved, but his identity would not be known. Francisco and his cargo were there before him, and Marco found the man pacing.