All the Plagues of Hell

by Eric Flint

  “Violetta’s decline has effectively been halted by the magical wards. I will try the same on Carlo Sforza. Otherwise…I still don’t know quite what to do. The leads your magician sent us don’t help enough. Did you get my message about him?”

  Francisco laughed tersely. “I got the message, or at least I assume so, but before I got to read it, I was called to Carlo. Kazimierz was the one who managed to get Rhene and organize the trip here. Your message is sitting with my kit, quite possibly at his house, Val di Castellazzo. So you’ll just have to tell me about it, but later, when the commander is safely inside these wards of yours.”

  It was some hours later that they finally got that chance to talk, and even that was interrupted by a call from Petro Dorma, summoning them both to an audience in one of the small salons. It was not quite dawn yet.

  “I hear my physician was called on, and directed a sick person to the lazaretto. The boat has been reported tied up there. A vessel from the upper Po, my experts tell me, and would you still like beer to drink, even at this time of morning, Caviliero?”

  “For me, it is a late night and not an early morning, Your Grace. I would love beer.”

  “I have not forgotten that we owe you a debt, but I suspect you have brought me a problem. Would you like to explain, Caviliero?”

  “How many ears do we have listening, Your Grace?”

  “Certain select members of the Council of Ten. No other. And what you say would be told to them anyway, even if they were not listening.”

  Francisco nodded. “I understand. Your Grace, Carlo Sforza was poisoned using a magical serpent, just as Violetta de’ Medici was poisoned. The poisoner is Duke Visconti’s bastard daughter, Lucia, who is now married to Carlo Sforza. She is her father again, but far worse. There is no length that she will not go to. She killed all the potential rivals for her position—or tried to, at least, since thus far the de’ Medici girl still lives. I have pretended to take Sforza to Cantu Castle to recover, and brought him here in secret, to the only physician I thought might cure him.”

  “Very secretly indeed,” said Petro, “which was good, although the possibility of that does not please me. Mind you, I’m not sure if the cover of a rumor of a plague of dread disease was worth the cover-up, Marco.”

  “It’s not a route the Lion of St. Mark is unaware of, or that Venice has anything to fear from,” said Marco, his voice deep and full of the power of the Lion within him. “But we do have a great deal to fear from Lucia. She has awoken Orkise so that she could gain her goal, and Orkise is the danger the seer of Rome detected. She must be killed because Orkise is the plague. The great plague, the Black Death, which could, as it did the last time it was loosed, devour most of the human population, only stopping when it runs out of victims. At its worst, nine people out of ten die, and even the mildest wave took two in every five souls. Those who survive starve as food rots in the fields for lack of workers, and hide in fear from contagion. Last time, people were more scattered, and some escaped the wave, until the disease was banished. Banished but not destroyed. She has roused it again. We need to destroy her, now.”

  There was a silence. And then Francisco spoke up. “Kazimierz said I was to tell you that, at all cost, you must not kill Lucia because she is the only one who can restrain Orkise, the monster she has woken. It cannot be killed by other means, just restrained.”

  “And who is this Kazimierz?” asked Petro Dorma softly, dangerously.

  “A magician,” answered Francisco. “A very powerful one, at a guess, who was working for Carlo. He tried to warn me and, when she had poisoned Carlo, he helped us escape.”

  Francisco stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the mirror. “He asked me to bring this to you. He said he could use it as a magical means of escape, and to ask if you would give him refuge. He said to put it in a cell if you so wished, because in a cell in Venice, he would still be safer than where he is now.”

  “Is he an enemy of ours?” asked Dorma.

  “He says not, Your Grace. He’s very clever, powerful…and, in my opinion, worth helping. But I freely admit that he has fooled both Carlo and myself before, for his own ends.”

  “What did he do?” asked Petro Dorma, plainly curious as to how this had been done.

  “Convinced us—and admittedly we wanted to believe—that he was a fraud, not a magician, and merely a man of science. In the process, he did us no harm and helped us to win several battles. Without using magic, or at least that we were aware of.”

  “This would be the fellow those Knights of the Holy Trinity were seeking. They were convinced he was evil. They could be right,” said Marco.

  Turner nodded. “He said that he and you had a common enemy, but that you might wish to imprison him because had once worked for an enemy of Venice, a prince possessed by a demon called Chernobog.”

  “Grand Duke Jagiellon,” said Marco.

  “Then this man will be his assistant and chief researcher, Count Kazimierz Mindaug, later rumored to be working for Elizabeth Bartholdy and King Emeric of Hungary,” said Petro Dorma.

  “Evil associates for an evil man,” said Marco.

  “He may be that, Marco,” said Francisco tiredly. “He definitely shared your opinion of Elizabeth Bartholdy. He said Lucia was like her. He’s still the only person who seems to know what is going on. And I am sure of this, he might have fooled us about not being a magician, but I’ll swear he is deathly afraid of Lucia. I was not, but I should have been.”

  “I think,” said Petro Dorma, “that we should give him his wish. Put the mirror in a cell, but only if it can be bound against him making a similar escape. Can it, Marco?”

  “It can. Or at least it can be made very difficult and damaging.”

  “Good. Then I think we should do that with this mirror—just in case that proves a real thing, too. I have an empty cell or two in the new prison. Now, Caviliero, I am sure Marco will do his best for…the man we shall refer to as…Signor Abello from Fruili, seeing as Captain Parolo is in the lazaretto. The question remains, Caviliero, what you will do now. You are a recognized and known man in Venice. I do not believe that any spies are yet aware that the trusted physician of Carlo Sforza is in Venice, but it will be merely a matter of time. Hours, not days—and then the story would disintegrate. You need to disappear or be hidden.”

  “Your Grace,” said Francisco, “I’ve given my commander’s care over to a man I trust. As little as I want to leave, I need to go back to Milan. I arranged to meet a troop at San Penti.”

  “Lord di Lesso will see you conducted there, in secret, this very morning. We will do our best for Sforza,” Petro Dorma smiled briefly, “partly because I see this as a good investment, and partly because he sent me a physician and, as a prisoner, a poisoner.”

  Rimini

  Count Andrea’s spies, he had often felt, were overpaid and inadequate. This time, however, they had paid a handsome dividend. “Collapsed! Taken to Cantu Castle, with his personal physician, and the place shut up tighter than a siege! And the bastard get of Filippo Maria’s saying that it is not too bad and all he needs is rest, and she’ll be running the duchy to take the weight off his shoulders while he recovers! Ha. As if a woman could. Well, our allies were wavering and fading but this will put new heart in everyone. Without Sforza, they are lost.”

  He hastened to send out messages to the committed and to those who had been quietly withdrawing their support. To Florence, where Cosimo de’ Medici still vacillated. That letter was a particular pleasure. Andrea despised the man, but he did have access to vast wealth, and they needed that.

  Within two days, they would start to push into Milanese territory.

  Chapter 40

  Milan

  Count Laglissio was a quivering jelly before Lucia’s rage. “I thought you needed to know,” he protested.

  She paused seconds from ordering his death. She’d set her guards to the work of improving the attitude and morale around the palace. There’d been some sh
ow of fear and nervousness about that stupid pig being sick. Some beatings and a couple of summary executions had sorted that out. And then Laglissio had brought her this copy of Count Andrea’s letter with every appearance of pride! The insulting reference to her had brought her to screaming rage. As if Milan’s resistance to their armies would just fall over under her leadership! As if she were a figurehead and a sop! She’d show them. But…

  He was…somewhat right. She did need to know.

  “Let go of him,” she said to the guards. “I do need to know what these fools think. You seemed pleased. That was your mistake.”

  “I was just pleased we had managed to get a copy of their document, Your Grace. It wasn’t easy. The troops are already moving. Who should I notify…?”

  Lucia stared at him, her eyes narrowed. The truth was she had no idea at all. Neither Sforza nor her father had ever let her into their confidences about the military and she’d had no real interest anyway. They were stupid games men played at, away from the real business of court politics. One told the condottieri and they dealt with it. Only…that was Sforza. She had not the faintest idea how the chain of command worked below him. She thought that Sforza had his own network of spies for military matters. But now…these fools could threaten her with their stupid, clumsy military methods allowing no time for the mechanisms of politics, poison and suitably instilled fear and respect.

  Sss, the great serpent has devoured many armies. He is hungry for them.

  “Go to the central barracks. Have the senior officer there report to me,” she said tersely to Laglissio. She turned to her senior bodyguard, one of those she’d had the asp hypnotize to utter loyalty. “I will need to increase the palace guards. Find more men.”

  Others might have questioned her, asked who or how many, but the asp had seen to that not happening. Later that afternoon, a lieutenant from the central barracks came to see her. After a suitable interval, she had him escorted in. He limped forward and made his bow. “Are you the senior officer here?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yes, Your Grace. Almost all of the troops are on deployment.”

  She extracted the little the lieutenant knew, that there was a plan which Captain Turner and Di Nebbiolo seemed to be working to. He wasn’t privy to the details, but yes, they knew that a counterattack was under way. He seemed quietly confident. She demanded to know why there were not more troops dedicated to the safety of Milan, and her person.

  He blinked. “But then they’d know we were losing, Your Grace. You can be sure their spies report on our troop movements when they can. We’re laying siege to two of their fortresses right now: Terdona and San Donnino. Better they worry about those than think of conquering Milan.”

  “And if those fall?” she asked.

  “Well, I suppose they’d be scared about who would be next.”

  After the lieutenant left, the serpent stirred in her bosom. They will, if you tell me to make it so. The rats like a siege.

  What rats had to do with it, she had no idea, but there was a sweetness in the concept of making their towns fall. It would be a kind of vengeance. “I think Terdona should die. I did promise the great serpent more.”

  Orkise will need to be told, by you. That is the bargain. But it does not know towns or limits easily.

  “I command it and set the limits.”

  Oh, yes. Of course.

  Then it would be done. But right now she needed dresses with looser waistbands. Filippo Maria’s child was taking up too much space in her belly and was starting to take up space where her lungs needed it, making her short of breath. She would spend a day or two getting more clothes, making Milan know that she had no fear, and that, if anything, they had to fear her.

  A few floggings and a few visits by the asp were called for, and she had a list of suitable courtiers for her work, which she must see to. Tomorrow she could go back to Arona and give the orders.

  She needed more allies, too. It was time to call in the nobility and the Church. The Church could be useful. The Hypatians she’d heard were ascendant, and the Church wielded a lot of influence on the minds of the masses. She’d heard that the Hypatians wanted to expand at the expense of their Pauline rivals. She’d send letters to both, inviting them to send a delegation to Milan. She could play them against each other.

  * * *

  Francisco returned to Milan from Venice with alacrity. He realized that Venice spent a lot on spies who were considerably more efficient at it than Sforza’s handful of agents had been. He was back with the escort waiting for him in San Penti within hours—in fact they’d barely gotten there. As it happened to be the easiest route to Pavia, he passed through the city of Milan.

  There was a squad of soldiers in peacock blue and gold uniforms drilling. Well, ineptly trying to drill. “Has some sort of traveling fair come to town?” he asked one of his escort.

  “They’re Her Grace’s new City Guard,” explained the man, his tone carefully expressionless.

  “I’m terrified we’ll be out of a job,” said Francisco wryly. They passed a few other signs of the duchess’s new order, but there was a telling one at the city gates. There were quite a few carts with more-than-just-moving-cargo about them, clues such as a songbird in a cage, or a pet pug on a lead on the seat. A couple of those on the cart seats had skullcaps and long sidelocks.

  “Not good. The Jews are leaving,” said Francisco.

  “Nobody cares if they do,” said one of the other officers.

  “The more the fool you, then, Voccia. They are always the people who get hammered first, when things go wrong. So they’ve gotten really good at reading the signs that something is about to erupt.”

  He dismounted and walked over to the nearest cart, motioning his guard back. He recognized the man as a jeweler, one he’d had occasional dealings with when turning campaign loot into cash. He smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner. The man plainly recognized him as well, and did not regard him as a threat, judging by his posture and tone.

  “And who will I sell to next time?” asked Francisco casually.

  “Ah, Captain Turner…well, I am sure there will always be someone.”

  “Why are you leaving, David?”

  The jeweler looked around cautiously. “It’s a good time to do so, Captain. The new duchess…” Then he thought better of it “I just see opportunities elsewhere.”

  “Carlo Sforza would prefer you to see them here.”

  “So would I. But she’s here and he isn’t, if you take my meaning,” said the man, now plainly nervous. “I never did you any wrong, Captain.”

  “True enough. Well, matters will settle soon. Carlo should sort things in weeks if not before, so I hope you’ll be back.”

  “If they did, I would,” said the man fervently. “I like Milan. Good place to do business.”

  “What is happening? I ask so that I can put a stop to it.”

  “Floggings, arrests. They were owed money and asked…”

  “Sforza pays his debts.”

  “Oh, not the Lord Protector, or even the duchess. It was other people of influence. Favorites at the new court. I’ve said enough, Captain. I just want to get out that gate and down to Venice for a while. Go now, while I can, with my son and his new wife and no one getting hurt, before anything gets worse.”

  Three hours later, Francisco was in Pavia, at a council of war with the senior captains in Carlo’s army, who had taken over a tavern for the purpose. The owner of the tavern didn’t seem particularly aggrieved by the situation, which indicated that the officers were paying for whatever they consumed and the rooms they’d be using as billets. That was Sforza’s normal policy, and Francisco was a bit relieved to see that discipline hadn’t—so far, at any rate—slipped significantly.

  The situation wasn’t pretty though. The degree to which they relied on the reputation of the Wolf of the North was apparent in the worry on the faces, here, in private. The news that he was sick, or possibly, as rumor always grew, dead
, had put new heart into their foes. They waited on Francisco’s news like hungry dogs.

  “The one thing I can tell you is that the physician he’s with has halted the decline in the other patient who had been poisoned in the same way. She was slowly dying, but he’s stopped that. He knows how to do that now, and Carlo had less time to survive before that corner got turned. My physician friend hasn’t got a cure yet, but if anyone can develop it, he will. We just need to hold it all together until then.”

  Francisco said all that with every ounce of the calm conviction he had ever mustered to comfort a dying man. It sometimes worked there, and to a degree, it worked here. Soon they were busy discussing, planning, and working on ways to hold the principality and its territories. It was a big task, but they were tough men.

  “And the sieges on Terdona and San Donnino?” he asked.

  “We keep them up as long as we can. That shows that we’re not retreating.”

  Florence

  Archimandrite Klaus von Stebbens had wondered about the sense of the order to move to Florence. Apparently someone in Mainz had decided that the Venetian doge was entirely too sympathetic to the usurper, Carlo Sforza. And now they were dealing with Cosimo de’ Medici, who made an eel seem like the shagreen on a sword hilt.

  Finally, however, they had signs that Mindaug was coming out into the open with his magic use. “He summoned some ancient river monster, a killer of men,” said Heinrich von Tarnitz.

  “Back to his usual work, I see,” said Von Stebbens grimly. “I am still getting nowhere with de’ Medici, but I do have an interesting lead. Our host, the patriarch Adam, informs me that the Hypatians have had an invitation from Duchess Lucia to send a delegation to Milan to discuss the opening of a chapter there. God moves in mysterious ways. I have sent a request to Rome, begging that we could accompany such a mission, to protect them in the civil strife, and also to show that the old Pauline-Peterine rift is healing. We shall have to wait on their reply.”