Speak to the Devil bm-1
Page 21
“I know that, thank you. Not that I care about me. Only her.”
“Her, too. Oh, saints! You’ve really been hit hard, haven’t you? Cupid’s filled you plumb full of arrows. I’m sorry, Wulf, I really am. So tomorrow you plan to hand Anton’s letter to the cardinal, in person, and tell him you want the girl as your share?”
Wulf nodded. Coming from Otto it sounded even crazier than it had seemed before: suicide, self-immolation. Before he could say so, the last candle smoked and died, leaving only firelight. Otto heaved himself to his feet.
“Time to go. I am enormously proud of what you and Anton have done, Wulf. I’m humbled, honestly. No Magnus in three centuries has come close. One day your exploits will be added to the family chronicle in letters of gold, I promise you. And tomorrow, we’ll decide how I can best help you both.”
He took a new candle from the box on the mantel and lit it. He put it in a candlestick and handed it to Wulf, giving him a clap on the shoulder. “You’re half asleep. To bed. Sleep well, Sir Wulfgang.”
“There has been a mistake, my lord. I am Wulfgang Magnus, esquire.”
“You have proved yourself worthy of knighthood. Battle honors are no less worthy if they must be kept secret. Come along.”
Alerted by some guardian instinct, Whitetail awoke, heaved himself to his paws, and led the way to the door.
Wulf was to sleep in the main guest room, which was large by castle standards, but cold and musty. Many great lords and even royalty had slept there over the centuries, and the walls bore frescoes of their arms, some crude, some crafted in exact detail, some old and faded or even overlapped by newer work. A single candle flame did little to flatter them. He blew it out and set the candlestick on the table by the bed. Shivering, he stripped and slid in under the quilts. If one believed Otto’s flattery, he was not unworthy of his surroundings.
CHAPTER 25
Neither armored foe nor the dawn screams of roosters could penetrate the walls of Castle Dobkov. Flunkies out in the bailey could stoke ovens, thresh rye, or crank the windlass on the well without being heard inside.
Regrettably, female servants slept in the attics. They arose with the roosters and the ancient floor beams creaked. Ottokar angrily pulled the quilt over his ear, trying to will himself back to sleep. Warm, soft arms embraced him. The tendency for occupants to collect in the middle was both the joy and the curse of a feather bed.
“You’re awake,” Branka murmured.
He said, “No.”
“So what’s the news that kept you tossing and turning all night?”
He abandoned hope of more sleep and rolled over to join in the hugging. “As far as the staff is concerned, Anton is betrothed to the only daughter of the late Count Bukovany and the first installment of her dowry will pay Vlad’s ransom-Wulf delivered it. That happens to be true, which is useful. Father Czcibor can arrange a thanksgiving Mass for Sunday.”
She said, “Mmph. No more?”
“Not for Father Czcibor.”
He felt her mood change instantly. “Wulf’s started Speaking?”
“How did you know about that? I never told you about it.”
She chuckled and squeezed him tighter. “No, you didn’t, but the senior servants all know. I arrived just after Marek was taken, remember, and they knew that something would trouble young Wulf at times, and he would run off to the church to pray, all by himself. A few of them even remembered one of your father’s aunts being ‘strange.’ Father Czcibor remarked to me once, just after we were married, that as long as Speakers didn’t answer the Voices they heard, then they were resisting temptation and were good Christians. I guessed that he meant Wulf.”
“It’s your brains that make me love you.”
“This is a recent change.”
“After the Dominicans took Marek away, Father made us all swear not to tell anyone about Wulf. So I couldn’t tell you, and I didn’t want to burden you, anyway. You’ll forgive me?”
“Of course. You were right. I didn’t know; I was just guessing. But now he’s started?”
Otto had always feared that Wulf wouldn’t be able to resist Speaking once he escaped out into the world. Damn Anton for tricking him into it, just to impress the court! That was typical of Anton. Had the positions been reversed and Wulf had tried something like that on Anton-not that Wulf ever would-Anton would have turned his back and let him go ahead and break his stupid neck.
“I’m afraid so. It was Anton’s fault.”
“And they’ve quarreled?”
Otto took time to consider. “I don’t think so, not yet. But they may, and we mustn’t let it happen. They’ve done amazing things, but they’re in way over their heads, deeper than hell’s cellar.” He hesitated and then mentioned the other problem because he never willingly kept secrets from Branka. “Wulf got injured on the journey somehow, although his Voices cured him later. Cardinal Zdenek had ordered Anton to marry the late count’s daughter. That would be fine by Anton, confirm his claim to the coronet. Stupidly, though, he ordered her to care for Wulf while he was disabled.”
“Oh, no! Not Wulfgang! He didn’t!”
“It isn’t a matter of doing, I’m sure. But it is a matter of wanting to. On both sides, apparently. Of course it would never have occurred to Anton that those two were both in highly stressed situations. Wulf is terrified that he’s sold his soul to the devil, she had just lost her father, mother, and brother and was ordered to marry a man she’s never even heard of. When you think about it, what happened was almost inevitable. They grabbed at each other like drowning sailors.”
“So you think you’re going to ride off and help them?”
“My love, I have no choice. This is for no one but you, understand?”
“I swear.”
“It’s war! The Wends’ vanguard has crossed the border. Anton was wounded and would have died if Wulf’s Voices had not saved him-for the second time in three days. The main army is sure to follow. Jorgarian forces are weeks or months away and the only defense Jorgary has at the moment is a castle under the command of Anton Magnus, twenty years old and never seen a battle.”
Branka whispered a Hail Mary. Otto said, “Amen.”
She sighed. “When will you leave?” She was a worthy warrior’s wife.
“This morning Wulf and I’ll go on a brotherly outing, visit a few of the tenants. Hint that he has been having thoughts about a certain girl, if you must. We should be back before nightfall. After that… I don’t know. For as long as I’m needed.”
“You have time to say goodbye, big bull.”
Otto found his brother in the lesser hall, again being mobbed by the staff and giving every indication of enjoying it, which he probably wasn’t. The jabber died away as the baron approached. He announced the limited story about Sir Vladislav’s ransom, which was loudly cheered. He added that he and Wulf were going to go riding that morning. He glanced across the table.
“We’ll leave as soon as we can, Wulf?”
Wulf nodded with a smile that did not quite reach his wolfish eyes.
The brothers had no chance for a private chat before they rode out across the drawbridge together, Wulf on Copper and Otto astride his old favorite, Balaam, who was past any serious exertion but steady enough not to panic when Wulf started Speaking miracles. The sun was bright on golden leaves and warm for late September.
They left a lot of puzzled retainers behind them. When the baron went hunting, he took a retinue of beaters, hawkers, huntsmen, foresters, and kennel men. Going visiting, he would never venture forth without a train of at least forty men-at-arms. If he and his brother were merely planning an amble around the environs of the castle, why did they need to take such fat bundles with them, and why had they insisted that the baggage be attached to their horses’ saddles, instead of loaded on a packhorse? He was behaving very oddly.
Wulf was puzzled, too. “What’s the plan, Brother Baron?” he asked as they crossed the bridge. “What’s in the bags?”
The kid frowned. “Nothing should go wrong.”
“Good. First you miracle us to Mauvnik. How long will that take?”
Wulf pointed to a hawk spiraling down out of the sky. His finger tracked it down until it vanished in weeds at the edge of the pasture and some anonymous rodent died. “About that long.”
“Oh!” Otto wondered if he had overestimated Balaam’s impassivity. “Secondly, we redeem the scrip for gold. The Medici agent there knows me. If Vlad tried to turn it into cash in Bavaria, it would take months.”
Wulf chuckled. “We never thought of that! Old Jurbarkas should have warned us. He’s Anton’s seneschal, decent but doddery. Then what? We call on the cardinal?”
His tone of voice suggested he was ready to argue. Wulf had changed. He was not the same boy who had ridden away with Anton a month ago, two youths going forth to seek their fortunes. Anton must have changed also. They would not be human otherwise, after what they had been through already. And Wulf must guard his secret very closely now. If the cardinal decided that his Speaker helper had served his purpose and become a potential cause for scandal, he would betray him. The Bible said, “Put not your trust in princes.”
The horses entered the coppice, where the air was cooler. With no one overlooking them, this would be a good setting for a miracle.
“It would be safer if I called on the cardinal instead of you,” Otto said. “You are vulnerable. I met Zdenek once, years ago. Father presented me to him. He wasn’t a cardinal then. He won’t remember me, but my title should get me in to see him.” The Magnus name alone should, under present circumstances.
“While I take two thousand florins south to Bavaria?”
“Yes. And bring back Vlad.”
They rode on for a moment. Then calculating golden eyes turned on Otto again. “I don’t have to tell him that Anton is now a count, do I? Please?”
Otto laughed aloud. “Brother, I have sorely missed you this last month! I’d suggest you chain him down first.”
Wulf grinned. “I’ll let you tell him. His face should be worth every florin. Ready for me to Speak?”
Otto dug in his knees and shortened the reins. “Go ahead.”
“You must stay close to me. That’s vital.” Wulf turned his head the other way and addressed empty air, “Holy Saints Helena and Victorinus, hear my prayer.” Pause. “First, would you heal the bruises on my face, please, so I don’t look so gruesome? Thank you.” He glanced around to enjoy Otto’s reaction when he saw that the black-eye bruises had gone. “And now, dear Saints, would you please move us directly through limbo to Mauvnik?”
The world became a silent, silvery mist. Balaam screamed in terror and reared. Otto grabbed the pommel of his saddle and clung tight with his thighs. Balaam bolted along the foggy trail, and now nothing was solid except Wulf and Copper, racing along at their side. Balaam skidded to a halt and tried bucking again like a two-year-old. Eventually the old courser steadied, more from exhaustion than his rider’s direction, but for a few moments it had been Wulf’s horsemanship that had kept the two mounts close together, not Otto’s.
He said, “Sorry! I was a little too sudden with that.” He looked very innocent, but there was a devilish gleam in his eye. The world hadn’t beaten all the boy out of him yet.
“When in Mauvnik, stay at the Bacchus” had been a family motto for generations. Otto was greeted with joyful deference and polite inquiries about “the hardships of my lord’s journey.” Wulf was welcomed back, having spent one night there a month ago.
If all went well, there would be no need to overnight in Mauvnik, but Otto needed a place to change. With Vlad’s ransom in hand at last, he was freed from the penny-pinching of the last two years, so he demanded a private room, no sharing, with two beds if possible-most travelers were happy to sleep three or four to a bed. He also wanted a boy to guard the baggage when he and Wulf were absent, hay and fresh straw for the horses, and the room to be cleaned and ready within twenty minutes. The landlord promised everything he asked.
With Wulf playing valet, Otto shed his traveling clothes and changed into city wear. Leaving their room guarded by the grubby-faced youth they had hired, the brothers reclaimed their mounts and rode off up the hill to Upper Mauvnik. Even in the capital, they did not venture out without their sabers.
The local Medici agent did his business in his home near the palace in a street so grand that it was both paved and wide enough for two wagons to pass. It was also less fouled with garbage and horse dung than most. Servants came running to take the horses and escort the noble baron indoors to meet the illustrious bankers. An effort was made to store Wulfgang in the basement with the menials while the oily Italian gentlemen discussed money upstairs with Otto, but Otto insisted that he attend. This gave the lad an hour’s instruction in how little he would enjoy a career in banking, watching shiny coins being weighed and tallied, and listening to shop talk about the grape harvest. Otto wondered if his brother was noticing how skillfully the bankers questioned him. They would forward the information they gained to Medici headquarters in Florence, to add to the vast store of intelligence that the bank amassed from all over Christendom.
Vladislav had been given quarter, which meant that his captor must be reimbursed for two years’ food and board. Otto had brought a pouch containing another sixty florins to add to Anton’s two thousand. He did not explain why the money was needed and nobody was crass enough to ask.
It was close to terce before the brothers emerged in the stable yard, Otto carrying a stout leather bag containing sixteen pounds of gold. Not wanting to try vaulting into the saddle with this burden, he handed it up to Wulf, who whistled at the weight.
“I could stun a robber with this.”
“Don’t lose it. Come to think of it, I must be crazy, entrusting it to you. You used to be very good at losing things.”
“I hadn’t been gone a month when I lost my heart.”
But not his virginity, Otto guessed. The small talk died, and the brothers smiled uneasily. The moment of double peril had come and they must part.
“I’d best hurry and find a comfortable chair in the Spider’s web,” Otto said, “in case I have to spend the rest of the day there. You remember where Baron Emilian lives?”
“Castle Orel.”
“Bavaria’s a big place. Do you know how to find it?”
Wulf gave him an odd look. “I just have to ask, Otto.”
Jesus save us! Even the whirlwind ride from Dobkov had not impressed Otto as much as those simple words. What had his baby brother become? Marek might have exactly the same powers, but Marek was a peace-loving scholar. Wulf had more of the warrior Magnus blood in him; a lightning-bolt temper hid behind his easygoing manner. Would his saints rein him in if he tried to use his powers too hastily?
“Then I don’t even need to wish you safe journey, but I’ll do it anyway. I’ll see you at the Bacchus when we both get back there.”
“And I wish you a safe return as well, Brother Baron. It was good to come home and be made welcome, even if it’s only for a very short time.” Wulf wheeled his horse and took off at a slow walk along the grand street.
Ottokar Magnus knew where the palace stabled visitors’ mounts and how to find the bureaucrats’ wing where the work of government was done. His title and the impressive document he bore were enough to gain him admittance to the cardinal’s anteroom, which was already crowded with petitioners. Two years had passed since he last graced the royal palace with his presence, when he came to beg for a royal grant to help ransom Vlad. Then he had been one of many on the same quest, and he had gotten no farther than he was now; even Vlad’s warrior reputation had failed to win a hearing from His Eminence. This time, Otto had come on behalf of the baby of the family, and his chances of being admitted were considerably better. He found that amusing, although Vlad would not.
He strol
led across the marble floor, noting rustic aristocracy like himself in their shabby hand-me-downs amid lawyers, burghers, and courtiers flaunting the latest styles. The points on some of the shoes were so long that they had to be chained up to their wearers’ knees. Liripipes, the stupid tails attached to men’s hoods, had grown until they were wrapped around the head like turbans. There were no women present to compare, only men, some standing, some sitting, and all of them wanting something that they probably shouldn’t get. How did Zdenek stand it, day after day for a lifetime? Did he just enjoy the power to grant or deny? Didn’t it pall eventually, even on the son of a butcher, which is what he was?
The chancellor at the desk beside the door to the sanctum was a friar in Franciscan brown, and a flock of bored novices perched nearby, waiting to carry messages. The friar looked up at the visitor with a studied smile of welcome.
Otto introduced himself and the sender of the letter he bore.
The cleric’s smile curdled. He held out an ink-stained hand for the letter.
Otto retained it. “I must deliver this personally to the cardinal.”
Stalemate. “If Your Lordship would be so gracious as to take a seat for just a few minutes, I am sure His Eminence will be happy to accord you an audience very promptly.” That meant an hour or two.
“His Eminence is most gracious.” Otto turned away and was annoyed to see two men obviously trying to catch his eye. Almost certainly they were comrade knights from his campaigning days, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember their names or where he had met them. He smiled and began wandering in their direction. He did not get far before a treble voice spoke at his shoulder.
“Baron Magnus? His Eminence will see you right away.”
The two knights were too far away to overhear, but they could guess at the words and were staring as if the last trump had just sounded. With a shrug to indicate how disappointed he was at not being able to chat with them, Otto turned and followed the novice to the door of the inner sanctum.