IGMS - Issue 22

by IGMS

  "Is there an antidote?" Luca asked.

  "Your father's been given a concoction of many poisons tailored for a slow, agonizing death. One antidote is not enough."

  "How do you know?"

  I told him of the others who died in the same way. "I tried cure after cure, but unless all the poisons are countered, death comes within a day when the victim first coughs blood."

  Luca paled. "What do we do?"

  "The killer might carry the right antidotes or know the recipe for the poisons, but he will be hard to catch." I opened the water door and stepped into the moored gondola beyond. "But there is another way. The mithridate."

  "What is it?" asked Luca, his voice regaining hope.

  "Legend has it that King Mithridates the Sixth of Pontus so feared that he might be poisoned by his enemies, that he took small doses of many poisons to harden himself against them. He even made a special antidote that would protect him against all poisons, which came to bear his name."

  Luca untied the rope and took hold of the oar. "But it's only a legend, isn't it?"

  "They say the same of me. What has your father told you about me?"

  "That you're a shapeshifter, centuries old. That you were once the outlaw Little John of the English ballads. That you now serve England's spymaster."

  "Then believe me when I say that there are others far older than me, one of whom dwells in Venice and may keep the secret of the mithridate. Do you know Ca' Clessidra?"

  "House Sandglass on Murano." Luca frowned. "Father said never to enter or steal from that place."

  "An excellent and inviolable rule I taught him myself. Take me there."

  As Luca ferried me across Laguna Veneta towards the isle of Murano, his silhouette against the setting sun reminded me much of his father. A gondolier by trade, Mafeo had given me my first tour of the city by canal thirty years ago. I had grown fond of the young Venetian during our explorations, even more so after he tried to cut the strings of my purse at the end of the day. Having centuries more experience at pickpocketing than he, he did not succeed, but I was so impressed by his audacity and potential that I took him as my apprentice. And now, the son followed in his father's footsteps.

  By the light of dusk, I could see the palatial Ca' Clessidra on the approaching shore.

  We were not the only ones heading there. The sound of music drew masked revelers through its doors like sand streaming into the bottom half of an hourglass.

  "Wait here," I said.

  "You might need me," Luca insisted. "Father's taught me everything he knows."

  "He may be the best thief and spy in Venice, but even he would find great danger in this house."

  "What makes it so dangerous?"

  "Antlion," I replied, and said no more. "Besides, I may need a quick escape should things turn sour."

  Luca nodded, but beneath his cloak he drummed his fingers on the hilt of his stiletto. I left him to brood while I hopped out of the gondola and followed a group of tittering masqueraders into House Sandglass, my Harlequin costume easily fitting in with the Columbines and Bautas.

  Antlion, the master of Ca' Clessidra, was a legend whose genius shone through his names of old. Daedalus. Archimedes. Leonardo da Vinci. His mind conceived incredible things while his hands gave them shape, like the infamous Labyrinth at Knossos and fantastic machines of war. Indeed, his reputation had earned him much trust among our kind. Since ancient times, many of the Elect vested Antlion with the stewardship of their most prized possessions, trusting his traps and mazes to keep their treasures safe.

  It was my hope that the mithridate was among those things.

  Inside, masked guests mingled in the opulent hall. The décor illuminated Antlion's wealth, and the masterful paintings doubtlessly came from his own hand. Women behind feathered masks called to me to share wine with them, and had I not come to see Antlion on a singular mission, I might have sought their company.

  The old shapeshifter proved easy to find. When a portly man with a handheld golden mask came into the grand hall, the musicians silenced their instruments and the dancers ceased their dance. Two guards accompanied him, one in a Sun mask and the other the Moon, each bearing a lit oil lamp resembling the symbols they wore. Antlion's own mask played upon his secret name, a gold-leafed lion with rows of ants in amber set into the mane.

  A servant quickly brought Antlion a goblet of wine. He lowered his mask, revealing the face of a charismatic bearded man in his forties. He tasted the wine and smiled. "I approve. To a perfect night!"

  The cheer echoed throughout House Sandglass, returning the celebration to its liveliness. Men flocked to Antlion's side to curry favour, while women gazed longingly at him. To them, he was Vincenzo Scamozzi, an architect of much renown in the Veneto region. But Antlion also ruled Venice from the shadows. Little happened in the city that he did not know or approve of. Even we Elect gave Antlion due respect, for he who ruled Venice also controlled the amber and silk trades in Europe. Since we depended on those commodities for our immortality, only the brave or the foolish dared risk Antlion's wrath.

  I approached. "Signor Scamozzi, might I have a private word?"

  Antlion's eyes met mine. "And you are?"

  I bowed. "Filippo Gamba." I had used that alias in Florence in 1506 when I studied with him during his time as Leonardo da Vinci.

  "Flea?" His mood darkened. "What have you come to steal this time?"

  "Still haven't forgiven me for stealing that codex of yours, I see. I must say, those notes on shape-shifting were quite illuminating." The tricks of healing and organ-shifting in the book had saved my life on more than a few occasions.

  Antlion scowled. "Then you also know how many ways I could kill you before your powers could save you."

  "Listen to my plea, first. I suppose you know why I've come?"

  "I've heard whispers of trouble for your network of spies."

  "Someone's been poisoning them, letting them die slow deaths. I need your help to save them."

  "Why should I help you, thief?"

  "In exchange for the return of the Proteus Codex, I hope."

  He stared at me. "You dare bargain with something that is rightfully mine?"

  Despite his icy tone, I caught the faintest curl of a smile. He was tempted.

  "That, and my incomparable skills for a theft of your choosing."

  Antlion raised an eyebrow. "Anything, anytime?"

  I nodded.

  "Where is my notebook?"

  "Safe and near. You have my word you'll get it back."

  He gave it some thought. "Then let us continue this conversation in the Sala di Enea." He bade his admirers to enjoy the party and led me to the stairs, his protectors flanking me as I followed.

  We entered a room with pale green walls and glass doors opening onto a portico. The Room of Aeneas must have been named for the magnificent tapestry that covered the north wall, showing a scene from the myth of the Trojan War.

  "Take watch, men," Antlion said. The Sun-masked guard took his place in the hallway outside the room while the Moon stepped out onto the portico. Antlion said to me, "Your assassin kills for Bee."

  I frowned. Bee claimed among her early shapes Medea, Delilah, Cleopatra, and Empress Messalina: poisoners and betrayers, all. A century ago she abandoned the guise of Lucrezia Borgia to become Catherine de Médicis, Queen Mother to Henry III of France.

  "Why does she want my spies dead? Why aid Spain against England?"

  "My sources tell me that she's turning her sights on the New World. She tires of her present form and eyes the throne of Spain. There are reports of untapped reserves of amber in New Spain, and the Spanish Conquest of the Yucatan has brought additional reports of different species of bees and honey. For her, it is a means to new powers and conquests."

  We who steal faces were few, relying on two sources of Lightning to transform our bodies: amber for permanent changes, silk for fleeting disguises. Honey also held Lightning, but Bee alone knew how to free the mag
ic from that sweetness, and had known that secret since her time as Medea.

  "And England stands in her way."

  Antlion nodded.

  I now understood. To win the New World, Bee would have to blind England to Spain's strategies, and that meant killing my best spies. "Who's Drone this time?" She always named her favourite minion that.

  "His face changes, of course, but his voice betrays him as a Frenchman."

  "I must have the mithridate, Antlion," I said. "You boasted once that Bee entrusted its secret to you."

  "I have guarded treasures and secrets for thousands of years, Flea, for pharaohs, kings, and Doges. What I keep in my Labyrinth vault stays protected until the owner demands it back. No man has ever bested the traps in my maze or breached the vault at its centre or ever will," he said.

  "No maze is unsolvable. Where does your Labyrinth lie?"

  He laughed. "If I tell you, you will certainly die mangled in one of my traps. A pleasant thought, that, but how would I get my Proteus Codex back?"

  "Either you have your revenge on me or I make amends once I have the mithridate. You win either way."

  "True. All the same, tell me now what tragic tale you wish told of your many lives, so I may engrave it upon your tombstone."

  I shrugged. "I am only fit for an unmarked grave."

  "So be it." With a flourish, Antlion gestured at the tapestry depicting the Trojan War. "Let Il Dono di Ulisse, the Gift of Ulysses, lead you to your doom."

  So, Antlion had hidden the path to his new Labyrinth in the imagery. He could never resist flaunting his brilliance, even when it could spell his own downfall. That was how King Minos lured him out when he was Daedalus in hiding: with a puzzle only he could solve.

  Antlion called to his guards. "Sun, come with me. Moon, stay with our guest." He paused at the doorway but did not look back. "Make certain he steals nothing."

  With that, he was gone.

  Moon watched as I set aside my harlequin mask to better study the tapestry, a marvel of weaving with exquisite detail. I was familiar enough with Antlion's work to know he had a hand in its creation. The silk portrayed in painstaking detail the procession of the Trojan Horse. The wooden horse loomed tall over the dozen soldiers pulling it through the gates of Troy. Tricks of light and shadow suggested more Trojans were pushing the great beast on wheels from behind.

  In the foreground, a wild-haired Cassandra in a crimson flowing robe beat at the soldiers with a branch. According to myth, she possessed the gift of prophecy, and foresaw how the horse would bring about the fall of the city. But the god Apollo had cursed her so that no one would ever believe her. A severed tongue upon the dirt at her feet symbolized her words falling on deaf ears.

  But how did these things point to the whereabouts of Antlion's new Labyrinth? I memorized as many details as I could, from the architecture of the stone gate, to the stance of the Wooden Horse, to the petals of mulberry flowers upon the branch she held.

  So enthralled in the puzzle, I almost did not notice the light in the room change. When my shadow suddenly grew large and shifted on the tapestry, I ducked Moon's swing towards my head with his oil lamp staff. The lamp missed my head but broke against the tapestry, spilling burning oil onto the silk and setting it afire.

  My assailant dropped the staff and drew a knife. I threw my full weight into a low tackle, sending him reeling backward, but he managed a cut at my throat. The sharp edge sliced into my jugular.

  The wound would have been grievous had I not still been wearing Mafeo's image. Instead, the form I borrowed from the silk unraveled, shielding me from the otherwise devastating cut. As I regained my previous shape, the wound to my throat vanished. I kicked Moon in the stomach, knocking him stumbling backward.

  Moon steadied himself and threw the knife. I turned just in time, avoiding the steel sinking into my chest but taking its bite on my left upper arm. I gritted my teeth and grabbed his abandoned staff, but the fire behind me was spreading fast, the smoke stinging my eyes.

  He drew another knife, but suddenly he startled as his own stolen form unraveled. Bee's Drone. He had infiltrated Antlion's home and meant to kill me as well as my spies. A stiletto clattered to the floor behind him.

  My tearing eyes caught a glimpse of Luca on the portico.

  Caught between Luca and me, Moon sped through the interior door and into House Sandglass. I hastened after him, but the only trace of him was the mask of the Moon abandoned on the floor of the corridor.

  "Should we go after him?" Luca asked.

  I shook my head. The fire would soon grow deadly if I didn't alert Antlion and his masquerade guests. I raised my voice and shouted Fire.

  Frantic shouts and footfalls rose from below.

  "I thought I told you to stay in the gondola."

  "Father's first rule: protect you even if I must disobey your orders," Luca confessed.

  I smiled. Mafeo would say that. "Remind me later that I owe Antlion a book."

  Once we were safely back on water, I tended to the wound on my arm. I retrieved a hidden piece of amber and held it in my left hand. It was too dark to see if it was the one with the midge or the gnat trapped inside, but either way, the amber held bottled Lightning. I drew the jewel's Lightning up my arm and imagined my arm whole. Shaped by my thoughts, the magic closed the cut.

  "What a night of marvels," Luca said. "Is this how you stave off death?"

  "We can still die. Thank you for saving my life."

  Drone must have overheard everything, which meant he knew I was going after the mithridate. "You know Venice better than I, Luca." I relayed what I discovered to him. "What do the clues in the tapestry mean?"

  Luca asked for more details, and after a while gave his opinion. "There's a walled town on the mainland, like Troy, west of here called Padua. They say that its legendary founder was Antenor, a Trojan."

  "What else?" I asked, unsure if that alone pointed to the Labyrinth.

  "The tongue. The town's Basilica is named after their patron saint, Saint Anthony of Padua," Luca said. "Legend has it that Saint Anthony's body inside the Basilica had turned to dust, all except his tongue, which is still fresh and untouched."

  Saint Anthony of Padua, the patron saint of lost things. Antlion would find perverse delight in that.

  "Padua it is."

  Hours later, Luca and I stood in a circle of lamplight, gazing up at the great wooden horse on the grounds of the Palazzo Capodilista in Padua.

  The majestic wooden horse before us had been built for a fairground joust in 1466 by the order of Annibale Capodilista. Though the horse had not been designed by Donatello, it bore many similarities to the bronze equestrian statue of Gattamelata in the Piazza del Santo in Venice. I would not be surprised if Antlion had a hand in its construction or even claimed Donatello as a past identity. The tapestry might not have led us directly to the Labyrinth, but I gambled that the next clue lay with the great beast.

  "Where do we start?" Luca asked.

  I considered the possibilities. The horse, easily the height of three men, stood upon a wooden base that made it taller still. The base and the horse itself had been designed for men to enter and hide for the purpose of the joust. Its head and tail had not withstood the passing of the years well, appearing damaged.

  I thought back to Cassandra's tongue in the painting, a deviation from classical myth. "Let's try the mouth. Give me a hand."

  I climbed onto Luca's shoulders and pulled myself onto the horse's back. I could not easily reach the horse's mouth unless I hung one-handed from the horse's neck, but I had built this body strong and acrobatic: perfect for such a challenge. Gripping its wooden mane, I swung myself towards its mouth and grabbed onto its jaw. Searching inside with my fingers, I found a piece of hardwood that came loose.

  I let go of the horse's neck and dropped to the ground. Inscribed upon the hardwood plaque was a phrase in Venesiàn. "To find the paths in darkness, raise your eyes to the stars." I smiled. "If you were an astronomer
at the University of Padua, Luca, where would you look to the stars?"

  "Someplace high?"

  "Exactly, the tallest tower in Padua. Come, let's find these paths in darkness."

  The highest tower in Padua stood in the southern outskirts of town, once part of the old Castle. Situated near where two of Padua's canals met, it had served as a prison in the past.

  Luca and I found our way into the tower cellar where I found a loose stone high on one wall. When I pressed the stone, a hidden door shuddered open.

  Taking the lamp from Luca, I peered inside. A small antechamber, with a single earth passage leading into the depths. Luca tried to follow me into the antechamber, but I stopped him.

  "Too dangerous. If I do not return by dawn, assume I am dead and go back to Venice."

  "You know I'd just come after you again," Luca said. "Besides, if the killer followed us, I'll be safer with you."

  I lit a torch with flame from his lamp. "Then do exactly as I say: step where I step, touch nothing without leave, and --"

  "-- and keep you in sight. You taught Father that too."

  I grinned. "Then you know I mean it."

  Paved earthen tunnels lay beyond the antechamber. To trace our path, I held a piece of amber to the torchlight and gazed at the gnat caught within. I borrowed a lick of its power to mark my path in a carmine tattoo on the back of my right hand, tracing our route as we ventured deeper.

  Luca followed my instructions precisely. "It seems safe thus far."

  "Only because we've stepped around three pitfalls." I pointed out the edges of the one we just passed. "There will be deadlier traps."

  Together, we stalked the winding corridors beneath Padua. Deeper into the maze, hewn stone lined the passages. By my reckoning, we had traveled so far underground that we stood somewhere beneath Padua's university. It would not surprise me in the least to learn that Antlion had laid the foundations for the Paduan Labyrinth ages ago when the university was founded. He and his minions had centuries to perfect the maze.