by Eric Flint
Ugo nodded. He knew perfectly well that the Montescue might be Case Vecchie, but they were in financial trouble. All of Venice knew quickly enough whenever one of the famous old houses fell into difficult times. And knew as well, that there were some tasks only family could be relied upon to do.
"You swear that there is no truth in what that abbot said? Your soul is clean?"
"I swear by all the Saints and upon the holy cross that it was a complete lie." Her conscience twinged slightly. "These two children are naughty, but were not practicing any kind of witchcraft."
She took a deep breath and turned around, so that Ugo could not see. She reached into the pouch and took out one of the ducats. The Casa Montescue was in a desperate state, but not that desperate. Not compared to those two children, still wide-eyed and frightened. She returned the bag to its warm nest and turned around.
"Here." She held out the coin.
Father Ugo's eyes bulged slightly. Ducats didn't come his way often. But he was of iron principle. "You cannot pay me to free you of sin, Katerina," he said, sounding extremely doubtful.
"It's not for you. It is for those two children. A small thank you to God for sparing me from the Servants of the Holy Trinity."
His voice was troubled. "They do God's work, Katerina Montescue."
"That one young blond knight did God's work. Had it not been for him, that abbot…" She shuddered. "Anyway, forget it. I'm grateful. So is Montescue. So take this for those two children you also saved."
He took the warm ducat. "I'll buy a candle."
Kat shook her head. "Food. They'd only play with the candle!"
It was the ragged little girl's turn to shake her head. So fiercely that it looked as if it would come off her skinny shoulders. "Never play with no candles no more." She looked earnestly up at the priest. "Promise!"
A smile lit Father Ugo's countenance. He patted the children's heads gently. "Do you both promise?"
They both nodded, eyes still wide with fright.
"Good! When the rain is over I will go and check that the Servants have really left. Now, I think we will go to the altar and I will lead you all in some prayers. Tomorrow I will go to speak with Monsignor about this. Be easy, Katerina. He is Venetian, you know."
***
As the party of knights and monks trudged through the rain, Erik and Manfred bringing up the rear, Von Gherens paused to allow them to catch up with him. Then, walking alongside, spoke softly.
"I am forever in your debt, Hakkonsen." His square, solemn face was creased with worry. "I fear I have allowed myself…" The next words were almost hissed. "Damn the Servants and their witch-hunts, anyway! They're twisting my mind. Sachs sees a witch under every cobblestone in Venice."
Manfred snorted. "Witch-hunts! What witches? So far all we've 'uncovered' are a few quacks selling charms as magical as a brick."
Von Gherens nodded. "Who then took the holy test of faith before Venice's Metropolitan without fear." He sighed heavily. "I miss Father Maggiore. He was often a bit obnoxious, true, but?far better than Sachs. And he was familiar with Venice. He had knowledge of the city, spies who knew something instead of Sachs's absurd gaggle of informers. Since his horrible death, the Servants have blundered about like hogs in a salon."
Erik's words were clipped. "We're doing nothing more than spreading fear and mayhem, Ritter?and for no purpose. If Sachs were trying to, he couldn't damage the reputation of the Knights worse than he has. This is the most gossipy and intrigue-filled place I've ever seen. Everything we do is spread all over the city within a day."
For the first time since they'd entered the church, Von Gherens smiled. "True. But I daresay what you did tonight will spread just as fast?and go a long way to repairing the damage."
"What we did," insisted Erik quietly.
Von Gherens shook his head. Then, placed a thick hand on Erik's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "No, Erik. What you did. Had it not been for you, the rest of us would have allowed Sachs to drag us further into the pit. I will not forget it."
The knight raised his eyes and glared at the dim figure of Sachs in the rain ahead. "I will not forget," he repeated. "Von Gherens is a proud name. Respected by all. Feared by none save demon-ridden pagans. My family is in your debt as much as I am."
He said nothing further and, a short time later, quickened his steps in order to resume his rightful place beside the abbot.
Manfred watched him go. "Odd, really. He's also Prussian?yet so unlike Von Stublau."
Erik said nothing. Manfred sighed. "And me too, Erik. I will not forget either."
Finally, a touch of humor came to Erik's face. "Really? No more carousing? No more?"
"Not that!" choked Manfred. "I meant the other stuff." His great hands groped in the fog and the rain, trying to shape the distinction?and failing quite miserably.
***
It was only later, sculling home, playing over the events of the night that it occurred to Kat that whoever her mysterious customer was… she wasn't Strega. Her knife had been steel and silver?both metals the Strega would avoid like the plague.
But Kat was too tired to think too much about it. Getting free had cost her one ducat?and her scarf, which the wretched abbot had apparently kept?but the rest would soon be sitting safe in her grandfather's near-empty strongbox.
***
When she got home, Katerina collapsed into bed and slept the sleep of the infinitely relieved. The gold was safe enough. Good pure unpunched Venetian ducats. The coin valued beyond all others in the world.
It was well into bright morning when she awoke. There was someone in her room, looking through her clothes from the night before. They'd just been dumped in a soggy heap when she came home. Reaction had set in and she'd been just too exhausted.
Her first half-lucid thought was that someone was going to steal the bag of ducats. She sat up and yelled before her groggy mind recalled that she'd taken the gold to the old man the night before.
It was only Alessandra, snooping as usual. "There's no need to shout the house down! Just because you've spent the whole night with your lover and are too lazy get up," she added tartly.
"Oh, go away!" snapped Kat, rubbing her tired eyes. It was certainly bright out there. "Leave me to sleep. There's no lover?as you know perfectly well."
Alessandra cocked her head on one side; raised a perfect eyebrow. "Oh. What's this hair then? I'm going to look for men with honey-auburn hair with just that touch of red. I mean, I know you've got no dowry, but I didn't really think…"
"What are you talking about?"
"This hair from your pocket." She held up something, golden-red in the sunlight.
Kat blinked. Hair?
Oh, yes. She remembered now. One of hers she'd not wanted to leave with that Strega… actually non-Strega she thought, remembering that knife. "It's one of mine."
"Ha! The day you have hair that color?"
She snatched it from Alessandra's hand. True. In daylight, Katerina could see it was thicker and more curled and it certainly didn't match hers.
So?she must have picked up a hair from the woman herself, not one of her own. In the poor light she hadn't realized.
She shrugged. "I was snuggling up to Lucrezia Brunelli last night. In my sleep. Now go away before I throw this ewer at you."
Alessandra turned. "I'm going to tell Grandpapa if you don't tell me," she threatened.
Kat reached for the ewer. Alessandra showed a remarkable turn of speed leaving the room, quite out of keeping with her normal languid progress.
Kat lay back again. But like Alessandra, sleep had left the room.
There was a greater risk of being recognized, but she was going to have to start doing more deliveries in daytime.
Chapter 16
Marco was out on his feet by the time he got to Caesare Aldanto's apartment near the Campo San Polo. Even if he could have found a gondolier at this hour, he had nothing to pay with?all his money and Maria's had gone into trade goods for
Sophia. He had stopped at his apartment long enough to drink some watered wine and get into dry if dirty clothing; figuring that a half-hour more or less would make little difference in Aldanto's condition. Once dry and warm, he slipped on a waterproof cloak?the rain had begun again?cast a longing look at his bed, and went out again into the night.
He was ready to drop and staggering like a drunk by the time he got to Aldanto's door. It was a process that was not aided by the fact that he had had to walk a few miles through the winding dark alleys, because he didn't have a single lira for the canal traghetto. He'd had to go the long way over bridges walking, then wet footed along the tile rail to the water-door, before actually reaching it. But there was no other choice for him to make; he was not up to an argument with the guard on the gated street doorway. The stair seemed to go on forever, and the door looked like the portal to Heaven when he finally reached it. He leaned wearily against the lintel and let his fist fall on it.
The door opened the barest crack. "Who's out there?" said a muffled voice.
" 'S me, Maria, Marco. Lemme in before I fall down."
The door opened so quickly he almost did fall in. "Ye get th' stuff?"
"Uh huh. How is he?"
"Sleepin'. Don't seem no worse, but I had to pour a helluva lotta brandy in him t' get 'im t' sleep. Got him upstairs."
Marco slogged the few steps into the sitting room, let his pack fall to the floor, peeled his cloak over his head and dropped it beside the pack. "Where's Benito?"
"Sleeping too, upstairs. I figured if I needed him I could wake him up. And it's not a bad idea having him bedded down across the door up there, no? The least, somebody forces it, he c'n scream his lungs out. May kill a boarding party by scarin' 'em to death!"
Marco made his way lead-footed to Aldanto's bedside?you don't try to walk silently around an ex-assassin!?and stood in the dark listening to the sound of his breathing. A little wheezy, a little hot, but not bad. He'd gotten back well in time. There would be no need for a "real" doctor.
Satisfied, he dragged himself back out. "Boil me some water, would you, Maria? I got to get this stuff measured right?"
As she trotted back to the kitchen, he sat down on the soft warm carpet beside the pack and began taking out parcels of herbs wrapped in rags, identifying them by smell, eye, and sometimes taste. Sophia had literally given him her entire stock. The artemisia could be tricky to use?too much and you got even more horrible side effects.
"Maria," he called softly, "think you can find me a couple of big jars or bowls or something? I need something to put this stuff in besides a rag."
"Lemme look." She clattered down the stairs and returned a moment later. "These do?" She brought him a pair of canisters, the kind spices came in, with vermin-proof lids.
"Perfect."
Sophia had gone by "handful" measurement?but it was a very precise handful. Although it was a little awkward to work one-handed, Marco weighed the herbs in his palm, adding or subtracting a few leaves at a time until he was satisfied; then, carefully crushed what he'd selected into the tin, trying to get it as fine as possible.
He crushed the resulting canisterful yet again, until he had a mixture as fine as possible, then crushed a second bunch of artemisia into the second canister.
"Maria, that water ready?"
"Aye." She must have seen how tired he was, and brought the pan of hot water and spoon and cup to him. "Show me?"
"I intend to?you're going to have to do this from now on. Look, exactly two flat spoonfuls of this for every cup of water?you can put it in the cup or the pan, don't matter which." He measured two spoonfuls into the cup and poured the still-bubbling water on it. "Right, so I'm taking another flat spoonful of this stuff from the other canister and adding it. You want to keep him alive, you do the same. Now you let it steep for as long as it takes to count to a hundred."
He concentrated on the dull throbbing of his hand while the mixture seeped. He noticed with a tired little chuckle Maria's lips moving silently as she marked the time. She could count if not read. He resolved, quietly, to teach her at least to cipher her own name. His own good fortune demanded that he pass it on.
"It ready now?"
"It's ready. We strain off the leaves. If you leave them, it'll get stronger and can kill a man." He suited action to his words. "Here?" He handed the cup to her while he got himself slowly and painfully to his feet. "Let's wake him up."
Maria brought a candle with her, and lit the oil lamp beside the door across from Aldanto's bed. Some of his instincts, at least, were still holding. Caesare was awake and wary as soon as the light touched his eyes.
"Got som'thin' for ye, layabout," Maria said cheerfully?real cheer. Marco was touched at her implied trust. "Marco here says it'll fix ye right up."
"Oh?" Aldanto blinked, but before he could continue, he began shaking, great tremors that shook his entire body.
"Caesare?" Marco had never used Aldanto's first name to his face before, but it slipped out. "I mean, Milord Aldanto?"
"Caesare is fine," Aldanto said wearily, when the coughing fit was over.
"Caesare Aldanto, I've had what you've got?honest, this will help. And if you don't drink it, you could get a lot sicker. Believe me?I almost died. You don't come from Venice. Kids here get it when they're small. Lot of them die. But if they live, then they will live when they get it again. But you could die. Now, this medicine is going to make you feel even sicker, but I swear to you, it'll help. On my family's honor, I swear. But it is going feel like death."
Aldanto gave him a long, appraising look?then wordlessly took the cup from Maria and drank it down in two gulps.
"Feh?that?is?vile!" he choked, face twisted in distaste. "That better work fast, because if it doesn't, I'm not drinking more!"
"That's more words in a row than you've managed yet tonight," Marco pointed out. "We'll sugar it next time." Without being asked, Maria brought the brandy and looked inquiringly at Marco.
"Good notion." He approved, thinking that a bit more brandy wouldn't hurt and might help keep Aldanto in bed. "Caesare?I hate to ask?but is there anything around here I can use as a bandage? I love old Sophia, but I hate to think where her rags have been."
"Spare room," said Aldanto around the brandy.
"I'll get it," said Maria.
Aldanto sagged back against his pillows, eyes going unfocused again. Marco carefully unwrapped his hand. The poultice of coltsfoot and lance-leaf plantain and Heaven knew what else was working quite well?and Sophia had included more bundles of the herbs in his pack to allow him to put fresh dressings on the wound.
Despite the herbal poultice the wound looked bad, red and swollen. But it was sealing shut, and Marco thought by the look of it that it wasn't infected. He was just beginning to realize how lucky he was. His hand ached, but so far as he could tell all the fingers were still working. He could have easily gotten some tendons sliced and wound up with a crippled hand.
"That's a knife wound." Aldanto was staring at the wounded hand, surprised and shocked alert.
"It is, Caesare. I know you think I'm a kid, and you're right sometimes?but you're not right this time. I had to go into the Jesolo for that stuff. Sophia was the only place short of a real doctor where I was going to find what you needed. A man tried to stop me."
Now Aldanto was looking wary, even perhaps a bit alarmed. Marco could have kicked himself for not thinking. Of course, Aldanto would suspect those enemies of his of trying to follow Marco?
"No, no," he hastened to assure him. "Nothing to do with you, he was a marsh-loco. I had to fight him to get through. That's where I got this, and lost my own knife."
"Was?"
"Was. And don't you ever tell Benito I killed a man. He wasn't the first?but I don't want Benito to know about that."
"You have a reason?" Aldanto was staying focused, which rather surprised Marco, given the amount of brandy and the artemisia he had in him, not to mention the fever.
"Because?" Marco looked
up from his hand, and he knew his eyes and mouth were bitter. "He'll think he has to be like me. Next thing you know, he'll go out looking. He'll either get himself killed?or he'll kill somebody, and for all the wrong reasons. And that would be worse than getting himself killed. I remember more than just you from home. I remember what some of the younger Montagnards were like when they were my age and Benito's. They started like that?first each one trying to out-risk the other?then it got worse. I don't think he'd ever turn out like them, but I'm not taking any chances on it."
Aldanto nodded slowly, relaxing and letting himself give way to the drugs and the alcohol. "I think maybe I've been underestimating you."
"Only sometimes. You getting sleepy yet?"
Aldanto shivered hard again, then got it under control. "Getting there?and feeling a great deal less like death would be welcome."
"That's the whole idea, Caesare." An idea occurred to him, and he decided he wanted to broach it while Aldanto was in a generous?and intoxicated?mood. "Could you do me a favor? When you feel more like talking?"
"Maybe," Aldanto replied wearily, obviously wishing Marco would leave him alone. "What's the favor?"
Maria came in with clean bandages, salve, and a cheap broach. Marco felt his face flame with embarrassment. He hated to ask in front of Maria, but this might be his only chance. "Could you?could you tell me some time?how to?how to get a girl?to?to like you?" And what do you do with her after that, he thought, but didn't say.
"Oh mercy?" Aldanto shut his eyes and leaned his head back on his pillow, his mouth twitching. Marco had the uncomfortable suspicion that he was trying to keep from laughing. Behind him, he heard Maria choking a little, as if she hadn't quite managed to suppress her own humor.
"If you'd rather not?"
"Later, Marco. We'll see about it later." Aldanto opened his eyes and gave him a not-unsympathetic wink, shivered again, harder this time, and lost his amusement as a shudder of chill shook him. "Surely it can wait?"