The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  ‘Portent,’ he grated from clenched teeth. ‘As if I need anything else to go wrong.’

  8

  Myrmica Rubra

  – 15 Giugno 325

  Sleep was fitful, the thunder had seen to that. A violent clamour over the very rooftops of Demesne close enough to rattle the glass in the windowpanes. Lightning etched the landscape in luminous white, fading to black seconds later. The cittadini would face the day bad-tempered and longing for rest, those in the castle much the same. Dino sat in Anea’s apartment counting the long hours until dawn, waiting to return to the warm forgetfulness of his own bed. No assassin had been so bold to attack during the day, and never in the morning.

  Anea had retired early that night, leaving him with his own company. Books failed to interest him; exercise was a chore, his appetite a stranger. Achilles dozed on his shoulder, surrendered to the arms of sleep, leaving Dino jealous of the slumbering reptile. The candles in the room had burned down to stubs, leaving him with the darkness of his thoughts.

  Tell your sister there have been changes enough to our way of life.

  The capo’s words echoed in his memory, whispers between the thunder.

  What do you know of passion?

  Again, the image of Massimo came back to him – at practice, sipping wine, smiling in the sunshine.

  The hours dragged on until the long-case clock in the hall tolled out five mournful chimes. It would be light soon. Anea’s maid would arrive and begin the lengthy ceremony of running her bath, preparing the towels, arranging her clothes and brushing her hair. The Domina would present herself, briefing Anea for the day ahead. It was a meticulous existence, every minute accounted for.

  Dino did not envy her in the slightest. He woke with a start as Anea’s bedroom door opened. His hand grasped the hilt of his sword on instinct.

  Asleep on the job, are we? Amusement filled Anea’s eyes, tousled hair falling to her shoulders. She crossed the room and placed a hand on each of his shoulders, pressing her forehead to his. She’d adopted the gesture in lieu of kissing him on each cheek, as was common among families in Landfall.

  ‘What time is it?’

  Anea shrugged and crossed the room to the table, now replaced. Dino watched her inspect the floor. The bloodstain was covered by a rug of startling cerulean.

  ‘I’ve been your bodyguard for three years now.’ Dino regarded the crosspiece of the sword. ‘More than three years.’

  She looked at him, head cocked one side.

  ‘I dislike admitting it, but D’arzenta makes good a point. We need a new superiore.’

  I will think of something, Anea signed. She looked around the room, as if some clue to their predicament might be concealed on a shelf. I wish I could release you from these duties, but I can trust no one.

  ‘Being Orfano carries a high price.’

  Exactly. Dreams of a republic more so.

  ‘Speaking of trust. We need to create a core of soldiers that don’t have old ties to House Fontein – new blood, people who understand loyalty and can’t be bought. Perhaps in time we can employ new bodyguards?’

  I agree. I do not enjoy asking you to stand watch over me night after night.

  ‘I know. But what other choice is there?’

  Is there no one else we can trust in the interim?

  ‘Virmyre is too long in the tooth.’

  Massimo?

  Dino swallowed at the mention of the man’s name. He cleared his throat. ‘He’d be honoured, I’m sure, but it may cause some friction with Lord Contadino. He’d be reluctant to leave Medea and the children unguarded.’

  I can ill afford to sour the Contadinos. Not in light of … She gestured to the floor, at the stain beneath the rug.

  ‘What do you propose to do with the Allattamentos?’

  Anea shrugged. I spent all of yesterday thinking on it. She sat on the edge of the table and her regal poise sagged. What would you do?

  Dino flicked a finger twice against the scabbard in his lap. Anea shook her head.

  I think an execution might send the wrong sort of message.

  ‘You worry too much.’ Dino grinned.

  One of us should. She sighed, breath making her veil ripple. I can hardly kill Lady Allattamento because she gave birth to a idiot son.

  ‘Two actually. Three if you count the one who cut ties with her.’

  She must have known about the plot. I cannot believe Angelo put this scheme together by himself.

  ‘He admitted as much. He said he brought news from the nobili. And I doubt he would have been able to lay his hands on enough money to pay off both guards.’

  Only a great house could afford that sort of money.

  ‘Or he had help from other minor houses.’ Dino fell silent a moment and tugged at his lip. ‘You need to send a message, a firm message, that even being associated with treason results in dire consequences.’

  I had hoped to win people over with reason, not fear.

  ‘That time is past. You should be furious with them, furious they could even conceive such a plan, let alone recruit agents to carry it out.’

  Anger gets you so far …

  ‘And then it gets you dead. I know. But you’re likely to end up dead if you don’t get angry.’

  I think you are angry enough for both of us.

  ‘True, but I’m not the one in charge.’

  Dino rose from his chair and stretched, hiding a yawn behind a fist before unlocking the door. Anea crossed the room and drew him into an embrace.

  ‘I’m not going to let anything happen to you, big sister, but you’ve got to start taking the fight to the enemy.’

  She nodded and looked away, uncomfortable with the prospect. Dino opened the door and stepped into the corridor beyond. A guard stood on each side of the doorway, halberd in hand, maintaining a vigil over the lonely stretch of corridor. Achilles roused himself, lifting his blunt snout and inspecting the men with obsidian eyes, scaled tail swishing impatiently. It was cool in the corridor and the cataphract drake would fidget until he was somewhere more temperate. Dino nodded to the guards and they saluted in response, neither of them much older than he.

  ‘Not long now,’ he said, eyes straying to the long-case clock further down the corridor. The guards mumbled their agreement, forced cheerfulness and stoical duty.

  ‘That was some bad business the other night, my lord.’

  Dino nodded and fought the urge to drop a few coins into the man’s hand, anything to quell the disquiet he felt, anything that might make the guard think twice before accepting a bribe from their enemies.

  ‘It’s bad business every week of late,’ replied Dino.

  ‘Aye. Assassins, ants, pests all over.’

  Dino took his leave, thoughts of loyalty and possible betrayal dragging at every footstep. All men had a price and the guards of Demesne were no different. He chided himself for such thoughts and pressed on, back to his own apartment in House Erudito, lit sconces guiding his way. The castle was rousing itself. Bakers would be at their ovens, kitchen staff stumbling to their stations, bleary-eyed. The muted sounds of industry and preparation drifted along corridors, summoning all to wakefulness. Strange to be a part of Demesne and yet so separate from it. His nocturnal vigils removed him from so much of life in Demesne. Belonging to the nobility removed him from the people. Being Orfano removed him from everyone bar Anea and Lucien, far to the south. Achilles curled about his neck, seeking warmth.

  ‘At least I’ll always have you.’ Dino smiled as the drake pushed his cold snout into the collar of his jacket.

  Sleep did not come to him. The storm abated and still he could not surrender consciousness. The gale exhausted itself, leaving the land scoured fresh by the downpour, the grass verdant and lush in the morning light. Gentle hills rolled on the horizon, cypress trees standing to attention, clusters of them watching over Landfall, green sentinels. Clusters of birch and oak huddled together in the distance, clouds of green scudding over the landscape.
r />   Dino endured a restless hour in bed before washing and changing. The bandages that concealed his tines had come loose and he set about rewrapping his forearms. Achilles formed a loop of scales at the foot of the bed. The drake looked affronted by the interruption to his rest.

  ‘Count yourself fortunate you don’t have to wrap your tines each day, my handsome friend.’

  Achilles yawned, hissed and slid from the bed.

  ‘Try and give someone a compliment …’

  Dino killed time with a shave, noting the haunted expression that stared back from the looking glass. Achilles clambered up one leg and took his perch on a bare shoulder.

  ‘I hope she knows what she’s doing,’ Dino said as he towelled his face dry, but the reptile offered no reassurances, spoke no words of suggestion.

  Dino dressed and placed Achilles in the sitting-room window so he could sun himself with a few dead crickets for company. The reptile would get round to eating them in his own good time. The idea of food had some appeal and Dino headed out, wondering if he looked as bad as he felt.

  It was a long walk from his apartment in House Erudito to the House Contadino kitchens. A few scholars were stumbling toward their classes. They nodded to Dino as he passed, sparing him kind words and asking after Lady Diaspora. The Orfano reached the gatehouse joining Erudito to the Central Keep, the wide circular corridor linking the great houses. There were no windows here, the air thick with smoke from the braziers that burned at each gatehouse. The guards looked bored and unkempt, prompting Dino’s thoughts to stray to Anea, attempting to calculate the cost of paying off a guard.

  The Contadino courtyard was teaming with life and industry. Dino watched it for a moment before crossing to the kitchen porch. Nardo appeared from within, tucking his thumbs into his belt, and leaned against the door frame.

  ‘Hell of a thing,’ said the House Contadino messenger.

  ‘Don’t speak of hell around the cittadini, you know how superstitious they are. They’ll be no end of trouble now that we have a plague of ants.’

  Nardo was a good ten years older than Dino, dark in the way common to the peoples of the Diaspora. His horseman’s boots were dull from the road, his starched white tabard muddy. He’d recently replaced his short sword and a new scarlet feather adorned his hat. Nardo always looked in need of shave, a deep shadow of stubble on his firm jaw.

  ‘Huh. True enough.’ The messenger pursed his lips. ‘Still, hell of a thing. The cittadini didn’t care for them too much.’

  ‘What did they do?’

  ‘Lit torches, drove them off with smoke. What did Anea make of it?’

  Dino was long acquainted with Nardo’s lack of formality, even when discussing Lady Diaspora. It was one of the reasons he liked the man so much.

  ‘She said something about “meteorological conditions” and “geographical displacement” then something about “preventing inbreeding”.’

  ‘Pity she couldn’t tell some of the houses about that last one a few generations ago.’

  Dino cracked a smile and and shook with silent laughter. Nardo grinned, taking out his pipe and stuffing it with moondrake leaf, more commonly known as luna.

  ‘I expect she’ll discuss it with Virmyre and they’ll come up with a theory. None of us will understand and we’ll all be no better off than if nothing had happened in the first place.’

  ‘Sounds like science,’ agreed Nardo.

  ‘Sounds like a waste of time.’

  ‘It’s happened before,’ said the messenger. ‘Long time ago. When I was a boy. I don’t remember there being so many though. Made all kinds of folk anxious. Not just the superstitious ones.’

  ‘A gutter priestess told me it was a portent. No wonder people are so skittish with that kind of nonsense being peddled around.’

  Nardo smiled again, then lit the pipe. ‘Huh. Out of sorts today?’

  Dino released a breath and massaged the back of his head and neck with one hand.

  ‘There’s too much going on. Anea doesn’t know how to conclude the Allattamento business, then there’s the mass theft at the market. Now ants are falling from the sky. Figlio di puttanta. What next? How much more of this can we take?’

  Nardo had the sense to leave the question hanging between them. In time it dissipated like his pipe smoke. Sounds from the kitchen intensified as more workers arrived.

  ‘And you?’ said the messenger.

  ‘Me?’ Dino shrugged. ‘I just want things to be simpler. I’d like to get back to teaching. Three years I’ve been a bodyguard. Three years not knowing if it’s safe enough to leave her unguarded.’

  ‘I’d say we’ve not reached that day yet.’

  ‘That’s an admirable talent for understatement you’ve got there, Nardo.’

  ‘I learned it from you, my lord.’ The messenger winked. Dino sniggered. ‘I’d best be getting on,’ said the messenger. ‘Send for me if you need me, eh?’ He clapped the younger man on the shoulder and departed, leaving the Orfano in the shade of the porch with his thoughts. It wasn’t long before he sat on a barrel and felt his eyelids grow heavy.

  9

  Fictional Deities

  – 15 Giugno 325

  Dino woke to a tangle of voices, interrupting and contradicting each other, punctuated by the odd laugh. ‘And then a girl fell into his grave.’

  Dino smirked as the legend of Angelicola’s funeral began to grow. He remained in the kitchen porch, shielded from the sun as it climbed into the sky.

  ‘It was Mea di Leone,’ added a second voice. ‘I heard she had a heart attack. The shock, you see. Terrible it was. She was so young.’

  ‘She was afraid of spiders.’ The first voice again.

  ‘But they were ants.’ Another voice – deeper, male.

  ‘Well, she didn’t know that, did she?’

  ‘Aye, terrible.’

  ‘I heard it was a haunting. Duke Prospero getting his own back on that wicked wife of his.’

  ‘Aye. Slut. And at her age. Makes you fear for your sons.’ Dino stifled a smile and continued to listen.

  ‘Duke Prospero summoned a plague of ants?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I thought he was dead.’

  ‘He is dead!’

  ‘Still, I wouldn’t say no to the capo, eh?’

  ‘You wouldn’t say no to anyone in a uniform.’

  Raucous laughter. And so on.

  The elaborations and retellings amused Dino at first. There was something that reduced the shocking arrival of the ant swarms to the merely prosaic when overheard like this. But gradually he tired of it.

  ‘Wouldn’t be surprised if the duke rises from his tomb and comes back to the castle to cause some mischief.’

  ‘I hear Little Luc was in the mausoleum, talking to himself.’

  ‘Ah, shame.’

  Little Luc was an appellation given to Dino by the staff. They’d chosen the name long before, when he’d emulated Lucien’s long hair and choice of clothes. That the two Orfani looked similar also played its part. He’d not heard the name for some time, years perhaps.

  ‘Wants to get himself a women that one. Porca miseria, if Lucien can manage it with no ears then Dino will have no trouble.’

  ‘Aye, I reckon there’s a few here that wouldn’t mind a chance with Lord Erudito.’

  ‘Perhaps he can get cosy with Lady Stephania.’ A male voice. ‘I hear she’s in need of something beneath her skirt besides her own hand.’

  More laughter.

  Displeasure spiked through Dino like a stiletto, forcing the air from his lungs. He lurched upright and stalked into the kitchen, grey eyes flat, fists clenched.

  ‘It may interest you to know,’ he boomed, ‘that Mea di Leone did not fall into Dottore Angelicola’s grave.’ The kitchen staff were abashed, avoiding eye contact with the Orfano. ‘Nor did she suffer a heart attack.’ He glared at them, feeling his frustrations finally given vent. ‘Furthermore, there will be no haunting, from the duke or anyone else.�
� The pot washer had not looked up from his task. Dino ran him through with a gaze. ‘And Lady Stephania’s courtship, or lack of one, is no one’s business but her own.’

  The staff remembered themselves, managing nervous curtsies or stiff bows before pressing on with their chores. Dino had spent a lot of time in these kitchens as a child, being watched by Camelia when very small. The long table was the same, the cypress timber smoothed to a satin finish by countless tasks. Knives hung from hooks at the far end, dull glints of steel. Produce sat in barrels; sacks were propped against the walls. The faint smell of flour and garlic was present on the air, soothing him. The heat, always welcome in winter, was stifling at this time of year.

  Dino’s eyes fell on Camelia and his anger fled him, replaced with a feeling of sheepishness. She approached, broad honest face unreadable. She was a tall woman, eclipsing Dino in height, close to fifty and showing no sign of slowing or stooping.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming to the kitchens to discipline my staff, Lord Erudito. Is there something we can get you, or were you just passing through?’

  Dino swallowed and looked at his boots. ‘Camelia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have … It’s just I was out on the porch and I heard, you know?’

  ‘Will you take coffee then?’ she said, breaking into a slow smile. It was like watching the sun come up.

  He passed a hand over his face, pushing fingertips into the corners of his eyes. The staff were hard pressed not to stare as he talked with Camelia. None dared speak following his outburst, which made what he had to say seem so much louder.

  ‘I only came down for a bite to eat and to help you make gnocchi.’

  ‘It’s been a while since you did that, or was that Lucien? I get confused.’

  ‘Both of us, I think,’ he said plucking at his lip.

  ‘Well, there won’t be much gnocchi made today: we’re having a hard time keeping the stores free of ants.’

  ‘Because of yesterday?’

  ‘No, no. Every summer we have the same problem. And it’s been getting worse. They come in from the courtyard. Some even come in from outside the castle. They’re in everything.’