The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  ‘Won’t you join us, Camelia?’ The Orfano raised a mug to the cook with a wry smile.

  She raised her eyebrows in response. ‘I’ve a husband to get back to and a child that’s not seen me since dawn. Enjoy your wine, gentlemen.’ She curtsied and left.

  ‘As fine a woman that ever walked,’ rumbled Bruno.

  ‘The tallest woman that ever walked might be a better description.’ Massimo grinned, drinking more of the nameless wine. ‘Are you on the lookout for a woman, Bruno?’

  ‘Not me no. Married, with a grown son I’m very proud of and a daughter I’d do anything for. And she knows it, unfortunately. And you, my lord?’

  ‘No.’ Massimo forced a smile. ‘Not yet anyway.’ The words were strained and the mirth behind them rang hollow.

  ‘I’d take this whole place apart if anything happened to her,’ said Dino, watching Camelia leave the courtyard. ‘She’s the closest thing I have to family, after Lucien and Anea.’

  ‘No need to gain the wolf tonight, Dino,’ replied Massimo. ‘Take a few hours’ rest from that ill temper you’re so taken with. Speranza told me you cracked a smile today. I’d not thought the girl dishonest. Was she?’

  ‘Speranza is ever trustworthy,’ said Dino, standing, allowing himself a smile as he stretched. ‘Even if she is employed by that dreadful Fontein crone.’

  ‘I’m sure someone with your unique title could arrange to have a girl like that added to your staff.’ The corners of Massimo’s mouth curved up. ‘I dare say she could be useful in any number of ways.’

  ‘I don’t want staff. Fiorenza is more than adequate—’

  Bruno and Massimo burst out laughing.

  ‘I didn’t mean like that.’ Dino came close to blushing.

  ‘What in nine hells did you mean?’ asked Bruno.

  Dino cleared his throat and grasped for something to say, but his mind only conjured what he’d seen in Cherubini’s chamber. ‘I think I’ve had a little too much sun and much too much wine. I’ll leave you gentlemen to finish the bottle.’

  Dino turned and headed toward the nearest door before Massimo could protest. The sounds of laughter and companionship rang loud in his ears, making the quiet of his apartment stifling by comparison.

  27

  Casualties

  – 7 Agosto 325

  Dino was waiting on the balcony for her just after sunrise.

  ‘Did my front door stop working?’ said Stephania.

  The Orfano smiled. ‘Not at all; yours is the most functional door in all of Demesne. It was just quicker for me to come over the rooftops.’

  ‘And you didn’t want to be seen.’

  The Orfano nodded. Stephania wore a high-necked nightgown of grey silk. Intricate embroidery decorated the neck, cap sleeves and hem, where pale naked feet emerged. The fabric looked like steel, conspiring to make her look older.

  ‘You heard about the farmer? Robbed on the road to Demesne?’

  Stephania nodded, hair spilling from the hasty ponytail she’d tied. ‘More of your men in grey?’

  ‘Massimo thinks they live beneath Santa Maria or Demesne itself.’

  ‘So why not seek them out?’ Stephania stepped out onto the balcony, resting her hands on the parapet.

  ‘There are so many tunnels down there.’ Dino turned and followed her gaze to the streets below. ‘You could dispatch a detachment of men, lose half of them, and still not find anything worth looking for, you know?’

  ‘At least tell me you tried,’ pressed Stephania, frowning.

  ‘Margravio Contadino sent a few men last night. They came back empty-handed, eventually.’

  Stephania said nothing. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes, a wrinkle of irritation at her brow.

  ‘Are you unwell? You seem on edge, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ She sighed. ‘I know why you’re here. I can’t locate Erebus. It’s possible he’s only using House Fontein messengers, where I have least influence.’

  ‘I thought they were closed to you. You have someone inside now?’

  ‘You should know, Dino; she spends enough time attending on you.’

  ‘Speranza?’

  Stephania nodded and turned her face toward the Di Toro estate in the distance. Dino regarded the woman and glanced at the apartment doors.

  ‘Am I keeping you from someone?’

  ‘What?’ She crossed her arms.

  ‘I mean, do you have company?’ he whispered, gesturing toward the apartment.

  ‘Who would call at this time of morning? Ah.’ She smiled. ‘You mean do I have a guest from last night?’

  Dino swallowed. Stephania shook her head and sighed.

  ‘Is that why you think I’m being short with you?’

  ‘I’m struggling to think of another reason.’

  ‘You really don’t know anything about women, do you?’

  ‘A little more than I know about Erebus.’

  ‘I’ll keep trying, but I think the Domina has found another way to receive her letters. Come and see me in a few days.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Dino sprang onto the parapet and climbed the wall, reaching the top of Demesne with ease. He turned and looked down at the woman in grey silk, the tips of his boots hanging over the lip of the roof.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Stephania? Do you need anything?’

  For a second Dino thought she might reply; instead Stephania Prospero shook her head, retreating to her apartment and her thoughts.

  Dino spent the morning in the Fontein courtyard teaching novices, who were far more dangerous than they realised. Some had progressed to metal blades, but the sharpest weapon on display was D’arzenta’s commentary. Dino avoided the maestro where he could and excused himself early when he couldn’t. The Orfano hurried through Demesne to reach House Contadino on the far side, not pausing to greet acquaintances or engage in idle chat. Massimo and Bruno were waiting for him beside the latter’s wagon, now repaired. A handsome silver-black mare had been tethered to the wagon, paid for with Dino’s coin.

  ‘Bruno was just telling me you let him sleep in your old apartment.’ Massimo clapped a hand about the Orfano’s shoulder, favouring him with a broad grin. ‘I had no idea you were a hotelier.’

  ‘Try not to tell everyone,’ Dino said in a stage whisper. ‘It’s a very exclusive establishment. I’m trying to keep the hoi polloi out.’

  ‘My lord, you’ve been most generous.’ Bruno bowed, his arm strapped up in a new sling. Dino had provided the man with good food, a barber and a change of clothes. ‘If there is anything I can ever do for you …’

  ‘Only one thing,’ said Dino. ‘If you hear anyone say the Orfani don’t care for the lives of the cittadini please tell them otherwise. I know we’re not well liked on the estates, but my sister and I are not the fearsome streghe of late-night tales.’

  ‘I think people would much less afraid if they knew you for true.’

  ‘Where are you heading?’ asked Massimo.

  ‘House Di Toro, back to my family.’

  ‘Safe journey then, Bruno.’

  Screams erupted outside the gates as the swordsman shook the farmer’s hand.

  ‘Twice in three days.’ Dino drew steel, feeling the familiar calm descend on him even as his heart kicked in his chest. ‘Our new friends are clearly audacious.’

  ‘New friends?’ Massimo flicked a concerned glance back and forth between the gates of the Contadino courtyard and Dino, who was already advancing toward the source of the furor.

  The two guards on the gate were quickly overwhelmed, outnumbered three to one. The courtyard, home to the many granaries of House Contadino, descended into chaos as cittadini charged in all directions. Dino ran forward, feinting with a low strike before opening his opponent’s shoulder. The grey rags parted just as the flesh beneath was split in a streak of crimson.

  ‘Vai al diavolo,’ whispered the grey man. Dino replied with steel, silencing him for
ever. Another of the raiders dodged to one side, entering the courtyard unchecked. Dino prepared to give pursuit only to find himself engaged by another, this one swinging a club.

  You said about thirty of them?

  Yes, my lord.

  Bruno’s answer from two days past.

  Dino parried a strike from the club but failed to notice a matching weapon in the other hand. It smacked into his left shoulder, knocking him back a step. Massimo was holding two raiders at bay with a series of slashes almost too fast to follow. Dino’s attacker pressed in again, but found his first club caught in the Orfano’s open hand. The second followed but the hand holding it was neatly severed. The man cried out, staring at the stump of his ruined arm, eyes frozen with feverish disbelief. Dino finished him with a thrust and a grunt, wiping his blade on the rags.

  ‘Shut the gates!’ he bellowed. ‘Someone shut the gates!’

  Massimo dispatched one opponent, only for another to take his place before the swordsman had recovered himself. Dino dashed into the melee, mashing the pommel of his sword into the back of one head, then slashed down with an overhead strike. White shards of ribs were clear to see as he opened the grey raider from shoulder to hip. The doors to the courtyard began to close, but more raiders piled in, fetid ashen shadows bearing the halberds of slain guards. The grey men sprinted past the swordsmen, intent on the spoils of the Contadino stores.

  ‘Where are the guards?’ complained Dino, knocking aside a rusty blade.

  The gates were almost closed when one more of the raiders broke through. Dino frowned. It was the veiled man from the forest. He took a moment to kill a fleeing page boy, then turned his dark gaze toward the Orfano. They closed at speed. Dino found his opening strike blocked by a dagger. He jumped to one side, lost his footing and rolled, all to avoid having his guts split open by the short sword held in a reversed grip. He’d barely regained his feet when the veiled man was on him. And then gone. Vaulting up into the air to land behind him. Dino dropped to one knee, turning his blade and thrusting back with both hands. There was a rip of fabric and a grunt. The veiled raider fell back. Dino rolled forward and onto his feet, batting aside a strike from another attacker. Three slashes later and the ragged man was lying in the dirt, blood dripping from deeps cuts that no amount of sewing would ever heal.

  A sting across Dino’s shoulder produced a wordless cry. He staggered and spun, blocked the next strike, and the next, and the next. The clash of steel sounded loudly over Dino’s laboured breath. The veiled attacker pressed in, so close Dino could smell him. The short sword whipped about in a figure of eight, the style unusual and hard to predict, the dagger waiting in the left hand ready to parry any riposte.

  ‘Into the teeth of the wolf,’ snarled Dino. He stepped forward and mashed his forehead into the veiled man’s face, catching him in the mouth. The veiled man clutched at his face, eyes clamped shut with agony. Dino didn’t waste the moment of reprieve, taking his blade in both hands and drawing back for a killing strike. A jolt of pain from his wounded shoulder slowed his attack. The veiled raider threw himself forward, throwing his weight behind the parry, catching Dino’s blade on the flat of his dagger.

  ‘Porca miserisa,’ grunted Dino, before the veiled man replied with a slash. Dino ducked under it. Almost.

  Had he been standing further away the blade would have split his skull, instead the damage came from the crosspiece, which caught him near the temple and sent him sprawling. The world rocked, the sky blazed white. There was dust in his mouth, in his eyes. Dino rolled onto his back, veiled attacker looming over him, strike already falling, sunlight reflecting from the blade. Massimo barged into the raider, grabbing him around the waist.

  ‘Massimo!’ Dino pushed himself to his feet, head swimming with the nausea of concussion. His feet were a leaden jumble, the ground not where he’d expected it.

  ‘Come on,’ shouted Massimo, standing before him, face pale.

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘I don’t know. And I don’t care much either. We’re leaving.’

  The veiled attacker had melted into the chaos, leaving only blood and shock in his wake.

  Dino recognised the dottore from the Verde Guerra but couldn’t remember his name. The specifics failed to interest him as the needle pulled his flesh together. The cut crossed much of his left shoulder blade. It wasn’t the first time he’d been wounded, but the stitching combined with concussion left him quiet and tremulous. Achilles climbed atop the bookcase, his usual redoubt when strangers entered the apartment. Fiorenza hovered nearby, boiling fresh water at the fireplace. She flashed concerned looks at the wounded Orfano and wrung her hands. Dino looked up at the mantelpiece, where the duke’s stiletto lay. The gold engraving gleamed as blood dripped down his back.

  ‘There’s someone at the door, my lord,’ said Fiorenza.

  ‘Send them in. I’m not going anywhere for a while.’

  Speranza entered, eyes red-rimmed, face pinched. She said nothing and saluted.

  ‘Porcia miseria. It must be bad if you’re being that formal.’ He turned to Fiorenza. ‘Can I have some wine? If I’m going to have bad news then I’d really rather—’

  ‘Dino.’ The voice that emerged from Speranza silenced him. Dino swallowed, chest suddenly tight. The image of Camelia bidding them farewell flashed across his mind.

  ‘I’m done, my lord,’ said the dottore. ‘Get some rest. A week at the minimum.’ The man stood and packed his things, departing without fuss. Dino stared after him, desperate not to hear Speranza’s news.

  ‘My lord, there were casualties.’

  ‘Funny word for it, don’t you think?’ He forced a smile, but it withered on his lips. ‘Nothing casual about dying.’ He attempted to stand but the room lurched and shifted at the edges of his vision, threatening darkness. He slumped back onto the couch.

  ‘Who died, Speranza?’

  ‘Many guards, but I thought you should know, Signore Bruno was killed. He held two attackers at bay as Massimo brought you inside.’

  The silence in the apartment was suffocating.

  ‘He died to protect me,’ whispered the Orfano. ‘And Massimo?’

  ‘Wounded. He should survive.’

  Dino pressed a hand to his brow and tried to swallow. A terrible emptiness yawned inside. And not breath, or wine or warmth would fill it for days to come.

  28

  Convalescence Ends

  – 13 Agosto 325

  Dino woke to the familiar weight of Achilles padding across the bed. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, a blood-red kaleidoscope on his half-opened eyes. Motes of dust floated in the shafts of light, pinpricks of bronze and gold. Achilles shifted again and hissed.

  ‘Hungry are we?’ Dino pushed himself up onto his elbows, feeling stitches pull tight across his shoulder blade, a now familiar ache. Six days since the attack outside the castle. Six nights since the raid on the granaries. Almost a week of brooding on the fate of a farmer barely known.

  ‘I suppose I should venture out; I can’t stay here with only you for conversation.’

  Another hiss and the drake slithered over the side of the bed, a blur of sepia-brown scales and whip-like tail. Dino followed the reptile with his eyes. Duke Fontein’s stiletto lay on the floor. He’d placed it under his pillow after the attack, and yet there it was, waiting to be found. A proclamation of his guilt exquisitely manufactured in every way. He reached down to retrieve the engraved blade, turning the three tapering sides.

  Tempo. Velocita. Misura.

  His attention wandered to the glass of water on the dresser, yet another reminder of the duke. Perhaps he too would succumb to poison, yet he suspected his own death would be distinctly more violent.

  ‘I need to speak to some people before I go entirely insane.’

  Achilles yawned, turning a flinty gaze on the Orfano.

  ‘I think we both need to.’

  Dino scratched at stubble. He was rank with sourness, both of body and spirit. O
ne he could sluice off with water, the other would remain with him long after he wished it otherwise.

  He had just finished dressing when a knock sounded at the door. The Orfano eased a dagger from his boot, concealing it in the small of his back. Achilles bolted across the room, scurried up one leg, then clawed his way to perch on Dino’s shoulder.

  ‘Careful, you ugly brute,’ muttered the Orfano as he opened the door.

  ‘Not quite the greeting I was expecting.’ Speranza smiled at him from the corridor.

  ‘I was talking to my friend here.’ Dino jerked a thumb toward the drake. ‘He seems to have forgotten I was stitched up barely a week ago.’

  ‘How is it?’

  ‘Uninfected. It seem small mercies do still exist.’ Dino ushered her in with a flick of his head. The messenger watched him secrete the blade in the side of his boot.

  ‘Not taking any chances?’

  ‘None at all.’ Achilles jumped from Dino’s shoulder to the armchair and coiled a tail about himself, closing his eyes.

  ‘I’ve barely seen you this week.’ The messenger smiled. ‘I was worried you’d run away to join a troupe of players.’

  ‘If only that were true. Imagine roaming the countryside, performing to the minor houses and estates. No politics, no intrigue, no struggle for a republic.’

  ‘No hot water, no beds, no charming messengers.’

  ‘I don’t pay you to dismantle my pipe dreams,’ replied Dino.

  ‘You don’t pay me at all,’ said Speranza.

  He nodded, too tired to smile at the banter. At least she’d dropped the formality.

  ‘The Domina sent this.’ She produced a length of rolled parchment from a battered leather tube secured to her bandoliera. Dino took it, noting the fine quality, the purple sealing wax.

  A moment’s hesitation. He had no wish to be the Domina’s lapdog again, nor her hound. He placed the missive on the mantelpiece, on the same spot Duke Fontein’s stiletto had occupied just six days previously.