The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  The door to the apartment was guarded by two Myrmidons. Dino had passed along the corridor earlier, disguised as a Fontein messenger. A hat and a tabard was all it took. A further two Myrmidons patrolled the corridor itself, pausing at the tops of the staircases, deterrents to any who might loiter.

  Anea stood by her bed. A single candelabrum held five waxy columns, each bearing a tongue of flame. The Silent Queen moved to regard herself in the full-length looking glass, turning her head this way and that as if looking for some blemish. Dino found her at once familiar and unknown. There was something new about her, some intangible change that he could not pin down. She reached her hands to the nape of her neck, preparing to untie the veil hiding the lower part of her face. All these years and Dino had never enquired, never discovered what lay beneath. They’d been close, but it seemed that relationship had been discarded as if it were no more than a soiled rag. It was then that she spotted him behind the door of her chamber. Dino had lain in wait for over an hour. He pushed the door closed, a sidestep and a twist of the wrist locking it shut.

  ‘It seems you and I have a few matters to discuss.’

  Dino caught sight of himself in the looking glass: the drake-headed pommel reflected the candlelight; everything else about the Orfano was darkness.

  Anea hadn’t turned to face him, but was tracking his progress by reflection. Her arms slid together across the gentle curve of her stomach. Her eyes were drab olive, not the brilliant jade he remembered. Had nostalgia cast her in a more favourable light?

  ‘I see your pet Myrmidons are guarding your door.’

  A single nod.

  ‘It would have been nice to know about their formation ahead of time. I am the superiore after all; the soldiers answer to me.’

  Not my idea. The gestures were basic, the words roughly sketched in the air. The Domina told me we could not trust you after the death of Massimo.

  Dino clenched his fists. ‘She has that much right, at least.’

  The Domina suggested we employ the raiders … rather than fight them. I could see no outcome that would not leave … scores of dead.

  ‘We have scores of dead. From the riots.’ His words were like a slap. Anea shivered in the silence that followed. ‘We had scores of dead from their raids. People, innocent people.’

  It would have been far worse if we had tried to fight them.

  Dino failed to keep the sneer from his face. Anea refused to turn, as if conversing with his reflection might lessen his anger. He’d expected a more spirited discussion than this. Her responses were placating, not the forthright intelligent ripostes of the Ravenscourt.

  ‘Why come back at all? The Domina is running the place – into the ground in my opinion. An army of armoured murderers, the nobili in disarray: perfect for the coming of your new republic.’

  I came back to rule.

  ‘You call this ruling?’ His anger seethed with each syllable, burned with each word.

  Remember the Majordomo?

  Dino couldn’t easily forget the Majordomo, the Domina’s predecessor. A looming giant of a man wrapped in grey robes no better than rags, the droning voice of the Majordomo had conveyed the will of the king since time unremembered.

  ‘You know I do.’

  Remember how the king was absent, a recluse? Remember how it felt like the Majordomo was the … authority? How none spoke against him, how everyone … scurried to do his bidding?

  ‘He was repulsive. People were afraid of him.’

  But in time we forgot the king. He became an abstract, a concept.

  ‘Lucien wouldn’t agree; he saw him with his own eyes.’

  And what did Lucien say?

  ‘That he was a changeling, a monstrous changeling, demented by his paranoia, corrupted by power.’

  That is why I came back. I am not an abstract … I will not fester in the dark. I will rule, and the way in which I do so may not be to everyone’s taste.

  This at last was beginning to sound like the Anea he’d once known, even if the silent language she used was stilted. It was as if she had only recently learned the many gestures, signing at half speed, pauses overlong.

  ‘I’m surprised you could drag yourself away from your beloved machines to spare us the time.’

  A person could waste a lifetime trying to … decipher the king’s secrets. We have advances enough for the time being.

  Dino raised an incredulous eyebrow. The Anea he had known would never have been satisfied.

  ‘What caused this sudden change?’

  What do you mean?

  ‘You’ve been researching those machines, uncovering their secrets, for a decade. Now you’re asking me to believe you’re going to abandon them, just like that.’

  I have Virmyre to tend to the sciences. He is no doubt shackled to the king’s machines as we speak.

  ‘Where is he?’

  I do not know. She made the words slowly, as if unsure how, or what to say. In the sanatorio, I expect. Where else?

  ‘Turn around.’ The words were not to be dismissed or disobeyed. ‘I said turn around.’

  The Anea he knew hated the word sanatorio, hated the associations with that building. She hated the dark history that overshadowed her precious library. The woman in front of Dino turned. She was the right height, her eyes the right colour; certainly she retained the frosty countenance Anea was famous for. She thrust out her chin, eyes hardening above the veil.

  Any other questions, or are you quite finished?

  ‘Just one actually.’ He stepped closer to her, and closer still. She wore the same perfume, her hair the same sun-drenched blond, caught in a plait that reached down her spine. And yet a difference lingered at the limit of his senses, some indefinable quality, a maddening ambiguity.

  ‘Who is Erebus?’

  Anea’s eyes widened in shock for a second before she feigned a puzzled frown.

  ‘He’s the author of some letters to the Domina. And he’s not shy of making demands.’

  I do not know that name. Her fingers trembled as she signed the words. She swallowed, her breathing quickening.

  ‘You’re lying.’

  I do not know—

  ‘You’re lying!’

  Dino raised his hand to grab her, to shake her by the shoulders, then pulled back at the last second.

  I swear to you. She took a step back.

  ‘Erebus funded your army of killers. Did you think the Domina financed that many weapons, that much armour, simply by raising taxes?’

  What else do you know about this Erebus?

  ‘Only that I can’t find him. If he is even a man. You could be the author of the letters for all I know.’

  I am not.

  ‘If you are,’ said Dino, ‘I’ll kill you myself.’

  Anea laced her fingers, green eyes full of anger. They stood, staring at one another, an arm’s length apart at the very most. Dino’s disgust rose like bile.

  ‘I don’t know what happened in the sanatorio, but you should have consulted me – on Erebus, on the Myrmidons, on Duke Fontein.’ Dino reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a turquoise sash, tossing it to the floor. ‘Return this to me when you think to include me on your plans. Until then, stay away from House Contadino. I’ll kill anyone who raises a hand against them.’

  Dino turned and unlocked the door, yanking the handle with a snarl on his lips. He had almost passed from the room when he spared her a glance over his shoulder. His anger fled, leaving him with a chasm of loss.

  ‘I feel like I don’t know you any more.’

  Anea stared back, gaze resolute, posture rigid, fingers woven together. Who or what had worked its way beneath the skin of his sister? What animus guided her thoughts?

  Dino stalked away from the apartment, hand brushing the drake-head pommel of his sword. Boot heels sounded loudly on the flagstones, yet Anea’s door had yet to close, the lock yet to click. He turned to find her staring after him, not with the eyes of a distant sister but the gaze o
f a stranger.

  45

  Decline and Seclusion

  – 28 Agosto 325

  There were two of them, dark outlines against the bulk of the old sanatorio. The curving helms and breastplates gave them away even in the night. Their swords may well have been used to quell the protests, the blood of the rioters wiped clean from the steel. Dino had no doubt the Myrmidons would turn him away. The Domina would brook no interference, nor suffer the undoing of plans so carefully laid by Erebus the unseen.

  The Orfano circled to the east, hurrying down deserted streets that had seen frustration crescendo into violence just the day before. Detritus lay across cobbles like wreckage thrown up by the tide. The streets parted – a quick sprint, body bent low – and then he was climbing the ivy that clung to the sanatorio, fingers seeking handholds, boots finding purchase on the many ledges and overhangs of narrow windows. He would not be denied the truth, even if his own sister was taking pains to keep it from him. The dire influence now commanding her thoughts would not prevent him from discovering Demesne’s affliction.

  Erebus.

  Even the name was like poison, and poison was just a chemical like any other. Who better to advise on the use of chemicals than a scientist? A scientist shackled to the king’s machines, by Anea’s reckoning.

  Dino climbed easily, a sneer on his lips as two more Myrmidons patrolled below, oblivious. He was another shadow among the foliage, which now quivered in the night’s breeze. A final grunt of exertion and he was over the lip of the roof among gargoyles who had witnessed the previous day’s bloodletting.

  The time spent in Anea’s apartment had not been wasted. He had not merely lain in wait to ambush her with questions. A quick search had turned up a iron hoop bearing five keys. He knelt down on the conical roof beside the hatch and tried the first key. The metal slid into the dark hole, failing to turn either way. The same was true of the second key. He fumbled in the darkness for the third, remembering the last time he’d been up here. Achilles had led him to the sanatorio rooftop. He cursed under his breath and tried the third key: too large for the hole. The fourth key was bent and no amount of straining or colourful language would return it to usefulness.

  Dino looked to the star-strewn heavens. He should entreat Santa Maria to bestow good fortune upon him at a time like this. Small chance of that.

  ‘I’m getting into this building, one way or another.’

  The fifth key turned in the lock; the Orfano grinned.

  The upper floors were deserted. He’d expected as much but dared to believe he might find Virmyre at work on his beloved machines. The darkness was held back by the guttering lantern he’d chanced upon in Anea’s sitting room. Doorways lay ahead like despairing mouths, leading to cells that had once housed the afflicted. Not a soul stirred, not a voice broke the silence, just legions of devices in flinty grey and obsidian black. They stared into darkness with amethyst eyes that glowed like stars. Dino recoiled, confident the machines could do no harm yet profoundly wary of the secrets they held.

  Curiosity snared him, and he crossed the threshold to a larger room, three cells with the walls knocked through. Lantern light crept along edges and smooth surfaces. At seven feet long it was the largest machine he’d ever seen, like a sarcophagus and just as deep, created from glossy black material. Grooves ran along the edges, smooth to the touch, while the top was a pleasing convexity. A questing finger found a small disc of glass inset at one corner, but the signature amethyst light within was extinguished.

  The contrivance yawned open, causing Dino to jump back, afraid of what it might unleash. His sword was free of the scabbard, his stance low, heart hammering a staccato in his chest.

  Nothing emerged.

  Dino stepped closer, but the sarcophagus held stale air and nothing else. Anything that it had once contained had since been removed. The Orfano cursed the machine and pressed on, chiding himself.

  The staircase spiralled down into the heart of the sanatorio, offering more gloomy corridors, more darkened cells. Dino tried to imagine what the hateful building must have been like when at capacity. Had the inmates cried out or languished without complaint? Had they even been aware of their confinement? The echos of those captive women lingered still, even after a decade, but not as sound. Melancholy had a made a home of the sanatorio.

  ‘Hello.’ A greeting from the darkness. Dino crossed to the nearest closed door and peered through its barred window, spotting a figure sitting on the floor, back to the wall, knees drawn to its chest.

  ‘Oh, you’ve stopped drinking long enough to find your own arse. Did it take just one hand or both?’

  Dino struggled to contain a smile. Virmyre’s barbs were all too welcome despite their situation.

  ‘I’ve certainly found an arse; I may yet start drinking.’

  The huddled form rose to its feet, edging closer to the light that flickered around the bars in the door. The familiar face of the professore looked at Dino.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer you. My cellar is lacking. Please forgive the state of my rooms; my maid has been greatly remiss of late.’

  The cell held a narrow cot, and a fetid reek cloyed the air.

  ‘I see confinement hasn’t dulled your tongue, or your wit.’

  ‘I sharpen it with a whetstone and hide it in that bucket of excrement. It’s the one place the Myrmidons don’t look.’

  ‘Ingenious to the end.’

  ‘I have no intention of ending,’ intoned Virmyre.

  ‘Care to tell me how you ended up in here?’

  ‘The Myrmidons, of course.’

  ‘Anea just told me she didn’t know of your whereabouts.’

  ‘Then we have to suspect that the order for my confinement came from the Domina.’

  Dino held the light up and narrowed his eyes. The professore looked in good health, despite his circumstances. Dino again noted the smoothing of the crow’s feet that had lined Virmyre’s face. His lips looked fuller, his brow uncreased.

  ‘What have you and Anea been dabbling with?’ asked Dino, aware of the many machines on the floor above.

  ‘We call it tinctura,’ said Virmyre.

  Dino’s eyes widened. That word again.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Tinctura is the appellation for a pharmacological mixture the formula for which we found written inside the king’s machines.’

  ‘I should have known.’ Dino’s mouth curled in disgust. ‘Those machines will be the death of us.’

  ‘Quite the reverse. We made up a batch and tested it.’

  ‘On who?’

  ‘Myself, at first.’ Virmyre shrugged in response to Dino’s incredulous scowl. ‘There’s not exactly an abundance of volunteers for the king’s secrets. Especially when you consider the king used to administer tinctura to himself.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Two drops of the mixture in each eye. At first I thought it was a stimulant, nothing more, but there are other qualities.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘According to the king’s notes, tinctura stops the degradation of bodily tissues and regenerates portions of the brain. A side effect seems to be a lessening of empathy and an aversion to sunlight.’

  ‘That would explain the king’s decline. And seclusion.’

  ‘Quite. And also why Anea and I were so keen to continue research.’

  ‘But you stopped taking it?’

  Virmyre nodded.

  ‘And Anea?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Virmyre looked away. ‘She hasn’t been herself for some time. She was taking it twice a day. I insisted she take some rest, which is what she has appeared to do. Now I can’t be sure.’

  ‘And you were sending this tinctura to the Domina?’

  ‘No.’ Virmyre shook his head. ‘We never told the Domina about it.’

  ‘Well, someone did. Someone called Erebus.’

  Virmyre grasped the bars of his cell. ‘Have you seen this Erebus?’

  ‘No,
but he corresponds with the Domina, giving orders couched as favours. Tinctura is how he buys her obedience.’

  ‘It would certainly explain her behaviour,’ rumbled Virmyre.

  ‘She’s been mired in suspicion and resentment for some time. A lessening of empathy just makes her more …’

  ‘Dangerous.’

  ‘I was going to say inhuman, but that would be rich from an Orfano.’

  ‘You’re a lot more human than most out there.’ Virmyre flicked his gaze beyond the end of the corridor, insinuating Demesne. ‘And you’ve always struggled for what was good for everyone, not just pursued your own comfort.’

  ‘Comfort?’ Dino snorted with contempt.

  ‘I heard fighting in the streets yesterday.’

  Dino nodded. ‘The Domina produced the Myrmidons, her new army. After so many months of raids the people were angry. Understandably so.’

  ‘And Anea?’

  ‘She sat on the throne, barely moving.’

  ‘I see.’ Virmyre’s face remained impassive, his voice betraying the responsibility he felt.

  ‘Is it permanent? This lessening of empathy.’

  ‘I can’t be sure.’ Virmyre sighed. ‘The quantities she was taking …’

  They lapsed into silence until a jagged spike of anger rose in Dino’s chest.

  ‘I trusted you to watch over my sister,’ he whispered, ‘not allow her to become an addict.’

  ‘We didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into,’ admitted Virmyre.

  ‘And now look at you.’

  ‘So do you plan on rescuing me – like a damsel?’ said Virmyre, but the line sounded strained to Dino’s ears. ‘Or were you merely seeking counsel?’

  The Orfano produced the keys he’d stolen from Anea. Each proved useless.

  ‘Well, at least I can work on my memoirs,’ said Virmyre.

  Feet scuffed on flagstones in the depths of the sanatorio.

  ‘Here comes the solution,’ whispered Dino, drawing a dagger. He passed it through the bars of the door.

  ‘Just in case.’

  Dino discarded the lantern in an empty cell, orange light spilling out, wavering on black flagstones. He watched from the shadows of the curved corridor, waiting inside another open doorway, barely breathing. The Myrmidon emerged from the stairwell bearing a lantern of his own, his other hand holding a tray of food. Dino eased a dagger free of its sheath, the usual cool detachment settling upon him. The Myrmidon faltered in the corridor, confused by the second source of light. He edged to the cell where the bait had been set. The Myrmidon stepped into the cell with an unintelligible grunt.