The Boy Who Wept Blood

by Den Patrick

  He could finish Marchetti, avenge Fiorenza and Emilio and Massimo.

  ‘Dino! Please, come on! I need you.’

  He climbed. He slipped. He tightened his grip. He climbed again, the rust on the chain helping him to gain purchase on the links. He was close. A glance confirmed Marchetti had recovered his blade. The chain rattled and swayed below him as the Myrmidon pursued. Dino took Stephania’s hand and pulled himself through the hole, staggering to his feet though it cost him dearly in pain.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ she breathed with relief.

  Dino stood on trembling legs, the pain in his side an insistent throb. And in the corner of his eye, rising through the floor like the abdead, was Marchetti. Dino spun and wrenched his sword from the scabbard. The sword came free with an upward slash that caught Marchetti in the face, ripping the veil and whatever lay beneath. The Myrmidon fell back, hands and feet slipping, through the breach in the floor. His head hit the side of the hole as he fell, the sound terrible and final in the silence of the oubliette. The assassin splashed into the water, which subsided over his body and was still.

  Stephania hugged Dino fiercely.

  ‘Mind my tines! I don’t want to poison you.’

  She hugged him anyway, eliciting a gasp.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘My side, you’re squeezing the wound.’

  ‘Porca miseria. I’m sorry. Sorry.’ She tore lengths of material from her tabard and made a crude bandage. The sound of ripping fabric made Dino uneasy. Once she’d treated his wound she turned her attention to his forearms, binding them tight.

  ‘Just in case,’ she explained.

  Dino nodded, regaining his breath. ‘Did you just throw my pet drake into a sword fight.’

  ‘Of course not!’ Stephania frowned. ‘He jumped off my shoulder as I leaned over.’

  ‘Is there anyone in Demesne who isn’t rescuing me today?’

  ‘Anyone else would be grateful.’

  ‘I’ll be grateful once I’m sure I’m not bleeding to death.’ Dino blinked a few times and looked around. ‘Where are we? How do we get out of Demesne from here?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ Stephania looked around uncertainly. ‘I think I found a way out.’

  ‘Just pull that chain up from the hole.’ He gestured weakly to the floor. ‘We don’t need anything else coming up from down there.’

  They set off, Dino with one hand pressed to the cut in his side, the other draped around the shoulders of Stephania, who struggled under his weight. His eyes were heavy, his feet unresponsive. There was no part of him that wasn’t bruised or cold or wet. Stephania had stashed Achilles beneath the ragged remains of her tabard in order to keep the drake warm.

  ‘Pay attention now. We have to go down.’

  Dino opened his eyes wide. ‘Down?’ Stone steps lay before him, each further one less distinct in the gloom. ‘We need to go up, Stephania.’

  ‘Trust me. There’s a passage deep beneath Demesne. I just have to find it.’

  ‘We should go up—’

  ‘And be caught by Myrmidons the minute we’re seen?’

  She started down the steps, dragging him with her. It was pointless to resist. Dino concentrated on walking, content just to remain conscious.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be taking me out of Demesne.’

  ‘I am,’ he grunted. ‘I’m just feigning weakness to confuse our enemies.’

  ‘Interesting. You’re very good at it.’

  ‘I’ve had lots of practice.’

  It was easy to smile but the wound bled a little more with every step. It wasn’t deep, nor fatal, but it was enough to set his head spinning with the loss of blood. He couldn’t resist the heaviness of his eyelids and was almost sleepwalking.

  The jostling strain of walking stopped. Stephania said nothing, prompting Dino to open his eyes, fearing the worst. They were in a low-ceilinged chamber, floor deep with dust. A thrum vibrated through the soles of his boots, as if the room was singing a wordless lament. Black rectangles of glossy black stood before them in orderly rows, ten abreast, each around seven feet tall. Each featured a single amethyst light off centre at the top.

  ‘Looking glasses?’

  ‘More of the king’s machines,’ said Dino.

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘I’ve seen smaller ones and one like this in the sanatorio. That’s where Anea keeps them. They have the same purple light.’

  ‘They look so smooth.’ It was true. Each was three feet wide, smooth and flawless, elegantly curved, a perfect abstract sculpture. ‘Wait here,’ said Stephania. She set the wounded Orfano down on a step.

  ‘Like I have a choice.’

  Stephania approached the nearest of the devices with the lantern held aloft. The glass reflected her face stretched across the convex surface, but she could also make out something inside. Something terrible.

  ‘Don’t touch it,’ urged Dino. ‘Come away before something happens.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I accidentally opened one of these in the sanatorio.’

  ‘What was inside?’ She was breathless with curiosity.

  ‘Nothing. It was empty, and the light had faded from it.’

  ‘Do you know what these contain?’

  ‘No. Can you see what’s inside?’

  Stephania looked through the glass and shuddered. ‘I can’t really tell, but there are legs, lots of legs.’ She took a step back. ‘Insect legs like Erebus had.’

  ‘Do you think they’re alive?’ he asked.

  ‘Difficult to know,’ she replied ‘There are so many. Do you think it’s an army?’

  Dino didn’t answer.

  Stephania returned to him and pulled the Orfano to his feet, eliciting another grunt of pain.

  ‘How many of the cittadini do you think have abandoned Santa Maria?’ she asked.

  ‘Not nearly enough,’ said Dino. ‘Everyone will die if he unleashes these …’

  ‘You can’t know for sure they’re the work of Erebus.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘You did say they were the king’s machines.’

  He nodded. It was all too convenient to lay the blame for everything on Erebus. The strangeness infesting Landfall stretched back centuries.

  She all but carried him through the sarcophagi chamber, lit only by the baleful eyes of the machines. The purple lights lent the scene a surreal cast, held back in part by the flickering light of Stephania’s lantern. Dino was glad of it, and for Stephania. He counted ten rows, with at least another ten to get past. They were over halfway across the room when the basso thrum changed in pitch.

  ‘Do you hear that?’

  Dino nodded, dread chilling him more than blood loss.

  ‘Keep going.’ Even his words sounded dusty, as if Demesne had infected him. Stephania pressed on, damp boots kicking up drifts of dust and web. A doorway beckoned, an opening of deeper darkness in the purple twilight.

  ‘I told you there was a way out.’ She looked pleased.

  ‘You just didn’t mention we had to sneak through a mass grave to get there.’

  ‘I don’t think they’re buried,’ she said; ‘I think this is where they’re grown.’

  ‘At least if they were buried it would mean they’re dead,’ he muttered.

  ‘Well, let’s not wake them,’ she whispered. They hurried on.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘An old sewer tunnel.’ She was breathing hard, tiring under his weight. ‘Now forgotten.’

  ‘So how do you know about it?’

  ‘When you’re as rich as House Prospero you can afford anything. Even old maps that House Erudito find boring.’

  Dino struggled to see beyond the nimbus of golden light Stephania bore. He was hoping the illumination might keep them safe even as he lost consciousness.

  58

  A Rising Storm

  – 30 Agosto 325

  Dino woke on a narrow cot in a spartan chamber, the
walls plastered and whitewashed. A small figurine of a woman holding a child stood on the bedside cabinet: Santa Maria calm and kind in white marble. A candle as thick as his wrist burned with a pleasing steady light. His fingers traced the edges of bandages tightly wrapped; blankets smothered his body with gentle warmth. Simple unbleached cloth adorned the bed. There was no trace of extravagance, nor was there any dirt; someone had kept the room fastidiously clean. Each breath brought the tiniest hint of lavender.

  Memories returned in flashes. Being bathed in clean water and scrubbed by a trio of veiled women, then a sharp pain he could not escape as they stitched him together and drowsiness as a preparation did its work, lulling him to sleep. And through it all the presence of Stephania, anxiety evident on her face, mouth a trembling line beset by anguish. She had refused to let it take her over – not while he remained conscious anyway.

  Dino shifted onto his unwounded side, curling up into a ball. His entire body ached, heavy like a composite of granite and lead, like a gargoyle from the rooftop of the sanatorio. He wondered if Marchetti had died in the waters of the oubliette. Perhaps he was still down there, unable to remember himself or the way out.

  A face appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I’m awake,’ he croaked, throat raw.

  ‘Good. It’s night again. We should try and slip away before dawn.’ Stephania sounded tired, but there was resolve in her voice. Her red-rimmed eyes showed her sadness at leaving.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘The chapel of Santa Maria. They found the tunnel when they dug the foundations for the courtyard. A larger church will be built in a year.’

  Dino grunted and pushed himself up onto his elbows. ‘I suppose you found this out from your pet disciple?’

  ‘She’s not my pet. But if she hadn’t told me about the tunnel we’d still be trapped beneath Demesne.’

  ‘I still don’t like it.’

  ‘Your feelings on the Sisters of Santa Maria are well known. You should probably show some gratitude though. They saved your life.’

  ‘I think that accolade goes to you.’

  She shrugged, forcing a pouting smile, a ghost of her old self returning.

  ‘When did you decide?’ He gestured toward the figurine on the nightstand.

  ‘That I believed?’ She folded her arms and looked downcast.

  He nodded and regretted asking her.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said after a pause. ‘The idea of an infinitely kind and maternal divine being is an attractive one.’ A sad smile overtook her. ‘Especially with a mother like mine.’

  ‘Salvaza may have her faults but she did charge me with escorting you to safety.’

  Stephania shrugged, unable to accept her mother’s good deed. ‘That’s worked out really well, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘It’s all going to plan perfectly, you know?’ Dino grinned.

  Stephania returned the smile before her eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you ever wonder about your mother? Who she was, if she might have survived.’

  ‘I try not to.’ He sat up straighter and grimaced. ‘We’ll need new clothes,’ he said, keen to change the subject. ‘Every Myrmidon in Demesne is going to be looking for two House Prospero messengers.’

  ‘I’ve already thought of that. I’m going to dress as a Sister of the San Marino convent. They’re under the protection of Lucien. The Domina wouldn’t dare interfere.’

  ‘There’s another order?’

  ‘The Sisters are more popular in San Marino than they are here.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to go there after all.’ He sat right up and shuffled around until his feet were on the floor. ‘So do I get to dress in a veil and wimple too?’

  ‘If you like –’ Stephania suppressed her mirth ‘– but it’s probably best you ride with me as a man. Even the Sisters have armed escorts.’

  New britches, boots, a shirt and a leather jerkin waited for him on a wooden chair at the foot of the bed. His sword rested in its scabbard, now battered, the enamel chipped. Dino identified with it all too readily.

  ‘Resourceful these Sisters of yours.’

  ‘They are, and there’s more. Come on. Avanti.’ She left.

  He dressed. His body foreign to him, each movement a trial of discomfort, a test of pain. Pulling on the clothes elicited some choice expletives before Stephania thrust her head into the room.

  ‘You are on consecrated ground, you know.’

  ‘If Santa Maria is so forgiving she won’t mind some off-colour language.’

  ‘Dino.’

  Stephania scowled. He shrugged, then winced. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’

  The clothes fitted, more or less. The boots were a pair of his own, although how anyone had got into his apartment to retrieve them he could only guess at. He attached the sword to the belt, and it was then he noticed the drake-headed pommel had been polished. They’d gone to a lot of trouble. He turned, eyeing the marble figurine.

  ‘Sorry about the profanity.’

  He paused. With one deft motion he swept the figurine from the cabinet, slipping it inside his jerkin.

  ‘No reason you have to stay here with these boring Sisters.’

  The figurine said nothing, which Dino took as a mark of consent.

  The antechamber to his room was bathed in candlelight from two candelabra, each bearing a half-dozen candles. Stephania was engaged in conversation with Agostina, Achilles perched on one shoulder, as stern and unblinking as Dino remembered.

  ‘I see you’ve stolen my drake.’

  ‘He’s clung to me all day, even dozed with me.’

  Dino extended a hand to the reptile, traced his brow with a finger.

  ‘After all I’ve done for you, and you leave me the minute a pretty girl shows interest.’

  Dino nodded to Agostina, who bobbed a curtsy in return, her mismatched eyes unnerving even now. ‘My lord.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m lord of anything any more, so you can dispense with the formalities.’

  ‘You will always be a lord in my eyes,’ she replied. ‘You saved Stephania and myself during the raid in the piazza.’

  ‘Massimo saved you,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Because you asked him to.’

  ‘What will you do now?’ he asked the Sister.

  ‘The same as we have ever done; the people need us now more than ever. Taxes creep up, working hours are long, and I don’t expect much help from our ruler.’

  ‘She’s lost to us.’ There could be no mistaking the bitterness in his voice. ‘Corrupted by Erebus and Marchetti.’ He cleared his throat and looked away. ‘I don’t know if there’s anything left of the Anea I used to know.’

  ‘It can’t be helped,’ said the disciple. ‘In the meantime, these are yours for the road ahead.’ She turned and proffered a thick riding cloak. Saddlebags packed with food lay on the table beside her.

  ‘This is excellent,’ Dino said.

  Stephania smiled. ‘I called in a few favours with people I know I can trust.’

  ‘Risky –’ Dino regarded the supplies ‘– but preferable to eating anything from the Foresta Vecchia.’

  Stephania had changed into the white robes of the order, olive-green wimple denoting her membership of the San Marino branch. The disguise was undermined by the cataphract drake perching on her shoulder, but Landfall had seen stranger sights than this. Stephania completed her outfit with a white veil.

  ‘My lord.’ The disciple crossed the room, gesturing with an open hand to a large sword secured to the wall. ‘We would be honoured if you would take this with you. It was stored in a crate beneath Demesne for many years.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. It looks antique.’

  ‘Dino,’ chided Stephania. He approached the sword, masking his disdain with winces from his wounds. The blade had been sharpened, polished to a mirror finish. There was blue tint to the steel.

  ‘The Sisters are keen that you take it,’ said Stephania.

  ‘Fine.’ He pulled
the blade down from the wall, taking a second to become familiar with the heft of the two-handed sword. It wasn’t as tall as him, but it wasn’t far off either. The weight was prodigious. ‘I’ll take it, if it will spare their feelings.’

  ‘It’s the sword of a templar,’ added Agostina.

  ‘I’ll take the gift but leave the title if I may. I’m still smarting from the fact I’m not superiore any more.’

  Stephania shook her head and pursed her lips. Dino indicated the door, thinking it best to leave before he caused any further offence.

  Outside the chapel three Sisters waited for them. Spots of rain fell from the sky, few at first and then with greater frequency. Dino mumbled his thanks to the robed women and earned himself another sharp look from Stephania. A pair of fine roan horses had been acquired and were saddled. Lightning flashed in the distance, a single column of light like a jagged lance thrust into the horizon. Dino took a moment to stare, waiting for the roll of thunder to rumble toward them. The rain increased and Dino cast his gaze over Santa Maria. Demesne loomed over the townhouses, a behemoth threatening to crush everything beneath its careless feet. The Orfano pulled his hood up and shivered. Stephania mounted her horse with the help of some wooden steps.

  ‘Are you going to stand there all night?’ asked Stephania.

  ‘We’re really leaving, aren’t we?’ Reluctance weighted each word.

  She gave a tight nod and looked away.

  ‘I was supposed to save Anea.’

  ‘I know,’ soothed Stephania, ‘but you can’t save people from themselves. She’s taken a different path. And besides, you’ve saved me.’

  Dino mounted his horse like an old man, fearing his stitches would come apart. The bandages held fast, a reassuring tightness around his gut. He’d laced the leather jerkin as tightly as he dared. Stephania spoke her thanks to the Sisters, who signalled back with their hands.

  ‘They’ve learned the silent language?’ he asked with a curt nod toward the veiled women.

  ‘They’ve taken a vow of silence,’ supplied the disciple. Dino struggled not to curl his lip. ‘They’re saying some Myrmidons left Demesne through the triumphal arch just a few minutes ago.

  Dino and Stephania put their heels to the horses’ sides and set off at gentle walk. A deep hush covered the town, broken only by the pattering of the rain and the susurrus of trees yet to lose their leaves. The coming autumn would finish what the drought had started. The distant green of the spring was a cherished memory. A few of the townhouses were boarded up. Dino guessed they were owned by cittadini who had fled following the riots. The horses continued, the clatter and ring of their hooves loud in the silence of the night. It was inevitable they would attract attention; even thunder could not mask the noise of their departure. The edge of the town was lit by braziers and the odd torch held aloft by a Myrmidon. Dino knew the outline of them in the darkness all too well.