Midnight Fire (A Jagiellon Mystery Book 2)

by P K Adams

  “Well, for one, he’s married.”

  Maria turned her head slowly in my direction. Then she burst out laughing so loud the other bathers stared at us. “What are you talking about?”

  “He has a wife in Bar.”

  “He does not!” Tears of mirth were glistening in her eyes. “He hasn’t been married and never will be. He says his heart belongs to the army. He’s a soldier through and through.”

  I struggled to hide my confusion. “But he told me he was married—”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes. Last Wednesday. Why would he lie?”

  She scratched her forehead, sending a trickle of water down her smooth skin to disintegrate over her eyebrows. “I have no idea. He tried to seduce you, and mentioning a wife doesn’t seem like the best way to accomplish that. It makes no sense.”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand?”

  I shook my head, thoroughly perplexed. “He had a box in his chamber, which he said contained a headdress for his wife.”

  Maria gave me a surprised look, and I knew she was not responding to news about the box or the wife. I hastened to explain. “I went to speak to him about organizing our trip home after Giulio’s visit to Doctor Nascimbene. That’s all.”

  “That’s really odd,” Maria thought for some moments. “Perhaps he bought it for a woman and called her a wife for your benefit, not wishing to look like a libertine.”

  “Does everyone think that because I have been married for twenty-five years, I have forgotten the ways of men?”

  She snorted. “Yes.”

  I gave her a half-smile. “Well, I have not.”

  “It’s all in jest, Caterina.” She squeezed my hand, then brought it up to the level of her eyes. “Look, your fingertips are all wrinkled.” She lifted up her other hand and examined it. “As are mine. Let’s get out and have some wine and grapes. Like they did in ancient Rome!” She laughed, the earthy, carefree sound that was her most endearing quality. Sometimes I envied her zest for life, this gioia di vivere.

  Our banter continued over the refreshments, but during the carriage ride back to the palace Maria’s chatter eluded me because Zaremba and his lie returned to my mind. I dismissed her idea that the headdress was for a lover whom Zaremba called a wife in order not to offend my sensibilities. Too much had passed between us by that time. But if that was not the case, then who was the headdress for?

  The carriage rolled through the streets, past people hunched over or hooded to protect themselves from the misty drizzle that had developed when we were in the baths. It was still only mid-afternoon, but it seemed later because of the steely, low clouds. A thought was pressing at the back of my mind.

  Then a single question exploded like a flash of lightning in my head: Was it a headdress?

  I sat upright, blood draining from my face.

  Maria paused her monologue, of which I had long since lost track, and gave me a quizzical look. “Are you all right?”

  “That box in Zaremba’s room … I never actually saw what was in it. I assumed it was a headdress, but it could have been—”

  “What?” Maria frowned. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so interested in it, anyway? You have gone white.”

  A terrible thought occurred to me, actually two terrible thoughts, neither of which I wanted to share with Maria—for her own safety, if my guess was correct.

  “It’s nothing.” I waved my hand. “I don’t like people lying to me. Besides, I’m still light-headed from the baths. I’ll be fine.” I turned to the window, doing all I could to hide my trepidation and my impatience and willing the carriage to go faster as it made its way in fits and starts around the traffic clogging the streets. In my head, I was frantically formulating a plan.

  By the time we reached the courtyard, I knew what I must do. The thought made my throat dry and caused my heart to pound furiously. I declined Maria’s invitation to go to the banqueting hall, no doubt in search of more gossip, telling her I needed to check on Giulio.

  At the first floor landing I bid her a hasty goodbye and raced up the stairs the moment I was sure nobody could see me. The rush of blood to my head brought a sudden terrible clarity to my mind as the pieces fell into place. Things that had not made sense before now fit together, and facts I had previously not considered significant assumed the weight of evidence. I was panting by the time I turned onto the final flight of stairs.

  I was holding the front of my skirts up and gazing at my feet to avoid tripping, so I nearly collided with the figure at the top of the stairs. The first thing I saw were boots—tan leather. I looked up to find Zaremba in front of me. With a cry that sounded more like a whimper, I took a step backward and almost lost my balance. He grabbed my arm and steadied me but did not let go once I regained my footing. His fingers dug into my flesh, but I was so terrified I did not feel any pain. Nor did I try to extricate myself. It was as if everything inside me froze, and I was incapable of the slightest movement.

  “Why such hurry?” He smiled, but his eyes remained watchful. “Is everything all right?”

  I swallowed. “Of course. I … I spent too much time in the city and need to check on Giulio.” I made a supreme effort to collect myself for my son’s sake. I needed to get to him as soon as possible, or he might be in grave danger.

  Zaremba considered me for a few moments; as usual, I had no idea what he was thinking. I forced an answering smile. “It’s been a busy afternoon.”

  I pulled my arm away, making sure the movement was not too sharp, and he let go. I gathered my skirts and walked past him on weak knees, maintaining enough distance to run if he reached out for me again. “I’ll see you tonight at the banquet. It’s going to be a big one—it’s Sunday.” I tried to keep my voice light, but even I could hear the false note.

  “I look forward to it.” He bowed, but his eyes and their scrutinizing gaze never left me.

  I felt them on my back as I walked down the corridor and turned out of his sight. Then I ran as fast as my heeled boots would allow. My hands shook too much to handle the key, and I began banging on the door like a madwoman, images of my son being harmed as punishment for my involvement in the investigation running through my head. The man I had searched for—and found, I believed—had no qualms about endangering the lives of innocent bystanders.

  The door opened, revealing Cecilia’s alarmed but unbloodied face. I staggered with relief. “Where is Giulio? Is he all right?” I pushed past her into the sitting chamber.

  “He’s reading,” she replied.

  I wheeled around and gripped her by the shoulders. Her eyes widened in renewed alarm. “Listen to me, Cecilia,” I said, my voice tight. “Take Giulio and make your way out of the palace, but without haste, as if you were just going for a stroll.”

  “But—”

  I cut her off. “Outside the gate, you will hail a carriage immediately.” I dropped my grip on her shoulders and beckoned her to follow me to my bedchamber. I lifted the lid of a trunk where I kept my purse and counted out four silver talons. “You will ask the driver to take you to the Turkish baths.”

  “To the baths? Whatever for?”

  I raised a hand to calm her. “Opposite the baths there is an inn called The Lamb and Bell.” As Maria and I left the baths, I had the presence of mind to survey the area as we waited for our hired carriage. The inn across the street—its sign showing a white lamb’s head with a red bell around its neck—seemed clean enough and, being located in a good part of town, looked like a good place to hide away. “You will go there and wait for me. I’ll join you by nightfall. Ask for a room. We will spend the night there.”

  Cecilia looked so scared I feared she would start crying. I made an effort to keep my voice calm and even. “I can’t explain at the moment, but I need your help to get Giulio away from the palace. If you run into anybody on your way—even someone you know—tell them you’re taking my son for a walk. Say nothing else. Do you underst
and me?” I squeezed her hand.

  She nodded, blinking.

  “Good.” I attempted a smile. “Everything will be fine. We’ll be on our way home soon.” In the back of my mind, I had the desperate thought that the next merchant convoy for Kraków would not leave until Friday. I would have to find another way to get us out of Vilnius, but I could not worry about that then. I had other things to attend to first.

  “Just do as I say, and we’ll be all right,” I repeated, trying to express an assurance I did not feel.

  “What about our things? Should we not pack first?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll send for Rasa to help me.” I made my way out of the bedchamber. “Put on your cloak, and I’ll get Giulio.”

  My son was curled up on his bed absorbed in a book with gold leaf-edged pages, which I immediately recognized as the gift from Zaremba. I ran up to him and snatched it from his grasp as if it, too, was tainted by poison. Giulio sat up, stunned, his hand reaching instinctively for his possession before falling into his lap.

  “What is it, mamma?”

  I took a deep breath. The last thing I wanted to do was frighten him. “Cecilia will take you for a nice walk right now, darling.”

  “But I don’t want to go for a walk.” His face twisted into a grimace. “I want to read my book.” He reached out his hand again.

  I put the book on the table. “Remember Doctor Nascimbene told you to get more exercise?” The old physician had said no such thing. “You must go outside at least once a day to get some air. Now get up and put your cloak on.”

  “But I don’t want to!” he whined. “It’s cold out there.”

  “Just a bit chilly, darling,” I said, summoning my patience. “Nothing your cloak won’t keep away.” I picked up the wool garment, and suddenly I saw it again, plain as day: Zaremba’s cloak thrown over the back of a chair in his chamber on Wednesday night and, just this morning, on Maria’s settle. Its strange, indefinable hue that could have been red or brown or a mix of both, depending on the light. Marrone—the innkeeper’s wife’s voice rang out in my head again. Chestnut. He was the only man I knew who possessed a cloak of that color.

  I turned back to Giulio, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyeing the book with a sulky expression. “Put this on right now and go to Cecilia. She’s waiting for you.” My voice had an edge that made him rise without another complaint.

  He shot me an anxious look as I wrapped him in the cloak, and I grasped him in a tight embrace, kissing the top of his head. “Listen to what Cecilia says and don’t talk to anyone, stranger or not, do you hear me?” I waited until I felt him nod against my chest. “Good boy. I will see you very soon.” I held him at an arm’s length and looked him in the eyes. “I love you—never doubt that.”

  “Ti amo anch’io, mamma.”

  “Go.” I swallowed a knot in my throat and pushed him gently toward the door so he would not see the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

  They did only when I heard the door close, but I had no time to weep. I set out to work quickly. I opened the trunks and proceeded to throw our clothes, boots, and hats into them.

  I left Zaremba’s book on the table, vowing I would buy Giulio a replacement as soon as we were back in Poland. I tried to keep all other thoughts out of my mind, but I could not stem the flood of recollections that rushed over me as I went about my work: the door of the house at Gornitsa that Zaremba had supposedly opened with a key he suddenly remembered he had; the small amount of Spanish wine he reluctantly offered me on Wednesday night and his comment about the Habsburg envoys sharing it around at the court; the headdress bought for a wife he did not have, in a box that probably contained another item of clothing altogether …

  The obviousness of the solution was maddening, given how long it had taken me to figure it out.

  When I finished packing the trunks, I sat at the table to write a note to Rasa. I was about to direct her to have our luggage sent to The Lamb and Bell, when it occurred to me that I should not give away our hiding place to anyone. I did not know if I could trust her, I did not know if I could trust anyone anymore. I would have to leave everything behind, except the clothes on our backs. But it could not be helped. Possessions can be replaced, lives cannot.

  I tucked the blank sheet inside my bodice. Once I made arrangements for our journey back to Kraków, I would write to Opaliński—no, directly to the duke, for the chamberlain might be Zaremba’s accomplice—explaining my discovery and the trail of evidence that had led me to it. I would beg Zygmunt’s forgiveness for leaving so suddenly, but I would not disclose where I was staying. By the time he read the letter, I would be on my way home.

  With one last regretful look at the packed trunks, I threw my cloak over my shoulders and headed for the door. It was still light out; if I were lucky, I would be reunited with Giulio and Cecilia in time for supper.

  I opened the door and collided with a solid bulk that barred me from taking another step.

  My cloak, still unclasped, fell to the floor, and my hand flew to my mouth to stifle a whimper rising deep inside me. I knew I would not be seeing my son tonight.

  Or perhaps ever again.

  CHAPTER 16

  Sunday, September 13th, 1545

  “Are you going somewhere?” Zaremba asked.

  He had changed out of his elegant black doublet into a padded gambeson with a thin chain mail shirt over it. His sword was buckled at his side. He looked ready—if not for battle, at least for a confrontation. My heart lodged in my throat like a stone.

  “Yes,” I managed through the stiffness of my jaw muscles. I took a step forward, hoping against the odds that he would move aside, but I collided with him again, as if he were a brick wall. I kept my eyes at the level of his chest so he would not see the fear that tightened its coils around me like a snake. Yet I doubted my ability to hide anything from him—the moment I bumped into him on the staircase an hour earlier, he knew I had guessed his deadly secret.

  It was his turn now to take a step forward, forcing me to retreat deeper into the chamber. He closed the door behind him, the sound echoing ominously in the silence.

  I was trapped.

  Zaremba swept his eyes around the surfaces empty of day-to-day knickknacks. “You were on your way out.” His gaze rested on the open trunk filled with toys. I offered up a silent curse for my hasty and pointless packing. “And not coming back, I see?”

  “I have to go to Giulio.” I made a move to go around him again, but he grasped my wrist, lifting my arm in a restraining gesture. “Please,” I begged, forcing myself to meet his unblinking gaze, blue and cold.

  I was looking into the eyes the innkeeper’s wife had seen last Friday night.

  He pushed me back, gently but firmly, guiding me toward the settle. “I wish I could, Caterina.” His voice was low and distant. He did not seem upset or angry, but then he rarely showed any emotion. He sat opposite me and studied me for a long while, and I had no idea what was building up inside him and what it would make him do to me. But I could not allow myself to think about that. “I wish I could,” he repeated.

  I made an effort to meet his eyes again. “Then do that, Jakub.” Somehow I managed to sneak a note of warmth into my voice in hopes of reminding him of the camaraderie we had once enjoyed—and the kiss we had nearly shared.

  In response, he only shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Anger rose inside me and jostled for space with the fear. Both threatened to make me lose whatever control I still had over my nerves. “You have no right to keep me from leaving the palace.”

  “Why are you leaving the palace?” His tone was still calm.

  I swallowed. “What I do around Vilnius is none of your business.”

  “I think,” Zaremba said emphatically, “that you’re trying to go back to Kraków.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Is your investigation finished then?”

  I could not respond. He would not believe me if I lied, and if I told
the truth …

  “Is it?” His voice grew a shade louder, and an edge of warning crept into it. I was sure he would have shouted the question at me, if he were not afraid of attracting attention.

  “Yes.” I held his gaze. “But you already know that. That is why you’re here. To stop me from revealing the truth.”

  Zaremba’s face was inscrutable. “And what is the truth?”

  I wanted to take a deep breath, but my chest would not cooperate. Tense moments passed, during which I tried not to contemplate the terrible danger in which I found myself. At least I had managed to get Giulio to safety. When I could no longer delay, I said quietly, for my lungs still did not supply enough air, “The truth is that you tried to kill Barbara Radziwiłł and her mother but instead murdered three innocent people in cold blood. That’s what I know. What I do not know is who paid you to do it.”

  He expelled air through his nose, a sound that may have expressed derision, or perhaps incredulity at the depth of his failure. “Tell me.” He cocked his head. “When did you put it all together?” Whether he realized it or not, I glimpsed something approaching admiration in his face. He saw me as a worthy adversary. “When you saw my clothes in Maria’s sitting room this morning and remembered the one thing missing from that picture—the box similar to the one you found in Kolanka’s apartments? Or had you already guessed the truth?”

  If only I had guessed! Lives might have been saved. I cursed myself again for my blindness to the clues that had been right in front of me since before we even arrived in Vilnius.

  “I wish I could say that.” I did not bother to hide my bitterness. “I wish I could say that when it became clear someone had broken into the kitchen without leaving a trace, I thought of you. Even yesterday afternoon as I watched the chamberlain struggle with the lock of the garden door, something bothered me about it, but I couldn’t think what.” My voice rose in vehemence. “But now I know: while I could see the key in Opaliński’s hand, that night in Gornitsa you blocked my view with your back and refused my offer of a lantern because you had no key. Instead, you were picking the lock with some”—I gestured in the direction of his boots, into which he had reached just before he supposedly found the key, pretending to adjust a buckle—“spy instrument you probably always carry with you.”