by Ken Hood
"You promised I would not suffer!"
"A trivial untruth. I was being kind."
"It will be my body they are disassembling. I should prefer to remain and die with it."
"You have no option." Oreste opened the ivory casket and took out the leather locket. "It is the penalty of your own success, Tobias. Had I managed to catch you myself, then I would have spared you... spared your life, that is, not your will. You would have been useful as a man, too. But what you achieved at Tortosa was so extraordinary that you frightened the Black Friars out of their robes. From Gibraltar to the Pyrenees, the Inquisition was screaming for your carcass. When I saw that there was no way I could keep them away from you, I reported the problem to his Majesty, and he thought up this procedure. It is certainly ingenious."
"If the Inquisition finds out about the substitution, then Nevil will live!" Argument was useless, of course, but he could not submit to such an abomination without protest.
"The Inquisition will not find out. The inquisitors will dismiss Nevil's complaints as more evidence of his demon's cunning. Even if I told Father Vespianaso myself, he would not stop now. They are always so convinced that they are right that they accept their own conclusions as infallible evidence. So Nevil goes into you and you go into the—"
The stone he was holding was a smooth black pebble, nothing like an amethyst. He looked up at Toby, but Toby could only stare. What? Who?
"How did you do that?" the baron screamed.
"Do what, your Excellency?" There could be small pleasures, even in a torture chamber.
"Diaz swore he saw the amethyst and put it in this casket! No power could have touched it in there, not even Montserrat itself. You! The hob?"
"I didn't! I don't control the hob. Montserrat had it warded last night, and you have it warded now, don't you?" Absurdly, Toby was suddenly more frightened than he had been by anything that had happened yet. Oreste was far more dangerous than the Inquisition. Oreste could make him suffer forever.
"I will have the truth, Longdirk!" The baron bared his teeth in fury.
Or in fear? He had obtained the soul of Nevil at last and then lost it again, and Rhym the Fiend was going to be very, very mad about that.
"I will have the truth!" He raised his left hand to his mouth and turned in his dance. "Rigomage per nominem tuum igne et tempestate impero semper veritatem Tobias dicat. Now, Longdirk, tell me how you switched those stones!"
"I didn't."
"Did the hob? Can you control it, talk to it?"
Perhaps if he claimed... Before he could think of a likely lie, the truth spilled from his mouth. "I don't know if the hob did it. I can't control it. Only at Tortosa it seemed to follow my gestures. I talk to it, but I have never seen evidence that it hears me."
A friar stepped out from behind the closest pillar and spun around in a swirl of black robe, saying very rapidly: "Rigomage per nominem tuum igne et tempestate impero Orestes dormet." He took two quick steps to catch the falling baron, then lowered him gently to the floor, where he lay still and snored peacefully.
CHAPTER THREE
It had happened so fast that Toby just hung in his chains and gaped. He had apparently been saved from the baron and was now back in the power of the Inquisition, which was a very questionable improvement.
Or perhaps not, because the newcomer's all-black habit was that of a Benedictine monk, not a Dominican friar.
Certainly not, for then he straightened up and threw back his cowl, revealing not a tonsure but a mop of auburn locks. "Campeador?"
Spirits! "You are a most welcome sight, senor!"
Hopefully he was. Their last meeting had involved Toby's hurling him ignominiously into the mud. Apparently that was not going to be mentioned, for he twirled up the points of his mustache and grinned smugly.
"There is always a sense of satisfaction in lifting a siege." The don stepped over the prostrate baron and peered up at the prisoner's manacles. "You don't have the keys to those rusty things, do you?"
"You could use the demon. My Latin is equally rusty."
"Ah! Of course!" He went through the ritual again, this time commanding, "Tobias liberetur!"
The locks on Toby's wrists and ankles sprang open. He flopped down on the straw to catch his breath. Things were moving very speedily. "Thank you!" He chafed his hands, wincing as they began to throb.
"Thank Rigomagus, not me," the don said cheerily. " 'By fire and storm?' It must be a very minor demon to have such a terse conjuration, don't you think? An odd-job demon? Fortunate, that! If the invocation had been longer and I'd got it wrong, we might have been in serious trouble." He chuckled, being understandably very pleased with himself.
"How did you get here?"
"Just walked in. Oh, from Montserrat, you mean? Well, when I learned what had happened, Francisco and I marched into the basilica and told the tutelary that its decision had been wrong and its actions were unacceptable. It agreed at once and begged us to come and rescue you. When we get back you will be granted sanctuary. It sends its apologies."
Alas! For a few dazzling moments Toby had seen rainbows of hope in the clouds, but obviously the spirit had done nothing to untangle the caballero's wits. His story was all moonshine and dragon turds, because one thing a major tutelary would never do was reverse itself like that, and Montserrat had flatly told Toby it was infallible. He was not even out of the frying pan, let alone the fire, and the addle headed don had jumped right in beside him—a moving gesture, but a suicidal one.
"Apologies? It sells me to the Inquisition and then says it's sorry? How very touching!" Without rising from the straw, Toby reached for his shirt and doublet. Apologies, indeed!
"My attitude entirely, Campeador!" The don turned away to scowl at the paraphernalia on the table. "But it made amends by providing this absurd garment and another one like it for you, which I brought. They are spelled to distract attention—I just walked in here and no one saw me."
Poor deluded fool! No one questioned clerics at the best of times, and besides, Toby had seen him, even if he had mistaken him for a Dominican friar, which was easy enough to do. Getting in and getting out would be unlikely twins, for it was not hard to imagine Captain Diaz's reaction should two Benedictines emerge from the crypt and try to walk past the guard without explaining how they had come to be in there in the first place.
"And of course it offered us horses and some food to eat on the—"
"Us? No! You didn't involve Doña Francisca in this?"
The don spun around, blue eyes glaring madness. "What name do you profane, varlet?" He reached inside his robe, and very obviously he had a sword in there—not his great broadsword but still a lethal weapon.
Toby was on the floor, half dressed, totally vulnerable. "I meant to say..." He was hexed and could not lie. "I should have said 'Senor Francisco,' of course, senor!"
"It sounded as if you named my sainted mother—a lady of paramount nobility and such immaculate reputation that, were you to speak but one idle word of her, I should be forced to cut out your tongue."
"Such was never my intention. I am mortified that my clumsiness distressed you, senor."
"You will receive no other warning." The maniac released his grip on his sword reluctantly.
"Do please continue your inspiring chronicle, which surpasses the ancient tales of chivalry."
Mollified, the don preened and twirled up his mustache. "As it happened, I decided that the journey would fatigue the old man unduly, so I came alone. There is nothing much else to tell. Josep gave me a letter to his steward, so I left Smeòrach at the House of Brusi on the Carrer Montcada and was promised fresh mounts for our return. I put on this absurd garment and walked in here."
He made it sound very easy, but probably no one ever tried to rescue prisoners from the Inquisition—most people would be as frightened of the captives as they were of the friars.
"I admit," Don Ramon said, "that I did not anticipate the baron. He was an unexpected complic
ation, especially when I learned what he was planning."
"I am amazed. Your courage is exceeded only by your modesty, senor!"
"Of course. The first time he invoked the demon, I heard its name, but I did not see the actions. It was fortunate that he invoked it again."
Toby rose. "And how do you propose that we escape from here? There are armed men on the door." Oreste's orders to Captain Diaz had been very specific. "Can we really trust this gramarye of yours to that extent?"
"I no longer expect to escape." Don Ramon frowned down at the sleeping hexer. "By choice, I shall be struck down while battling my way out against overwhelming odds, but that is of little importance. You may take the other robe and depart, because you are only a serf. I am a hidalgo of Castile and must consider my honor. Since this unspeakable hexer has fallen into my power, I cannot refuse the opportunity to slay him. 'Twill be a valorous deed and well worth dying for, but of course I can't do it while he is unconscious. He must know he is going to perish, and at whose hand. As a churl you would not understand."
Toby considered the prostrate hexer and laughed ruefully. "Senor, for years my greatest ambition has been to choke the life out of this monster with my bare hands. Yet, churl though I am, I find I am as helpless as your noble self while he is in this condition."
"Curious! But I foresee trouble when I awaken him and he regains command of his demons. Have you any suggestions, Campeador?"
Toby had several, of which the most important was that the two of them leave Barcelona alive and healthy and soon. How could he talk sense into the maniac while he was conjured to speak nothing except the strictest truth?
"It will not be easy, senor. Baron Oreste has many demons immured in those rings, and some of them are undoubtedly conjured to defend him. I presume that they have not interfered thus far only because he has come to no harm yet, and they may enjoy seeing him shamed like this. Demons obey specific orders only and detest those who control them, but any move to injure Oreste will trigger their compulsions. As you said, Rigomagus is undoubtedly a very weak demon, so others could override it and awaken their master at any time."
The don frowned dangerously. "I have already announced my intentions, Campeador!"
"I am attempting to assist, senor. Pray hear me out." With his mind flapping in frantic circles, Toby went to the baron and squatted down to study his fat hands. "He has a total of ten rings here, and the jewel on his cane may also hold a bottled demon. I was told once that he is hexed to absolute loyalty by a demon immured in a beryl. Are you familiar with jewels?"
"No. What are you proposing?"
"The baron is forbidden to remove the beryl ring, but it may be possible for us to remove it, depending on the exact terms of the conjuration." It was a very slim chance. Would Rhym have overlooked that loophole?
"Bah!" said the don and began to pace. "I do not see how that would solve anything. You would still have to take him out of the demon's range—to Montserrat, say, or even farther. Only then would he be free of it."
Toby rose and went to the table. He examined the black pebble, then replaced it in the locket and hung the locket around his neck again. There was a mystery that might haunt him till his dying day—whenever that was. He tucked the dagger inside his doublet, making a silent vow that the Inquisition would not take him alive the next time.
"This casket, senor? I have met its like before. It is warded against demons. If we put the beryl inside and shut the lid, the baron will be free of his compulsion."
"So! Ingenious!" Don Ramon came striding back, looking pleased. "But we do not know which is the correct ring, not even which is Rigomagus."
"Nor do we know which holds Rigomagus or the demons that guard his life. We shall have to remove all of them and put them all in the box."
The two men eyed each other uneasily. Would guardian demons stand for that?
Then the don twirled up his mustache again. "And he will be only a fat old man with no powers of gramarye! Very well. Let us begin!"
Gently they pulled the rings from the sleeping man's fingers, and Oreste continued to snore peacefully. Nothing catastrophic occurred, but when the last one came free Toby realized that he was almost giddy from holding his breath. He wrenched the jewel from the end of the cane and put that in the ivory casket also. They had done it!
The don said, "Put the box on the table, Campeador, and close it."
CHAPTER FOUR
"We shan't be able to see much when the light goes out."
"Ah! Good tactical thinking! Wait." Don Ramon stalked off to inspect the furnishings of the cellar. He returned bearing a black robe, a rusty metal rod that was probably a branding iron, and a fierce scowl. The robe he tossed down on the table. "That will get you safely out of here, Campeador. And this bar will have to serve. Ready?"
He performed another conjuration, calling on Rigomagus to extinguish its light. Darkness surged into the crypt like a black tide—gramarye! Shapes emerged as Toby's eyes adjusted to the glimmering glow of the lanterns.
"Ready, Tobias?"
"Ready, senor."
Don Ramon reached inside his robe for his sword. "Close the lid."
Toby shut the casket. The snoring stopped.
"Mmf?" Oreste's eyes flicked open. "What happened? Longdirk!" He began to rise and then sank back, blinking in horror at the sight of his prisoner free and clothed. He did not seem to notice the don's blade in front of his nose. "Rigomagi in nomine—"
"No good, baron!" Toby said. "We have trimmed your claws."
Oreste lifted his hands and stared at his empty fingers. "Free? Free!" he screamed. "Free! You have released me!" With an effort astonishing for his bulk, he squirmed to his knees—almost losing an eye on the don's sword in the process—and threw himself down to grovel at Toby's feet. "Free at last! Now kill me! I am not fit to live. Kill me!" He grew louder and more frantic, babbling hysterically.
It was disgusting! Their plan had worked beyond all dreams, and they had turned the greatest hexer in Europe into a cringing, whimpering poltroon.
Don Ramon sheathed his sword and swung a foot at the ample rump so temptingly presented.
"Get up! Stand on your feet like a man!"
"Wait!" Toby could remember how he had reacted when he thought he had beheaded Hamish. "Give him time to adjust. He has been a slave for years."
The don scowled impatiently as the lamentation continued. Toby put on the robe—not that he believed that it had been hexed, but it was a good disguise and might confuse the guards when he tried to leave. Just how that was going to be done remained to be seen.
Eventually the baron's weeping choked into silence. He rose to his knees and peered around. "Longdirk?"
"Here."
"Oh. Yes. You are hard to see in that... How did you get that? What has been happening?" If was not a genuinely broken man, he must be the finest actor in Europe.
"We locked your demons away in the box. Whose man are you now, Oreste? Still Nevil's?"
"No, no! Yours! I don't know how you managed this, but I am eternally grateful. I will do anything for you. Oh, I deserve to die, Longdirk. I have done terrible—"
"You are going to die!" declaimed the don. "I, Don Ramon de Nuñez—"
"Any recompense I can make!" sniffed the baron, ignoring him.
Realizing that he was still wearing his robe, the don angrily stripped it off, becoming somewhat entangled in his sword and branding iron in the process.
Oreste squealed in alarm, making Toby's heart take a wild leap. Was it possible that those robes really were enchanted? No, that was ridiculous! Why should Montserrat reverse its judgment? The baron was confused, that was all.
"Wh-who are you?"
"As I was saying, I, Don Ramon de Nuñez y Pardo, hidalgo of Castile, denounce you as a monster and a disgrace to the title of nobility you profess to bear, and I do hereby challenge you to mortal combat. As we have only one sword, I offer you the choice of weapons. Stand up!" He held out the sword and the rusty
rod.
The baron stared at him very hard, blinked around in search of Toby as if he couldn't see him, and then heaved himself to his feet. He bowed shakily. "As you will, senor. I do not deny your charges, but I accept your challenge gladly."
He took the branding iron.
"Don't be absurd!" yelled the don. "I have studied under de la Naza himself! I am one of the finest swordsmen ever to wield a Toledo blade."
"You let me have the choice. Now guard!" The fat baron swung a clumsy blow.
Don Ramon caught the rod with his left hand and twisted it out of Oreste's grasp. "You deny me satisfaction! So die like the churl you are—go ahead and strangle him, Campeador, as you wanted."
But Toby could not kill in cold blood either, and he had begun to shiver with excitement, starting to believe he might live.
Hope is the mother of disappointment.
"The baron appears to be truly repentant, senor!" Seeing his companion's eyes starting to flash anger again, he went on quickly: "Any man can be hexed to obedience. Under the same circumstances, I chopped off your head. It is true that to slay the Fiend's premier hexer would be a wondrous and valorous deed, celebrated throughout all Europe. How much more daring and effective, though, to turn the weapon against the man—or against the demon, in this case! Oreste knows his master's darkest secrets. Why destroy him when you could use him? If I am right, he would at once become Nevil's most dangerous enemy." He would also be a passport out of the Palau Reial.
The don considered this proposal for a moment and then raised his coppery eyebrows very high. "You shame me, Campeador! Why, indeed, should we waste our time on this trash when we should be plotting the downfall of the monster himself?" He beamed and clapped Toby on the shoulder. "A magnificent vision! You will join me then in a crusade to overthrow the Fiend?"
It would be hard to think of a greater insanity than that program, but this was no time for argument, and fortunately Rigomagus was now caged, so Toby was again capable of deceit. "Senor, nothing will give me greater pleasure than to assist you when you destroy Rhym and rid Europe of its atrocities. Well, Excellency?"