The sound of commotion outside made him break off. Sweating and panting with rage, his eyes still wild, Messer Tibo swung around and stared at the door as though he did not even recognize it. He blinked a moment, then visibly pulled himself together. Picking up a fur throw, he spread it over Noel to conceal him and shoved Leon into the shadows just as the door was opened by lackeys. The contessa swept inside.
In the candlelight her gown of sumptuous cloth of gold, embroidered with silk threads, her hair swept up in a riot of curls, her rubies set in gold filigree encircling her throat and dangling from her ears, were all dazzling. She entered with a furious rustling of her skirts and dismissed her entourage with a flick of her fan. Bracelets clinked on her arm. Her gaze, narrowed and furious, pinned Messer Tibo.
“This evening has been a disaster,” she announced. “The bridal couple, simpering and playing hand games beneath the table. The Doge—that doddering old fool—smiling benignly at me for hours. It was unendurable. Vicente Contarini ate nothing, nothing, except a few morsels from the bride’s plate. He was warned. A man masked and cloaked came to the house and warned him. Who of your servants has betrayed our plot? I demand an answer immediately.”
Before Messer Tibo could speak, she gathered up the train of her gown in one hand and turned away to march across the room.
Messer Tibo followed her. “May I remind the contessa that my servants are mutes and cannot speak? They have been engaged all evening on your behalf. This—”
“I am most seriously displeased. This was to be a bold move, not folly! I wish to further my house, not destroy it. What is to stop the secret police from dragging me before the Council of Ten to explain this plot which has been uncovered? What is to stop the seizure of my goods, my property, my trade agreements with Germany and China? Contarini can crush me with a signed denouncement.”
“A rumor only, madama,” Messer Tibo said soothingly. “The poisoning attempt cannot be proved. No one has been injured at your estimable table. Without proof, there can be no inquisition.”
“You delude yourself. There can, and there will be! I will be judged guilty unless I can prove my innocence. This is intolerable! I have interviewed my servants. They are completely loyal to me. Naturally I would never employ anyone less than satisfactory. My judgment of character is acute. And my servants have told me the messenger who warned Contarini was no other than your creature.”
As she spoke, she turned around and pointed at Leon. Her eyes glared furiously at him, and he quailed. She said to Tibo, “Twice you have failed me. You persuaded me against my own excellent judgment to send this fool to the Ducal Palace. He bungled the attack on Lady Francesca and brought suspicion on all of us. Now he has actively foiled the plot which was so carefully laid, my very own idea undermined by your orders!”
“No, Contessa. It was not—”
“Worse, it has been made known that this sorcerer—a condemned creature wanted by the state—has been harbored here.”
“Surely not—”
“I tell you it is known!” she cried. “I will be accused of treachery and beheaded, my property seized, my family ruined, my name besmirched by scandal and lies. This is the outcome you have brought me. This is the advancement you have promised.”
“Surely all cannot be as lost as you believe,” Messer Tibo said. “I will cast a horoscope for the morrow and—”
“I do not need the stars to tell me how Contarini reasons,” she broke in. “He can add everything together and reach his conclusions.”
“Perhaps there is yet a chance—”
“Wait! You have not heard the worst.”
Messer Tibo blinked and folded his hands in his sleeves. Leon edged deeper into the shadowy corner of the room, hoping she had forgotten him.
She walked back and forth, her skirts dragging on the dirty floor, slapping her closed fan into her palm in time with her words. “My nephew Claudio and that fool Aldo have exchanged insults. There will be a duel at dawn. It is insupportable! I have one male heir, one with sufficient intelligence to govern the family business, the banking, the fleet, the negotiations of trade and commerce. I have raised him to be handsome, healthy, and of good character. It has taken considerable trouble and expense on my account to rescue him from the traps of courtesans, evil companions, and debts which conspired to ruin his youth. I have had him watched, trained, and educated to be a man worthy of his name and blood. All this I have done. Now it is all to be risked on the turn of a sword. Aldo is reputed to be the best swordsman in Venice.” She smacked her fan even harder against her palm. “Bah! Claudio is also wonderfully skilled, but his true talents lie in other directions. Had he applied himself to swordsmanship, he could be unbeatable, but—”
“No,” Messer Tibo said, daring to break in. “He cannot be allowed to duel. The outcome would be certainly against him.”
“I will not risk his life to an impetuous hothead,” the contessa said. “You must salvage this situation, preserve Claudio, and keep his honor intact.”
“I, madama?”
“Who else?” she snapped. “You are the cause of this unfortunate turn of events. I blame you for all of it, Messer Tibo. Yes, all.”
Messer Tibo frowned and edged toward the door. “I must cast the horoscopes immediately. Who can say what the outcome will be without consulting the stars?”
“Do whatever you wish,” she said coldly. “But at dawn I expect you to prevent my nephew from fighting, without scandal or loss of honor.”
“Madama, how—”
“There will be no duel,” she said, raising her hand. “And there will be no investigation into my allegiance to the republic. You will find a solution, Messer Tibo, or I swear to you by the blood of my ancestors that you will die before I go to the Saletta dei Tre Inquisitori to be questioned. Is that clear?”
Messer Tibo looked pale but he bowed low. “It is clear—”
“Good. Do not fail me a third time. Consider this my only warning.”
She swept out with a slam of the door.
Messer Tibo stood with his head bowed. The room filled with silence.
Cautiously Leon crept out of the shadows. “If I can make a suggestion about—”
“Gah!” Messer Tibo turned on him and struck him harshly across the mouth. “Be quiet while I think!”
Leon straightened slowly, his face numb from the blow. His tongue probed the trickle of blood inside his lip. He was not certain he had ever tasted blood before. He liked it. But he did not like Messer Tibo. He could not remember why he had once admired the man. And right now, if he were not afraid of what Messer Tibo could do to him, he would be plotting revenge. Anger began to coil inside him, but he could not indulge in it now.
“To stop the duel,” Messer Tibo muttered, walking away with his hands clasped behind him. “Leon, go and feed the rats their milk for the night. I must think.”
Leon narrowed his eyes and walked instead to the table. He ripped the fur throw off Noel, checking anxiously to see if Noel still lived. His twin remained in the coma, his skin strangely cold to the touch. Leon peered at him worriedly.
“To stop the duel,” Messer Tibo said again. “How? With honor? She is mad. These young fools—”
“Noel is an excellent swordsman,” Leon said slyly. He watched Messer Tibo assimilate that bit of information.
To his relief Messer Tibo did not probe his mind but simply stared at him. “You are sure?”
Leon nodded.
“And you?”
Leon shook his head. That at least was truthful. He had no idea of whether Noel knew one end of a rapier from another. Tensely he waited for Messer Tibo to take the bait.
“Why did you not tell me this earlier?”
Leon shrugged. “I didn’t know it was important. Noel’s a good fighter. You’ve seen his temper. He’s—”
“Enough.” Messer Tibo held up his hand and circled the table where Noel lay like a dead man. “Why should a man of the future duel? Is this stupid p
ractice of killing oneself for the sake of pride and honor still a part of life?”
“To travel, one learns the customs of one’s destination,” Leon said.
Unexpected weakness caught him. The room spun around him for a moment and he felt as though he’d been dropped through an air pocket. By the time he’d recaptured his breath and managed to refocus, he found himself sitting on the floor, propped against the table leg.
Messer Tibo crouched next to him and offered him a cup of wine. Leon frowned in disgust. His sense of taste was gone. He wanted nothing.
“Drink,” Messer Tibo commanded.
Leon reluctantly took the cup and sipped the liquid. It was wet in his mouth. Inside he raged at Noel for having taken everything from him again.
“Is he dead?” Messer Tibo asked.
Leon glanced up into those black eyes and saw the worry there. Inside he exulted. The master was no longer in charge. It made things almost worthwhile.
Another wave of weakness sapped him. He dropped the cup, and wine splashed across his leg like blood. For an instant he could smell it. He heard the screaming cry of something, then he was being shaken roughly and the sounds and smells faded away. There was only Messer Tibo’s face hanging over him.
“Leon!” he said, his voice like thunder over the ringing in Leon’s ears.
“There is not much time,” Leon whispered.
Messer Tibo dragged him upright and propped him against the table. He took Leon’s hand and pressed it on top of Noel’s cold one. Reflexively Leon tried to pull away, but Messer Tibo would not let him.
“No, this is your task,” he said. “You must save him.”
This time Leon succeeded in jerking his hand away from Noel’s. “I can’t,” he said. “You’re the one who has the power.”
“I cannot reach where he has gone,” Messer Tibo said. “You see what he sees. You hear what he hears. You feel what he feels. It is up to you to draw him forth.”
“No!” Leon cried.
Messer Tibo’s black eyes held his. “There is no other way.”
“But I can’t.”
“Then he is doomed. As are you.”
Leon frowned, hunting for a way out. “But you need him.”
“You need him more. Tell me this.” Messer Tibo leaned closer. “Can you control him? If you bring him forth, will you have the chance to seize control of his mind?”
Leon’s thoughts reeled. He saw the opening Messer Tibo was giving him. But he didn’t want the risk. This was dangerous. Noel could so easily consume him, drain him to nothing. But as Leon met Messer Tibo’s compelling gaze, his protests died in his throat.
The sheer concept of taking responsibility terrified him. He stood there, unable to act, and again Messer Tibo placed his hands on top of Noel’s. A small shudder ran through Leon. Once before he had achieved a momentary mental link with Noel. He had vowed never to do so again, but now…
Already he could feel a tug as though energy flowed through his hands into Noel. It was Noel, drawing on him. He started to pull back, to resist, then he forced himself to surrender his meager strength to his twin. And as he stood there, he cursed Noel in his mind, loathed him, resented him. Yet he needed Noel, depended on Noel, was supported by Noel.
Symbiosis, whether either of them wanted it.
Darkness seemed to travel up Leon’s arms. Coldness seeped into his bones, and he shivered. He could feel a cloud reaching across his mind, and he was being drawn into it.
“LOC, activate,” he said hoarsely.
Green light shone from beneath the hem of Messer Tibo’s sleeve.
“Why?” the astrologer demanded. “You have no need of—”
“Keep it running,” Leon said, his voice ragged as he concentrated on two things at once. “If I falter, strap it on my wrist.”
“But I—”
“It will strengthen me.” Leon turned his head to glare at Messer Tibo. “Do you want him back, or not?”
Tibo said nothing. Satisfied, Leon focused his full attention on Noel, closing his eyes, and reluctantly sent his mind to find his brother’s.
At first his mind’s eye could see nothing but white, all encompassing white. It was dazzling, almost blinding. It made concentration difficult.
“Noel!” he called mentally, searching for a way to catch on, to enter. “Noel, come to me. Noel!”
The whiteness became less of a glare and gradually Leon saw a door. He opened it mentally and hesitated. For an instant he lost his concentration and was conscious again of his body. He could feel his accelerated heartbeat, could hear his ragged breathing. Noel’s body was like ice beneath him. Leon rested his chin on Noel’s chest and regathered himself. He pushed himself through the doorway.
And he was inside, linked suddenly with Noel with a completion that was disconcerting. Leon almost panicked, certain he had lost himself, his own identity. Then he steadied and realized he was intact. But he was walking through Noel’s mind the way he’d always longed to. Nothing was closed to him anymore. He could peer into any thought, learn any secret, steal all knowledge.
Noel’s conscious mind was nearly blank. It seemed unaware of Leon’s presence. Nothing tried to push him out. In his imagination Leon wandered through corridors, going in and out of doorways to information, gazing through windows of memories. Noel knew so much. Leon had never realized the full extent of his brother’s education. Noel was casual, careless, impulsive, and impatient with facts. Leon discovered it was all a facade designed to cover a brilliant, incisive mind. Here and there lay pools of intuition bridging the walkways between information and reasoning. Leon skirted them carefully. He knew his own mind worked on a kind of simple cunning that was a reflection of the combination of deductive and intuitive reasoning within Noel.
A sense of wonder gradually filled Leon. He saw what it was like to be whole, or nearly whole. He saw the sources of himself and what he mirrored. He saw secrets and emotions that Noel had never shown, and he understood at last why Noel reacted as he did. Leon began to like Noel despite himself. He found himself almost wishing to be a part of Noel again.
Almost.
He pushed on, and at the end of the longest corridor he found a door heavily barred, chained, and locked. Thorny vines grew across it, and Leon knew at last he had come to the entrance to Noel’s subconscious mind. With his mind he burned away the vines and broke the locks. He expected more resistance, but the vines withered and the chains and locks shattered like rusted metal.
Leon pushed open the door slowly. A maelstrom raged on the other side. It gusted around him and sucked him forward. He stood there while the wind tore at his clothing and lashed his hair into his eyes. He saw a desolate, charred landscape in the gloom. There was almost no color. Everything was tinted in faded hues of brown and gray. The images looked oddly flat, almost one-dimensional in places. Leon realized it would have been in full color were it his own subconscious.
He walked forward. “Noel? Answer me! Noel?”
All he heard was the shriek of the wind as it tore around him. It blew dust through the air and swirled into whirlwinds that zigzagged across the landscape. Now and then Leon thought he saw a shape of a person, but the glimpses were always too brief for him to really be sure. They were translucent, ghostlike.
Noel’s nightmares, he thought.
“Noel!” he called again, cupping his hands to his mouth in an effort to project his voice over the howling wind.
No answer came back.
Discouraged, Leon chose a direction at random and trudged along. The farther he walked the more the landscape changed. From flat it grew hilly and riddled with gullies. There was no grass, nothing living. All he saw was an endless expanse of reddish-brown dirt. After a while he came across a skeleton long since bleached and scattered, the bones half buried in sand. He walked on and came across more and more skeletons. All were picked clean. He encountered none of the horrible visions that Noel had seen. Relieved, Leon moved faster. This wasn’t so hard
.
Then he happened to glance down. His blue hose and shoes were gone. Below the knee his flesh had been stripped away. He could see his own bones right down to his metatarsals. Horrified, Leon stopped and blinked hard in an effort to drive away the vision. It remained.
He hurried on faster, but walking grew more difficult. He blamed it on the sand dunes, which shifted beneath his feet. Then a clanking sound caught his attention, and he looked down again. Shackles had appeared on his feet, chaining them together, and he was dragging a heavy iron ball.
Leon frowned and drew his dagger. He tried to hack through the chain, but the blade bounced off harmlessly.
Sighing, he struggled on.
At the top of a ridge, he paused to rest. He gazed out in all directions, but saw only sand and skeletons. Ahead the ground flattened out. A cluster of dead trees stood near a ravine. Ravens roosted on the naked branches, and others wheeled expectantly in the sky.
Leon’s heart sank. He knelt on the ground, feeling suddenly too weary to keep going. The ravens were a bad omen.
Finally he pushed himself onward. He seemed to walk for miles, dragging the ball and chain. The trees grew no closer, yet he could see them clearly. He encountered no more skeletons, but whenever he looked up at the bleak, sunless sky he saw more and more ravens circling over him. They made him uneasy.
When he reached the trees at last, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. The stillness grew eerie. Worried by it, by the emptiness around him, Leon kept glancing uneasily from side to side. His body trembled with fatigue. He had lost all concept of linear time. He didn’t know how long he could maintain this link with Noel and preserve himself. The flesh on his legs had vanished all the way up to mid-thigh now. Muscles, ligaments, veins, were all gone. Only the bones remained, very white and shiny. He started to touch his femur, then was afraid to.
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