‘You’re hurt!’ said Amos as Sienna winced with pain from a partially healed wound near her hip, a wound she had received during a fight with the Tutor.
‘It’s nothing,’ said Sienna, and Amos frowned in concern as he handed her a small skin of wine. ‘So, where’s Isaac?’ she asked. ‘Don’t tell me he’s still in hiding.’
The frown on Amos’s face grew deeper.
‘Worse,’ said the stable master. ‘He’s in jail.’
‘What!’
‘Turns out someone died in the fire he started. Our young friend could be charged with murder.’
Sienna let out a breath of frustration. A charge of murder was bad, but a charge of murder by the use of magic was considered to be even worse. Isaac might only be sixteen, but he was a gifted magic-user. Like Fate, Isaac was a feral mage. He was also the closest thing to a brother that Sienna had ever known.
11
Like Father, Like Son
Walking onto the gravelled driveway, Fate and the Tutor could see that the Medici mansion was decidedly palatial with white columns flanking a black lacquered door. Two armed guards challenged them at the main gate, but Fate put a hand in his pocket and took out a medallion like a large coin made from black jet and gold with thirteen arcane symbols encircling the design of a three-fingered hand.
He showed it to the guards.
‘What’s that?’ asked the Tutor as the guards waved them through.
‘It’s a medal of membership to the Juoda Pakta.’
The Tutor looked at him in disbelief.
‘You’re a member of the Black Pact!?’
‘Of course not,’ said Fate. ‘But I knew an earl who was.’
The Tutor shook his head at the extent of Fate’s connections, and together they continued down the driveway to the black lacquered door.
‘Decimus Fate to see Lord Medici,’ said Fate when a liveried servant opened the heavy door.
‘Your card?’ said the man.
‘Members of the Black Pact don’t need a calling card,’ said Fate holding up the medallion as he walked past the man into a marble-floored reception hall. ‘And you should not be so insolent as to ask for one.’
The servant began to object, but a stern look from the Tutor made him think better of the idea.
‘What’s going on here?’ asked another man as he descended a wide staircase leading down into the hall. It was Lord Medici’s valet, a severe-looking man dressed in a black doublet with flared breeches and white knee-length socks.
‘Decimus Fate. At your service,’ said Fate.
‘The Decimus Fate?’ said the valet as he cast a wary eye over the intimidating figure of the Tutor.
A faint smile lifted the corner of Fate’s mouth, but he said nothing. The flash of gold in his dark brown eyes was answer enough.
‘Show them into the parlour,’ said the valet, and the Tutor thought the man’s pale skin had grown a shade paler as he turned to walk back up the stairs.
Clearly confused, the servant gave the valet a bow before leading Fate and the Tutor down a short gallery and into a large room with two other doors leading off to different parts of the house.
‘Lord Medici will be with you shortly,’ said the servant as he left the room with a bow.
‘Impressive,’ said Fate as the two men looked around the lavishly furnished room.
‘A bit gaudy for my taste,’ replied the Tutor, and Fate smiled as the door opened and the valet stepped into the room.
‘Lord Salvestro Medici,’ he announced.
A man of about fifty entered the room and, even though he was well-groomed and immaculately dressed, the Tutor frowned. The faint shadow of the Daemonaria lay upon this man’s soul.
Lord Medici was a stern, grey-haired man dressed in rich blue doublet and hose. His gaze was hard and unyielding and he carried himself with the air of a man who knew he was untouchable.
The master of the house was accompanied by two armed footmen who eyed the visitors with open hostility, but Fate also noticed two areas of shimmering air that followed Lord Medici, like barely visible ghosts. Moving to a drinks table in the centre of the room, he cast a cursory glance over the imposing figure of the Tutor before his gaze settled on Fate.
‘Decimus Fate,’ he said as he poured himself a glass of amber spirit from a crystal cut decanter. He raised the glass and took a sip as if to reinforce the point that he had not offered his guests a drink. ‘The man who killed the demon of the vale…’
Lord Medici raised his eyebrows as if to say really?
Fate said nothing although the Tutor noticed a faint suggestion of disquiet behind the sorcerer’s hawkish frown. Like Fate, the demon hunter had also noticed the two areas of shimmering air and he wondered what kind of magical protection the head of this powerful family had employed. He watched now as Lord Medici took a few steps closer to Fate as if to prove that he was not afraid.
‘Didn’t you also kill the Earl of Haltsburg?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Fate.
‘No?’ echoed Medici, taking another sip of his drink. ‘That’s not what I heard.’
‘I did not kill the earl,’ said Fate. ‘I merely let him die.’
‘Oh?’
‘The earl had been poisoned by one of his enemies,’ said Fate. ‘He hired me to find a cure, but he tried to cheat me out of the payment so I withheld the cure and allowed him to die.’
‘Ha!’ said Medici with wicked delight. ‘Quite right,’ he added. ‘Nothing worse than a man who doesn’t pay his debts.’ He finished his drink and set down the empty glass with a ‘clack’. ‘Now,’ he continued. ‘What is it that I can do for you?’
‘We’re here about your niece,’ said Fate. ‘We’d like to find the man who killed her.’
‘The actress’s son,’ said Medici, his gaze suddenly hardening. ‘I believe my son is hunting the man down as we speak.’
‘Would it be possible to speak with your son?’ asked Fate. ‘And to see where the murder took place, perhaps?’
Medici frowned. He did not like the idea of strangers poking around his home, but he was intrigued by Fate and arrogant enough to believe that he could handle a sorcerer that other people feared.
‘I don’t see why not,’ he said with a dismissive wave of the hand as he turned to his valet. ‘Have Alonso meet us in the drawing-room of his apartment.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ said the valet dipping his head as he turned to leave the room.
‘Shall we?’ said Medici gesturing towards one of the other doors leading from the room.
Together they moved through the house until they reached the apartments of Lord Medici’s son.
‘I believe this is where the unfortunate event took place,’ said Medici as Fate and the Tutor looked around the room. ‘From what I hear, my poor niece was attacked in here and crawled through that door to the adjacent room, where she died.’
Fate was just moving towards the door when a man in his mid-twenties strode into the room.
‘I don’t care if he wasn’t in the storm drain!’ he snapped at someone behind him. ‘Just find the accursed fool.’
The man had fine cheekbones, dark eyes and a sour sneering mouth. His angry expression vanished, and he came to an abrupt halt, as he saw Fate and the Tutor standing in his home. It was the wealthy young man who had emerged from the coach outside Inganno’s house.
‘Do you know each other?’ asked Medici as his son moved to stand in front of an unusual drinks cabinet that exuded faint clouds of vapour that looked like steam.
‘I think we passed each other in the street,’ said Fate. ‘But we haven’t been formally introduced.’
‘Then, allow me,’ said Medici clearly intrigued by the tension he sensed in the air. ‘This is my son, Alonso Medici… Alonso, this is Decimus Fate and…’
‘They call me the Tutor,’ said the Tutor.
Lord Medici looked surprised. ‘And what is it you teach?’ he asked, but the Tutor merely rolled his eyes and
gave a soft snort of derision. ‘Well,’ continued Lord Medici, ‘consider yourselves introduced. Now, what is it you would like to know?’
Lord Medici expected them to ask some questions of his son, but Fate and the Tutor were not looking at Alonso. They were looking at the man who followed after him; a tall and powerful man dressed in the crimson robes of a desert nomad. His skin looked to be almost as dark as the Tutor’s, but it was difficult to tell because what little they could see was covered with arcane symbols that had been burned into the man’s flesh. He wore a curved sword at his waist and a silver headscarf that came down over his face to cover his eyes and nose. But by far the man’s most disturbing feature was his lips which had been stitched together with thick silver thread.
Fate and the Tutor shot each other a glance. So, this was the shadowy presence they had sensed in the Medici coach when they apprehended Inganno.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Medici as he noticed the direction of their gaze. ‘My son’s bodyguard. Quite the exotic brute, is he not?’ Lord Medici moved closer to the bodyguard as if he were inspecting an expensive racehorse. ‘He comes from the fractured deserts of Ash’nahari; a secret order of warrior mystics known as the Don’Sha’Vir.’
‘The blind that see,’ said Fate and Lord Medici inclined his head.
‘It was a coming of age gift,’ he continued. ‘Most young noblemen are happy with a castle or some rich country estate. My son asks for a mystic bodyguard.’
‘And I’ll wager he cost you more than a castle,’ said Fate.
‘Indeed he did,’ said Medici. ‘But even the emperor employs Don’Sha’Vir as palace guards, and if it’s good enough for the Emperor…’
He left the sentence unfinished.
Looking again at the bodyguard, Fate noticed how his blindfolded face was turned towards the Tutor as if he had identified the demon hunter as the most dangerous threat in the room. Fate smiled. There was a time when he would have held the full attention of a Don’Sha’Vir and he felt a vague sense of pique that such days were no more.
‘So…’ he said as the Tutor stared at the bodyguard with his deep blue eyes. ‘This is where your niece was killed?’
‘Well, just through there,’ said Medici, indicating the adjacent room. ‘But this is where we found the footman’s jacket. It was covered in blood from the murder he had just committed.’
‘And how was your niece killed?’
‘Stabbed and strangled,’ said Medici. ‘And her clothes were dishevelled as if the fiend were in the act of ravaging her.’
‘Any witnesses?’
‘No.’
‘And who found the body?’
‘I’m afraid it was my son who discovered the murdered body of his cousin,’ said Medici. ‘He tried to revive her, but it was too late. The murderer had fled into the garden and disappeared.’
‘And the girl’s body?’ asked Fate, but Alonso Medici forestalled any answer.
‘This is grotesque,’ he said, still standing in front of the mist-shrouded drinks cabinet. ‘My cousin is dead and we stand around discussing the matter with strangers while the murderer continues to escape justice.’
‘We’re only trying to help,’ said Fate.
‘No you’re not,’ said Alonso. ‘You’re interfering with the search for a killer, and that simply will not do.’
‘So, you’ve informed the authorities,’ said Fate.
‘Of course,’ said Medici.’
‘And the city guard is helping you with the search?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Alonso. ‘This is a family matter and we shall handle it as such.’
The tension in the room suddenly increased and the Don’Sha’Vir took a menacing step forward, the entire set of his body changing as if he were readying himself for violence.
‘Quite right,’ said Fate with a sudden lightness of tone. ‘A family like the Medicis has more than enough resources to handle a matter like this.’
‘Indeed we do,’ said Medici with absolute confidence.
‘Then we shall leave you to it,’ said Fate. Exchanging a look with the Tutor, the two men walked through to the main door of the house. ‘And my condolences on the death of your niece,’ added Fate as they walked out of the mansion and descended the steps onto the fine gravel driveway.
‘It has been… interesting to meet you,’ said Medici with the smile of a man who felt total confidence in his wealth and power.
‘And you,’ said Fate. He gave a courteous bow and then he and the Tutor turned and walked away.
‘Well, at least we know who killed the girl,’ said the Tutor as they left the grounds of the Medici mansion.
‘Indeed we do,’ said Fate. ‘But proving it is another matter entirely.’
‘Madam de Lorni’s son could well be a witness.’
‘If he lives long enough to testify.’
‘It’s only a matter of time before Alonso finds him,’ said the Tutor.
‘I know,’ said Fate. ‘Especially if he has a Don’Sha’Vir at his beck and call.’
‘An abomination,’ said the Tutor and Fate was surprised by the strength of feeling in his voice. ‘You know they draw their power from the Daemonaria?’
‘Yes,’ said Fate. ‘And I’ve heard that they can stop a man’s heart by sheer force of will, so we had better proceed with caution.’
The Tutor’s blue eyes were hard as he gave a nod of agreement. ‘And what about Alonso turning up at Inganno’s house? Do you think that was just coincidence?’
‘Possibly,’ said Fate. ‘But I’m always suspicious of coincidence. And the potion-maker’s judgement is clearly flawed so I dread to think what concoctions he’s been preparing for Alonso.’ Fate paused as something else occurred to him. ‘Did you notice the drinks cabinet?’
‘It looked like it was steaming,’ said the Tutor.
‘It’s known as sublimation,’ said Fate, ‘when vapour forms over ice. Magically chilled cabinets like that are a luxury that only rich people can afford, but they can also be used to store potions that need to be kept cold.’
‘You think he was trying to hide something?’ asked the Tutor and Fate pursed his lips.
‘Perhaps,’ said Fate. ‘People with a guilty conscience often draw attention to the things they are trying to hide.’
‘Maybe next time we should take a closer look.’
‘I’m afraid there won’t be a next time,’ said Fate. ‘Not unless we can find some proof of an ‘alternative’ theory.’
‘Then we had better find Madam de Lorni’s son.’
‘Yes, we had,’ said Fate as they continued on their way.
*
Standing in the doorway of their enormous mansion, Lord Medici and his son watched as Fate and the Tutor disappeared from view. The Lord’s expression was clouded with thought, while Alonso appeared anxious and agitated.
‘So, you’ve heard of this Fate?’ he asked, without looking directly at his father.
‘A little,’ said Medici. ‘Just rumours and stories really.’
‘And what do the stories say?’
‘They say that he’s a notorious sorcerer, ruthless and driven.’
‘Not to mention impertinent,’ said Alonso.
‘Indeed.’
‘Does he have connections to any of the major families?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Then perhaps we should teach him not to meddle in the affairs of his betters.’
Lord Medici looked mildly surprised as he turned to look at his son.
‘Perhaps we should,’ he said with an approving smile. ‘But be careful,’ he added. ‘The little I have heard suggests that he is not a man to be taken lightly so proceed with caution. For all we know, he might have dropped the matter as soon as he passed through the gate. No point creating trouble where no trouble exists.’
‘I’ll watch him, of course,’ said Alonso. ‘But would you have any objections to me dealing with the matter if he did start to meddle?’
‘No,’ said Medici. ‘Not so long as it doesn’t harm the family.’
‘Of course,’ said Alonso.
‘And try to be discrete… Your Don’Sha’Vir is effective but he is also very conspicuous.’
‘What would you suggest?’
‘Oh, use your imagination,’ said Medici with some irritation. ‘Hire a third party, or blackmail one of his associates. You need to learn subtlety if you’re to start playing the game.’
Alonso heard the note of scorn in his father’s voice. He knew his father considered him rash and immature. He bristled slightly at the unspoken criticism, but then a thought occurred to him and he smiled. Inganno’s potions could make respectable girls do things that even a gutter whore would decline. Such potions were expensive, but Alonso wondered just how powerful such a potion could be if there was no limit to the price.
It was time to pay another visit to his pet potion-maker.
‘Now,’ said Medici turning away from the door. ‘I have business to attend to.’
As he disappeared into the house, Alonso turned to his Don’Sha’Vir bodyguard.
‘This sorcerer and his blue-eyed sword could be a problem,’ he told the mystical warrior. ‘Take four men and follow them. If they start poking their noses into the boy’s disappearance, I want to know about it.’
The Don’Sha’Vir bowed his head and the mystical brands on his dark brown skin glowed with the orange light of a fire.
12
The Divine Spirit
Sienna Blade felt a disturbing sense of oppression as she and Amos entered the prison where Isaac was being held. Built into the foundations of the city’s keep, this particular jail had been taken over by a religious order known as Lo Spirito Divino, The Divine Spirit. What was once an obscure order had now become a force to be reckoned with and the ordinary people of Dymhaven had come to fear the priests of the Divine Spirit.
However, Sienna Blade was not an ordinary person, and she was not about to be told what to do by the cassock-wearing boy who blocked her way.
Decimus Fate and the Butcher of Guile: (Decimus Fate - Book 2) Page 5