The desert figure’s eyes were covered by a headscarf, Motina remembered and his lips…
You will forget that this encounter ever took place.
His grey lips were…
You will forget that this encounter ever took place.
‘Lips,’ said Motina as her thoughts returned to murder. ‘I must make sure they taste nothing on their lips.’
Climbing the shallow steps, Motina paused at the front door of Blackfell House. Her mind was now clear, but she had the strangest feeling that she was being followed. Turning around, she scanned the driveway before raising her gaze to the streets beyond the fence. And there, partially concealed behind the corner of the adjacent property, were two armed men that looked like mercenaries.
Even as she looked at them, the men hid behind the corner and Motina shifted her gaze in the opposite direction where another man was watching Blackfell House. Like the others, he was also armed, but unlike the others, this individual was smiling and Motina caught the faint glint of a gold tooth. Then the man ducked back from view and the housekeeper shook her head and gave a little snort at her silliness.
‘You’re imagining things,’ she told herself as she opened the front door.
Moving into the hallway she stopped as a wave of dizziness washed over her. A twinge of discomfort clutched her stomach and she wondered if she had eaten something that disagreed with her. She had no memory of swallowing a potion that was concentrated enough to kill a fully grown man. But Motina was much smaller than your average man, and the potion’s dangerous strength was already showing its effects.
As the moment of discomfort passed, Motina found herself looking at the slender box lying on the sideboard, then she reached into her sleeve and frowned.
Where on earth was her wand?
She remembered taking it out of the box, and she thought she had taken it to Madam de Lorni’s. However, the concern about her wand began to interfere with the list of jobs she had to do, and slowly it too faded from her mind.
With another shake of her head, she hung up her cloak and made her way through to the kitchen and opened the pantry, one wall of which was lined with shelves containing a huge range of herbs, spices and ingredients for use in spells. Motina’s collection would have put many an apothecary to shame and she tapped a thin finger against her lips as she considered her options.
‘Now,’ she thought. ‘What can I use to kill two strong and healthy men?’
30
Swallow or Die
Fate and the Tutor were in a sombre mood as they headed back to Blackfell House. Before returning home they had taken a detour to the storm drain where Weasel and Cradlop were waiting for them. The troglodyte had swum through the sump, Weasel had wriggled his way through the hole in the wall of the cave, while Luca and Samuel remained in the tunnel. They listened as Fate told them what Medici had done.
‘And there’s no chance he could call off the contract?’ asked Luca.
‘It wouldn’t matter if he did,’ said Fate. ‘He’s already lodged it with the Concilio Condemnabitur.’
‘The Council of the Damned,’ said Samuel and Fate gave a dour nod.
‘It’s not fair,’ said Weasel as Luca hung his head in despair. ‘Rich people always get to ruin other people’s lives, and they never pay the price.’
‘Sometimes they do,’ said Fate meeting the Tutor’s gaze as they remembered a once wealthy man who had recently been turned into gold.
‘What now?’ asked Weasel.
‘Now I must complete my work on replicating Luca,’ said Samuel.
‘So that’s it?’ said Weasel. ‘We dump a stranger’s body in the river and Luca spends the rest of his life at sea.’
‘It’s better than death,’ said Fate.
‘And we still have another person to find,’ said the Tutor for they had not forgotten Jane’s missing love, Fidanza.
‘Well I’m staying here till it’s done,’ said Weasel. ‘Luca could do with the company and Samuel’s teaching me to play chess.’
With nothing else to be done they had taken their leave and headed for home. It was after midday and both men were hungry so it was with a pleasant sense of anticipation that they caught the smells of cooking coming from the kitchen of Blackfell House.
‘Well?’ said Motina wiping her hands on a towel as they entered the kitchen. ‘How did you get on?’
‘Not well, I’m afraid,’ said Fate as he and the Tutor sat down at the table. Their coats were wet and their boots were muddy, and Fate was surprised that Motina made no comment.
‘Was Lord Medici not in?’ she asked.
‘Oh, he was in,’ said Fate.
‘So you showed him the evidence.’
‘Of course.’
‘And?’
‘And he doesn’t care,’ said the Tutor.
‘Doesn’t care that his son’s a murderer,’ exclaimed Motina as she set out two bowls and brought over a pot of stew from the stove.
‘He already knew,’ said the Tutor.
‘And he doesn’t care so long as it doesn’t hurt the family,’ added Fate.
‘But his own niece was killed!’ said Motina.
The housekeeper was clearly appalled, and perhaps that was why her hand shook as she ladled out the stew. Leaning over the table she removed a muslin cloth from a freshly baked loaf of bread, but as she straightened up she winced from a sudden pain in her stomach.
Fate’s eyes narrowed in concern as he watched Motina put a hand to her stomach.
‘The death of his niece doesn’t concern him,’ he said. ‘Not now they have a scapegoat that they can blame for the murder.’
‘Could you not tell the girl’s father?’ asked Motina.
‘It wouldn’t help,’ said Fate. ‘Medici has already paid in full to have Luca killed.’
‘The swine,’ said Motina, and Fate frowned in confusion as she leaned over the table and pushed the bowl of stew away from him.
Sitting across the table, the Tutor also noticed the bizarre action and they exchanged a puzzled look as Fate retrieved the bowl and began to eat.
‘So, how did things go with Madam de Lorni?’ Fate took a mouthful of stew and offered the bread to the Tutor before tearing off a piece for himself.
‘What?’ said Motina, her hands clenching and unclenching as she watched the two men eat their stew.
‘Madam de Lorni,’ said Fate. ‘How was she when you visited?’
‘Not well,’ said Motina. ‘And she’s going to be a whole lot worse when she thinks her son is dead.’ Her hand suddenly flicked out as she knocked the spoon from Fate’s hand.
Fate’s eyebrows shot up in surprise while Motina’s face twitched with anxiety.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought I saw a spider on your hand.’
Once again Fate frowned as he turned his hand over, looking for any sign of an arachnid. Looking more closely at his housekeeper he retrieved his spoon and continued with his meal.
‘Are you all right, Motina?’ he asked, trying to sound casual as he dunked a piece of bread into the heavily seasoned stew.
‘I’m fine,’ said the housekeeper, but once again she winced as with a spasm of pain. ‘I’m just upset by the whole affair, and angry that people like the Medicis can get away with whatever they want.’
‘That’s just what Weasel said,’ said the Tutor.
‘You saw Weasel?’ said the housekeeper, her tone lightening despite her obvious discomfort.
‘He’s fine,’ said Fate. He exchanged another look with the Tutor and it was clear that even the demon hunter had noticed that Motina was not herself.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Fate asked her again. ‘Did something happen while we were away? Has Master Veleno been bothering you again?’
‘No,’ said Motina. ‘It’s nothing like that.’ Picking up a tea towel, she opened the warming drawer beside the oven and took out a baking tray of small pies. ‘I’m just worn down by all this worry.’
‘Motina,’ said Fate as he saw that the housekeeper was about to tip the pies into the bucket.
‘Hm?’ said Motina then, ‘Oh, my!’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever was I thinking?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Fate, ‘but they smell like pork.’
‘Indeed they are,’ said Motina. ‘And they’re always better when they’re still warm.’ She transferred the pies to the plate on the table. ‘They might taste a little different,’ she added. ‘I was trying out some new herbs.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be delicious,’ said Fate. Taking a pie he began to study his housekeeper more closely. She seemed unusually anxious and there were beads of sweat on her forehead as if from a fever. Her wrinkled face creased with pain and Fate put down his pie.
‘You’re not well,’ he said, but Motina raised a hand to forestall any concern.
‘Just a stomach cramp,’ she said, leaning on the table as another spasm gripped her belly. ‘I’ll go for a lie down just as soon as you’re finished. Go on,’ she said, gesturing for them to continue eating. ‘You know how I pride myself on my pork pies.’
‘They’re delicious,’ said the Tutor licking crumbs from his fingers as he swallowed the last of his pie.
Fate took a bite, and he was so distracted by his concern for Motina that he did not notice the faint tingle of alarm coming from a tattoo on his right forearm. He swallowed and then raised an eyebrow as Motina sat down on a chair.
‘Thank goodness!’ she said. ‘I thought you were never going to eat the second component, although I did add a third component to the bread, just to be sure.’
‘What do you mean, a third component?’ said Fate, his tone suspicious as an unthinkable possibility began to dawn in his mind.
‘A third component of poison,’ said Motina and now her face crumpled as she began to cry. ‘I didn’t want to do it,’ she croaked, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘But somehow, I couldn’t stop myself.’
Even as she spoke, the Tutor felt the first twitch of pain grip his own stomach. His face started to tingle and his tongue felt swollen as his vision began to blur. Fate had only taken a bite of his pie, but he too could feel the effects of poison seeping into his veins. His gaze quickened as he looked at the food on the table… the stew… the bread… the pies.
Laying them out in a line, he began to wave his right hand over the various foods.
‘That won’t help,’ said Motina, her small body hunching and twitching as Inganno’s potion polluted her flesh. ‘I knew you’d sense it if I tried to poison you directly.’
In a flash of comprehension, Fate realised what Motina had done. Gathering the food, he mixed it together in the half-empty dish of stew. Immediately, the tattoo on his right forearm began to glow and throb.
‘What have you done?’ he asked as his diaphragm convulsed and the muscles in his throat began to tighten.
‘I did what I had to do,’ Motina sobbed even as she slumped forward over the table, her eyes fluttering and her breathing shallow.
The Tutor was in no better shape, he looked distinctly alarmed as he felt the poison’s grip on his body tighten.
Knowing he had no time to lose, Fate stood up from the table and hurried over to the water tank beside the sink. He grabbed two glass tumblers and filled them with water before adding large handfuls of salt from a ceramic pot beside the stove. Stirring the mixture quickly, he winced as a bout of cramp pulled tight across his stomach. His head swam and his ears rang as he carried the glasses back to the table.
‘Drink this!’ he told the Tutor, almost dropping the glass as the muscles in his arm tightened with a jerk.
Groaning in pain, the Tutor fumbled for the glass and managed to get it to his mouth. His teeth clenched involuntarily, but somehow he was able to get most of the heavily salted water down his throat. Beside him, Fate did the same while Motina was now slumped forward across the table, her cheek resting in a puddle of drool.
‘You need to vomit,’ Fate told the Tutor, the words blurring together as his tongue began to swell.
The Tutor’s chair scraped across the floor as he got to his feet and moved to the sink as he felt bile and saltwater rising in his gorge. Black blotches had begun to darken his vision and he could not seem to get enough air into his lungs. Glancing up, he saw Fate stumble from the kitchen, his shoulder striking the door frame as he struggled to make his way. For a moment he thought the sorcerer was abandoning him and then his stomach lurched.
As the Tutor brought up the contents of his stomach, Fate careened off the walls until he reached the hall where a doorway gave onto a set of stone steps leading down to his basement room. Feeling increasingly dizzy, Fate stumbled down the steps and into the large room that was filled with all manner of antiques and curiosities. His eyes struggled to focus as he lunged towards a glass cabinet lying against the left-hand wall of the room. Leaning against the cabinet, he felt his stomach heave as he vomited saltwater and the remains of Motina’s poisoned lunch onto the floor.
Fate’s vision was growing blurry, but in a moment of clarity, he saw what he was looking for… a small silver box with a hinged lid. He reached out to grab it, but he had forgotten to open the cabinet and his hand was cut as it smashed through the glass.
Ignoring the cuts, Fate clutched the small box to his chest and opened the lid to reveal a handful of what looked like small silver pebbles. Trying to stop his hand from shaking, he took one of the pebbles, slipped it into his mouth and swallowed. Then, closing the lid, he gripped the box tightly as he headed back towards the kitchen. However, he was barely halfway up the flight of stone steps when a burning pain surged in his stomach and he collapsed to his hands and knees.
Fate’s mouth stretched wide and wisps of white energy emerged from his throat as the stone released its magic and his body was suffused by a fierce light. For several seconds the silvery light coursed through his body until even his veins glowed white. As the incandescence faded Fate collapsed onto his face.
For a moment it appeared that he was unconscious, then his head came up and he managed to get one hand under his chest. With a great effort, he pushed himself up from the floor and reached for the box that had slipped from his grasp.
The sorcerer crawled up the steps and blinked away the brightness before stumbling back to the kitchen where he found the Tutor in a heap on the floor beside the sink. The demon hunter looked barely conscious and this filled Fate with dread. The silver pebble he had swallowed was a theriac stone, a magic panacea that could purge the body of almost any toxic substance or poison.
The purging was painful and quick. However, having done its work, a theriac stone would also induce a brief period of somnolence, or sleep. Even now, Fate could feel his limbs getting heavier and his eyelids drooping as he slipped towards a deep, if short-lived, slumber. But it was now clear that Motina had also been poisoned and he could see that she was even closer to death than himself or the Tutor. If he could not get a stone into her stomach in the next few minutes then he was sure the housekeeper would die.
‘Motina,’ Fate told the Tutor as the drowsiness took hold of his body. ‘You must give one of these to Motina.’
Twitching with the spasms that wracked his body, the Tutor managed to open his eyes.
‘Take one of these,’ said Fate, his words trailing off as sleep rose up to claim him. ‘And give one… to… Motina.’
The sorcerer’s eyes closed and the silver box fell from his hand as he fell sideways into a brief, but irresistible sleep.
The silver theriac stones spilled across the kitchen floor and the Tutor merely stared at them through a haze of pain and confusion.
‘Silver pebbles,’ he thought. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do with silver pebbles?’
The Tutor was on the verge of passing out when Fate’s last words echoed
through his mind.
‘Take one of these… give one to Motina…’
Fighting against the convulsions, the Tutor reached down and groped for the pebbles. Like a child trying to feed itself, he managed to get one of the pebbles into his mouth. He swallowed and the small stone felt huge as he forced it down his constricted throat. With a great effort, he managed to haul himself up, almost falling again as he doubled over from the cramps in his stomach. Through his failing vision, he saw Motina sprawled forward over the table.
‘Give one to Motina.’
The Tutor was just reaching for the woman when he felt a burning sensation flare in his stomach. The surge of magical energy seemed to engulf his entire being and he gave a cry of effort as he grabbed Motina and hauled her small body onto the table. A clear white light suffused his vision and veils of silvery energy swirled in his breath as he parted Motina’s lips and pushed a pebble into her mouth. The housekeeper was in a fugue of delirium, but the pebble worked its way to the back of her throat and she began to gag.
With the last of his strength, the Tutor leaned over the table and put his mouth to Motina’s ear.
‘Swallow,’ he mumbled. ‘Swallow or you will die.’
Then, not knowing if the housekeeper had heard him or not, he collapsed to the floor as white light flooded his veins and he sank into the engulfing arms of sleep.
31
Trust
Fate woke to the harsh cries of ravens, a dozen ravens flapping and pecking at the kitchen window of Blackfell House. The birds were frantic; desperately worried about the small hunchbacked woman lying unconscious on the kitchen table. The birds were black, but the light emanating from Motina’s body was white, and Fate struggled to think why this was important.
He remembered pain, discomfort and fear, and then he heard a groan. Looking around, he saw the Tutor lying on the floor beside the table. The demon hunter looked like he had been drugged.
‘Drugged…’ thought Fate. ‘Or poisoned.’
Decimus Fate and the Butcher of Guile: (Decimus Fate - Book 2) Page 16