The Shades of Time

by Diane Nelson

  His misinformation would stir the pot and give the Monsignor sufficient fuel to stoke the flames of discord within the church hierarchy. Better yet, they could call into question the motivation of the monolith that was the Medici family. He had no qualms about prodding the beehive. The Brotherhood's statisticians might enjoy flipping coins and waiting to see how the probabilities fell out. He was amenable to a more proactive approach.

  That would require a few Hail Marys but not nearly so many for what he had planned.

  With false modesty he said, "Gracie, gracie. If I may, I would like to spend the evening in prayer. I feel the need to restore … my soul."

  The Monsignor gave him a sly smile and murmured, "Of course."

  Andreas nodded respectfully as he turned to leave, but he paused as the Monsignor called out, "The chapel will have no visitors this evening. Feel free to use it at your leisure."

  Andreas hastened through the dark corridors searching for the small entryway into the vestry. He smiled at the bald-faced lie. Yes, he had needs, not for his soul, but needs that pressed heavily on his groin, pressure so great he could barely function, his mind clouded. Perturbations in the energy fields niggled at his consciousness, and he knew he ought to pay attention, but he had priorities. One priority now. Find a vessel and recharge. The Monsignor's offer was more than generous.

  Andreas slipped into the small chapel, entering through the side door nearest the altar. Weak light from the votive candles near the statue of the Virgin cast shadows onto the ceramic tile floor. Two elongated shadows, one steady, one wavering, caught his eye. He sighed with relief. The good Monsignor was not without compassion for his flock.

  He spoke softly to the kneeling figure. "Come with me, my dear. Your time in prayer has been well-spent. Now you shall reap the rewards for your devotion."

  Andreas lifted the small form off her knees, more roughly than he intended, but the demands of his body were great and he had little patience left for the niceties the prioress expected. He led the novitiate out of the chapel and down the hall to a cubicle set aside for contemplation and privacy.

  He motioned for the girl to enter. "In here."

  When she hesitated, he shoved her roughly inside, then closed and securely latched the door. A single candle burned steadily on a rough-hewn round table. A cot with wood planks normally supporting a mattress lay bare but for a single woolen blanket bunched at the foot of the bed. The stone walls were free of adornment, not even a cross, and would insulate any sound. Satisfied he would be undisturbed, he turned to the novitiate.

  "Let me see you."

  He tilted her chin so that the veil molded to her face. Andreas pulled at the wimple, sliding it back off her shaved head and exposing a face rapturous in anticipation. He slipped the scapula and wimple off, then grimaced with distaste. A girl, not much more than a child. The prioress had her nerve sending him one so young, and most assuredly a virgin. He had hoped for someone with experience who could pleasure him without the tedious need for instruction.

  There was nothing for it. She would have to do since he was out of time and nearly out of energy. Unfortunate for both of them. He pointed to the cot as he parted his robe.

  "Bend over and lift your habit. And, girl…" Andreas gave a small concession to her inexperience, "…there will be pain." Her whimper of fear, then expulsion of breath, brought a smile to his face. He fingered the stiletto, then cast it aside. Best not to be tempted. He had the entire night ahead of him to recharge.

  ****

  Antonio finished handing out pouches filled with gold coins to the five men he trusted most in his company.

  "You know what to do. I want answers by tonight. The longer we wait, the less chance we have for recovery. Go. Now."

  Antonio knew with certainty that his brother and the woman, Veluria, would rush to the safety of France. Even if she were not actually tied to the French court through marriage or blood, the Medici family influence carried sufficient weight that just the mere presence of his youngest brother in those territories would offer innumerable opportunities to exploit a fragile political truce.

  The Venetian propensity to instigate hostilities was a never-ending source of irritation for all concerned. François would do most anything to insure a measure of peace, at least in the short term until the matter of the Spanish succession was put to rest. Offering to negotiate the return of his brother in exchange for some as yet unnamed advantage would suit all parties involved.

  That was the problem—that his brother would be returned, with or without Veluria. Antonio needed to mediate in such a way that he gained control over Stefano's destiny. If the French woman was what he wanted, then he would have her. If he could mount a retrieval before they crossed the border into French territories, he would be in a position to dictate terms. Once in France he would need additional leverage to extricate the pair. It wasn't a matter of where they were going, it was a matter of how.

  Antonio had dispatched his men to seek out which ships had set sail on the tide and which were readying within the next two days. Overland was fraught with dangers, though he knew his brother to be a fine horseman. If it were him, he would opt for keeping a low profile and have the woman masquerade as a boy servant—her petite frame and young features would surely serve her well in that role. He prayed his brother would eschew the inconvenience of an extended trip by horseback, or even by carriage, in favor of a more comfortable voyage on a well-appointed ship.

  The violent fluttering in his gut convinced him he was on the right track, though the strange sensations in which he normally placed his utmost trust seemed askew. Dovetail joints just slightly out of plane. He sensed another energy, faint but building in strength—familiar, yet alien. It had a congruence with his own energies that he had felt in the corridor two nights ago when all this had started and he had found his existence complicated, turned upside down, by a petite vixen.

  Veluria's intelligence, her beauty, her arrogance and fearlessness—all might have caught his attention on their own merits. But there was something more, something that prodded those private places deep inside, where his heart sheltered from his world of violence and mayhem.

  Cosimo had been quite right. The family had made him what he was: soul-less, adept at deception and manipulation, cruel in the pursuit of the higher good—that of the family—and methodical in his application of force to achieve his desired ends. He understood power above all else. But until he had met Veluria, with her peculiar hold on him, he had not permitted anyone, leastways a woman, to gain a foothold into the one thing he most feared—his heart.

  Only his brothers had access to that secret place. He'd vowed to protect them at all costs yet with a single act of youthful stupidity Stefano had managed to unleash the demon who threatened them all.

  He could almost justify lashing out at his youngest brother, given the nature of the game they played and the stakes involved. It was far too easy to say Stefano had brought it on himself with his foolish actions. But in his gut he recognized the demon for what he was—a creature that derived satisfaction from administering pain to another, even his own brother.

  His own mixture of guilt and regret, however, were far less troubling than the perplexing and unexpected way Stefano had reacted to the punishment. The act had brought a wash of … pleasure to his brother. The boy's body had vibrated with such sensual ecstasy that he'd been reluctant to stop, to put an end to sharing such exquisite torture. Only the presence of his men, and their collective horror at what he was doing, had imposed some semblance of sanity. He'd released his brother to his squad and left because he simply did not understand the dynamics. He'd become painfully aware that Stefano's actions that evening had left a lasting impression, had in fact changed something elemental in his make-up.

  "Damn!" Antonio heaved a chair against the wall. Such introspection served no purpose other than to agitate and distract him. He needed answers.

  He needed to trace the energy signature gaining strengt
h by the hour. Grabbing his cape he strode into the cool night, sniffing like a hound on a scent and opening himself to every sensation, every energy. Convinced he was correct, he turned left and strode purposefully in the direction of the Cathedral.

  ****

  Andreas rearranged his robes, wishing fervently for a basin of water and a cloth. He despised his unclean state, the rough wool on his aching cock, the incessant throbbing in his ankle that transmitted all the way to his hip.

  He glanced at the girl lying huddled on the wooden boards. He'd covered her with the nondescript woolen blanket, though it did little to stem her shivering. Too inexperienced, she'd been barely adequate for his needs. It hadn't helped that his damn sixth sense had set off incessant alarm bells that interfered with his pleasure.

  It was time to return to Cosimo's palazzo. He had a suspicion events had unfolded while he'd been otherwise occupied. Fingering the stiletto he allowed himself a moment to indulge his fantasy, then shrugged and told the girl, "Stay here until morning. The prioress will come for you."

  With a smile Andreas slipped out the door and turned left, hastening toward the rear stairwell that led past Monsignor's private apartments. As he rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, he stopped, curious, all senses on high alert.

  I know that energy. It belongs to the Dark One. What in God's name is he doing here—in this corridor, in the middle of the night?

  The only satisfactory answer was that the Demon was seeking him. And that should not be possible. All their research indicated his powers, though impressive, should have been limited. He should not be able to track others of his kind.

  Andreas blended against the dank gray stonework, wrapping himself in his shadow existence. He need not venture back to the hateful stink of the warehouse district and the docks when the object of his search so conveniently stalked the lower levels of the rectory. He would wait and see what transpired.

  Better yet, perhaps he could engage in some mischief. There was no time like the present to find out whether or not he could influence the Demon's powers. And he knew exactly how to go about it.

  Antonio slipped quietly down the long hallway, masking his persona as best he could. With the scent, the energy signature, so strong, he was hard-pressed to think rationally when everything about him threatened to collapse under the overwhelming sensations. His need for answers drove him toward the narrow wooden door on his left. Cautiously he pushed it open, his cinquedea in his right hand. He had to crouch to enter the narrow room. The candle on the small table fluttered in the breeze from the door opening before settling into a steady flame.

  The small figure on the plank bed stirred and rolled over. The blanket slipped to the floor leaving the figure exposed to Antonio's horrified stare. Inexplicably his groin tightened and his cock swelled as the girl spread her legs, eyes screwed shut, her face a silent plea for mercy.

  "No," he breathed, "NO!"

  With more effort than he thought possible, he pulled away from the temptation, seeking the source. He had felt this from Stefano, the same unbridled desires and needs and shameless urges, though this—this siren call in the black of night—came through as a perversion. He could not, would not, yield to it. He bent down and picked up the blanket, considered laying it on her supine body, then decided against approaching her for fear he would not be strong enough to resist. He tossed the cloth to the floor and backed out the door, smacking the back of his head hard on the lintel.

  "God damn it." He rubbed the back of his scalp, furious. "I know you're here," he shouted down the long hallway, "come out now."

  Silence greeted him, then a slow dissipation of the energy until nothing was left but for the intense gagging clutch of his throat. His face flamed with shame at what he'd been contemplating. Disgusted with himself, disgusted with the creature that stalked him, Antonio walked blindly down the hallway seeking an exit from the hell he found himself in.

  The shadow on the wall wavered, then settled as Antonio raced past, exiting finally at the door leading to the rear stairwell. The clatter of his hasty climb gradually dissipated. Andreas shook himself and emerged into the dim light of the hall.

  He muttered, "That was too close." The Council would need to be informed, soon. The man's powers were strong indeed, powerful enough to negate the subliminal suggestion Andreas had implanted as soon as the man had entered the chamber.

  He'd been following him, and the woman, assuming one or the other would lead him to the key. But what if the Dark One was the key itself? With powers that strong, and that precise a tracking ability, there could be no other answer.

  Andreas padded softly back to the cubicle, entered, then shut the door once again.

  I wonder if she knows, he mused. Has he revealed himself to you, Veluria?

  One side benefit to his brief effort at influencing the Dark One had been a glimpse into the man's convoluted thoughts. He'd gotten snippets, mere impressions, but enough to know with certainty: someone was missing, someone he cared about deeply, someone who vexed him. There could only be one person who qualified—his idiot younger brother. And if he had gone missing, probabilities suggested the meddling operative would be involved, if not the actual instigator.

  He might not understand her motives, but he had to admire her initiative.

  Spreading his robe he motioned for the girl to come forward on the bed. He needed to think more on the situation. And what better way than this?

  "Succhiarmi il cazo, bambina," he murmured with satisfaction as the girl's mouth suckled his cock.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Antonio hissed, "Are you certain?" He loomed over the terrified man.

  Stuttering, "Ye-ye-yes, M’Lord," the man hastened to clarify, "my informant saw with his own eyes. There was no mistaking the woman. She is, um, unique, according to my source."

  Satisfied he had the truth of it, he waved to his caporal de squadra and said, "Well, then, Marco. Show our guest to the door."

  "And the reward…?"

  Terrified … and greedy.

  With a sneer he said, "Marco, will you see to Sig.Vertucci's compensation?"

  Marco nodded his understanding and took the man's elbow, guiding him forcefully through the rear door onto the dock where a small craft waited to escort the man back to his domicile.

  Antonio paced restlessly. The man had outlived his usefulness. It would not do to have him broadcasting to all and sundry the whereabouts of the youngest of the Medici clan and the 'unique' woman keeping him company. Marco would see that the weasel had an unfortunate accident. They would do well to deal with the so-called informant directly and cut out an avaricious middleman like Vertucci.

  The stray thought that his father would thoroughly approve of this decision left a sour taste in his mouth. For all that he had railed against his family's stranglehold on all their futures, in truth he accepted, even believed, that the future of Florence and the surrounding states rested squarely on the vast clan's control over critical resources and political power. The situation with Duke Friedrich was a veritable maze of conflicting loyalties, awash with traps to ensnare the unwary and tip unstable alliances into hasty decisions that would only benefit the French.

  "What news?" Cosimo limped uncertainly into the room looking quite the worse for wear. He turned rheumy eyes to his eldest and asked, "Did you find them?"

  "Yes, Papà. Sit down. You look like the devil. Can I get you some wine?"

  "No. Get me my son."

  "I am working on it." Antonio guided his father to a stool, settled him, then pulled a chair close to him. He clasped and unclasped his hands, a nervous gesture he'd not succumbed to since his youth. "I have a thought."

  "And that is…?"

  "That you allow them to escape." As Cosimo reared off the stool, Antonio reached with both hands and pressed the older man back down onto the seat. "Hear me out."

  "As you wish."

  "Venezia is at odds with the French. We are not. Yet you persist in placing our
holdings in harm's way with your pursuit of political advantage."

  Cosimo half-rose off the stool, then settled once again, with a curious expression on his face. He was unaccustomed to his eldest expressing an opinion or questioning his judgment. That his son dared to do so now indicated that the situation warranted a hearing, if nothing else. Tonio banked on the fact that Cosimo would realize it cost him nothing to at least consider his thoughts on the subject.

  When Cosimo seemed receptive, he continued. "I understand the need to ally our house with the Habsburgs. I have no qualms with your choice, just with forcing Stefano into this arrangement against his will. His infatuation with the French woman may or may not be permanent. Only time will tell."

  "And that is your solution? Time?"

  "Yes … and no. I suggest you let them run. They have contracted passage on a ship leaving for Spagna on the morning tide tomorrow. I have arranged with the captain to make several unscheduled stops along the route. That will give us enough time to put my plan in place."

  "And your plan is…?"

  "You alert Friedrich that your youngest was enticed by one of the French courtesans to join her at court in Paris. And this happened before you were able to impart the happy news about the availability of his lovely eldest daughter. Suggest to the Duke that he should meet Stefano when they disembark and escort him back to the Tyrol where he can encounter his intended."

  "And the woman?"

  "Leave her to me."

  "Ah, I see. So Friedrich is not the only one who will be greeting my wayward son. May I assume Nico will have a role in this as well?"

  Antonio smiled, "A small part to play, but yes. He is most like Stefano, speaks his language—he understands him better than either of us."

  "And why this change of heart? Just yesterday you were dead set against the union. What is different now?"