A Summoning of Demons

by Cate Glass

  Neri grinned. “The one I want’s hanging from his belt. I’ve tried to buy it off him before.”

  “You’d have to be fast.” No doubt there were more sniffers lurking in the villa.

  “Quick as lightning. We need a better look.”

  His excitement was infectious. Though we dared not risk too much, the hours until the giuntura were expiring quickly.

  “If there’s a clear path for you to get in, and a reasonable way to distract a praetorian or a philosophist so you can learn something, I’ll do it. But you follow my lead.”

  “I will.”

  “Let’s go, then,” I said, “and see what’s to be seen.”

  The Academie had changed in our brief retreat. The bell had stopped ringing. The gallery and stairs were almost deserted. We marched out of the document room, turned left toward the lion’s head cornice and then left again through the doorway arch underneath the lion.

  “Ha!” Neri murmured in triumph.

  The bare-walled corridor plunged deep into the Academie. Two women in red gowns approached. I kept lecturing, and we walked briskly and paid them no mind as if we knew exactly where we were going. Engaged in their own conversation, they passed without slowing. Good. It must not be unknown for students to go this way.

  A zig and a zag in the corridor brought us to an upward ramp and into a new section. Easy to see that the corridor had become the covered bridge. Arrow loops slotted the walls on both sides. The right-side loops gave us a view of the flat, creneled roof of the Academie and a cityscape of rooftops beyond. The left-side loops looked over the barren gulf of stonemasonry between the Academie building and the thick Villa Giusti wall.

  The damnably narrow arrow loops yielded no view of any structure behind the wall, so we still had no view of the villa itself. Its courts could hold a sea of praetorians and sniffers.

  “Why is a house full of philosophists locked up so tight?” asked Neri as we walked purposefully onward.

  “No idea,” I said. “The directors and their families live there. I suppose there’s a praetorian barracks.”

  Public officials or wealthy merchants were more likely targets for assassination or abduction than Confraternity directors. God-believers, charm sellers, and fortunetellers were not exactly formidable enemies, nor could individual sorcerers storm the thick walls hunting vengeance unless they were a great deal more skilled than the four of us.

  Fifty or sixty paces ahead, the bridge ended in a dark alcove that penetrated a wall of milled stone. Blocking any closer look at the alcove was a gaggle of ten or more older students following a red-robed tutor heading straight for it.

  Eyeing Neri, I dipped my head to the gaggle and we drifted forward to join them.

  A few steps farther and I could make out a door set deep inside the alcove and the two praetorians who guarded it. I’d wager that the door opened into one of the Villa’s hexagonal towers. Excitement heated my cheeks.

  Certain, when we came back tonight, Placidio and Neri could take down these two praetorians, and the others who surely waited on the other side. In half an hour or so of meticulous painting and an instant’s application of magic, Dumond could get us through the door, whether it was iron or wood.

  We followed as the group entered the alcove.

  “Students to provide assistance in setting up for tomorrow’s rites,” announced our guide in a pompous tenor. Master Tano.

  Damnation! But we couldn’t miss the chance. With only a quick nod, Neri and I ducked our heads and stayed close to the back of the group.

  “Hold right there.” One of the praetorians rapped an iron ring.

  The students murmured to each other as we waited. A chain rattled against the stone. The students at the front edged closer to one side of the alcove. A human-shaped creature sheathed in green silk crawled between the alcove wall and our group.

  The sniffer’s long chain was not linked to a nullifier’s belt, but to an eyebolt embedded in the masonry. I shifted with the group, but elsewise did not move, did not breathe. Neri pressed his shoulder to mine. I felt his hand move to the knife sheathed under his gown.

  The sniffer slunk closer to our feet, tilting his head side to side as if listening to sounds we could not hear. The green silk shroud he wore—a second skin that obscured every part of him including eyes, ears, and mouth—made it easy to believe him some kind of prescient worm crawled out from a crack in the earth. The inhuman terror of a sniffer’s pointing finger and wordless howl was all consuming, demanding you run … and reveal your fear to all.

  Neri and I had grown up assuming a sniffer could detect the stain of magic on our souls, even if we weren’t using it right then, even if we hadn’t used it in years. Dumond had given us little bronze luck charms that supposedly protected us. And certain, none of us four could detect the dormant gift in each other. But then, none of us could follow the tracks of a sorcerer who had used magic recently, either, or detect the residue of a magical working. We couldn’t even detect active magic unless we touched that sorcerer’s skin. Sniffers could do all of those things; I’d witnessed it for myself. Perhaps if one was close enough, they could detect the dormant magic, too.

  What enabled such skills? Was it their particular talent? Or the severe limitations on their senses? Or the lack of any purpose in life beyond detecting magic? We’d no way to know. There were no books of magical lore for the demon-tainted to study. No schools of magic. Nor did we know other magical practitioners we could consult. Random chance had brought the four of us together.

  “Naddi!” The praetorian rapped the iron ring again. “Gah! He must be off to piss.”

  He pulled out a ring of keys and after sufficient rattling for four or five locks, the ironbound door swung open.

  “Come on. Move on through,” snapped the irritated guard. “Halt on the other side.”

  The sniffer slunk back into the shadows. The group moved forward, avoiding him.

  The door opened to a dimly lit guardroom. The praetorian who held the heavy door grumbled quietly of extra long shifts and “every breathing body in the Academie demanding entry.”

  Neri and I crowded through the opening with the rest. The door slammed shut, and the sniffer did not howl.

  By Lady Fortune’s whispers, we were in.

  6

  VILLA GIUSTI

  Now observe. What’s normal? What’s out of order? What’s unexpected? Placidio’s teaching was embedded in my bones.

  This would be the northeast hexagonal tower of Villa Giusti. One wall was the door we’d just entered. One wall opened onto a spiral stair. Arrow loops penetrated the other four walls.

  The praetorian shot five bolts in the door behind us—well-made steel bolts to supplement the thick oak bar that stood upright at this hour. Before Master Tano could lead us across the cramped room to the stair, the guard stepped in front of him. “Visitors needs must wait for the usher to proceed farther. Directors’ orders.”

  “But I’m urgently expected. I’ve the official Order of the Rite with me and these students to assist, and we are needed now.” Tano snatched a loosely folded page from one of his lappet pockets.

  “Even you, Master. Directors’ orders ’til further notice.”

  Were they worried about an invasion to prevent the giuntura? Perhaps Sandro had let his disapproval be known.

  Two other praetorians sat at a small table. They slapped down grubby cards and snatched up cards or coins in a game of Joust. No sniffer lurked on this side of the door.

  After a nervous wait, accompanied by Master Tano’s elaborate sighs, a thumping of boots on stone brought a well-groomed white-haired gentleman in black brocade from the tower stair. His face pulsed red with heat and hurry. After a glancing scowl at Tano, he turned his scrutiny to the rest of us.

  “We’re much too busy to deal with student researchers today.”

  Tano explained again about his duties and the Order of the Rite and the urgent need for assistants to prepare candles and robes a
nd chairs and cleansing basins.

  “Come on then,” said the gentleman usher. “This whole business is annoying.”

  Student researchers—was there a library here?

  Scarce believing our luck, Neri and I followed the troop of students down the corkscrew stair into a courtyard awash in gold light. Two rows of stately cypress trees, one fountain centered by three spikes of bronze of staggered height, and a few square plantings bordered by neatly raked gravel paths did little to soften the areas between the stout walls, the great house, and a number of outbuildings behind the great house.

  “Anziana di Corso!”

  I was so absorbed in memorizing landmarks and relative positions that Master Tano’s bark near popped me out of my skin. He had stepped to the side to inspect his troop, and his manicured fingers gripped Neri by his collar.

  “What kind of indiscipline prevails in the Invidian Academie that you believe you are allowed to wander so freely?” His round cheeks were flushed. “I’ll have the two of you out on your ears.”

  “Please, Master,” I said, grasping at words. “We—we found the document room, but no one came to help us, so we thought we’d gone into the wrong place. By the time we saw you and your most well-disciplined students, we were entirely lost. We planned to beg your guidance as soon as possible. We mustn’t begin our stay here with discipline infractions. They would be reported to our sponsor, Segnoré di Fermi, and Nico’s father, Captain di Savene, who would be so disappointed. The segnoré assured us that we would find exceptional tutors here and never feel lost.”

  “Aye, did he so.” Neri chimed in. “The gentleman grand superior fista splendi ist. Director Meucci furious angert neichi?”

  Neri’s great black eyes, so solemn and innocent, and his fractured version of the Invidian dialect, which he’d likely never heard spoken, were near perfect.

  “I’ve no time—but you mustn’t—and I cannot allow you—” Master Tano spluttered and his gaze flicked continually toward the great house. He loosed his grip and shoved Neri toward me.

  “By Majestic Reason, you people have no sense, no manners, no discipline. I must write to this Director Meucci.” He waved at our white-haired escort. “Usher Gacci, I’ve two miscreants here who must be returned to their tutors.”

  “Why would you choose miscreants to assist in the rites?”

  “I didn’t choose them.” Tano sighed, flapping his parchment at us. “These two are foreign students who got themselves lost. I don’t trust them not to tumble off the gallery, and wouldn’t care if they did so were they not under the patronage of Segnoré Rodrigo di Fermi. But Director Bastianni said he’d have my hide did I not get the Order of the Rite to him snip-snap. Once I’m delivered of that charge and have set these others to work, I’m dragging these two back to the tutorial office and recommending they have bells tied on them, so everyone can herd them where they need to go. Either nursemaid them here or take them back to the Academie.”

  Usher Gacci waved a hand. “I cannot leave the villa. I’ve duties at dinner. Send one of these other gawking imbeciles.”

  The rest of the students were indeed taking an uncomfortable interest in Neri and me.

  “But I need all ten! Please, Gacci. My errand will take only a few moments. The urgency…”

  The usher’s nose wrinkled as he examined us. “Certain, you cannot drag two foreigners into the director’s chambers.”

  “Director Bastianni is waiting for me now.”

  I didn’t speak up to mention I’d just seen the man in the Academie.

  “Oh, don’t combust. I’ll mind them for you,” said the weary usher. “Won’t mind a quiet moment. House is all in a fever with this new development.”

  A new development? The giuntura or something else?

  Had the Confraternity got wind of the girl’s disapproval? Or perhaps her father, the steward, was having second thoughts … or someone had discovered a loophole in the contract … Spirits, so much we didn’t know!

  The annoyed Usher Gacci pointed Neri and me to a stone bench beside the gravel path. “Sit there and be quiet,” he said. “Be quick, Tano. Director Bastianni has me supervising the chit’s quarters once they’ve dined.”

  The chit? Livia? Not exactly a respectful address for the young woman marrying into a director’s family.

  “Many thanks. My apologies. If I’d known…” He’d have done nothing different. That was clear. Tano jogged across the courtyard to the great house, his gaggle of students trotting behind.

  Despite the impressive fortifications, the house was no fortress keep, but a large, comfortable family home as one might see in the rolling hills north and east of the city. A harmonious symmetry marked the rose-hued stone facade and the two protruding wings, each with two ranks of windows. Each window was topped with a curved pediment of darker stone like an inquisitive eyebrow. The narrow third level of the main house was centered with a sculpted medallion, displaying the emblem of the Confraternity—an open book flanked by a lance and a flaming torch. Atop all stood a many-windowed cupola.

  Interesting that Tano didn’t enter the house through the main house doors, but through a door halfway down the left or western wing. A procession of carts like those we’d seen at the main gate rolled slowly on a graveled road around the east wing to the rear of the house. Two men on tall ladders hung Confraternity banners above the main entry. I would have expected more visible signs of preparation for the rushed celebration.

  “So you’re foreigners, eh?” said the usher, turning his glare toward us, hands on his hips. “Where from?”

  “Invidia, segno. My name is—”

  “Never the mind. Never met anyone from Invidia worth knowing.”

  Eliani di Corso would have retorted indignantly that the new captain of House Fermi’s cohort was from Invidia, and that her companion was the captain’s son, and that a house servant such as an usher had no business making such insulting judgments. If I had still been Mistress Cataline, companion to Cantagna’s Shadow Lord, I would have slapped the man. But for today, I didn’t need Gacci’s respect, only information.

  The usher had mentioned research. All books were valuable, but Neri was right. To merit such thick walls and guard towers, there had to be something here worth defending. So I made a guess.

  “When are anzioni to be allowed to do research here again, Usher Gacci? I was sent here as this youth’s language mentor, but my masters at both the Varelan and the Invidian Academies encouraged me to take advantage of all the Cantagnan Academie research opportunities. Books, artifacts … everything.”

  “Depends on whether you speak of research in the Athenaeum or the pérasma.”

  “Athenaeum, naturally. My ambition is to be a philosophist advocate.” I’d no idea what the pérasma was, though I was fairly certain it had nothing to do with books.

  Philosophists were divided into three branches, each with its own badge, each led by its own director. Those who taught in the Academies—by far the majority of them—were designated philosophist academicians and wore the badge of the Book.

  Philosophist enforcers wore the badge of the Lance and commanded the praetorians. A separate arm of the enforcers dealt with nullifiers and the arcane depravity of creating sniffers.

  Philosophist advocates promulgated the Canon of the Creation—the stories of Dragonis and his war with the gods, his defeat by Atladu’s raising of Leviathan, his imprisonment under the drowned city of Sysaline—and also with the prosecution of magic users. As Cantagna’s director advocate, Donato di Bastianni’s father, Rinaldo, was responsible for rooting out all deviance from the Canon in artworks, scholarship, and teaching throughout Cantagna.

  “An advocate, indeed?” said Gacci, disbelieving. “You aim high, girl. Very few are selected to wear the red. Fewer yet to wear the badge of the Flame.”

  “My tutors have kindly commended my diligence and approved my course of study.”

  “Then I assume they have written recommendations to appropria
te tutors here who will arrange for you to visit whatever section of the Athenaeum is appropriate to your studies when they see fit. Not at your whim.”

  So the Athenaeum was indeed a library. With books that needed protecting behind this massive wall …

  “Certain, I’m to meet with my mentor tomorrow morning. This delay”—I waved my hand at the line of carts—“will it be long? I am eager to resume my studies.”

  “’Tis only a day’s hullaballoo for now. Books and pages aren’t going to run off before you get there.”

  “Is it a Cantagnan feast day? We weren’t told anything of celebrations.”

  Gacci glanced at me sharply. “’Tis none of students’ concern.”

  “Of course. Excuse my boldness, Usher.” His glare unsettled me, so I turned to Neri. “Now, Nico, where were we with the history of Cantagna?”

  I precluded any nosiness on Usher Gacci’s part by returning to my previous lecturing—and a bit of language practice. The man soon turned his back on us, clasping his hands behind him in the age-old position of waiting servants. Neri made a prune face at the fellow’s back, but his own posture was that of a hound who scented warm meat. I gave him a raised brow, and then composed myself so as not to appear the same.

  Master Tano must have had to pantomime the Order of the Rite or translate it into the archaic tongue of Typhon. The bells from the Palazzo Segnori tower rang the Hour of Gathering.

  I continued my lecture and questioning.

  The bells struck a single chime. A quarter hour had passed. When the next quarter struck, my tongue had run out of words.

  Gacci was pacing in aggravation. Our urgency was at least equal to his. I risked his attention. “Should we not return to the Academie, Usher Gacci?”

  “Of course you should,” he said, snarling. “But I could be summoned at any moment, and undisciplined foreigners cannot be trusted. I hope you’re both dismissed for this inconvenience.”

  Almost an hour had passed since we’d emerged from the tower door, just ten steps behind us. There had been a constant trickle of philosophists, students, and praetorians back and forth, an especial surge around the Hour of Gathering. Gacci accosted everyone coming from the house to the tower, asking if they’d seen Master Tano. And anyone of tutor’s rank or lower who emerged from the tower was dispatched to the house bearing the same message: Usher Gacci has urgent duties and cannot wet-nurse Tano’s stray students a quarter hour longer.