A Summoning of Demons

by Cate Glass

  Given Donato’s state—and all we hoped to accomplish by it—one man’s presence and a possible two more could not deter us. The Confraternity had gambled and won a slight advantage.

  “You can work around him, yes?” I whispered over my shoulder.

  “Certain.”

  I squeezed his hand. “Go. And be careful of your shoulder.”

  “Shoulder’s fine. Don’t even feel it.”

  The door did not move, but when I glanced over my shoulder next, my brother and two of Vashti’s bags were gone.

  Fighting not to blink, I trained my eyes a few steps from his destination, the lamppost that marked the exact center of the span. The gowned person—height and stride suggested a man—paced and swiveled, clearly watching both approaches. Occasionally he glanced over one stone railing or the other. The long climb from the river was possible, but very exposed, and the winds that gusted through the three great spans made any attempt even more perilous.

  I blinked and there was Neri, two bags in hand. The man was at the apogee of his path, facing the far-side end, and spun sharply, but Neri had already vanished. The fellow leaned over the upriver railing and studied the great piers to either side of the center span and the sharp-nosed footers that protected them from the floods that could roar down the Venia.

  In an eternal few moments, a heaving Neri was walking toward me from the vicinity of the turret.

  “The fellow’s Confraternity for sure. No weapons in his hands.” He dropped two bags that chinked instead of thudded, and picked up two of our false ones. “Coin sounds real enough.”

  We cared little for the ransom money, but everything for the appearance of truth in this exchange. The knotted cord came loose at my picking. I pulled out a handful of silver solets, pitching one to Neri. “So far, so good.”

  Neri grinned, pocketed the coin, and was off again before I could return the rest of them to the bag.

  This time, I never glimpsed Neri on the bridge, just noted two bags in a slightly different position. The pacing Confraternity fellow didn’t seem aware, and, on his return, Neri didn’t even pause. Soft, quick steps. A chink of bagged coins, a moment’s glimpse of his black-clad figure, and the air shifted at his turn and departure.

  The third time the man on the bridge heard him, too, and spun just before Neri took form. I near choked until I realized that the fellow had spun the wrong direction. Close.

  “Two helmets by the lampposts on the Bottoms end of the bridge.” Neri’s whispered words reached me before he was entirely visible. “Praetorian helmets.”

  He set the bags down carefully and sagged against the turret wall, shoving his hood and his lank black curls backward. The grin was gone. “Still none below us here that I could see. But, Romy, the man on the bridge. It’s Dono’s da.”

  Bastianni! A man who knew me as the Shadow Lord’s longtime mistress. Never did I imagine a director would risk himself in an exchange with a snatch-crew, even if he believed the danger slight. Every lingering fear for Livia … and Dono himself … came to the fore. Was the director here to murder them? This could change everything, yet we could afford to change nothing.

  I glanced over the parapet. Bastianni was walking slowly along the bridge toward the Bottoms, arms folded, head bowed as if in contemplation—or as if hunting the source of the noise that had startled him.

  “How did you get him to look the other way?”

  “Tossed that coin over his head. Tried to bounce it through the railing. Gave me a chance to look at his face, but kept him distracted so he wouldn’t see mine.”

  “Clever.” But I glanced back and Bastianni was crouched down. Had he found the coin? “Come,” I said. “Leave the treasure here. We’re out of time.”

  If Bastianni discovered the bags were filled with sand beforetime, he might call off the ransom exchange and call up a hunt instead. We had no intention of staying around to haul the bags off the bridge after the exchange, but we wanted them to discover the crew had taken the money. For Donato’s safety, this had to feel like a play by a legitimate snatch-crew. They already believed us sorcerers.

  Wordless, we sped down the gate tower’s left-side stair. The stair ended in an alcove off the gate tunnel below. Inside the alcove, behind the last twist of the stair, was another door, a boarded-up relic of an older structure. A hidden latch opened that door onto a short passage and yet another downward stair inside the bridge abutment—the Shadow Lord’s private stair that led down to the riverside.

  Neri stood watch in the tunnel alcove while I raced down the hidden stair toward the glow of lamplight.

  “It’s me,” I called, as the same tableau I’d left behind came into view. Placidio armed and alert beside the outer door. Livia chewing her nails as she watched Donato. The young man himself shaking in pent-up madness, face ravaged, hands contorted, lips bitten bloody—the absolute argument that we could not stop now. He had trusted us beyond measure.

  “Stars and stones, tell me we’re ready to go,” said Livia. “He’ll have no mind left.”

  “We go now. But there’s a wicked complication. His father is waiting for us on the bridge.”

  Livia paled. “I want a weapon.”

  “You can’t,” I said. “Not if we’re to preserve the lie of the snatch as long as possible. If matters turn sour—and yes, I’m worried about that, too—grab my boot knife.” I patted my left boot. Certain, there could be a problem with that, too, if her need came too late.

  Placidio sheathed his sword. “Gods’ breath … I’ll take point. You keep your hood on and stay behind me.”

  “No,” I said. “Neri spied at least two praetorians hanging about the far-side approach. You’re our only defense.”

  Placidio had to wait in the tunnel, ready to fend off any attack from the two waiting praetorians or others who might rush in behind us. Neri had to join Dumond in the boat for the event’s final play. I was counting on them. I had no Vodai Guardian to watch over me.

  “I’ll just have to use my magic earlier than I planned,” I said. “If Dono can contain a thousand demons for nigh on two hours, I can play out the prisoner exchange while not entirely myself. I shall recall my late tutor’s lessons about grounding my senses and I’ll survive it all…”

  … assuming Livia and Donato did their part as we planned, and Neri and Dumond were in the right place at the right time. Assuming I had not misjudged Teo’s implications about demons or my own skills at survival. So many pieces to a most imprecise gambit.

  Placidio’s gray eyes spoke his beliefs. “Are you sure of this, Romy? Did you speak to Neri about what you plan? I thought you should be the one to tell him.”

  “Yes, I’m sure, and absolutely not. Neri’s still too fond of going his own way without thinking. I’ve the skills. The Enemy values me. And any other plan leaves Livia and Dono—the two we pulled into this benighted scheme—at even greater risk. If the outcome is what we want, my fate won’t matter.”

  Before he could argue, I turned to Livia. “So, one thing is going to change. Nis will lead you out to the ransom exchange.”

  “Nis?” She looked around wildly, as if discovering she’d failed in the vigilance we’d impressed upon her. “Is she … capable … of pulling this off? You said she was in hiding, though I’d come to think she was actually—” The girl recovered herself and squinted at me in that way she had that made you feel like you were an insect under her opticum lens. “Ah no, I was right. Nis is you. What a player you are, to be so convincing! How—?”

  “Let me tell you this one thing about Nis,” I said. “If she begins to act very un-Nis-like—as if she’s afflicted with Donato’s madness—run away from her as fast as you can.”

  “Well, certain, I would, but how could that happen so quickly? And why? I insist on hearing about this—”

  “Explanations must come later. For now, we go. Remember that if Donato should falter or collapse from the weight of this illness, it is safe to help him. You’ll recognize if the oth
er takes him over as before?”

  “As when people start gutting each other? Yes. I do see clearly that something different is going on with him tonight, and I look forward to a complete explanation of that as well. But I shall play the rescued victim, dutifully concerned about her husband-to-be and wishing to strangle the vile felons who snatched us.”

  “Exactly that,” I said, a smile working its way out from a place I thought was barren of them just now. I bound her wrists for show, as we had agreed, leaving the ties loose enough she could assist Dono or grab a weapon to defend herself.

  “Donato, we are ready to begin our exercise.” Placidio released the bindings on Donato’s ankles and got him to his feet. The young man, forlorn in his filthy nightshirt, could stand alone, though shaking and hunched over his bound hands as if he had aged sixty years. “Do you understand me? Let me know that you comprehend.”

  A determined jerk of Dono’s head was clear agreement, despite his wordless trembling.

  “We will climb a few stairs and walk out onto the bridge. Livia and another woman—a stranger—will accompany you. No matter who else is there, no matter what is said, your strength and your resolve will carry you onward. You recall the words of dismissal and sending, yes? And you recall their destination, yes? Spoken at the right time, they will set you free. And perhaps, at the same time, illuminate your conscience.”

  Another assent. And one more.

  I pulled up my hood and joined them.

  And so we climbed to the bridge. Donato and Placidio. Then Livia, her shoulders square as she marched into the unknown wearing naught but her soiled chemise. And then Romy, who must risk a leap of faith while looking square into the face of her Enemy. Failure or miscalculation meant death or, as Neri had put it, worse. Best put that prospect aside for now.

  First, I had to become Nis, with all the risks that implied for our long, slow walk to the middle of the bridge. Nis had to be wary of the other voice that would intrude. She had to focus on her important mission, and put that voice off until the snatch-crew business was done. She knew the words she had to say no matter what else was happening.

  I spat in my hand, scraped a dusty corner of the stair, and dirtied my face. Nis was not so great at cleanliness. But she was stalwart. And trustworthy. These snatchers trusted her to redeem their captives. Livia, the rich girl, had taught her how to be brave. To speak her mind. Her mam would be so proud of her to have such a responsibility.…

  The young man’s father was to be the contact. A wicked man, by all accounts, though his silver tongue spoke of virtue and honor. A man who might be armed. Who might have a mind to murder me and the clever rich girl and even his son, the shy rich boy who had survived his captivity and this strange illness so bravely. My new capo was not beholden to the old Cavalieri, but only to these clever bandits. They had taken me in and were allowing me to prove my worth because I was the only one who had been with the two since the beginning.…

  Capo, a big man in a black hood, yielded the sickly young man’s arm to the rich girl as we walked out of the tunnel. I walked proudly beside the two. The moonlight showed our way—and showed us the tall man who stood waiting beside the ransom bags. I knew a secret about the bags that made me smile.

  “Who goes there?” Anyone could recognize the tall man as an important personage by his bearing, even if his red gown, shifted by the river wind, were not so fine. His garments were sewn with real gold, so Capo had told me. But I must not be brought low by the man’s clothing. I must do proud duty for this new crew who had faith in me.

  Our progress was slow, as the young man was shaking near hard enough to tremble the bridge. And the rich girl helping him walk kept glaring at me like I was a spectre. I could hear Mam advising that I must stay in control of this dangerous meeting. Mam had died young, but she was very wise. Her voice told me that this event was far more important even than I knew. So I didn’t answer the imposing man until we were within twenty paces or so and could halt with dignity.

  “Get down, you.” I pointed to the ground, and the young man dropped to his knees, trembling like a drunkard in the last throes. My hand was steady, my dagger perfectly still.

  “I am Nis, come to complete the ransom bargain and deliver these two young persons to those who have deemed them valuable.”

  “Who is your crewmaster, Nis? I understood the Cavalieri Teschio were no more.” An arrogant man in red and gold. The bones of his face were long and fine like his son’s, but sharper. Fiercer. He thought I was dirt.

  … and his first question was about you, not his own boy. Mam’s indignation fired mine.

  He stepped closer and my blade pricked the son’s throat. The son hissed and moaned, shaking so hard his bones rattled.

  “Stay at a proper distance, segno. And tell me who you are that claims these two. Perhaps you are a deceiver. Perhaps these bags are full of grit.”

  “I’ll vouch for the gentleman’s identity,” said my rich girl, bold as ever. She had taught me how to hold myself proud. “He is Dono’s father, Director Advocate Bastianni of the Philosophic Confraternity. My gratitude, Director, for seeing to our rescue.”

  The young man lifted his head. Blood streaked his chin. His eyes were black and hollow. His face reminded me of famine season.

  “Are you ill, Donato, or ill-treated, or merely overwhelmed by a few days’ uncertainty and rough living?” asked the father. A cold man, certain. No wonder the rich girl despised him.

  “These brigands pretended to be the Cavalieri,” said the rich girl. “When Dono dealt with them as a gentleman, they starved and beat him, as you see. My father will ever be grateful for the completion of this bargain.”

  As she spoke another voice slithered into my head like an eel. What is this, my lovely? Your power … this sweet fire that brings you so close to me … blossoms so beautifully. Take my hand and walk with me in this realm. A finger brushed my face, rousing heat I had not felt since I was thirteen and loved a Cavalieri boy.

  This was not Mam, but the wicked spirit Mam had warned of. I must not listen.

  Business first. For so long, my word had been the only thing of worth that I owned. So I’d complete this task, and only then seek my pleasures where and when I chose.

  The red-gowned man had bared his teeth, inspecting the rich girl. “You seem well and strong, Damizella di Nardo. Somehow that does not surprise me. You might be a good influence on my boy after all—show him how to grow a backbone. I’ll summon my men to haul him home. Then you will walk with me and tell me of these ruffians who violated my house and my heir. A prize of one dowdy girl with a rat-sticker, and the retrieval of our payment, will not satisfy my desire to punish them.”

  “You’ll do nothing until we close the contract, segno,” I said, speaking up clear as Capo had taught me. “Only then will I set your son and this woman free—alive. My crew honors our word.”

  Daggers and blood, pleasures we share. That hidden voice again and another touch from somewhere. My breath hitched at the pleasurable heat of it. Smooth, but firm, dry, and so very clean. I longed to live clean, away from rats and dirt. Surely I must split in two—this seducer tempter inside me, and the wicked philosophist outside.

  The philosophist laughed. “Certain, we shall complete this bargain, Nis.” He hissed my name like an adder. “Have you someone planning to come haul these bags away? All six together are both heavy and cumbersome. Or did you bring a barrow? You seem sturdy enough, the kind of girl who has experience with barrows. Certain, my men could carry them for you, but then why would we do that. Your masters were a bit foolish to send a girl alone.”

  He wanted me to blurt out that I had crew close by. But I ignored all the temptations. Like evil spirits, men in red-and-gold robes were tricksters who used girls like me. Certain, I didn’t want them to pick up the money bags. Not yet.

  Chin up, I held out my hand, inviting the contract bond. “No need to carry the bags or inspect them. We accept an honorable man’s payment.”
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  He mocked me with a bow. “I accept the return of my son and his affianced bride.”

  He clasped wrists with me as if I were a proper business partner, though he sneered and wiped his hand on a kerchief when he was done, even polishing a golden ring on one hand as if I had somehow tarnished it.

  “All right, then,” I said and cut the rich girl’s wrists loose. She rubbed them and watched the arrogant man turn his back on us.

  I’d thought a rich father might care more for a son than my da had cared for me. But this one was busy waving to someone at the far side of the bridge, while his boy knelt sick and shaking, hands and arms still tightly bound with our ropes.

  Kneeling before the trembling young man, I cut the bindings.

  Remember the greeting you were to give him, daughter, Mam reminded me. The old-language words that will sooth his ills. Just be wary of what comes after.

  The words she’d given me seemed a strange comfort for a man so sick. “Vieni vicino. Avvisami,” I said as I pulled the ropes away. They meant, Come close. Counsel me.

  A thrill of triumph rushed through me, like nothing I’d ever felt. Fire kissed my skin, threaded my veins. I tasted blood—warm and salty and so, so sweet. Oh, my beauty!

  This was the tempter!

  Let us dream together, my darling one. Let us fly. Let us conquer and find perfect vengeance on the Vodai jailers, perfect harmony of earth and sea and sky that is our birthright. You are the doorway. Uncountable generations have I waited for one bold enough to stand in two worlds at once.…

  The wicked spirit might have been sitting on my shoulder, his breath hot and sweet on my ear. The moonlight dimmed to gray, and lust knotted me so hard I near spilled over with it. From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a chamber painted with forests and vineyards. A great bed laid with fat pillows and blankets of fur and silk. Clean. Warm. Beckoning me through the door I had just thrown open.

  But I did not turn to look at it full on. Not yet. I must not walk through that door. The young man yet knelt in front of me, scarce visible in the graying light. Tears dribbled down his face as he laid gentle, trembling hands on my own cheeks. “Vattene, spiriti rotti; la tua vera padrona ti aspetta.” His damp forehead touched my own as he whispered, “Thank you. Romy.”