Burdens of the Dead Page 28

  And then the fool had let his desires lead him. With this child of all children! And that was where things started to go wrong. The woman had stabbed him, possibly the best thing she could have done, despite being as full of her reward as to barely be in this world. He still wasn’t sure how she’d managed it. He hadn’t known what was happening, of course. If he had, he’d have slit the fool’s throat himself.

  When he’d come on the scene, the priest was bleeding to death, and the woman clutching the child. A mess, and complications he didn’t need. He’d had to go and fetch more Lotos to get the brat away from her, unhurt, and that had taken time. But that amount of Lotos would see her dead soon, which at least saved him killing both of them. There was nothing to link him to her. Or him to the priest. Those who knew had their own reasons for fear and wouldn’t talk. It was a mess, but a manageable mess.

  Still, his clients had reasons to have well hidden places of incarceration. And it was best to be far from here when the bodies were found, which they would be, and likely soon. Valdosta would have the canals roused, and canalers had their noses in everyone’s business. Someone would remember seeing her come here.

  He bundled up the brat and made a swift—but not hasty—escape.

  The Casa Vecchi house of Lord Paletto in the Doursoduro quarter of Venice, facing onto the grand canal, had every fashionable accouterment for the delight of the visiting Venetian haut monde who came to appreciate his Lordship’s soirees and fine wines. A few selected ones came to enjoy his other interest too, the ones that Poulo and his predecessor had supplied for the padded and hidden room up in the attics.

  Poulo pushed the delicately-built aristocrat into his own house, in a most unrespectful way. There was a little unobtrusive side door to which these deliveries had been made and it was here they’d met.

  “I told you never to come here in daylight!” hissed Paletto, using his anger to mask his fear.

  “Shut up. I need that little dungeon of yours,” said Poulo Borgo.

  His Lordship pouted and scowled. “But I don’t like them that little…”

  Poulo slapped him. “Even touch this one and I will cut your stomach out and shove it down your throat. She’s not for you. I will have her shipped out early tomorrow morning. In the meanwhile we need to hide.”

  “Hide? You? I mean, this…” The spoiled nobleman was horrified by the idea, though Poulo likely thought the horror was because he would be hiding a piece of low-life canal scum in his precious den, rather than any other reason.

  Poulo backed him into the wall and hissed into his face. “If I am caught, I know far too much about you and your friends, and be sure, I will tell it all. Now shut up and take me and this child up to your hidey-hole.”

  Alternately seething and cringing, his Lordship led the way to the attic, and the currently-empty, curiously luxurious room where he indulged the vices that would get him hung, noble or not. That seemed secure enough. Now all he had to do was wait for dawn, drug the brat, get her out, be on his way.

  But several hours later his involuntary host came back, gibbering with real fear. “You didn’t tell me that was Benito Valdosta’s child! You’re insane! You’ve got to let her go, Borgo. Quickly. Somewhere on the street far from here. They’ve tracked down some of your associates. The crowd ripped one of them apart. The Schiopetteiri have taken the others to…to face further questions. They tore your shop apart, found the lotos. It’s ugly out there. They won’t just kill us if they find us! And if she’s hurt…Get out! Out, out of my house. If you don’t go, I will go to the Council of Ten myself. I know Lord Calmi, I think—”

  That was as far as he got, because Poulo stabbed him. Idiot. If you are going to betray someone, it’s not smart to babble about doing so in front of him. Poulo made sure to kill him immediately. The last thing he wanted was to have to listen to the bastard whine while he died.

  Probably not the best thing he could have done, but it shut the bastard up, anyway. He had made things more difficult for himself; well that was the result of giving in to his temper. It would be awkward because he’d planned to use one of Paletto’s enclosed gondolas to take the brat down to the warehouse, and then across to Guidecca, and away. The servants were hardly going to obey him. But there was a paved walkway, and it was barely two hundred yards. If he went at dawn, and he moved quickly…if he bundled the brat on his back, like a pack, instead of carrying her, he might escape notice. No one would be looking for her in this part of town, anyway. Why would they? The only people who had known of Paletto’s vices were those who shared them.

  Chapter 36

  Okseia Island

  One of the many things that Maria appreciated about Benito was that he wasted no time once he started to move. And he could organize. Well, people jumped to do his bidding. That might or might not be the same thing, but at the moment she didn’t care.

  He had to get several oarsman to row him across to Okseia. The little island was about a mile distant, and Maria had seen him row. He’d also written a long letter for Enrico Dell’este, and scrounged a pack of soldier’s rations, and wineskin, and a blanket.

  The rowers wanted to wait for some word from the fleet. What could their commander want on that little island? What could possibly be there that would keep him for very long? And why was he so agitated?

  Benito put his foot down. “No. No waiting. Get across to Antigoni, and see that message gets to Duke Dell’este as fast as possible. With the first galliots you can commandeer, Mario. I can’t tell you what I’m going to do, or why. Dell’este must know first. I’ll be away awhile. But I’ll be back. Trust me. Have I let you down before?”

  Maria realized suddenly, by the acceptance written on their faces, just how much these men trusted and relied on her man. She sometimes still had trouble accepting him as anything but a trouble-seeking boy, and a wild one at that. They didn’t. They saw him as a man, as the proper heir to the Old Fox, as the Young Fox. Saw him as someone they could count on.

  He had grown.

  She’d been there for much of it, realized how he’d grown in their relationship, but not in his standing with, and attitude to, the rest of the world.

  It was a side of him she had been too close to see clearly. Or maybe it was because she hadn’t let her notions of him change even though he himself had changed.

  She led him to the ruins. A broken column. Some cracked marble steps. Stone balanced precariously on stone. And a rotting arch. She led him through it. Benito said nothing. She wondered if he could see what she could see. She saw it for what it was, another gateway, a place where one world faded into another. But this wasn’t a gateway Hekate commanded. She might know about it, but it wasn’t her place to open or shut. It was as well that no one had stumbled into it, because it was wide open, and anyone could cross it. But then again, why would they? There was nothing here that anyone would want. At least, not that they knew of.

  But Benito went ob=n, deeper into that other world, and into what was, by now, to her, a colonnaded courtyard with stables at its far end. And that was where they met with an obstruction.

  He was old, and his beard was long and matted with salt. His face was aged and careworn.

  And he could see both of them. He looked from Benito to Maria and back again, leaning on a trident. It looked more like it was something to keep him upright than a potential weapon.

  “What do you want here?” he demanded incredulously, as if he couldn’t believe there was a mortal and a spirit standing before him. Maria could see that certain…shimmer…about him, the same shimmer that Aidoneus had very strongly, and Hekate had in a lesser measure. But his was scarcely visible. This was a god, but a god fallen on very hard times with few or no worshippers.

  Benito stiffened up a little, and transformed again—taking on a look of authority and confidence. “I come here on a mission. My daughter has been kidnapped. I intend to have her back. Now.”

  The old man managed to look furtive. “It wasn’t me.”


  Benito shook his head. “No, you mistake me. We know you didn’t take her. We need to rescue her. We…I need transport.” His tone made it a demand, one equal to another. Maria held her breath. How would a god, even one as weak as this one, take such a demand?

  With amusement, apparently. “You mortal warriors! Still the same! Ulysses, Perseus, Heracles…” The old man cackled. “Well, you’ve done me no harm, have not blasphemed me. The children like you. I can see it on you.” He laughed harder and wiped his rheumy eyes. “Why not? Go by sea. Hee hee hee. I can still raise a storm. I’ll blow you there.”

  “A storm? A breeze maybe,” said Benito with something that might have been disdain if it had had more effort put into it. “Any magician can do that much.” His eyes narrowed in challenge.

  Maria looked sideways at him, saw just how he stood, and realized he was baiting the old man. She didn’t know who the old god was, and she didn’t recognize any of the names he’d told off—and likely, neither did Benito. The two of them had fallen into this realm of gods and ancient magics by accident, and had no idea what they were dealing with. But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Aidoneus had said, once, that many of the gods had taken on the characteristics that their worshippers insisted on giving them. Gods made in man’s image, he’d said. So Benito, rather than being cowed in the presence of a god, was using the skills he’d been learning from the Old Fox, in the manipulation of men. And an old, half-senile, but powerful man could be manipulated and tricked.

  The old god pushed himself a little straighter. “I’m the Earth-Shaker, mortal. Storm raiser. Lord of Aigai, God of Korinthos, Thebai and Pulos.”

  “I don’t think I have heard of any of them.”Benito shrugged. “Sorry.”

  The old man sat down on the step, heavily. “Not heard of them? Has it been so long, out there in the mortal world, that you have forgotten?” Before Benito could say anything, the old man answered his own question. “Of course it has. My followers have died. My power ebbs. My children turned against me…”

  He looked up at Benito, and scowled. “But I am still the Storm-raiser. I have the conch somewhere. Took it away from the children.”

  “Prove it. Make a storm then. Not with a conch but with your own power. I’d believe you then. Better than that, I’ll believe in you,” said Benito. “But not here in the Propontus. Anyone could do that. Say the gates of Hercules. Or the Black Sea. I bet you couldn’t raise a Storm in the Black Sea, not even in winter.”

  The old god snorted. “Ha. Even she couldn’t stop me. Anyway…can’t find the conch. I must have put it somewhere.” He waved the trident vaguely and appeared to draw down into himself, staring into the distance. Maria could see small lightnings about his head. “Never mind. I’ll do it the old way. Like in the old days.”

  “Let’s go,” whispered Benito.

  They walked past the old man, and up the steps and into the stable. Maria glanced back, then whispered “What did you do? I mean, I know you were tricking him, but why trick him into making a storm?”

  “Marco once told me weather magic is one of the hardest, and needs huge amounts of power. And I think it was one of Streghira who said that the old gods drew their strength from belief. This old man obviously was once someone that was believed in.” Benito glanced back himself. “But look at him! He’s lost most of his worshipers now. So I offered him bait—my belief—and lured him into performing a magic that will take his all. And might even do us a favor. Meanwhile, he’s not watching us, and we can get what we came for—whatever that is—”

  Just inside the door was a tack-room. “Aidoneus says what you need should be a golden bridle. It must be here somewhere,” Maria said, thinking aloud. The tack-room was remarkably empty. And very dusty.

  But there was a golden bridle on a peg beside the other door. Benito scowled at it, and then at her. “I had a feeling this might involve horses.”

  Maria scowled right back at him. “It involves rescuing our daughter.”

  With a heavy sigh, Benito took down the bridle from the peg, and they walked through into a vast empty stable, with nothing in it but a horse-statue. A very large golden-colored horse, perhaps one and half times the size of a warhorse. Bronze? Why put a bronze statue of a horse in a stable, where no one would see it?

  With huge wings to match. The statue of a winged horse. What had Aidoneus been thinking? Was it magic? When you put the bridle on it, would it come to life? But then what?

  Maria was about to explode with rage when it twitched its wings.

  It stepped forward towards them, turning its head slightly to look at them with the other eye too.

  “I suppose,” said Benito faintly, “that a saddle is out of the question?”

  * * *

  The great winged horse reared up, pawing air. “Come any closer with that bridle and I will kick you to death,” said a voice with a distinct whinny to it.

  Benito shook his head, but did not advance a single step. “Horses don’t talk. Their mouths are the wrong shape,” he said. “So you can come out, whoever you are, and stop playing games.”

  The wing-swat knocked him back against the wall. “They don’t fly either, they’re too heavy,” said the horse. And it was definitely the horse, Benito decided, with the sort of decision-making skill that comes when there are flared nostrils blowing horse-breath into one’s face.

  “Are you magic?” he asked, weakly.

  The horse stamped a hoof. “I am Pegasus. Magic is my birthright. Gifted by my mother. But she has left me here. Trapped.” The horse shook his head and looked both angry and aggrieved.

  This was going to require another sort of manipulation than he’d used with the old god. Benito took a step closer. Another. “I need to rescue my daughter. I’ll free you if you will take me to her.”

  The horse—Pegasus—drooped his head, flattening his ears. “Poseidon the Earth Shaker guards this place. He has been robbed once, and now he watches. He watches carefully. You can never free me.”

  Benito smirked. Just a little. “He’s busy right now. And we’ll lead you out of here, but only if you’ll carry me to my daughter.”

  The horse’s ears came up, then flattened again. “How do I know you speak the truth? I would do it if knew. I would give anything to be free again. My mother tried to free me, and failed. How could you—”

  Benito used the moment to slip the golden bridle over the great winged horse’s head. “You don’t. But I have given you my word. I’m Venetian. We make bargains with everyone. We couldn’t do that if we had a reputation for not honoring them.”

  “You tricked me!” There was rage in that voice, but the horse stood still.

  It seemed that bridle was some sort of magical thing that would control the creature. So he wasn’t going to get pounded into paste, which was a good thing. And this beast was just a bit simple-minded.

  Then again, it might be magic, but it was still a horse. “No. I just stopped you wasting time. You agreed, but did not trust me. Well, I’m no fallen old god, full of treachery and deception. I give you my word, I will let you go free the minute you take me to Alessia.”

  The winged horse’s skin shivered as if pestered by some passing fly. “Mount, then.”

  “Will you carry me there?” asked Benito, not liking the height of the horse’s back, but not letting that stop him.

  Pegasus mouthed the bit with distaste. “You hold the bridle. I cannot refuse.”

  Best to put a better face on this. “I didn’t know that, when I asked you to carry me, and a bargain is still a bargain. My word is still my bond. Let us lead you out of here, and when we’re out, you carry me to my daughter, and I will set you free.”

  The horse peered at Benito with one eye, then the other. “You are the strangest mortal I have ever seen.”

  “So they tell me,” Benito said, dryly. “But strange in what way?”

  “You say you are willing to let something go once you have it in your possession, and control it. That
is very odd.” The horse’s ears flicked forward.

  Benito glanced at Maria. “Let’s just say I have had a lot of practice in learning that when you try to hold something too tightly, you’re apt to lose it faster than if you opened your hand. Now, let’s get you out of here. The sooner we get to my baby, the faster you’ll be free.”

  So Benito took the bridle-rein and led the winged horse out. Poseidon was so wreathed in effort—and cloud—that he didn’t even see them go. Out again into the places between and then out of that and into the ruins.

  Benito used a fallen pillar capital to mount. Being out in the open air seemed to excite Pegasus. He tripled briefly and then broke into a gallop across the stony hillside—a good place to break knees. Benito thought that might be what had happened as they suddenly lurched, at full gallop as he clung to the mane. But they lurched upward—not toward the ground. Up, up in bucking sweeps of Pegasus’s wings. Up into the sky.

  With nothing but his legs to cling on with, Benito spent the first ten minutes of that ride frightened out of his wits. No human was intended to be this high. And there was no natural way that even such vast wings could support them. There was magic at work. Would it suddenly stop? Then an eagle suddenly sheered off, with a squawk, like a startled pigeon, and Benito’s sense of humor came to his rescue. He was certainly going up in the world. Higher and higher. And now it seemed, around in circles, over the land below. Upward, upward into the clouds. And then, when the air itself seemed to grow thin, downwards gliding north-west far faster than a man could run, or a horse could gallop or even a ship could move before the gale.

  It was in a way far easier than riding a horse had ever been. And he was so high that height itself lost its perspective. It was like looking down on a map. What he needed was Antimo Bartelozzi here to carefully draw it all, precisely and to scale.