Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

"We'll get him there," she said. "Come, Kat. I know where it is. You?Dorma?tell Benito that Maria says he's to come to the Casa Montescue. And don't you tell that stinking Caesare Aldanto."

Petro was plainly unused to being addressed like this. But he'd picked up on the name. "Maria?"

Maria nodded defiantly. "Yep. That's me. Come, Kat. We'd better move, or that woman'll likely die on us. I should have thought to stop at the Accademia on the way over."

Marco took a last look around. "Time for leaving." He started to pick up his bags. There were more of them than could be easily carried. Dorma could send someone over for the bulk of them in the morning, he decided.

Rafael nodded. "I'll walk with you as far as the Traghetto."

Laden with the things that he felt he couldn't leave behind?his books and instruments?Marco walked in awkward silence down the stairs and out into the narrow calle. The first inkling he had of trouble was the boom of an arquebus, followed immediately by what felt like a bull hammering into his chest. The sheer force of it winded him, knocking him down. It sprayed the precious books it had struck into the street.

"Finish him!" yelled someone. "Make sure he's dead!" A group of dark-clad figures stood up from the cover where they'd been lurking in wait.

"Help!" yelled Rafael. "A rescue!"

And to Marco's amazement a rescue came, running down the darkened street.

"A Mercurio! Lux ferre!"

That was Luciano's voice! The entire street danced with witch-fire, showing the mottled, scarred face of Harrow and several others with him, the weird light gleaming on brass-bound staves. The five waiting assassins were trapped in the cul-de-sac. Swords and knives were drawn to meet the challenge.

One of them ignored the fight and came on at Marco, who was struggling?with Rafael's help?to get to his feet. It was Francesco Aleri, rapier in hand.

Marco stared at his death.

"Aleri!" yelled someone. "I've come to get you."

Somehow that voice halted Marco's nemesis. "Bespi?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, Aleri! Me." Harrow had thrust his way through the melee. "I've come to kill you."

Marco had never seen the big Milanese "Trade Ambassador-at-Large" look anything less than utterly confident. A few moments ago, even when the ambush had turned into a fight in which his side was outnumbered, Aleri's face had still worn that look. Now he just looked frightened. "You're dead!"

Harrow moved forward, a knife in either hand. "No thanks to you that I'm not. I'll have revenge now, Aleri. You're a dead man." He feinted.

Aleri had a rapier. He was, you could tell by the way he held it, skilled in its use. Harrow only had two knives. Yet Aleri was backing off?and plainly badly scared. "It was an accident," he protested.

"This isn't going to be," Harrow snarled, staring at the Milanese with mad, unblinking eyes.

Aleri made a frantic grab for Marco, while holding Harrow off with a sword.

It was a mistake. Harrow was far too good a bladesman, even with knives against a sword, for Aleri not to concentrate on him completely. The Montagnard assassin managed to stab Harrow through the belly with the rapier. Then…

Harrow's knives worked like a machine. Blood spouted everywhere, coating both men. The two sprawled to the ground. Aleri, still barely alive, stared at the sky; Harrow groaned once, tried to pull out the sword, and then lapsed into unconsciousness.

Maria and Kat were nearly knocked flying, first by a black-clad man and then by a man and woman with brass-bound staves.

They stepped into the little calle where Marco's lodgings were, pistols at the ready. The shutters were open and light was flooding into the street. Marco was kneeling beside the burnt-faced man, working on him feverishly. Even from here, Kat thought his efforts were probably pointless. The sword-hilt was flush against his body.

She and Maria rushed forward. As they kneeled next to Marco, the man half-trapped under the burned man groaned and blinked at Kat. "You'll have to kill him yourself, Lucrezia my love."

Kat winced at his wounds. The man's body was soaked in blood. Trying to avoid the horrible sight of his wounds?she could see intestines bulging out through one of them!?she concentrated on his face.

She knew him, she suddenly realized. This was Aleri?the man she'd seen kissing Lucrezia Brunelli at the mouth of the alley. Plainly his blurred eyes, in this lamplight, saw her red-gold hair as being that of Lucrezia. And Lucrezia Brunelli had plainly told him to kill Marco.

She shook his shoulder, hard. A moment later, as she demanded "why!", she realized that her hand was covered in a warm wetness. Aleri's face was untouched, but Harrow's blades seemed to have cut him everywhere else.

She was only dimly aware that others were listening too, and that one of them was Petro Dorma.

"Tell me, Aleri," she shouted.

"But… you told me to, Lucrezia," he muttered, slurring the words. His voice sounded puzzled. "You said before Sforza gets here… Valdosta boy mus' die."

Kat shook him again. "More! What about Marco?"

"Lion…" it was a breathy whisper, followed by a gout of bloody foam. Then, silence.

Marco pushed her aside gently and felt Aleri's throat for a pulse. "He's dead," he said, after a few moments. Then he went back to Harrow.

"I wish to hell he'd stayed alive just five minutes longer," said Petro grimly. "That was the best decision of my life, to follow after you two women."

A lean Luciano, his left arm bloody, stepped forward out of the shadows. "Petro Dorma?"

Petro nodded. "Marina. You're the one who disappeared, and then came back claiming he'd been on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem."

Luciano smiled slightly. "You would know, Signor di Notte."

Petro's eyes narrowed. "I would also know that you are under suspicion of being a Strega mage, accused by Bishop Capuletti."

"He was quite right, for once," said Luciano calmly. "And given certain guarantees from you, I will give you your five minutes to question Aleri."

"You admit this?" Petro looked at Luciano with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. "Most of the 'Strega' who used to have booths down on the Calle Farnese have proved to be fakes."

Luciano shrugged. "Yes, I am a real mage. A master, in fact. It is not?yet?a crime not to be a Christian here in Venice, you know. We practice secrecy because the threat of persecution here is very real, not because we have any evil to hide."

Petro nodded. "True, it is not a crime here in Venice… yet. But practicing black magic is. And at least part of the Church defines all magic which is not their own as that."

Luciano took a deep breath. "Yes. But Rome, to its credit, takes a more liberal attitude than the Pauline fanatics from the North do. And I would not be admitting this to you, if I was guilty of any 'black magic' or Venice's need was not both desperate and dire. If given your word to keep this secret?and you have a reputation for keeping that word?I will attempt some of what the Church would call 'black magic.' Necromancy, if you choose the term. I will call back this dead man's spirit and let you question him."

Petro looked carefully at Luciano. "What other conditions do you set?"

Luciano opened his palms. "None. Our scrying shows that there can be no survival for the Strega unless Venice survives. I risk the future of our faith, and my own life, by doing this. It is very dangerous for the mage."

Petro bit his lip; looked down at Aleri. "Very well. What do you need and how soon must it be done? I need to send certain messages about the information we already have."

"The sooner the better," said Luciano. "Before the soul slips too far. But I can give you ten minutes while I prepare. And one of your Schiopettieri have arrived. Use them. We can take the body up to Marco's old room."