Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

It was his last night in town…

Benito headed towards the old apartment in Cannaregio. Maybe?if she hadn't gone to Kat?if he played his cards right?Maria might take the fact that he was going off to war as a reason to repeat their night together. He found himself desperately hoping she would, and?almost as desperately?telling himself he was solely motivated by a manly search for pleasure.

He was unusually deep in thought, walking down the narrow calle. His previous life had been a humble place, but a happy one. The world had been pretty straightforward then. Now… for all that it was much more wealthy and luxurious, life was much more complicated. Take this business with Caesare… he was starting to put things into place that he really didn't like, and didn't want to believe about his hero.

He was at the foot of the narrow stairway when he looked up and saw that the door to the apartment was open. Moonlight made it look like a black pit. Benito raced up the stairs, his mind full of fear. And, as he stepped into the darkness, someone grabbed him. Someone with big meaty hands. "Knew you'd come back, bitch! You killed my cousins!"

Benito stamped down hard?as Caesare had taught him to?and struck back with an elbow with all the strength of his roof-climbing honed muscles. Straight into the pit of the stomach, by the gasp and release.

Benito had realized a while back that he was never going to be as tall as his brother. But lately he'd been getting broader. And the one thing about roof-climbing was that his grip was as strong as one of those Barbary apes.

Which was a good thing, he thought, as he caught his attacker's descending arm. Whoever this was, he was as strong as one of those apes' bigger cousins. Benito snatched at his main gauche, cross-drawing it with his free hand. He drew it in a short vicious arc. The heavy pommel hit something, hard. The arm he was trying to hold went limp. He hit the sagging head twice more, with all the force at his disposal. As the body slumped against him, he caught his attacker by the hair, and pounded the base of his skull as hard as he could with the pommel. Then he stepped back and drew his rapier, slipping the main gauche into its sheath, and felt for the oil lamp.

It wasn't there. But he knew this place like the back of his hand. There were candles and a striker in the cupboard…

A minute later he was looking at the carnage that had once been their apartment. His heart leapt like a fountain when he did not see what he had expected to see: Maria's body.

Then he realized what he was seeing. Two dead Matteoni brothers, with a third one?the one who had attacked him, whom he suspected had come on the scene later?slumped against the wall, staring at him with fogged eyes and a swaying head.

Since the Matteoni still alive clearly wasn't going to be moving soon?that was Giovanni, one of the Matteoni brothers' cousins?Benito took the time to examine the two dead ones. Luce and… Stephano, he thought. Luce had half his chest blown away. That was the work of a pistol at close range, and the only person Benito could think of who might have been at the apartment with a pistol was Kat. Whose body wasn't here either. His heart soared still further.

The other body, probably Stephano's, couldn't really be recognized at all. He looked more like a slab of meat in a butcher shop than a man. His shirt was blood-soaked from a stab wound and his head?

Benito averted his eyes, almost gagging. The man's features were completely obscured by drying blood. Brains were sagging out of the horrible head wounds. Someone?and he was pretty sure he knew just exactly what spit-fire woman could have done it, especially after he recognized the cleaver still jammed in the corpse's shoulder?had hacked his skull into shreds.

Matteoni. Caesare's errand boys.

As he finally accepted the truth about his idol, Benito felt a wave of sheer fury wash over him. The rage of a man who has been betrayed as well as wronged. He stalked towards the half-recumbent terror of the dockyards.

"Where is she?" He spoke in a voice that he scarcely recognized as his own. It was very, very cold. A voice which announced, as certainly as the tides: I will kill you, very slowly, if I don't get answers.

The man looked up at Benito with half-glazed eyes. What he apparently saw was not just a fifteen-year-old boy. Maybe the Ferrara-steel rapier had something to do with it. The Matteoni cowered back against the blood-spattered wall. "They got away. She?they?killed Luce and Stephano. I?I wasn't here. I was watching for Schiopettieri over on the next street. But when I saw her running away with that Case Vecchie bitch… I thought she'd come back, sooner or later."

Case Vecchie… who but Kat?

"Who sent you?" Benito demanded. He already knew the answer. But he had to hear it. In his heart of hearts, somewhere, he still hoped to hear it was someone else. But it was a faint hope, almost nonexistent. How else could they have known where to find Maria? He'd told Caesare himself, because?he'd thought it honorable and best.

"Aldanto… Caesare Aldanto. Said to make it look like a rape." It was said in a whisper, but it was loud enough to rock the foundations of Benito's whole world.

Three minutes later, with the surviving Matteoni lashed to the bed?and looking very surprised to find himself still alive at all?the place stripped of any weapon and the solid door firmly locked, Benito was jog-trotting in search of a gondola.

Maria's was still moored at the canalside. That was ominous. The gondola was her life.

Again, Benito felt despair seeping back in. And, again, that sudden wave of sheer rage. He had to restrain himself from stalking back into the apartment and cutting Giovanni's throat. But?

He wasn't quite up to cold-blooded murder, and there was nothing else to do with the man. He'd considered taking the Matteoni to the Schiopettieri and militia back on the campo. But Caesare had too much influence there. If Benito lived through this mess, then he'd take Giovanni Matteoni to Petro Dorma personally. But first he was going to the Casa Montescue to check that Maria was all right. And Kat, of course.

Then he was going to have to deal with Caesare. He hadn't made up his mind how he was going to do it, but it had to be done. It had him in something of a turmoil, but that wasn't going to stop him.

Soon enough, Benito found a gondolier to take him to Casa Montescue. He spent the entire trip locked away in the black thoughts in his mind. He was still trying to decide on the best course, when the gondolier cleared his throat, suggesting that now he'd brought the young signor here, payment and alighting would be much appreciated.

"How much?" asked Benito, feeling for his purse.

The gondolier told him.

Benito laughed savagely. "Va'funculo! What do you think I am? One of these poncy Case Vecchie idiots?"

The gondolier nodded, too dumbfounded to speak.

Benito had to acknowledge the justice of the man's assumption. "Here. That's the right sort of fare. And this," he held out a larger coin, far more than the fellow had asked for, "is for reminding me."

He alighted, and went to knock at the front door of the Casa Montescue.

An old man, worry written into his wrinkles greeted him. "Si?"

"Benito Valdosta. Here to see Milord Montescue. He must see me. About his daughter."

The old man ushered him in?and led him to a bedroom. Pacing the floor was Lodovico Montescue. His face lit up when he saw Benito.

"Ah! Young Valdosta. I didn't think they would find you so quickly. She seems to me to be getting worse."

He pointed to the bed. Benito was relieved. The woman in the bed wasn't Maria. He recognized the head on the pillow, despite the bandage. He'd seen her before. Not infrequently, visiting Caesare when Maria had been away. There was no mistaking that raven hair, the tiny mole above her mouth. He'd taken some observational sex lessons by peeking in at the window… something he'd never have considered doing with Maria and Caesare.