David Blixt - The Master of Verona

Ferdinando nodded and made to dismount. Pietro gestured him to stay where he was and quickly related the news. "Here's what I want you to do — go that way and find Detto. Get him to safety and bring back Cangrande or anyone else you can find. I'll keep the bastard trapped here as long as I can."

Ferdinando cast a dubious eye over him. "Are you sure? Together we would have a better chance."

"We have to keep Detto safe. And we'll have a better chance if someone knows where I am."

Still Ferdinando hesitated. "If you get yourself killed, your sister will never forgive me."

Why does he care what my sister thinks? "If you know my sister, you know she'd tell you the same thing. Don't waste time, get Detto to safety. I'm counting on you."

Ferdinando muttered something about Florentines. He didn't look happy, but he trotted off in the direction Pietro indicated.

Pietro turned back to the cave. The dog was looking up at him. Detto was safe. That left Cesco. Raising his sword, Pietro ventured silently into the darkness.

Having recovered as much composure as a dying man may, the Count of San Bonifacio greeted his guest with a smile. "My dear, forgive me for not rising. Would you like to start with thumbscrews? Have you any salt? Or would you prefer to unleash one of your brother's menagerie upon me? If I may choose, I think I'd take the baboon. I have never seen one."

"The jackal is more appropriate. Or the leopard. That was what Pathino tried to feed Cesco to — a leopard. He told you?"

"Some. I try not to rely too heavily upon his word. Is that wine?"

"It is."

He sniffed it warily. "Poppies?"

"Not much. Morsicato's own brew. When the pain leaves you, I will give you nothing but water. We must talk."

The Count lifted the sweet-smelling mixture of wine and drug to his lips and drank deeply. Wiping his lips he said, "Certainly, we shall speak. Let me tell you about my father."

"Fine. Then I will tell you of my son."

The cave's depth was surprising. The path was steep, and the twisting descent masked the distance down to the main chamber. Pietro was surprised to hear drips of water hitting a pool. Was there a spring down here? Or was the roof so saturated with the rain that water was seeping down into the secret stable below?

He smelled the fire before he saw the glow on the curved tunnel wall. How best to handle this? His cape was heavy with wet. His sleeveless leather doublet was stiff and cold. His shirt clung to his skin, hampering his movement. He stripped these off. He knew he ought to remove his breeches, but if he was running to his death he was going decently covered.

The water-filled boots were a problem. They sloshed as he walked. If he took them off, his bare feet would be at the mercy of whatever ground was down there. He couldn't do with noise, though, so he removed them as well. Barefoot and bare-chested, Pietro laid his cane carefully across the path. Then, gripping his sword in his good hand, he moved ahead, placing each foot with care.

Mercurio was tense, long curved teeth bared. Pietro edged around the corner, then quickly pulled back. The cavern opened up into a wide chamber. Tree roots hung down from the earthen roof. The ground dipped at the center of the chamber. It was full of water, creating a natural barrier to crossing to the far side. The water came from above, the soaking rain falling just like the Old Man of Crete's tears fell to form the rivers of Hell.

The fire pit lay beyond the water, at the far end where the earth rose again. By the fire's light Pietro thought he'd seen a horse and a couple of figures camped close to the flames.

How to cross the water unseen? More importantly, unheard? Even if Pietro could sneak across the water, how quiet would the dog be? Mercurio was amazingly well-trained — even now he held back, waiting for Pietro to make a move. Best get a second look . Pietro leaned out again.

Something had changed. There were no longer two figures by the fire. There was only one. The man. Where was the child?

Pietro pulled back, assessing his options. I could go slowly into the chamber, try and creep up. Or -

The hell with it. He turned the corner and ran, the balls of his feet the only things to touch the ground as he lumbered straight for the pool of water and the man beyond. Reaching the water he plunged in, creating great splashes in the murky liquid. His progress was slowed almost to a walk. Pathino was seated upright but unmoving, his back to his approaching attacker. Pietro's eyes scanned right and left. No sign of the child. Where was he?

Something was wrong. Pietro was making enough noise to wake the dead in their graves, but the man still didn't move. Pathino's horse was shying away, yet the kidnapper was rigidly still. Why?

Something's wrong. That isn't -

His legs caught on something just beneath the water's surface and he fell onto his face just steps away from the shore, cast onto the bank a scant three feet from the man by the fire.

Pietro's eyes rose to look at the shape, sitting within grasping distance. It was a dummy of straw and mud, covered with a cloak and hat. A lure to bring any would be rescuer across, prey to the tripwire stretched just under the surface of the dark waters. A trick used by the Montecchi horse thieves in their day, Pathino had discovered it and made it his own. The scarecrow's own scarecrow.

And you fell for it. But then where-?

A grotesque creature rose from a cleft in the earth hidden from the firelight. Pietro rolled back into the water as a long broadsword flew at his head. The first blow missed Pietro's neck by three inches. The creature shrieked, already pulling the blade free of the damp earth. Tangled in the tripwire, Pietro lifted his sword in a frantic defense. Pathino's sword scraped along Pietro's hanging parry, sending brief sparks into the shadow between them. The scarecrow's teeth were bared in a vicious grimace as he dragged his blade back for a thrust that would pierce Pietro's chest. Swallowing water and struggling, Pietro couldn't move fast enough.

Pathino let out a cry of triumph that turned into a scream as Mercurio leapt up to close his teeth on Pathino's wrist. The kidnapper pummeled the dog with his other fist. Mercurio took the blow and landed gamely, ready for a second pounce.

By now Pietro had gotten his legs under him, his feet sinking into the soft muck under the water. Pathino let fly a third strike and Pietro ducked, thrusting with his own sword. But now Mercurio got in the way, leaping up to stagger Pathino back. Pietro's killing blow instead glanced off Pathino's thigh.

The pommel of Pathino's sword came up and down, shattering the dog's skull. Mercurio crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his head. The injured hound tried to right himself, stumbling helplessly towards the fire.

Pietro screamed and Pathino barely turned in time to parry his vengeful blow. Stumbling back, the scarecrow pitched a handful of dirt into Pietro's eyes. Turning his head, Pietro only caught a few specks in his left eye. Already he had his sword moving up to block the descending skull-strike. He half felt, half saw Pathino's blade bite into his own. Pietro surged upward, knocking his opponent's weapon aside as he swung for his belly.

The scarecrow jumped back a second time, watching Pietro's stroke hiss past his middle. He kept dodging backward until he reached into the cleft neatly hidden by the fire pit. From it he dragged Cesco, bound hand and foot with a rag stoppering his mouth. Tossing his sword aside Pathino drew his miseracordia and held it to Cesco's throat.

Pietro halted, but didn't lower the point of his blade. His eyes flickered down to the child in Pathino's grip. Bound, the boy looked dazed.