Copyright © 2000 By Sarah Roark and Janet Trautvetter
Chapter Two:
A Flock of Black Eagles
(CONTINUED)
The Milanese chantry turned out to be laid out more or less on the same plan as the Florentine, although Antonio muttered again about Taliesin's refinements to the wards once Benedio was out of earshot. Their chaperone stayed only a few minutes, long enough to be formally introduced to the blood-servant in charge of the chantry, a deceptively thin and fragile-looking old man called Spinello; they greeted each other with spare correctness, as though they had already gotten on each other's bad side — unsurprising, since Benedio had evidently come calling with a lot of uncomfortable questions with about Spinello's vanished masters.
"It's almost the same size as ours," said Etienne, running his hand along the dusty top of a section of wood paneling, "only it was home to two Tremere, not eight."
"No doubt it was meant to have more eventually," Antonio replied. "Once I leave for my own chantry, you'll probably get a private bedroom. It's not that much longer to wait." He was kneeling before what they presumed was the door to Alexander's quarters, tracing his sensitive fingers over the pattern etched around the lock. "This fellow didn't represent his master all that well. I could probably pry his ward open even without Gilbert's formulae."
"Perhaps he set it too hastily when he left."
"No, the structure of the thing is weak. Inexact computations, I imagine."
"Not everyone is as precise about that as you are, brother."
"You lot certainly aren't. I have yet to see any of you set the ward I couldn't force, but I expected better from a pupil of Taliesin's."
"Well, he was new, you said. Almost as new as I was, and he hadn't been in the Blood any longer than that."
"True."
"Don't force it if you don't need to."
"I won't." Antonio unsheathed his fangs and bit into his lower lip, dribbled a few drops of blood onto his fingertip, then worked it carefully into the keyhole and the indentations of the etching. Afterward he added a few shapes of his own with another application of blood. A muttered phrase, and the door latch opened effortlessly to him.
Now Gilbert's taught him that trick, he can get into any of our quarters whenever he likes without our knowing, Etienne noted darkly. At least Antonio was right about there not being much longer to wait; by all rights, a Regent's post should be found for him before long...next year would hardly be too soon.
"Let's see what we have here." Antonio opened the door and motioned for Etienne.
Etienne stepped inside. "Well, this looks familiar. Adam is nearly this untidy."
"Don't begrudge it. One can learn a lot from a man's clutter. I only hope Taliesin did us a similar service. Not that I expect anything here to bear on the attack, but we must leave no stone unturned."
At least all the things on the floor had been pushed up around the edges of the room, but Etienne found he could not even open the door all the way without smashing it against an array of mismatched jars filled with bits of various animals. A smell emanating from a nearby box suggested their fellow Tremere had been growing toadstools in here as well. Was his lab such a pig-sty that his experiments had begun to overflow into the bedchamber?
"One room at a time, Antonio? Otherwise you could open up the lab and I could start in there."
"One room at a time. I don't want your touch sp— I mean if anyone touches the things, that could spoil whatever impressions remain, so I want to be the first."
Etienne pretended he hadn't noticed the slip and went to hover dutifully beside Antonio. Antonio began to go through the trunk at the foot of Alexander's bed. Every item he extracted was touched, examined, frowned over and finally tossed onto the bed, where Etienne picked it up in turn.
"At least our lad dressed well," he remarked. "I have no idea how he could afford this doublet. Good clean linens too — you'd think he expected them to be seen."
"According to the bed, they were," Antonio said dryly.
"What, he brought girls in here?"
"He brought one, at least."
"I'd have used a room up in the house. What does this Jacopi fellow do, anyway? Is he a merchant?"
"Yes, evidently he deals in everything from oranges to wool to cinnamon. We won't meet him till tomorrow night, but Spinello said his staff all understand that we've the free run of the house and are to be obeyed as Jacopi himself. Here, Etienne, paw over this if you like, it should be to your taste."
Etienne opened the little book and decided he was liking Alexander better and better: a collection of bawdy stories in Greek, illustrated here and there with charming miniatures. It rather dismayed him to find he could still remember the recommended penances for each of the acts depicted.
"A man of the world, it seems. I wonder if Taliesin knew Alexander was keeping this kind of frippery about...somehow I get the feeling he wouldn't have approved."
"And Galen," muttered Antonio, throwing another book into the pile on the bed. "Don't tell me he didn't even have his Galen memorized..."
Etienne saw something odd as the book clattered down. "Look here, Antonio, you didn't even look at it carefully."
"It's Galen. All these books are frightfully basic."
"But he must have memorized it after all. Look." He opened it and showed his brother how a rectangle had been cut into the pages of the book's middle section, hollowing out a space for a small stack of folded parchments with broken seals.
"Black eagle seals,"
Antonio exclaimed, snatching the stack out of its niche.
"Well? Who are they from?"
"I'm checking. This is personal correspondence...to my young friend, my young unnamed friend, apparently...here we are. Fra' Francesco Dantini."
"Monsignor Dantini, I believe. One of Alianora dell' Aquila's sons-by-Blood."
"The elder of the two. Now that Taliesin would have disapproved of, you can be sure."
"Obviously."
Antonio closed his eyes and held the stack between his palms for the space of several mortal breaths. "Yes, I can feel Dantini's presence on these, behind Alexander's. His is still quite distinct. Now I'll know it if I feel it again." He hesitated, then reluctantly handed the letters to Etienne. "Here. We've got a lot to get through tonight. You have a look and let me know if there's anything of interest in these."
Etienne obeyed, reading to himself in a rapid murmur. Antonio pulled out the last few things out of the chest and scrutinized them, his enthusiasm renewed.
"This one has a great deal of the Lasombra on it, too." Antonio held up a book bound in red leather. "I even caught a hint of what he looks like...he's had it for decades, perhaps even a century."
"Yes, it's right here in the most recent letter. He was lending it to Alexander; he thought Alexander might find it helpful in light of their recent discussions."
"Hm, let's see. It's in Latin...Here beginneth the meditations of Lucius of Aachen...theology?"
"I'll have a look at it," Etienne said absently.
"So far Alexander hasn't struck me as the pious sort. Ah, look — more secret letters, stuffed into an herbal! These are even more mysterious. They're only signed your devoted, and no stamp, just a wax blob. Not from Dantini. There's a different feel. They're poetry," Antonio blurted as he turned his attention to the contents. "Some nonsense about Jonathan and David and Saul's hatred for David...a lot of going on about wine and the sweetness of the arbor. Then this looks like commentary on something Alexander must have written. Your ode to the Night-Queen? Bonisagus' beard. A wizard, a voluptuary, a theologian, a Petrarch...it seems he couldn't begin to decide what he wanted to be. A man of all talents in our own dear clan, and we've found out only too late — eh, brother?"
He turned to Etienne, smirking ironically, and was annoyed to see that the Frenchman did not even look up.
"Etienne."
"Hmmh."
"What?"
"What?" Now Etienne looked up with a start.
"What are you immersed in? Have you found something?"
"Oh. Er, nothing. It's just intriguing, that's all."
"Don't give me that. What is it?"
"It's nothing. Theology. Nothing to interest you, I promise. For heaven's sake, see them for yourself if you must."
Antonio pursed his lips, then shrugged. "I believe you. But in that case, you should set it aside and move on. Save it for your leisure reading if you like."
I will at that, thought Etienne as he set the stack down beside him.
"Odd thing though; most of these are in one hand, but there are several here in different hands. Always the same signature — it looks so hurried, you'd think he had a hundred things to sign a night."
A timid knock came at the door.
"We should speak further with him anyway," said Antonio, which meant that he would keep looking over things in the room while Etienne stepped out into the hall and questioned Spinello, leaving the door open a crack so Antonio could hear.
"My lords —" Spinello bowed low, trying to sneak a glance into the room as Etienne slid around the doorjamb.
"Spinello. We had more questions for you."
"I live to serve, my lord."
"Of course. We..." Where to start? "We've found a couple of hairs on Alexander's pillow. Long hairs."
"Bleached to yellow," Antonio called.
"Yes, bleached to yellow."
"Ah. Yes, my lord." Spinello hesitated. "At
the young master's request. During my dear Master Taliesin's
absences he always asks me to procure a pretty girl for his pleasure.
He complains that our larder is uninspiring." He grimaced,
perhaps worried by the expression that crossed Etienne's face,
then hurried on. "Naturally I do what I can to please them
both, but Master Taliesin has expressly instructed me to be pragmatic...to
select those least likely to be missed."
"I can imagine. But when it's just Alexander, you accommodate
his desires."
"Whenever the magus is gone, my lord, I am bound to the young master's desires. Yes."
It occurred to Etienne that Spinello was now so bound to obey them; Etienne had not seen this chantry's larder yet, but he was fully prepared to believe Alexander was right about the fare. Perhaps he could persuade Antonio to a change of menu.
"Did Taliesin ever ask you afterwards how his student had occupied himself?"
"He never asked about the women, my lord. I don't think he suspected. Sometimes he would ask if others of the Blood had visited."
"Oh? Was thinking of anyone in particular?"
"He would not say, my lord. But we have so few visitors, particularly of your noble sort...only that Signor Brandini would come occasionally, carrying correspondence from his lord."
Benedio had been Ercole's errand boy in more than the present matter, then. If Petrucchio's taunt against getting past the courtyard was true, then Taliesin had never so much as invited him in for refreshment. Hardly a courteous way to treat the Prince's courier.
"But you never let him in."
"I was ordered to take his letters in the courtyard, my lord. I am told that Master Taliesin has received guests in Jacopi's house before, but I have never seen him do so during my tenure, my lord; and of course I have never ushered a visitor of the Blood past the chantry threshold itself."
"I see. Well, Spinello, back to this girl Alexander had with him..."
Spinello gave a faint smile.
"Did that happen this last time, before he rode out to look for Taliesin, I mean?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Then it might be worthwhile to talk to her, if there's a chance she noticed or overheard something. If he kept her a while. Is she in the larder still?"
"Ah — no, my lord." The smile dropped away, as quickly as it had arrived. "I'm afraid she is dead."
"What, by Alexander's hand?" Etienne tried not to look as astounded as he felt. In Florence, even those apprentices who would gladly take a life each night of the year were discouraged from draining their prey so quickly; and it had begun to seem that Alexander was a creature of finer feeling than they.
"I'm afraid so, my lord. He is not usually so...demanding, I assure you; but when he heard of his teacher's disappearance he was most upset. Perhaps he miscalculated in his grief. And he shut himself up in his laboratory, my lord, for quite some time. It has seemed to me that the practice of the Art sharpens the thirst somewhat. I disposed of her discreetly, and gave her...guardian a fair sum to keep quiet. She'll be no further trouble to us, my lord. No need to worry."
No doubt he was preparing himself to ride up to Ruthven's border, mused Etienne. Girding himself with whatever feeble spells were at his command, at the cost of a young girl's life...perhaps I'm rushing to imagine him a fellow-spirit. Or perhaps it was an accident, just as Spinello says. At any rate, he's likely dead too, well past being judged by others of his ilk. The point is moot.
"And you're absolutely sure he said nothing to you of his mission, where he was riding or what he planned to do when he got there."
"No, I swear it," Spinello exclaimed. "Only that our master had disappeared and he must go search for him. I — I confess I did not want to believe it, my lord. Master Taliesin is so wise and powerful, it is difficult to imagine that any harm could befall him. It must be some urgent business that has drawn him away against his wishes. He cannot be dead, my lord —"
A clear note of panic had entered the old servant's voice. Etienne was irritated to hear it: yet another Tremere slave desperate at the prospect of losing his filthy elixir.
"Can't he?" he returned, more scornfully than he meant to.
"Oh no. I would know — I would feel it, my lord. His blood calling to the blood in my veins..."
Etienne had been going to cut him off again, but then he curbed his own tongue instead. There was merit in the argument. He had heard of blood-servants developing an uncanny sympathy with their masters. In fact, the stories mortals liked to tell about miraculous dogs who would race across town to save their owners from sudden danger were often told at vampiric gatherings — only about blood-servants instead of dogs. Still, Spinello's judgement could just as easily be clouded by self-interest and the unnatural affection the Blood engendered.
"Was it usual, Spinello, for you to have a sense of your master, his mood or his whereabouts?"
"Indeed, my lord," the mortal replied eagerly. "Particularly, I could feel his anger from down the street...granted, I doubt he's so close now," he added in a more subdued tone, having just realized the fault in his own assertion. "But still I would have a sense of it, my lord. And he was not often angry. His humor tended toward the melancholy rather than the choleric, that is, assuming the humors operate in those of the Blood as they do in ordinary men — I'm afraid I remain ignorant of such things, my lord, so you must forgive me if I seem foolish in my speculations..."
Etienne grunted, quelling Spinello with no ceremony whatever — the occultists, necromancers and other candidates for Initiation who frequented Gilbert's upper halls were similarly full of questions that needed constant deflecting. "By the way, was there something you wanted?"
"My lord?"
"I mean just now, coming to the door."
"Ah. Yes, my lord — you have a letter."
"I do?"
"It's for Messer Antonio. It arrived moments ago." Spinello handed it over: another black eagle spreading its wings, the flat surface of the stamp-mark catching what light there was in the corridor and throwing it into relief.
"I see. Thank you, Spinello. That will be all for the moment, but keep close."
"Of course, my lord."
Etienne shut the door behind him.
"Another addition to the flock," he announced to Antonio, who took the letter with all haste but then stopped just as his finger slid under the edge of the parchment.
"It's possible the Tzimisce —" the Florentine muttered by way of explanation.
"Well, do you feel anything upon it?"
"No..." Still he hesitated. "Perhaps I should — no. Never mind."
"Do you want me to open it?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Antonio broke the seal. No shiver of magic released greeted them. Antonio's fine eyebrows contracted as his gaze sped hungrily down the page.
"Well?"
"Our theologian friend again."
"Dantini?" Etienne fell silent as the name escaped, thinking he had sounded too interested; but then that was a silly notion.
"Yes. He wants to visit first thing tomorrow evening, to discuss our missing brother. Wonder which one he's thinking of. Alexander, going by the letters, but there's no predicting, I suppose."
"Then we'll have to give him his book back."
"Unless he tries to murder us right then and there, yes. My condolences, Etienne, but it can't be helped. Dash off a little reply, would you? That we'd be delighted to receive him and all that. I do hear the Tzimisce are keen on formalities."
"Dantini isn't Tzimisce, he's Lasombra."
"He's a Tzimisce's stepson." Antonio looked up, frowning. "Anyway, make it polite. We can't afford to look too prejudiced against these people. I fancy Ercole would take it ill, and we've been instructed to keep on his good side if at all possible."
Well, since we've been so instructed, was Etienne's sardonic comment to himself as he left in search of his trunks and his writing supplies.
The Milanese Chantry, V Id. Apr.
(April 9 — Good Friday)
"Etienne, you're not ready. Considering how long it takes to lace your doublet, you should have been moving long since." A delicate hand fell on his shoulder and jarred it in most indelicate fashion; his fist slipped free from underneath his chin, sending his head tumbling. He caught himself just in time and sat up hastily, staring at his hand in wonderment. He had stayed in that position that long?
"Etienne." Antonio's voice grew harsh. "What's the matter with you?"
His superior looked from him to the book on his desk and back again, realization dawning now. "Don't tell me you stayed up reading all day!"
"Not all day," Etienne said blurrily. "I've never lasted all day."
"Well, how long did you last?" Antonio asked. He tried to keep a disapproving air, but he could not entirely disguise his interest. An informal competition was on among the Florentine apprentices to best their brother Niccolo's record in that regard — a sort of benchmark of magical dedication.
"How should I know? Not the half of it, I'm sure...don't worry, your standing is safe, such as it is." Actually it was more than a little embarrassing to be woken by Antonio. Etienne was nearly always the earlier riser.
"Well, you'd better get about your primping. First thing this evening, that was what we arranged. I can't imagine it takes so long to throw on a friar's robes. I certainly trust your vast piety is sated now."
Etienne hastily straightened his shirt and sleeves, then remembered the proper order of things and went over to the washbasin in the corner, pouring a little water and splashing it on his face and neck. It could hardly be colder than his own skin, but it seemed so and it did help speed the return of his wits.
"Actually, it's a fascinating treatise. The author is one of our kind, I'm sure of it. He never says so outright, but he speaks to all the questions pertaining to our existence..."
"I would be very surprised indeed if he engaged them with more lucidity than Vulpinus in his Dialogues of Magus and Apprentice," Antonio interrupted.
"...He's Dominican, in any case. I wonder if Dantini is Dominican too — but no, he must be too old for that."
"Well, no doubt we'll see in a minute. Hurry up. Let's hope this doesn't take long; I'm supposed to call on Lord Gilbert tonight to confer about the ward on Taliesin's quarters." He fluttered out, leaving Etienne to tighten his hose and lace his doublet as quickly as he could. It was tempting to use the Blood to do so, but he was thirsty enough already.
Jacopi's house was still unfamiliar, but once he found the stairs they took him right to the courtyard and thence to the entryway and the heavy front doors. Antonio, as the superior, would wait in the salone he had asked Jacopi's staff to prepare; but someone must go down to usher Dantini past the outer wards, which theoretically repelled uninvited vampires and other creatures of unnatural origin. Spinello had a little silver seneschal's key that could easily be charged with the necessary magic to perform the task — that was how he had been able to admit Benedio to the courtyard a few weeks before — but of course it would be more courteous to have one of the Blood do it.
He had timed it well. Almost too well: just as he arrived he heard the soft clopping of hooves coming down the deserted street. A dappled-grey horse appeared out of the gloom, taking the distance to the front door at a conscientious but fundamentally easeful pace. Atop it was a figure cloaked in black, with flashes of white peeking through wherever cloak and scapular ended. Dominican after all, then. Etienne arranged himself in a somewhat more modest version of his courtier's stance, and as the horse stopped opposite him, he unobtrusively reached out for the bridle. He held it in a token gesture of assistance while his guest swung down.
"Monsignor Dantini, I presume." Etienne bowed.
The man bowed in return, almost as deeply. His hood had been up, but now he doffed it, revealing the basic facts of his countenance: a long, aquiline nose and gaunt cheeks; a severe tonsure that left less than three inches of dark hair in a fringe circling his skull; a serious mouth and dark eyes.
"I am Dantini."
"An honor to welcome you to our house, Monsignore. My name is Etienne. I serve as apprentice to the House and Clan and assistant to my brother the magus, who awaits us within."
"The honor is mine, Messer Etienne." A slight nod now. He rendered the Etienne almost perfectly.
"Come then, Monsignore: enter and partake of all the comforts we can offer, modest though they may be." Etienne led the horse over toward the door so he could push it open with his free hand. The ward gave way with a soft shudder.
"I accept with grateful thanks, Messere, and the hope that I shall prove worthy of such generosity. Peace be upon you and your house. May all that is holy bear witness that we are host and guest." Dantini's voice rang with quiet sincerity, and it was never a small thing for one vampire to cross another's threshold for the first time; yet Etienne gathered that this was a precise formula, imbued with more weight than he himself would have assigned the occasion. A Milanese custom? The last bit sounded almost like a warning, as though supernal punishment would be visited upon any vampire that dared violate this trust. Still, ceremony was ceremony. Etienne merely bowed again and motioned Dantini into the entryway, whence a bleary-eyed youth emerged to lead Dantini's mount around to the stables.
"Please." Etienne led his visitor into the courtyard, then up the staircase to the piano nobile, the grand second story. He walked slowly, so as to be able to study the man as best he could without staring. For his part, Dantini let his gaze wander, doubtless forming some notion of his hosts' tastes and circumstances even though the house itself was laid out to Jacopi's pleasure rather than Taliesin's.
Dantini was not as Etienne had pictured him. Granted, he might be conflating his impressions from the letters with those from the book; it had been a lot to absorb in a short time. Still, the letters had seemed to address Alexander with such easy warmth, speaking always as though the young Tremere were right there at Dantini's shoulder, listening and quibbling. Etienne had imagined someone rather like his own favorite tutors from the monastery, amiable men who could argue Aquinas one moment and labor patiently in garden or field the next, faces alight with that odd Franciscan peace. That Dantini's Christian name was Francesco — an Italian commonplace as well as a tribute to the Franciscan founder — had helped foster that image.
But the Dominicans were a different breed, he reminded himself now. They had been chosen to lead the Holy Office of the Inquisition for good reason: not cruel men necessarily, but implacable in matters of doctrine. Dantini certainly looked implacable, tall, erect and silent as he walked beside Etienne, the motions of his gangly limbs smoothed by the yards of forgiving fabric in his friar's habit.
Antonio had chosen a welcoming little room; Etienne noted this with relief upon entering it. Color bloomed on the painted walls: expensive shades of blue had been worked, together with plentiful gilding, into a facsimile of the night sky, with each constellation superimposed upon a ghostly image of its namesake. Their positions probably would, if analyzed, prove an actual horoscope — perhaps merely of Jacopi's birthday, but more likely of some date of secret significance to House and Clan. No fire was lit (they hardly needed one), but candles and lamps had been set in the corners, imparting glowing warmth to the parquet floor. The false stars sparkled in the illumination.
Antonio stood up from his chair.
"The Monsignore is here, brother," Etienne announced. "Monsignor Dantini, I beg leave to present my brother and superior, Magus Antonio of Tremere."
Antonio curtailed his bow somewhat; perhaps he thought he would be granted whatever station he assumed. Dantini again bent nearly, but not quite, as deeply. Would he be offended now? After all, he was the elder here. But the friar's expression remained calm and dignified.
"I bid you welcome to our house, Monsignore," said Antonio. "You honor us indeed with your visit."
"No more than you honor me, Messere." Evidently Dantini meant to leave the title Magus to the Tremere. "Indeed this is the first time I have been so privileged. I only wish the occasion were a happier one."
"Yes." Antonio's eyes narrowed. He was simply observing their guest with his usual avidity for detail (or Etienne hoped so, at any rate), but a stranger could well take it for a suspicious look. "You wrote that you wished to discuss the matter of our missing brethren with us, and I would not keep you from your desire. Please have a seat. — And Etienne."
"My thanks, Messere." Dantini arranged himself on a chair as Antonio and Etienne took their own seats. Antonio summoned Spinello, who had been hovering just outside the barely-open door.
"Is there anything you require, Monsignore? May I offer you refreshment?"
Dantini hesitated, visibly. "I have already dined, Messer Antonio, but I shall gladly raise a goblet with my host, if that would please you."
"It would. Goblets all round then, Spinello." Antonio nodded to the blood-servant, who trotted off.
"Gentlemen, you must forgive me if I impose, or if I offend you with my ignorance of the news," Dantini began. "I only returned to Milan last night. But I thought it my duty to come to you, in case you were in need of what little information I can offer. I fear...I am nearly certain that your brother Alessandro is dead."
Etienne could see two instincts warring in Antonio: the Tremere compulsion to reveal as little as possible to outsiders competed with the need to appear at least as informed as they. "Yes," the Florentine said at last, "that is our suspicion also. But pray, tell us how you came by it...if you would be so kind."
Dantini shifted. "I understand that you have already visited your villa by the river, Messere?"
"Yes." News traveled quickly; but then this was a dell' Aquila. No doubt he knew whatever Jovan Ruthven chose to tell him.
"Then you must have learned that he stopped there."
"Yes, he did." Antonio debated with himself again. "Then the next night he rode out and fell off the face of the earth."
"Messeri, I cannot suppose that your man at the villa mentioned me, since I stayed out on the road. But I accompanied Messer Alessandro there. I would have ridden further yet with him, but he intended to stay the day so that he could ask after his master."
"Then he spoke of his business to you? He asked you to accompany him?"
Now Dantini frowned; his tone cooled. "He knew that I was riding to Pavia that same night on business, and he greatly desired an escort. He seemed to feel it necessary. He had been told Messer Taliesin was missing and feared he might meet with trouble himself."
"Did he say, in particular, what it was that he feared?"
This is wrong, this is wrong, Etienne thought helplessly. Here you are insinuating things, forcing him to defend himself before he's even finished his story.
"Not in particular. I...will say frankly, Messeri, that I never entirely succeeded in convincing Alessandro not to fear Signor Ruthven, my sire's husband. I have always done my best to assure him that the Signore does not hate men solely for the blood in their veins, but evidently war stories from his superiors spoke more strongly to him than my arguments." He paused. "I assumed that the Signore was at least partly the cause of his fear, and perhaps I gave less credence to it for that reason. Now I wonder if there was not something else. I regret, Messeri, that I did not inquire more deeply. I wish I had more to tell you."
"Ah, you did not send him the letter, then?" Etienne asked, trying to make his voice lighter than Antonio's. His brother looked at him sharply.
"Letter?" Dantini turned to him, regarding him now as though for the first time. "No...I did not write him. He received one while he was there?"
"Indeed, Monsignor." Etienne ignored Antonio's glare and pressed on. "A letter with a seal in black wax, bearing the device of an eagle, wings displayed. That would be the dell' Aquila seal, would it not? It was this letter which caused our brother to hurry out from the villa shortly after rising the next evening. Just now when you mentioned riding out with Alexander, I thought you were about to say you'd found out something of interest to him further down the road, and wrote to warn him of it. Forgive me, I was getting ahead of you."
"Don't apologize, Messere. I would indeed have written him, had that been the case, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary on my trip." Dantini had been sitting with his hands joined in his enveloping sleeves, a quintessentially monkish posture. Now he disengaged them to rub at his jaw. "And the seal you describe is indeed our seal. I cannot imagine, however, that one of us wrote him. As I said, I would, but I did not; as for my sire and brother, they barely knew Alessandro. Nor, to my knowledge, were they informed of his whereabouts. I don't suppose you still have this letter?"
"Alexander took it with him."
"Of course. A pity...much could be gleaned from it, as I'm sure you realize."
"Indeed."
"I'm told his Highness has given you leave to pursue this matter. Messeri, if you should require anything at all from me in that pursuit, I beg you not to hesitate. No doubt some in this city will tell you that Alessandro is not missed, but that is untrue. I grieve for him, and would be glad to help in any way I can. Nor am I alone in that regard."
"You are most kind, Monsignore," replied Etienne, slipping it in edgewise, since it was plain that Dantini meant to go on.
"The Easter Mass approaches. I hope you will agree that your brothers should be specially remembered in our prayers on the eve of our Lord's triumph, and that I have not overstepped my bounds by arranging it so. I have extended invitations to all the court — her most gracious Ladyship Isabella has already confirmed her attendance and that of her ladies, and I believe several others will come as well. Your invitation I now offer in person. Would you honor us, Messeri, by joining us in asking God's blessings upon your lost brethren?"
The friar's eyes had remained on Etienne the whole time. Etienne sent a prompting look to his brother, who appeared taken aback. Dantini suddenly seemed to realize that he had been addressing the wrong person and did the same.
"A Mass?" It was as good as a foreign word to Antonio. Etienne little doubted that he had not attended one since his death.
"It certainly would be amiss of us not to go, brother, don't you agree?" Etienne said. "Of all the people who should attend —"
"Yes, yes..."
"Surely our brothers should be given every aid possible, even if it's only our poor prayers."
"Yes, of course I agree. Monsignore, we would be delighted to come."
"I am relieved, Messeri, and gratified." Dantini nodded. His face took on a slightly different shape. Etienne perceived that he was thinking of how to end this interview, and stepped in again.
"If you wouldn't mind, Monsignore, since you did offer your assistance —"
"Not at all." Dantini settled back. "How may I be of service?"
"I simply want to make sure I'm not getting muddled." Etienne leaned forward. "Earlier you were saying you'd become almost certain that Alexander is dead."
"Almost, Messere. I confess I still hope my fears will be proved wrong. But since neither he nor his master have surfaced after such a long interval, that hope dwindles."
"Of course — as does ours. Still, I'm afraid I don't quite understand. You haven't yet offered any cause for this belief past the fact that Alexander was frightened, and you said yourself that he was always afraid of Signor Ruthven anyway."
"You want me to offer something else he might have been afraid of," Dantini guessed.
"I was wondering if there might be anything else. Anything to give you such great concern as you speak of."
At that moment Spinello came in, bearing a bottle set inside a clay pot filled with hot water. The servant beside him carried four exquisite goblets. They served the company as quickly as possible and then left, having gathered from the silence that fell as they entered that these pallid men were discussing matters they did not wish to air before the help.
Antonio picked up his goblet; Dantini and Etienne echoed the gesture. No toast was offered. Etienne steeled himself as he raised the already-congealing liquid to his lips. Even warm, blood divorced from its natural vessel repulsed him. A flower, once cut, was already dead in the most important sense, though it might not admit to its death for many days. The same was true of blood. Moreover, drinking from a cup eliminated both the chief shame and the chief pleasure of vampirism: that greedy infantile suckling, the impossible blend of arousal and atavistic comfort it engendered.
Dantini sipped delicately. He had specifically requested goblets. That in itself signified little, since he might simply be second-guessing his hosts. Many Cainites preferred to offer their visitors live prey, so its quality could be appreciated and all might better revel in their monstrosity; some, particularly the more cautious, preferred the goblet. But it seemed more likely that either Dantini truly had dined enough earlier, as he claimed, or else he meant them to understand that this was merely a token gesture of trust, and he would accept no more of their hospitality than protocol demanded.
"Forgive the interruption, Monsignore," Antonio said as Dantini set his goblet down again. It was his bid to regain control of the conversation, but it failed.
"Of course. Your brother was asking whether I knew of anything Alessandro might have to fear besides Signor Ruthven."
"Or of any other circumstance which begat your present conviction, yes," agreed Etienne.
"There are many things, many people he might have feared, Messere. I hardly need to tell you that historically, this city has been inhospitable to those of your blood. Whether anyone bore him a specific grudge? Not that I was aware. From what I could tell, most...simply didn't consider him much. Taliesin kept him rather tightly leashed. They almost never appeared at court. He had no real chance to make an impression on anyone, good or bad."
"A fact he lamented?"
Dantini said nothing at first, his gaze traveling across and down Etienne's face, as if Etienne himself were an evidential letter.
"Have we met before, Messere?"
For an instant, the question merely annoyed Etienne — Dantini was evading. It hardly took a long employment with the Holy Office to learn when someone was trying to throw an interrogator off a promising scent. But the Lasombra's tone was probing, not agitated; his eyes had widened slightly in clear recognition.
No. Etienne had never seen this man before. Nothing swam up from the depths of his memory as he returned Dantini's relentless stare. And yet it felt as though the floor had suddenly trembled and dropped out from under him, and he was suspended.
"Met?" he repeated. His wits grasped for purchase.
"Not in Milan, surely, but I have dwelt in other cities. Heidelberg...but no, you're a Frenchman. Paris, then? Or Avignon?"
Suspended like a chime, and now the word Avignon struck and rang him. He distantly realized he was making a fool of himself, his mouth hanging half-open, words getting lost on the way there, but the reverberation would not die.
Avignon.
The barest smile touched Dantini's lips. "Ah, I see I have thrown Messer Etienne into reverie," he murmured.
Etienne recovered himself enough to dare a glance at his brother, who looked as stricken as he felt — but in Antonio's case, it was undoubtedly anger that had turned him so white, even after their draught of blood.
"And I daresay your investigations will only keep so long. Perhaps I should go," the friar finished affably. He rose. Pure habit propelled Etienne from his seat as well. Last of all, Antonio stood.
"Still, I hope you will call on me, should you wish to discuss these matters further; since you must be planning to investigate Signor Ruthven, and perhaps my sire as well. I would far rather you didn't get all your information from wild legends and spiteful gossip."
"We are only interested in facts, Monsignore, I assure you," Antonio answered with a curt nod. "They're proving quite enough to contend with."
"Then I wish you the best of luck with them." They exchanged their bows of farewell.
"You should show the good Monsignore out, Etienne." Antonio was plainly less than eager to send his guest and his brother out of earshot together, in light of what had just transpired; but thankfully, he would not wish to seem distrustful of Etienne in Dantini's presence either.
"Of course, brother."
"Oh — and Etienne. The Monsignore's book. Did you bring it up?"
Another blow, right upon the heels of the first. He had entirely forgotten in his rush to get dressed. Etienne stammered, "No, I left it below."
"My book? Ah. The Lucius. I had nearly forgotten about that." Dantini favored Etienne with another of his piercing looks. "You can bring it on Sunday. There's no hurry."
Antonio need not have worried; the Lasombra said nothing further to Etienne as they made their way back to the front door. Nor could Etienne bring himself to speak. His mind still whirled abominably.
"I shall see you both at the Mass, then?" Dantini reminded him when they reached the entryway.
"Yes, the Mass."
"Don't be distressed," the friar said kindly. The little smile emerged again. "Easter is a season for things buried to be brought to light, after all. It bodes well, Messere, the time of your arrival."
"Does it?" Etienne needed time to think, to calm himself; Antonio was unlikely to give it to him. Then there was the blasted business with Taliesin's laboratory door. That still waited.
"I believe it does. We should speak again..." Dantini's thick eyebrows lifted. "In the meantime, a good night to you."
"And to you, Monsignore." Somehow he forced his body into something like a proper courtesy.
Dantini cleared his mount's saddle easily. It helped to be so tall. With a soft grunt he urged the horse forward. Shadows from the nearby wall seemed to be dragged in his wake, as though they were iron flakes and he a lodestone. Seeing them fly past reminded Etienne of another mass of darkness he had recently encountered — but he was too distracted to dwell on that now. The thought tucked itself away for a better moment.
He shut and barred the door. The ward, never happy in abeyance, sprung back into being like a river undammed.
| The Dragon's Masque | Cainites of Milan, 1490 | The Chronicle |