The Dark Knight (3 page)

Dante rolled his eyes and sighed. “I shall be the very picture of chivalrous drivel.”

“That’s the spirit.” Mordecai handed the scroll back to Dante and saw him glance at the wax seal. It was an exact replica of the seal made by Baron Weston’s signet ring, but Dante did not question how it came to be on the scroll. The parchment disappeared into the gray folds of Dante’s djellaba. Satisfied with that part of the plan, Mordecai began to gather up the cards and stack them neatly on the table. “Take heart, Dante. You will have these matters in Venice and Coleway handled in short order and be back in London before you know it.”

“What about Faulke Segrave?” Dante asked. “Where and when am I to meet him? Do I greet him as Sir Percival, or as myself?”

“I cannot provide every answer,” he said. “Much will depend upon the forces at work when the future becomes the present.” Mordecai straightened and placed his hands in his sleeves, an old habit from the Order. He
nodded toward the stacked cards. “Choose the card that will guide you on the next steps of your journey.”

Dante eyed the cards and made a small sound of impatience. “You expect me to risk my life on a game of chance?”

“Fate will guide your hand. The card you choose now will be the right card for your future, just as the Magician’s card was the sign that guided you here.”

Dante hesitated for a moment, then he fanned the deck across the table and chose a card seemingly at random. He turned it faceup on the table with an insolent flick of his wrist. “
Now
will you tell me how the steps of my journey will unfold?”

Mordecai ignored the sarcastic demand and instead studied the card’s symbols: an aging king holding the staff of life. “This is the first sign. This is always the first sign: the card of deception and the sign of a tyrant. Carry it with you on your journey and its meaning will become clear when the time is right.”

“The first sign?” Dante asked, his voice deceptively quiet. “How many times do you intend to play this game? And how am I supposed to decipher its meaning on my own?”

“Our lives are bound by the Fates and we can but interpret the signs as they appear. This is the first sign of many, and only the paths you choose can determine their number.” Mordecai closed his eyes and concentrated intently on the image of the tyrant. Although he did not move, his robes eddied around him, moving dust across the floor, the fabric changing and absorbing the light. “Look again at the other side of the card.”

Dante turned the card over. Handwritten words now filled the space between the borders, a neat, compact script that had not been there when he chose the card. He was a man whose life depended on rigid self-control,
but he could not conceal the look of surprise that flickered like lightning across his face.

Mordecai smiled. “As I said, the meaning will become clear when the time is right. Today, I can tell you nothing more of the matter.”

A dangerous light gleamed in Dante’s eyes. “Mark my words well, Mordecai. This is the last time. My debt to the king is settled. Indeed, he will soon be in my debt.”

“Your mind is so stubbornly set on the matter of debts and repayment that you do not see the truth. There are debts, and then there is balance.” Mordecai opened the silver box and carefully placed the cards inside. “We will meet again when you return to London and before you leave again for Venice. I daresay you will have found your balance by that time.”

Waiting in the darkness was the hardest part. It took practiced patience and willpower to remain motionless for hours on end, to stand so still that a mouse squeaked in surprise when it encountered a warm hand on the ledge that ran the length of the secret room. Dante did not flinch. He was long accustomed to being the thing that frightened others in the dark. The mouse scurried away as Dante tilted his head from one side to the other, stretching the cramped muscles of his neck and shoulders. There was no way of knowing how much longer he would have to wait. Time had lost its meaning hours ago.

A faint sound made him go still again. Eventually he recognized the sounds of footsteps in the hallway. He heard the door to the master bedchamber open, and then a narrow strip of light shined through the wall. He stepped forward to look through the opening.

Two servants entered the bedchamber. The first was a short, middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and
shoulder-length gray hair that was in need of a comb. Still, the quality of his garments marked him a man of consequence in the household, likely the chamberlain. The flame of the oil lantern he held in one hand flickered as he walked into the room; he set aside the wooden bucket he carried in the other hand so he could cup the flame. Next he began to walk around the room to light oil lamps that hung from brackets set into the walls. The chamber grew brighter and brighter and soon the room was ablaze with light.

The second servant was a dark-haired boy of no more than eight or nine years of age. He carried a tray that looked far too big for his painfully thin size to handle and he walked with exaggerated care to keep everything balanced. The tray held a decanter of wine and two goblets, along with a large platter covered with a linen cloth. He tried to place the tray carefully on a table that stood in the center of the chamber but the tray banged against the edge. He managed to get the tray onto the table and proved surprisingly quick as he lurched forward, steadying the decanter of wine just before it would have overturned. The chamberlain gave the boy a casual cuff to the back of the head that nearly sent both the boy and the decanter flying.

“Clumsy beggar! That wine is worth more than you are. Have a care!” The chamberlain pointed to the wooden bucket. “Put the warmed bricks at the foot of the bed, then put a brick under the platter to keep the
cicchetti
warm.”

Dante eased his way slowly toward the hidden door, then silently drew his dagger and sword from their scabbards. He knew there was nothing in the bedchamber to betray him, and everything in the secret room spoke of neglect and disuse when he had entered the chamber that morning. The section of paneling that hid the lever
had a thick layer of beeswax in the grooves that looked undisturbed, and the hinges had creaked and protested when he slid aside the panel that was actually the hidden door. The hinges were now oiled and the door would once again move silently. He doubted the servants were even aware of its existence.

The long, narrow room behind the door was built generations ago by placing a false wall in front of the wall between the bedchamber and the solar, supposedly as a hiding place for the women and children of the family should the palace come under attack. Every generation since then had laughed at the possibility of any palace in Venice falling prey to invaders. Nations fell prey to Venice, not the other way around.

Although the room’s original purpose had always been something of a jest, every member of the family solemnly swore they would never reveal its existence to any outsiders, not even the servants. Folly or not, everyone realized that secrecy made the room even more secure than the household treasury. At one time the shelves had held everything from rare jewels to the relics of saints, treasures collected by merchant princes over the course of more than three hundred years.

This morning Dante had found the room mostly empty, coated with dust, and the remaining contents just as he and his brother, Roberto, had left them more than ten years ago. Most were boxes made of rosewood, emptied of their contents then cast aside, deemed too bulky to carry away in the sacks they had stuffed with anything of value. A few of the larger pieces still remained, including a massive altarpiece made of solid gold, a prize from the long-ago war with Constantinople that depicted scenes of the Crucifixion. Dante figured the altarpiece along with a tempting number of jewel-encrusted plates and chalices would be gone by
now if the room had been discovered since his last visit. Still, he had not lived this long by making foolish assumptions.

He stood near the door and kept a careful eye on the servants. The peephole was actually a long slit that ran the length of the wall, cleverly concealed as part of the paneling in the bedchamber. Each piece of trim was cut in half lengthwise to give the deliberate appearance of a gap between each section of paneling. Every piece of trim on the paneled wall was cut the same, but only the strip that ran at eye level concealed a peephole and he could see everything that took place in the bedchamber. Neither the boy nor the chamberlain so much as glanced his way.

The chamberlain finished his tasks by arranging the platter and cups just so, while the boy placed cloth-wrapped bricks beneath the covers at the foot of the bed. When the boy returned to stand next to the table, Dante noted a small metal cup and spoon that hung from a chain attached to an iron collar around the child’s neck. The collar marked him a slave, while the cup and spoon meant he was also the family’s taster.

“Go on then,” the chamberlain said, as he lifted the linen cover from the platter.

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg reached Dante and he knew tonight’s
cicchetti
included spice cakes. That type of food was useless for his purposes, but the wine held possibilities, especially wine that had already been tasted. He watched as the boy shoveled food into his mouth at an astonishing rate, although he had scarce eaten more than a few mouthfuls when the chamberlain cuffed him again to knock him away from the platter.

“Now the wine.”

The boy gave the platter one last, covetous look until the food was once again covered, then he held up his
cup while the steward poured from the decanter. The wine was gone in one quick gulp.

“Get to your place,” the chamberlain ordered, one hand on the boy’s shoulder to push him forward. “The master is in no mood for your whining tonight. One sound before dawn, and the next beating will be twice as bad as the last.”

The two reached the door just as Dante realized the purpose for the chain he had found bolted to the wall outside the bedchamber. He also knew the reason why the boy was so thin.

Poison revealed itself more quickly in a child’s body than in a man’s; thus nobles in need of the services of a taster preferred children. Tatar and Circassian children were readily available from the slave ships, and both peoples were regarded as barbaric heathens by both Christians and Muslims, and therefore more expendable. Most were allowed no more food than the small portions they tasted from their master’s table, and constant hunger meant they would perform their duty with enthusiasm. This household had found one more use for the unfortunate creature. The boy was kept chained like a dog to guard the door to the master’s bedchamber at night. It was a complication Dante did not need, but one that was not insurmountable.

Once he was certain the bedchamber was empty, he slipped the sword and dagger back into their sheaths. He could hear the chamberlain talking to the boy in the hallway, but the servant might return at any moment to await his master’s arrival. Dante reached for the handle and breathed a sigh of relief when the door slid open without a sound. A small glass vial was in his hand and uncorked by the time he reached the table, then the contents quickly dumped into the decanter. He swirled the decanter until he was sure the wine and poison were
mixed. A moment later he was back in his hiding place.

As it turned out, there had been no need to rush. More than half an hour passed before the chamber door opened again. This time the chamberlain ushered in a middle-aged couple. Dante recognized them immediately as Lorenzo Mira and his longtime mistress, Donna Maria.

Dante realized with a sense of satisfaction that Lorenzo had not aged well. His hair had turned completely gray, there were dark circles around his eyes and many more lines on his face, and his odd, limping gait from a long-ago riding accident had become more pronounced. He looked almost haggard.

Donna Maria had changed as well, although she had made more obvious efforts to stem the tide of time. Her hair was blonder than it once was and the skin of her face looked taut and shiny, both changes the likely result of using lemons and other caustic acids to lighten her hair and peel away wrinkles. In his opinion, she had changed from a handsome woman to a well-preserved one.

“The boy has already tasted the
cicchetti
and wine,” the chamberlain said, with forced cheerfulness and a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Would you like me to pour the wine, my lord?”

Lorenzo merely waved one hand toward the door and the servant bowed his way out of the room. Both occupants watched the door for a few moments, obviously waiting until the chamberlain was well away from overhearing anything they might say.

Lorenzo finally broke the silence. “The Council meetings did not go in my favor. There is still a good possibility that I can sway more members before a vote is taken, but we must make plans in the event the Council accepts
Chiavari’s petitions. I will not stand trial like a common criminal.”

Donna Maria made a sound of impatience. “I thought your friends on the Council said you had no reason for concern.”