The Silver Devil (7 page)

"Felicia,
go to your room and go to bed." There was no anger in his voice now, only
a greedy, preoccupied note. "We will talk later of why you intruded on our
noble guest."

With
my knees trembling with relief, I turned to the door. The stranger's eyes
widened, and he murmured, "Felicia..." almost under his breath.

As
I closed the door behind me, I heard Antonio say, "I wonder how your
excellency knows of my wine. I have been to some trouble to keep it hid."

"I
am always the first to hear of any such. I take a pride in
these—discoveries."

I
did not stop to hear more. The intoxication of reprieve sent me upstairs as
light as a bird, half-laughing and half-crying.

They
had not come for me! I had fashioned the whole nightmare myself, building upon
my fear of the tall man with the soft voice who turned my bones to water. Why
should six men come on so petty an errand? What had possessed me, that I had
not thought that these costly people might come and bargain for drink like
other men?

As
long as Antonio could be pacified, I was safe. I could concoct some tale to
tell him, I thought as I reached my room again, but it did not really matter if
he upbraided me or even beat me again: I was safe. Safe from the terror that
threatened me while I was gazing into those nightmare black eyes, safe as
though the strange events of this day had never been.

I
was sitting up in bed, still in my shift, when I heard the horsemen leaving and
Antonio's lumbering tread sounded on the stairs. A moment later the door
opened, and his broad red face peered around it.

"Abed,
are you? Good." He came in with elaborate stealth, shutting the door
behind him and standing the cup he carried on the floor while he lowered his
ponderous bulk on to the end of the bed. It creaked, and I eyed him in
amazement. His tone was jocular, almost conciliatory—perhaps he had been
drinking.

"I
am glad you are not asleep. I want to talk to you."

"What
is it?"

"Nothing
wrong, girl; no need to look like that! His excellency told me he stayed you
when you would have gone. I am not angry with you."

I
drew a quick breath of relief, but I was puzzled; there was no trace of wine on
his breath. I said, "I did not think he was there."

"Then
why did you go in?" The question had an edge of Antonio's usual sharpness.

"I
thought I heard Celia call. I heard the horses arriving, and I was sure she
wanted me."

It
was a poor lie but swiftly told, and he appeared to believe me. "Then
there is no more to say. You were not to know he had gone into the
taproom."

"No,"
I whispered softly.

"What
were you talking of when I came?"

"Why,
nothing." The blood stung my cheeks at the memory. "He asked who I
was and what I did, no more."

"Did
he ask what kin you are to me?"

"I
would not tell him that. You said..."

"Peace,
peace!" His fat hand patted my shoulder. "He asked me who you were
after you had gone. Why did you not say directly that you are my sister?"

"Because
I am not directly your sister," I retorted with bitter simplicity.

"Pooh!"
Antonio snorted and bridled, for all the world as though he had never boxed my
ears for daring to call him Brother. "You can speak of it when nobility
questions you."

"I
did not think he was noble. He was dressed like a soldier."

He
snorted again. "You cannot judge a man's true station, girl! Did you not
see the whiteness of his hands? No one less than a lord could keep 'em so
smooth. And that ring he wears never came from a gimcrack peddler. We have been
talking with nobility, I swear!"

The
prince of darkness, I thought absurdly.

"And
he talked like a lord, all fine and haughty." His eyes glittered
resentfully. "No common soldier would give orders in such a style."

"But
if he were so great, he would have been at the duke's feast tonight," I
pointed out.

Antonio
waved the thought aside. "Belike he did not choose to go or else left
early. These court revels go on all night; they will not be half-done yet. But
look—" He picked up the cup from the floor. "I have brought you some
cordial to drink. Celia would have my blood if she knew of it, but it is my
guess that you will not sleep without something in your belly. Drink it up, and
I will take the cup so she will not know."

The
drink smelled bitter, and I did not really want it, but the tiny conspiracy
against Celia warmed me. Emboldened, I took the cup in both hands and smiled at
him.

"Did
you make a good profit on your wine, Brother?"

He
gaped for a moment and then went off into a roar of laughter as though I had
said something witty. "Yes," he gasped at last, "an excellent
profit—a purse of silver, and all for one paltry flask of wine!" He patted
my shoulder. "What a jest if he does not like it—the more fool he, for
buying it untasted!"

That
explained his good humor, I thought with relief. He was never so happy as when
he had beaten some rival in the way of bargain. If only the mood would last
until morning...

"Come
on, girl." His voice took on a tinge of its accustomed roughness.
"Drink your cordial and do not keep me here all night."

He
levered himself to his feet and stood over me, looming beside the bed while I
drank. The menacing shape reminded me of Battista, and I hurried to have him
gone so that I hardly tasted the drink. The sharp tang of cloves was in my
mouth as I lowered the cup and handed it back to him.

"You
drank that like a practiced toper! Lie down now"—his tone held an odd
trace of relief—"and go to sleep. I will tell Celia what has chanced in
the morning."

I
nodded drowsily. I had thought I was too excited to sleep, but the taste of the
cordial was thick in my mouth, and my eyelids felt so heavy that all my
crowding thoughts were suddenly unimportant. My eyes were closing before Antonio
reached the door, and I could not make out whether the shadows that passed him
and came towards the bed were real or part of the dream that came so swiftly.

I
woke in a room I had never seen before.

I
was lying on my back on a bed harder and narrower than my own, in darkness
which threatened to close in on me. Somewhere a torch burned, throwing flickers
of gold on a ceiling that was ribbed like a stone cage, and two shadows were
bending over me. I tried to lift my head, but pain went coursing so sharply
through it that I groaned softly and closed my eyes again.

"She's
not dead." A man's voice spoke above me, sounding almost triumphant, and I
wondered why he should care.

"You
may thank God for it, my dear Tomasso." The second voice was musical and
cultured. "If she had died, we would none of us see old age. He has asked
for her fifty times since you brought her here."

The
first man gave a quiet whistle. "Amid so much! The duchess in hysterics,
the whole state in uproar, and he wants news of some fool of a girl!"

"This
one seems to be of importance. More than I guessed..." The words faded
thoughtfully.

"Well,
she's a pretty wench but not to my taste. Too starved-looking."

"You
are here to guard her, my dear Tomasso, not to tumble her." The other
spoke lightly and coldly. "I advise you not to touch her, lest he hear of
it. It is true, though." The brittle voice changed. "She is a fair
piece—good enough to shorten a long night."

"What
would you know of that, Piero?" Tomasso's voice was jeering.

"Enough,
my dear, believe me! And yet I wonder what makes him ask so often."

"Is
he so impatient, then?"

"
'Heart, we have had nothing but her ever since he saw her!" Piero's laugh
was long and high, a meaningless trill. "Until he found out who she was
and how his hand could reach her, the whole place was like a bear garden. We
had to search the city streets to please him, and now I am deputed to be her
overseer until he finds leisure to speak with her."

I
ought to care, I thought stupidly. They were talking about me, and what they
said was important. But I could not care, could not even make myself
understand; my mind was a jumble of dream and reality. Their words were
meaningless; I heard them, but their sense washed to and fro over me like waves
above a drowned corpse.

"How
long is that like to be?"

"God
in Heaven knows. 'Piero,' he said, 'my excellent Piero shall keep her close for
me while this exigent lasts. I trust no other to render her to me safely.'
'While this exigent lasts' affords no clues."

Tomasso
swore. "And I have to coddle a sick wench in these vaults until he has
leisure! By all the saints!"

"He
will not ask for her yet," Piero warned. "He cannot, not until he has
spoken with the duchess."

"He
speak with that old beldam! But he shuns her like the pestilence!"

"He
cannot do so now, my dear. She has written him a fair letter, 'your gracing'
him some score of times, begging that she may have private speech with him. He
cannot refuse her."

"He
will not like it." Tomasso's grin sounded in his voice. "We know what
Gratiana means by 'private speech.' "

I
tried to turn my head to look at him, but the movement made the sickness pound
in my head again. It rose in my throat, choking me, and for a moment I thought
I would vomit; then the nausea passed and I lay still again, sweating.

"I
must have given her too strong a dose," Tomasso said gruffly.

"Indeed,
I think you were too liberal." I felt a cool touch on my hot forehead.
"You did not use your brain, as usual. You gave a weak wench sufficient
for a lusty soldier—and she can have eaten little worth the name before she had
the drug."

"I
could not know that!"

"No,
but the duke will not think so."

"You
know his mind, of course...."

"Of
course, my dear Tomasso! Who else should know it, if I do not?"

The
sound of the duke's name transfixed me like a spear thrust. Unbelievingly I
forced my eyes open, trying to force my cloudy brain to work; the words made no
sense, but they chilled me with fear.

"Look,"
Tomasso said sharply. "She is awake."

Someone
bent over me, and I felt myself lifted and pillowed against a thin shoulder.
Piero's voice murmured, "Such eyes! Now I see why..." Then he called
sharply above my head, "Fetch some water, Tomasso, and give it her; then
go and fetch the duke's leech, quickly!"

The
water he held to my lips was the coolest, sweetest thing in the world. I would
have gulped at it, but the cup was withdrawn.

"Gently,
lady, gently." Piero sounded amused. Still I could not see him clearly; he
was only a voice and a pall of thick, cloying perfume.

"Where
am I?" I could hardly believe that the harsh, thready whisper was my own.

"You
will know soon enough." I felt him tense. "Have you fetched that
damned leech, Tomasso?"

"He's
coming."

"He
had better hurry. I would not give two pins for his life—or for yours, my
dear—if this one should die on our hands."

"It
was not my fault, Piero. You will speak to the duke for me and tell him I meant
the wench no harm...."

Bewilderment
and terror and a dim feeling of pity for Tomasso's obvious fear, all- were
slipping away from me. To sleep was suddenly the most important thing in the
world, and I slept.

I
had other dreams after that one—for a dream was how I remembered it—but they
were always the same. I saw a face that was strange and yet familiar, a fair
face with demon's eyes; I could not recall where I had seen it, and I half
believed I had invented it out of my sickness. When I woke again, it was to
darkness and dank air that stabbed my lungs, and a shadow beside my bed.

A
voice said, "Do not try to move. You have been very sick."

I
stared up at the sallow face above mine, more bewildered than frightened.
"Who are you?"

"I
am Father Vincenzo." The man spoke comfortingly, as though I should be
reassured by the name, and I saw that he wore the robes of a Jesuit priest.

"I
have been tending you while the fever held you."

I
moistened my lips. "It is not the plague?"

"Not
the sort you mean, though it is plague enough. No, daughter, you drank
something which gave you a fever."

I
could only understand the last of what he said, but I nodded. It was not
strange; many people were sick of a sudden in weather like this, when food and
water were so quickly tainted. Antonio must have sent me to the common hospital
to be nursed by the monks—he bore me hardly when I was in health and would never
tend me while I was sick.

"How
long have I been here?"

"These
two days past. Drink this." A cup was held to my lips. "And do not
spend your strength in questions; time enough for that when your mind is clear
again."