ce’Guischard had vanished. “Say it,” Sergei said. “You can speak freely.”
“The man’s lying, Commandant,” ce’Falla said. “He knows about ci’Recroix and the Kraljica’s assassination. But you let him go.”
“He was lying, and I did let him go,” Sergei admitted. “And you want to know why?
A nod.
“Because sometimes there is too much pain in truth,” Sergei answered. Ce’Falla frowned, shaking his head slightly. “You’ve done well, O’Offizier,” Sergei told him. “Go get some food and rest; you’ve earned it. You’re dismissed for the evening. Oh, and if you would dispose of this on the way out.” He gestured to the basin of bloodied water. “Lamb’s blood,” Sergei told the man, seeing his stare. “From the kitchens. I’m not entirely the butcher I’m reputed to be.”
Ce’Falla smiled slightly, saluted, then took the basin and left. Sergei went to the door of the office. He looked out onto the courtyard of the Bastida, where the dragon’s head glared out at Nessantico,
and watched ce’Falla salute the guards at the gate. Iron groaned and echoed in the evening as ce’Falla went out onto the brilliantly-lit Avi a’Parete and strode away in the crowds under the teni-created glow.
Somewhere out there, Gilles ce’Guischard was also hurrying homeundoubtedly with fear nipping at his heels. If Sergei was correct in his assumption, then ce’Guischard would waste no time talking to
the person who had given him his orders.
If Sergei was correct in his assumptions, then he would soon find that this investigation was abruptly over, and that to continue to pry into the matter of ci’Recroix would be too dangerous for Sergei as well.
Gilles ce’Guischard
Gilles turned the corner of the Rue a’Colombes onto the Rue a’Petit Marche, several blocks away from the hubbub of the Avi a’Parete.
There, the market was just preparing for the day, the farmers setting up their tables and getting their produce and goods ready to display. A few shoppers were about, hoping to snare the best choices while the sun still remained low in the sky and before the morning crowds arrived. Gilles’ breath frosted in front of him-it had been a long walk from the palais-but he was near his destination now. He glanced up at the side of the nearest building, looking for the street placard. Yes, there it was: Ruelle a’Chats. .
It would all work out. He was safe. The tension in Gilles’ stomach loosened as he turned the corner of the Ruelle a’Chats, an alley which ran between the backs of houses facing the parallel streets. Gilles could see the end of the ruelle a hundred strides away, though the closeness of the houses made the alleyway itself dim and murky.
“Ah, good morning to you, Vajiki,” a man’s voice said, and Gilles saw an utilino push himself away from the nearest wall, his watchman’s prod dangling casually from its handstrap; his lantern, the teni-light extinguished, was sitting on the ground near where he’d been standing.
“You’re right on time. You’ve been expected.”
“You’re to take me to Vajica cu’Pajoli?” Gilles asked the man, who smiled broadly, displaying missing front teeth. The utilino clapped his arm around Gilles’ shoulder.
“We were told to make certain you got to where you’re supposed to go,” he answered.
“We? What do you mean. .” Gilles stuttered, suddenly no longer certain of the situation. Two more men appeared, one from either end of the small lane. The utilino’s arm tightened around Gilles’ shoulder as he started to retreat, and he felt the man coming behind him press the point of a dagger into his back.
“I wouldn’t try to run, my friend,” the man whispered. “Won’t do you no good. Let’s go along with the good utilino now, shall we?”
“You don’t know who I am,” Gilles protested, dragging his feet as they pulled him farther into the ruelle, as the man from the far end approached. “You don’t know who I work for.”
“Ah, but we do, Gilles ce’Guischard,” the utilino said. “Don’t we now?”
Hearing his name spoken, Gilles felt true fear for the first time. This wasn’t a random attack; this wasn’t robbery. If they knew his name, if they’d been told to be here, then. . He started to scream for help, but the man behind clapped his hand over Gilles’ mouth, pulling his head and neck back sharply. “Shh. .” the man said, the knife pressing harder into Gilles’ back as he struggled against the hold. “Won’t do none of us any good you being noisy, now will it?”
The man from the far end was now within a stride, and Gilles saw the fellow making the hand motions of a teni and he heard the words of chanting. The teni-if that’s what he indeed was, since he didn’t wear green robes- nodded as he performed a final wave of his hands, and the man with the knife moved his hand from Gilles’s mouth. Gilles shouted. “Help! I need help!” but his words seemed strangely blunted, as if he were shouting with his face pressed against a pillow.
“You can shout all you want now,” the spellcaster said. His voice sounded tired. “They can’t hear you anymore.” He nodded again to the utilino. “Hold him,” he said, and began chanting again, his hands dancing in the murk of the alley. Gilles struggled to free himself, but the man with the dagger pressed it to the side of his neck.
“Keep moving, an’ I’ll use this. Is that what you want: a messy, choking death with your neck smiling with its new mouth carved in it? Be still, or, by Cenzi, I’ll do it.” Gilles stopped struggling. He sagged in the arms of his attackers.
The teni’s hands glowed; lightning crackled between the poles of his fingers. He stepped forward and put his hands on Gilles’ chest. The touch of the man’s hands was like nothing Gilles had ever felt before, as if a wild storm had flared into existence inside him, all lightning and hail and gale winds. He screamed at the touch. The teni withdrew his hands, but the storm continued, growing larger and more fierce so that his voice was lost against its thundering in his head. He felt the hands holding him let go, and he tried to take a step, but the wet flags of the Ruelle a’Chats rose up to meet him, and he thrashed on the ground, helpless. He could taste blood; he could see the paving stones in front of his eyes, but even that landscape was growing dark.
He could hear voices, growing ever fainter against the storm. “. . dead by no hand but Cenzi’s. . the utilino will swear that he fainted. .” but then the thunder came again and it took the voices and his sight and Gilles himself away with the racing storm front.
Justi ca’Mazzak
Justi stormed into the Archigos’ office like a tornado, the offizier from the Garde Civile and Commandant ca’Rudka racing to keep up with him. A few of the staff-teni rose to intercept this evidently-irate trio of intruders, then stopped in mid-stride and mid-spell when they recognized the Kraljiki. “Ca’Cellibrecca!” Justi roared. He flung open the doors to the Archigos’ office with a crash, sending a picture flying from the wall as ca’Cellibrecca, behind his desk with several o’teni huddled around him, stared wide-eyed.
“Out!” Justi shouted at the o’teni, pointing to the door. “All of you. Now!”
They gathered papers and scrolls and fled past Justi. The commandant quietly closed the doors behind them. Ca’Cellibrecca remained seated behind his desk. Justi saw him glance appraisingly at the disheveled and unshaven offizier. “Krajiki,” ca’Cellibrecca said soothingly, “you’re obviously distraught. What’s happened? How can I help you?”
The offizier glanced at ca’Rudka, who nodded. “Tell him,” ca’Rudka said to the offizier. “Tell him what you just told me and the Kraljiki.”
