Cursing bitterly, Erik parried another sword thrust. The curse was aimed as much at Manfred's recklessness as it was at the damnable expertise of his opponent.
He should have guessed. Of course the young Breton knight-squire had made no mention of his intention of being here! If necessary, Erik would have taken him to Abbot Sachs to prevent it.
Manfred knew that. He also had a habit of getting his own way.
Erik snatched at a curtain--ripping it off its rail. If he could get that wrapped around his left hand . . .
The blond swordsman chose that moment to close. Erik dropped the curtain and grabbed his opponent's arm, staggering him. The bare arm was . . . hot. As the man twisted away, Erik's hatchet slashed across fine linen. First blood spilled, but it was anything but over. The swordsman still had the advantage. A feint and a fleche and Erik was on the defensive.
He caught his foot in the carpet as he dodged away. The sword-point hit his side. The Koboldwerk links didn't give; but Erik lost his footing, falling backwards over the body of the first thug.
The blond man rushed forward for the coup de grace. As he did so, Erik saw Manfred lift one thug and, with a huge grunt, fling him at the swordsman. The blond ducked, but was still knocked sideways by a flailing foot. Then was forced to duck again, to avoid the other thug whom Manfred heaved at him. Erik was impressed with the man's agility--the more so since, judging from that one touch, he was suffering from illness.
I'd hate to see what he's like when he's well!
And then there was an outburst of shouts and whistles, and the sound of rattles from outside.
'Schiopettieri!' bellowed someone. 'Open up in the name of the Signori di Notte and the Doge of Venice!'
The assault on the heavy door showed they weren't waiting for it to be opened. By the shouting and female shrieks they'd already made entry by the water-door. The blond man stooped quickly, hefted the two thugs onto their feet, and darted down the short hallway toward the door at the other end. With much less agility, almost stumbling, they began to follow him. Then one of them stopped and stared back, his heavy face creased with emotion.
'Alberto!' he cried. 'We've got to--'
Erik heard the snarling voice of the blond swordsman roll down the hallway. 'He's dead, you fool! Come on!' A moment later all three men were gone. The door slammed shut behind them.
Manfred hauled Erik to his feet.
Erik shook his head. 'I should have guessed you'd come here. How am I going to explain your presence here to Abbot Sachs?'
Manfred smiled grimly. 'You won't have to. Those are Schiopettieri, not Knights. Since when do Knights sound rattles?'
Erik's eyes narrowed. 'Do you know any other way out of here?' He looked at the side door from which one of thugs had emerged to toss the liquor over him, but saw at once that it led only to a closet.
Manfred shook his head. 'Get thrown out or leave after paying your shot. Either here or by the water- door.'
Erik grimaced. 'Let's get out of this room, anyway. The Schiopettieri might want us to explain why we're sharing this salon with a dead body.'
'That way.' Manfred pointed to the door at the end of the hallway the ambushers had used for their escape. 'Leads upstairs. Maybe we can find a balcony or something to jump from.'
The staircase began just behind the door, to the left. They began running up it three steps at a time, Erik in the lead. He still had the hatchet in his hand, his eyes scanning ahead to watch for another ambush. He didn't expect one, though, since he was almost certain the blond swordsman and his two surviving companions had no further purpose beyond making their own escape.
They had just made the second landing in the winding staircase when they heard the street door burst open. Erik grabbed Manfred's arm and stopped him, gesturing for silence.
From below came a voice of authority. '--wearing a white surcoat with three red crosses on it. He must be taken. Kill him if you must.'
Manfred pulled a wry face. 'Some goddamned ambush!' he muttered. 'It looks like you were the target.'
'He went up the stairs!' cried another voice from below.
