Caesare tossed the brandy off. 'Make it quick then.'
As Marco was working, Maria came in through the front door. As she turned to close it, two heavy-shouldered men bundled their way in behind her. Maria bit at the big hand that was clapped over her mouth and struggled vainly to reach for her knife. Her assailant clouted her, hard. 'We want to talk to him, see. Now stop biting and you won't get hurt.'
'I told you never to come here.' Caesare's voice was icy. There was no sign of fear in it.
Marco felt in the bag for the comforting handle of the small, sharp knife that Caesare kept in with the dressings. He knew full well who these two were. You didn't mess around with the Matteonis. They were enforcers, debt collectors and rent-a-beating boys. He remembered how the crowd had parted around the three of them in Barducci's. He'd asked Valentina about them. Valentina had turned quietly to him, pulling a wry face. 'Matteoni. Alberto, Stephano, and Luciano. Descended from a long proud line of barroom thugs and back-alley stabbers.'
Claudia had snorted. 'And this generation has sunk even lower.'
Stephano Matteoni stalked forward. 'Alberto's dead, Aldanto, you mincha!'
Marco smiled wryly to himself. Well, of course. Alberto would be dead if he'd attacked Caesare.
'Yeah,' Luciano snarled. 'You promised us the knight'd be unarmed and unarmored.'
Marco swallowed. This wasn't quite what he had envisaged. He was well aware that the former Montagnard agent dealt sometimes in deaths as well as in information. But so far they'd had nothing to do with that part of Caesare's trade.
'You fools,' snapped Caesare. 'He is a knight. I told you he'd be dangerous.'
Stephano had a big, clumsy, badly made hand-cannon in his hand. Calling it an 'arquebus' would be stretching the point. 'You said you'd deal with any real trouble. And . . .'
Caesare shook his head. 'There were two of them--not one, like I was told. And the first one had that damned hand-axe, instead of being unarmed like he was supposed to be. And he was wearing some kind of armor.' He blew out his breath. 'Then the Schiopettieri arrived--'
'You promised we'd be out of there before that!' interrupted Luciano furiously.
'Things go wrong.' Caesar shrugged. Then, winced as the movement pulled at the cut. 'Now get the hell out of here before you're seen.'
'We're not going until we've been paid,' said Stephano sullenly.
Marco felt his mouth fall open. He'd thought they'd come for revenge because their brother was dead. They hadn't. They'd come for money.
Caesare stood up. His eyes narrowed. 'For what? The man was supposed to be maimed in a brothel-fight and apparently drunk when the Schiopettieri arrived. You failed, and the Schiopettieri failed, too. I don't pay for failure,' he added dangerously.
Stephano backed off a step. Then he remembered the hand-cannon. He steadied it, aiming straight at Caesare's chest. Of course it might not go off. This was one of the cheap fire-spell scroll ones. They were notoriously unreliable. But it might just work. At this range he could hardly miss. 'Alberto's dead,' he repeated grimly. 'You owe us . . .'
'I owe you nothing, orrichioni,' said Caesare dismissively. 'The job's not done. That means I don't get paid and you don't either.'
'And if you don't stop pointing that thing at Caesare,' said Benito from the stair-landing, 'I'm going to have to blow you bastardos in half.' He had Caesare's arquebus resting on the handrail, pointed straight at Stephano's swelling belly. The slowmatch, far more reliable than a spell scroll, smoked and fizzed. 'I'm giving you to the count of five. One.' His voice cracked. But the muzzle of the arquebus was rock steady.
Luciano's grip on Maria must have slackened with the sudden intrusion of firepower. Maria bit savagely and broke away. She didn't go far. Just far enough to pull her knife and hiss like an angry cat at Luciano.
'And if you pull that trigger, Stephano,' said Marco, producing the knife, 'your surviving brother might have to explain to Brunelli just what you were doing. I think the Schiopettieri would be glad to hang him this time.' Luciano looked uneasy at the mention of the Casa Brunelli. Distinctly uneasy.
Stephano sized the situation up. 'All right. We're going. But we want money, Aldanto. We want money or we'll go straight to . . . Aleri.'
Aleri. Marco pricked his ears. He knew that name well from his mother's Montagnard days. Francesco Aleri. The Milanese controller. Duke Visconti's spymaster in Venice.
