'No, I didn't think so,' murmured Charles Fredrik. He rose to his feet and moved toward the narrow window nearby. 'Then tell me, Hans--what are the Servants doing in Venice? Not to mention all those Knights they've assembled there.' Now at the window, he cocked his head and gazed at his adviser.
Trolliger shrugged. 'I don't know, Your Majesty. My spies tell me--'
'Nothing,' interrupted the Emperor curtly. 'Nothing worth knowing.' He slapped the stone wall. 'They're up to no good, Hans. I can feel it in my bones. And I've felt for some time anyway that the Empire was relying on them too much. At this point, I don't have a single magician worthy of the name who isn't a damned Sot. Where does that leave me--especially if Jagiellon is undertaking a campaign against me? Which I am now certain is what's ultimately at the bottom of these mysterious doings in Venice.'
Not even Trolliger could keep a look of surprise from his face. 'Jagiellon?' For a moment, he fumbled for words. 'But--he's the archdemon in the Servants' pantheon of evil. Has been ever since he came to the throne four years ago.'
'So?' shrugged Charles Fredrik. 'It wouldn't be the first time in history that people got too close to their enemy, would it?' He scowled through the narrow window. 'Which is what I suspect happened to Jagiellon himself. Until he seized the throne from his father, there had been no indication that Jagiellon was anything more than another ambitious and bullying Lithuanian prince. Since then . . .'
'There's something dark about the man,' admitted the baron. 'Even by the standards of the Lithuanian nobility.'
' 'Dark'?' snorted the Emperor. 'Say better: 'black as night.' ' He rubbed his heavy jaw thoughtfully. 'Why does he wear that mask at all times, for instance? Simply to disguise the scars he claims to have received when he tried to fend off his father's assassins?'
Charles Fredrik turned away from the window and resumed his seat behind the heavy desk he used for working audiences. 'I think not. I don't believe for an instant that Grand Duke Jagiellon is truly blind. Nor more than you. I think he keeps his eyes covered so no one can see the monster shining through them.'
Trolliger took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'That is,' he admitted, 'my deepest fear also.'
'Exactly,' said the Emperor, nodding. 'Which means that if Lithuania is behind the situation unfolding in Venice, we face something far worse than simple political intrigue. And if that's true, then I think I'd be a fool to keep relying on the Servants of the Holy Trinity.'
'The Empire is Pauline, Your Majesty. The populace and the dynasty both. To allow--'
'Bah!' The Emperor's thick hand slammed down on the desk. 'Do I care about the quarrels of theologians? I have an Empire to maintain, Hans. Be damned to all that!'
Again, the baron took a deep breath; again, let it out slowly. Then abruptly nodded his head. 'True. And, as always, I am at your command.' He pushed back his chair, beginning to rise.
'Venice it is, then. God in Heaven, I detest that city.'
The Emperor waved him back down again. 'It's not quite that bad. I think we can rely on Father Francis to pass on my message to his Father Lopez in Venice. No reason for you to go there. Instead--'
Trolliger didn't so much resume his seat as fall into it. The baron was quite familiar with the intricacies of northern Italian politics. He could see immediately the logic of the Emperor's train of thought.
'Oh, no,' he groaned.
Charles Fredrik grinned. 'Ferrara's not so bad. A very pretty little city, in fact, as I recall.'
The baron's scowl would have frightened ogres. 'Who cares about the city? Have you ever--personally-- negotiated with Enrico Dell'este? You think they call him 'the Old Fox' for nothing?'
The Emperor's grin didn't so much as waver. 'That's why I have advisers and trusted agents.'
Chapter 27 ==========
Maria had observed that hooded look in Caesare's eyes for the last few days. He was planning something again. That always worried her. He seemed quite back to his strength now, and that new wound had nearly healed entirely. But still--it always worried her.
She often wished she'd fallen for a man who had some kind of ordinary, safe, boring job. But . . . he was so fine.
'Right,' said Caesare that evening, after they'd eaten. 'I've got some documents coming down from Milan. Stuff from a contact back in the old days. The worst of it is one of my informers tells me half the town also knows
