was with firearms, he'd more likely kill Maria. But Benito made himself a promise that if anything happened to Maria . . . he'd blow Caesare's mocking, smiling face apart. At this range, not even Benito would miss.
'Now, why would I do that, Benito?' said Caesare. 'I've always looked after you.'
Benito scrambled down. Other Arsenalotti faces appeared. But there were several of Caesare's men too, all with arquebuses.
'You got money from Ferrara, for looking after us,' said Benito coldly. 'It's sitting at Giaccomo's. You never really did anything for any reason except for money, did you?'
Caesare snorted. 'What other reason is there?'
Benito smiled. 'Tell you what, Caesare. I'll show you another reason. You let her go and I'll fight you.'
It took Caesare a moment for the implication to sink in. 'Maria?' he said, incredulously. 'You love this-- peasant?'
'I dunno about 'love,' ' said Benito carefully. 'But I care a whole damn lot about her. Use the word 'love' if you want. So I'll fight you for her freedom.'
Aldanto laughed. 'Cocky little brat, aren't you? At your age you think you're immortal and you expect to win.'
'No,' said Benito calmly. 'I don't. But you'll have to let Maria go.'
* * *
'NO!' yelled Lucrezia, gazing in horror at Marco and the knife. She looked around wildly.
'I must stop him. Kill him! Come here, girl! I need you.'
For an instant, Kat felt the sheer power and compulsion of that voice. Then, a further warmth, a heat, a fire spread from the Saint Hypatia medal that she held, and with a shake like a spaniel pulled from the dirty water of a canal, she shook off the compulsion.
Instead of answering Lucrezia's beckoning hand, she pulled her pistol from her reticule. She'd reloaded five times in the fighting. The last time she'd had to take powder from a dead arquebusier. But the balls he'd carried had been too big. So she'd filled the barrel of the pistol with some metal junk from a ruined shop. Thrust it down and hoped it would work.
Lucrezia laughed. 'Your little toy won't do me any harm, you stupid child! Do you think I haven't taken the simplest of precautions? I command the spirits of air and water and darkness! The powder won't fire, the balls will miss!' As Kat hesitated--can that be true? Can she really do that?
Lucrezia sneered at her. 'Besides. You don't know how to use that silly thing, anyway.'
Doubt assailed her and once again, Lucrezia was using all her powers. Kat wanted to drop the weapon. Run closer.
Warmth rushed over her again, and--
--a glowing, delicate hand, insubstantial as a kiss and warm as life, closed over the hand that held the pistol.
She squeezed the trigger instead.
The metal junk cut into Lucrezia, who had half-turned, ready to throw her knife. It knocked Lucrezia to the floor.
Lucrezia screamed; and of all the screaming Kat had heard that day, this was, by far, the most horrible sound she had ever heard in her life. It went on, and on, and on, as Lucrezia writhed on the floor, thrashing spinelessly, her thrashing as horrible as the scream.
And then, the woman's body began to change. Metamorphose.
* * *
The point of the knife broke the skin, and a single drop of blood formed on the blade. Strangely, there was no pain.
Before he could press harder and end the ritual with his own death, something--took him.
