They glared at him. 'Near enough,' muttered Pierre. He pointed a weary finger at the Basque. 'He summoned the Lion. I think.'
Diego's eyes widened. Eneko chuckled. 'It was Pierre's prayer, you know. How odd that he didn't mention that. . . .'
The Basque priest lurched to his feet and walked out onto the balcony. He leaned on the balcony and studied the Imperial embassy across the canal. The huge edifice was now somber with nightfall. Only a few lights could be seen, tapers and lamps flickering behind curtained windows. Behind him, Eneko could hear Pierre's murmured words, as he explained to their Castillian comrade what had transpired.
His companions joined him on the balcony a short while later.
'Are you certain it was not she herself?' asked Diego quietly. 'We must be certain about this, Eneko.'
The Basque shrugged. 'I'm not certain of anything. But . . . no. I am now almost sure the girl is an innocent. The more so, since you discovered her identity.'
'The name 'Montescue' is an old one, Eneko,' said Diego uncertainly. 'Evil enough, in that family, over the centuries.'
Again, the Basque shrugged. 'And of what old family can that not be said?' With a little laugh: 'Certainly not mine! Did I ever tell you about my great-grandfather--'
'Several times,' growled Pierre. 'Just as Diego has bored me endlessly with tales of his own wicked Castillian ancestors. My own progenitors, on the other hand,' he added cheerfully, 'were virtuous peasants.'
His companions bestowed skeptical looks upon him. 'Each and every one!' he insisted.
The moment of levity was brief. Diego returned to the subject like a dog chewing a bone. 'Still, Eneko. We must be certain.'
The Basque was back to his study of the Imperial embassy. His gaze was intent, as if he could penetrate the heavy stone walls and see what transpired within.
'It doesn't make sense, Diego. I've discovered, as you know, that Casa Montescue is in dire financial straits. And the girl Katerina is the only member of the family young enough--and trusted enough--to be working at the 'gray trade.' Her grandfather is too old, her sister-in-law . . .' His lips tightened with distaste. 'Untrustworthy, by all accounts. That's enough--more than enough--to explain her mysterious habits.'
Diego began to say something, but Eneko drove over it. 'Besides, consider the logic of what just happened.' He gestured with his head toward the Savoyard. 'Pierre is wrong, incidentally. I'm sure of it. We did not summon the Lion, we simply . . . woke it up for a time. To actually summon the thing requires knowledge I do not possess, and-- if the legends are to be believed--the participation of one of the four ancient families of Venice. Which are: Terrio, Lacosto--both families long vanished; Valdosta--destroyed, presumably by the Montagnards. And--' He paused, giving the next word added emphasis. 'Montescue.'
Diego stared down the dark canal, in the direction of Casa Montescue. 'You think the Evil One was trying . . .'
'The same legends also specify a son of the families, Eneko,' objected Pierre. But his demurral was not spoken with any great force.
Eneko smiled grimly. 'Yes, I know. But does Chernobog?'
He sighed. The next words came iron hard, for all the softness of the tone. 'Enough, I say. I'm satisfied that the Montescue girl is innocent. We've got few enough resources as it is--just the three of us. We've learned all we can--and need--for the moment, concerning Katerina Montescue. Time to concentrate on two more important matters.'
'What really happened to the Strega Grand Master,' mused Diego. 'That's one. What's the other?'
Eneko's little chuckle was quite absent of humor. 'What do you think? What really happened to the children of Lorendana Valdosta? Two sons, I remind you.'
'Casa Valdosta was destroyed,' protested Pierre. 'Everyone says so.'
Eneko stared into the darkness. 'This is the murkiest city in the world, brothers. We cannot assume anything.'
* * *
Agony led the way, dragging the monster back into consciousness. In the cage, true enough, its bones and flesh would knit and heal. But--not without pain. Immense pain, in this instance.
