CHAPTER FOURTEEN
'This is as close as I want to come,' Toby said. 'Good luck. Take care.'
He was a massive, indeterminate shape in the starlight, but on those words he would have held out a hand to shake. Hoping his own was not too shamefully sweaty on this chilly evening, Hamish reached for it, found it, and endured the familiar forceful squeeze. An owl hooted derisively, sweeping overhead on silent wings.
'I always take care.'
'Not so I ever noticed.' Longdirk's tone deepened, grew more serious. 'Are you sure you want to go through with this? You think Fischart is crazy. Do you want to trust him on a demon ride?'
Sure? The only thing Hamish was sure of was that if he could think of a way out of tonight's escapade, he would cheerfully give up his wisdom teeth to take it — they obviously weren't doing him any good. He'd done his share of roughhousing in the past and even slain some worthy opponents, but he preferred the pen to the sword. Derring-do was not his style.
'I've done demon rides before.'
'You've also experienced a broken jaw and being run through with a sword, and you told me those were more fun.'
True, but alas, he had promised the lovely Lisa he would tread this measure for her, and the music was about to start. 'I didn't say the maestro's crazy. I just said I can't think how anyone else could have taken that gold.'
Toby grunted. 'You're a stubborn idiot, you know that? A pretty girl smiles at you, and you roll over like a puppy every time.'
'I like getting my belly rubbed. We'll be back before dawn.' He hoped.
'Good spirits be with you.'
They were more likely to be against him tonight, if one included the guardians of Siena. Hamish turned quickly and strode off along the gloomy path toward the ghostly chink of light that marked his destination. Why, why, why had he made that crass remark about belly rubbing? No girl would ever rub Toby's.
Only the adept himself willingly went near the adytum, which crouched like a hunting cat among gloomy cypresses. Some parts were of Roman brick, others of massively thick stonework, all with squinty little window slits, but whatever the building's long history, it had recently been refurbished, and the tiled roof was solid and weatherproof. Even in summer it would stay cool; at midnight in February it had no trouble raising gooseflesh all over Master Hamish Campbell. So did the two horses tethered near the door. He gave them a wide berth.
He clattered the latch instead of knocking, and the hinges screamed like a witness on the rack. The only light inside was a solitary candle on the worktable at the far end, where Maestro Fischart stood, bent over a thick tome. He looked up with a scowl as his visitor approached.
'So the scholar turns hero? Rescuing the girl herself wasn't enough for you. Now you want to rescue her mother as well? Overcome with gratitude, she'll swoon helpless into your manly arms.'
'She can swoon into yours all she wants, if you mean the countess. Lisa's enough of an armful for me.' Hamish did not care for Maestro Fischart, essential though he was to the Company. He was undoubtedly crazy to some extent, the only question being how much.
Tugging his cloak tighter around him, Hamish looked around for a place to sit. His teeth very much wanted to chatter, and although he could blame the cold for that, chattering did not suit the role of knight-errant. The two spindly chairs bore teetering towers of books, and the plank bed was so piled with scrolls, boxes, anonymous bundles, and old clothes that its owner must be presumed to sleep on the floor. More litter lay on the two ironbound chests that contained the hexer's equipment and accompanied him everywhere he went. Glass vials and alembics cluttered a third, which was larger and stronger, the Company's strongbox.
The hexer squawked with derision and slammed the book closed, swirling dust up like smoke from the littered table. 'You're mad, boy! You lust after the rightful Queen of England!'
That slash drew blood. Of course any thought of romance with Lisa was unthinkable, but that wasn't keeping Hamish from thinking about it. He'd been in love before, but this time felt different. Didn't every time feel different? Even more different. He had never met a girl like Lisa — haughty, learned, and courageous, and yet witty, naive, and appallingly vulnerable. Two days with her had set his wits so a-spin that the jeer made his temper boil.
'You were never young, were you? That dramatic ride to Highcross you told us about was prompted by nothing more than concern for the public weal? And tonight — hose, doublet, jerkin, cloak? My! What inspired you to discard that stinking robe at last? Want to look presentable to a lady, do you? Renewing an old romance? Playing gentleman? Haven't seen you wear a sword since Spain.'
Fischart straightened. 'Your ill temper is a sure sign of nervousness. Are you having second thoughts about this madcap escapade?'
Sudden caution. 'Should I have second thoughts? What did you learn?'
The earlier divinations had given ambiguous results, and the hexer had promised to make further tests. Augury was always inexact, because no demon or spirit could foresee the future, but a skilled adept could learn whether his personal aspect was in positive or negative mode. Only an idiot would undertake a dangerous venture when the currents were set against him.
Fischart sighed. 'The answers were no clearer. If anything less clear.' He eyed Hamish for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the table and began shuffling objects around aimlessly. 'Shadow. All I find is shadow.'
'What shadow? Whose shadow?'
'The thief's. Longdirk tell you about the missing gold?'
'Of course.'
'He hid himself with gramarye,' the hexer mumbled. 'My watchers didn't see him, but they saw his shadow.' His hands continued to fidget as if playing a dozen chess games.
'You're sure it was a man's shadow?'
'No, but tonight my aura has that same shadow across it!'
Because it was his own shadow. He had contrived the theft himself for no sane reason. Lots of hexers went crazy. Consort with demons long enough and sooner or later you wouldn't know your armpit from an anthill. Fischart's gnawing guilt made him an obvious candidate for the chaos chorus.
'Across mine, too?'
'No, not yours.'
'Then you stay here, and I'll go alone.' That was sheer braggadocio. Hamish could not possibly handle the powers required. His new and untried agents in Siena had almost no chance of finding the countess by material means. In fact their bumbling inquiries were more likely to attract the signory's attention and thus drag her farther into danger. If the Fiend's minions had not already located her, the only practical way to find her was with gramarye. Coursing was tricky enough with dogs and with demons would be a roll in a snake pit. So he needed the hexer, and there could be no delay, for the propinquity of the severed kerchief must be fading fast.
'No. I'll come.' The old man held out a hand. 'Give me back Corte.'
Hamish removed his ring. 'Why can't I keep it for tonight?'
'Because it is conjured to whip you out of the way of any serious danger. Tonight you have to stay and enjoy it.' Fischart dropped the guarddemon in a small casket of ivory and closed the lid. That box was familiar. Toby and the don had worked some real wonders with it once, including saving Hamish's life. He saw several things he recognized in the dust-coated litter on the table, but others were disturbingly strange — a furred hand with too many fingers, a lump of rock crystal containing what looked like golden feathers, a tortoise in a bottle, a basket holding embers that still glowed with worms of red fire and yet did not burn the basket, a small, brownish skull with teeth that were definitely not human…
'Have you ever considered becoming a hexer?'
Hamish looked up with an angry retort ready on his lips and was taken aback by the Fischart's pasty smile. The adept's humor was usually mocking, but this time he seemed almost wistful, and something like sincerity might be lurking in the rheumy eyes. That smile and the question were equally disconcerting.
Of course he had. Anyone who enjoyed books and learning as much as he did must at some time consider
