Demon Knight

providing Lisa with an appropriate wardrobe, and the countess, although her health had improved until now she was well enough to be a real thorn in his flesh, was showing no signs of offering to recompense him for any of it out of the funds the Company had provided. When the first of the condotta gold arrived and Hamish received his arrears, he would have to turn it all over to Toby to start repaying his debts. Oh, women! Oh, ruin! Oh, Lisa…

Oh, spirits! Here came Lucas Abonio with his half-witted wife on his arm and his two quarter-witted daughters at his heels. Unlike the snotty Florentine politicians whose petty noses were out of joint just because Toby had called their bluff and forced them to cut short their games at his expense, the Milanese ambassador had a real grievance against the new deputy captain-general and against his chancellor, too. Hamish had gone within an eyelash — a rat's eyelash — of committing Toby to serving the Duke of Milan in return for various castles, fiefdoms, chests of treasure, hands of daughters in marriage, and so on. Abonio had almost certainly informed his ducal master than the deal was made, only to learn later that he had been, um, misinformed.

Now he stumped past the waiting Scots without a glance. His face was even redder and shinier than Toby's. At his heels stalked Jacopo Benozzo, haughtier yet. He had none of Abonio's excuse. Reports of Nevil's preparations were flooding in every day. Hiring a captain-general had been Benozzo's duty, so why had he procrastinated so long? Behind him tottered messer Cecco de' Carisendi, his replacement as chairman of the dieci. He was probably too senile to remember who Toby was.

The big hats were coming thick and fast now… Guilo and a collection of minor Marradis… and still not a glance, not a smile! This could not be their own idea; they would certainly have been primed by the Magnificent. Hamish looked up in alarm to Toby and was silenced by a warning frown: the podesta!

Antonio Origo oozed toward them with an elderly, almost emaciated woman on his arm — an aunt, perhaps. Was his wife unwell again? Origo was always greasy, but today he seemed more reminiscent of boiling oil, which might be a mark of displeasure or due simply to the fact that he was grossly overdressed in a jerkin of cloth of gold and a fur-trimmed cloak. Hamish prepared his most obsequious bow. The podesta ignored him and almost went right past Toby also. Then he paused, glaring.

'This is highly improper! You can expect to be stripped of your post very shortly. His Highness sent strict instructions that no major decisions were to be taken until he arrived. He will be extremely displeased when he hears the news of your appointment.'

Alarmed to note that Toby was wearing his stupid-yokel expression, Hamish braced himself for some outrageous taunt, such as an inquiry as to why the Khan's representative did not boycott the free lunch if he disapproved of the occasion. Origo was having severe troubles of his own. Having ignored their titular overlord the Khan for a couple of centuries, the Florentines heartily disapproved of his reappearance in their lives. Prince Sartaq should not expect a cordial welcome when he arrived, and his flunky the podesta must be finding life even more difficult than usual.

But all Toby said was, 'I am sure His Highness is well informed about what is happening.'

Origo swelled like a bullfrog. 'I send dispatches daily!'

'I hardly think he needs your letters, Excellency. Have you not noticed the owl?'

'Owl? What owl? Owls at noon?'

'On that cornice up there. Above the blue washing.'

Eyes turned where Toby indicated.

'It can't be real!' Origo bleated shrilly.

Hamish was inclined to agree with him, for once. Owls were almost never seen in daylight. When they did appear, they were invariably mobbed by smaller birds, but that whatever-it-was up there on the roof just sat in full view, ignored by all the pigeons, sparrows, and starlings.

'It flew in an hour ago,' Toby said. 'I've seen it around quite a lot lately. Can you hear the drum?'

Hamish took a hard look at his big friend. He was flushed and sweating, although not as much as Origo was. Was the glint in his eye mockery or delirium? Smaller men than he could suffer heatstroke in a padded doublet, and it was suffocatingly hot in the loggia.

'Drum?' Origo squeaked. 'What drum?'

'A shaman's drum, I suppose. I've heard it several times in the last ten days or so. The owl is usually around when I do.'

'You are out of your mind!'

'Whatever Your Excellency commands.'

Origo opened and closed his mouth a few times, took another quick glance at that inexplicable owl, and then jerked his skeletal companion forward as he headed for the palazzo and the free lunch.

'You never told me about this!' If Hamish spent less time fluttering around Lisa, he would have more time for his duties.

'There's nothing to tell,' Toby said easily. 'Tartar gramarye is different from ours, yes? Don't shamans immure spirits in birds or animals?'

'I don't know if immure is the right word. They…' Hamish reined in a lecture as he would a flighty horse. 'That owl may be a familiar, I suppose.'

'I'm sure it is. It makes the hob fidget.'

Hamish yelped. 'You're not going to lose control of the hob, are you? Not here?' Even a few thunderbolts in this crowded square would lead to a fearful massacre.

'No. It can smell gramarye around, that's all. It isn't worried at the moment. Ears up, lad — here comes Himself.'

Having seemingly appeared from nowhere, Pietro Marradi and his train were already only a few paces away. He had Lucrezia on his arm, radiant in lilac silk, osprey plumes, and constellations of rubies. Hamish drew a deep breath at the sight of her. She was easily old enough to be his mother, but he knew he would be carrying a candle for Lucrezia if he were not totally consumed by Lisa at the moment. She had not noticed his existence yet, nor Toby's. She was not going to.

And neither was her brother! Hamish gaped in dismay as The Magnificent and his sister walked right past, heading for the don's admiring circle. So now all Florence knew that the deputy captain-general was out of favor already. Cooperation would drop from minuscule to negative. The money never would appear. Oh, demons! He looked up at Toby, but Toby's face was as inscrutable as the Alps.

'The darughachi?' his chancellor suggested, grasping for some rational explanation for this aboutface. 'If the prince has indicated displeasure, then that might explain why everyone is trying to keep their distance from you.'

But if Toby and the don did not carry some sacks of florins back to camp with them, the Company would riot. Milan was no longer an option — Abonio would never again let Longdirk or his chancellor cross his doorstep. Venice, perhaps? There had to be some rational explanation for this setback.

Obviously someone thought they could deflect Longdirk from his purpose, but that was never possible. Hamish had known him since he was a child, the unholy terror of the glen, goading and tormenting the schoolmaster with a cold-blooded calculation few adults would ever match. Even then he had never spoken a careless word or made a hasty move, as if he was frightened of breaking something with his enormous strength, but that had probably never been the case. The truth was just that Longdirk had an incredible ability to absorb punishment. As a bare-knuckle fighter he had been slow but indestructible, grinding his opponents down to exhaustion, and now he treated the world the same way — Hamish had realized that first in Aquitaine, the second time Toby had provoked Sergeant Mulliez into ordering him flogged. In his own eyes he had scored a victory, although at a cost that would have killed a lesser man. Now he needed Florence to aid him in his battle against the Fiend, so he would use Florence whether it liked him or not. Florence would have no choice in the matter.

'Messer Campbell!'

Marradi himself had shouted and was beckoning. Hamish scurried over to the group, registering trouble writ large on every face in it, including the don's. Marradi seemed close to an explosion.

'Your Magnificence?'

'What is this we hear about you organizing a party at Cafaggiolo?'

For a moment every word of Italian Hamish knew deserted him. He stood there with his mouth open while Latin, French, and Castilian buzzed around his head like wasps. Gaelic, Breton, English, Catalan, French again…