Demon Knight

'Rest assured, my son,' the cardinal twittered, barely glancing up from the documents, 'that the Holy Father and members of the College will continue to pray without surcease for the defeat of the Fiend whether or not he invades Italy. We regularly remind all acolytes of the Galilean Order in all shrines and sanctuaries everywhere to petition the spirits they serve for assistance against the evil. Our esteemed Captain-General Villari has been told to save no expense to defend the holy city itself.'

'Are not these the same precautions you took before France was conquered, when Austria was overrun, while the rest of Europe was ravaged by the monster? I am sure I speak not only for the armies of Florence but for all—'

'You may be sure of that.' Marradi thrust the documents back at the secretary, approving them with a nod. 'But we are not. If, as I fear, Tobias, you are about to ask the College itself to engage in gramarye, you should remember that the Holy Father and his predecessors for more than a thousand years have refused to countenance the use of demons under any circumstances whatsoever. The Galilean enjoined us to serve, worship, and educate the holy spirits within their natural domains. To abduct and torture them into demons is contrary to all that is virtuous. Fighting evil with more evil must always be self-defeating. Our shield must be love and goodness our sword.'

Were this meeting the confidential and intimate parley Toby had requested, he would now agree wholeheartedly and mention that the Don Ramon Company was in dire need of a good healer, as battles were not necessarily fought within easy reach of a sanctuary. In other words, he would ask for a hexer. The cardinal, if he were reasonable, would refuse sadly and later arrange for one to appear. But this cardinal was not being reasonable and did not deserve to be treated reasonably.

'That was not how Rome escaped conquest by the Tartars in 1248, Your Eminence.'

The onlookers flinched. No one contradicted an arch-acolyte in public, let alone a cardinal. Marradi's smooth pinkness turned a fraction pinker. He pursed his little mouth:

'You were there, I suppose?' he squeaked.

Toby could boom. 'No, but I am here, in Florence, in your city, which I have sworn to defend with my life. Why are you not willing to assist its people in their hour of need? For all of that thousand years you mentioned, the College has waged war on hexers, and rightly so. It has invariably confiscated any immured demon it could lay its hands on, and it is public knowledge that all of those hundreds, nay thousands, of—'

'Public knowledge is worthless knowledge, my son. Those jewels and the demons they contain are taken to Rome to be destroyed, not hoarded in some secret cellar as you imply.' His Eminence gibbered the words, sprayed them. 'Even if we did control a legion of demons, to use it for the furtherance of evil would—'

'Is self-defense evil? If we use them only for that?'

'I have told you. Those demons do not exist.'

'Then if you will not take pity on the men who will die because of your stubbornness, will you not save the tutelaries and spirits? Do you deny that whenever Nevil takes a city he turns its spirits into demons to serve his cause and thus continues to increase his power while you and others like you close your eyes to the suffering and —'

'Insolence! Blasphemy! Chancellor, remove this man and his companion from our presence!'

Toby turned on his heel and walked out.

Hamish stalked at his side, growling low in his throat. As they clattered down the broad staircase, he said, 'Did ye see yon Lucrezia? Smirking and panting like a bitch in heat.'

'I'm sure she enjoyed the performance,' Toby said tightly, 'but I don't think she wrote the music. There's another hand behind all this.'

'Whose?'

'The shadow who arranged Fischart's death. There's a traitor in the Company.'

CHAPTER SIX

Never since the Tartar conquest of Europe almost three hundred years earlier had a member of the Khan's immediate family visited Florence, and no expense was spared to honor the darughachi. The ceremonies would begin at the city gate on the Roman road, the Porta Gattolini, where bands played and banners flew above elaborate staging, where all the rich and powerful came to see and be seen, even those not required to participate. An honor guard lined both sides of the road out for more than a mile. Marshal Diaz had threatened to flog any man who did not meet his standards of perfection, be he cavalry squadriere, infantry commander, or Constable Longdirk himself. Growly old Antonio was probably capable of trying it, too, but the threat was not necessary. The entire Don Ramon Company was determined to upstage the Florentine provisionati, so sunlight blazed off helmets and breastplates, off shields and pikes and swords, off buttons and harness buckles buffed like silver. Even the horses looked polished. Toby had taken care that he would not be found wanting. At his post close to the gate, he flashed and sweltered in full armor like the rest.

The Company had begun deploying before dawn. Great carriages of the rich started rumbling out not long after, then the commonality emerged from the city like a noisy tide to roil over the fields, churning up the young wheat. They danced, picnicked, and generally enjoyed a sunny holiday. Hucksters and pickpockets plied their trades.

By noon the bands had given up, the honor guard was losing its glitter, and everyone was becoming grumpy. It was midafternoon before the long procession was seen winding in over the hills. It took almost another hour for the van of the Sienese escort to reach the first of the honor guard, and even then the end of the baggage train was still not in sight. The music began again, and maidens strewed flowers on the road before the prince's steed. Cannons boomed, startling the horses. Some ambitious souls began to cheer, although that did not last long in the heat.

All this was only preparatory, for the main events would take place in the city, in the Palace of the Signory. But before the speeches and masques, before ceremonies in the piazza and services in the sanctuary — before anything else at all — the city leaders must make the Tartar ritual of obeisance, which was so ancient that it had been conveniently forgotten in Tuscany centuries ago. Nevertheless, it was required now, however much republican blood might boil.

A herald proclaimed the name and rank of the Khan's official deputy, the despised Antonio Origo. The podesta advanced on foot, bowing seven times. Then he had to kneel and touch his face to the ground, rise to his knees, and kiss the prince's boot. Later, when Sartaq sat enthroned in the palace, there would be formal oaths of allegiance, with each participant lifting the royal foot and placing it on his own head, but that could not conveniently be done when he was on horseback. Even this ritual was more difficult now than it had been in ancient times, for where the prince's world-conquering ancestors had ridden shaggy little Mongolian ponies, he sat astride a long-legged Arabian stallion, and the dumpy messer Origo had considerable trouble reaching his lips to the boot without lifting his knees off the ground. Muffled sounds of amusement could be heard from the distant ranks of citizenry. Even the notables around Toby shimmered a little. As Origo rose and backed away, bowing seven more times as required, his face was observed to be redder than the rich wines of the Chianti Hills. Truly, the lot of a podesta in Florence was never easy.

Sartaq seemed younger than Toby had expected, although those unfamiliar Asiatic features were hard to judge. Under a towering, many-colored and many-layered hat, his complexion was the same olive-brown shade as Sorghaghtani's, plump and unlined, with a thin black mustache curving down almost to his jawline. He was short, probably stocky, although little of his shape showed through the grandiose robes of bejeweled and emblazoned silk — not for him the simple furs and leathers of his horseborne steppe ancestors. He looked very bored, but possibly he was merely wearied by a long ride on a hot day.

None of the twenty or so glorious-garbed courtiers behind him seemed likely to be the military attache Neguder. They were all elderly and could be assumed to have been sent along to keep the young prince in line.

All the innumerable priors and other dignitaries of Florence had now to be proclaimed by the heralds and then follow Origo's footsteps over the crushed flowers. Pietro Marradi was not there, because formally he was only a private citizen. He was also too much of a realist to feel slighted by the omission, although all the lesser