Demon Knight

would unite in the face of the Fiend's threat. At worst his coup would divide them worse than before and make Nevil's task easier. Republics like Florence might split wide open. Sartaq's Tartar bodyguard would certainly resist, and some of the delegations might side with them, so the bloodshed would start immediately.

It was an impossible dream. However bad the darughachi's leadership might be, it could not be replaced now. That was another mystery of power — it was almost indestructible.

The royal riding boots came to a halt in front of his nose; he heard a brief exchange in Tartar. Then the prince went indoors, and the honor guard could rise and hastily brush dust off their knees and hands before bowing to Sartaq's entourage as it came up the stairs after him. The drab, unimpressive figure in front was the Magnificent himself, Pietro Marradi.

He acknowledged them all with a small bow, a smile, and almost invariably a name — right, left, right, left… Once or twice he turned his ear to a chancellor at his back, who would whisper a name he had forgotten, and no doubt he had been provided with lists of all the more important guests, but it was still a masterly performance. His smile turned toward Toby — and vanished.

Toby paused halfway out of his bow, then straightened up more slowly. 'Your Magnificence?'

'Messer Longdirk!' It was understood that Il Volpe never lost his composure and would continue to smile politely under any circumstances. But he had displayed anger in the piazza three weeks ago, and he was making no effort to hide it now. 'You presume far, messer, when you keep secrets from me!'

'Me, Your Magnificence? Secrets?' What was going on now? Toby could think of nothing he had withheld that was of any significance. Bartolo submitted all the required reports to the dieci. 'I can only assure—'

'Very significant secrets!'

'I cannot imagine to what Your Magnificence refers.' Nor could he imagine why he had to be humiliated with this accusation before such an audience.

'Indeed?' Marradi sneered. 'Does the name Blanche mean nothing to you?'

It felt like a punch in the kidneys. 'What has happened?' Was Lisa in danger? Where was Hamish?… don't let Hamish do anything rash… Lisa!

His shock had shown on his face. The Magnificent smiled grimly at this evidence of guilt.

'What has happened is that your private conspiracy has been uncovered, messer. Fortunately the lady in question and her daughter have now been escorted to quarters fitting to their rank, where they will be much less at risk than in a camp full of mercenary rabble.'

Demons! Lisa was in no immediate danger if she had been kidnapped by Marradi himself. For a moment Toby could think of nothing more except the scores of ears and eyes around them. Nevil must certainly have agents here in the villa, and would guess who Blanche was. Hamish. Was Hamish within earshot? How to keep Hamish out of trouble? He found his tongue.

'Your Magnificence, if we must discuss a lady, surely we can do so in private?' Betrayed! Who could have revealed the countess's true identity?

The Magnificent was seething. 'There is no need to discuss the lady, messer. She and her daughter are quite safe now. What we shall need to discuss is your conduct in concealing them from us when your obvious duty was otherwise.' The Magnificent stalked past the don and on into the villa.

Toby looked around anxiously for Hamish.

'How very extraordinary!' Villari remarked. 'Do you always let him talk to you like that, Constable?'

Toby resisted an impulse to flatten the odious little man. Villari was a competent fighter when he had no choice in the matter. So was a rat.

The don snorted and charged to his deputy's defense. 'He is only a moneylender — what do you expect? Which bawd is he pursuing, Constable?' The copper mustache curled in a smile; the mad blue eyes were raging.

'Not the one he thinks he is, signore. I fear there has been a most unfortunate mistake.'

If that disclaimer convinced anyone at all, it was no one in Italy. The audience grinned from ear to ear, a hundred ears, one enormous multiple grin all the way around them, a forest of teeth.

'Perhaps it was you who mistook the name, messer Scotsman,' Villari suggested loudly. 'You may have misheard because her thighs were over your ears.'

Pounding him into the ground would be too good for him. And there was Hamish in the background, staring at Toby with eyes like open wounds and white cheekbones showing through his tan as if it were varnish. Think of something, quickly, think of some reason to keep Hamish busy so he could not vault on Eachan and spur like a maniac to Florence. 'Chancellor!' At least now there was no need to worry that Hamish might vanish in the night with Lisa and her mother en route to Malta. But, oh, Lisa! She was lost now. The great monster Politics had wrapped its tentacles around her, and she would never escape. A nightingale caught in a net. A sunbeam lost in fog. She had been under his protection. Whatever would they do to her? Hamish arrived.

'Lists?' Toby babbled. 'You have some lists we have to go over. The seating for the banquet. Guard roster…'

Hamish looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses, which perhaps he had. 'They will have to wait.' He switched to Gaelic. 'Have you gone deaf? They are calling all senior military personnel to wait on the prince.'

'Er, what?' He had not been listening…

'A council. Sober up, Toby!'

'Demons! You mean it's actually going to happen?'

'Of course.' Hamish took him by his elbow, as if he were a child or a tottering geriatric and guided him into the villa, walking with the tide. 'This way. But for spirits' sake keep your back to the wall.'

* * *

Not only was Sartaq going to confer with the military, he had graciously stipulated that the meeting would be held in western fashion — meaning upright, not kneeling. As Toby strode into the hall and saw the senior condottieri and collaterale standing before the throne, he felt a flutter of hope for the first time in weeks. It wavered when he realized that they were far from alone, and more people were flooding in behind him. Did Sartaq truly intend to discuss strategy in public? The politicians were much in evidence already — Marradi and a group of Florentines, the Venetian commissioners, the Neapolitan ambassador, who was King Fredrico's bastard son. Seeing Ercole Abonio towering over the throng, Toby began pushing in his direction, and none too gently, but before he arrived at his destination he heard a chancellor thump his staff on the floor and had to stop where he was. The crowd hushed expectantly.

In happier times the brilliantly decorated hall must have been the site of fine banquets. The usual tables and benches had been removed for the conclave and replaced by a single chair of state. Even so, the prince's bodyguards had to push a path through the crowd for him. He advanced to the throne, but instead of sitting he just turned and stood in front of it, looking over the assembly, acknowledging the bows with a solemn nod. He was clad in Italian costume of tights, shirt, tunic, and a short cloak, all of somber browns and greens that had probably been carefully chosen to suit his coloring. He was short, but there was more than padding spreading the shoulders of his doublet, and his legs were impressive. It was the first time Toby had seen him at close quarters. He did not look like an idiot. His eyes were quick. Younger sons of Oriental potentates were traditionally sequestered at puberty with unlimited opportunities for debauchery so that they would rot their brains, ruin their health, and never become a threat to the succession. Sartaq did not look as if that had happened to him, but he was the product of a decayed system, so perhaps he had just never learned to think for himself.

His gaze came to rest on Toby. Toby stared right back. The men in front of him sidled out of the way, dissipating like morning dew.

'You are the one called Longdirk?'

Toby bowed. 'Your Highness's most humble servant.'

'You were in charge at the Battle of Trent.' The accent was strange, but his Italian was better than Toby's, spoken without hesitation.

'I had that honor, Your Magnificence.'

'If you were in command of all my father's armies in Italy now, what would you do to deal with the Fiend's invasion?'

The obvious answer began, 'I would call a secret and intimate conclave of the leading soldiers…' But that