Demon Knight

his lips.

'How much is Milan offering you now, messer Longdirk?'

The onlookers bristled in alarm. Toby should have known that no one kept secrets from Marradi in his own palace. A truthful answer would not be believed.

'Enough to buy the don if he hears of it, Your Magnificence.'

'You would go with him?'

'Undoubtedly.'

'I see. You leave us little choice. Paolo? Giovanni?' One by one, Marradi queried the onlookers. One by one they pouted, squirmed, then nodded. 'So we are agreed?' He turned to Toby and offered a hand. 'You have your condotta, messer.'

Toby released a long breath and bent to kiss those delicate fingers. As he straightened, Benozzo made his snorting noise again.

'But you will not allow us to hail you as captain-general?'

'That title must go to the don, Your Magnificence.'

'He is a raving madman!'

'And he would chop me in cutlets if I dared belittle his status in the Company. He is your condottiere, Your Honors. I am his high constable, no more. We share the duties — he takes the glory, and I do all the work.'

One advantage of a total inability to lie was that one was believed when telling the truth. The audience looked puzzled, but not disbelieving. If anyone could understand how a man might wield power in the background while using another for a figurehead, it ought to be these Florentines.

'You were elected capo at Trent,' Benozzo complained.

'The don graciously allowed me to accept the title. He prefers to fight as close to the enemy as possible, and he knew so large an army could not be led from the front line.' That was true. It was also true that the other commanders would sooner have blown themselves out of cannons than ever elect Don Ramon to anything.

'We all realize,' podesta Origo said with a smile that would have left an oily shimmer on the Mediterranean, 'that you needed the Spaniard's name and reputation when you founded the Company. But why do you bother to hide behind him now?'

Toby needed a moment to work out the logic again and make sure he had not misunderstood the first time. Then he needed more time to calm himself lest an explosion of anger waken the hob. Finally he said, 'It is true that I have refused offers of continued employment from Verona and Naples and others. When they paid me, I served them as well as I knew how, giving them full value. That was business. But I do not throw friends away when my need for them is past, Your Excellency!' He had not totally masked his disgust, for Origo flinched.

Il Volpe contrived a thin smile without showing his teeth. 'Yet the citizens would be happier if the famous Longdirk were their official protector.'

'My regrets, Your Magnificence.' Toby set his jaw to indicate extreme stubbornness. That was something else he was very good at. It required no deception at all.

Pietro sighed tolerantly. 'The baton to the don, then. We shall issue two silver helmets, though.'

'You do me great honor, but again I respectfully decline. I am an easy enough target without that.' Now the onlookers' bewilderment was becoming affront and suspicion. These men spent their lives chasing trappings of grandeur, and most of them would sell their own mothers for much less than what he was refusing. He was insulting them and their values. 'Signori, in my native land we believe it is unlucky to count chickens still in the shell. Offer me prizes after the victory, not before the enemy is even in sight.' Besides, he was a foreign-born stripling — how would seasoned Italian troops feel if they saw him in a silver helmet? He was also a lowborn bastard, although the bastardy part did not seem to matter in Italy.

'You will swear the oath?' Benozzo demanded truculently.

'I will gladly swear allegiance to the noble republic of Florence.' He wondered if the oath-taking ceremony would be held in the sanctuary. His participation there would only be possible if the tutelary agreed that the hob was not a demon. If it decided otherwise, it might blast him to ashes. Worse, it might try to exorcise the hob and destroy his mind in the attempt.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The congratulations Guilo babbled as he herded the comandante to the door went unheard. Toby's mind was soaring far beyond the seventh sphere of heaven. In reality, if not in name, he was now Captain-General of Florence and held the fate of the city in his hands but no one could save Florence if Italy fell so he was in effect undertaking to save the whole peninsula but Nevil would never rest until he controlled all Europe so Toby was really undertaking—

Whoa! One lifetime at a time!

He would have to repeat the miracle of Trent. It was fortunate that Benozzo and his fellow commissioners did not realize how much of an incredible fluke Trent had been. The assembled captains-general and collaterali had elected the big foreigner comandante that day only because they thought the cause was hopeless, and he would be an ideal scapegoat. The cause had been hopeless until he had tricked Schweitzer into drawing up his forces on the downwind side of a pine forest and then been ruthless enough to exploit that mistake. Nevil would never fall into such a trap. Guilo closed the door with himself on one side of it and Toby on the other. The lock clicked. Nevil would—

The lock had clicked!

Surprise snatched Toby back from dreams and sent his hand groping for a nonexistent sword. He was alone in a long gallery, its heavy darkness salted with a very few candle flames gleaming like stars. One wall bore a parade of gilt-framed portraits, but the bronze and marble statues set between them provided a dozen shadowy hiding places. Heavy velvet drapes opposite meant bright windows by day but might conceal regiments of killers at night. He reached behind him to test whether the door had been locked and then decided not to — he could do nothing about it if it was, and it didn't matter if it wasn't. Certainly Guilo would be standing guard outside, whether the purpose was assassination or merely assignation.

Toby strode over to the nearest candelabra, a head-high tangle of bronze sea serpents, and lifted it as if to inspect the portraits. It weighed quite enough to smash skulls with if need be. There he waited, thinking back to what Guilo had said — something about another meeting, someone wanting to meet with him? And a smile. Not a murderer's leer, more of a silly smirk. No matter, the kid might not be in on the real plot.

Silence, except for faint sounds of an orchestra beyond the far door. The longer he was kept waiting, the less likely that there was an innocent explanation. How many would there be, what weapons would they use? Against bow or gun his size was more handicap than help; against blades, up to two or even three, he would have a reasonable chance with the sea serpents. Poisoned blades would be another matter. Then a flash of movement, a flicker of golden cloth just beyond a great hunk of contorted marble…

'You are keeping me waiting.'

Lucrezia!

'I'm admiring your ancestors, duchessa. Which one was this? Why did he look like that? Did he have gout, or was he a lawyer?' The Marradi family could afford to marry well now — it was amazing how the highborn would swallow their pride and disgorge a daughter in return for a few sacks of gold — but it had sprung from humble roots. The don would dismiss this entire collection with a sneering remark about pedlars and fish merchants.

'Don't be tiresome, Tobiaso. You had just as many ancestors as we did, and you have just as little idea of what they really looked like. Now come here.' She was artfully posed on a padded silk couch between two towering marble giants.

He strolled toward her, keeping the corners of his eyes peeled but fairly confident now that he faced nothing worse than grievous social embarrassment. 'I do know what mine looked like. They looked like English soldiers. They were probably in uniform at the time.'

'You expect to shock me, Tobiaso? When a man catches my eye I inquire into his history.'