pleasure than to assist you when you destroy Rhym and rid Europe of its atrocities. Well, Excellency?'
'Don't call me that!' Oreste rubbed his face. 'I, also… I have very much to atone for. But the Inquisition… May I sit, please? I am not thinking very clearly.' He was in shock.
They took the lanterns and led him to a stout iron chair, strong enough to support his bulk. He sank down in it gratefully, although its purpose was to hold a man immobile while his feet were being roasted or his fingers crushed. Toby brought him the water pitcher, and he drank.
'Now, Baron. The first problem is, can you get me and my friend out of here alive? Can you defend us from the Inquisition?'
'I… I don't know.' He wrung his fat hands. 'I am still viceroy, I suppose. In any other crime I could just issue a pardon, but not in a case of possession. If I try to release you, even my own guard will mutiny. The Inquisition would rouse the city. There would be a hue and cry, a house-to-house search for a convicted creature. There would be riots. Nowhere in the city would be safe for you.'
The don opened his mouth, and Toby held up a hand to silence him. They waited. Either the baron was a consummate actor, or he was genuinely trying to help.
'There are ships. But you are not easily disguised…'
'Montserrat!' The don's eyes glittered. 'If you are truly as penitent as you profess, then you will accompany us to Montserrat and testify to your repentance before the spirit!'
The baron's bulk shuddered like jelly. He closed his eyes, but then he managed a nod. 'Yes,' he muttered hoarsely. 'No man has ever had more on his conscience. I cannot ever hope to atone, but I should make my confession, if it will hear me. We can go in my carriage. You will not dare go to the monastery, of course, Longdirk…'
'Yes he will,' the don said. 'The tutelary has offered him sanctuary.'
The baron ignored him. 'But I could take you part of the way, smuggle you out of Barcelona, give you money.' A grotesque smile writhed over his doughy face. 'After all these years it is hard for me to think like an ordinary man now. I keep wanting to use gramarye.'
'We are not going to open the casket,' Toby said firmly, 'if that's what you—'
'No! No! Never! But I can get you out of town, I am sure. Even provide an escort.'
'And Jaume? We must rescue him also.'
The baron sighed. 'That should be easier. In his case the guards will obey my orders; they approve of anyone who slays a
Toby exchanged nods with the don. They would have to trust him. 'Very well. You will knock on the door and order Diaz to summon your coach and bring the prisoner Campbell to you. Do not mention Don Ramon or myself, and we will try to pass as innocent monks.'
The baron rose shakily. 'I shall do my best, Longdirk, I swear it!'
Don Ramon drew his dagger. 'You understand that you will lose a kidney if you do not?'
'Yes, yes! And you understand that death would be a welcome release for me? But I shall do my best to make recompense for all the harm I have done you. I wish I could do as much for all the thousands of others.' Shuffling like a very old man, the baron headed for the door.
Toby went to replace the lanterns and fetch that precious casket.
PART NINE
To Catch the Wind
CHAPTER ONE
Hope was also much harder to handle than despair. Despair was simple, merely a matter of courage, and courage was only pride. But hope was a tease. Hope was a temptress who flaunted offers of life and safety, or even happiness, and whipped them away again. Hope was a will o' the wisp dancing over bottomless swamps.
Step by reluctant step, Toby was driven to belief. No matter how he fought against hope or chided himself for starry-eyed dreaming, the evidence grew that the baron and even the mad don were to be trusted. Over and over he warned himself that the more he let himself believe, the greater would be his pain when the trap snapped shut around him again. Yet still that seed of hope kept sprouting.
The first inkling was the way the baron tugged his cloak around himself, to hide his muddy clothes and ringless hands, after he had rapped on the door. He had not been told to do that.
Locks clattered, hinges groaned, Diaz appeared in the opening. 'Your Excellency?' He did not even glance at the two shadowy monks so close to the viceroy's back.
'Summon my carriage immediately.'
'At once, Excellency.'
'And bring out the other prisoner — Campbell. He will accompany me.'
A moment's hesitation. 'He is technically the Inquisition's now, Excellency. I have your authority to insist?'
'Certainly. Use force if you must.'
A gleam of satisfaction vanished instantly. Lowering his voice slightly, the captain said, 'The friars are here. They are anxious to begin the interrogation.'
'Not yet. Not till tomorrow at the earliest. Wait,' Oreste added as Diaz began to turn away. 'Longdirk is to be left undisturbed. He… that is, he is being stubborn. We must teach him a lesson.'
The captain raised his eyebrows, which for him was equivalent to a gasp of disbelief. 'Left as he is, senor? Chained like that?'
'Exactly as he is. No food, no water, no inspections, even.'
'But he cannot stand indefinitely, senor! He will faint eventually, and with his arms held up in that position, then he will certainly suffocate.'
'I do not ask for advice!' the baron yelled. 'He is not to be disturbed by anyone, for any reason whatsoever! Until I return.'
'Of course, Excellency!' Diaz saluted. His face bore the nearest thing to a smile that Toby had ever seen on it — he obviously thought the baron was planning to cheat the Inquisition by granting the prisoner a merciful death.
There was another hint a few moments later as the baron and his escort walked along the arched passageway to the stair and its seductive hint of daylight. One of the soldiers who had chained Toby to the wall an hour earlier jostled him, muttered, 'Beg pardon, Father,' and seemed to forget him again immediately.
Out in the courtyard a wan noontime sun was trying to break through flimsy clouds without much success, but the rain had stopped. Toby clutched the ivory casket, ignoring the wide iron gates and thoughts of making a run for it — there was no safety for him in the streets. He could not walk freely under the sky like other men; he was officially certified as not human.
The baron leaned against a pillar with his eyes closed, pale as a corpse. Toby moved in close to him on one side, the don on the other with his dagger concealed in his sleeve. Guards stood around, exchanging puzzled glances, but no one showed any interest in the two Benedictines, not even a group of genuine Benedictines who wandered across the courtyard, deep in conversation. Now followed a torment of waiting, a time for hope to sicken and fear to thrive.
Then Diaz returned with a troop of soldiers, escorting Hamish, who shuffled along in leg chains. His hands were in manacles, his features puffed and discolored by the battering he had taken in the cage. He squinted
