| Part 1, Part 2 |
Just before dawn, when the night is darkest, and sleepers restless with dreams, two cloaked figures slipped into the city of Fiorenza. They passed the Baron's security post without disturbing the nodding man within, avoided the few guard patrols still abroad. Somewhere, a dog barked, a lonely sound in the somnolent city.
The pair turned east, just past the central marketplace. Here, the land began its gradual descent to the river. Streets narrowed and tenements crowded in. From time to time, a massive pylon could be seen rising from the steep hillside. As one drew closer to the river, they became more frequent, springing from the ground like a great, stone forest. A few supported the bridge linking the city main with the Baron deZor's island stronghold, but most no longer supported anything at all, their spans long since fallen to ruin.
As the strangers approached the water, the buildings around them grew older yet, and taller. Some had as many as five stories and spanned the streets outright. Almost all were made of wood -- rare these days when one had to travel miles to reach the forests. The rotting structures were built so closely together that, for all practical purposes, they became rambling walls of mismatched facades. This was Old Fiorenza -- not as ancient as the Towers, of course, but built long before even the priests could remember. Rivertown, it was called, and most prudent folk avoided it.
Morning fog rose from the river to meet the pair as they moved deeper into this claustrophobic maze. From time to time they would see others abroad, indistinct shapes who hurried past, incurious. The air was rank with the smell of dirty water and damp rot. Sounds were unnaturally loud in this ghostly twilight, the creak of the flat-bottomed boats and taxis moored against the quays, the monotonous dripping of moisture from the bridges overhead, running footfalls fading into the distance.
The taller of the two turned sharply right and came upon a doorway. A sign overhead, its paint peeling, proclaimed "The Wharf Rat."
Inside, in the run-down lobby, a high counter stood on the left, and a stairway climbed into darkness on their right. The floor creaked ominously under their weight as they moved to the former where a balding man snorted awake.
"What do you want?" he asked gruffly.
The tall figure pushed back his hood. Dark hair shot with gray was tied in a loose tail at the nape of his neck. He regarded the innkeeper with a cold stare that made the man straighten his shoulders and adopt a more respectful tone. "What kin we do fer ye, gennelmun?"
"A room, as high up as possible."
Educated accents were rarely heard in Rivertown. The innkeeper was suddenly hopeful that the bill might be paid without a fuss.
"I've got just the thing, sirs." He shot a curious look at the smaller form standing just behind the man. A noble lord and his catamite? "It'll be two silvers for the night, clean linen's a copper extra."
The man paid it and took the key. Leaving the innkeeper gawking after them, the strangers mounted the staircase, twisting and turning, up and up, until at last, they reached a landing, two doors opening onto it. Inserting the key, the man pushed open one of the doors and his companion slipped past.
Inside was a surprisingly large room, although none too clean, and its grimy windows permitted a glimpse of grey sky. The smaller of the pair made an impatient sound. Pushing back her hood, she looked around with a wrinkled nose.
"What a rathole! Why must we stay here?"
"Word travels in Fiorenza," the man reminded her, "in some neighborhoods, very swiftly, indeed. Rivertown seems to hold on to its secrets longer than most. Don't forget, Fiorenza has a Custodian. He will eventually find out we're here. It is to our advantage to postpone that moment as long as we may." At first glance, the girl seemed a delicate creature, porcelain skin, black-haired and blue-eyed -- coloring common among the some of the southernmost hill tribes. An intricate cap of braids held back her hair. More braids, very fine and interwoven with tiny, colorful beads, hung free from her temples, framing a thin, lively face. Closer inspection, however, revealed that her slenderness was wiry muscle and her movements fluid and sure. In the act of dropping a battered, leather pack to the floor, she looked around, startled.
"So? We've been in towns with Custodians before."
"We've never been in Fiorenza," was the wry retort. "Trust me, Mara. This is not some northern fishing village. Do you think the Custodians would put just anyone here?"
She frowned, twirling one of her braids. Draco rarely spoke of the Custodians without a touch of contempt. This was the first time she'd ever heard respect in his voice, and perhaps even a hint of apprehension.
"You've not spoken of him before, Teacher."
Draco shrugged, a quick, unconsciously elegant gesture. "There's been no need. He rarely leaves the city. Still, if we're discreet, there will be no reason to attract his attention."
She nodded. He turned away, shrugging out of his own cloak. Lean, broad-shouldered, he still held himself like the aristocrat he was. Although he professed disdain for their decadence, their manners and ways were in everything he did. Few of the men and women they encountered in their travels mistook Draco for a commoner.
"Will you sleep, Teacher?" she asked finally, troubled.
"No," he replied. "Later. But you, child, get your rest. You must be in place and ready to play your part by suppertime."
Mara nodded, knowing better than to argue with him. She kicked off her shoes, untied the leather vest and hooked it over the bedpost. The sheets were damp -- as was everything in this accursed place -- but she found she didn't much care. It had taken two hot, thirsty days to cross the great plains to Fiorenza. Draco had forbidden riding -- on horseback they would be far too conspicuous against the empty, flat landscape surrounding the city. Even a damp bed was welcome.
Draco moved around the brightening room, setting his things on the dressing stand, restless and strangely distracted. Touched by vague unease, she watched through half-closed eyes as he went to stand at the window, staring blindly through the clouded glass. He was still there when, at last, she fell asleep.
It took longer than planned to repair Dan Klooni's furnace. Todo quickened his steps through the bustling market square, nodding distractedly to the tanner who was bringing in his unsold hides. The air was rich with the scent of evening meals, hearth-fires and, above it all, the wet, fresh fragrance of recent rain.
Thunder rumbled, distant now, the storm racing east. He turned down Thatcher Street, hoping Josaf hadn't given up and returned to the Abbey. Todo knew the novice's free time was limited and he did not like to waste what few hours he had with his apprentice.
Thatcher Street was lined with taverns and cafes. On market night, it was packed with farmers and their families, the day's profits in hand and a taste for cooking not their own. He found his way slowed by strangers and acquaintances alike. Making his way around them with smiles and apologies, he hurried on to the White Bird.
The inn was a popular spot. When Todo at last arrived, it was to find every table taken. He stood in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the torchlit common room, searching the noisy throng for his apprentice. He saw Josaf at last, sitting at a table in the back. Todo's lips twitched. The boy was not alone. A girl sat with him, dressed in the white muslin blouse and dark woolen skirt of a farm-maid. Josaf, not unremarkably, wore an openly smitten look, sipping absently at his mug, unable to take his eyes from his companion. Todo started toward them, hiding his smile.
Josaf saw him at the last moment, eyes lighting up. He said something to the maid. She turned and Todo's blood ran cold. There was no recognition in her eyes, twin stars of startling, purest blue. Nevertheless, she seemed in no hurry to make his acquaintance, rising and laying a hand on his apprentice's slack-jawed face. She said something that made him grin. Todo quickened his steps, and was thwarted by a beefy guard who chose that moment to rise and head for the door. When at last the Custodian extricated himself, she was gone.
He reached Josaf, who was staring off into the crowd with wide eyes.
"Charming," Todo remarked, forcing himself to stay calm, to evince no more interest than might be expected.
Josaf, dazed, nodded.
"Who is she? I don't believe I've seen her around here before."
"Her name is Sally." It was a benediction. "She's from Tacenca -- visiting her aunt and uncle. Did you see her? Wasn't she beautiful?"
"Very lovely," agreed Todo. So was a fire asp. "How did you meet?"
The boy launched into a rhapsodic account of coming to her assistance when she'd dropped a bag of apples. One thing had led to another. They were soul-mates. She liked what he liked, was in awe that he would be a priest. Never, *never* had he found it so easy to talk to a girl, let alone one as perfect as Mistress Sally. Todo listened with half-an ear, his mind racing.
That young woman was Mara Majorca -- he'd stake his life upon it -- and if she was in town, could the Heretic be far away? Aloud, he asked: "Will you see her again?"
"Yes." Josaf's eyes sparkled. "She said so."
"When?"
He shook his head. "She couldn't say. It will depend upon her aunt and uncle. In two days, she hopes."
"Perhaps I could meet her," Todo suggested. "Sally sounds like a remarkable young woman. In the meantime, I'd be interested in hearing about the rest of your day. How are the studies? Have you found the information we discussed last time?"
A stricken look settled over the boy's open countenance. "Studies! Oh, no! I have to be back at the Abbey! Brother Sebastian is reviewing our scribing!" He stared miserably at Todo. "I'm sorry, Teacher. I -- I should not have wasted the time."
Todo managed a smile. Leaning over, he clapped his hand on the boy's drooping shoulder. "Not at all. I think we can manage the occasional distraction -- as long as it doesn't happen too often, eh?" He winked into Josaf's anxious smile. "Run along. We don't want you in trouble. You can report the next time."
Long after Josaf fled, the Custodian remained at the table. Absently he accepted a mug of ale from the smiling barmaid, and considered the unsettling possibilities. An image rose in his mind, a memory of another time and place. He saw a face, gaunt, dangerously handsome, dominated by eyes that held fierce intelligence and anger. Even here, among the noise and laughter around him, he could hear that voice.
By what authority do you judge me? And who sits in judgement on you?
The sensation of cold liquid on his wrist brought Todo back to the present. He'd set his mug down too hard and now there was ale all over the table. Making a conscious effort, he released the handle and sat back, taking deep breaths.
Oh, Draco, Draco. . . why did you have to come here?
Not many men had the effrontery to keep the Baron Emos Olivio Guivardo deZors waiting. The nobleman walked again to the window, moved aside the velvet drapery. Except for the single guard hunched down in the winterblossom bush, the garden remained empty. There was no other way to get to this parlor save through it, or through the guards stationed in the corridor outside. Baron deZors had not accumulated his power by under-estimating either friend or foe.
Impatiently, he consulted the tall clock beside the fireplace. Well past midnight. Not for the first time, the Baron doubted his source. The Shadowmaster was legendary. No spy was more dangerous or more effective. It had cost him a great deal in gold and favors to arrange this meeting. If it didn't come off, his agents would feel his wrath in no uncertain way!
"My lord Baron?"
The nobleman nearly jumped out of his skin. Spinning around he saw a tall man lounging in his favorite chair, glass of wine in one lean hand. For a moment, he was frozen in panic.
"Sorry I'm late." the stranger continued. It was a lie. His dark eyes glinted sardonically. "I understand you have a proposition for me."
"How did you get in here?" In spite of his intention to remain cool, even the Baron could hear the anxiety in his own voice.
The man shrugged. "I'm a spy. I employ the skills of a spy. What do you want, Emos?"
The impudent familiarity rankled the powerful nobleman, but he was also a practical man. A shout would bring his guards into the room, but the Shadowmaster was only two steps away. Although he could see no weapons, the Baron wasn't foolish enough to believe the spy unarmed. He said: "I want to know the defenses of the Abbey."
There was no shock, only an indifferent nod. "Five hundred gold pieces," said the Shadowmaster. "Two hundred and fifty now, the rest when the job is done."
"Throw away good money?" the Baron jeered. "I think not, man. You'll get your five hundred when I get the information I need."
"Then find someone else to get it." The man rose and walked swiftly to the window. Turning, he added. "And you'll need to call the mortician. The man you've put in the garden will not survive my leaving."
"Wait!" Furious, the Baron gestured him back into the chair. "Damn you! How do I know you'll succeed? I've sent a dozen men into the place. No one could find anything."
"Maybe there's nothing to find."
"I don't believe it," snapped the Baron. "They've got weapons, all right. 'Tis why they defy me!"
"As you wish." The accents, as noble as his own, were tinged with boredom. "Two fifty now or I'm gone and you'll never find out."
There was nothing for it. With a deep sigh, the Baron went to the bookshelf and removed a tome bound in battered red leather. Opening the false front, he took a small, but heavy bag, which he placed on the table beside the chair. To his increasing annoyance, the Shadowmaster took the time to carefully count each coin before slipping the bag into his cloak, then held out an impatient hand. "You have something else for me, do you not?"
Wordlessly, the Baron handed over a small envelope. The Shadowmaster tucked it into his cloak and rose.
"A pleasure doing business with you, Baron. In two days time, look for me again. Now, my lord. Remove your man from the garden and I shall be gone."
The Baron stalked to the window and threw open the casement. "Merry! That's enough! Report to Landfield!"
His guard emerged from the bush, twigs in his hair and a few scratches on his bearded face. With relief visible even from the second story window, he saluted his lord and took himself off to the barracks.
"There! Your way is clear," said the Baron, turning to the Shadowmaster.
The spy was gone.
Todo found reasons to be around the Abbey over the following two days. He repaired a hole in the wall of a nearby granary. The paving stones needed attention on the lane running past the Abbey's west wall. He kept a sharp eye out for his acolyte, but a sharper one for Draco's apprentice. Every glimpse of a dark-haired damsel made his heart leap, but it was never she.
From time to time, Todo retreated to certain taverns where information was likely to come early on its way through the town's rumor mill. But no one had noticed anyone meeting Draco's description, nor the girl's. Just as he was beginning to think he'd imagined everything, he saw her again.
On the evening of the second day, Todo was sitting on the curb across from the Abbey, enjoying idle conversation with the owner of the haberdashery at his back. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of dark hair against a crimson cloak. He looked around at once, expecting disappointment. Beside him, the haberdasher scratched his chin, breaking off in mid-sentence:
"What is it, Todo? Oh! Aye -- a pretty piece that!"
"She is, indeed." Todo grinned, got up and preened a bit. "What do you think, Jonny?"
The man winked. "Nothing ventured, eh?"
Todo started after her, trying not to hurry. She vanished around a corner. When he reached the spot, she was gone. As he stood, cursing under his breath, she suddenly re-appeared -- with Josaf in tow. Hand in hand, the two young people strolled away, down the lane.
Todo followed them for some distance, away from the Abbey, to a small park near the city walls.
It was easy to keep out of sight. The girl never once looked back. She chattered merrily with his apprentice, who was all but floating above the ground. They walked down a little hill to a pond and sat, half-hidden by a stand of willows, arms twined, watching the swans. Todo, feeling increasingly silly, hunkered down behind a hedge.
She looked like the Heretic's apprentice, but could he be wrong? He'd never actually seen Mara Majorca, only the drawings that the Custodians sent around to all their field operatives. It was possible that this entire situation was innocent, that she was what she claimed to be -- a fresh country maid attracted to his young, but not unattractive apprentice.
Twilight deepened. He watched Josaf jump up, turn and start running in his direction. Todo thought at first that he'd been seen, but the boy passed the hedge and, a moment later, the Custodian saw his destination -- a small waffle stand near the park entrance. He grinned. The boy handed over what Todo knew was his very meager allowance and, clutching his paper-wrapped waffles, started back.
"Josaf?"
The boy spun around, wide-eyed. His relief at seeing Todo was clear. "Sir! What are you doing here?"
"I'm on my way home," Todo replied. "What are you doing so far afield?"
"I'm with Sally," he confided eagerly. "Would you like to meet her?"
Todo pretended reluctance. "I would hate to impose. After all, this early in a romance . . ."
Josaf laughed. "Don't be silly. I've told her all about you!"
"And she hasn't fled in terror?"
The boy grinned happily. "Not at all. Come on!"
So Todo fell into step with the youth, down the hill toward the pond. She hadn't moved, her red cloak a bright spot between the shifting, green branches.
"Sally! I've brought Todo! He -- Sally?"
The cloak hung on a branch, moving slightly in the breeze. There was no sign of the girl. Josaf's mouth fell. He stared at the abandoned cloak, then turned and looked wildly around the park.
Todo, meanwhile, felt an icy lump settle in his gut. Fool! he raged at himself. FOOL!
"Todo?"
With an effort, the Custodian schooled his features. "Stay here," he said shortly.
"But ..."
"DO AS YOU'RE TOLD!"
He barely saw the white, shocked face lifted to his. Turning his back on the boy, Todo raced for the Abbey.
| Part 1, Part 2 |