Lackey, Mercedes & Flint, Eric & Freer, Dave - [Heirs of Alexandria 01] (112 page)

"It is
not
a lie," she hissed. "I am simply�" She broke off, staring at the countryside with eyes which clearly saw a different one. "My God," she whispered, "it is a lie."

"Of course it is," snapped Charles Fredrik. "The mistake your mother made, Marie-Fran�oise, was settling for
revenge
. She should have bided her time, and waited until she could triumph."

They rode on in silence for a bit. Then Francesca shook her head, as if to clear it. "Yes and no, Your Majesty. Oddly enough, I find that I like Francesca de Chevreuse rather more than I did the girl she was. So I believe I'll stick with the name�within, as well as without." Again, that soft throaty chuckle. "But... yes. I will keep an eye out for the possibility of triumph."

"Good. What else?" He waved a thick hand. "Wealth, ease, comfort, all that. Naturally. But what
else
?"

Francesca seemed to be groping for words. The Emperor clucked his tongue. "Well, it's time you
did
start thinking about it. Clearly, for a change." He twisted a bit in the saddle, until he was facing her almost squarely. "Let an old man provide you with some assistance. The 'what else,' I'm quite sure, is power and influence. Your
own
power and influence, not that which you derive from befuddling a man's wits with your�no doubt magnificent�legs and bosom."

Francesca hesitated. Then, nodded abruptly.

"Good. That ambition an emperor can trust. For the simple reason that it cannot be achieved
without
trust." His smile was almost that of a cherub. "And I must say you're doing quite well, for such a young and innocent girl."

Francesca began that soft throaty chuckle again; but this time she choked it off almost before it began. "Good God! You're
serious.
Um�Your Majesty."

"Of course I'm serious." The cherub smile was replaced by something infinitely grimmer. "Take it from an emperor, child. What you know about
sin
is pitiful; what you know about wickedness... almost nothing."

Again, they rode on in silence. After a time, the Emperor spoke again. "I'll be sending Manfred off, soon enough. It's time for the next stage of his education�as well as the education of the Grand Duke of Lithuania."

Francesca's eyes widened. "No, girl," said the Emperor softly, "I am
not
sending him off to war. Not directly, at least. The time isn't right for a war with Jagiellon. Not with Emeric on the throne in Hungary, still unbloodied, and now this rot in my own�"

He broke off. Then, cleared his throat. "Never mind that. But I do think a demonstration is called for. Since that Lithuanian bastard chose to use a demon from the Svear, against the Svear it shall be."

Francesca seemed to wince. The Emperor grinned. "Oh please, demoiselle! I do not expect you to traipse around with Manfred and Erik in the marshes and forests of Sm�land! But I
will
expect you to accompany them as far as Mainz. And then, possibly, to Copenhagen."

The Emperor's grin widened, seeing the eager light in the young woman's eyes. "Yes, yes�intrigue with the Danes against the Sots, all that. You'll have a splendid time of it. But there's something else, more important, we need to discuss."

"I am all ears, Your Majesty."

"Thought you would be. Have you ever given much thought to
finance,
Francesca de Chevreuse?" After a short pause: "Didn't think so. Time you did. More than anything else, girl, wars are fought with money. Don't let any one ever tell you different, especially generals. And�take it from an old emperor�organizing the finances of a major war is even more complex and difficult than organizing the supply train. Takes even longer to do it right, and it's far more treacherous. To begin with�"

On they went. Across the Piave, now, heading west toward the city of the winged lion. The Emperor never stopped talking�

"�great financiers, especially with war looming, are always old men, you see. It occurs to me that a gorgeous young woman�especially one with a disreputable past and a flavor of scandal about her�especially a smart and witty one�"

�and Francesca was all ears.

It was easier, Kat was learning, to triumph over evil than to explain it.

She and Marco, holding�no, clutching�hands openly, were spared having to repeat what had transpired in the magic chamber over and over again, only by the intercession of Petro Dorma. With an efficiency that was almost terrifying, he'd sent them straight to the Doge's palace, where they'd been fed and allowed to rest�
rest,
not sleep, although both of them were swaying with exhaustion.

They hadn't gotten much past the first few mouthfuls when Marco's Strega friend Rafael joined them. He didn't look any better than Marco. Both of them had huge, bruised-looking circles around their eyes, and both of them must have been existing on nervous energy alone. Heaven only knew
she
was, and she must look much the same. Here they were, three tattered and stained vagabonds in a room that usually entertained the most prominent folk in Venice�and often, in the world. The murals on the walls alone were stunning works of art worthy of the Grand Metropolitan's palace in Rome, and the amount of gold leaf on the carved woodwork didn't bear thinking about.

It could serve to repair Casa Montescue five times over.

"What are they going to do with us?" Rafael asked dully.

The answer came from an unexpected source; Petro Dorma himself, who entered the sumptuous dining room behind a servant bearing a gold pitcher.

"Ah, my weary young heroes," Petro said, quite as if
he
was not as weary as any of them. "I want you to eat and drink while my messengers round up everyone who has any interest in what went on in that chamber where
Dottore
Marina's body was found. Then I want you to tell your stories, answer questions for a reasonable length of time�which will probably be quite a bit shorter than usual, given that we are all rather the worse for wear. By that time, you won't be able to walk three paces without staggering, so you will all be escorted to comfortable bedchambers here in the palace, where, I suspect, you will probably sleep until this time tomorrow."

Unbelievably, terrifyingly, efficient. If Petro became the new Doge, which was the rumor Kat had been hearing, he was going to be something to be reckoned with.

Petro joined them, thus making a tableau of four tiny figures who were dwarfed by the chamber and humbled by the crimson-and-gold trappings. Mostly gold, Katerina couldn't help but notice. She thought
Casa
Montescue's desperate financial situation had probably been somewhat alleviated by the recent events.
Surely the money-lenders won't harass us for a few weeks.
But, maybe not...

They ate slowly. Katerina concentrated on every bite, not least because the food was delicious�out of all expectations, considering the conditions of the last day and night.
When did I eat last?
she wondered. It seemed a year ago or more. Whenever it had been, she was as hungry as she was weary. But hunger, at least, could be easily remedied. They were only just finished and nibbling in a desultory manner at sweets, when a servant in Dorma livery arrived and Dorma rose.

"We seem to have collected everyone we're going to find," he said. "Come along; the sooner this is over, the sooner we can all sleep." The three of them got slowly to their feet�Kat, at least, was aching in every limb�and Dorma escorted them all out.

Both grandfathers were there, Montescue and Dell'este�sitting side by side, for a wonder. Nine men who, Dorma had whispered briefly as they entered, represented the Senate�but Kat suspected were really, along with Dorma himself, the entire Council of Ten. And Metropolitan Michael, of course.

All these Kat had expected�but not the cluster of priests surrounding Michael, nor the horde of secretaries seated at tables running the length of the room behind the notables. She felt uneasily like she was falling into the hands of inquisitors.

"Gentlemen," Dorma nodded to all of them. "These young people are the first we will hear, beginning with Marco Valdosta, continuing with Katerina Montescue, with�" He shook his head, clearly going blank when it came to Rafael's name. "Ah�their friend, who also witnessed what happened, as the last of the three. Hold your questions until they are finished, and try to keep them brief."

Marco began, omitting nothing, and although Kat found herself blinking in stunned disbelief when he got to the part where he apparently collapsed in the magic circle, and described what had happened. But neither the Metropolitan nor the priests with him seemed at all surprised.

A spirit? A pagan spirit, but also the Protector of Venice? The very Lion that met Saint Mark?

"So�now I'm bound to the Lion," he finished wearily; then, out of nowhere, managed a brilliant smile. "And my Pauline relatives will surely disown me now for such blasphemy!"

His grandfather, the Old Dell'este Fox, snorted, and
her
grandfather choked on his drink�with suppressed laughter, she realized a moment later.

"Those of your Pauline relatives who are stupid enough to be fretted about blasphemy after all this�none of whom are on
my
side of the family, I might mention�can go hang themselves," the Old Fox growled. "I'll lend them the rope."

"Nonsense!" barked Lodovico Montescue. "
Sell
it to them. I'll go in with you in a
Colleganza.
"

The room erupted in a roar of laughter�and there was an end to
that
topic.

The priests added a few questions, mostly about the Lion, what it and Marco had done, and the awakening spell. But very soon the Metropolitan himself called a halt. "Anything more we can learn from the book, and it will be more certain than this young man's memory," he said. "I will confer with Father Lopez when he returns, but I am satisfied that there is not so much as a whisper of evil about this creature�to whom, and this young mage, we can only be grateful."

And then it was her turn.

Everyone listened in silence until she got to the part where Lucrezia Brunelli appeared. "
Ha!
" exclaimed one of the priests, smacking the table and making her jump. "Father Pierre was right! I thought he was."

"Don't interrupt her," commanded Michael sternly; then, unexpectedly, smiled at her.

She continued, wanting to close her eyes to better recall Lucrezia's exact words�but knowing that she didn't dare to, because if she did, she'd fall asleep. She managed well enough until she got to the part about the warmth that filled her, coming from her Hypatia medal; the pure, sweet voice in her head, and the glowing golden hands that overlaid hers. Then she saw something that she would never, ever have imagined.

She saw Metropolitan Michael's eyes widen and his jaw sag. Actually, at that point, there were many jaws dropping, especially among the priests. The only one who didn't seem surprised was Marco, who squeezed her hand encouragingly. No one interrupted her, though, and she continued doggedly, through the point of Lucrezia's transformation, the seizing of the Bible, and the aftermath.

"And then the voice said,
Let Evil beware the weight of the Word of God,
and then�I suppose it was gone, because the warmth went away," she concluded. She prudently omitted the other outrageous puns that the voice had made, as well as the remarks that had prefaced and followed the aphorism she'd been told to use.

Heads nodded wisely all over the room�

�except for Metropolitan Michael's. He appeared to be choking for a moment, but quickly composed himself.

Did he get the joke?
A moment later, a glance from his dancing eyes confirmed her suspicion that he had.

Oh, dearest
Dottore
Marina, now I understand what you meant about history becoming somewhat cleaned up and simplified.
Who, except perhaps for this single cleric, would ever understand the full version? Who would ever appreciate it for what it
meant
? Yes, there was terrible evil in the world, and yes, they must fight grimly to defeat it�but there was also peace, love, and joy.. .and to forget that, would be to forget there was a God.

"I have no questions, but I would like to examine the young lady's medal," Michael said gravely. She pulled the chain over her head and handed it to the page who came for it, feeling uncomfortable and naked without it. Michael and his group of priests each examined the Saint Hypatia medal closely, and they put their heads together and muttered for a moment.

Then the Metropolitan handed it back to the page, who brought it back to her. She put it back on, with relief.

"I would like to place into the record of these proceedings that we have found the original protections placed upon this talisman by the Order of Hypatia. As well as a very recent reinforcing spell, placed on it within the last three months or so, by some other magician. Whom I believe to have been
Dottore
Marina." He paused significantly. "
All of which
bear the completely unmistakable aura of sanctity. This medal has been used within the last day as a vehicle for one of God's own spirits. We are not prepared to state
which
spirit, but I believe we can assume it was, at the least, one of the angelic order of the cherubim." Michael raised one eyebrow. "Possibly higher. Possibly the saint herself. But without having a Christian mage as a witness, we cannot state that this was a
bona fide
Hypatian miracle, and therefore we will confine ourselves to pronouncing it a genuine case of divine intercession."

Well, that caused as much of a buzz as Marco's revelations, and Rafael got off with doing no more than providing confirmation for her story and Marco's with no questioning. And very shortly after that, they were all three dismissed and followed their page�stumbling, as Dorma had predicted�to their rooms.

Kat found attentive maids waiting, who stripped her with the same terrible efficiency as shown by Petro Dorma, popped a nightdress over her head, and eased her into a bed she didn't even see. After that�she didn't even dream.