A Fool of Sorts Page 23

  He snapped back to the present. “Marked? You can’t mean—”

  “It’s already been done,” Stefano said. “We’ll have news of her passing soon enough.”

  25

  Ambush

  Sal’s heart felt ready to burst, but he didn’t dare slow his pace. Evenfall was nearly upon them, and Sal hoped the assassins would wait at least until sundown before they made their move.

  When he neared High Bridge, he relented to sense and slowed his pace, lest the steel caps decide he was making trouble and take chase. His lungs burned, and his side ached, and yet, it nearly broke him to simply walk past the bridge towers when he knew any moment, Lilliana could be struggling for her life.

  Or dead—but no—he couldn’t think that way. He couldn’t be too late.

  Once past the bridge and rounding the corner to the Kingsway, he picked up his pace again. He ran up the entire High Hill, and half the King’s Round, before veering off for the Bastian estate.

  Three guardsmen stood sentry outside the tall wrought iron gate of the estate.

  The man wielding the poleaxe hailed him as he had earlier that day. “Back so soon, are you?”

  “The lady Lilliana, where is she?” Sal said, breathing hard. “Tell me, is she safe?”

  The guard shrugged. “She’s gone off with that crustacean Damor Nev. You know him?”

  “Where—where have they gone?”

  “That ain’t none of your business,” said the guard wielding the spear as he stepped forward. “Her ladyship ain’t here, and that ought to be good enough for the likes of you.”

  “We need to go find her,” Sal said, beginning to panic. “She’s in danger.”

  “Don’t see how,” said the guard with the poleaxe. “Got Damor Nev with her, don’t she? You know of Damor Nev?”

  “Right. Well, Damor’s only one man, and Lilliana has been marked by the Commission.”

  The guard with spear scoffed.

  “Marked?” said the third guard, the one in the back wielding a crossbow.

  “Yes,” said Sal, desperately. “Please, we need to help her. She’s in trouble.”

  All three guards laughed.

  “Bugger off,” said the guard with the spear.

  “You have—” Sal was cut short by a thrust from the spear that whizzed just past his ear.

  “Next one goes through your eye,” said the guard. “Fuck off.”

  Sal took his cue and backed off. He kept on moving until he was out of the crossbowman’s line of sight. He tried to slow his panic and think. Where could Lilliana have gone?

  Then it came to him, clear as a beam of moonlight. Today was Tiems, Lilliana would be returning from Low Town.

  Without another thought given to the plan, Sal was again running.

  He knew what he was looking for, rather, who he was looking for. Where to look, however, was a question he couldn’t answer. He had a hunch they would cross at the Bridge of the Lady, but he also assumed the stalkers would want to spring their ambush somewhere before the bridge, as the sun was nearly beneath the horizon.

  Sal saw the black-cloaked women belonging to the Keepers of the Flame begin to light the street lanterns in their pairs. Keepers of the Flame always traveled in pairs, their long candlesticks held high as they walked. He spared the acolytes only a cursory glance, their black hoods drawing his attention as he slipped past them.

  He crossed the crowded bridge as quickly as possible, weaving and bobbing his way through the mass of bodies. The entire time pushing away the notion that it might be too late, that Lilliana might already be in trouble.

  The moment he passed beneath the Low Town bridge façade and onto Beggar’s Lane, his true predicament became fully apparent. What if they’d crossed to High Town already? What if they had passed him on the bridge, only he hadn’t noticed in his rush?

  He could only hope he wasn’t too late. He cut off of Beggar’s Lane and went straight south. The farther south he traveled, the less populated the streets became. As he ran, he wondered if he shouldn’t have waited beside the entrance to the Bridge of the Lady. Doubtless, they would have crossed that way, unless they didn’t. What if they’d decided to take South Bridge?

  His uncle was right, he was a Sacrull damned fool, and he would never be anything more than a stain on society. He’d never done anything worthwhile, and even when he tried to do right, he did it wrong.

  As Sal passed another pair of cloaked and hooded Keepers of the Flame, he slowed and gave himself a moment to catch his breath.

  The street was empty aside from the two hooded acolytes. Then suddenly, Sal saw them.

  Lilliana and Damor Nev emerged from an alley and began walking up the street in Sal’s direction.

  He nearly shouted for joy, the elation of their arrival kicked him back into action, and he waved and called Lilliana’s name.

  Another pair of hooded acolytes stepped onto the street. It seemed the Keepers of the Flame were out in droves that evening.

  Lilliana waved, a look of bemusement passing over her features.

  It was then Sal realized there was something strange about the pair of acolytes behind Lilliana and Damor Nev—neither of the acolytes carried a pole-candle. Sal craned his head around and looked at the pair of acolytes he had passed moments before, and sure enough, neither of them carried a pole-candle either.

  “Damor, Lilliana is marked!” Sal shouted and ran for Lilliana as he reached into his pocket and crushed what was left of the skeev in his palm.

  Damor Nev reacted without hesitation. With one swift motion, the bodyguard reached over his shoulder and drew his bastard sword. He turned about, taking in the entire situation.

  The acolytes behind Lilliana threw their cloaks free to reveal crossbows.

  Damor rushed them, his bastard sword raised for the strike.

  Sal grabbed hold of the locket, and a shock of energy rushed through his palm. He wrapped his other arm about Lilliana, focused his mind, and felt a rush of vertigo as he lurched forth, his feet lifting from the ground as though propelled by an invisible force.

  In a flash, Sal and Lilliana were flattened against the roof, the alley far below.

  Without looking at her, Sal released his hold.

  “Wait here,” he said before leaping from the roof and riding the lightning back into the alley.

  He rolled across the cobblestones and stumbled to his feet. The engagement was behind him. Sal spun on one foot, only to see a man charging him, black cloak whipping in his wake, a curved sword held high.

  The locket in a death grip, Sal thrust forth his palm as he fell back. His ass hit the unyielding street. A bolt of ethereal blue lightning burst from his hand and struck the swordsman square in the chest.

  The man’s feet lifted into the air, his black cloak rendered weightless before he dropped, his back striking the cobblestones.

  A second man had charged, but Sal felt too drained to focus. His hand closed, involuntarily spasming of its own accord.

  The cloaked man was nearly upon Sal. When he stopped suddenly and emitted a squelch as a sword struck into him from behind, cutting deep between his neck and shoulder and severing his head half off.

  The curved sword clattered as it fell to the street. The cloaked man sank to his knees and fell forward, dead before his face struck the cobblestones.

  Sal closed his eyes and laid back slowly. The muscles in his forearm so tight, he couldn’t open his hand. His head felt foggy, his thoughts flowing like sticky sap.

  “Up you go,” said Damor Nev.

  When Sal opened his eyes, the mustached bodyguard stood over him, a hand extended.

  Sal took the proffered hand and let Damor assist him to his feet.

  He doubled over, hands on his knees. Weak, drained of all energy, his head light, his stomach queasy, he looked upon the four bodies lying in the street and felt a sudden urge to be sick.

  “What in the Mother’s Name was that?” said Damor Nev.

  Sal turned
his palms to the air and shrugged.

  Lilliana called down from the rooftop.

  “You really are a magicker,” said Damor Nev. “A damned magicker, and not just some Talent, but the real bloody article. By the Mother, boy, I suppose there’s something more to you than I’d thought.”

  “You killed them?” Sal said in astonishment. “All of them, just you.”

  “Oh, now, wasn’t as though you could have called them formidable. Only killed the three and two of them hired-knifes had crossbows. Didn’t do them much good when I was close enough for a kiss. Other one, well, he was running away,” said Damor with a shrug.

  Lilliana cleared her throat, and Sal met her stare.

  “Besides,” Damor said, grinning and looking back at the man Sal had killed. “Can’t go giving me credit where it ain’t due. I reckon you could’ve cooked that last one up on the spit if you’d had a mind too. That magic of yours really makes a mess of a man, don’t it?”

  “Damor,” Lilliana said, arousing Sal from his stupor. “That will be quite enough. Now, if you are finished, I would like my feet touching solid ground.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” said Damor Nev, all joviality driven from his tone. “And, uh, how, do you suggest I fulfill that desire?”

  “Not to worry,” Sal ejaculated, summoning the last reserves of his energy as he stood. “I’ll be up in a tick.” He took hold of the locket and in the blink of an eye, rode the lightning to Lilliana, landing almost elegantly upon the rooftop. Sal held out a hand and helped Lilliana to her feet. He wrapped an arm about her waist and told her to hang on tight.

  The guardsman wielding the spear was the first of the three gate guards to see them coming. His eyes went wide. He straightened up and acted as though not was amiss. The guard with the poleaxe was the next to notice them. He nearly jumped out of his boots and did an even worse job hiding his surprise than the first guard had. It seemed the crossbowman hadn’t noticed them until they were nearly within an arm’s reach.

  “Bloody hell,” exclaimed the crossbowman. “M’lady, what’s happened?”

  The other two guards looked at Sal. They seemed terrified, and rightfully so.

  “Open the gate, fool,” said Damor Nev.

  The Bauden bodyguard had sheathed his bastard sword, but the evidence of the encounter was spelled out in the blood that streaked his front.

  The crossbowman hurried to obey, unlocking the great black iron gate and swinging it open as fast as the hinges would allow.

  “Will you join us inside?” Lilliana asked.

  “It would be droll, no doubt,” Sal said. “Though, I fear my true problems have only just begun. I’ve still more to do this night.”

  “We can help, Daddy and I,” Lilliana said. “Or Damor, and any man in Daddy’s service, should you require.”

  “I may take you up on that offer,” Sal said. “For now, you need to get to the safest place you can, call the house guard to action and fortify the estate. You’ve been marked, and until I can do something about that, you need to stay safe. They may come after you yet.”

  Lilliana took his hand, pulled him closer, and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thank you, Salvatori.”

  Sal flushed and did his best to recover with a wink before he turned and walked away.

  As he left the Bastian estate behind, he found that although his eyes were open, he walked blindly through the street, moving one foot in front of the other, aimlessly progressing along the Kingsway. He knew he ought to look into his hunch about Leobald and his possible involvement with the drug importation, and yet, he was lost in his thoughts about what approach to take regarding his predicament.

  No doubt, he would be marked at the next Commission gathering, if he wasn’t marked already. He and the other three who’d joined Valla on her fool’s errand, they were all dead men, and women, for that matter.

  Unless they took action.

  Sal stopped, he’d heard the sound of shoes scuffing on the cobblestones. He tensed for a fight, quickly reaching for his pigsticker. He snapped upright and held the knife level with his attacker.

  A girl, no older than nine, stood frozen, eyes fixed on the point of the blade as she stepped back and thrust forth a roll of parchment with both hands.

  Sal tucked the pigsticker into his belt and reached for the parchment.

  Once he’d taken the parcel, the girl ran without a word of explanation.

  Sal called after her but to no success. Instead, he opened the parchment. It seemed it was a note from Alzbetta, wishing him to join her at her place of residence as soon as he could. He’d forgotten all about her request and was surprised to hear back from her so soon. She had told him about a man who would wish to meet with him, but he knew little else. He had no reason to mistrust Alzbetta. She had saved him from death no less than thrice. If she had wished him harm, Sal imagined he’d not be alive. Giving little more thought to the subject, Sal made his way for Alzbetta’s.

  Alzbetta’s home smelled of incense and sweet herbs. The dim candlelight flickering as the door was closed.

  “Tell it true,” said Alzbetta, “do you enjoy terrifying little girls? You seem to have put the fear of the gods into my granddaughter.”

  Sal swallowed. “I am dreadfully sorry. Do you think it would help if I apologized? I never meant—”

  Alzbetta chuckled. “No, no, an unworthy jape,” she said. “I should never have sent her to you. She has made a terrible habit of sneaking.” She took Sal by the arm and led him into the next room. There was a round table, large enough for the circle of four chairs about it. Seated on the opposite end of the table was rather large man. Nothing so large as Odie, but there was a formidable cast to his lack of neck, thickly muscled arms, and barrel chest.

  Sal didn’t know the man, and yet, there was something familiar about him. The man didn’t seem to recognize Sal. He scratched his stubbled chin, but his eyes seemed to take Sal in, as though assessing him and determining whether he was a threat.

  “Salvatori Lorenzo, this is Dominik D’Angelo,” Alzbetta said, gesturing.

  Dominik stood and gave a curt nod. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” he said, pulling out a chair for Alzbetta.

  Sal took a seat across from Dominik, feeling a bit like a cat that had agreed to a meeting with a dog. By the look in his eyes, Sal would have thought the man was harboring something deeply seeded, a contempt that might burst from him at any instant.

  Sal wondered again how it was he knew this man. Perhaps, Dominik only reminded him of someone he knew, but then, he couldn’t square who that was either. And so, the feeling merely niggled at the back of his mind, refusing to manifest and reveal itself fully.

  “Now then,” said Dominik, exhaling through his nose. “A wise man once said, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And this is what I would propose of you, Salvatori Lorenzo.”

  Sal swallowed. “So, who is this common enemy of ours?”

  Dominik cleared his throat. “I mean to make war with the Commission.”

  Sal went cold. “Sorry,” Sal said, his voice cracking. “You would make war with the Commission?”

  “Ay,” said Dominik. “I would all meself, if that’s what it took, and a good beginning it would make.”

  “And an end they would make of you,” said Sal.

  “Might be they would,” said Dominik with a shrug. “As I said, war would only be a beginning. First, however, a simpler task. Giuseppe Scarvini was only one of five deaths which I plan to ensure. I would bring an end to the line of Scarvini, and in that, I would ask for your assistance.”

  “You’re not japing,” Sal said, still trying to digest what the man was saying. “You want to bring an end to the Scarvini line?”

  “I do, and I would assume you as much want the same,” said Dominik D’Angelo

  Sal looked to Alzbetta. “But—but how? I never mentioned Scarvini—”

  “It was rather obvious,” said Alzbetta. “I can put one and two together. Tha
t warehouse is all the talk with the right crowd.”

  “Listen,” said Dominik. “I don’t need an answer tonight. Take some time to mull it over. Just keep in mind, Don Scarvini won’t wait forever. If he doesn’t already know who hit his warehouse and who murdered his son, he’ll find out soon enough. And when he does, you can rest assured every Scarvini thug, crony, and killer will be out hunting for you.”

  Sal sat back in his chair. His mind numb, his stomach twisting with uncertainty. It was madness, complete and utter stupidity of the highest order. Make war with the Commission? This man was completely mad, and yet, he seemed confident, cool, collected, his eyes entirely devoid of insanity. Something about his demeanor calmed Sal, comforted him enough to want to trust the man. “And what is it you have against Don Scarvini?” Sal asked. “Why should anyone wish an end to a man and his family?”

  Dominik’s features hardened like stone, and for an instant, Sal thought his eyes had begun to well up.

  “There are things a man can do that don’t warrant mercy,” said Dominik.

  It was then that Sal realized where he had seen Dominik, why the man had looked so familiar to him. “Eighth Harbor?” Sal said.

  Dominik flinched at the question.

  “You were there,” Sal said. “You were one of the porters, but how did you—they killed everyone.”

  “Not everyone,” said Dominik, a vein bulging in his forehead. “What happened on Eighth Harbor was hardly the beginning. Trying to kill me was one thing, but no man harms me, family.”

  A certain tension hung in the air. Sal considered what Dominik had said. A moment of silence that shattered like glass when Sal next spoke.

  “I’ll do it,” Sal said. “I’ll join you.”

  “Sounds right and good,” said Alzbetta, beginning to stand. “It is—”

  Sal held up a hand for silence. “I’ll join you on the condition that you are able to help me,” Sal said.