Donna Carmella wakened in the heart of a night when she had set extra wards because of unrest in the city. Her connection with the Patriarch might be unknown to the mob but it was no secret in Collegium circles, where Serenity’s enemies were found.
The extra wards did no good. Death came calling.
He wakened her himself.
She was more startled than frightened. Her visitor was old and shabby and frail. He smelled like he had not bathed in weeks.
“Who?… What?”
“Your good friend made a lethal mistake, sad, beautiful lady. He tried to have murder done. Failure doesn’t absolve him. I shan’t be as cruel as his emissaries.”
A lightning thrust drove a slim blade in under a generous breast.
The old man drifted from room to room. He left no one alive. The message had to be as loud as the blare of a brass trumpet beside the ear.
He left six human corpses, two dead dogs, two dead parrots, and a dead cat. Then he conjured forth rats and mice to make clear the full extent of his displeasure.
He was in the kitchen, dealing with the last rat, when he sensed life sparks down below.
Had someone hidden in the cellar?
No. Some unanticipated victims of Bronte Doneto were imprisoned down there. People with special significance to the man who had taken the miter. People whose fate he wanted kept hidden from everyone but himself and his wicked woman.
The assassin knew regret. Regret that he had slain the woman who had the answers before he discovered the need to ask her questions.
The Ninth Unknown turned into being inside the main dining room of the Delari town house. “Muno! Come see what I found!” A full day’s labor had not cleared all the wreckage.
Delari shuffled out of the kitchen, followed by Mrs. Creedon. The cook moved slower than did the Principat?. She was deathly pale. She was in deep emotional shock. The horror would not let her go.
Delari said, “I was right. She went to help with her mother.” The elder woman was known to be engaged in a long, slow, painful process of dying.
“But look what I found, Muno.”
Delari moved closer, squinting at Februaren’s emaciated, filthy, feeble companion. “Armand? Is that you?”
“It is, Muno. Get that healer back. I’ve got more to bring.” He turned sideways, leaving Delari to deal with the catamite.
“Mrs. Creedon. If you would. Brother Lomas is with Turking and Felske. Bring him here, please.”
He studied Armand. He saw no signs of torture but the boy had not been properly fed. He had suffered illnesses as a result. He was sick right now. Doneto must have caught him the day Hugo Mongoz died. Which explained why he had not been seen for so long.
Cloven Februaren turned into being with another liberated guest of Donna Carmella. “I don’t know this one, Muno. I’m sure he’ll have interesting stories to tell. Unless he’s completely mad.”
Mrs. Creedon arrived with Brother Lomas. The healing brother was appalled by the condition of the liberated men. “This is unconscionable. Who could have worked this horror?”
Februaren said, “The same man who attacked this house. But you won’t say a word. Understand? Heal broken bodies, and hearts if you can, but forget politics. Muno, there’s one more. You’ll be amazed.”
The man in brown left that room before he turned sideways. He reversed the process when he returned. “Last one. Not in as bad shape as the others.”
“Pella?”
Days passed before the deaths at the Dometia establishment were discovered. The comings and goings of carrion birds through glassless upper-story windows, and the buzzing of death flies, finally attracted attention.
The news reached Serenity quickly.
Distraught over damage done his own wonderful city residence, the Patriarch was in a fragile state. This news crushed him. He did nothing for three days. Then he swore an oath: He would take his revenge on an epic scale, though he was not sure who his target ought to be.
The culprit would not have been shy about having his identity revealed. But Heris turned up before the ugliness at Donna Carmella’s home was discovered. The old man awaited that discovery as necessary before he took Serenity deeper into a hell on earth.
Ostarega the Malicious was set to demonstrate a good deal more malice.
It was evening. Februaren had spent a long day scouting. He would have Lila relay the information to Piper.
He spent time daily tracking Pinkus Ghort and other players up north. Ghort had suffered savage partisan attacks leaving the Connec, then had fought his way through Viscesment, where the locals tried to hold the bridges. They learned that Pinkus Ghort knew how to get the best out of his few falcons. He left Viscesment burning, its streets littered with corpses.
Ghort passed through Ormienden and Dromedan and the coastal hills, collecting Patriarchal garrisons, then ran into Imperial troops near Alicea. Skirmishing ensued. The Imperials backed off but only until they received reinforcements.
The Grand Duke Hilandle, following plans laid down by Johannes Blackboots, had marched westward across northern Firaldia after leaving the Remayne Pass. He planned to approach Brothe along the West Way. He joined local Imperials harassing the Captain-General and forced him to turn and fight.
The engagement was sporadic. Each side used its few falcons freely. The Imperials deployed some unexpected sorcery when Ferris Renfrow joined them.
On the other side, supposedly plodding Pinkus Ghort demonstrated a flair for cavalry maneuver. His light horse neutralized the Imperial knights by nipping their flanks and threatening the Imperial train.
The engagement remained mainly one of maneuver. Casualties were light. Each commander was amazed by the competence of the other. Preconceptions had to be overcome.
Overall, Captain-General Pinkus Ghort won the honors. He extricated his force. He left the Grand Duke unwilling to launch a pell-mell pursuit.
Such was the situation when the Ninth Unknown returned to the Delari town house in quest of a decent meal and a good night’s sleep and found Heris waiting.
“Heris. Girl. You’re looking older.” He wanted to bite his tongue. To chew the gold right off it. You did not say that even to a woman much less a slave to vanity than the rest of her species. But it was true. Time differences between the middle world and the Realm of the Gods had left Heris visibly more mature.
She needed fresh clothing, too.
“Thank you, Double Great. You’re looking well yourself.”
“I look like death warmed over. My life is hell on a broomstick. Never a moment’s respite. I expect you turning up is a sign that it’s all going to get worse.”
“The Aelen Kofer brought the falcons. They’ve completed the other arrangements I wanted. We’re waiting on you and the Bastard.”
The old man looked to Principat? Delari, who had stood by without comment. Delari shrugged.
Februaren said, “I insist on a decent meal, a good night’s sleep, then another decent meal. Muno. How are our guests?”
“Quiet room.”
“Yeah. All right.” Heris had not heard the story. “After supper. I’m famished. Is Mrs. Creedon still capable?”
“Perfectly. Her kitchen was damaged, not her. The real misery is having to do without Turking and Felske.”
That part of the story, Februaren saw, was no mystery to the girl. And nothing there needed hiding from eavesdroppers.
The visit in the quiet room was brief. Delari gave Heris the details of the raid. “They must have watched me for a long time. Sadly, I am a creature of habit. Mrs. Creedon isn’t. Her being out at the same time was sheer happenstance but lucky for her.”
Heris said, “You mentioned guests. Which is why we’re in here, isn’t it?”
The Ninth Unknown explained, “I rescued three prisoners from the Dometia woman’s cellar. I left two more who died not long enough ago to be skeletons. They hadn’t been robbed. They were Brotherhood of War. Muno thinks they were Witchfinders that Bronte Doneto considered dangerous witnesses. Maybe the last two men, besides Doneto, who knew what he was up to in the catacombs, back when. It’s an easy guess why he had the catamite, Armand, and Pella locked…”