53

“You’ve heard the news from Cyprus?”

“How could I…” When the news is so fresh a scroll lies curling in your desk and the wax from its broken seal still sticks to your gloves? “No, my lord,” Atilo said. “I haven’t.”

Alonzo sighed, more heavily than he needed. “You’re our spymaster within the city. Our Blade within and without. We should be able to rely on you for knowledge like this.”

“My apologies.”

“I know,” said Alonzo, “life has been tricky for you recently. That failure with your apprentice. The disappearance of Prince Leopold’s body. Those men you lost last year. Unless it was the year before. If you feel the burden of your job is too heavy. That perhaps old age is…”

“My lord.”

The Regent paused expectantly.

“I work for this city day and night. All my energy goes tracking its enemies; recording what happens on the streets; gathering information on those who pretend to be one thing but are another…”

Atilo stopped, cursing that he’d walked straight into that one.

“And you must be tired,” Alonzo said. “Rightfully exhausted by your burden. This is why important news slipped past you. As I said, if you wish for the freedom to take life more easily at your advancing age…”

“All I wish, my lord, is to be allowed to continue.”

He could remember what his own father, the idiot astronomer, said. Young men fantasise about death and fear life. Old men fear death and fantasise about youth. Atilo had dismissed it fiercely, then not so fiercely, right up to the day he discovered it to be true. He sighed.

“You’re certain? That you simply wish to do your duty?”

“Absolutely certain.”

The Regent smiled happily. “I can’t tell you,” he said, “how glad I am to hear it. That new boy of yours settling in all right?”

A little dig. Just enough to let Atilo know Alonzo had no plans to let Tycho’s reprieve go without mention.

“He has potential.”

“That’s what you said about the last one.”

“My lord, whatever I failed in, I stand by my claim he had potential.”

“To be the greatest assassin of all time? To be your chosen successor as the duke’s Blade itself. Yes, I’ve heard of your plans for that troublesome young man. I must admit to being surprised.

Heard from whom? From the duchess…?

Surely not. Alexa might have banished Atilo from her bed, but not so far from her favour that she’d share secrets with her hated brother-in-law. There had to be a spy in Atilo’s household. Amelia was possible. Iacopo? He wouldn’t want to think that likely.

“My lord, may I ask how you know?”

“Of course you may,” Alonzo answered. Obviously delighted at the thought of Atilo, Serenissima’s spymaster and chief assassin, asking him how he’d discovered such secrets. “Lady Desdaio told me.”

“She…?”

Atilo shut his mouth, wondering where Alexa was and why he was alone with the Regent, without even the duke swinging his feet and humming to provide legitimacy for this meeting.

“Not in so many words,” Alonzo added. “She said you seemed surprisingly fond of him for you. I simply read between her words. Although your response confirms it.” The Regent beamed, pleased with his cunning.

“My lord… The reason I’m here?”

“All in good time,” Alonzo said, picking a honey-glazed almond from a Murano glass salver and sucking off its sweetness. “The duchess would be upset if I started without her.”

As if on cue, halberds slammed on the marble outside as guards came to attention and a door swung open. Duchess Alexa took one look at Alonzo behind the table and Atilo standing there in front of it and scowled.

“I thought the meeting was at six.”

“Did we say that?” The Regent sounded surprised. “I confess, I thought it was half an hour earlier. That was the time my lord Atilo arrived.”

“Having been called by your guards.”

Prince Alonzo smiled. “Perhaps we should start,” he said. “Now that you are here at last.”

The Regent pretended not to notice the tightness of Alexa’s shoulders, or her awareness that, in choosing the desk, he’d left her to stand or take one of the lesser chairs. “My lady.”

Alexa took the chair he suggested.

There were servants there, of course. There were always servants. As tradition demanded, they were treated as invisible, only obeying or reacting if spoken to directly. Nothing said here would be repeated. They had families: wives, children, parents… Silence was assured.

“Atilo has been telling me he’s keen to help any way he can. He has no intention of refusing any task we’d like him to undertake.”

The duchess relaxed. “Atilo?”

The Regent was luring him into a trap. No, Atilo shook his head. Far worse. He’d trapped himself already and left no retreat. All he could do was discover how serious it was and what room he had left for manoeuvre.

Easy to forget Alonzo had been a condottiero. No, even that was wrong. It was easy to remember, since he mentioned the fact constantly. What was easy to forget was that his fame was deserved. In the days before Alonzo became a drunk he was the best strategist in Italy. Atilo should have realised the Regent’s current sobriety was significant.

“Obviously,” Atilo said, “I will do what you command. Although my lord Alonzo expressed worries about my age…” He knew the Regent wouldn’t let him get away with that and he was right.

“Worries now assuaged,” Alonzo said smoothly. “Atilo is firm in his belief he’s the best man for this.”

Best man for what, damn it?

Unrolling a map of the Middle Sea, with red crosses against three Mamluk ports, Alonzo added another at the mouth of the Nile, near Alexandria, and a final cross halfway along the African coast to indicate Tunis or Tripoli. Quickly sketched arrows followed, converging on Cyprus.

Atilo’s heart sank. “The sultan?”

“His fleets launched over a week ago.” For once Alonzo’s voice was flat, his tone matter-of-fact. “He accuses us of burning a Mamluk ship in the lagoon. He refuses to believe otherwise. If he takes Cyprus…”

The Regent didn’t need to finish that sentence.

If the Sultan took Cyprus, Venice would lose a major ally, a way station between the Nile and Europe, and be disgraced. More than this, if Cyprus fell the Order of Crucifers would be rootless. Bad enough having their embassy in Venice. The idea that the whole Order might need a new base…

“Cyprus must be saved.” Alexa’s voice was brittle.

“My lady?”

“My favour depends on this. What we have in Cyprus is…” If Atilo didn’t know better, he’d swear she cried beneath her veil. “It’s priceless. It must be defended to the death.”

Alonzo looked surprised.

“You don’t agree?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “I didn’t realise you felt so strongly.”

“My lord, my lady… can we put a fleet together in time?”

“It’s done,” Alonzo said. “Such as it is. All ships have been ordered to gather at Cyprus. And we’ve kept a small fleet there since the new year. We simply didn’t expect the sultan’s own fleet to be this size.”

“How many does he have?”

“Two hundred war galleys.”

“And how many are we?” Atilo wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. Two hundred galleys was a major force. More than the sultan had gathered before. Atilo was surprised that many Mamluk galleys existed in the world.

“Fifty,” Prince Alonzo said.

A respectable fleet. An entirely respectable fleet, just outnumbered four to one by its enemy. Atilo expected little of the Regent, not being in his confidence. But he was shocked Alexa had not told him of this before. “Did we know a fleet was gathering?”

“A fleet, yes,” Alonzo said. “Two hundred war galleys, including hardened corsairs from Alexandria and Tunis, and an elite force of ghilman, all converging on Cyprus, no…”

“Ambassador Dolphino has failed,” said Alexa. “Our spies in North Africa have failed. These are matters for later. I need you to leave immediately.” She glanced at Alonzo, nodded slightly. “Janus has agreed you should lead his fleet.”

“How?” asked Atilo. No messenger could reach Cyprus and return in the time available.

“That need not concern you.”

Atilo’s lips tightened. Hightown Crow, then. Unless Crucifers could talk across distances. That was possible. One Black Crucifer to another? If so, could Byzantine mages listen to the ethereal whispers? And if they could, would their emperor help or hinder Venice’s ambitions? Byzantium hated the Mamluks. But it didn’t love Serenissima either.

“Where does the southern emperor stand?”

A scowl crossed Alonzo’s face. “Manuel Palaiologos stands with the winner. So Duchess Alexa believes. I find it hard to believe he’d support heathens.”

“You’re heathens to him,” Alexa said.

Shrugging, the Regent smiled at Atilo. “We have our fastest galley waiting. Draw gold from the treasury. Select your staff, say your goodbyes, send Desdaio back to her father…”

“My lord.”

“She can’t stay at Ca’ il Mauros alone.”

“She won’t go, my lord. They’re estranged.”

When a smirk twisted Prince Alonzo’s lips, Atilo realised he’d walked straight into another trap. That made two in the same hour. The Regent was toying with him. Maybe the man was right. Atilo was getting old.

“Well,” Alonzo said, “she can’t stay where she is. And it seems she can’t return home.” He glanced at the duchess. “I guess she’ll just have to come here.”

“She could join my ladies-in-waiting,” Alexa agreed reluctantly.

“Oh, I don’t think she needs an official position. At least not yet. Let’s see how it goes.”

The Regent didn’t expect Atilo to return. Whether he hoped he’d fail and die, win and die or simply just die was not obvious. What Atilo knew for certain was that Alonzo had just publicly staked his claim to the richest woman in Venice. In front of the man who was meant to marry her.

In front of the current duke’s mother, too.

And Marco would be deposed for sure. If Alonzo got his hands on Lady Desdaio Bribanzo’s fortune he’d be ruler of Venice before the year was out. An ex-condottiero could buy a very large army indeed with that kind of money.