Raine: The Lords of Satyr (24 page)

T
he bishop sat in Salerno’s establishment in Venice once again, studying the sores and scabs on his cock below his raised robes. Though his disease had been dormant for years, it now seemed intent on eating away at him in earnest. He was growing fat and forgetful, and on several embarrassing occasions he’d found he could not control his bowels.

“I’ve come for another treatment,” he told Salerno.

“More of the fumigation?” asked the physician.

“No, something new is needed,” said the bishop.

“Very well,” said Salerno. He began to measure and pour ingredients into a jar. Then he stirred them together and plunked the drink he’d concocted on the table.

“What is it?” the bishop asked, gazing warily at the brew.

“Eggs, froth of snail, a pinch of this and that. Ginseng, ginger, salt.”

“Why have you agreed to help me so easily?” the bishop demanded, still suspicious.

“Don’t worry. It’s not poison. To be honest, I’m grateful to you for the information you passed on to me during our last visit. Because of you, La Maschera has returned to Venice.”

The bishop brightened. “Does Satyr know?”

Salerno shrugged. “Probably, by now.”

The bishop leaned forward. “Has she given you any trouble?”

“So you’ve decided La Maschera is female, have you?”

“Naturally,” said the bishop. “I heard there were children.”

“Really? I kept to myself so as to avoid discovery, so I learned nothing of it.”

The bishop had begun to take the brew, and Salerno waited impatiently for him to draw a breath between gulps. “This rot is disgusting,” the bishop complained, once he’d drunk half of it.

“Yes, yes, but what of these children?”

“There were two,” the bishop supplied. “Stillborn though. Not surprising I suppose, given her innards. Wouldn’t it be fascinating to open her up and study them?”

“Yes, well…”

“You know, if she gives you too much trouble, you might arrange an accident.”

“Accident?” Salerno echoed, not comprehending. “What sort of accident?”

“If, during the course of scientific investigation, some serious damage were to befall her, it would be beyond your fault. In fact, I could serve as a witness to attest to the accidental nature of her demise. Wouldn’t her inner workings be easier to fathom if an autopsy could be performed on her? That’s all I’m saying.”

“Ah! I take your meaning and you are correct,” Salerno said, tapping a finger on his chin. “And nothing substantial would be lost, for a good taxidermist could preserve La Maschera’s body and organs for ongoing display. Well, perhaps one day such an accident will be warranted. But I’ll not take you up on the suggestion for now.”

Locked in the adjoining room, Jordan heard the speculation in Salerno’s voice. With growing disquiet, she listened to him ponder the unthinkable. When she’d decided she’d rather die than remain in Salerno’s hands, some evil force of nature must have been listening in on her thoughts.

“The children are interesting news indeed,” said Salerno, eyes alight with excitement. “It verifies that La Maschera has functioning female organs. Now only the male organs need be tested for reproductive capabilities. If La Maschera can wield its puny prick well enough to produce issue in another woman’s belly in addition to having grown a child in its own, it will become notorious. And I will be its discoverer.”

“How
did
you discover your prodigy anyway?” The bishop screwed up his face and started glugging the gloppy mixture down again.

Salerno hooked his thumbs in the waist of his trousers. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling of it to you, for you have an interest in keeping La Maschera’s identity safe. I discovered the creature through a fortuitous event that occurred some nineteen years ago when I was called to the Cietta home here in Venice to assist at a difficult birth. Though I was but a young physician then, I was shrewd enough to make the most of the opportunity that issued from between Celia Cietta’s legs that night,” he boasted.

The bishop stilled mid-sip, but Salerno was in a loquacious mood and didn’t notice his companion’s increased interest.

“As you may have guessed, the babe was La Maschera,” he went on. “The mother was greedy and naturally wanted a boy child in order to inherit her dead husband’s fortune. Her child’s gender turned out to be ambiguous, of course. I saw the potential for my future in such a creature and struck a bargain with the mother so that I might display it from time to time. But the mother is dead now, and Jordan Cietta is completely in my hands thanks to you.”

Salerno flicked his fingers toward the liquid remaining in the glass in front of the bishop. “Drink up, man. It’s not poisoned, as I’ve assured you.”

But the bishop set the glass down unfinished. “Am I to understand that Jordan Cietta and La Maschera are one in the same? And that you pronounced her status as male upon her birth, even though that wasn’t strictly true?” His mind was slow these days and he wanted to be certain he’d gotten the odious facts right.

“Yes, what of it? I assume you will keep this information to yourself as you have no wish for Lord Satyr to track down the creature here.”

The bishop stared into his drink. “I have no love for the church. Did you know? I was forced there due to a lack of resources and I’ve done the best I could.”

“Such is the case with many an impoverished gentleman,” Salerno sympthatized.

“Yes. May I have a bit of that wine there beyond you to wash the taste of this vile brew away?” the bishop asked mildly.

“Certainly.” Salerno turned to pluck a bottle of wine from the rack that stood along a wall. “I’ll even give you some of the Satyr Vineyard brew. Nothing’s too good for the man who had a hand in bringing La Maschera back to me. Now what is it you plan to do after—?”

Something hit Salerno from behind and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

The cold-eyed bishop stood over him, a poker in his hand. “What do I plan to do? I plan to fuck you exactly as you fucked me nineteen years ago. I’m Jordan Cietta’s closest male cousin, damn it all. If it weren’t for you, I’d have inherited the Cietta fortune. I’d be wealthy and respected. My cock would likely not be rotting away because I’d have had clean women in my bed.”

Energized by a terrible anger, the bishop lifted Salerno and bent him, chest down, over a wooden trunk. Locating a knife, he cut the seat of his victim’s trousers away so only the cheeks of his rump were exposed. With his hand, he smacked the other man’s ass a half-dozen times, then stood back to admire the imprint of his fingers on the reddened flesh.

He fell to his knees behind the physician in a position of prayer. He raised the front of his robes and lay their weight on Salerno’s back. Spitting in his hand, he fumbled under his robe, using the spittle to slick his cock. His malingering shaft rarely rose on command anymore. But rage had lent it strength.

He wrenched Salerno’s cheeks apart with fingers and thumb. Locating his bunghole, he stuffed himself inside it with a low hiss. Cursing all the while, he sawed and bucked, allowing the other man’s rectum to scratch the itch of his disease.

Salerno awoke to terrific pain. His ass burned like the fires of hell. He was being sodomized. He, a virgin who had avoided any sort of sexual relations his entire life for fear of contracting disease.

“Fuck me over, will you?” his rapist ranted. “I’ll give you a fucking you’ll not soon forget, you conspiring shit-spirited bastard.”

With a great roar Salerno bucked off his rider. Blindly sweeping his arm behind him, he struck the assailant down.

Blinking stupidly, the bishop lay on his back on the floor with his robes hiked to his waist. His cock was hideous—half-wilted and rotten with syphilis. And it had just been in
his
ass. The bishop had administered more than just a fucking. He’d served up a death sentence. A slow, cruel death sentence.

The bishop stirred, coming awake. Hands shaking with fury, Salerno went to deal with him.

Raine arrived in Venice hours later, having left his estate days ago the very moment he sensed Lyon was within easy range of returning home. While still in Tuscany, he’d made long-distance inquiries to learn the whereabouts of the physician who was his only link to Jordan. Now he quickly made his way to Salerno’s establishment.

Once Salerno knew of his interest in La Maschera, he would undoubtedly try to keep Jordan by any means he could. So he’d come prepared to bargain. To threaten. He planned to wed her. But if Salerno exposed her for a hermaphrodite, there would be scandal. Such a scandal could not be allowed to besmirch the Satyr name. Raine could take Jordan and leave Tuscany, but that would endanger EarthWorld. Three were needed on the estate to guard the gate.

It all boiled down to one thing. If Salerno refused to cooperate, he would have to die.

Such was the state of Raine’s thoughts when he arrived at the physician’s door. Finding it unlatched, he pushed it open and went inside. He found the man he sought seated calmly in his laboratory. The bishop lay beyond him on the floor, robes hiked to his waist, blood pooling from a great gash at his temple.

“Ah! Yet another guest comes calling. Lord Satyr, is it not?”

Raine nodded toward the bishop. “You killed him?”

Salerno patted the iron poker lying on the table next to him. “He had it coming, believe me.”

“I trust you don’t have the same fate planned for all your guests.”

“Be grateful I took him down. He was cousin to Jordan Cietta.”

“Who?”

“La Maschera. The one I assume you seek—the hermaphrodite. Surely you knew that your lover and the heir to the Cietta fortune were one in the same.”

Raine’s jaw hardened.

“So you didn’t.” Salerno shrugged a hand at the bishop. “He was in line to inherit. If I’d allowed him to expose her ambiguous gender, then my part in her mother’s deception would have been exposed as well. And I couldn’t have that.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“I was the physician attending Celia Cietta when she gave birth. I pronounced her issue—Jordan—to be fully male. Only half a deception, as you have good cause to know. It was my proclamation that tilted the Cietta fortune toward Jordan and her mother and away from the bishop. Hence the reason for his wrath. It serves us all that he dies.”

“And do the secrets of La Maschera die with him?”

Salerno spread his hands. “As I told the good bishop, I have no desire to expose La Maschera’s connection with the Ciettas. My only interest is in studying the one you seek, but now that’s likely impossible unless I bribe the courts.”

Raine took a step forward. “What does that mean? Speak plainly, man, or suffer the consequences.”

“Jordan Cietta was arrested in this establishment not half an hour ago. Fortunately, the good constable was too stupid to visit this room or he’d have discovered another body to burden his caseload.”

Raine swore. He turned to go, then paused. “When I leave here do I have your assurance that these secrets you’ve shared will remain secrets?”

Salerno nudged the bishop’s body with his foot. “He sodomized me while I was out. Bastard.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“Look at his cock. He was infected with syphilis, an advanced case.” Salerno slung back a long draught of Satyr wine. “By sodomizing me he’s killed me as well. Though my death will be slower than his was. More agonizing.”

“I see.”

“Only Jordan’s mother, the dear bishop, and I were privy to the mysteries of your lover’s body.”

“Then if word of Jordan’s connection with La Maschera circulates, I’ll know from where it issued,” Raine said pointedly.

“It won’t,” Salerno hastened to assure him. “There’s no benefit to me in speaking of it or in rousing your ire. I’m well aware of the power the Satyr family wields. However, you’d better hope it serves you well. The constable has taken it into his head that Jordan Cietta is a murderer.”

M
unching some cod set on a plate, the jailor eyed Jordan’s expensive waistcoat and trousers. Once he’d gotten her in his clutches, Salerno had seen to it that she was dressed as a gentleman again.

“Non poveri?” the jailor inquired of the constable who’d taken her from Salerno’s quarters and delivered her here. The constable in turn looked to her for an answer.

Non poveri. Not poor. If she went to that section of the jail her treatment would be better, but she had no money. And her family would be expected to pay for food and linens, even a mattress and bedding. She had no family to turn to.

“Poveri,” her jailor decided, correctly reading her hesitation.

“For what reason am I being arrested?” Jordan demanded for what must have been the hundredth time since she’d been yanked from Salerno’s clutches only an hour ago.

“For the crime of murder,” the constable finally informed her.

“And whom did I murder?” she asked, already knowing what his answer would be.

“Why, your mother of course.” Then, to the jailor, he warned, “Keep this one separate from the riffraff. He’s not to be harmed in your cells. I want him whole for his trial.”

The jailor only grunted. Carrying his plate, he continued eating as he led her away by the chains that hobbled her hands. Downstairs where sunlight never went, they passed the section for the vecchi—the elderly. The stench of it nearly felled her. Eventually, she was delivered to the roughest sort of dank cell to await the whims of the courts. But at least she was housed alone.

“I’m hungry,” she declared after her jailor shoved her inside and turned to go.

In answer, he unfastened his fly and set his cock on his plate alongside the unfinished cod. “This is all you’ll get to eat from me tonight, signore!” he said, shoving the plate toward her.

She turned her back.

He only laughed. “You’ll be willing soon enough, when the hunger gnaws at your insides.”

She turned to eye him. “Don’t count on it.”

He looked closer. “Hmm. Nice piece of jewelry there.” Quickly, he reached an arm through the bars. Snapping the chain holding the amulet Raine had given her, he took it from her neck.

Her pleas for its return went unanswered. Even though the amulet hadn’t been activated, it had seemed to lend some protection from her dreams. Without it, her first night in the cell was filled with nightmares fiercer than any she’d had before she’d gone to his estate. It was as though all the demons of her dreams has stored themselves up over the days since Raine had given the bauble to her, and now they’d broken loose in her mind.

Her clothing was suitable for the young man she’d once pretended to be. But it wasn’t sufficient against the cold. When dawn eventually came, she bathed in the tepid basin of water that had been left for her and gnawed moldy bread and cheese.

Around noon, her jailor came for her and delivered her to the constable, who took her up several flights of stairs into a courtroom where an initial hearing was to be held.

Head held high, Jordan entered the courtroom, now flanked by the constable. She was exhausted, but her entire body was tensed in preparation for what was to come.

Her mother was dead, and she the primary suspect. There would be no one here to speak on her behalf, and she could respond only when addressed. Despite her innocence, it seemed a foregone conclusion that her accusers would prevail.

Both the curious and the cultured were in attendance in the audience, she saw. Many of the lowborn as well, for they came regularly to the courts to gawk at the prisoners for entertainment. And then, as her eyes continued to survey the onlookers, she encountered someone she hadn’t expected. Raine.

She cringed as his silver eyes swept her. Confusion filled them at the way she was dressed—as a man. Today he would learn the truth of her upbringing and how she’d spent her days before she’d met him that night here in Venice.

She only prayed he would not discover her connection to La Maschera. When Salerno had abducted her, he had sworn to display the nude drawings of her to Raine if she didn’t cooperate. Would he make good on the threat if he were brought in to testify?

Shame singed her cheekbones. She couldn’t bear it if Raine saw those horrid drawings. Would he think differently of her if he saw her stooped, the cheeks of her buttocks spread so her anus gapped? Or if he saw her seated upon a chair, fingers spreading her own labia to expose her vaginal tissue for the artist?

She averted her gaze from his, determined not to glance his way again. It would be too painful to watch his dismay harden to disgust as the proceedings wore on.