The Shadow Master (9 page)

He had no regrets about raising his adopted daughter Lucia, though he would dearly have like to see her married to one of his sons. There were few in the city who knew that she had been sent to be raised in the Duchess' family household as a young girl and his wife, who had always wanted a daughter, had no trouble raising the child as her own – or indeed in taking her back to her family's lands when she chose to leave the Duke that one time. He had found that he missed Lucia more than he missed his wife when they were gone, and was glad when they had come running back, their horses whipped almost to death, as if the plague were biting at their very heels.

And it was, of course. Poor Lucia was afflicted. The spice wine saved her, though some scars remained. If he had foreseen that, he would have prevented his wife taking her. Would have insisted she remain behind with him in the city. He sighed and turned from the window to examine the sketches that Leonardo had given him. This was something that would put fear into the Medicis, he believed. Would show them that his power was greater than theirs. Would surely force them to back down. If not there would be running battles in the streets. The militias were already growing out of control and the city guard had no way of restraining them.

They needed a peace treaty and needed something drastic enough to force Cosimo Medici to the negotiating table. How different the city would look then, he thought. Leonardo would be freed from the need to invent machines of commerce and conflict and would be able to exercise his great talent for artwork and would create some of the most moving and striking paintings ever seen by mankind. He would paint a picture of Lucia that would show her beautiful face and mysterious smile, which people would admire for centuries. He would paint huge frescoes of the world at peace. And he, or perhaps working with Galileo, would rediscover the lost secrets of the ancients. A new era in civilisation would emerge from the Walled City. A rebirth of knowledge and the arts, and he would open a university that learned men from all around the world would flock to.

He sat heavily in his chair and sighed again. Or was that just being fanciful? He turned and looked out the window. The day was getting on. He must return to his duties as Duke of Lorraine. He had a war to win. A war between his House and the House of Medici. A war between his desires and his wife's. It was time to step off the bright path and tread that darker path once more.

 

 

 

XIV

Leonardo sat by the window to catch the best light as he turned the peculiar arrow over and over in his hands. It was made of a type of metal that he was unfamiliar with. It was dark and light, but incredibly strong. The point had a vicious barb in it that had required a lot of work to remove from the cook's assistant's skull. That it had gone in so deeply suggested it had been fired with great force. That was something that he had been contemplating an experiment to test. What type of force would be needed to have the arrow puncture a pig or sheep's skull to the same depth?

The length of the arrow, however – barely over a full handspan long – meant it could only have been fired from a small device, which would limit the force that could be applied. He had studied crossbows often enough to know the size and force needed to puncture armour, and knew that such a small arrow from a similarly small device could not have had the force that this one was fired with.

He also knew that this was unlikely to be something of Galileo's doing. His rival was skilled with metal work, but primarily in the manufacture of cogs and so on. He had seen no evidence of him experimenting with new metals. And that begged the question: who had created this?

He turned it over again and looked for any signs that it had been damaged upon impact. But there were none of the signs he would have expected to see. A flattened tip. A bend somewhere. This looked like it had never been fired. He lay it down on the bench top before him and considered the possibilities. The one he most disliked was the thought of another scientist in the city. It was work enough for him and Galileo to prevent the warring between the two Houses from getting out of hand while still providing their masters with the wonderful inventions they perpetually craved.

He placed his fingertip against the tip of the arrow and felt that if he pressed just a little harder a prick of blood would certainly appear. He would have done it just to confirm the amount of force needed and then written it down with his other notes. Every observation was a step towards greater understanding. But he also knew that there was a possibility that the arrow tip was poisoned. He left it lying on the bench top and stood up. He had preparations to make. They were going to be putting on a demonstration that would impress Galileo and would make the Medicis tremble. He would have to ponder this mysterious arrow later, and if not, he might have it sent to Galileo and let him consider its mystery, and taunt him into believing it something he had developed.

 

 

XV

Lucia kept replaying the attack in her own mind and could still not decide if she should tell her father about it or not, though she was unsure exactly why. But having not reported it straight away, it became harder to tell anyone. And the story seemed more bizarre and improbable the more she pondered it. A deathseeker being attacked by another deathseeker who jumped out her window and disappeared? If her rescuer had been working for her father he would have reported straight back to him, and the Duke would have come to her to ensure that she was alright.

The only person in her mind who could have sent somebody to save her and not let her father know was Lorenzo. He had to be involved in it somehow, and if he was, then her father could never know of it. He would be as enraged that a stranger entered their household as he was that one of their servants was a deathseeker. There was also something in the way the stranger put that knife to his lips and bid her be quiet. There was something of a warning in it, she felt. Some indication not only that she needed to keep his existence a secret, but that he was watching over her.

She paced her chamber trying to recall as many details about him as was possible. The man was tall, though not overly so, and clearly very strong. The dark cloak and hood hid most of his features, but he was clean-shaven and was neither overly light nor dark in features. She had not seen his eyes well, yet felt they were dark and dangerous. Or was she imagining that? She closed her eyes tightly and pressed her knuckles into them. She had to remember things as best she could before her imagination took over and filled in the missing parts.

The knife he held to the deathseeker's neck, and then to his own lips, was curved, like an Arabic blade, but was a bright shining silver, with large holes fashioned into the blade, like nothing she had ever seen before. And she had not even seen him at first, as if he had stepped out of the shadows. And how had the deathseeker not seen him? He must have come in the window, the same way he left, but where did he disappear to? Was there a rope that she could not remember? If he had gone up to the roof the guards up there would have seen him. It made less and less sense the more she chased the details around in her head, until she knew she was creating things that had not been there, like the details of his features and where he had stood in her room when the deathseeker entered.

Perhaps she would tell her father that she had dreamed of being attacked by someone in their household. That, at least, would put him on his guard against treachery from within. They had already doubled the guards around the house and she was forbidden from walking the streets, even to go to mass, no matter the number of guards she might have taken along. Her father warned her it was too dangerous, and told her that she was far too precious to him and his enemies knew it. But he now needed to know it was also dangerous for her within the household.

But then he might insist on putting a guard inside her room. She'd insist he be outside the door of course. The window needed to be kept free in case Lorenzo found a way to contact her. If he did it would be through the window. That was her eye to the city and the only way that he could reach her. She would sit by the window at times during the day or evening and hope that he was on a Medici tower somewhere looking towards her, and would know that she was there waiting for him.

That's what it all came down to: her desire to see Lorenzo again. She needed to feel that thing that had happened to them again. But she also wondered if that might not somehow have changed in her imagining as well. There was only one way to be certain and perhaps now it was her turn to go to him. She walked across to her bed and pulled out the metal gloves she had hidden there. She would learn to use them and would climb down from her tower and find Lorenzo.

They were heavy, but not overly so. She turned them over in her hands, wondering how they worked. She rolled up her sleeves and took one metal glove and looked at it. It had many tiny cogs and wires fitted to it, and she slid her hand into it slowly. It was far too big for her, but she nearly dropped it in surprise when the tingling filled her arm, and she felt it contracting upon her arm. She watched in amazement as it melded with her flesh until she stood there with a metal set of claws on the end of her arm that she could flex and move. She felt the strength of it and immediately grabbed up the other one. These were not just claws, she now understood. They were the product of science and they were really keys. The keys to her freedom.

 

 

XVI

The Duke of Lorraine strode up the high stone staircase like a younger man, buoyed by the confidence of victory. He had spent a life in the Walled City climbing up and down tower stairs, and it seemed to get harder every year. But power was demonstrated in towers, and when he could no longer climb to the top of the many family towers, his authority would be diminished just a little. Many times his knees creaked and cracked as he climbed the steps, but he was unwilling to show any sign of it to the men around him. Leonardo had once shown him the design for a cage that could be constructed inside a tower, with counterweights on pullies, to allow a man to travel up the top and back down with ease. He would talk to him more about it one day. But not today.

He emerged onto the rooftop of the tower, puffing only slightly, to a beautiful sunny day. That was good. Too much wind or rain would have not been ideal. The tower top was ringed with men in armour, to protect him and the Duchess, who was already there waiting for him. She nodded to him and smiled. She wouldn't have missed this for the world. He hoped the armed men would not be needed though. His steward was waiting for him and beckoned him over to the tower's edge. He held up a hand a moment. He would get his breath back fully first. Would compose himself. The Medicis could wait. He took several deep breaths in and out, so that he had firm control over his voice and breathing, then gave his wife a smile and nodded to his steward.

The man tapped a pair of soldiers on the shoulder and they moved away, allowing a space for the two of them to step forward. The Duke looked across to the nearby tower where a troop of Medici soldiers were similarly assembled. Cosimo Medici was standing in the centre of them, hands on hips, wearing a fine velvet cap instead of a helmet or such, as if unafraid of an arrow or spear that might be cast at him, although the Duke suspected he was heavily armoured under his robes, just in case. He was a brave man, but tempered that with precautions. You didn't head a family like the Medicis as long as he had if you were not.

The Duke glanced down into the streets below. They were full of soldiers. Lines of moustached Lorraines facing lines of bearded Medici men. This needed to be played carefully, he thought, or they would see much blood shed today. He looked back across to Cosimo Medici and watched him raise a brass ship's trumpet to his lips and call out, “What has the murderer to say for himself that would possibly interest me?”

Of course he was interested to hear what the Duke had to say, or he would not be there. He had expected the exchange to begin with such taunts and chose not respond to them. Not today. His steward passed him a similar ship's trumpet and he lifted the cold metal and called back. “It was not us who perpetrated this foul deed upon your house.”

There was silence for a moment and then Cosimo shouted back. “No. The Lorraines have never engaged in murder, have they.”

The Duke felt his blood rising a little but held it in check. It was a part of the game, he knew. The first man to lose his composure would lose the game. Everything was a game inside the Walled City. But today the stakes were not just power, they were life and death. But nobody was going to die today, the Duke avowed. He could win this with no deaths.

“Upon my family's honour it was not us who perpetrated this foul deed upon your house,” he called back.

“And what honour would that be?” Cosimo called in return. The Duke felt the men around him shuffle a little. They would not tolerate this for long, he knew. Not such insults to their honour. Cosimo knew it too.

The Duke was about to call back that he swore it upon his ancestors, but that would be handing Cosimo the opportunity to insult his fathers, and that might be the point at which one of his soldiers on the tower or on the streets below might lose control and call back insults, which would quickly degenerate and the men below would soon be at each other's throats with spears and swords. Didn't that oaf, Cosimo, know he was playing with fire? But of course he knew. He had something up his sleeve if he was willing to provoke a confrontation. He had carefully assessed the situation and felt he had the advantage. Never enter into a battle that you have not already won, was one of the Medici doctrines after all.

He turned back to his wife and smiled again. She smiled also. The Duke then raised the ship's trumpet slowly and called out, “I have not come here today to trade insults, but to seek a peace treaty. One long enough to provide evidence of our family's innocence in this foul murder.”