"Ready, Tobias?"
"Ready, senor."
Don Ramon reached inside his robe for his sword. "Close the lid."
Toby shut the casket. The snoring stopped.
"Mmf?" Oreste's eyes flicked open. "What happened? Longdirk!" He began to rise and then sank back, blinking in horror at the sight of his prisoner free and clothed. He did not seem to notice the don's blade in front of his nose. "Rigomagi in nomine—"
"No good, baron!" Toby said. "We have trimmed your claws."
Oreste lifted his hands and stared at his empty fingers. "Free? Free!" he screamed. "Free! You have released me!" With an effort astonishing for his bulk, he squirmed to his knees—almost losing an eye on the don's sword in the process—and threw himself down to grovel at Toby's feet. "Free at last! Now kill me! I am not fit to live. Kill me!" He grew louder and more frantic, babbling hysterically.
It was disgusting! Their plan had worked beyond all dreams, and they had turned the greatest hexer in Europe into a cringing, whimpering poltroon.
Don Ramon sheathed his sword and swung a foot at the ample rump so temptingly presented.
"Get up! Stand on your feet like a man!"
"Wait!" Toby could remember how he had reacted when he thought he had beheaded Hamish. "Give him time to adjust. He has been a slave for years."
The don scowled impatiently as the lamentation continued. Toby put on the robe—not that he believed that it had been hexed, but it was a good disguise and might confuse the guards when he tried to leave. Just how that was going to be done remained to be seen.
Eventually the baron's weeping choked into silence. He rose to his knees and peered around. "Longdirk?"
"Here."
"Oh. Yes. You are hard to see in that... How did you get that? What has been happening?" If was not a genuinely broken man, he must be the finest actor in Europe.
"We locked your demons away in the box. Whose man are you now, Oreste? Still Nevil's?"
"No, no! Yours! I don't know how you managed this, but I am eternally grateful. I will do anything for you. Oh, I deserve to die, Longdirk. I have done terrible—"
"You are going to die!" declaimed the don. "I, Don Ramon de Nuñez—"
"Any recompense I can make!" sniffed the baron, ignoring him.
Realizing that he was still wearing his robe, the don angrily stripped it off, becoming somewhat entangled in his sword and branding iron in the process.
Oreste squealed in alarm, making Toby's heart take a wild leap. Was it possible that those robes really were enchanted? No, that was ridiculous! Why should Montserrat reverse its judgment? The baron was confused, that was all.
"Wh-who are you?"
"As I was saying, I, Don Ramon de Nuñez y Pardo, hidalgo of Castile, denounce you as a monster and a disgrace to the title of nobility you profess to bear, and I do hereby challenge you to mortal combat. As we have only one sword, I offer you the choice of weapons. Stand up!" He held out the sword and the rusty rod.
The baron stared at him very hard, blinked around in search of Toby as if he couldn't see him, and then heaved himself to his feet. He bowed shakily. "As you will, senor. I do not deny your charges, but I accept your challenge gladly."
He took the branding iron.
"Don't be absurd!" yelled the don. "I have studied under de la Naza himself! I am one of the finest swordsmen ever to wield a Toledo blade."
"You let me have the choice. Now guard!" The fat baron swung a clumsy blow.
Don Ramon caught the rod with his left hand and twisted it out of Oreste's grasp. "You deny me satisfaction! So die like the churl you are—go ahead and strangle him, Campeador, as you wanted."
But Toby could not kill in cold blood either, and he had begun to shiver with excitement, starting to believe he might live.
Hope is the mother of disappointment.
"The baron appears to be truly repentant, senor!" Seeing his companion's eyes starting to flash anger again, he went on quickly: "Any man can be hexed to obedience. Under the same circumstances, I chopped off your head. It is true that to slay the Fiend's premier hexer would be a wondrous and valorous deed, celebrated throughout all Europe. How much more daring and effective, though, to turn the weapon against the man—or against the demon, in this case! Oreste knows his master's darkest secrets. Why destroy him when you could use him? If I am right, he would at once become Nevil's most dangerous enemy." He would also be a passport out of the Palau Reial.
The don considered this proposal for a moment and then raised his coppery eyebrows very high. "You shame me, Campeador! Why, indeed, should we waste our time on this trash when we should be plotting the downfall of the monster himself?" He beamed and clapped Toby on the shoulder. "A magnificent vision! You will join me then in a crusade to overthrow the Fiend?"
It would be hard to think of a greater insanity than that program, but this was no time for argument, and fortunately Rigomagus was now caged, so Toby was again capable of deceit. "Senor, nothing will give me greater pleasure than to assist you when you destroy Rhym and rid Europe of its atrocities. Well, Excellency?"
"Don't call me that!" Oreste rubbed his face. "I, also... I have very much to atone for. But the Inquisition... May I sit, please? I am not thinking very clearly." He was in shock.
They took the lanterns and led him to a stout iron chair, strong enough to support his bulk. He sank down in it gratefully, although its purpose was to hold a man immobile while his feet were being roasted or his fingers crushed. Toby brought him the water pitcher, and he drank.
"Now, Baron. The first problem is, can you get me and my friend out of here alive? Can you defend us from the Inquisition?"
"I... I don't know." He wrung his fat hands. "I am still viceroy, I suppose. In any other crime I could just issue a pardon, but not in a case of possession. If I try to release you, even my own guard will mutiny. The Inquisition would rouse the city. There would be a hue and cry, a house-to-house search for a convicted creature. There would be riots. Nowhere in the city would be safe for you."
The don opened his mouth, and Toby held up a hand to silence him. They waited. Either the baron was a consummate actor, or he was genuinely trying to help.
"There are ships. But you are not easily disguised..."
"Montserrat!" The don's eyes glittered. "If you are truly as penitent as you profess, then you will accompany us to Montserrat and testify to your repentance before the spirit!"
The baron's bulk shuddered like jelly. He closed his eyes, but then he managed a nod. "Yes," he muttered hoarsely. "No man has ever had more on his conscience. I cannot ever hope to atone, but I should make my confession, if it will hear me. We can go in my carriage. You will not dare go to the monastery, of course, Longdirk..."
"Yes he will," the don said. "The tutelary has offered him sanctuary."
The baron ignored him. "But I could take you part of the way, smuggle you out of Barcelona, give you money." A grotesque smile writhed over his doughy face. "After all these years it is hard for me to think like an ordinary man now. I keep wanting to use gramarye."
"We are not going to open the casket," Toby said firmly, "if that's what you—"
"No! No! Never! But I can get you out of town, I am sure. Even provide an escort."
"And Jaume? We must rescue him also."
The baron sighed. "That should be easier. In his case the guards will obey my orders; they approve of anyone who slays a landsknechte."
Toby exchanged nods with the don. They would have to trust him. "Very well. You will knock on the door and order Diaz to summon your coach and bring the prisoner Campbell to you. Do not mention Don Ramon or myself, and we will try to pass as innocent monks."