"Nor do we. They are yours, because you won them, but they are useless without their names, and only Oreste knows those. The jewels themselves are worth a fortune, of course."
Toby had never thought of that. Riches? Before he could even start to comprehend what wealth might feel like, the melodious voice spoke again:
"Our second question: What are you going to do about the baron?"
"Me? It is you who must help him. I know what it is to be enslaved as he was."
"We have managed to bring him some comfort already, but he needs time to heal. And he is in danger here, like you, probably danger much greater. He wants to make recompense, but without his demons he is only a tired old man. Our third question: What are you going to do about the don?"
"Me? Kiss his hand and depart. He is a fine fighter and likable in his way, but I need lunatic noblemen no more than I need bottled demons. I was hoping you could cure him."
The spirit uttered a very human-sounding sigh. "Tobias, it is almost time for Alfonso to return and take you to dinner. We need answers. You cannot just parrot, Me, me? We say, Yes, you! Now decide!"
"Decide what?" He sat down on the edge of the bed. Taken unaware by the softness of the down, he sank into it much farther than he expected and toppled back on his elbows. It felt like a swamp, and he knew he would never be able to sleep on it, tired though he was.
He stared in perplexity at the oblivious boy. The boy stared in the general direction of the fireplace. The fire crackled, wind wailed through a gap somewhere, and that was all.
"Tobias, we cannot prophesy, but we can make very good guesses. We do not know that you will master the hob, but we are prepared to gamble on it. Europe is about to fall to Nevil, the demon incarnate. The people call out for a leader, and you have more potential than any man we have met since Charlemagne called in here in 778."
"Now it's flattery, is it?" Toby sneered. "You'll find I have a large hide to butter."
"And a thin one. He who will not take orders must give them. We have helped you, have we not?"
"So now you present the bill. How much do I owe you?"
"Everything," said the spirit. "And nothing, for we did not plan to offer you our help. You have won, Tobias—won!"
He struggled up out of the bed. "I had help."
"Of course you had help!" Now the spirit sounded exasperated. "All mortals need help! There is no shame in accepting help, especially when you have earned it. Loyalty begats loyalty. You went to a terrible death to spare your friends. It was you who inspired the don to hazard his life for you, not us. That was the only way he could admit that you had saved him from the brigands. It was you who defeated Oreste, just as once you defeated Valda. The victory is yours."
It was a strange notion. He stood for a moment, letting that concept soak through his weariness. Victory? Oreste, the Inquisition, the landsknechte—even Montserrat itself. He had won! He squared his shoulders.
"And?"
"That is what we ask of you. What will you do with your success?"
Must he decide now, tonight? So tired. But yes, of course! "The iron is hot? The tide runs?" It must be tonight, before the glow of victory faded, while everyone was still here.
That was what Hamish had seen.
"The sailor sets sail when the wind is in his favor, Tobias."
He laughed. "I am not accustomed to victory, Holiness! It is a new thing." And a very sweet one.
Alfonso beamed and said, "It is time for dinner, senor!" in his tuneful soprano. He walked across to the table and picked up the silver box that contained the demon Avernus. He obviously did not realize he was doing so, or where he was going to take it. "It is roast goose tonight, senor! I could smell it downstairs."
Silence. After a moment, he said, "Senor?"
Toby snapped out of his reverie. He grabbed up the jerkin. "I'm ready. Lead the way, lad. Let's go and catch the wind!"
EPILOGUE
Captain Antonio Diaz Davila liked to think of himself as a devout man—within the limits imposed by his profession—but on his previous visit to Montserrat the tutelary had refused to hear his confession. That rebuff had been a devastating shock for him. He had only been obeying orders! That the spirit did not view this excuse in the same way he did had caused him considerable anguish and self-examination.
Today's unexpected return visit was a welcome chance to make amends. Having seen the horses stabled and his men properly quartered and served at the refectory's loaded tables, he put Sergeant Gomez in charge and sent himself off duty—possibly forever.
All his life he had tried to visit Montserrat at least once a year. The great church was very large and old, and very splendid. By day its richness never failed to snatch his breath away, but it was just as impressive in near-darkness. A hundred starry candles failed to illuminate its expanse or the worshipers who came at all hours to pray in a silence so profound that it seemed to echo. There, after long meditation on his knees, Diaz confirmed his decision and felt peace. He might die very soon, but what really mattered was what would happen to his soul when he did.
Even then, in the middle of the night, many of the confessionals were occupied, but he found an empty one and knelt on the cushion provided. He waited apprehensively until an elderly nun came in and took the chair before him. She said nothing, just folded her hands in her lap, smiled over his head, and waited. He would have preferred a monk, but truly it did not matter. Only the spirit would hear.
He began with the least of his failings—shortness of temper, fits of envy, ill-considered speech. He progressed to more serious matters—excessive severity toward a couple of recruits, his recent tendency to drink too much, and a shameful incident with a certain married lady. He listed the actions he had already taken to set things to rights where he could, plus a few other possible reparations that had occurred to him during his meditation. Then he came to the problem of his duty and hesitated.
The spirit spoke for the first time. "Antonio, you were right to dispose of these lesser affairs before you tell us of your greater sorrow. For all the matters you have mentioned, though, we accept your repentance. Do as you have promised, and they will imperil your soul no longer."
He savored that blessing for a moment. Then he drew a deep breath. "The other problem, Holiness, is that I am a soldier and must obey orders. Even... I mean when... Although..."
"Take your time. You are in no immediate danger of dying, and we have all Eternity."
He glanced up gratefully, although the nun had never yet looked down at him. "You told me many years ago that a boy could honorably aspire to be a soldier, although the risk of doing evil would be greater for him than for other men. When Queen Caterina left and my superiors surrendered the palace to King Nevil, I obeyed orders and stayed at my post. Soon I was promoted. I accepted that promotion, even knowing that the Fiend was a most evil tyrant. I reasoned that if I did not take the position then someone else would, and—"
"That is never an excuse. We told you so when you were sixteen."
"I remember, Holiness, I remember! I mean that I... that another man might not try so hard to... I mean..." Another deep breath. "Whenever I can, Holiness, I obey my orders in the least evil way possible. Barcelona groans under the viceroy's tyranny, and some of his evil comes to them through me. I have tried my best to minimize it, truly I have! During the riots, when I was ordered to fire on the crowds, I had the men load one-third charges, so that the shots would more likely wound than kill. When I was sent out to arrest twelve hostages at random, to be executed in retribution, I chose elderly persons, invalids, cripples. It did no good! The baron knew at once what I had done and sent me back for another twelve—young people. My efforts to do less evil merely produced more." His mouth was dry. His heart ached with the memory.