But, as his hand slid into his cloak and closed over the hilt of the special blade he kept hidden there, he felt Fianelli's other hand clamping onto his wrist. The criminal boss was stronger than he looked.
"Don't even think of trying to use that needle on me, Loukaris. Forget those silly Byzantine political games. I'm a lot tougher than you'll ever be."
To emphasize the point, Fianelli hauled the secretary's hand out of the cloak and slammed his knuckles against the wall. The little needle-shaped stiletto clattered onto the tiles. Then, for good measure, Fianelli pounded Loukaris's head against the wall also. Twice, and hard enough to daze him.
When his senses cleared—and to his surprise—Loukaris saw that Fianelli was extending the stiletto to him. Hilt first.
"Here, take it back. You might need it later." Fianelli gave him a piercing look. "We might need it. We're still in business, Loukaris. The only thing that's changed is that you'll be hiding me, from now on."
Loukaris took the stiletto. He considered trying to kill Fianelli with it, for just an instant, but discarded the idea as if it were a hot coal in his bare hand. True, Meletios Loukaris had killed before. But his victims had all been aristocratic elderly men, and one woman, none of whom had Fianelli's criminal history and skills. The secretary had no doubt at all that Fianelli would overcome him—and then shove the stiletto into his own throat.
Quickly, he slipped the stiletto back into its special pouch. "This is dangerous for me. If anyone spots you—the alarm's out all over the fortress—"
Fianelli was faster that he looked, too. His fat, heavy hand cracked across Loukaris's cheek. "Shut up. You'll hide me in your own chambers. Nobody ever goes in there except you, do they?"
"The maid," complained Loukaris, rubbing his cheek. Fianelli's slap had been hard enough to really hurt.
The criminal boss grunted. "We'll figure something out."
A horrid thought came to the secretary. "What about your men? I can't—"
Fianelli waved his hand. "Don't worry about them. It'll just be me. They've made their own arrangements, whatever they are." He grunted. "Not that I care. If they get caught, they have no idea where I am since I never told them about you."
He jerked a thumb forward. "Now show me the way to your chambers."
* * *
By the time they got there, moving carefully through the corridors of the palace, Loukaris had already figured out the solution.
"She only comes in once a day. Always in the early afternoon." Sullenly, he went over to a very large freestanding dresser and swung the doors open. The dresser was full of clothes, since the secretary to the governor fancied himself something of a dandy. "You can hide behind the cloaks and stuff. There's room in the back, and the lazy slattern never looks in here anyway."
"Good enough." Slowly, Fianelli's eyes scanned the room. By the end, he had a crooked smile on his face. "You'll have to share the bed. Unless you want to sleep on the divan. No way I'm going to."
The secretary grimaced. The bed wasn't really that big, but . . .
He'd already more or less resigned himself to the inevitable.
* * *
By the end of the evening, his resignation had become complete.
Fianelli forced him to watch the ritual he used to conjure up the image of their mutual master, King Emeric of Hungary. Loukaris had never known that Fianelli was a sorcerer, in addition to everything else.
"Still in business, like I said." Fianelli seemed very satisfied. He'd also forced Loukaris to clean up the traces of the ritual. "I get the wall side of the bed."
"You can have all of it." Loukaris almost gagged on the words. It had only been chicken blood, but he felt like he might vomit. "I think I'll sleep on the divan."
"Smart man," murmured Fianelli. The squat criminal boss gave the podesta's secretary a look that combined menace and complacency. And well he might. To Loukaris, he looked like the King of the Frog Demons—contemplating a fly.
Chapter 80
"The Barbary corsairs and the Genovese are uneasy allies, Grand Duke," said Count Mindaug. "They're traditional enemies. Of course, both sides hate the Venetians like poison but still . . . It is a fragile alliance. Alexius may be a weak reed, but he is being a very effective stopper to the Dardanelles."
"And what news have you from the Holy Roman Emperor, Mindaug?"
It didn't surprise Mindaug at all that Jagiellon knew of his secret messenger from Germany. His communications with Hungary were far more carefully orchestrated. "The Emperor is worse. He took the news that his nephew is trapped on Corfu by Emeric's men as reason to find more energy, to organize things. But now he is sliding again. His campaign against Emeric is a measure of the man."
"Why? It seems quite a small campaign."
"It is meant to be. The Emperor knows he is dying. He doesn't want his heir to take over with a huge war on his hands. A conquest of Hungary would be an immense war, even for the Empire. This one is designed to cost Emeric a great deal—but it will do so only if he doesn't react to it. The Emperor knows that Emeric simply cannot leave such an incursion alone, when it becomes clear what ignoring it will cost him. Frankly, in my opinion, because Emeric believes himself the greatest commander alive, he would be unable to ignore any challenge, however insignificant, that threatened what he holds. The effort, I should guess, is to get him to withdraw from Corfu to protect assets closer to home."
Jagiellon's black eyes stared into nothingness. Then he turned to Mindaug again. "And have you progressed at all with your researches into the magic of Corfu?"
"In one respect, yes. I have been investigating the works of one Trigomenses Commensus. He has recorded various nonhuman interviews, attempting by virtue of their long lives to piece together early history. It appears that, back when Corfu was part of the mainland, it was the center of a fertility cult, long before the area was overrun by invaders—perhaps the Dorians. The nonhumans he questioned—dryads, undines and satyrs—regarded the place as sacred, too. It is an old place."
"I know that it is an old place, once regarded as being of great power. I can feel no trace of any great power there now, myself, though. Yet my slave and the shaman are not succeeding in their quest there. They are being magically hampered, but I do not know by what or exactly how. It is like wrestling smoke! I need to find the source of this and know if it can be harnessed. This began as an exercise in attempting to flank the Holy Roman Empire. It has become a search for whatever it is that can even thwart the magic of the shaman. He is an adept of great strength."
"I was coming to that, Grand Duke. Commensus' interviewees all agree: Power there requires a connection to the earth."
"You mean I would have to physically go there?"
"At least in spirit, my lord."
Mindaug held his breath, doing everything in his power to keep his mind blank. This was the moment for which he and Elizabeth Bartholdy had schemed for so long.