Against Knights of the Holy Trinity?!
The stampede was already starting. When the very large knight whipped out his sword and bellowed “Dia a coir!” the stampede turned into a rout. Dandelo retainers raced out of the entry hall, seeking escape anywhere they could find it.
Most of them made it, but five were corralled by the Knights or Schiopettieri. Angelo Dandelo didn’t even get two steps. He tried to make his escape, but the blond knight seized him by the scruff of the neck and drove him to the floor by kicking in the back of his knee. None too gently, with an armored boot.
Benito practically howled with glee. But his pleasure ended abruptly, when he noticed that the very large knight was glaring up at him.
Again, the imperious finger. Again, the booming basso voice.
“You! Come down here!”
Benito danced back and forth. The staircase he’d come down from was just behind him, after all. Benito was sure he could outrun that big knight, especially since he’d have to come all the way from the floor below . . . clanking in heavy armor up a staircase that was at an angle from where Benito was standing on the balcony. . . .
He was sure he could make his escape.
On the other hand—
—if he didn’t—
Benito glanced down at the Dandelo who’d been struck by the knight’s fist. Um. Yes. His neck was broken.
“RIGHT NOW, KID!!”
Meekly, Benito trotted over to the staircase indicated—even that damned finger looks like it could break bones—and came down the stairs.
“Yes, sir! I’m coming!”
* * *
When he arrived before the very large knight, it seemed as if everyone was glaring at him. Most of the knights with reproof, the Schiopettieri with anger, Petro Dorma with the stern face of official Venice.
Well . . . everyone except the blond knight and the big one. The blond was still holding Angelo Dandelo down. He just glanced at Benito and shook his head, the way a man will when confronted with the crazy act of a crazy kid.
The big knight’s heavy and square face was half hidden behind the nose guard of his helmet. But Benito saw it very clearly when he . . . winked at him.
“Who are you?” demanded Petro Dorma. “And what are you doing here?”
For some reason, the large knight’s wink returned all of Benito’s usual self-confidence. Although he did manage to restrain his usual swagger.
“I’m Benito Oro,” he announced. Then, angrily: “It was my friend Maria the bastards grabbed! That’s why I’m here!” The angry tone faded into something more sullen. “I just . . . wanted to make sure, that’s all.”
Dorma sighed. Then, exchanged glances with the blond knight.
Benito heard the blond knight mutter something to Dorma. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it was “From the mouths of babes.”
Dorma’s mouth quirked into a little smile. “And why not? All right, young Benito. Since you’re here anyway, you can be my—ah, let’s call it witness for the canalers. How’s that?”
Benito nodded his head, eagerly.
The eagerness faded, when he felt a very large hand close on his shoulder. The hand squeezed a bit. Just a bit. Benito felt like he was caught in a vise.
“I’ll look after the kid, Lord Dorma,” rumbled the voice. “Have no fear.”
Dorma’s quirky smile turned into something a lot broader. “Oh, I don’t.” He gave Benito a genuine official stare.
“I don’t believe there’s any reason to fear. Is there, boy?”
The very large hand squeezed a bit more. Benito’s head-nodding became very eager.
* * *
The next two hours were sheer joy. Benito accompanied Lord Dorma and his entourage as they went through every room—every closet—of Casa Dandelo. Those locks on slave pens for which Angelo had keys in his possession were unlocked. Those which he didn’t, were smashed open.
Every slave was inspected. Then, records demanded.
Every slave for whom Dandelo had no records was immediately freed and escorted away by Schiopettieri. Then, Lord Dorma made a notation of the fine. In every instance, he fined Casa Dandelo the maximum permitted by Venetian law.