Marco felt nauseated. How horrible could this be for Aleri’s soul, trapped in a body already dead, and surely knowing that he faced, at absolute best, the worst that Purgatory could offer when Luciano released him?
“From which direction is the main attack on Venice coming?” demanded Marina. “And when?”
Aleri’s lips moved again. The words were very faint, since they had no real breath behind them. “Word came through . . . the barges are at Bondeno. Got to be past the Polestine forts by tomorrow morning . . . got to beat th’ galleys. Our people in Ferrara’ll start the fires there t’night, pass in the confusion . . . Tell ’em to stop th’ Trieste fleet . . .”
Petro Dorma croaked. “Ask him what the Milanese are planning to do to break through the Polestine forts?” Marco took a quick look at him—the corpse-light made everyone look awful, but the hitherto-unflappable Dorma, of the Council of Ten, was definitely—flapped. His eyes were big as saucers, and he was sweating, in spite of the funereal chill of the room.
The dead body shivered. “The Casket . . . the black nun . . . the servant and voice of Chernobog. She will deal with the forts. I warned Lucrezia. Danger, danger, danger. It hears me speak its name.”
“The black nun?” Petro fumbled for the sense of this.
Luciano spat. “Sister Ursula. That ‘nun’ who travels with the Knots. Ask your next question.”
Dorma licked his lips and didn’t look as if he relished the taste. “How does Sforza plan to overcome Venice’s defenses?”
Aleri’s corpse answered. “Fires. Many fires.”
Dorma had more stomach for this than Marco did. “How?”
“Gunpowder. Laid charges. Lucifers in amulets in some of them. Spellcasters in the Casa Dandelo will begin to trigger them, when the fog comes. Agents will light the others.”
“How do we stop it? What order must be given?” A good question, milord! How the hell can we be everywhere at once?
“Can’t be stopped now. We made sure.”
Petro sighed, then tightened his jaw, deciding, evidently, to focus on what he could do. “Where are the firebombs?”
And Aleri began listing place after place, scattered across the Rialto Islands
Petro frantically tried to write. “I’ll never get them all. . . .”
“I will,” said Marco, finally feeling that here was something he could do.
Petro nodded; that was the genius of the man, to know who and what he could trust and not worry about what he had handed off to others. He turned back to Aleri. “And who can Venice not trust? Who are your hirelings, your agents?”
Once again Aleri began listing. Marco found he recognized many of the names of Mama’s sleepers that he’d written down so carefully for Caesare. And Count Badoero and the Tiepolos—the black lotos smugglers with their partisans, who would be coming across from the mainland. They were locals, they knew the lagoon and the city. And then . . . and then . . .
“Caesa . . . aaaahhhhhh!”
The scream was a horrible one; the more so since it came from the throat only. And it was echoed by Luciano.
The lamps went out, and so did the light from the ritual circle. The silence and the darkness were worse than the corpse-light. Kat’s fingers tightened on his arm, and she whimpered a little, deep in her throat.
In the darkness Marco heard Luciano say, in a trembling voice: “The black one silenced him as soon as he tried to say that name. Chernobog has claimed his own.”
Somebody kindled a light. A candle flame only, but it was still a beautiful sight, in Rafael’s hand. That hand shook, and Marco couldn’t blame him in the least. There were some things no one should have to witness.
Then, with the light, came the stench.
Marco backed up, gagging, dragged from what was left of the circle by Kat. Dorma staggered to the wall. Rafael covered his mouth with his hand and turned convulsively away.
Something had made sure that no one was going to reanimate Aleri’s corpse again. There wasn’t going to be enough of it left. It seethed with maggots. The stench of decay was enough to send them all fleeing, gagging, out the door that Rafael opened for them. Rafael had to help Luciano, as the man was barely able to stagger. He slammed the door on the horror in what had been his rooms, and they all leaned against the wall, Luciano included, with shaking legs that would not carry them further, at least for the moment.