Thirteenth Night (19 page)

A look of astonishment mingled with disappointment shot across his face, but I held firm to my resolve. At least for one meal.

I felt giddy after the previous evening. Solid proof for the first time. No more living on hunches. The game was on in earnest. I wondered when the next move would be. And who would make it.

*   *   *

The sun sped westward, and Zeus and I were soon making our way to the northwest gate.

“Have you seen Signor Claudius pass this way?” I asked a guard.

“No, sir.”

“Well, if he does, bid him join me for a ride. I need to turn this beast loose every now and again.”

“I will, sir.”

We passed through the gate. The road had been but lightly traveled since the snows came. Not unusual—the northwest road was a traders' route, and it was a time for staying ensconced near the hearth, not for wandering abroad. The farmers who came in for church used the northern road.

I kicked Zeus lightly to nudge him along, and he promptly broke into full gallop, charging up the rise as if there were a mare in heat waiting at the top. There wasn't, and I managed to rein him back to a trot before we overshot our mark and ended up in Capodistria.

The road veered away from the cliff's edge and vanished in the trees ahead. This close to the sea they were mostly laurel and holm oak, the last green even now. I directed Zeus to the left, where the rocks jutted out past Hector's shack. I glanced down, but he was nowhere to be seen, although a thin wisp of smoke rose reluctantly from his driftwood manor.

Orsino's vantage was at the apex of a triangle formed by the rock. Behind it, about fifty feet back, loomed the forest, mostly scrub and Aleppo pine at this point with a healthy stand of brush in front. Ample cover for any halfway decent assassin. I tied Zeus to the sturdiest tree I could find and walked carefully to the edge.

A well-chosen spot. From here, Orsino could see over the barrier islands to the open sea. From here, he and his ancestors saw marauding Normans, subtle Saracens, and, most insidious of all, the merchantmen of Venice who sought to conquer with tariffs and monopolies.

I looked behind me and saw the ridge rising in the distance, broken only where the river passed through it. There was a small watchtower where ever-present guards looked both inland and out to sea. Toby once boasted that from there he could see all the way to the Marches, but I doubted that.

The sun was starting to set, turning orange and massive at the edge of the world. All my time in Orsino, and I had never once seen the sun set from the cliffs. It was dinnertime, when jesters make their living or die hungry. So many years looking at audiences through thickened lashes, hiding behind the double artifice of masks and words. Rare to have this moment of isolation, God's glory on full display, the waves crashing below and the wind whispering through the woods behind.

“Fool,” I thought it whispered.

I laughed. Theo, your self-pity is speaking to you again. I reached for my flask, unstoppered it, and placed it to my lips, then spluttered as the unexpected taste of water hit my tongue. I laughed at myself again and thought the wind laughed along with me.

But it wasn't the wind. A man laughed somewhere in the woods behind me, and I remembered that I had come because another man had been killed by someone hiding in those woods. I was standing where he stood, completely exposed.

“Claudius?” I called cautiously. The laughter grew, so like the laughter from my dream that I shivered and glanced about for cover. There was a large boulder, about twenty feet to my left. I took a step, and something went whistling by my ear and out to sea.

“Stand still, Fool,” said a voice from my past. “I want to see what Time has done to you.”

The fastest I've ever seen a man reload a crossbow was to a quick count of four. I made that boulder in about three and a half, diving into a somersault and rolling behind it in a tight ball. Something clattered off it an instant later.

“But this is too vexing,” complained the voice. “I miss you once because of the wind and a second time because you won't hold still.”

“Who are you?” I shouted. “Why are you trying to kill me?”

“Don't you know?”

“I know that you are flirting with eternal Hellfire using that weapon.”

“Really? And why, pray tell?”

“Crossbows are banned by the Church. Put yours down before it's too late.”

There was laughter, genuine amusement, echoing from the trees. The boulder, while providing quick cover, left me too far from the woods to risk another such dash. I slipped my dagger into my right hand and my knife into my left, hoping he'd come into the open, wondering if I could do any damage before he killed me.

“Such wit in the face of Death. I admire it. But an exception was made for the killing of infidels, and I think you fall into that category as far as Rome is concerned.”

“I am as good a Christian as you,” I shouted.

“Then you should be the one worrying about your immortal soul.”

I peeked around the side and a bolt struck just above my head, sending a spray of rock chips into my face.

“Who are you?” I called again.

“Don't be tedious, Feste. I know you all too well, and you know me. An older man than I was but a wiser one, too.”

“How dieth the wise man? As the fool,” I shouted.

“Brave words. Even the fool can cite Scripture for his purpose. Here's one for you: Like a thorn that goes up into the hand of a drunkard is a proverb in the mouth of fools. We will all die, Fool, but many will die before me, I promise you that. And they all live behind those formidable walls, waiting for Death. But Death was waiting for you to return. And as a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly. Let that Proverb be your motto now.”

Man knows his Proverbs, I thought, trying to guess where he would emerge. I heard slow, measured footsteps moving through the brush, and I clutched my weapons tightly, wanting one clear shot.

Then Bobo screamed, “Run, Feste!” Never one to miss a cue, I fled to the woods at my left, diving through a gap in the brush and rolling behind the thickest tree I could find. I heard a struggle some distance off, then a cry and the sound of someone crashing through the forest away from me. Then silence.

I waited. The sun hid its face behind the outlying islands, and I waited, listening for anything, hearing nothing. Finally I moved in the direction of the struggle I had heard, weapons at the ready. I stepped carefully, soundlessly, pursuing the man who had summoned me here. I left my sword in its scabbard—the forest was too thick for swordplay, and it wasn't my best weapon. On open ground, the crossbow gave him the advantage. But in the woods with a knife, I would prevail over the Devil himself. No one was going to stop me.

And no one did. It took me fifteen minutes to cross sixty feet, but I made it unchallenged. Malvolio was long gone, but Bobo was still there, lying on his back, staring at the treetops, bleeding from his scalp, the blood vividly staining the white lead. I took him for dead, but the eyes rolled in my direction and he smiled weakly.

“All right, you convinced me,” he whispered. “He's here.”

“Can you walk?” I asked.

“Not sure. That fortune-teller may have been an optimist.” I helped him up, and he fell to his knees, clutching his head.

“Come on, my horse awaits you.”

“Damn it, I botched everything,” he groaned. “I had him. Another step, and he would have been mine. And then I wasted my breath saving your life.”

“Appreciate it, thanks. Why were you following me?”

We staggered out of the woods and I nearly dragged him the rest of the way to Zeus.

“Father Gerald's orders,” he gasped. “‘Make sure the old reprobate stays alive,' he told me. ‘If he wanders off by himself, follow him. I don't want him running headlong into any nooses. He's more valuable to me than the whole lot of them.' So, I've been playing protector. Rotten job I've done of it.”

“I'll be happy to debate that point when you're feeling better.”

Zeus looked at us with his usual benevolence, but my glare must have been something fierce for he suffered the two of us to mount without a fuss. I pulled Bobo's hands around my waist. He clasped them weakly, and I added one of mine in a grip that made him flinch. I flicked the reins lightly and Zeus stampeded back to town.

Claudius was riding up the road as we approached and pulled up on seeing us.

“What happened?” she said.

“Malvolio tried to kill me,” I said. “My colleague stopped him but got his head knocked for his pains.”

“Bring him to the villa,” she said immediately. “I'll fetch the doctor. Tell Malachi to put him up in the east wing.” We passed back through the gates and split up.

Malachi took one look at Bobo and, to his credit, carried him straightaway to a room and a clean bed. I handed off Zeus to an apprehensive groom and followed. When I arrived, Bobo was slipping in and out of consciousness, his breathing shallow. A maid came in with a bowl of water and a cloth and started wiping away the blood. The blow had fallen on the very top of his head.

“Must have been a tall man who struck him,” commented Malachi.

“Perhaps,” I said. “I didn't see him.”

Bobo shouted suddenly and grabbed the maid's wrist. She shrieked and dropped the cloth as he sat up, staring wildly about the room. Then he saw me and lay back.

“Apologies, dear lady,” he said. “Pray continue, only leave my face on. I would prefer to die a fool.”

“Live to see the doctor,” I urged him.

“I've heard about this doctor,” he muttered. “He may finish the job that bastard started.”

“Will he jest until he's buried?” whispered Malachi.

“Why should that stop him?” I answered.

The doctor appeared in the doorway, looking around the room uncertainly until we all pointed at the patient. He nodded briskly and sat beside the bed, peering at the wound.

“Fellow looks much too pale,” he observed, and Bobo laughed, though it obviously hurt. The doctor dressed the wound and bandaged his head.

“He's lost some blood,” he said when he was done. “These blows to the head are tricky. He could live, he could go like that. If the wound swells, I may have to let it a bit. Too bad this didn't happen in the spring. My leeches have all died, and I can't replace them until after the thaw.”

“A doctor who cannot even keep a leech alive?” cried Bobo. “I am certain for the grave. Doctor, when a leech is ill, what do you use to treat it?”

“In the meantime?” I interrupted, mostly to prevent apoplexy on the part of the doctor.

“Watch over him. If his breathing becomes shallow and irregular, send for me. Give him as much wine as he desires.”

“This, I like,” whispered Bobo. “They keep an excellent cellar here by all report. A marvelous physician. I take back everything I've said about him.”

“Hush,” I implored him. “If you don't behave, I'll let him operate on you.”

“No need, no need,” said the doctor hastily. “Let Nature take its course.”

“It always does,” I said, and he left. I sat by the bed. “Now, how do you feel? Really.”

“I've survived the doctor. Always a good sign. I'm just afraid that if I fall asleep, I'll die.”

“Nonsense,” I said, a bit too heartily. He took my hand and held it.

“Stay with me,” he begged. “Tell me your stories. Sing a ballad that I don't know.”

And that's when I became truly afraid. A jester cares nothing for the last rites of either half of the Church, but when he wants songs to ease his way, that's serious. I sang into the night, softly for an audience of one. He occasionally mouthed the words of the ballads he knew, or smiled at the punch lines he didn't know or encountered again as old friends. Finally, he drifted into sleep, and I sat by the bed, listening to his breathing. It was slow, but regular.

“You should get some rest, too,” said Viola, standing in the doorway.

“How long have you been here?” I whispered, rubbing my neck.

“I've lost track. I've been listening to you sing, a long-absent pleasure. And I wanted your advice on this situation. Should we alert the town now that we know he's here? At least tell Captain Perun.”

“No,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don't know who to trust outside of this room.”

She was silent, mulling it over. “You think the Captain is in league with him?” she asked.

“Maybe. He may even be him.”

“But surely you would have recognized him if that was the case.”

“I didn't get a good look, I just heard his voice.”

“Then you should move in here where you'll be safe.”

“No. That would alert too many prying eyes.”

“It would seem that part of your plan has failed. He knows who you are.”

“True, damn it. I'll consider it. I can still move more freely about the town as Octavius than as Feste.”

“So be it. But the offer stands. Get some sleep. We'll watch him.”

I bowed. “Many thanks, Milady. For everything.”

I left Zeus there for the night and borrowed a torch to light my way back to the Elephant. The guard at the gate recognized me and let me through without challenge. All was quiet. It must have been close to midnight, and even the most determined revelers were sleeping it off somewhere.

No signs of life in the Elephant, though a chorus of snores resonated from the back rooms. I drew my sword before ascending the stairs. The hallway was deserted. I stepped quickly past each doorway until I reached my room, then laughed quietly at my nerves. The room was empty.

Except that on the bed there lay a pair of yellow stockings, cross-gartered.

A few minutes later, I was banging at the gate of the villa, clutching my belongings. A sleepy and irritated Malachi emerged.