Wsim24B Ch 19

WSIM24B Chapter 19

"Well? Don't you have something smart to say?" asked Tasha, as she sneered at me.

- "I... I still win."

- "What?"

I was lying on the ground, pinned by my dead horse, looking up at her.

- "I still win. You killed Nika, and now you can kill me. But I got Anna, Will, and Faraz. The way I see it, that makes the score 3-2 for me."

Tasha stared at me for a moment. Then she surprised me by bursting into laughter.

- "You idiot! You think you

killed

them?" She snorted. "

All you did was kick them out of the Sim

!"

I was stunned. They weren't dead? Then, that meant...

- "Nika isn't dead?"

Tasha chuckled. "Not yet. I mean, after Will and Faraz get through raping her a few dozen times, and then extracting information, she may

wish

that she was dead. The same thing'll happen to you, too - minus the rape, unless Faraz

really

wants payback."

- "Extracting information?"

- "Torture, fuckwit. Anna and Faraz are really good at it. You'll be begging us to let you tell everything you know. Once we've squeezed you dry - you and your girlfriend - then we'll have a nice little team vote on the best way to kill you and get rid of your bodies. Personally, I like the idea of strangulation followed by spacing."

I had to grit my teeth, trying to ignore the pain in my leg. "You can't kill two ISEC agents and expect to get away with it."

She laughed. "Why not? We've done it before."

- "What?"

- "Face it, asshole: you fucked up. You accepted the wrong assignment, and your handler got you killed. But look at the bright side: you got lucky and survived in the Sim for nearly seventeen years. You got to live in a Palace and got laid a lot. Too bad that's all over."

- "That wasn't the best part." I said, stifling a groan. "Killing Anna. That was awesome. Will was almost too easy. But Anna? She died

hard

."

Tasha's lip curled.

- "You know, I wasn't going to kill your wife or kids, but I think I just changed my mind."

- "They're completely innocent!"

- "So? I kind of like the idea of you coming out of stasis, with nothing to look forward to except torture and death - but you'll still be able to remember that I wiped out every last member of your family -

including

the gardener and her little sprog."

- "You wouldn't."

- "Of course I would. I'll enjoy every minute of it. I might even let Francois and Pierre fuck your wife before I kill her. That's Francois over there." She turned, and pointed at the man in front of the stable.

You may wonder why I had tried to provoke her. Honestly? I was just trying to keep her occupied. Tasha turned back to sneer at me again. A moment later, she looked up, and an expression of mingled surprise and horror crossed her face, just before three crossbow bolts smashed into her body, and knocked her off her feet. She landed on her ass, and actually seemed to be sitting upright for a second, until she fell straight back.

I couldn't see everything that happened, but I heard the shouts in Spanish as Miguel, the Ramires brothers and the others charged into the farm's courtyard. Vicente came straight to me, and kicked the sword from Tasha's dead hand.

One of her henchmen died fighting; the other three tried to run, or to surrender. Miguel was having none of that. He did most of the strangling himself.

They had a hell of time getting the dead horse off my leg. I had a hell of a time trying not to cry as they did it. Through it all, Miguel kept looking at me with an 'I told you so' expression on his face.

***

Ten days earlier

I re-read the beginning of Alberini's message.

Will the Pope be celebrating his next birthday in public? After all, it's not every day that one turns 60. It should be a very special occasion.

That just felt... wrong. We had agreed to refer to a number that we both knew - without expressly naming it. The code numbers that followed were fine, but I couldn't shake a feeling of unease.

D has escaped. Asks for your protection. Will contact you with information about her location.

This was even more problematic. How could Alberini possibly know this? More important, though: how had Dorotea known of Alberini at all? She'd never met him. I'd never mentioned his name. Even if she did know

of

him (which I

highly

doubted), how could she know where to find him?

You have to remember that I'd been with Dorotea for a long time. Yes, we spent most of that time having sex, but there was plenty of time to talk in between. I'd learned a great deal about her.

First off, Dorotea had a fatalistic attitude; she went where the wind blew her. Her father married her off to a man she'd never met? Fine. I kidnapped her, and kept her as my mistress? Fine. I sent her back to her husband? Fine. I found it very hard to believe that she would take the initiative like this. To flee from her husband? It was very un-Dorotea-like.

Second, she'd never paid the least attention to Italian wars and politics. They just didn't seem to register with her. I don't mean to suggest that Dorotea was stupid, because she wasn't. But some things mattered to her (such as fine clothes, jewellery, and sex), while other things just didn't.

Third, why would she come back to me? We'd parted

nine

years ago. I'd made it clear that we were finished. Charlotte was coming to Italy, and I was done with mistresses - except for Gina, of course. I hadn't expected to keep Fiametta, either.

I pondered the matter overnight. The next day, I called on Miguel.

- "Who brought that message from Alberini yesterday?" I asked him.

- "Palmieri. Why?"

- "Do you know him?"

- "Not really." said Miguel. "But Diego does. A little, at least."

- "Alright. Would you ask Diego to come here, and then find Palmieri for me? Take a few men with you, just to be sure."

Miguel understood immediately. Palmieri might be suspicious, or might not want to cooperate. Miguel would avoid making a scene unless it was absolutely necessary.

Diego arrived shortly afterwards.

- "I'm told that you know Palmieri." I said.

- "Carlo? Yes, we've shared a bottle or two. He owes me money."

- "Oh?"

- "He owes Pedro, too."

- "How much?"

- "Me? Ten ducats."

- "What does he spend it on?"

Diego shrugged. "Clothes. Wine. Women."

Less than an hour later, Miguel returned with Palmieri. The messenger was short, with dark, thinning hair. His clothes

were

just a little too fine. I invited him to sit down.

- "Carlo," I said, "I have one simple question for you. That message you delivered yesterday: who gave it to you?"

Palmieri blinked. "Why... Signor Alberini, of course."

I sighed, and rose to my feet. "I'm sorry to hear you say that, Carlo. Because that's the wrong answer. Now I'm going to have to leave you with Miguel, and see if he can get the truth from you."

I'd never seen the blood drain from someone's face so quickly. Palmieri literally blanched. He knew of Miguel's fearsome reputation.

- "Wait - my Lord, please. It was... it was a Frenchman."

I raised an eyebrow.

"It was in Parma, Lord. He said that all I had to do was say that the message came from Alberini. I... I didn't see the harm in it."

- "You didn't see the harm in it? We're at war with France. That was a poor decision, Carlo. How much did he pay you?"

Palmieri hesitated for just a second. "Fifty ducats, Lord."

I sighed again. "You're really not a very good liar. One more lie and I'll leave you to Miguel."

Palmieri looked at the floor. "One hundred." he said.

- "Very well. Then here's what you're going to do. First, you'll pay off as many of your debts as you can, starting with the Ramires brothers. I don't want to find out tomorrow that you dodged any of your creditors. Do this right, and you can keep whatever money is left over."

- "Truly?" Palmieri had just a little glimmer of hope.

- "Yes. Then the day after tomorrow, I want you back here, bright and early. There's a message for Alberini that I need you to carry. Understood?"

- "Yes, Lord. Thank you, Lord."

- "Off you go, then."

Palmieri left, looking utterly relieved to be reprieved so easily. Miguel was frowning.

- "I'll keep a watch on his horse, in case he tries to bolt."

- "That's a good idea, but I don't think he will."

I was already 90% sure that the message from Alberini was a forgery before I'd called Palmieri in. Someone had broken our code. Cryptography wasn't unknown in Renaissance Italy, but I immediately suspected Captain Teck. We'd had the same ISEC training, after all.

All he had to do was intercept one of Alberini's messages to me, or mine to him. Teck wouldn't have been able to decipher it without the key, but he would have known, instantly, that we had to have a common key. And in 1502, there were only so many possibilities.

I had a busy afternoon, composing a pair of identical letters for Alberini. I explained how I thought our code had been broken, and outlined Palmieri's treachery. I suggested that we simply modify our code slightly, by adding seven to every number we used - including the opening instructions. If our enemies captured or somehow acquired any of our messages, they wouldn't be able to decipher them.

Then I wrote a separate, meaningless message for Alberini that Palmieri would carry.

Two messengers left the next morning, with a full day's head start on Palmieri. Miguel had had Palmieri followed, and then questioned everyone that he interacted with. The Ramires brothers got their money back, as did six other people. One of Palmieri's debts was quite large; by the time he had paid them all off, he had only 36 ducats left.

- "That's still too much." said Miguel.

I agreed. When Palmieri arrived to collect his message, I asked him how much money he had left.

- "Not very much, Lord."

- "How much?" I snapped.

- "Thirty-six ducats, Lord."

- "You are a slow learner, Carlo. And the other day, you lied to me twice. I think that you need to be reminded of how unwise that is. Ten ducats for each lie, I think. Does that sound fair to you, Miguel?"

- "Too generous by far."

Palmieri didn't like it, but he concluded - correctly - that he had no choice. He could console himself with the fact that he'd paid off his debt, had 16 ducats left, and was still alive. I gave him his useless message, and sent him on his way.

I had two riders follow him, to see if he met with anyone other than Alberini.

Four days later, Dorotea's message arrived.

My Dear Lord,

I have escaped the confinement imposed on me by my husband. I journey with only a few trusted companions, keeping to the least-travelled ways. I am at Voghiera this night, and hope to reach Molinella tomorrow. I fear, though, to simply appear at Imola, or Forli, or Cesena, to ask for your protection.

Please, Lord, let me know your will in this matter. I will await word from you at Molinella, at the inn of Master Bernardo.

I do hope that you still wish to see me, as I do you.

Your Dorotea

Wrong. So very wrong. Dorotea didn't have the courage or the initiative to travel across a war-torn country. The idea that she would dare something like this, but be afraid to turn up at Imola and Forli, was ludicrous.

I'd never seen Dorotea write anything, so I couldn't verify that this was her handwriting - but I knew her vocabulary. In my time, people texted without worrying about spelling or grammar, but in the olden days, it was the opposite. Writers used better language in letters, and included vocabulary that they would never have spoken aloud. But this was well beyond what Dorotea was capable of.

- "You're right, Miguel." I said. "It's a trap."

He let loose a deep sigh. "Thank God. You finally see it."

- "I suspected it all along. Now I'm certain. But I still have to go."

- "WHAT?"

- "If I don't, they'll only try again. And next time, we won't see it coming. Or they'll go after Charlotte, or the children. The only way to stop them is to trigger their trap, and take them."

We argued for quite a while. Miguel wanted me to take two companies of horse and surround Master Bernardo's inn. I told him that we didn't even know where it was, and that my enemies would have spies or scouts watching the approaches. They would be long gone before we could encircle them.

"Better the trap we know is there. If we avoid this, we have no way of knowing where they'll strike next. I'd rather risk my life than my children. Or my wife."

"It's still madness, Pilgrim." he said.

- "Maybe. But we'll do it my way."

***

Miguel and Diego took charge at the farm, while Vicente stood guard over me. I discovered that while my knee hurt, and my ankle ached, I had a terrible sharp pain in my hip whenever I tried to move.

Diego found two women in the house, bound and gagged. They had been beaten and raped multiple times. They were Master Bernardo's wife and daughter.

Miguel found three bodies in the stable. One was Master Bernardo. The other two were his sons. The younger boy looked to be only twelve or thirteen. Miguel allowed Bernardo's wife to watch as he garroted Tasha's henchmen.

We left the bereaved women all of the contents of Tasha's purse, and anything of value that her men carried, plus three of their horses. We took their weapons, and two of their horses, which we harnessed to a cart belonging to the farm.

That was for me, because there was no way that I could ride. I couldn't even stand.

I thought that my ISEC training had largely inured me to pain. Wrong again. That little cart was a torture device. The wooden wheels seemed to find every rut and every hole on the path. Every bump, every abrupt motion sent a shooting stab of pain through my hip.

After a mile or so, I had to call a halt. I wasn't going to make it.

Diego had a solution. He produced a wineskin, and encouraged me to drink it all. Three of the men rode back to Molinella, and returned soon afterwards with several bottles of wine. Doctor Diego insisted that I drink them.

I drank until I passed out.

It's 30 or 40 kilometres from Molinella to Imola. It's another 30 to Forli. Without consulting the patient, who was largely comatose, Miguel and Diego decided to take me all the way to my wife, in Forli.

I don't think I had ever been that drunk. Pedro Ramires admitted to me afterwards that I had vomited several times, and soiled myself as well. They poured an entire barrel of rainwater over me to clean me up. I didn't remember any of that. But I dreamed - or, rather, I experienced a nightmare - and I remembered

all

of that.

I dreamt of Nika, with confused and disturbing images of her being abused by Anna, Will and Faraz flickering through my brain. I heard Tasha's voice again: "Torture, fuckwit. Anna and Faraz are really good at it. You'll be begging us to let you tell everything you know. Once we've squeezed you dry - you and your girlfriend - then we'll have a nice little team vote on the best way to kill you and get rid of your bodies. Personally, I like the idea of strangulation followed by spacing."

It was nauseating stuff - and it

wouldn't

stop.

I woke up to a much more pleasant sight: my wife Charlotte, sitting beside my bed.

- "Thank God you're safe." she said.

***

On her own initiative, Charlotte had sent to Ravenna for a renowned Jewish physician. She knew that I wouldn't let a barber-surgeon or a Christian monk anywhere near me.

Master Avram endeared himself to me from the very start. For one thing, he didn't immediately suggest bleeding me. His initial examination consisted of asking me questions, and then asking my permission to gently touch my foot, my knee, and my hip.

- "Your foot is broken." he said. "That is bad, because there are many small bones there, and they may never set properly. When you walk again, it will most likely be with a limp."

- "I'll walk again?"

- "Of course. It will take time, though. Time, and effort. Your knee is merely wrenched. That is the least of your injuries. The hip is more problematic. It will take months to heal. You mustn't try to put any weight on it until the bone has mended. After a few weeks, you can try to move your knee and your leg, while remaining in bed. You mustn't lose your ability to move entirely."

- "So I'm to lie in bed for weeks? Months?"

- "If you wish to speed your recovery, drink milk, and eat cheese. Meat is also good. Do you like fish?"

- "Yes."

- "That is helpful, too." he said. "Try to be of good cheer. You have family and friends nearby. And remember that you are very, very lucky."

- "Can you stay, Doctor?" asked Charlotte.

- "I cannot, Lady. I have other patients who need attention. But I will return in a month - or perhaps six weeks, to see how the Duke fares. He is not yet too old. I am confident that he will recover."

Old? I was only forty-one.

I got milk and cheese for lunch that day.

***

I wasn't feverish, but I did have some strange dreams. Most of them centred around Nika, my ISEC partner. I'd honestly thought that she was dead, murdered on one of our first days in the Sim. To discover that she was still alive, though, was worse, now that I knew that she was a prisoner of Anna, Will and Faraz. Had Tasha been lying about what they would do to Nika? Knowing those three as I did, I didn't think so.

She would be interrogated, tortured and abused, and then murdered again - this time for real. And the same fate awaited me.

But that was still years away. There was no point dwelling on it.

In the meantime, I did have friends and family nearby. Gina sat by my bed on rainy days, or in the evening, and frequently brought our daughter, Maria Elise, who was now six, going on seven. She was a shy, serious little girl, but I coerced her into practicing her reading for me.

Gina wanted - or I should say, expected - her daughter to follow in her footsteps, and become a gardener.

- "That's fine," I said, "if that's what

Maria

wants. I promise you both, I will not arrange a marriage for her without her consent. But she'll have an education, all the skills you can teach her,

and

some money, so that she can choose her own path, if she wishes."

I still remembered what Elena had told me: that she was much happier as a widow than she had ever been as a wife. And while Fiametta may not have been an ideal role model, I was fairly certain that there were many women who envied her. I wasn't going to force Maria into a marriage, especially since I wouldn't be around for her 14th birthday.

Charlotte brought the rest of the children to see me almost every day. Luisa was six, and a wonder. She'd inherited or adopted her mother's kindness, but could talk a mile a minute if you let her get started. My son Nicola was five, and yet to learn how to walk - not when he could run, or jump about. Baby Isabelle was still being carried about by her nurses.

My wife was an angel, but a bossy one. She insisted that my bedding or my clothing be changed, supervised my meals so that I was getting what the doctor had recommended, but not in such quantities that would make me put on weight, given that I was completely unable to exercise. She made sure that I had lots of company, and books to read.

Charlotte was bright, but she had a deep well of common sense, and she recognized early on that there were more ways than one to cheer me up. One evening, she brought in a wet cloth, and lifted up my shirt so that she could wipe my armpits. Since a long shirt was all that I wore, my chest and stomach weren't the only things exposed.

She calmly proceeded to wash my cock and balls with her cloth, and then took me in her mouth.

I was more than surprised - but I'd been celibate for months, having been away at the wars. I wasn't about to do or say anything to interrupt her ministrations (except to make a few appreciative noises). I came in torrents, and she swallowed almost all of it. Then she washed me again with her cloth.