Caprice and Rondo - Dorothy Dunnett [221]
‘Able to look after his own, even at a distance,’ said Aunty Bel. She held out her hand for the slow match.
‘I can see that,’ said the jouster. He had big dark eyes, and a dent in his chin, and the kind of teeth Mistress Clémence wanted to see Jodi have next. Jodi wished that Mistress Clémence was here, although he was glad to have Raffo behind him. The jouster said, ‘But does he have a writ that runs in the Curia? You may not know my latest appointment. Fate — and the good Prosper Camulio — have made me a Pustule Collector. You might say that I have come to collect your small charge.’
He seemed to think he had made a joke. He was probably not a Pustule Collector. Aunty Bel gave a grunt. ‘And you might say that the charge failed to go off,’ she said, in a steady way, going on with priming the gun.
It annoyed the jouster. He stopped making jokes. He said, ‘Take that thing from her and get rid of the man.’
Aunty Bel stopped what she was doing. Raffo stepped forward. Several jousters started to run in as if they meant to hurt him and then slowed down, looking over their shoulders. One of them stumbled and fell. Others bumped into each other and went sideways.
‘Mercy me!’ said a loud voice. ‘What have we done, Mistress Bel? Come to mend the roof like we said, and here, we’ve jiggled your guests, and spoiled all their lovely new tunics.’ And sure enough, the loaded sacks now being carried into the room were dribbling powder all over the jousters.
There were far more workmen than jousters, and the leader, who had big shoulders and black brows and a squashed face like a wrestler, was a much stronger-looking man than the Pustule Collector. Indeed, whatever a pustule might be, the newcomer didn’t seem to be afraid of him. He swung his load down, stood before him, and smiled. Jodi recognised him. He was a friend of Aunt Kathi’s brother Sersanders. He said, ‘Hello, Jodi!’ And then, turning back to the Pustule, ‘Hello, David.’
‘Well, Andro. I thought we were on the same side.’
‘We only came through the same door,’ the roof-mender said. ‘And now you’re going out by it.’ He took a look behind him. ‘And fast. She’s finished priming it.’
Jodi gazed at his wee aunt. She had indeed finished preparing the hackbut. She had settled it. She was aiming it. A spiral of smoke rose from the match. She was staring at the roof-mender, and the roof-mender was looking back with a certain expression. It was the look Mistress Clémence put on, without speaking, when she wanted Jodi to bow or say thank you. Aunty Bel didn’t bow or say thank you. She just tightened her mouth, and set the match to the touch hole.
The leading jouster gave a cry of annoyance and ran forward, knocking the hackbut aside. It exploded. Raffo pulled Jodi back and jumped at the Pustule Collector, so that their swords clacked and screamed. The roof-mender swung his bag at the Collector, hitting him on the shoulder. As he staggered, Aunty Bel pushed him hard, and he fell. There was a rumbling noise high above, and everyone opened their mouths and looked up as a hole appeared in the ceiling, and bits of wood and showers of grit and sections of plaster, big as tally-boards, began to fall down on them. Jodi sat down. The roof-mender sat down as well, as one of the biggest bits hit him. Aunty Bel, her headgear bent and full of pockets of plaster, cried out and jumped up to go to him. The Pustule Collector, his face and lips and eyelashes white, jerked up his sword and brought it whistling down on her head. But Raffo was there first.
Jodi shrieked. The roof-mender got up. Through the whirling fog, you could see that the other men had stopped fighting. His Aunty Bel stood where she was, covered in powder, with one hand gripping her chair. On the floor was someone else covered in powder, except that it was all turning red. Jodi’s Raffo. And above him the man whose big sword had hit him, the Pustule Collector called David. There was red all over his sword, but it was getting salty-looking with white. He said,