The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [35]
Erieso drew his rapier, a narrow, wicked length of steel. “Sorcel this, witch,” he snarled. “I’ve word that they’ll pay every bit as much for you dead, and my goodwill is all worn away.”
“What a big prickler for such little girls,” a woman taunted down from her balcony. “It’s good to see that real men have come to our street.”
“Rediana!” Anne called up, recognizing the woman. “They mean to kill us!”
“Oh, the duchess likes me now, does she?” Rediana called down. “Not like at the fish market yesterday, eh?”
Erieso snorted. “You’ll get no help here, cara,” he said.
An instant after he said it, an earthen crock full of something odious struck his companion squarely in the skull. The fellow dropped, squealing and pressing his head with his hands. Erieso yelped and began to dodge as he was pelted with rotten fruit and fish bones from more than one window.
His other men had arrived now, though, and they spread out to encircle the girls. They were forced to the middle of the street, where heavy objects couldn’t be thrown.
All the women on the street were shouting now.
“I’ll wager he’s got a limpet in his breeches,” one shouted. “Or a wet little snail, all curled for fear in its shell.”
“Go back to Northside, where you belong!”
But Erieso, safely out of range of anything dangerous, had ceased paying attention to the ladies of the neighborhood. He advanced on Anne and Austra once more.
“You can’t kill us, not in front of all these people,” she said.
“There are no people in the Perto Veto,” he said. “Only vermin. Even if someone here bothered to tell the tale, no one would listen.”
“A pity,” a new voice said. “For this tale shall have an interesting ending.”
“Cazio!” Austra cried.
Anne didn’t look—she could not take her gaze from the tip of Erieso’s sword, and she knew Cazio’s voice well enough by now.
“And who in the name of Lord Ondro are you?” Erieso asked.
“Why, I’m Cazio Pachiomadio da Chiovattio, and I’m the protector of these two casnaras,” he said. “And this is turning out to be a fine day, for I have someone to protect them from. I only wish you were not so clearly cowards—it cheapens my joy. But, no matter.”
Anne heard steel snick free of leather.
“Caspator,” Cazio said, speaking to his sword, “let’s us to work.”
“There’s six of us, you fool,” Erieso said.
Anne heard a quick motion behind her, a gasp, a gurgle.
“You count poorly,” Cazio said. “I make only five. Anne, Austra, come back. Quickly.”
Anne did as he instructed, nearly brushing Cazio as he slid past her, his sword held out in a level guard.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
Now the women were cheering. The fellow Cazio had already run through was dragging himself pitifully off the street as the swordsman engaged Erieso and the rest of his men. Anne wasn’t fooled by Cazio’s bravado, though—five were too many, even for him. As soon as they surrounded him . . .
But he showed little concern, fighting languidly, almost as if he were bored. He danced in, out, around, and for a moment actually had his opponents standing in a clump, all defending themselves at the same time.
But then their advantage sank in, and they began to flank him. Cazio parried one attack and did a strange sort of twist, binding up his opponent’s blade and forcing the point out to the side, where it pricked another of Erieso’s men. At the same time, Cazio’s point drove hard into his original target’s shoulder. Both men cried out and backed away, but neither seemed mortally injured.
“Za uno-en-dor,” Cazio told them, “my own invention. I—”
He broke off to parry a furious attack by Erieso, then quickly ducked a thrust from another quarter. He scuttled back, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid a third thrust, which hit him in the left shoulder. Cazio grunted and grabbed the blade to hold it there, but didn’t have time to run the fellow through, for they were all converging on him again.
“Cazio!” Austra cried in pure anguish.
Then a bottle struck one of the men in the head, bursting his ear