Prince Charming (10 page)

Dani stared icily down the road. “Of course not, and may I remind you, sir, you are speaking of Ascencion’s future king.” Archly she reminded herself that that fact had not stopped her from kicking Rafe the Rake where it counted.

Bulbati seemed satisfied with her answer. He straightened up in the saddle again with a smug look. “Actually, my dear, I have news from the city that may surprise you.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes, a morsel, indeed.”

She waited, but it pleased him to gloat with his secret.

“Aren’t you curious?” he goaded, glancing at her with an eager lick of his rubbery lips.

She looked away in disgust. “What is your news, my lord?” she asked irritably.

“Very well, I shall tell you. This morning, quite without notification, His Majesty sailed off on a leisure voyage with the queen and little Prince Leo. The royal rogue has been dubbed prince regent for the duration of the king’s absence!”

She turned and stared at him, feeling as though she had been kicked in the stomach by a mule. “Are you quite sure of this?” she forced out.

He preened. “The whole island talks of nothing else.”

Dani and Mrs. Gabbiano exchanged a glance of dread. The transfer of monarchal power to Prince Rafael boded ill indeed for the boys.

Then Dani noticed the greedy light burning in Count Bulbati’s eyes, and could fairly see the gold coins dancing in his head. He was staring off into the distance, no doubt musing that with that royal joker on the throne, he and his ilk could get away with anything they liked, and who would punish them?

Without King Lazar at the helm, Ascencion was going to be in chaos.

“Where did you say you were headed, my dear?” Bulbati asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“I did not say,” she replied rather sharply. Must the man know every detail of her business? They were not far from the count’s own driveway now.

“Oh,
well
, far be it from me to pry,” he said in bland reproach. “Who am I but your good Christian neighbor, come to look after your safety?”

“I’m going into town,” she growled.

“But whatever for?” he whined. “You hate the city, my dear.”

She glared at him. “Charity work. I am going to visit the poor. Do you wish to join me?”

His small, piglike eyes shot open. He yanked out his fob watch. “Oh, me, look at the time. I have to be getting back home. It’s nearly time for lunch. Perhaps next time, my dear. Oh, here’s home. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to join me for refreshments?”

“Thank you, sir, but we are in a rush. You may keep all your delightful cakes to yourself.”

“Oh, yes, yes!” His eyes lit up.

They bade him goodbye, laughing to themselves as he posted his way on his suffering horse up his own drive. Mrs. Gabbiano shook her head, flipped the reins over the gray’s back, and they picked up their pace.

Soon it was sweltering noon under a blaring blue sky, and Mrs. Gabbiano flailed the reins, hotly warning pedestrians out of her path as she negotiated the big, clumsy wagon through the bustling streets of Belfort. Dani wished the cart would stop lurching about, considering that just outside the city she had stopped and strapped the three homemade clay bombs to her thigh.

It was the only way she could think of to smuggle them into the jail. The fist-sized clay balls were packed with enough gunpowder to blow a three-foot hole in the wall of the boys’ cell.

Ahead, the piazza looked even busier than usual, while above them, laundry dried on lines, flapping in the sultry breeze that gusted down the narrow cobbled street.

Just as they reached the square, the cathedral bells began to toll for the noon Mass, but over the resounding knells, Dani heard a banging sound. She looked over at the middle of the square and saw men building a gallows. Chills ran down her spine in spite of the oppressive heat.

An enormous crowd mulled about in the square, abuzz with the news of the capture of the Masked Rider’s gang and Prince Rafael’s rise to power. The mood in the air was tense. Old men with closed, sun-hardened faces under slouch hats smoked cigars and muttered in groups. Women made their way toward the church for Mass. Children darted through the crowd, screeching and sword-fighting with sticks. There was a long line for water rations, three jars per household per day, doled out under the watchful eyes of soldiers.

Vendors hawked red peppers, zucchinis, oranges, apricots, and grapes from their temporary stalls. An old woman was selling flowers from a basket strapped to the back of a donkey. Carriages rumbled around the four streets that formed the square, the horses’ harnesses jangling, but all the while the rhythmic clapping of the hammers rang in the background as the prince’s men built the scaffold for her friends and—if she was caught—for her.

Mrs. Gabbiano and she exchanged a grim look, then continued on to the livery stable which the woman’s brother-in-law managed. They left the cart and Dani’s gelding there. Dani buried the sack containing her equipment under a pile of hay in her horse’s stall. Then she and the widow linked arms and marched resolutely toward the jail, hearing murmurs in the crowd here and there from clusters of people who claimed that the Masked Rider would surely come to rescue his gang. Others vowed they would wait in the square to catch a glimpse of the famed outlaw for themselves.

Dani trembled to hear these votes of confidence amid the crowd and did her best to ignore them, focusing on the task at hand.

Crossing one of the noisy streets, a huge, creaking, jangling wagon passed, nearly running them down. Dani jumped back, pulling Mrs. Gabbiano out of the way. As it rumbled by, she saw that it was carrying a bizarre assortment of huge, gaudy mummers’ masks. It was heading in the direction of the princes’ mysterious pleasure dome. The masks were probably part of the evening’s entertainment for his birthday ball, she supposed. The party would probably be the wildest the island had ever seen, considering that Rafael’s father had given him a country for his birthday.

Finally, at the edge of the square, the two women crossed the street and climbed the forbidding steps to the entrance of Belfort Gaol. They told the soldiers out front who they were and gained admittance into the dim antechamber, where they pleaded with the warden for a visit.

Mrs. Gabbiano did the talking while Dani stood beside her, her gaze downcast. She concentrated on looking timid and demure, acutely aware, meanwhile, of the bombs snugly secured to her limb. Her heart was pounding wildly, almost with giddy thrill. She couldn’t believe she was getting away with this—standing here in the heart of the jail while untold dozens of soldiers were out combing the countryside for the Masked Rider.

“All right, all right, I don’t want to hear no bawlin’. You can see ’em,” the scarred, surly hulk of a warden grumbled at last, waving off a fly that buzzed around him. He led them down a dank, dark hall. At the end of it, he opened a thick door with a small barred window. “Ten minutes,” he growled, banging the door shut behind them.

Dani stood out of the way while Mrs. Gabbiano tearfully embraced her sons one by one. Poor Alvi’s spectacles were cracked, and big, gentle Rocco looked the worse for wear. She could well imagine that the jailers had singled him out, for smaller men were always ganging up on Rocco and trying to bait him into a fight, though he scarcely owned a temper to lose. Mateo, on the other hand, seemed so incensed he could hardly bring himself to speak. Indeed, all the boys were strangely silent.

“But where is my Gianni?” Mrs. Gabbiano asked suddenly. “Where is my
bambino
? I want to see him.”

The older boys all looked away.

“What is going on here? Where is Gianni? Tell me what is going on!” the woman cried suddenly, her voice full of panicky maternal instinct. “What have they done with my baby?”

Then Dani and Mrs. Gabbiano listened in shocked, horrified silence as Mateo broke the news. “Last night a man came and took him away.”

“Who was it?” Dani breathed.

“I don’t know his name. I never saw him before. He was young and the warden called him ‘my lord.’ He told us he was here on the prince’s orders. I think he was one of Prince Rafael’s friends.”

“Was Gianni released?” she cried.

Mateo glared. “No. The man made it clear that if we didn’t tell the Masked Rider’s identity, we would never see Gianni again.”

With that, something inside of Dani snapped. The cell seemed to grow smaller, crowding her in. She stood there frozen while the unflappable Mrs. Gabbiano grew frantic, crying and wailing to see her child.

Dani barely heard, wrapped up in shocked dread. She had utterly failed to foresee this disaster.

She had asked Prince Rafael to help the child. She had certainly never imagined that he would separate Gianni from the others and use him as a pawn to root out the Masked Rider’s identity. He was more cunning than she’d realized—and more ruthless.

Mrs. Gabbiano brushed off big Rocco, who tried to comfort her.

Dani turned to Mateo. “Where have they taken him?”

“I don’t know for certain,” her friend said gravely. “There, I think.” He pointed to the window.

Her gaze followed the line of his finger. As though in a trance, she walked to the cell window and stared out it while the boys tried to calm their mother.

From the window, she could see the gallows in the square, the fiercely armed soldiers patrolling the crowd. And over the trees, she saw the spun-sugar spires of Prince Rafael’s pleasure dome.

As she half-listened to Mrs. Gabbiano’s angry crying and her sons’ attempts to soothe her, her will turned to steel.

Rafael di Fiore,
she thought,
this is war
.

Stalking out of the line of sight of the small window in the cell door, she bade the boys look away, quickly lifting the hem of her petticoat over one knee to produce the bombs and the flint. Her hem fell again. Then she took Mateo aside, leaving the other two to comfort their mother.

“Use these at midnight,” she ordered him in a fierce whisper. “Stack them on the windowsill, and when you hear the cathedral bells chime twelve, light the fuses. Turn this table onto its side and hide behind it to protect yourselves from the blast. The rope is to help you lower yourselves down. I will create a distraction below and your mother will be waiting with the cart. You will drive to the coast, where Paolo will be waiting with his fishing boat to take you to the mainland. I have given your mother gold to help you make your way to Naples to your kin.”

“What about my brother?” he asked as he hastily hid the items under his straw pallet on the floor. “We can’t escape without him.”

“I’ll get Gianni out of there,” she said in fierce quiet, staring at the distant dome and spires.

“No, you won’t!” Mateo said in an angry whisper, stalking over to her. “You shouldn’t even be here, Dani! You’re the one they’re after!”

“I can do it.” She did not turn to him. She didn’t want him to see her fear. “I got you all into this, and I’ll get you out.”

He began forbidding her to involve herself any further and lecturing her in his usual elder-brotherly way, but Dani wasn’t listening. Her thoughts were on her enemy.

She had been in her element last night on the King’s Road when she had clashed unexpectedly with Prince Rafael.

Tonight she must travel into his world of glitter and sin.

She was going to the ball.

Afternoon shadows patterned the marble floor in the small side gallery where Orlando stood in preternatural silence, his back pressed to the wall, his expression cold as he listened intently to the conversation in the next room.

“As I’ve t-told you, Your Highness,” the royal physician said, stammering with distress, “I tested His Majesty on these five different dates for the ingestion of various poisons, and though the symptoms are similar, no taint in the king’s food or drink was found.”

“And how do I know that you can be trusted? How do I know that if my father has some unknown enemy, you are not party to the plot?” the prince demanded harshly.

“Are you suggesting a conspiracy, Your Highness?” the old doctor asked in bewilderment. “Am I accused?”

Orlando listened, interested indeed in his reply, but for a long moment, Rafe was silent.

“That remains to be seen. I am taking these files to be examined by some other physicians to study your findings.”

“As you wish, Your Highness. By all means, I have done all that is in my power for His Majesty. If I knew of any further procedure to help him—!”

“Has anyone else worked on this case?”

“Only Dr. Bianco.”

“Where can I find him?”

“Why, sir, he passed away three months ago.”

Orlando tensed in the silence that followed.

“How?” Rafe demanded.

“In his sleep, Your Highness. He had suffered with a weak heart for several years.”

“Where are his notes on my father’s condition? I’ll take them, too.”

“Naturally, sir. I will find them for you. You have my full cooperation….”

Orlando slid away from the wall while the old man was still groveling. He turned and stalked silently down the hallway, deserting his post before the prince left the physician’s study.

Bloody goddamn.

After years of careful planning, living in bitterness up to his throat, Orlando had not anticipated this twist of events. It was not supposed to happen this way. Everything had gone to hell in a matter of hours.

He had to find Cristoforo before Rafe did. That was all he knew. There was little time to bury evidence.

Fortunately, he had purged Dr. Bianco’s case files on the king after he had sent the meddling old man to his Maker. Still, Rafe was on the right track. Soon he might well launch an all-out investigation, and Orlando had to remain at least one step ahead of him.

Orlando nodded pleasantly to a pair of ladies in the main corridor of the palazzo on his way out the front entrance, then asked an attentive servant to have his horse saddled and brought to him. He waited, lighting a cheroot and brooding.

His position could be worse, he supposed, exhaling smoke and squinting against the vibrant sun. The king was not dead, but at least His Majesty and that irksome cherub Leo were out of the way. That only left Rafael, who worried Orlando not at all. The game was far from over. Besides, he was adaptable; how else could he have survived the nightmares he’d known?