Blood Ties by C.C. Humphreys Page B

Gianni put his lips to his ear, and whispered, ‘Would that I could shed all my blood in what we are to do. And yet live to do it again and again and again.’
    He released the finger and Wilhelm rubbed it. The piece of tile had penetrated and there was more blood now.
    ‘Have a care, Gianni.’ He sucked at his finger.
    ‘Oh, I do.’ His dark eyes flashed. ‘I have a care for the Lord’s work.’
    The two grey-cloaked figures shrugged into the rain, heading for Trastevere.
    It fell in angled sheets, slanting into the ground, bouncing off olive trees, so heavy that the house in the centre of the grove shimmered as if insubstantial. The three shadows had gathered beneath the eaves, round a brick fire place, which they tried to stoke with a supply of sodden wood. They were having a little success, enough to keep them occupied, and the times between one of them leaving and walking around the house were growing further apart.
    Gianni dropped from the wall, landing beside the two Cubs. The hulking one, Bruno, was throwing his knife into the ground between his legs, rain cascading off his cloak, oblivious to all but the way the blade dug into the mud before him. The slight one, Piccolo, was trying to light two more oil lamps from the one cradled in his lap. Each time he took a taper from its shelter, however, the rain or wind snuffed it out.
    Gianni’s arm snapped forward, grabbing the handle of the dagger in mid-flight. Pointing the tip at Bruno he said, ‘Help him with the lamps. When they are all lit, take one to each of the others. Tell them to wait for the call. Then return.’
    He threw the dagger between the spread legs, close to the groin. Bruno flinched, sheathed the weapon, and hurriedly moved to obey. Cupped hands transferred the flame and soon all three oil lumps were lit. Taking two, Bruno moved off into the rain and around the corner of the wall.
    Gianni rested his back against the flaking plaster. The rain made a difference, but not that much. It might even help, concealing the Wolves’ approach, even if it did mean the flames of retribution would be harder to conjure.
    Raising his face to it, closing his eyes, Gianni allowed himself a smile.
    Thy will be done. As always .
    Then Bruno was back, a nod showing that all was prepared. Putting his foot into Bruno’s joined palms Gianni carefully raised his head above the parapet. As he did, he saw one of the shadows detach himself from the fireplace at the side of the house and move around the building, out of sight of his comrades. Another ten paces would carry him around the other wall to the welcoming grasp of Wilhelm, brought running by the cry Gianni was about to order. He looked down into Piccolo’s tensed face and nodded. Instantly, the boy threw back his head and let out a perfect imitation of a scavenging crow.
    Looking back into the yard, Gianni saw three things happen. A large log flew over the front gate, landing with a soft but distinct crunch on the gravelled path. This brought the two guards by the fire to their feet, turning toward the sound. At the same time the other guard, stopped, hesitated, then carried on around the corner. Pulling himself over the wall, landing in the soft earth there, already running as he landed, Gianni heard the thump of Piccolo close behind, the heavier thud of Bruno following. There was a shout from the far side of the house, a cry of alarm, then of pain, turning the other sentries for a moment. He was ten paces away when the first of the men turned back and five when the guard began reaching to the wide-mouthed arquebus resting under the eaves. Gianni dropped his shoulder, put it into the man’s chest at full charge, knocking him off his feet and hard against the wall. The second man swung a fist at him, but Gianni dodged, falling onto the back of the one now struggling to rise. He heard but did not see the blows as first the faster Piccolo and then the heavier Bruno caught the other man with their cudgels. Gianni