Knives Don't Have Your Back: Chapter III
Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood
Rated: NC17 (NC17 overall)
Word Count: 6,701 / 90,339
Knives Don't Have Your Back
† III †
Power. Authority. Confidence. Normalcy.
It was weird to attach such powerful feelings to a garment, but Teodor found himself not giving a damn. He had his coat back and it was wonderful.
“I wanted to reinforce some of the embroidery on the bottom,” the tailor said nervously, hovering around Teodor like some kind of annoying bird. “Can’t have such fine, uh, detail going to waste and I thought...well, I mean-”
“That would be acceptable,” Teodor said. He turned to the left, then the right, the coattails flapping gloriously with each twist of his hips. He knew he should feel slightly ridiculous, but once he had put on each piece of his uniform he felt better than he had in two weeks. He finally felt whole, or at least a little less vulnerable.
The tailor hummed in agreement. Teodor eyed himself in the mirror, smoothing a hand down over his chest. He looked a little odd without spaulders or any sort of armor, but he doubted anyone was going to attack him in the middle of a tailor’s shop. He had taken his injured arm out of his sling only momentarily and had been pleased with the lack of pain and slight increase in mobility he had found.
“Is there...uh...anything else you would like? I am very glad the coat meets your expectations, sir. If you need anything-”
“This will be all,” Teodor interrupted. He gave his reflection one last look before shrugging off the coat. “And the shirts,” he added, using the demand to distract the tailor from the awkward bending of his injured arm as he handed the coat over.
“Right away.”
Teodor watched the tailor scurry off to another room, raising an eyebrow at the man’s anxious demeanor. He suspected the man was hiding something but he couldn’t figure out what it would be. People were nervous around Teodor for two reasons-he was threatening them with bodily harm or he looked like he was thinking about threatening them with bodily harm. Since he was doing neither of these things Teodor was forced to chalk it up to a high strung personality or a fear of men with slings.
The mending would take awhile, so Teodor settled in to wait. He was running a good deal of errands today and debated going to the blacksmith’s while he waited for his clothes but decided against it. The tailor would be even more of a wreck if he returned with an armful of weapons and Teodor could only carry so many items one-handed.
Waiting also gave Teodor an excuse for some self-indulgence. He gave one last glance towards the door the tailor had disappeared through before finding a bench and settling in. With some barely muted enthusiasm Teodor opened up his satchel and pulled out a book. It was a slim volume with a green cover and exquisitely bound. Teodor smoothed his hand over the leather cover before opening it.
Teodor loved to read. He loved to learn about things. He felt powerful with the information he gathered from books and occasionally gleeful in the discovery of an art or subject that was foreign to his peers. He had long grown used to the odd glances and smirks thrown his way from other soldiers or military men. Their complaints or jeers were easily silenced when Teodor put his knowledge to the test out on the battlefield. If Teodor snuck in a few other texts that dealt with engineering or myth well...that was his secret. Books were comforting to Teodor-they helped him preserve men’s lives in times of war and on the darker days they provided a welcome escape.
Teodor had taken this book from one of Malfatto’s dusty bookshelves. He had selected it from a row of handwritten books, suspecting them to be Malfatto’s medical journals. He had pocketed one of the volumes at random, not wanting Malfatto to discover him borrowing from his private collection. The doctor had a surprising number of books, causing Teodor to grow curious about Malfatto’s sources of income. While Malfatto had never officially confirmed his employment by the Borgia, Teodor was growing increasingly sure of his suspicions-no one could afford such a library by charging peasants by the potion.
He was feeling more comfortable with the man now. Between Teodor’s suspicions and Malfatto’s distant yet strangely tender care he felt assured that Malfatto wouldn’t attempt to kill him. This was mostly due to the fact that Teodor had slept through most of his days and during his brief moments of consciousness Malfatto had neither poisoned nor stabbed anyone. Or if he did, at least he had the decency to do it while Teodor was asleep.
If Teodor was being honest with himself this was probably the more likely scenario. For two nights Malfatto had left the shop and quietly warned Teodor to not touch anything. While he was too tired and too intimidated to explore the first evening, the next night was a totally different matter. Curiosity had bested his anxiety and Teodor touched everything.
The main room was the first to fall to his snooping. He had already seen most of it from the comfort of his pallet but the bookshelves and high cabinets practically begged for a closer look. He was greatly intrigued by the large roller desk the doctor used, but to Teodor’s disappointment the hood and drawers were locked. He kept away from the glassware and half-mixed concoctions on the brewing table.
Aside from the books, the cabinets and higher shelves provided the most interesting items. Interesting, disturbing, delightful-Teodor wasn’t sure what to call them. Instead of the expected dusty glassware or extra blades and saws for surgery, Teodor found a menagerie of bottled insects. And not just the anticipated jars of leeches and maggots, but a wide variety of insects, some which Teodor couldn’t even name. He recognized most of them as butterflies, or perhaps moths. In the back of most of the cupboards were display boxes full of dead butterflies, pinned and dried in almost every color. However, most of Malfatto’s butterflies were alive, fluttering in jar upon jar. Each container was topped with cloth to allow for air and inside were leaves and twigs. If, or what, Malfatto fed them remained a mystery.
Teodor didn’t know any medicinal reason to keep a vast array of butterflies hostage in one’s home. After realizing that most of the jars were positioned strategically so they could be seen from the desk and tables he assumed Malfatto simply liked them. That thought immediately had him picturing Malfatto frolicking through gardens and fields in full leathers eagerly grabbing at passing bugs. It was the first time he had laughed since coming back to Roma. Even thinking of it now made him smile.
After the discovery of the butterflies the other two rooms had been a bit of a letdown. The room near the desk was home to five beds, two tubs and little else. One high window let in a scant amount of light. It was for the best, Teodor thought, watching the shadows hide the stains on the walls and floor. This is where he poisons people, Teodor thought. This is where he saves people.
The hallway was boring, as hallways should be. It led to the front entrance and a side door that accessed what he guessed to be Malfatto’s storefront. The store was also accessible from the main room and the street, in case Malfatto had to leave or enter quickly. It was filled with the usual potions and poultices which was slightly disappointing. Malfatto had a street cart wedged in the back and a small stool behind the front counter. There was one other door Teodor had seen in the main room, but it remained firmly locked. He assumed it led to Malfatto’s private quarters, but he had never seen the man use it. An unknown door bothered him ferociously, but he put it to rest by imagining what sort of oddities Malfatto might keep in his personal chambers. More butterflies, obviously, he decided. Teodor wondered where he hung that damned mask. Maybe he slept in it and the beak poked holes in the pillows.
“Signore?” came a voice, interrupting Teodor’s thoughts. He slammed his unread book shut on instinct, looking up to meet the nervous eyes of the tailor. “Your order is ready,” the man said with a watery smile. Teodor belatedly realized he was half-grinning, humored by the idea of Malfatto wandering blindly around the shop with a pillow stuck to his face.
Teodor schooled his features accordingly. “About time,” he said gruffly. “I’ll join you in a minute.” The tailor paled and scurried away.
Teodor stood to follow, pausing to put his book back in the satchel. The bag was difficult to manage with only one good arm, but necessary because of it at the same time. Teodor had just managed to sling the strap across his neck and shoulder when he turned the corner into the other room. What he saw next was altogether surprising.
The tailor was bent over the counter with his backside to Teodor. The tailor’s boots scraped hopelessly against the floor, his knees knocking against the wood as he fought to stand. His hands were mangled at the wrists by what seemed like long, deep cuts. Blood was pouring from the wounds, coating the man’s fingers and counter like red waves at tide as he struggled to free himself. There was a hand clenched around the base of the tailor’s neck, holding him face down against the wood and pooling blood.
Snick.
Teodor couldn’t believe it. Baltasar looked up when Teodor came into view. His look of surprise was subtle and quick before his eyes locked with Teodor’s.
“Behind you, Viscardi.”
Teodor ducked low and spun blindly, the satchel whirling around his body like a chained mace. He heard the bag hit flesh and suddenly felt the weight of his assailant as he tripped. He grunted and moved with the weight, allowing the attacker to roll right across his back and to the ground. Teodor stood, rounding on the enemy, cursing at the sling that held his bad arm. A man was tumbling across the ground, trying to gain distance from Teodor’s boots and unsheathe his knife. His clothes were shoddy, his agility was noticeably great, and the crudely-fastened knife was a dead giveaway-another thief.
Unarmed and one-handed, Teodor dove for the man’s weapon. The thief sucked and gasped for air as Teodor came down on him, one knee going for the stomach, the other for the shoulder. Teodor grabbed for the knife, crushing the thief’s wrist in his strong grasp. The man recovered enough to get his other hand free and went for the strap of the satchel, brutally twisting it into a leathery noose. Teodor saw red and felt his eyes bulge as his breath left him. Unbalanced but now thoroughly angry, Teodor harshly jerked at the leather strap like a wild horse. The movement didn’t break the man’s hold, but it made the thief choose between focusing on the strap or the knife. As the man shook and pulled at the leather, Teodor cruelly wrenched the man’s wrist backwards until the bones gave with a low snap, burying the knife in the thief’s shoulder. The thief screamed, his broken hand falling away. Teodor twisted the knife and slashed at the man’s chest through darkening vision until the thief lay still.
As soon as he was able, Teodor dropped the knife and clawed at the strap across his neck. He unwound the satchel from his throat and all but threw the bag across the floor, gasping for breath. The string holding his sling in place felt like wire on his abused flesh and he hurriedly yanked it free. He slid off the thief’s body and crouched dizzily on the ground, scanning the room with glassy eyes for any other surprises.
“Viscardi?” came Baltasar’s voice. The snick of the razor sounded in the room, followed by the wet sound of the tailor screaming into his own blood-soaked counter.
“It’s done,” Teodor said hoarsely. He stood slowly, ignoring how the corners of his vision slowly curled black and blurry. He touched a hand to his neck and face, feeling the heat there. He took in the sight of the tailor, miserable under Baltasar’s cruel expression.
“It would seem you made quite an impression on the thieves of Venezia,” Baltasar said. “The tailor was paid to let that man-” Baltasar pointed his bloody razor to the fresh corpse on the ground “-act as his courier.”
Teodor frowned. It was a good plan. No doubt he would have arranged for such service since he was currently disabled. He would have led the thieves straight to his estate.
The tailor squirmed. “I’m sorry. Oh god,” he wailed, twitching under Baltasar’s grip. “I’m so sorry. I needed...I needed the money. It was only this once, I swear. I-”
“Quiet,” Teodor snapped. The tailor whimpered. His face was pale as milk and his hands flapped about in the pools of blood. Baltasar had sliced deep enough to render them useless. Teodor sighed, then nodded at Baltasar. “Let him go.”
Baltasar gave him an incredulous look but lifted his hand. The tailor cried out as he slid from the counter to the floor, smearing the wood red. He curled on his stomach, sobbing openly. Teodor could barely make out the blubbered thank you between wails.
“So it would seem there’s a price on my head,” Teodor said, pulling the knife from the thief’s body.
“Unlikely,” Baltasar replied. “My contact said it was more personal.”
Teodor sighed and turned, evaluating his options. The lack of an assassination contract meant less assailants, but the few who were wont to kill him would stop at nothing to do so. Examples must be made.
Teodor walked over and crouched by the trembling tailor. The man turned to look at him, wounded arms drawn against his chest. “Shh,” said Teodor, moderating his scratchy voice into something resembling soothing. He gingerly cupped the man’s jaw with his bad hand. “I know a good doctor. You’ll be fine.”
The tailor looked up at Teodor, his tears cutting clean tracks through the blood on his face. Teodor smiled kindly as the man closed his eyes, relaxing into Teodor’s hold.
“Thank you,” the man said. Teodor raised the knife high above his head. “My wife-”
Quickly, Teodor slammed the blade into the top of the tailor’s skull. Betrayed, the man gurgled helplessly for a moment before going still, his eyes stuck wide and gaping. Teodor had no interest in hearing about wives or families.
When Teodor stood, Baltasar had an impressed expression on his face, primly cleaning his blade with a handkerchief. Teodor wiped his own blade on his ruined shirt. How Baltasar managed to slice a man to ribbons and avoid any splatter was a mystery. Baltasar examined the blade, found it passed muster and gave it an experimental flick.
Snick.
“We’ll leave the bodies here, propped up,” Teodor said, eyeing Baltasar. “It probably won’t dissuade any of my murderers but at least it will give them pause.”
Baltasar looked pleased with the plan and suspicious of Teodor at the same time. “You always were rather quick,” he said levelly.
Teodor kept Baltasar’s stare. “As are you,” he replied, thinking on how the barber had seemingly materialized within the tailor’s shop. “My thanks. I’m glad you acted on your information so readily.”
“My pleasure,” Baltasar said, his tone dripping with just that. Teodor shuddered and held a hand to his neck to cover it. He moved away from the counter to collect his satchel and sling and mused on what to do next. He knew he couldn’t go home and staying at an inn was outright suicide-too many people were too easily bought and he’d be located in under an hour.
Baltasar seemed to be thinking the same thing. “We need to find a place for you to stay until the situation can be resolved,” he said, moving from behind the counter. He came to stand by Teodor, eyeing the bodies thoughtfully.
“We?” Teodor asked. The idea of being indebted to this man anymore than he already was struck him as unbearable. He straightened his shoulders. “I’ll manage. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
Baltasar was silent, his black eyes studying Teodor. He reached out with one hand and wrapped it around Teodor’s bad shoulder. Teodor had only a second to register what was going to happen before Baltasar squeezed his arm mercilessly. Teodor’s world went white and he tasted iron on his tongue. When he recovered he found himself on one knee with his cheek swelling between clenched teeth.
“I believe I’ve made my point,” Baltasar said. Teodor seethed. His shoulder felt like it was on fire and his head felt full of water. Baltasar walked in a circle around him like a cat with a caged bird, razor flashing in his hand. Snick. Snick.
“Fine,” Teodor managed, cradling his injured arm to his chest. “What do you propose?”
† † †
Baltasar’s plan was remarkably straightforward-they would bring Teodor’s would-be-assassins to them. Teodor was to wait in Malfatto’s shop and a light guard would be placed outside. A small handful of soldiers protecting a doctor’s shop was already gravely suspicious, but to make it even easier on the thieves Baltasar and Teodor had been very obvious on the way there, stopping for foodstuffs and visiting the blacksmith. Baltasar had shadowed Teodor every step and had kept almost as silent as Malfatto, the only sound between them the ominous snick of the razor. Upon arrival Baltasar had quickly told Malfatto of the plan and left. In case the trail they’d left for the thieves was still too difficult to follow, Baltasar had also sent a servant to collect a trunk of Teodor’s things from his house and march them over to the shop. If anyone was watching Teodor’s estate it was almost as good as a drawn map.
Now the only thing to do was wait.
Teodor stood in the main room of the shop, staring down at the straw pallet that would once again be his bed. His entire body was weary and weighted with his satchel, the garments from the late tailor, and the bevy of weapons he had collected from the blacksmith. Malfatto was standing over a large table and picking through the food Baltasar had left. He had a pomegranate in a gloved hand and was examining it like it might hold some exquisite secret.
“Right,” Teodor said, stirring himself into action. He laid his clothes down on the pallet and dropped the satchel on top of them. Malfatto’s masked face turned toward him curiously.
“I’m taking a hot bath,” he announced, turning to Malfatto. Since returning to Venezia he’d only cleaned himself with bowls of water and cloth and Teodor was slightly concerned his skin would be permanently creased in dirt and dried blood.
Malfatto straightened, his hand holding the pomegranate dropping to his side. Teodor wondered if he was going to make some sort of argument and stared hard into the dark glasses covering Malfatto’s eyes. He was tired of this-he was tired of people trying to kill him and pushy doctors not talking to him and he was going to meet his assassins a clean man.
“I don’t have time to guess at your thoughts,” Teodor said, struggling to take off his coat. Malfatto said nothing and as soon as Teodor wrenched himself free he stepped forward and slapped the coat down on the table. Malfatto took a surprised step back. “I’m not going to fill a tub with one arm, so you’re going to help me,” Teodor ordered.
Malfatto stared at him for what seemed like a full minute. Teodor stared back, jaw clenched. Just when Teodor was going to resign himself to going alone, Malfatto set the pomegranate down on the table and went over to the fireplace and began loading it with some kindling.
“The buckets are out in the garden by the pump,” Malfatto said in a level tone, crouched with his back to Teodor.
Privately, Teodor gave a small cheer of victory.
“Of course,” Teodor answered. He squared his shoulders, marched to the wooden door framed by stained glass and let himself out into the courtyard.
Even with two of them it took an hour to fill the bath. Teodor pumped water and brought it to the fireplace. When it was heated Malfatto would carry it the longer distance into the patient room. The pump was close to the back of the shop and Teodor had the privilege of the easier task as well as a chance to finally inspect Malfatto’s garden. During his first days with Malfatto he hadn’t had the opportunity to examine what was behind the stained glass windows and so he took advantage while they waited. Malfatto lived at the intersection of the Central and Campagna districts, giving him easy access to the city and the room for a vast garden. Being October, there wasn’t much to look at but Teodor was impressed by the careful rows of dirt and the few heartier plants. The garden was completely enclosed with high walls and a tiny shed lurked in a far corner. Most doctors tended to buy their necessary herbs from contracted farmers, but it appeared Malfatto produced the majority of his ingredients.
Teodor was crouched in the grass with a fistful of dirt slipping through his fingers when the bath was finally full. Malfatto told him this by standing silently over him for a bit.
“Your garden is lovely,” Teodor murmured, using his good arm to push himself to stand. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Malfatto for a quiet moment, both of them looking across the land.
“If they come, they’ll likely come through here,” Malfatto answered. Teodor nodded. He’d been thinking the same thing.
Sighing, he turned and gave Malfatto an apologetic look before heading inside. He went straight to the patient room. Malfatto had lit a few candles to help light the dark room, a thoughtful gesture that surprised Teodor. He stared at the flames for a moment before sitting down to take off his boots and clothes. It took him much longer to undress than it usually did, his one hand fumbling with the multitudes of buttons on his doublet. He had put it on at the tailor’s shop to hide the marks on his neck during the walk to Malfatto’s and as soon as he removed it the burning across his throat pained him a little less. He touched his fingers to the raw skin, wincing as he passed over welts and bruises. Teodor thanked every star in the sky for shaving that morning. It seemed he wouldn’t have that luxury for a few days.
Once he had the rest of his clothes off he slowly lowered himself into the washtub, not caring about the low moan he gave when the hot water enveloped him. He shut his eyes and relaxed for what seemed like the first time in months. Since becoming Cesare’s contracted killer he had become an even more paranoid person. Teodor was built for war and the military. He was built for strategy more than deception and had grown accustomed to being surrounded by comrades. No one would call Teodor an exceptionally social person but he found himself missing the small amount of reassurance he found amongst trusted men. In a strange way these past days spent with Malfatto and Baltasar (who were by far the most unsettling people Teodor had met outside of Cesare Borgia) had been almost nice.
Teodor tipped his head back to rest against the edge of the tub. His neck gave a twinge of disapproval but he ignored it. This could possibly be his last bath ever and he was going to enjoy it. Enjoyment. Teodor decided that was what had made these past months so difficult-it had been constant movement from one place to another, always hunting and always hunted. There wasn’t time to relax and do things he wanted to do, like to visit Marseilles or sit down for a drink with Donato. There also hadn’t been time for more pleasurable recreation either.
There was time now, Teodor mused, and felt his groin stir slightly at the thought. Without even purposefully doing so he slid a hand over his chest, then down his stomach and between his legs. He hesitated and peeked at the door, double-checking to make it was closed before wrapping a fist around himself. The touch made him jump a little and his skin prickled with goose bumps in anticipation.
Donato had always teased Teodor for never visiting brothels or bedding the more devious women who came to them. Theories ranged within the battalion as to why that was-from what Teodor had heard, they ranged from something as simple as having a lover back home in Torino to the suspicion that he was a eunuch. Only a very, very small group of men actually knew the truth but were on pain of death to never say. Teodor preferred privacy and simplicity, and bedding soldiers he was supposed to command gave him neither. Now that he finally had a break from gossiping, out-of-reach men and assassination contracts, he had been forced to spend his time imprisoned in a doctor’s shop under a death threat. He might actually never have sex again.
That thought made Teodor irrationally angry. He proudly considered himself a rather prudish and chaste individual and it seemed unfair he should suffer for it. Teodor sighed heavily through his nose. He kept his hand moving at a steady pace, but the anger made his grip a little rougher. His bad arm was stretched out at the side of the tub to avoid wetting the stitches, making his other hand unavailable at the moment which made him even angrier. Teodor put a little more force into thrusting his hips, shoulders and back tensing as he tried to keep from sloshing about in the tub.
Teodor hadn’t realized how angry he was, how angry he had been for awhile. Since Venezia, perhaps even before, his life had become controlled by someone else, be it someone’s orders or the injuries dealt him. He had been crippled for weeks and now he was indebted to Baltasar and was deemed so weak he had a doctor for a bodyguard.
Teodor heard a low growl come from his throat. Malfatto. The doctor with the looming presence who haunted him and followed him like a large scavenging bird. The doctor who hardly spoke, but decided he could touch and poke Teodor whenever he wished. The doctor who was the first person in a long time to make Teodor feel uncomfortable and insecure in his own abilities, his own judgement, with all his secrets and possible murderous tendencies and those beautiful, pale hands with long fingers that-
Teodor bucked helplessly against his hand, turning his face into his own shoulder as he came in the hot water, his fist slowing to a near stop at the shock of the orgasm. He gasped for air and immediately regretted it as his throat burned, the hints of a moan still burbling between breaths.
Slowly, Teodor recovered, reveling in the way his body had gone boneless in the water. The anger he had kept burning inside him was slowly fading away, leaving him weightless but feeling more whole than he had in awhile. He spared an idle thought for the dimming memory of Malfatto’s naked hands before forcing himself away from those thoughts.
An aberration, he told himself, and reached for the soap.
† † †
Day crept on into night. Teodor had emerged from his bath to find that his trunk had been delivered by Baltasar’s man, making the arrival of the enemy seem imminent. To keep himself occupied he had pawed through the trunk but had only found a spare change of clothes and a few books from his house. Inside one was a note from Baltasar promising a new set of orders once the situation and Teodor’s injuries had improved.
Teodor sat at one of the large tables and watched the sunlight filtering through the blue and green stained glass slowly fade. He was facing the fireplace, which meant the door leading to the garden was on his right, the hallway on his left. Malfatto had taken down the pale green curtain that usually hung in front of it in case the thieves decided to brave the soldiers at the front door. To his left, Malfatto sat at his desk facing the same direction.
On the table was a bowl of fruit, a loaf of bread, and Teodor’s weapons. He was too focused to think about actively eating a meal, but he forced himself to eat a few apples to keep his energy up. Malfatto, who never seemed to sleep or eat, was absently rolling his pomegranate against his desk with the palm of his hand while writing on a piece of parchment with the other. Every once in awhile the doctor would look up and stare straight ahead as if lost in thought.
For a man facing down a bevy of unknown attackers, Teodor felt surprisingly calm. Gone was his anger, and gone were the thoughts of things being “the last.” Somewhere between his bath and getting dressed Teodor had felt his self-assurance come blooming back to life. He had made the simple decision to live through this and was happily resolved to killing anyone who thought otherwise.
Teodor occupied himself by testing out the weapons he had commissioned. He had a longsword and dagger, an épieu, and five throwing knives laid out in front of him. All were new weapons, his own lost in Venezia or still kept in his house. With careful and intense concentration he took each one in hand and tested the weight and feel. His old weapons had been either commissioned through the guard or, in the case of the épieu, made by a blacksmith in Milan who specialized in retractable blades. These weapons had been forged by the blacksmith closest to Malfatto’s shop out of pure necessity. After careful consideration Teodor decided everything passed inspection, save the épieu. The balance was slightly off and something inside the hilt made it extend sluggishly when fully unsheathed.
Time passed and the night grew dark. Teodor struggled to adjust to the blackness, but Malfatto made no move to light any candles. Unable to write or do whatever it was that had him so occupied, Malfatto sat up a little straighter in his chair and slowly turned his head from side to side, the white mask shining like a beacon in the darkness. Teodor nibbled on an apple and watched him. For the first time he noticed a wine glass sitting on the desk and wondered how Malfatto could drink it.
“When do you eat?” Teodor whispered when the night had grown so still it put his teeth on edge.
“When I am hungry,” Malfatto said softly. The mask continued to scan the room, lifeless and terrifying.
“When do you drink?”
“When I am thirsty.”
“When do you sleep?” asked Teodor, undaunted.
“I try not to,” Malfatto said.
The mask was trained on the door, the smiling beak at an angle as Malfatto cocked his head to the side. Teodor felt his skin settle into something tougher and watched with him. They had left the door unlocked and slowly but surely a strip of moonlight appeared on the wall, growing wider as the door inched open. A silhouette flitted across the strip and Teodor heard the sound of daggers tearing into the bundle of feathers and sheets that were arranged on the straw pallet. Teodor cocked a throwing knife and sent it flying. A cry came from the corner of the room, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.
The wooden door was thrown open and a torch came sailing into the shop, hitting the ground with a crackling hiss as five men leaped into the room.
Teodor went to the right. Malfatto went to the left.
Teodor took out the first man by punching him in the chest and following with a dagger up through his jaw as he reeled from the blow. From the corner of his eye he saw Malfatto’s hands fly up above his head as if to surrender and his heart skipped a beat at the shock of betrayal. It was short-lived, because as the thief paused to consider the possibility of a murderous doctor, Malfatto slammed his knee into the man’s stomach and grabbed his head with spidery fingers. With a brutal twist of his hands the man dropped to the ground.
After that the fight was three against two and the dancing began. Teodor clashed blades with two of the thieves, desperately covering his weakened left side. The thieves he fought were slender and agile and their blows came at lightning speed. They circled him like cats, and after Teodor blocked one strike the next would follow, putting him constantly on the defensive.
Across the room Malfatto fought a burlier thief with a short dagger in his hand. Malfatto appeared weaponless and merely dodged and ducked the attacks of the third man. The doctor’s strategy went well until the thief screamed in frustration and dropped his knife. Malfatto paused in surprise and the thief charged him, using his two fists to pound viciously at Malfatto’s ribcage. The doctor stumbled back against the wall and the thief followed, springing forward to tackle Malfatto to the ground.
The doctor landed on his back with a heavy thump, the thief straddling his hips. They struggled briefly until the thief gained the upper hand by landing a sharp slap to the side of Malfatto’s head. The man grabbed Malfatto’s masked face in two hands and smashed the back of his head into the ground. Preoccupied, Teodor watched in horror as Malfatto’s arms fell limply to the floor. As Malfatto’s body went still the thief reached a curious hand to the beaked mask and slid short fingers beneath it.
Teodor swore and almost stumbled as a sudden fury nearly overwhelmed him. The idea of Malfatto first bested and then unmasked seemed so wildly wrong it made the hair on his arms stand on end.
Anger narrowed Teodor’s focus into a razor’s edge and he dropped his dagger on the ground. With a speed he didn’t know he possessed, Teodor dropped into a crouch and shot forward, shoving the two attackers on either side of him in the hip. Their daggers swooped dangerously close to his head, but they both stumbled backwards. Teodor surged forward, eyes trained on the man lifting up Malfatto’s mask. He blindly reached for a weapon, fingers brushing the floor and finding the handle of the torch the thieves had thrown inside. Teodor shouted at the man on top of Malfatto and swung the torch with both hands.
The lit torch struck the thief in the side of the face and a horrible crack sounded throughout the room. The thief grunted and tumbled headfirst over Malfatto, the left side of his skull concave. Teodor swung again, and this time let the torch plant itself firmly in the man’s face. The body twitched and the fire crackled, but a foot away Malfatto didn’t move.
Teodor’s distraction cost him dearly. He felt a hand reach out and grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him backwards. He stumbled and fell, landing hard on his back. As Teodor writhed and gasped for breath the two remaining thieves bent over him, daggers clenched in dirty fists and pleased smiles on their faces. Each thief had a hand pressed to Teodor’s shoulders, pinning him to the ground.
“Borgia scum,” snarled the thief on the right.
“Rosa sends her regards,” said the one on the left, and then bore down on Teodor’s shoulder.
Teodor choked as he felt each suture rip free from his butchered skin. His body seized in agony, the pain rippling down through his chest and legs, leaving him to twitch like a gutted fish. He clawed desperately for a weapon but came up empty, and for a moment everything seemed lost.
A shadow moved across the room, first from far away and then so close it darkened the thieves who were crouched over him. For a moment Teodor wondered if he was already dead, but then he was greeted by the sight of a pale mask rising up behind the oblivious thieves who only laughed and raised their daggers at his dazed expression.
The light from the torch was mostly gone, the fire dying out in suffocating flesh. The smoke blurred the edges of Malfatto’s tall body until he became nothing but a big, black nightmare. Syringes filled with the most beautiful green liquid were clasped in either hand and Teodor felt a smile burst upon his face as Malfatto struck both thieves in the throat and pumped them full of poison. The men were dead before Malfatto had even finished emptying the plungers, their bodies falling like felled trees until Malfatto alone stood above Teodor, dark and victorious.
Teodor stared at him, blinking away the fogginess in his head. Malfatto’s hands dropped to his sides, the empty syringes falling from his fingers. With a gloved hand he reached out to Teodor.
“I thought you were dead,” Teodor wheezed, voice ragged as sand. He took Malfatto’s hand and pushed himself to stand. Once upright Malfatto released him and Teodor turned his head to the side and spat a few times on the floor, wincing at the sour taste in his mouth. Nearby, Malfatto lit a few candles, casting a dull orange hue on everything around them.
“You should have told me about your neck,” said Malfatto in a low voice. Teodor stiffened as he felt leather fingers run underneath his chin and along the ragged line of his ripped collar. Malfatto was bent at the waist, face dangerously close to Teodor’s collarbone.
Teodor pushed away from the doctor. Malfatto slowly straightened, one of his hands flitting to his back as if it pained him. For a moment Teodor remembered the thief clobbering Malfatto to the ground and heard again the hard crack of Malfatto’s head against the floor, saw again the strange hand on the white mask.
With a quick hand, Teodor reached out and pressed a palm to Malfatto’s cheek. The tips of his fingers curled around the edge of the mask and for the first time Teodor noticed how different Malfatto’s mask was from those of other doctor’s-the beak was shorter, the mask itself exquisite in detail and made with heavy ceramic.
Malfatto’s hand closed around Teodor’s wrist like a vice. They stood locked together and so close Teodor could hear the muffled sounds of Malfatto’s breathing. Teodor looked into the dark-stained glasses and could barely see the outline of an eyelash.
After a long time, Malfatto dropped his hand.
Malfatto said nothing and stood very, very still. Teodor’s hand shook and his fingertips slipped beneath the mask to feel the soft, hot skin of Malfatto’s cheek. It felt like touching lightning.
It felt like too much. Teodor snatched his hand back and turned in one movement, his eyes fixating on the darkness in front of him. The candlelight burned at the corner of his vision and he shut his eyes against it. After a moment he collected himself and turned back around.
Malfatto was crouched over the thief Teodor had struck with the torch, peering curiously at the half-melted pulp that used to be his face.
“I want to keep this one,” Malfatto murmured. “If you like, you can have the rest.”
† † †
NOTICE: More fanart now exists for this story! Please click here to see the charming picture of Malfatto by silvestris!
« previous chapter | index | next chapter »
author's notes | warnings
Rated: NC17 (NC17 overall)
Word Count: 6,701 / 90,339
Knives Don't Have Your Back
† III †
Power. Authority. Confidence. Normalcy.
It was weird to attach such powerful feelings to a garment, but Teodor found himself not giving a damn. He had his coat back and it was wonderful.
“I wanted to reinforce some of the embroidery on the bottom,” the tailor said nervously, hovering around Teodor like some kind of annoying bird. “Can’t have such fine, uh, detail going to waste and I thought...well, I mean-”
“That would be acceptable,” Teodor said. He turned to the left, then the right, the coattails flapping gloriously with each twist of his hips. He knew he should feel slightly ridiculous, but once he had put on each piece of his uniform he felt better than he had in two weeks. He finally felt whole, or at least a little less vulnerable.
The tailor hummed in agreement. Teodor eyed himself in the mirror, smoothing a hand down over his chest. He looked a little odd without spaulders or any sort of armor, but he doubted anyone was going to attack him in the middle of a tailor’s shop. He had taken his injured arm out of his sling only momentarily and had been pleased with the lack of pain and slight increase in mobility he had found.
“Is there...uh...anything else you would like? I am very glad the coat meets your expectations, sir. If you need anything-”
“This will be all,” Teodor interrupted. He gave his reflection one last look before shrugging off the coat. “And the shirts,” he added, using the demand to distract the tailor from the awkward bending of his injured arm as he handed the coat over.
“Right away.”
Teodor watched the tailor scurry off to another room, raising an eyebrow at the man’s anxious demeanor. He suspected the man was hiding something but he couldn’t figure out what it would be. People were nervous around Teodor for two reasons-he was threatening them with bodily harm or he looked like he was thinking about threatening them with bodily harm. Since he was doing neither of these things Teodor was forced to chalk it up to a high strung personality or a fear of men with slings.
The mending would take awhile, so Teodor settled in to wait. He was running a good deal of errands today and debated going to the blacksmith’s while he waited for his clothes but decided against it. The tailor would be even more of a wreck if he returned with an armful of weapons and Teodor could only carry so many items one-handed.
Waiting also gave Teodor an excuse for some self-indulgence. He gave one last glance towards the door the tailor had disappeared through before finding a bench and settling in. With some barely muted enthusiasm Teodor opened up his satchel and pulled out a book. It was a slim volume with a green cover and exquisitely bound. Teodor smoothed his hand over the leather cover before opening it.
Teodor loved to read. He loved to learn about things. He felt powerful with the information he gathered from books and occasionally gleeful in the discovery of an art or subject that was foreign to his peers. He had long grown used to the odd glances and smirks thrown his way from other soldiers or military men. Their complaints or jeers were easily silenced when Teodor put his knowledge to the test out on the battlefield. If Teodor snuck in a few other texts that dealt with engineering or myth well...that was his secret. Books were comforting to Teodor-they helped him preserve men’s lives in times of war and on the darker days they provided a welcome escape.
Teodor had taken this book from one of Malfatto’s dusty bookshelves. He had selected it from a row of handwritten books, suspecting them to be Malfatto’s medical journals. He had pocketed one of the volumes at random, not wanting Malfatto to discover him borrowing from his private collection. The doctor had a surprising number of books, causing Teodor to grow curious about Malfatto’s sources of income. While Malfatto had never officially confirmed his employment by the Borgia, Teodor was growing increasingly sure of his suspicions-no one could afford such a library by charging peasants by the potion.
He was feeling more comfortable with the man now. Between Teodor’s suspicions and Malfatto’s distant yet strangely tender care he felt assured that Malfatto wouldn’t attempt to kill him. This was mostly due to the fact that Teodor had slept through most of his days and during his brief moments of consciousness Malfatto had neither poisoned nor stabbed anyone. Or if he did, at least he had the decency to do it while Teodor was asleep.
If Teodor was being honest with himself this was probably the more likely scenario. For two nights Malfatto had left the shop and quietly warned Teodor to not touch anything. While he was too tired and too intimidated to explore the first evening, the next night was a totally different matter. Curiosity had bested his anxiety and Teodor touched everything.
The main room was the first to fall to his snooping. He had already seen most of it from the comfort of his pallet but the bookshelves and high cabinets practically begged for a closer look. He was greatly intrigued by the large roller desk the doctor used, but to Teodor’s disappointment the hood and drawers were locked. He kept away from the glassware and half-mixed concoctions on the brewing table.
Aside from the books, the cabinets and higher shelves provided the most interesting items. Interesting, disturbing, delightful-Teodor wasn’t sure what to call them. Instead of the expected dusty glassware or extra blades and saws for surgery, Teodor found a menagerie of bottled insects. And not just the anticipated jars of leeches and maggots, but a wide variety of insects, some which Teodor couldn’t even name. He recognized most of them as butterflies, or perhaps moths. In the back of most of the cupboards were display boxes full of dead butterflies, pinned and dried in almost every color. However, most of Malfatto’s butterflies were alive, fluttering in jar upon jar. Each container was topped with cloth to allow for air and inside were leaves and twigs. If, or what, Malfatto fed them remained a mystery.
Teodor didn’t know any medicinal reason to keep a vast array of butterflies hostage in one’s home. After realizing that most of the jars were positioned strategically so they could be seen from the desk and tables he assumed Malfatto simply liked them. That thought immediately had him picturing Malfatto frolicking through gardens and fields in full leathers eagerly grabbing at passing bugs. It was the first time he had laughed since coming back to Roma. Even thinking of it now made him smile.
After the discovery of the butterflies the other two rooms had been a bit of a letdown. The room near the desk was home to five beds, two tubs and little else. One high window let in a scant amount of light. It was for the best, Teodor thought, watching the shadows hide the stains on the walls and floor. This is where he poisons people, Teodor thought. This is where he saves people.
The hallway was boring, as hallways should be. It led to the front entrance and a side door that accessed what he guessed to be Malfatto’s storefront. The store was also accessible from the main room and the street, in case Malfatto had to leave or enter quickly. It was filled with the usual potions and poultices which was slightly disappointing. Malfatto had a street cart wedged in the back and a small stool behind the front counter. There was one other door Teodor had seen in the main room, but it remained firmly locked. He assumed it led to Malfatto’s private quarters, but he had never seen the man use it. An unknown door bothered him ferociously, but he put it to rest by imagining what sort of oddities Malfatto might keep in his personal chambers. More butterflies, obviously, he decided. Teodor wondered where he hung that damned mask. Maybe he slept in it and the beak poked holes in the pillows.
“Signore?” came a voice, interrupting Teodor’s thoughts. He slammed his unread book shut on instinct, looking up to meet the nervous eyes of the tailor. “Your order is ready,” the man said with a watery smile. Teodor belatedly realized he was half-grinning, humored by the idea of Malfatto wandering blindly around the shop with a pillow stuck to his face.
Teodor schooled his features accordingly. “About time,” he said gruffly. “I’ll join you in a minute.” The tailor paled and scurried away.
Teodor stood to follow, pausing to put his book back in the satchel. The bag was difficult to manage with only one good arm, but necessary because of it at the same time. Teodor had just managed to sling the strap across his neck and shoulder when he turned the corner into the other room. What he saw next was altogether surprising.
The tailor was bent over the counter with his backside to Teodor. The tailor’s boots scraped hopelessly against the floor, his knees knocking against the wood as he fought to stand. His hands were mangled at the wrists by what seemed like long, deep cuts. Blood was pouring from the wounds, coating the man’s fingers and counter like red waves at tide as he struggled to free himself. There was a hand clenched around the base of the tailor’s neck, holding him face down against the wood and pooling blood.
Snick.
Teodor couldn’t believe it. Baltasar looked up when Teodor came into view. His look of surprise was subtle and quick before his eyes locked with Teodor’s.
“Behind you, Viscardi.”
Teodor ducked low and spun blindly, the satchel whirling around his body like a chained mace. He heard the bag hit flesh and suddenly felt the weight of his assailant as he tripped. He grunted and moved with the weight, allowing the attacker to roll right across his back and to the ground. Teodor stood, rounding on the enemy, cursing at the sling that held his bad arm. A man was tumbling across the ground, trying to gain distance from Teodor’s boots and unsheathe his knife. His clothes were shoddy, his agility was noticeably great, and the crudely-fastened knife was a dead giveaway-another thief.
Unarmed and one-handed, Teodor dove for the man’s weapon. The thief sucked and gasped for air as Teodor came down on him, one knee going for the stomach, the other for the shoulder. Teodor grabbed for the knife, crushing the thief’s wrist in his strong grasp. The man recovered enough to get his other hand free and went for the strap of the satchel, brutally twisting it into a leathery noose. Teodor saw red and felt his eyes bulge as his breath left him. Unbalanced but now thoroughly angry, Teodor harshly jerked at the leather strap like a wild horse. The movement didn’t break the man’s hold, but it made the thief choose between focusing on the strap or the knife. As the man shook and pulled at the leather, Teodor cruelly wrenched the man’s wrist backwards until the bones gave with a low snap, burying the knife in the thief’s shoulder. The thief screamed, his broken hand falling away. Teodor twisted the knife and slashed at the man’s chest through darkening vision until the thief lay still.
As soon as he was able, Teodor dropped the knife and clawed at the strap across his neck. He unwound the satchel from his throat and all but threw the bag across the floor, gasping for breath. The string holding his sling in place felt like wire on his abused flesh and he hurriedly yanked it free. He slid off the thief’s body and crouched dizzily on the ground, scanning the room with glassy eyes for any other surprises.
“Viscardi?” came Baltasar’s voice. The snick of the razor sounded in the room, followed by the wet sound of the tailor screaming into his own blood-soaked counter.
“It’s done,” Teodor said hoarsely. He stood slowly, ignoring how the corners of his vision slowly curled black and blurry. He touched a hand to his neck and face, feeling the heat there. He took in the sight of the tailor, miserable under Baltasar’s cruel expression.
“It would seem you made quite an impression on the thieves of Venezia,” Baltasar said. “The tailor was paid to let that man-” Baltasar pointed his bloody razor to the fresh corpse on the ground “-act as his courier.”
Teodor frowned. It was a good plan. No doubt he would have arranged for such service since he was currently disabled. He would have led the thieves straight to his estate.
The tailor squirmed. “I’m sorry. Oh god,” he wailed, twitching under Baltasar’s grip. “I’m so sorry. I needed...I needed the money. It was only this once, I swear. I-”
“Quiet,” Teodor snapped. The tailor whimpered. His face was pale as milk and his hands flapped about in the pools of blood. Baltasar had sliced deep enough to render them useless. Teodor sighed, then nodded at Baltasar. “Let him go.”
Baltasar gave him an incredulous look but lifted his hand. The tailor cried out as he slid from the counter to the floor, smearing the wood red. He curled on his stomach, sobbing openly. Teodor could barely make out the blubbered thank you between wails.
“So it would seem there’s a price on my head,” Teodor said, pulling the knife from the thief’s body.
“Unlikely,” Baltasar replied. “My contact said it was more personal.”
Teodor sighed and turned, evaluating his options. The lack of an assassination contract meant less assailants, but the few who were wont to kill him would stop at nothing to do so. Examples must be made.
Teodor walked over and crouched by the trembling tailor. The man turned to look at him, wounded arms drawn against his chest. “Shh,” said Teodor, moderating his scratchy voice into something resembling soothing. He gingerly cupped the man’s jaw with his bad hand. “I know a good doctor. You’ll be fine.”
The tailor looked up at Teodor, his tears cutting clean tracks through the blood on his face. Teodor smiled kindly as the man closed his eyes, relaxing into Teodor’s hold.
“Thank you,” the man said. Teodor raised the knife high above his head. “My wife-”
Quickly, Teodor slammed the blade into the top of the tailor’s skull. Betrayed, the man gurgled helplessly for a moment before going still, his eyes stuck wide and gaping. Teodor had no interest in hearing about wives or families.
When Teodor stood, Baltasar had an impressed expression on his face, primly cleaning his blade with a handkerchief. Teodor wiped his own blade on his ruined shirt. How Baltasar managed to slice a man to ribbons and avoid any splatter was a mystery. Baltasar examined the blade, found it passed muster and gave it an experimental flick.
Snick.
“We’ll leave the bodies here, propped up,” Teodor said, eyeing Baltasar. “It probably won’t dissuade any of my murderers but at least it will give them pause.”
Baltasar looked pleased with the plan and suspicious of Teodor at the same time. “You always were rather quick,” he said levelly.
Teodor kept Baltasar’s stare. “As are you,” he replied, thinking on how the barber had seemingly materialized within the tailor’s shop. “My thanks. I’m glad you acted on your information so readily.”
“My pleasure,” Baltasar said, his tone dripping with just that. Teodor shuddered and held a hand to his neck to cover it. He moved away from the counter to collect his satchel and sling and mused on what to do next. He knew he couldn’t go home and staying at an inn was outright suicide-too many people were too easily bought and he’d be located in under an hour.
Baltasar seemed to be thinking the same thing. “We need to find a place for you to stay until the situation can be resolved,” he said, moving from behind the counter. He came to stand by Teodor, eyeing the bodies thoughtfully.
“We?” Teodor asked. The idea of being indebted to this man anymore than he already was struck him as unbearable. He straightened his shoulders. “I’ll manage. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
Baltasar was silent, his black eyes studying Teodor. He reached out with one hand and wrapped it around Teodor’s bad shoulder. Teodor had only a second to register what was going to happen before Baltasar squeezed his arm mercilessly. Teodor’s world went white and he tasted iron on his tongue. When he recovered he found himself on one knee with his cheek swelling between clenched teeth.
“I believe I’ve made my point,” Baltasar said. Teodor seethed. His shoulder felt like it was on fire and his head felt full of water. Baltasar walked in a circle around him like a cat with a caged bird, razor flashing in his hand. Snick. Snick.
“Fine,” Teodor managed, cradling his injured arm to his chest. “What do you propose?”
† † †
Baltasar’s plan was remarkably straightforward-they would bring Teodor’s would-be-assassins to them. Teodor was to wait in Malfatto’s shop and a light guard would be placed outside. A small handful of soldiers protecting a doctor’s shop was already gravely suspicious, but to make it even easier on the thieves Baltasar and Teodor had been very obvious on the way there, stopping for foodstuffs and visiting the blacksmith. Baltasar had shadowed Teodor every step and had kept almost as silent as Malfatto, the only sound between them the ominous snick of the razor. Upon arrival Baltasar had quickly told Malfatto of the plan and left. In case the trail they’d left for the thieves was still too difficult to follow, Baltasar had also sent a servant to collect a trunk of Teodor’s things from his house and march them over to the shop. If anyone was watching Teodor’s estate it was almost as good as a drawn map.
Now the only thing to do was wait.
Teodor stood in the main room of the shop, staring down at the straw pallet that would once again be his bed. His entire body was weary and weighted with his satchel, the garments from the late tailor, and the bevy of weapons he had collected from the blacksmith. Malfatto was standing over a large table and picking through the food Baltasar had left. He had a pomegranate in a gloved hand and was examining it like it might hold some exquisite secret.
“Right,” Teodor said, stirring himself into action. He laid his clothes down on the pallet and dropped the satchel on top of them. Malfatto’s masked face turned toward him curiously.
“I’m taking a hot bath,” he announced, turning to Malfatto. Since returning to Venezia he’d only cleaned himself with bowls of water and cloth and Teodor was slightly concerned his skin would be permanently creased in dirt and dried blood.
Malfatto straightened, his hand holding the pomegranate dropping to his side. Teodor wondered if he was going to make some sort of argument and stared hard into the dark glasses covering Malfatto’s eyes. He was tired of this-he was tired of people trying to kill him and pushy doctors not talking to him and he was going to meet his assassins a clean man.
“I don’t have time to guess at your thoughts,” Teodor said, struggling to take off his coat. Malfatto said nothing and as soon as Teodor wrenched himself free he stepped forward and slapped the coat down on the table. Malfatto took a surprised step back. “I’m not going to fill a tub with one arm, so you’re going to help me,” Teodor ordered.
Malfatto stared at him for what seemed like a full minute. Teodor stared back, jaw clenched. Just when Teodor was going to resign himself to going alone, Malfatto set the pomegranate down on the table and went over to the fireplace and began loading it with some kindling.
“The buckets are out in the garden by the pump,” Malfatto said in a level tone, crouched with his back to Teodor.
Privately, Teodor gave a small cheer of victory.
“Of course,” Teodor answered. He squared his shoulders, marched to the wooden door framed by stained glass and let himself out into the courtyard.
Even with two of them it took an hour to fill the bath. Teodor pumped water and brought it to the fireplace. When it was heated Malfatto would carry it the longer distance into the patient room. The pump was close to the back of the shop and Teodor had the privilege of the easier task as well as a chance to finally inspect Malfatto’s garden. During his first days with Malfatto he hadn’t had the opportunity to examine what was behind the stained glass windows and so he took advantage while they waited. Malfatto lived at the intersection of the Central and Campagna districts, giving him easy access to the city and the room for a vast garden. Being October, there wasn’t much to look at but Teodor was impressed by the careful rows of dirt and the few heartier plants. The garden was completely enclosed with high walls and a tiny shed lurked in a far corner. Most doctors tended to buy their necessary herbs from contracted farmers, but it appeared Malfatto produced the majority of his ingredients.
Teodor was crouched in the grass with a fistful of dirt slipping through his fingers when the bath was finally full. Malfatto told him this by standing silently over him for a bit.
“Your garden is lovely,” Teodor murmured, using his good arm to push himself to stand. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Malfatto for a quiet moment, both of them looking across the land.
“If they come, they’ll likely come through here,” Malfatto answered. Teodor nodded. He’d been thinking the same thing.
Sighing, he turned and gave Malfatto an apologetic look before heading inside. He went straight to the patient room. Malfatto had lit a few candles to help light the dark room, a thoughtful gesture that surprised Teodor. He stared at the flames for a moment before sitting down to take off his boots and clothes. It took him much longer to undress than it usually did, his one hand fumbling with the multitudes of buttons on his doublet. He had put it on at the tailor’s shop to hide the marks on his neck during the walk to Malfatto’s and as soon as he removed it the burning across his throat pained him a little less. He touched his fingers to the raw skin, wincing as he passed over welts and bruises. Teodor thanked every star in the sky for shaving that morning. It seemed he wouldn’t have that luxury for a few days.
Once he had the rest of his clothes off he slowly lowered himself into the washtub, not caring about the low moan he gave when the hot water enveloped him. He shut his eyes and relaxed for what seemed like the first time in months. Since becoming Cesare’s contracted killer he had become an even more paranoid person. Teodor was built for war and the military. He was built for strategy more than deception and had grown accustomed to being surrounded by comrades. No one would call Teodor an exceptionally social person but he found himself missing the small amount of reassurance he found amongst trusted men. In a strange way these past days spent with Malfatto and Baltasar (who were by far the most unsettling people Teodor had met outside of Cesare Borgia) had been almost nice.
Teodor tipped his head back to rest against the edge of the tub. His neck gave a twinge of disapproval but he ignored it. This could possibly be his last bath ever and he was going to enjoy it. Enjoyment. Teodor decided that was what had made these past months so difficult-it had been constant movement from one place to another, always hunting and always hunted. There wasn’t time to relax and do things he wanted to do, like to visit Marseilles or sit down for a drink with Donato. There also hadn’t been time for more pleasurable recreation either.
There was time now, Teodor mused, and felt his groin stir slightly at the thought. Without even purposefully doing so he slid a hand over his chest, then down his stomach and between his legs. He hesitated and peeked at the door, double-checking to make it was closed before wrapping a fist around himself. The touch made him jump a little and his skin prickled with goose bumps in anticipation.
Donato had always teased Teodor for never visiting brothels or bedding the more devious women who came to them. Theories ranged within the battalion as to why that was-from what Teodor had heard, they ranged from something as simple as having a lover back home in Torino to the suspicion that he was a eunuch. Only a very, very small group of men actually knew the truth but were on pain of death to never say. Teodor preferred privacy and simplicity, and bedding soldiers he was supposed to command gave him neither. Now that he finally had a break from gossiping, out-of-reach men and assassination contracts, he had been forced to spend his time imprisoned in a doctor’s shop under a death threat. He might actually never have sex again.
That thought made Teodor irrationally angry. He proudly considered himself a rather prudish and chaste individual and it seemed unfair he should suffer for it. Teodor sighed heavily through his nose. He kept his hand moving at a steady pace, but the anger made his grip a little rougher. His bad arm was stretched out at the side of the tub to avoid wetting the stitches, making his other hand unavailable at the moment which made him even angrier. Teodor put a little more force into thrusting his hips, shoulders and back tensing as he tried to keep from sloshing about in the tub.
Teodor hadn’t realized how angry he was, how angry he had been for awhile. Since Venezia, perhaps even before, his life had become controlled by someone else, be it someone’s orders or the injuries dealt him. He had been crippled for weeks and now he was indebted to Baltasar and was deemed so weak he had a doctor for a bodyguard.
Teodor heard a low growl come from his throat. Malfatto. The doctor with the looming presence who haunted him and followed him like a large scavenging bird. The doctor who hardly spoke, but decided he could touch and poke Teodor whenever he wished. The doctor who was the first person in a long time to make Teodor feel uncomfortable and insecure in his own abilities, his own judgement, with all his secrets and possible murderous tendencies and those beautiful, pale hands with long fingers that-
Teodor bucked helplessly against his hand, turning his face into his own shoulder as he came in the hot water, his fist slowing to a near stop at the shock of the orgasm. He gasped for air and immediately regretted it as his throat burned, the hints of a moan still burbling between breaths.
Slowly, Teodor recovered, reveling in the way his body had gone boneless in the water. The anger he had kept burning inside him was slowly fading away, leaving him weightless but feeling more whole than he had in awhile. He spared an idle thought for the dimming memory of Malfatto’s naked hands before forcing himself away from those thoughts.
An aberration, he told himself, and reached for the soap.
† † †
Day crept on into night. Teodor had emerged from his bath to find that his trunk had been delivered by Baltasar’s man, making the arrival of the enemy seem imminent. To keep himself occupied he had pawed through the trunk but had only found a spare change of clothes and a few books from his house. Inside one was a note from Baltasar promising a new set of orders once the situation and Teodor’s injuries had improved.
Teodor sat at one of the large tables and watched the sunlight filtering through the blue and green stained glass slowly fade. He was facing the fireplace, which meant the door leading to the garden was on his right, the hallway on his left. Malfatto had taken down the pale green curtain that usually hung in front of it in case the thieves decided to brave the soldiers at the front door. To his left, Malfatto sat at his desk facing the same direction.
On the table was a bowl of fruit, a loaf of bread, and Teodor’s weapons. He was too focused to think about actively eating a meal, but he forced himself to eat a few apples to keep his energy up. Malfatto, who never seemed to sleep or eat, was absently rolling his pomegranate against his desk with the palm of his hand while writing on a piece of parchment with the other. Every once in awhile the doctor would look up and stare straight ahead as if lost in thought.
For a man facing down a bevy of unknown attackers, Teodor felt surprisingly calm. Gone was his anger, and gone were the thoughts of things being “the last.” Somewhere between his bath and getting dressed Teodor had felt his self-assurance come blooming back to life. He had made the simple decision to live through this and was happily resolved to killing anyone who thought otherwise.
Teodor occupied himself by testing out the weapons he had commissioned. He had a longsword and dagger, an épieu, and five throwing knives laid out in front of him. All were new weapons, his own lost in Venezia or still kept in his house. With careful and intense concentration he took each one in hand and tested the weight and feel. His old weapons had been either commissioned through the guard or, in the case of the épieu, made by a blacksmith in Milan who specialized in retractable blades. These weapons had been forged by the blacksmith closest to Malfatto’s shop out of pure necessity. After careful consideration Teodor decided everything passed inspection, save the épieu. The balance was slightly off and something inside the hilt made it extend sluggishly when fully unsheathed.
Time passed and the night grew dark. Teodor struggled to adjust to the blackness, but Malfatto made no move to light any candles. Unable to write or do whatever it was that had him so occupied, Malfatto sat up a little straighter in his chair and slowly turned his head from side to side, the white mask shining like a beacon in the darkness. Teodor nibbled on an apple and watched him. For the first time he noticed a wine glass sitting on the desk and wondered how Malfatto could drink it.
“When do you eat?” Teodor whispered when the night had grown so still it put his teeth on edge.
“When I am hungry,” Malfatto said softly. The mask continued to scan the room, lifeless and terrifying.
“When do you drink?”
“When I am thirsty.”
“When do you sleep?” asked Teodor, undaunted.
“I try not to,” Malfatto said.
The mask was trained on the door, the smiling beak at an angle as Malfatto cocked his head to the side. Teodor felt his skin settle into something tougher and watched with him. They had left the door unlocked and slowly but surely a strip of moonlight appeared on the wall, growing wider as the door inched open. A silhouette flitted across the strip and Teodor heard the sound of daggers tearing into the bundle of feathers and sheets that were arranged on the straw pallet. Teodor cocked a throwing knife and sent it flying. A cry came from the corner of the room, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.
The wooden door was thrown open and a torch came sailing into the shop, hitting the ground with a crackling hiss as five men leaped into the room.
Teodor went to the right. Malfatto went to the left.
Teodor took out the first man by punching him in the chest and following with a dagger up through his jaw as he reeled from the blow. From the corner of his eye he saw Malfatto’s hands fly up above his head as if to surrender and his heart skipped a beat at the shock of betrayal. It was short-lived, because as the thief paused to consider the possibility of a murderous doctor, Malfatto slammed his knee into the man’s stomach and grabbed his head with spidery fingers. With a brutal twist of his hands the man dropped to the ground.
After that the fight was three against two and the dancing began. Teodor clashed blades with two of the thieves, desperately covering his weakened left side. The thieves he fought were slender and agile and their blows came at lightning speed. They circled him like cats, and after Teodor blocked one strike the next would follow, putting him constantly on the defensive.
Across the room Malfatto fought a burlier thief with a short dagger in his hand. Malfatto appeared weaponless and merely dodged and ducked the attacks of the third man. The doctor’s strategy went well until the thief screamed in frustration and dropped his knife. Malfatto paused in surprise and the thief charged him, using his two fists to pound viciously at Malfatto’s ribcage. The doctor stumbled back against the wall and the thief followed, springing forward to tackle Malfatto to the ground.
The doctor landed on his back with a heavy thump, the thief straddling his hips. They struggled briefly until the thief gained the upper hand by landing a sharp slap to the side of Malfatto’s head. The man grabbed Malfatto’s masked face in two hands and smashed the back of his head into the ground. Preoccupied, Teodor watched in horror as Malfatto’s arms fell limply to the floor. As Malfatto’s body went still the thief reached a curious hand to the beaked mask and slid short fingers beneath it.
Teodor swore and almost stumbled as a sudden fury nearly overwhelmed him. The idea of Malfatto first bested and then unmasked seemed so wildly wrong it made the hair on his arms stand on end.
Anger narrowed Teodor’s focus into a razor’s edge and he dropped his dagger on the ground. With a speed he didn’t know he possessed, Teodor dropped into a crouch and shot forward, shoving the two attackers on either side of him in the hip. Their daggers swooped dangerously close to his head, but they both stumbled backwards. Teodor surged forward, eyes trained on the man lifting up Malfatto’s mask. He blindly reached for a weapon, fingers brushing the floor and finding the handle of the torch the thieves had thrown inside. Teodor shouted at the man on top of Malfatto and swung the torch with both hands.
The lit torch struck the thief in the side of the face and a horrible crack sounded throughout the room. The thief grunted and tumbled headfirst over Malfatto, the left side of his skull concave. Teodor swung again, and this time let the torch plant itself firmly in the man’s face. The body twitched and the fire crackled, but a foot away Malfatto didn’t move.
Teodor’s distraction cost him dearly. He felt a hand reach out and grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him backwards. He stumbled and fell, landing hard on his back. As Teodor writhed and gasped for breath the two remaining thieves bent over him, daggers clenched in dirty fists and pleased smiles on their faces. Each thief had a hand pressed to Teodor’s shoulders, pinning him to the ground.
“Borgia scum,” snarled the thief on the right.
“Rosa sends her regards,” said the one on the left, and then bore down on Teodor’s shoulder.
Teodor choked as he felt each suture rip free from his butchered skin. His body seized in agony, the pain rippling down through his chest and legs, leaving him to twitch like a gutted fish. He clawed desperately for a weapon but came up empty, and for a moment everything seemed lost.
A shadow moved across the room, first from far away and then so close it darkened the thieves who were crouched over him. For a moment Teodor wondered if he was already dead, but then he was greeted by the sight of a pale mask rising up behind the oblivious thieves who only laughed and raised their daggers at his dazed expression.
The light from the torch was mostly gone, the fire dying out in suffocating flesh. The smoke blurred the edges of Malfatto’s tall body until he became nothing but a big, black nightmare. Syringes filled with the most beautiful green liquid were clasped in either hand and Teodor felt a smile burst upon his face as Malfatto struck both thieves in the throat and pumped them full of poison. The men were dead before Malfatto had even finished emptying the plungers, their bodies falling like felled trees until Malfatto alone stood above Teodor, dark and victorious.
Teodor stared at him, blinking away the fogginess in his head. Malfatto’s hands dropped to his sides, the empty syringes falling from his fingers. With a gloved hand he reached out to Teodor.
“I thought you were dead,” Teodor wheezed, voice ragged as sand. He took Malfatto’s hand and pushed himself to stand. Once upright Malfatto released him and Teodor turned his head to the side and spat a few times on the floor, wincing at the sour taste in his mouth. Nearby, Malfatto lit a few candles, casting a dull orange hue on everything around them.
“You should have told me about your neck,” said Malfatto in a low voice. Teodor stiffened as he felt leather fingers run underneath his chin and along the ragged line of his ripped collar. Malfatto was bent at the waist, face dangerously close to Teodor’s collarbone.
Teodor pushed away from the doctor. Malfatto slowly straightened, one of his hands flitting to his back as if it pained him. For a moment Teodor remembered the thief clobbering Malfatto to the ground and heard again the hard crack of Malfatto’s head against the floor, saw again the strange hand on the white mask.
With a quick hand, Teodor reached out and pressed a palm to Malfatto’s cheek. The tips of his fingers curled around the edge of the mask and for the first time Teodor noticed how different Malfatto’s mask was from those of other doctor’s-the beak was shorter, the mask itself exquisite in detail and made with heavy ceramic.
Malfatto’s hand closed around Teodor’s wrist like a vice. They stood locked together and so close Teodor could hear the muffled sounds of Malfatto’s breathing. Teodor looked into the dark-stained glasses and could barely see the outline of an eyelash.
After a long time, Malfatto dropped his hand.
Malfatto said nothing and stood very, very still. Teodor’s hand shook and his fingertips slipped beneath the mask to feel the soft, hot skin of Malfatto’s cheek. It felt like touching lightning.
It felt like too much. Teodor snatched his hand back and turned in one movement, his eyes fixating on the darkness in front of him. The candlelight burned at the corner of his vision and he shut his eyes against it. After a moment he collected himself and turned back around.
Malfatto was crouched over the thief Teodor had struck with the torch, peering curiously at the half-melted pulp that used to be his face.
“I want to keep this one,” Malfatto murmured. “If you like, you can have the rest.”
† † †
NOTICE: More fanart now exists for this story! Please click here to see the charming picture of Malfatto by silvestris!
« previous chapter | index | next chapter »
author's notes | warnings