Speak to the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

smile of relief. “You are insane, young man, but I salute you.”
    “Our family motto is
Omnia audere
, and I will not be unworthy of it.”
    The cardinal chuckled. “A humanist hussar? My, what is the world coming to? And how do you construe that apothegm, scholar? ‘To risk everything’?”
    “It means, ‘I dare any odds!’”
    “Close enough. Well, I doubt if any of your ancestors has even faced odds like these—one man against the devil and the entire Pomeranian army. Put your trust in God, my son, not mottoes. Brother Daniel, is it dawn yet?”
    The friar peered behind a drape. “Half light, Eminence.”
    “Then you needs be on your way, Lord Magnus, to dare all. Any questions?”
    “How old is my bride, Madlenka Bukovany?”
    “Ah, how could I leave out the most important part? Seventeen. Petr called her both a hellion, which is a judgment not unexpected from a brother, but also a great beauty, which is.” The old man jingled a leather bag. “Gold for your journey.” He began repacking the satchel. “You may need this engraving. May Our Lord and all His angels preserve you. Your varlet can gather your possessions and return them to Dobkov.”
    “I shall need my … I shall take my brother with me,” Anton said. He saw no reaction from the cardinal, but he realized at once that he had let his guard down too soon and stepped into a trap. He had betrayed Wulf’s dread secret. Yet he could not help thinking that it might turn out for the best, later.

CHAPTER 3
     
    The brothers’ billet was an attic in the slum area, Lower Mauvnik. It was smelly and cramped and the roof leaked. It would be an icehouse in winter and an oven in summer, and Anton could not stand upright there, even without his hussar hat. The old couple who lived in the fourth-floor room below it feared and hated all soldiers, but the pittance the king paid them to billet two men in their loft was probably their only income. The open steps were almost as steep as a ladder and creaked monstrously, so Anton made no effort to be quiet when he entered, although the relics were still abed in the dark. He climbed through the trap at the top, closed it, and carefully set his hat on the solitary chair.
    A bed too narrow for two, a rickety chest of drawers, and a small table completed the furnishings, and the plank floor was carpeted by the clothes and domestic litter of two young men unable to afford servants. Being a count in a great castle was going to be a big step up.
    Wulf was standing in the dormer, having opened the shutter to let in the first rays of daylight. He was shirtless, but seemed unaware of the cold, and he was shaving, which he did every day, although he was too fair to show much in the way of stubble.
    Anton flopped down on the bed. “Sorry I forgot your birthday last week, Wulf.”
    “You are forgiven. I forgot it too. It’s not exactly a major festival.”
    “You feeling better today?”
    “I’m well.”
    He had been tortured by a pounding headache yesterday morning. Possibly in the evening too; Anton had forgotten to ask. He still sounded upset. Commands from a lancer to his varlet would not work in the current situation. Careful negotiation was required.
    “What’s gnawing your ass, then?”
    “Nothing.”
    “You’re lying. I’ve got important news and we’ve got to hurry, so spit it out, sonny.”
    Wulf turned around, his face shining with the oil he used to lubricate the razor. “You don’t know? Really?”
    “Really.”
    “Just that the next time you try to commit suicide, don’t expect me to stop you, all right? It’s my soul you risk and my head you hurt. I hope your palace trollop was worth it, but from now on you can enlist your bawds by yourself.”
    Despite the bitterness in the words, he spoke them softly. No matter how far he was provoked, Wulf never raised his voice. On the rare occasions when he was pushed too far, the first warning was the impact of his fist on the offender’s