The Boy Who Wept Blood Read Online Free PDF

was at an end. Dino looked down at the broken man, knife in one hand, remains of the destroyed basket in the other. The head, still obscured beneath a hood for the most part, rested at a cruel angle. A few urchins were already prowling close to the fallen food. Dino shivered as sweat cooled beneath his doublet. He forced his breathing to a slow crawl, calming himself. Something about the way the man had come to rest reminded Dino of a body he’d found many years ago. A body discovered at the base of a spiral staircase when he’d been just eleven years old. Demesne had not been kind to him during his eleventh year.
    ‘Dino?’
    He jerked back as if stung. Massimo stood by his side.
    ‘Are you hurt? Your sleeve is—’
    ‘No, I’m …’
    ‘You were just standing there, staring into space.’
    ‘I was …’ The food had been neatly stolen, the urchins long gone. A crowd composed of respectful silence and hand-wringing anxiety had gathered without his noticing.
    ‘He fell from the balcony …’ Dino gestured with one hand as if this might conjure further explanation. ‘I didn’t mean to …’
    ‘You’ve no need to justify yourself to me.’ Massimo frowned. ‘A death from a balcony is just as good as one from the blade. They were dangerous and they were armed.’
    Dino composed himself. ‘Is Virmyre …?’
    ‘He’s fine.’ Massimo grinned. ‘It will take more than a few ragged paupers to give Virmyre pause.’ The swordsman looked back up the street. ‘The old dottore didn’t make it. Seems his heart couldn’t take the strain.’
    Dino’s gaze had returned to the crumpled man. Massimo sheathed his sword and took a step closer, dropping his voice.
    ‘What’s troubling you, Dino?’
    ‘This wasn’t assassination. This was starvation. They were after food.’
    ‘I can believe that. None of them look much like assassins.’
    Dino continued to gaze at his quarry, a broken tangle of limbs beneath the crude collection of rags. The bright sunlight spared no detail. Naked filthy feet, a hunch in his back, dull black nails on fingers that clutched a short rusted blade.
    ‘Dull black fingernails. Just like—’
    ‘Come on,’ said Massimo gently. ‘Let’s get you and Virmyre back to Demesne. We can let the guards clean this up.’
    ‘Clean him up, Mass. It’s a person. A man like you or me.’
    ‘Just not so well dressed.’
    Dino curled his lip. ‘He’s a person, Mass.’
    The Contadino swordsman studied him a moment, concern clouding his dark eyes.
    ‘I’m sorry, Dino. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
    The Orfano’s anger subdued, then withered altogether. Dino had always found it impossible to stay angry at the swordsman for long. He sheathed his sword, unable to meet Massimo’s eye.
    ‘Bad wine and starving peasants,’ said Virmyre, leaning heavily on his stick. ‘This is one hell of a town we’re running.’ He’d pushed his way through the crowd, dabbing at his brow with a kerchief.
    ‘I’m sorry about the dottore ,’ said Massimo.
    ‘Don’t be,’ replied Virmyre. ‘He was dead the moment he left Demesne. He was probably glad to have an end to it all. If the people knew what I know, he wouldn’t have lasted ten days, let alone ten years.’
    ‘I didn’t realise he was still alive,’ said Massimo quietly.
    ‘Well, he’s no loss to us then, is he?’ said Dino.
    Virmyre nodded and stalked off.
    ‘Your sleeve, it looks bad,’ said Massimo with obvious concern. Virmyre stopped, turned and flashed a glance at the fabric. Beneath the rip were the telltale cream bandages. Dino held his forearm up to his chest, covering it with his free hand.
    ‘It’s fine. My … my deformity protected me from the blade. There might be a little damage but nothing that won’t grow back.’ Virmyre nodded to him, stern face more serious than usual. ‘They always grow back.’
    The walk through the town took too long, Virmyre’s pace an idling stroll compared to Dino’s urgent stride.