Traveling from the Kalzov Valley to Venice swiftly on a good horse takes three days. By carriage, we would need five.
After she had tied my hands and put away her weapon, Allura adopted a confiding tone, as though we were just two girls together, whiling away the long journey.
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Dragana, my dear.
“I was once as young as you are and just as beautiful. Oh yes, you are stunning and I know it, even if you don’t believe it! When I was that young I had a passion, but for people and causes, not weeds and bugs.”
She paused, then spat out, “I wanted to do right! So much right!”
Wistfully, she continued, “That was my downfall. I fell in with evil people who talked passionately of doing right and I sopped up their evil like a sponge! ‘The ends justify the means!’ they intoned. ‘Any act becomes heroic if it is an act against tyrants,’ my evil friends declared time and time again.
“We lived in the Duchy of Milan, and we crusaded to make it a republic, to break the power of the oligarchs, whether so-called nobles or commoners. I have a talent for persuasion, as your father has recently discovered, and even you, my dear. At first I used that talent to turn one oligarchic family against another. At dinners, balls, card parties, even at Mass, I passed on false but highly believable stories that caused disharmony, dissension, and even a few duels.”
Fascinated despite my situation, I murmured, “Vendettas.”
Allura smiled coldly. “Those take a longer time, and greater offenses, to establish. Hard to do, especially in the cuff of the Italian boot. It would perhaps be easier further south, or in your Balkans.
“But even quicker and deadlier than turning one family against another was turning an oligarch against his own family—father against son, nephew against uncle. Then a yet more evil scheme was hatched by the most ruthless of my friends, the one I loved … the one who survives to this day. He murdered the wife of an oligarch. I stepped in to seduce and marry the grieving widower. Soon after my sportsman husband made a new will that left me most of his estate, he suffered a hunting accident; his rifle exploded. This was widely blamed on a rival of his, a reputed black magician. Of course nothing could be proven—because that too was really the work of my evil lover.”
“Such superstition,” I exclaimed. “There’s no such thing as magic.”
“You are young, Dragana; I have seen more, and I am not so sure.
“I was young then, and so, so foolish. The bulk of the wealth I inherited went to the cause. But the bulk of that was dissipated on risky projects to bring in yet more wealth—or, I later came to suspect, on debauchery.
“My second husband, older and richer than the first, died of an apoplexy, brought on by a certain herb in his evening posset. My lofty ends had led me to master the base tools of assassination.
“Again my wealth went generously to my fellow conspirators, and again republicanism in Milan advanced not a whit!
“I was much pitied for my double tragedies. My chief consoler was not in his first youth but still good looking, and he knew it. I let him seduce me, and he became my third husband.
“As we maneuvered him toward the altar, I began to doubt the justice of this terrible tactic. I should rather have doubted my wisdom in its execution; having two husbands die of apoplexy within so few years led many to call me the Black Widow of Milan. The will, which left everything to me, was fiercely though futilely contested; after the lawyers’ fees were paid, little was left to be wasted by our cabal.
“Meanwhile we not only argued constantly and uselessly about the best tactics to achieve our goals, and exactly what those goals should be, but members of our conspiracy steadily died off, some from taking foolish risks, some even more foolishly killing each other.”
She paused, her gaze distant.
“My fourth husband had been a widower for many years. Of course his family, especially his children, opposed our match, but though he was senile he was strong-willed … and strong-bodied, it turned out. His fall down two and a half flights of stairs should have killed him outright, but he lived long enough to accuse me. I got nothing when he died, nothing but death threats. I was forced to flee Milan.
“I will not say how I survived the harsh time that followed. But a few years ago, I met a well-to-do woman who bore a notable physical resemblance to me. When I discovered that she had lived a decade in Scotland and was now returning to her home city, ‘despite that my family and friends have all died there’, I could not believe the luck that the fates had handed me. We traveled together for a while, and talked and talked. After I had gained her confidence and learned enough of her life to be sure that I could impersonate her to strangers, I killed her. Then I came ‘home’ to Venice as Allura Vinzetta.”
“So …” Allura smiled. “Do you know me now, my dear? Do you think your father, or that bumpkin Baron, can understand who they are up against? I think not.”
“But why have you taken me prisoner?” I asked.
“It seems my once-lover survived the end of our cabal, unlike nearly all my other Milanese friends. In fact, he is now a very powerful person there … perhaps the most powerful … but not in the public eye.
“Unfortunately, I cannot take up with him where we left off. His tastes run solely to girls in their first youth. We had ceased to be a couple long before I had to flee Milan.
“You are just the age he always preferred, quite likable, and of unusual beauty and intelligence, a combination difficult to find.
“So you will be my offering to him in exchange for safe haven in Milan.”
“But why can’t you just marry my father as you intended? Or was that too, merely an act?” I cried.
“I know you dislike me intensely, but up to now you have been very good about not insulting me; please don’t start now. Nor have you tried to turn anyone against me. I like that in a person. You have good character, very good character, and I admire that. In fact, I envy you for it. Too often I cannot resist evil, even though I recognize it.”
I realized that she did not know me as well as she thought, either, but I said nothing.
“And no, I was quite sincere about marrying your father. And even keeping him alive afterwards.
“But I discovered that your Baron had learned the name I was born with, and perhaps some other bits and pieces of my past! This trip to Italy is intended to make ‘the scales fall from poor Josif’s eyes’ so that he will call off our engagement. Such a pity!”
“How did the Baron make a connection between you and Milan?” I asked.
“He’s a mage, you know, a rather powerful user of the dark arts.”
“What?”
“Oh, he believes in natural science, too, the more up to date the better. But I’ve been to his library, I’ve seen his tools: He’s a practitioner.”
This was not something I wanted to hear or think about right then. It could explain some of his mystery, I told myself, but … I was sure there was no real magic! Perhaps Allura was just saying this to hurt me and turn me against Iglacias. On the other hand, it would explain how he could locate all those unusual fauna and flora on our excursions.
And even … but I resolved to put all that out of my mind in favor of learning what I could from Allura. Even the lies that someone chooses to tell can reveal something of the truth.
She yawned a bit, a troubled yawn, not a sleepy yawn.
“If your Baron hadn’t made that connection, I would be happily settled in Venice, with sufficient wealth to maintain my style.”
“In Venice?”
She smiled dreamily. “Oh, I still get romantic notions, dear, and your father is a good persuader himself. He talked to me of the green wonders of the Kalzov Valley, and for a while I quite imagined myself fitting in among its wondrous green forests, neat farms, and mysterious old hills. But after I came and saw for myself that it was just another remote valley populated with in-breds and rustics … I’ve always been a city girl.”
“You think my father would have gone to Venice?”
She smiled at me again.
“I am still a powerful persuader. The question is not whether your father would have come to Venice, but whether you would have, dear. Did you enjoy your Venetian years enough to return? Would you have found a dark, handsome gentleman there to fulfill your deep longings … perhaps more than one?”
I’m sure I looked outraged at the suggestion that I would ever behave in any way like the Black Widow of Milan, for Allura laughed.
“But that is all moot, now. Now you are a prisoner and we are on the run for Milan.”
She sighed slightly, and looked out the window. Apparently she had confided as much as she felt impelled to, and I did not want to irritate her with more questions, so our conversation died.
I thought hard about working the knots off my wrists, or even just jumping out of the carriage as it toiled slowly up a hill and hiding in the woods until I could break or untie my bonds. I probably should have; I’m good in our Balkan woods, undoubtedly better than Allura or any of her Venetian servants. But in silently turning over the possibilities, I somehow fell asleep.
I awoke to find Allura undoing the straps around my wrists.
“You are showing good sense, my dear. This will be a long journey, and I’m happy to see you are not going to attempt foolish escapes. Do I have your word that you will not attempt something foolish if we stop at an inn to sit decently at a table?”
“You do,” I sighed, and crossed myself to confirm it, concealing my delight in her wording. I would attempt no foolish escapes but take any opportunity with a good chance of succeeding.