Doctor Who MA14 - Managra by Stephen Marley

Author:Stephen Marley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-07-13T02:21:34+00:00

A Bolt from the Black

It came like a bolt from the black

And pierced my heart as Cupid’s dart.

Never to be drawn, never to give back:

My wound, my remedy, my death, my art.

Pearson’s The Man Who Sold His Ears to the Devil Eighteen

ardinal Borgia is dead.’

‘C Agostini’s hand froze over the chessboard, black bishop clutched tight in his contracting grip. The piece snapped and dropped in two beside a white rook.

He glared at the nervous messenger, then stared across the board at the dumbstruck Maroc.

‘What brought about his death?’ Agostini demanded of the messenger. ‘The Inquisition–’

‘The Inquisition had no part in it, eminence. He was crushed in the transit tunnels before reaching Domain Purgatorial. Such accidents have been known.’

Maroc had regained his poise. ‘Perhaps it’s the judgement of the Almighty.’

Agostini expelled a breath. ‘Perhaps. But he’s taken his secrets to the Almighty with him. Now we’ll learn nothing.’

He waved the messenger away, and leaned back in his chair, brooding. ‘For Borgia’s co-conspirators, a timely accident.

Too timely. It must have been arranged.’

‘But that could only have been done by a member of the Enclave!’ exclaimed Maroc. ‘No one else was aware of his transition to Domain Purgatorial.’

‘That’s so. It seems there were two traitors at the Vatican’s heart. I said as much to you, but you wouldn’t hear of it. I supplied the names of both suspects. The pope confirmed the guilt of one. Now – well, you know whom to watch.’

Maroc shook his head in confusion. ‘Two traitors in the Enclave...’

‘But only one left to find. And he’ll have a contact on the outside. When he makes that contact, we’ve got him.’

‘Shouldn’t we consult the pope?’

‘He’s in retreat. We must decide for ourselves.’

Maroc lowered his gaze to the chessboard, with its broken black bishop. ‘Your move, eminence,’ he invited, his tone loaded with significance.

Agostini held his head and groaned. ‘I just knew you were going to say that.’

Cardinal Francisco couldn’t keep his eyes off the mirror.

An hour ago, after returning in shock to his chamber, he had knelt down before a statue of St Sebastian and prayed that the Inquisition would purify Rodrigo Borgia’s soul. On hearing the news of Borgia’s death in the transit tunnels, his prayer was more urgent: may God claim Rodrigo before the Devil takes his own.

The guards, he was told, found it difficult to distinguish between crushed cardinal and crushed throne.

The thought of Borgia’s hideous end had put a stop to Francisco’s prayers. Such accidents were rare. And this was a convenient accident for anyone who wished the cardinal silenced.

What might he have said that was so damning?

It was with thoughts of damnation that Francisco glanced in the mirror and saw the Devil.

The glimpse of horns and hooves had been fleeting, a flicker of diablerie in the glass, but it set his pulse pounding and rosary beads rattling.

Face the Devil with faith, that’s what he’d been taught.

Now he paced his chamber, eyes constantly straying to the mirror, daring the Father of Lies to reappear.

The glass reflected nothing but the room and his own frightened face.

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