Page 6

Two

Y ou’re late.” Caprino jerked Sanchia into the shadows of the arcade surrounding the piazza. “I told you two o’clock.”

“It couldn’t be helped,” Sanchia said breathlessly. “There was an accident…and we didn’t get finished until an hour…ago…and then I had to wait until Giovanni left to take the—”

Caprino silenced the flow of words with an impatient motion of his hand. “There he is.” He nodded across the crowded piazza. “The big man in the wine-colored velvet cape listening to the storyteller.”

Sanchia’s gaze followed Caprino’s to the man standing in front of the platform.

He was more than big, he was a giant, she thought gloomily.

The careless arrogance in the man’s stance bespoke perfect confidence in his ability to deal with any circumstances and, if he caught her, he’d probably use his strong hands to crush her head like a walnut.

Well, she was too tired to worry about that right now.

It had been over thirty hours since she had slept.

Perhaps it was just as well she was almost too exhausted to care what happened to her.

Fear must not make her as clumsy as she had been yesterday.

She was at least glad the giant appeared able to afford to lose a few ducats.

The richness of his clothing indicated he must either be a great lord or a prosperous merchant.

“Go.” Caprino gave her a little push out onto the piazza. “Now.”

She pulled her shawl over her head to shadow her face and hurried toward the platform where Luca Brezal was telling his story, accompanying himself on the lyre.

She had heard Luca many times before and didn’t consider him overly talented.

She wished the storyteller were Pico Fallone.

Pico could hold an audience spellbound and would have made it much easier for her to ease close enough to snatch the giant’s purse.

A drop of rain struck her face, and she glanced up at the suddenly dark skies.

Not yet, she thought with exasperation. If it started to rain in earnest the people crowding the piazza would run for shelter and she would have to follow the velvet-clad giant until he put himself into a situation that allowed her to make the snatch.

Another drop splashed her hand, and her anxious gaze flew to the giant. His attention was still fixed on the storyteller, but only the saints knew how long he would remain. Her pace quickened as she flowed like a shadow into the crowd surrounding the platform.

Garlic, Lion thought, as the odor assaulted his nostrils.

Garlic, spoiled fish, and some other stench that smelled even fouler.

He glanced around the crowd trying to identify the source of the smell.

The people surrounding the platform were the same ones he had studied moments before, trying to search out Caprino’s thief.

The only new arrival was a thin woman dressed in a shabby gray gown, an equally ragged woolen shawl covering her head.

She moved away from the edge of the crowd and started to hurry across the piazza.

The stench faded with her departure and Lion drew a deep breath.

Dio , luck was with him in this, at least. He was not at all pleased at being forced to stand in the rain waiting for Caprino to produce his master thief.

“It’s done,” Lorenzo muttered, suddenly at Lion’s side. He had been watching from the far side of the crowd. Now he said more loudly, “As sweet a snatch as I’ve ever seen.”

“What?” Frowning, Lion gazed at him. “There was no—” He broke off as he glanced down at his belt. The pouch was gone; only the severed cords remained in his belt. “Sweet Jesus.” His gaze flew around the piazza. “Who?”

“The sweet madonna who looked like a beggarmaid and smelled like a decaying corpse.” Lorenzo nodded toward the arched arcade. “She disappeared behind that column, and I’ll wager you’ll find Caprino lurking there with her, counting your ducats.”

Lion started toward the column. “A woman,” he murmured. “I didn’t expect a woman. How good is she?”

Lorenzo fell into step with him. “Very good.”

“A woman…offers interesting possibilities. The guards at the Palazzo wouldn’t be expecting a female.”

“Especially not when the woman smells like spoiled trout. I doubt if even a fishmonger would find her alluring.”

“That problem seems easy enough to sol—” Lion broke off as Caprino stepped from behind the column and started toward them.

A smug smile on his lips, Caprino held up Lion’s purse. “You are satisfied? A lift as graceful as the steps of a pavane.”

“Where’s the woman?” Lion squinted into the shadowed arcade.

“Gone. I let Sanchia go back to the shop until I learned your decision. There was no point to involving her further, if you found a woman unsuitable for your purpose.”

“She may be adequate,” Lion said slowly. “If she proves pliable.”

Caprino’s lids lowered to veil the sudden glitter in his eyes.

“A woman you can own is always pliable. Did you think I’d forgotten your second requirement?

Sanchia is a slave as her mother was before her.

You can buy her and command her to do whatever you wish her to do.

” He smiled faintly. “And she would never dare betray you by running back to tell me or anyone else of your concerns.”

“A slave,” Lion repeated. Slavery was not allowed in his own city-state of Mandara, but there were many slaves in other parts of Italy brought from Turkey, Spain, and the Balkans. “In your service?”

Caprino shook his head. “She belongs to Giovanni Ballano who owns a print shop on the Via Calimala.”

“Who sends her out to steal for him?”

Caprino shook his head. “He doesn’t know about it. Giovanni is a drunkard and a fool who will soon lose his shop and everything he owns. He needs Sanchia’s help, but hand him a jug of good wine and a few ducats and he’ll be persuaded to give her up to you.”

“More gold?” Lion asked dryly. “This thief is costing me dearly.”

“I found what you wanted,” Caprino protested. “You can’t expect me to impoverish myself by buying her for you.” A thoughtful frown suddenly wrinkled his brow. “However, out of the goodness of my heart, I’ll return half of this purse to you if you decide to buy Sanchia.”

Lion’s gaze narrowed. “Indeed? Now why is it you’re so eager for me to accept your little slave girl?”

“It suits me to have her removed from Florence. I have my secrets also, my lord. Is it agreed?”

Lion gazed at him for a long moment before nodding slowly. “If Ballano can be persuaded to sell her, I’ll accept your lady thief.” He took the pouch from Caprino’s hand. “Come to Giulia’s tomorrow morning, and I’ll return half the gold in the purse.”

“You do not trust me?”

Lion’s lips twisted in a mirthless smile. “Trust?” He turned and strode across the piazza.

Lorenzo strolled beside him. “You’re going to see Ballano now?”

Lion nodded. “We’ve wasted too much time. I want to be at Solinari by Thursday.”

“You think Camari may move the statue?”

“Who knows what that whoreson will do? He seldom does anything without a reason.”

“He hates you,” Lorenzo observed. “To keep you from getting something you want may be reason enough.”

“Well, he won’t succeed.” Lion’s lips tightened. “The Wind Dancer is mine, and I’ll not let anyone take what belongs to me.”

Lorenzo stopped as they reached a table near the door of a trattoria beneath the arcade on the south side of the piazza.

“I’ll wait for you here.” He dropped onto a chair at the table and drew a slim volume from beneath his cloak.

“You’re being depressingly grim about this matter, and I have no interest in your petty haggling. ”

“By all means,” Lion agreed ironically. “Heaven forbid you should be bored.”

“My thought exactly.” Lorenzo opened the book. “Though heaven gave up any interest in me a long time ago. Run along and conduct your business.”

Lion shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “As you command.” He turned and strode away in the direction of the Via Calimala.

The rain was falling hard when Sanchia arrived at the print shop; a worried frown marred the serene beauty of Elizabet’s face as she met Sanchia at the door.

“Giovanni isn’t back yet.” She pulled Sanchia into the shop.

“You’re soaked. You’re sure to catch a chill. Come and have some wine to warm you.”

Sanchia shook her head. “Not now. I have to sleep.” She moved heavily across the shop to the storage room and sank to her knees on her pallet.

Sighing with weariness, she stretched out and pulled the worn quilt up to cover her chin.

“Wake me when Giovanni comes back. Where are Piero and Bartolomeo?”

“Giovanni sent them to the wine shop to get a fresh jug for him.” Elizabet leaned down to tuck the quilt more closely around Sanchia’s thin body. “Sleep. I’ll try to keep Giovanni from waking you.”

Sanchia’s lids felt as if they were weighted, and she could hold them open no longer.

She had to sleep, if only for a little while.

It probably would be for a mere few precious moments.

She knew Elizabet would try to protect her, but the girl was too gentle-natured and free from guile to keep Giovanni from doing anything he wanted to do.

If Messer Rudolfo was pleased with their work, Giovanni would quite likely bring back another commission and want them to start on it at once.

And Messer Rudolfo would be pleased, she thought with a glimmer of pride. She and Bartolomeo had done excellent work on the Convivio . Really excellent work…

“No, you can’t wake her! What do you want with Sanchia?

” The note of panic in Elizabet’s voice pierced the heavy clouds of sleep beginning to surround Sanchia.

Something was wrong, she thought drowsily.

She had to force her eyes open. No, it was too difficult.

Finally, she managed to awaken herself enough to stare sleepily at the man standing in the doorway.