“No,” Giles said. “Medallia is smart, very smart. She’d see through either of those stratagems. We have to either pen her up, which we won’t do, or try to move a step faster and maneuver more cleverly than she.”
Morgan’s tone indicated agreement. “That shouldn’t be hard—we’re thirty to her one!”
“We’ll just have to play the game fairly, then,” Rosalie sighed.
Game? Was that all this was to them, some sort of huge game? But to Gianni and his people, it was life—or death!
“So much for Medallia,” said Rosalie, “but what’re we going to do with our two waifs and strays?”
Gianni turned cold inside again.
“What can we do?” Morgan sighed. “We can’t just dump them to starve, not so badly wounded, and with one of them still witless from concussion. That must have been a very bad blow to the head!”
Esmeralda shuddered. “Be glad you didn’t have a close look at the bruise. The bone wasn’t broken, though—at least, not that I could see without an X ray.”
“There might be a subdural hematoma,” Rosalie said, frowning. “We’ll have to keep a close eye on him!”
“We’ll have to take them with us, until we can find some place safe to leave them,” Morgan decided. “Prince Raginaldi’s castle is only two days away, and we were thinking of stopping there anyway.”
“I suppose we’ll have to drop them there, then,” Rosalie sighed, “though I hate leaving someone in that condition to medieval medicine.”
“Not quite as medieval as it might be,” Morgan reminded her. “Their doctors still have some advanced techniques and even ways of making antibiotics, that have come down from the original settlers by word of mouth.”
But Gianni missed the last sentence or two, numb with shock. Leave Gar and him to the Raginaldi, the aristocrats who were employing the Stilettos? They might not know who he was, but the Stilettos would recognize Gar in an instant, and the two of them would be dead in a second—assuming the Raginaldi didn’t maim them and send them back to the Pirogia as a warning. No, somehow, as soon as they could, he and Gar would have to escape!
Hard on that thought came another: no time like the present. The Gypsies wouldn’t expect them to wander off in the night, so soon after being rescued—but they couldn’t be suspicious, either; they’d just take Gar and Gianni for ungracious and ungrateful wretches or, at worst, for a couple of vagabonds who had played a ruse upon them.
Gianni couldn’t believe the naïveté of these people—especially since they seemed to consider themselves so much wiser than the folk of Talipon, wise enough to meddle in their affairs and to dare to try to chart their destinies! Didn’t they know that no lord would willingly have anything to do with trade? Stealing a merchant’s money under the name of confiscation or fines for violating a chartered monopoly, yes—but earning the silver themselves? No! Surely they must see that if the lords could ever stop fighting, they would band together to enslave the merchants!
Very true, the face said. White hair swirled about it as though it were the center of a whirlpool.
Gianni realized, with a shock, that he was no longer hearing the Gypsies, and must have fallen completely asleep. If you know that, you must know how I can keep myself and Gar alive until we come safely back to Pirogia! he said. Come to that, you can tell us how to defend Pirogia from the noblemen, and from these soft-hearted bungling meddlers!
The giant has done that already, the face answered. He has told your Council they must band together with all the other merchant cities.
Despair struck. I shall never convince them of that!
Take heart, the face advised. You shall find a way—and perhaps that way will stem from the other course of action you may take.
Hope sprouted again. What course is that?
Protect Medallia, the face said. Protect her and help her in all that she does, and she may do your persuading for you. In any event, listen to her counsel, for she knows as much as these fake Gypsies, and has clearer sight, with far better judgment.
This time, Gianni remembered before the face started to disappear. Who are you?
Call me the Wizard, the face answered, the Wizard in your mind. He began to shrink, to recede. It is time to escape, you know. The Gypsies will not chase you—indeed, they will be relieved to have the burden off their hands—but you must escape now.
How? In his dream, Gianni called it out, for the face had receded till it was little more than a white oval in the dark.
Walk away, the Wizard answered simply, his voice thin and distant. Walk away.
Gianni sat up so hard that he would have cracked his head on the bottom of the caravan if it had been a few inches lower—and that would have been bad, for it would have waked the family who slept inside. He tried to slow his breathing as he looked about him wildly. The campfire was only a faint glow with no one around it. The young men were rolled up in their blankets under the wagons; here and there, someone snored. The older men and their wives were inside the caravans—now that he thought of it, Gianni hadn’t seen any children. Before, he had thought they were all inside; now, it made perfect sense that there were no children, if these pretend Gypsies were really wandering troublemakers in disguise. Briefly, he wondered who they were and where they had come from, but before he could consider the matter, a young Gypsy with a sword strolled between him and the glow of the embers, and the necessities of the moment forced the questions out of his mind. A sentry! They had posted a sentry, and probably two, so that if one were attacked, the other might still give the alarm. At least, that was what old Antonio had taught Gianni.
Then he and Gar would have to attack both at once. He rolled over to his knees and crawled over to the darker shape that was Gar. “Gar! Wake up!” he hissed, shaking him by a shoulder—and nearly went rolling again, for the giant flailed out with the arm Gianni was shaking as he came awake with a snort and sat bolt upright. Gianni just barely managed to push his shoulder hard at the last moment, keeping him from banging his head on the caravan bottom. Gar brushed the hand away with a growl, and for a second, his eyes glowed with mayhem as he glared up at Gianni, huge hand balled for a blow that must surely have killed anyone it touched …
But the eyes calmed as they widened with recognition, and the big man hissed, “Giorgio!”
Well, that settled it—he wasn’t shamming. Not if he could remember Gianni’s false name when he was freshly waked, and alarmed at that. Gianni pressed a finger over his lips, hissing, “Shhhh!”
“Shhhh.” Gar mimicked both the gesture and the tone, then whispered, “Why?”
“Because we have to leave here without the Gypsies knowing.”
Gar didn’t ask why; he slowly nodded.
“They’ve posted sentries,” Gianni whispered. “We have to sneak up on them, one of us to each of them, and overpower them silently.”
“Why?” Gar asked again.
Gianni schooled himself to patience, remembering that the big man had lost his wits. “Because if we don’t, they’ll see us going and raise the alarm.” Gar shook his head. “Why? They fall asleep soon.”
“Well, perhaps,” Gianni allowed, “but only when two others like them take their places.”
“No, no.” Gar shook his head, then turned to peer out into the darkness. Frowning, Gianni turned to see what he was looking at—and saw a sentry amble up to the fire, yawning, then stand near it, looking about him for a minute or two before he sat down, folding his legs, and staring at the fire. He yawned again as the other sentry came up, also yawning. They seemed not to see each other as the first sentry lay down, pillowing his head on his arm, and began to snore. The second sentry lay down on the other side of the fire. In a minute, he was snoring too.