“Gianni Braccalese.”
Estragon stared; so did Vladimir. Rubio and Bernardino looked from one to the other, at a loss. Gianni felt a perverse sort of pride.
“Yes,” said the thief, “I had heard of you indeed! Oh, if I had known who I was traveling with, I would have walked alone!”
“We were safer together,” Gianni assured him, “and will be in the future, too. Come in, come in and accept my mother’s hospitality! Then, if you wish, you can join our new army … I mean …” He glanced uneasily at Vladimir, then away, ashamed of himself.
“Perhaps not a soldier, but from what I know of armies, they can find some use for me,” the lame man assured him. “Take me to your general, Gianni. Let him decide.”
Gianni grinned and clapped him on the back. “There’s no general yet, but only our old friend Gar—and yes, I think he’ll find a place for you. Come in.”
Mama Braccalese welcomed the quartet with full hospitality, though she was a little put off by the beggar and the thief, and accorded them a hot tub each as her first gesture of welcome. Gar did indeed assure the beggar that there would be work enough for him as a quartermaster, but for the time being, he should learn the trade of a fletcher, learning the making of crossbow bolts and the compounding of gunpowder for the cannons.
As they were finishing a late and rather large breakfast, Gianni’s father came in, his face grim, but his eye alight. “The Council will hear you tomorrow, Gianni—and I think they will listen more closely, now that so many have lost good trains. But who are these?”
When the introductions had been made and his welcome extended, Papa took Gianni aside and said, “Be sure that you practice what you’re going to say to the Council—but first, walk about the city and sense its mood. I know our people seem their usual cheerful selves, but there’s an undertone of concern there. Everyone knows that things aren’t the way they should be, though no one’s sure what’s wrong yet.” So that afternoon, Gianni went for a stroll in the market, then along a canal and down some small rivers, crossing bridges and listening to conversations. His father had been right—there was tension there, and rumors were flying. People were doomsaying left and right. A grocer near the Bridge of Smiles was telling a customer, “Truly, the beards on the grain are much longer than usual, and the butcher tells me the goats’ hair and the sheep’s wool is much thicker than ever he has seen! It will be an early winter, a long and hard winter, mark my words!”
“I’ll mark them.” His customer tried to look skeptical, but didn’t succeed very well.
Along the River Melorin, he heard two housewives gossiping as they walked along with their shopping baskets on their arms. “I feel it in my bones, Antonia! Fever is rising from the water! It will be a plague such as the Bible tells of, or I know nothing of healing!”
“I could believe that your bones know,” her neighbor scoffed, “but if there’s to be any plague in this city, it’s more likely to come from the gutters than the waters.”
Her eyes were haunted, though, and Gianni could see she didn’t doubt that a plague might be due. The day seemed more chilly suddenly, and he hurried on.
By the waterfront, he heard an old sailor telling some boys, “Aye, a sea serpent, lads! Saw it myself, I did—a long skinny body sticking up from the water, way up, way way up, with a small flat head atop.”
“It wasn’t a very big sea serpent, then,” one of the boys said, disappointed.
“Oh, it was huge! The head was only little when you saw it atop so huge a neck! It was half a mile off if it was an inch, and we blessed our luck when it turned and went from us! But they won’t be turning away from ships this year, oh no! All kinds of monsters will rise from the sea, aye, and chase after our ships, to drag them down!”
The boys moaned with the delight of safe fear, their eyes huge—but a young sailor passing near overheard the old salt and frowned, then hurried off, his brow furrowed.
Gianni began to feel alarm himself—the people were claiming everything bad about the future except the real danger. If they weren’t told the truth soon, if these rumors weren’t quashed, the city would shake itself apart.
As the sun was setting, though, he turned his steps back toward the Piazza del Sol, his pulse quickening—but the market stalls had been shuttered, and the caravan was gone. For a wild, crazed moment, he thought of searching the city for the brightly colored wagon, then remembered that he had already been roaming for hours, and that there were so many islands that even those that could be reached by the network of bridges would take him a week and more to search thoroughly. Heavy-hearted, he went home, to be cheered by the presence of his new friends.
After supper, Gar took him aside and asked, “You talk to the Council tomorrow, then?”
“Yes, if I can think of what to say,” Gianni answered.
Gar shrugged. “Tell them the plain truth—what you’ve heard, and what you’ve seen. If they give you any trouble, introduce me again. I assure you, with what I know now, I can scare them as badly as the worst brimstone-breathing preacher.”
Gianni grinned and promised he would.
But that night, the swirling, dancing figure illuminated his dreams again, glowing more brightly than ever she had before. Gianni Braccalese! she called. You must tell them to flee, Gianni!
Do not flee from me, I beg you, he pleaded in his dream.
Silly boy! she flared. Can you think of nothing but love? But her voice trembled when she said it. Think of your fellow citizens instead! You cannot even dream of the might the lords shall bring against Pirogia when they unite all their armies—or of the horrendous engines of death their far-traveling merchant allies will lend them! There is no hope of victory, none! You must persuade all your fellows to flee!
To leave Pirogia? Gianni cried, aghast. He had a brief, lurid vision of the beautiful bridges burning and falling, the elegant houses tumbling into the bright piazzas as flames burst from them while Stilettos ran from house to house, looting them of gold and plate and crystal and paintings, and smashing what they could not carry. No, never! We cannot desert our Pirogia!
If you do not, you shall die, you shall all die! The dancer stilled, her hands upraised, pleading. You must abandon the city, Gianni, all of you!
They wouldn’t listen to me even if I told them that. Gianni felt a hardening and crystalizing of purpose as he said the words. Our only hope of protecting our wives and mothers is to arm ourselves and fight!
You cannot! she wailed.
Don’t put too much faith in the princes, Gianni told her. At sea, they’re weaker than any fisherman—and no army can march across the water to Pirogia. No, dry your tears, I beg of you—and let me see your face.
Never! The veils began to swirl again. Can you think of nothing but lust, Gianni Braccalese? Nothing but love, he corrected, for I have loved you with a burning passion since first I saw you. Have you indeed? she said acidly. And what of the Gypsy maiden Medallia? Does she interest you not at all?
That brought Gianni up short, and on the horns of the dilemma, he took refuge in truth. She too has captured my fancy. Yes, it could be love, if I could come to know her.