There were also tedious meetings with the few merchants of Tumanola, as Gianni explained that their responsibilities and activities were about to undergo a vast and sudden change, then worked out the ways in which their relationship to the prince would be transformed.
All the while, Gar was closeted with the prince and his vassals. The guards at the door reported hearing voices raised frequently and angrily, though Gar’s was never one of them. Ostensibly, they were working out the terms of the treaty, but Gar had to explain the need for those terms, of course, and when the guards told Gianni what they had been overhearing, he came to eavesdrop himself. Sure enough, the raised voices were protesting the simple facts of trade, and in a tone of iron patience Gar was explaining why those principles were something that no man could impose or cancel—that it was the nature of trade that was forcing them down the noblemen’s throats, not the merchants of Pirogia.
They may have kept the door shut, but the weather was warm, so they left the windows open. Whenever Gianni could spare a moment, he loitered beneath, and heard Gar explaining how government could encourage trade or kill it, and how the noblemen could reap fortunes by regulating trade and taxing it mildly. He also told them how to kill trade, by over-regulation and overtaxing. The noblemen argued ferociously, but Gar held firm—it wasn’t merely his opinion, but that of centuries of scholars who studied such matters. Where had he come from, Gianni wondered, that merchants had been so active for a thousand years and more?
Finally, he overheard Gar giving the aristocrats inspirational talks about their role in the increasing prosperity of Talipon and, through its traders, of all the world. By the time he was done, Gianni was imbued with an almost religious fervor, a sense of mission, of his obligations as a merchant to improve the lot of all humankind everywhere. If he felt so inspired just from the scraps of talk he managed to find time to listen to, what must the noblemen be feeling?
Finally, with full ceremony, they signed the treaty in the prince’s courtyard, where large numbers of citizens and soldiers could witness. Then the Lurgan merchants were brought forth, laden with chains, for their trial. The prince himself presided as judge; Gar presented the case against the Lurgans, and one of their number presented something of a defense. It was weak indeed, partly because he could scarcely be understood due to his accent, partly because he tried to justify the actions of his companions and himself by spouting streams of numbers. The prince ruled that he and his fellow merchants were to be held in the dungeon until the far-traveling men Gar had summoned came to take them away. At that, the Lurgans turned pale and spouted incoherent pleas for mercy—all except one, who fixed Gar with a very cold glare and said, “We will remember this, d’Armand. Be sure.” But Gar only nodded to him courteously, and watched as he was taken away.
There was no mention of the false Gypsies. Gianni wondered about that.
Finally, the Pirogian army marched out of Tumanola with the citizens cheering them—or their departure, it was hard to tell which—and the soldiers cheering their reluctant hosts—or being rid of the inland city with its humidity and mosquitoes, it was hard to tell which. Everyone seemed to take the cheering as protestations of friendship between the two cities, though. The prince was left with his castle and city again—but with no cannon or army other than his personal guard of a hundred men, and a night watch.
The Pirogians came home to a triumphant welcome from their fellow citizens. The returning army marched down the boulevard on flower petals, and came to the Piazza del Sol to find the Maestro and the Council drawn up to award medals to Gar, Gianni, and their captains. Then they were given time to rest and celebrate.
The next day, though, Gar and Gianni were summoned to the Council to meet the ambassadors from the other merchant cities, all of whom had survived the war, though some had suffered, and all of whom needed urgent guidance on what sort of relations to establish with their returning contes and doges. The deliberations turned into debate about the form and processes that would be involved in the new League of Merchant Cities. All that was really in debate was the specific terms and, as it turned out, ways of limiting Pirogia’s power within the League—but all the cities were sure they wanted the League to continue.
There was no question but that Pirogia would lead. All this time, Gianni slept without dreams, to his relief and disappointment relief that he had not seen the Wizard again, disappointment that he had not seen his Dream Woman. He earnestly hoped that he was rid of the one and would rediscover the other.
Perhaps it was only that he was working too hard, and sleeping too soundly—or so he hoped.
Finally, the day came when the treaty was signed and the ambassadors took their leave, each with a copy of the Articles of Alliance to discuss with their Councils and ratify or modify. They left with great ceremony and protestations of eternal friendship.
Gianni wondered whether the good feeling would last past the next trading season. Somehow, though, he was sure the League would endure, no matter how intense the rivalries within it became. They were all too vividly aware of their common enemy: the aristocrats.
The next day, Gar thanked his hosts, the Braccaleses, for their hospitality, but explained that he must leave them. Mama and Papa protested loudly, but Gianni had somehow known this was coming. When the lamentation slackened, he said, “He’s a wanderer, Papa. We can’t expect him to tie his destiny to ours forever.”
“But who will lead the army he has built?” Papa wailed.
“Gianni is more than capable of that little chore,” Gar assured him. “He has become quite the general in these last few weeks, and has an excellent cadre of officers to help him.”
Papa stared at Gianni in surprise; then Gianni saw the rapid calculations going on behind his father’s eyes, of the gain in status for his family and the resulting increase in their influence within the city. Slowly, he nodded. “If you say it, Gar, I must accept it.”
“Someday,” Mama told Gar, “you’ll find a woman who will make you cease your wandering, and wish nothing so much as to stay and care for her—aye, and the children she shall give you.”
For a moment, there was pain in Gar’s eyes—but only a moment; it was quickly masked with a wistful smile. “I dearly hope so, Donna Braccalese—but she isn’t here.”
Gianni nodded. “He must go.”
Not without ceremony, though. That evening saw a hastily prepared but elaborate farewell banquet, in which the councillors pressed rich gifts on their rescuing general, hiding their relief at his leaving—and Gar surprised them all by presenting rich gifts in return, foremost among them a small library which, he said, contained everything he had taught the aristocrats about trade and regulation. Everyone wondered where he had obtained the books, but everyone was too polite to ask.
Then home—but before they went to bed, Gar presented some gifts to his hosts: rich jewelry for Mama, and for Papa, a little machine that calculated overhead, profit, and all manner of other business sums. They pressed a huge necklace of orzans and gold upon him, and everyone retired in wonderfully sentimental melancholy.
Gianni Braccalese!
Gianni sat bolt upright—at least, in his dream—and found himself staring into the eyes of the Wizard. The giant goes, Gianni Braccalese. If you wish to see him off, you must rise at once!
How like Gar not even to wait till the household was awake! Cursing, Gianni began to struggle toward wakefulness, but the Wizard said only, You shall see me no more. Farewell! And with that, he was gone, and Gianni waked in the act of sitting up and reaching for his clothing.