Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

Power. There were the eyes of an eagle under that solid, heavy single line of dark brow. Even without a word spoken between them, Marco knew this to be a man in whom the fires of spirit burned high. And, by his calm assurance, someone to whom command was almost inborn. "Thank you, Louis. That will be all." The footman bowed respectfully and left.

"You have come from Mainz, or from the Grand Metropolitan?" The Basque held out his hand to take the scroll.

Marco swallowed, and passed over the scroll. "Neither, sir. My master is here in Venice. He said I must wait and take a reply."

Lopez sighed. "I had hoped… Never mind. All things will come to pass eventually. Sit."

So Marco sat down. The guest of Brunelli's occupied a room that filled him with envy. It was full of books, leather-bound volumes on volumes. Marco gazed hungrily at them. In the meantime, Lopez had taken his own seat at a small desk nearby. He cracked the seal and scanned the contents of the scroll.

When he finally spoke his voice was cold. "You may tell your master that I am neither prey for blackmail nor interested in treachery. He misinterprets my work here on the Rio del Ghetto, as he does my messages to Rome."

Marco rose hastily. Rio del Ghetto. Where the "magicians" sold their charms and wares. Where the Jews were supposed to remain, although in tolerant Venice that practice was widely ignored. Very close to where he and Benito had shared lodgings. Rome… well, the Grand Metropolitan was not overly enamored with Venice's religious health, if Father Del Igilo was to be believed.

But this was no time for debate. "Yes, Signor," was all he said.

As Marco turned to leave, the Basque rose from the desk and said grimly: "Stop. Since you chose to come here, I will have a few words with you as well."

Marco froze. "I d-didn't 'choose' anything, sir. My master?"

"How old are you?" demanded Lopez.

"S-sixteen."

"Old enough not to think like a boy any longer. What is your name?"

The man's force of personality was too great to resist. "Marco, sir. Uh, Marco?ah?Felluci."

The Basque snorted. " 'Felluci'? I doubt it. But if you chose a false surname?chose, young Marco?then you need to give a thought to all your choices. At sixteen, you can no longer use the excuse of being a 'boy.' You are a man, now. And a man chooses his own masters."

Marco said nothing. Lopez sighed. "Not a man yet, it seems. Very well." He resumed his seat and turned his face away, studying a document on the desk. "When you do decide to become a man, Marco-who-says-he-is-Felluci, I advise you to find another master. This one walks a path to ruin. If you continue to follow him, you will share his fate."

The footman was lurking outside the door. He saw Marco off the premises, with no comments but a tight set to his face. Well, thought Marco, at least he was being shown out and didn't have to deal with Lucrezia Brunelli in a foul mood.

Benito was loitering in the street. "I thought you were going to stay on the roof," said Marco when Benito joined him.

"Came down to meet you."

"How did you know…?" Marco sighed. "Never mind. You've been peering in windows again, haven't you? You'd do this side of Caesare's business much better than I can."

Benito shuddered. "Believe me, brother. This was one time I was really glad it was you. That's a scary guy. I've seen him before, that time when… never mind. Now come on. Let's climb up there and get moving if you still want to drop in at Barducci's tonight."

Marco thought of Angelina. The thought was enough to get him moving up to the slippery coppo tiles. Benito was already walking up the rickety stairs that had given them such an easy descent. The roof was an easy jump and haul from there. Marco sighed. It wasn't the roof walking as much as the looking down that worried him.

Benito peered over the roof edge. They'd have to descend here again. Then he put out a hand to stop Marco. There were two people coming out of a sotoportego into the broad Calle dei Fabbri below. To discourage cutpurses and cutthroats, there were oil lamps burning in niches there. You could see the two men clearly, just for a moment.

They were both tall, and one of them very large. The large one was dark-haired; the other blond. The dark-haired man moved with a sort of solid determination, the blond with catlike grace.

"Knights of the Holy Trinity. Even if they're not in uniform," whispered Benito. "I saw both of them…" His voice trailed off.

An errant night-breeze stirred the mist and brought a snatch of conversation up from below.

"… shouldn't have come. This is my affair, Manfred."

A snort. "I think I owe her more for 'services' than you do, Erik."

The two stopped outside a building with long Moorish-style arched windows, and knocked.

Benito gave a low whistle. "Well, well, well. Who would have thought it?" He chuckled. "So much for their holiness."

Marco looked. It seemed a fairly innocuous if moderately well-to-do three-story building. "What is it?"

Benito looked startled. "Sorry. I forget that you lived in the marshes for so long. That's the Casa Louise. It's… um, a place where wealthy merchants and some of the Case Vecchie maintain their mistresses. I guess you could call it a bordello, but it's as high-class as it gets."

Benito studied the two knights below, squinting a bit. "It's funny, though. I wouldna thought knights?not that young, anyway?could've afforded the women in this place."

Marco shook his head. His brother's knowledge of vice worried him. He supposed that, having lived in town for all these years, the boy would have more knowledge of things like that than he did.

"Oh, my?" Kat stood in the doorway wide-eyed at the sight of Francesca's new suite of rooms. Francesca smiled wryly.

"Don't be too impressed, my dear," she said. "Remember how this is all paid for. My five current patrons are all over fifty, two are fat, one is bald and has a nose the size of a melon, and the last, poor man, needs?" She considered for a moment how to phrase what she wanted to say delicately. "?a great deal of encouragement to achieve his desires."

Kat blushed a charming color of pink.

Francesca's smile widened. "However, things may be on the verge of improvement. In one respect, at least. Do you recall that very large knight who was one of your rescuers at the church?" Seeing Kat's nod, Francesca cheerfully related the incident where she had provided Manfred and Erik with a means of escape from an ambush?sparing no details at all.

Kat blushed a charming color of scarlet.

Francesca laughed. "Don't be so innocent! That young knight certainly isn't?the large, young one, I mean. In fact, he and his blond friend visited just yesterday evening. To tender their thanks, they said. Which I have no doubt is all the blond one intended, but not large young Manfred." Her smile was now almost seraphic. "So I do believe I shall be acquiring a new patron, and very soon. He'll tire me out more, of course, but it'll still be a nice change of pace."

Kat's blush was beginning to fade; all the faster, as her face was creased by a frown of puzzlement. "I wouldn't have thought that a young knight could afford you in the first place, even if?" She stumbled over the next words, trying to avoid offense.

"?even if his morals were scandalous for someone supposedly devoted to holy orders?" finished Francesca, grinning. "Such an innocent! Kat, one of my existing patrons is quite high-ranked in the Church?and no temporary confrere knight, either."

The grin faded, and Francesca looked away. "As for the other… I'd just as soon not talk about it. Better for you also if I don't, girl, trust me. Just remember that confrere knights, whatever their current state, are often young men from the elite of the Empire. So a large purse is not really that surprising. Large enough, at least"?waving her hand about?"for these purposes."