CHAPTER 55
Levi carried Sofia back to their apartments and laid her down. In whispers he told Pedro the Concordian offer, and finished, ‘It’s a trap, a damn good trap. Spinther knows full well Sofia won’t go, and that if she doesn’t, this league will collapse before it’s even begun.’
‘You’re being irrational – what would they get from killing one girl? Call their bluff and go. I know it’s not easy to trust them, but maybe it is worth the risk. Giovanni was Concordian. They’re not all bad.’
‘If Sofia goes, they’ll just keep her till they’re strong again. The war’s opening salvo will be her execution.’
‘Water …’
They both looked down at Sofia. Levi poured a glass and handed it to her. She took a long drink, placed the glass on the locker by the bed and looked at them. Her face was wan, but she spoke with certainty. ‘Pedro, Levi’s right. War’s coming, no matter how we dull our ears to the thunder. And Giovanni wasn’t a Concordian.’
‘He may have died for Rasenna but that doesn’t change his nationality.’ Pedro gathered his courage and said, ‘And he wasn’t just any Concordian. Sofia, you need to know: Giovanni was Girolamo Bernoulli’s grandson.’
Pedro expected a furious denial, but she didn’t blink. ‘I know who he was.’
‘I don’t understand – since when?’
She took his hand and placed it on her belly. ‘Pedro, this all I have of Giovanni.’
Pedro pulled his hand away. ‘I’m an engineer, not a doctor, but even I know that’s impossible. Giovanni died two years ago. I miss him too, Sofia, but—’
‘No. Listen to me: the person we called Giovanni wasn’t human. He was a buio.’
‘… impossible …’
‘—but true. The Reverend Mother knew it, and died for it. It wasn’t an accident that brought Giovanni to me. Whatever Girolamo Bernoulli ripped apart in Nature is trying to heal itself, and I’m part of it now. The child I carry can restore things to their right track, and that’s why I can’t go to Concord. This isn’t some stratagem, it’s bigger than that. We burned the Molè, but not the beast incubating in the pit below it, and it’s getting stronger as I get weaker. Whatever makes the Irenicon flow, that power is in me now.’ She pulled herself to her feet. ‘If my baby dies, it’ll be for nothing. I have to run!’
Pedro looked at Levi. ‘She’s delirious.’
‘I’ve seen Sofia do things I can’t explain.’
‘Don’t ask me to believe that. Giovanni, whatever he was, made me an engineer.’
Sofia held him, her eyes full of pain. ‘Stand back then. I haven’t done this lately—’
She took the glass of water, turned it over in a fast, fluid motion, and – slowly – pulled the glass away from the water. Pedro stared dumbly, a child once more, and Levi tensed, though he’d seen this sorcery before.
Inside the mound of water, bubbles appeared and swirled, getting faster until they were boiling as Sofia spoke. ‘Giovanni Bernoulli died a decade before you met him, in the killing fields of Gubbio. The man we knew was a buio cursed to live in his place.’
In moments the water had dispersed into wreaths of vapour. ‘I will never get the same water back into the glass, but it hasn’t died. Water never dies.’
Sofia fell back exhausted and waited for Pedro’s decision.
‘What are we hanging around for?’ Pedro said. ‘We’re not captives – not yet. Our horses can be saddled in an instant—’
‘Where can I go? When I leave, Concord will withdraw the truce offer and all Etruria will blame me for destroying the peace. There’ll be no welcome for me in any city south of here, not even Salerno – you heard Ferruccio.’
‘Home, then.’
‘No! If I return to Rasenna, disaster will come, not just to me and my baby, but to everyone around me.’
Levi swore. ‘There must be somewhere.’
‘Not in Etruria,’ said Sofia.
Pedro looked about as a flashing green on the side of the annunciator caught his eye. ‘Hold on. There’s someone still in the basilica.’ He adjusted the control boxes and the shriek of feedback turned into something recognisable: the procurator’s smooth voice.
‘Of course we know you tried to bribe the Moor.’
‘Can’t blame a chap for trying.’
‘Not at all, General. We believe in the Free Market.’
‘Then you don’t object to a Concordian harbour?’
‘Ha ha, you’re pushy. What does Concord need a navy for, to sail its rivers? Come, we both know that the sea-corridor was just a ruse to scare us. Our spies tell us it was barely begun when work stopped.’
‘Many things have been disrupted of late. If it were a ruse, I would hardly admit it, would I?’
‘That true. It’s also the main reason we’re hosting this summit. We have no long-term interests in petty Etrurian quarrels. Without Ariminum, the Southern League’s no danger to you. So how’s this? We’ll give you the land if you leave us the sea.’
‘Divide the world? You ask a lot. The Tyrrhenian is large.’
‘And the cost of war is high.’ A pause. ‘Your offer to the Rasenneisi, you realise they won’t accept it.’
‘I know that. If you can convince the other delegates to go home, Concord will give you anything that you want. What is that, Procurator? The corno?’
‘Bah, none but a fool would wear that cap. We’ll let you have your way with Etruria if you help us invade southern Oltremare.’
‘That would isolate Byzant, but as you pointed out, we’re not a seafaring people.’
‘No, but when it comes to siege-craft, you have no equal. No point sailing all that way unless we can take Catrina’s coastal cities. Akka especially will be a tough nut to crack …’
Darkness was falling in the harbour, and the pale lights of the boats were briefly an adequate mirror for the stars. They reached the end of the dock and found the old sailor sitting there, still reading, as if he hadn’t stirred since yesterday.
‘Ezra, you said you’re close to the Tancred’s captain,’ Sofia started. ‘I need passage to Oltremare. How much?’
‘You once boasted of being a good cook if memory serves – that’ll do. But I hope you’re not expecting to go anywhere soon. We’re locked down.’
‘We need to go tonight.’
‘Forget it. Captain Khoril isn’t authorised to start a war.’
‘Too late for that,’ said Pedro. ‘The Ariminumese mean to ally with Concord.’
Ezra didn’t look very surprised. ‘The Tancred’s fast, but one galley can’t outrun several. You’d want at least a day’s start to be sure. And that’s not the real obstacle.’
‘So what is?’ Levi asked.
Pedro answered before Ezra: ‘The chain. It’s designed to keep enemies out of the harbour, but serves as well to keep us in.’
‘Ram it,’ Sofia said.
‘The arsenalotti know their trade,’ said Pedro. ‘Even if it was possible, there are a hundred eyes on the harbour. We’d be boarded before we even got close.’
‘Then we’re trapped,’ Sofia said, a black knot in her stomach.
‘Not necessarily,’ Ezra said. ‘See that white line creeping up from that east? Feel that moisture in the air? By Vespers, there’ll be a fog so thick you won’t be able to see the colour of your own flag.’
‘Unless a wind comes.’
‘It won’t. I know a thing or two about winds.’
‘That still leaves the chain,’ said Levi flatly.
‘It’s suspended from towers either side of the bay,’ said Pedro. ‘Which is the control-tower?’
‘The southern one,’ said Ezra. ‘There’s a watchman, but something tells me you’re a lad good at solving problems.’
‘He can’t go alone!’
‘If I don’t go alone there’s no point. Be rational, Levi. Sofia can fight better than any man, but not in this condition. She needs you. If I get the chain lowered, there’ll be no time to wait. I’ll return to Rasenna – it’s where I need to be if things are about to get worse anyway.’
‘… if you’re certain,’ Levi said after a moment. ‘I don’t like the idea of Sofia landing on strange shores without a friend, but I’m still Podesta.’
‘Yes, and your job is to protect Rasenna. It won’t survive without allies, and there are none here. Concord’s going to get stronger, and then it will turn south. The league’s failed before it’s even begun. Our last hope is that the Crusading spirit is still alive in Oltremare. You have to persuade them.’
‘We will, Pedro,’ Sofia said. ‘Tell Isabella I’m going where she told me to.’
‘This is all very touching, but we should get going,’ said Ezra. ‘The fog’s rising.’
Soon the fog had thickened so much that walkways and canals became indistinguishable. Pedro’s pass got him into the Arsenal district, but in the misty conditions he took first one wrong turn, then another, and he had to return to the main canal to get his bearings. Another battaglia was under way, more chaotic than before. The hump of each bridge was burdened by a brawling mob, and the air was filled with war cries, challenges and flags. Men tumbled into the canals, and some were fished out, others lay floating where they fell. The people on the boardwalk pressed towards the bridges, eager to join the fight – or gamble on it. Pedro, trying to go against the traffic, found his way blocked by a well-dressed young man.
‘Permesso, Signore.’
‘Who’s form do you like, boy? The reds?’
‘I’d bet on the arsenalotti. Signore, I must—’
‘Ah, a working man? Of course, I knew I recognised you. You’re the Contessa’s pet engineer. Count Grimani, at your service.’
Just as Pedro realised this encounter wasn’t accidental, strong hands pulled him into an alley. None of the passers-by answered to his shouts for help – only the battaglia mattered. Grimani’s swordsman bundled Pedro into a gondola waiting at the other end of the alley and the count leapt in afterward. ‘You, search him; you, get moving.’ While the swordsman patted Pedro down, the gondolier pushed off and soon they were cruising down another canal under similarly thronged bridges. Dead and unconscious bodies floated by, and pairs of swimmers struggled together, trying to drown one another.
Grimani’s swordsman took an annunciator out of Pedro’s satchel and held it up with a blank expression.
‘So that’s how you’ve been spying on us,’ the ambassador tutted. ‘Give it here. Maybe that’s how you do it in Rasenna, but in Veii we consider eavesdropping’ – he smashed the annunciator against the side of the gondola – ‘very rude! I don’t know what you’re up to, but it’s no good. Perhaps if I give you to the Concordians, I can negotiate a wholly different league, with Veii in charge.’
‘You’d betray Etruria.’
‘So you’re another who thinks there’s such a thing as an Etrurian. Tell me, how can one be a traitor to a nation of traitors?’
A falling body created a massive splash that set the gondola swaying. Grimani looked up. ‘Insolent dogs! I could have you all strung—’
Suddenly a falling body crashed into the gondola and Grimani’s swordsman was knocked overboard. The body stirred, and Pedro realised it was draped not in grey or red, but in a fur-lined cape the colour of night and lined with stars.
‘Ferruccio!’ Grimani hissed, whipping out his sword and retreating to the gondola’s prow. The old man ignored him and turned to the gondolier, a more pressing danger, but Pedro had already grabbed his oar. Ferruccio’s blade rammed home, then he turned to deal with Grimani.
‘I have diplomatic immunity – you really don’t want to start a war with me, Count. Don’t come nearer.’
‘As you like,’ Ferruccio said. He crouched and began rocking the gondola from side to the side.
‘What are you doing?’ Grimani bleated, trying to keep his balance. ‘No, stop – I can’t— Ahhh!’ He fell into the water screaming, spluttering until he found a body to cling onto.
‘Hand me that paddle, lad,’ Ferruccio said.
‘Don’t be hasty,’ Grimani said, trying to paddle away as the gondola approached. ‘Look, we can make a deal! We can—’
Grimani was still begging when Ferruccio lifted the oar over his head and brought it down on his head. Ferruccio turned to Pedro. ‘Where’s Sofia? Count Scaligeri saved my hide at Montaperti and I’m not about let his granddaughter be sacrificed. She needs to get out of Etruria, now.’
‘She’s leaving on an Oltremarine galley tonight.’
‘Bene.’ Ferruccio steered the gondola towards the dock ‘What do you need?’
‘Time. I have to get to the chain-tower, and they must be long gone before anyone notices.’
‘Right. I’ll keep these sham negotiations going as long as possible.’
‘And what about him?’ He looked at the body in the water.
‘Who? This never happened.’
After Pedro climbed onto the boardwalk, he turned back. ‘You knew the Concordian’s offer was a trap?’
‘From the first. I’d be a poor hunter if I didn’t. Go on now, lad – do what you must.’
Khoril, the Tancred’s commander, was a short hairy Levantine. He gave them a warm welcome – he was furious with the Ariminumese, and blamed the Moor for their confinement. The enmity between the two ex-pirates was obviously personal. Khoril had been looking forward to seeing the Moor dangle in the Arsenale, not running it. Still, when Ezra told Khoril the plan, he was sceptical.
‘It’s true,’ said Ezra. ‘The Tancred’s spooked them into Concord’s arms.’
‘Queen Catrina never learned to tread gently,’ said Khoril. ‘Look, if this were my ship, in a heartbeat I would do it.’
‘You wouldn’t have this fine retirement home if I hadn’t helped you outrun the Moor so many times.’
‘If I sink this galley, Queen Catrina will set me rowing in another, and you beside me.’
‘And if you let the Moor scuttle it, she’ll give you the freedom of Akka? Let’s keep her Majesty out of it. This is between you and me.’
Pedro’s pass got him through the Arsenal without arising further suspicion. The tower – a Rasenneisi would never call it that; it was more like a stubby lighthouse – sat on the very precipice of the southern horn. Its low, thick walls were built to take heavy pounding, and the chain cast to defy cutting – each link was as big as a child. It hung across the harbour in a shallow arch just above the water’s surface, attached to a huge wheel in the top storey. The northern horn had vanished in the fog, so it looked as if the chain was suspended in nothingness: a bridge to oblivion.
Pedro remembered the rope bridge he had made – was it really just two years ago? – the day he met Giovanni. A cascade of conflicting emotion assailed him. Giovanni, his friend, the man who taught him engineering, was not a man, but water. Certainly it was implausible, but could he really say it was impossible? Giovanni himself had told him that Wave Theory was the realm of paradox and shifting definitions. Pedro had seen one buio that thought it was a boy. The only difference was that Giovanni’s disguise had fooled even Giovanni himself.
Pedro gathered his courage and knocked on the door. He heard uneven, stumbling footsteps on a stairway before the watchman opened the door slot and grunted, ‘What’s it?’ A hot waft of alcohol came from his breath. ‘Oh. Maestro Vanzetti, isn’t it? What brings you out here?’
‘Just out for my passeggiata.’
‘Aye, s’lovely view.’
‘Bit chilly, though. Can I come in?’
Even drunk, the watchman was wary, ‘I ain’t supposed to— ’
Pedro interrupted genially before he could shut the latch. ‘Oh, I understand.’ He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve anything to warm a fellow up instead?’
The watchman smiled through a trough of rotten teeth. ‘That’s the boy! I’ve just the medicine.’
He left the slot open as he turned his back, Pedro dropped the Whistle in and pulled the slot closed. The shrill beep ricocheted inside. After a second, he pulled the slot open and saw the watchman on his knees, holding his ears. Then his eyes rolled back and he fell over. Pedro reached in to open the door from the inside. The tower’s upper storey was open to the chill of the night, and the watchman had apparently been warming himself by a little stove. A jug of grappa was heating there.
Pedro examined the chain and the wheel by the light of a smoky cresset. Without help, raising the chain would be impossible – but he could slacken his end. Hopefully that would be enough – the Tancred’s displacement didn’t look to be as profound as the new Ariminumese galleys he’d been watching the arsenalotti build.
The moment he released the lock, the chain unwound with a thundering that made the whole tower shudder. The hot metal hissed like a great serpent as it hit the water; Pedro prayed that at this hour, this far from the city, it would not be heard.
He cut the dangling end of his hood off with his dagger and soaked the rag in grappa. Then he took his last annunciator from the satchel and tied the rag to its base before beginning to wind it up. He tilted the arms so that it would fly straight up when he released it. The burning rag was the signal the Tancred was waiting for. He prayed that they could see it through the fog.
A distant horn sounded.
‘Grazie Madonna!’ He took a swig of the grappa, then climbed down the stairs and poured what was left on the unconscious watchman and closed the door behind him. He would wake tomorrow with all the symptoms of a bad hangover; with any luck he might not remember Pedro – and if he did, hopefully nobody would believe him until it was too late. Sofia and Levi needed all the time they could get, and he should get going too: Rasenneisi were about to become universally unpopular.