I scurried to the canal and leaned over its waters. A canal boat bobbed calmly, secured to a building on the other side. I gripped the wall and climbed across its crumbling surface to the boat. The boat rocked. I took a moment to capture my balance before untying it from its mooring. I used the long pole to push it to the alley entrance and Les.
He leaned against the wall and sighed, his eyes closed tight. He’d vomited while I’d been away.
“Come.” I guided him out of the house and to the boat.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and my heart sank. He shouldn’t have to apologize. This was all my fault. Like everything else.
“It’s all right,” I murmured. I helped him step across the gap. He almost toppled, but I kept my grip on him until he settled in the middle.
“Lie down,” I encouraged him. I covered him with both our cloaks so he looked like a pile of goods or laundry instead of an injured person.
I removed my mask and tucked it carefully beside him. There was nothing I could do to disguise my leathers, but I’d simply have to hope I wouldn’t encounter any lawmen patrolling the canals.
I pushed the boat away from the alley and used the pole to steer it north, the slight current of the canal helping to ease us along as I silently thanked Les for showing me how to use the boat and which canal led to their home.
How had I gotten myself into this mess?
The same way I’d gotten myself into all these messes since the attack. I didn’t stop and think things through. No matter how many times I remembered I wasn’t in Lovero, I kept making mistakes over and over. I trusted people, and it led to more trouble.
I’d trusted that Lefevre was the kind of lawman I’d find in Lovero, but instead he’d proven to be crooked. I’d trusted Les, but he’d gotten me so angry that I’d left my sword behind when I chased after him. And why had I even bothered to chase him in the first place? Because I needed him.
My stomach jumped, and I swallowed.
But it was true. I did need him. He was my only link, now, to Marcello, and Marcello was my only link to the Da Vias. It was nothing more than that.
Everything in my body froze as my thoughts twisted and turned. Les had been understanding, though. He’d seen his mother murdered, had been orphaned like me. He knew how it felt. And he hadn’t cared, when I’d told him about my shame. He hadn’t turned away in disgust and in fact had offered help.
Being around him eased the loneliness that had been threatening to drown me since the night of the fire. I missed Rafeo. I missed everyone. I missed Val and I hated Val and everything just hurt all the time. But Les somehow made that pain fade, at least for a little while.
I gave the boat another push. Maybe I’d lost sight of things. My goal had to be killing the Da Vias. I looked down at Les, hidden in the boat.
He stirred. “Where are we going?”
“I’m bringing you home.”
“Marcello will be angry.”
“He’s always angry.” I paused. “Why did you do it? Why did you tell Lefevre you were the murderer?”
Les rolled over. “It was the right thing to do,” he mumbled.
I poled us under a bridge. He’d put me before himself. I’d never known anyone who helped people just because he wanted to help them, and yet Les did so again and again. And it wasn’t just me he helped.
He made me want to . . . I wasn’t sure. Do something or be someone different.
To trust him fully, anyway. It was the least I could offer him in return.
Somehow I managed to reach Marcello’s. I helped Les off the boat, my arms aching from steering it down the canals.
Getting Les into the tunnel was easy. Getting him up the ladder at the other end was not. His feet slipped off the rungs and he kept apologizing. He sounded so genuinely ashamed that guilty tears came to my eyes until finally I called for help.
The tunnel room above us flared with light, and a shadow stepped into the room.
“I thought I said you weren’t welcome here,” Marcello said from out of sight, his voice stern.
“It’s Alessio,” I said. “He’s hurt.”
The grate opened and Marcello leaned over us, lantern in hand, looking so much like my father. He glared at me, but then Les apologized again and I almost went berserk, prepared to scream and threaten my uncle, anything really, to make him help us.
Marcello set his lantern on the ground. He crouched, and together we lifted Les up the short ladder into the room.
He vomited again, and Marcello looked worried. I pulled myself out of the tunnel and into the room.
“What happened?” he asked me.
“We were attacked. He cracked his skull on a stone wall.”
Marcello swore. He used his shoulder to escort Les out of the tunnel room and into their great room. He gestured at the lantern. “Bring the light.”
We walked past the fireplace to the curtained-off bedroom area. Marcello helped Alessio to a bed, and Les sat on the edge.
“Hold steady,” Marcello said. He bent Les’s head forward and prodded the back of his skull.
Les flinched, but Marcello forced him still and continued to feel beneath his dark hair.
Finally, he stood, satisfied. “The bone isn’t fractured. He’ll heal with some rest. Help me get him to bed.”