Irenicon - Aidan Harte

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Aidan Harte

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Jo Fletcher BooksAn imprint of QuercusNew York • London

© 2012 by Aidan HarteFirst published in the United States byQuercus in 2014

Jacket design and illustration by Ghost

All rights reserved. No part of this bookmay be reproduced in any form or by anyelectronic or mechanical means,including information storage and

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retrieval systems, without permission inwriting from the publisher, except byreviewers, who may quote briefpassages in a review. Scanning,uploading, and electronic distribution ofthis book or the facilitation of the samewithout the permission of the publisheris prohibited.

Please purchase only authorizedelectronic editions, and do notparticipate in or encourage electronicpiracy of copyrighted materials. Yoursupport of the author’s rights isappreciated.

Any member of educational institutionswishing to photocopy part or all of the

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work for classroom use or anthologyshould send inquiries to Permissions c/oQuercus Publishing Inc., 31 West 57thStreet, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10019,or to [email protected].

e-ISBN: 978-1-62365-040-7

Distributed in the United States andCanada by Random House PublisherServicesc/o Random House, 1745 BroadwayNew York, NY 10019

This book is a work of fiction. Names,characters, institutions, places, andevents are either the product of theauthor’s imagination or are used

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fictitiously. Any resemblance to actualpersons—living or dead—events, orlocales is entirely coincidental.

www.quercus.com

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To Bronagh

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Contents

Dramatis Personae

PART ICHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

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CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

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CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

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CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

PART IICHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

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CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

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CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

PART IIICHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

CHAPTER 66

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CHAPTER 67

CHAPTER 68

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

FOOTNOTES

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Dramatis Personae

RASENNEISI

Northsiders

ContessaSofia Scalageri

Last of theScalageri, DocBardini’s ward

“Doc”Bardini

Head of TowerBardini, workshopmaestro

FabbroBombelli Wool merchant

The Reverend Head of the

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Mother Baptistery

Lucia(originally asouthsider)

Ill-tempered novice

GuerchoVaccarelli

Old confederate ofDoc Bardini

IsabellaVaccarelli His young daughter

Little Frog Good-natured youth

Primo“Mule”Borselinno

Bardinibandieratoro

SecondoBorselinno

Bardinibandieratoro

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Southsiders

QuintusMorello

Head of theMorello, Bardini’srival

ValentinoMorello

Second son ofQuintus, ambassador

GaetanoMorello

Eldest son ofQuintus, workshopmaestro

DonnaMorello Their mother

VettoriVanzetti

Weaver, oncepartner of Fabbro

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Bombelli

PedroVanzetti His inventive son

Hog Galati Disgruntled bridgeworker

Uggeri Galati His son

CONCORDIANS

CaptainGiovanni Disgraced engineer

ValeriusLuparelli

Student atWorkshop Bardini

General

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Luparelli,“Luparino”

Father of Valerius.

General of the 12th

Legion.

MarcusMariusMessallinus

Shortsightedstudent at WorkshopMorello

TheApprentices:

The FirstApprentice

Bonnacio, the“man in red”

The SecondApprentice Pulcher

The Third Torbidda

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Apprentice

Prof. TitusTremelliusPomptinus

Historian andlibrarian

GirolamoBernoulli

Long dead tyrant ofConcord

CONDOTTERI

Levi Colonel of the Hawk’sCompany

Scarpelli Colonel of the Hawk’sCompany

TheDwarf

Treasurer of the Hawk’sCompany

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JohnAcuto

“The Hawk”, famedAnglish general

Thepriest

Medic and soothsayer ofthe Hawk’s Company

Yuri theGiant

Russ, company cook,friend of Levi

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PART I:

ANNUNCIATION

And when the wise men returned withreport of a newborn King of the Jews,Herod was exceeding wroth, and sent

forth, and slew all the children inBethlehem from two years old and under.

Among the lamentation of the mothers,the voice of Mary was heard inmourning. Her child, with the rest, wasslain.

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And behold, the angel of the Lordappeared to Joseph in a dream, saying,Arise, and flee into Egypt: for Herod willseek the Mother, to destroy her also.

—Barabbas 2:1–13

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CHAPTER 1

“Valerius?”Madonna! Where was he?If the boy got hurt, the Doc would

mount her head on a stick next to theBardini banner. Valerius might be ahandful, but the little stronzo was theironly Contract this year. Besides, a deadConcordian would imperil all Rasenna.Sofia’s dark eyes flashed with anger, andshe swore again: in her haste she hadforgotten her banner. Being unarmed in

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Rasenna used to be merely careless.These days it was suicidal.

Valerius ran down the sloping streetswith his head in the air, pursued by hisshadow made strangely large by theblood-washed light. Smashed roof slatescrunched underfoot like leaves in anautumn forest. He followed the trail ofthe topside battle as it moved downhilltoward the river, focusing on the jaggedred slash of evening where the towersleaned toward each other across theemptiness.

The Concordian had the pale blondcurls, the soft skin, and, when he tried,the disarming innocence of a cherub.

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Now, scowling, he resembled somethingfallen and impious. Sofia, only fiveyears older than Valerius, watched himlike his mother. He had endured thisordeal since his arrival last Assumption,but to return to Concord unblooded?Ridiculous.

The hunt was practically the wholepoint of a year in Rasenna—that waswhat his father had paid for, not endlessdrills and lectures on banner technique.So when this chance came to sneak out,Valerius took it, vowing to get thegeneral’s money’s worth. Twohouseholds in combat: what a story! Thiswas Rasenna’s real meat: raids androgue bandieratori. He wasn’t in real

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danger; this was still Bardini territory.Sofia wouldn’t be far away.

He couldn’t see the individualsleaping between rooftops, just thebanners they wielded. Bardini blackoutnumbered Morello gold six to four,and the Morello were retreating—noisily. These boys weren’tbandieratori; they were like him, justbored students looking for fun. So it wasan unofficial raid, then; the gonfalonierewould never sanction such a pointlessattack.

Valerius followed through onebackstreet after another, concerned onlywith keeping up. A black flag vanishedbehind a corner. He turned it himself and

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saw nothing but swallows listlesslydrifting on air rising from the emptystreets.

No Morello, thankfully. No Bardinieither. Valerius stopped to listen. Thewall he leaned against was built aroundthe ghost of an Etruscan arch, the gapsbetween its massive blocks stuffed withcrude clay bricks bulging like an oldman’s teeth.

He could hear the river now but notthe battle. He had been in Rasenna longenough to know that most raids ended“wet.” How could so many raidersdisperse so swiftly? It began to dawn onhim that Bardini flags need not bewielded by Bardini.

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How could Sofia be so irresponsible?He was the Bardini Contract, theBardini’s only Concordian student, andthat made him an obvious target for theMorellos; he should be protected at alltimes. The general would hear of this.

“Keep calm, Concordian,” he rebukedhimself, just as the general would have.He knew northern streets pretty wellafter a year, didn’t he? Not like aRasenneisi, not as lice know the cracks,but well enough. He looked for clues tohis location. That ceramic Madonna,perched in a street-corner niche anddrenched in blue-white glaze, that wouldorientate a Rasenneisi. The ghastlythings all looked the same. The

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superstitions of Rasenna were not theanswer; he would rely on Concordianlogic. The raiders had led him down andsouth. If he followed the slope up, hewould eventually reach the shadow ofTower Bardini and safety.

He turned around. Now that he had aplan, it was easier to fight the urge to runfor it. Yes: he was impressed with hiscourage, even if he did keep glancingoverhead. If only his footsteps wouldn’techo so.

At last, something familiar: theunmistakable drunken tilt of TowerGhiberti—the Bardini workshop wasclose after all. Valerius’s relievedlaughter trailed off when a rooftop

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shadow moved. Another silhouetteemerged on the neighboring row. Andanother. Lining the tower tops, aboveand ahead of him. He counted seven,eight, nine—a decina—but forcedhimself to keep walking. Whoever theywere, they were interested in him alone.It was not a flattering sort of attention.

Behind him someone landed on theground, and he was torn between twobad choices, to turn defiantly or to run.

“Walk.”“Sofia! What are you doing?”“Exceeding my brief. Doc said baby-

sit. He didn’t mention stopping you fromgetting yourself killed.”

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“I wouldn’t be in danger if—”“I said keep walking!”He whipped his head around to

continue the argument but went suddenlymute. Anger enhanced the Contessa’sbeauty. Her dark eyes were wide andbright; her olive skin glowed like fireabout to burn. She looked fabulous justbefore a fight.

“What do we do?” Valerius asked, hisconfidence returning.

Her wide-shouldered jacket was abold red, in contrast with the earthycolors favored by most bandieratori. Shewas not tall, but she held her headproudly. Below her large brow and

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sharp Scaligeri nose were the smilinglips that graced statues of cruel oldEtruscans.

But she was not smiling now, and herpointed chin jutted forward. “You’ll doas I say. I’m going to help thesegentlemen get home. Give me yourbanner.”

“I don’t have it,” Valerius whispered,losing hope again.

“Madonna. This is going to beembarrassing. I’m not exactly in peakcondition.”

Valerius looked down at the sling onher arm. Without a single banner, againsta decina, even Sofia . . .

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“What do we do?”“When I say run, run—Run!”

Sofia led the way through the maze ofnarrow alleys, not looking back or up.She knew by fleeting shadows overheadand loosened slates smashing aroundthem how closely they were pursued.She skidded to a stop when they reachedPiazzetta Fontana. The alley leadingnorth was blocked by five young men.And now Valerius saw what Sofiaalready knew: they were not students.They were bandieratori. Their ruckushad been part of the deception.

Sofia pushed Valerius into an alley on

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the right—it was barely a crack betweentwo towers, but it led north.

“Run. Don’t look back.”He didn’t argue.She boldly stepped forward. “You

bambini must be lost in the woods.You’re on the wrong side of the river.”

There was consternation as thesouthsiders saw whom they had beenchasing. “What do we do?” asked one.

“Her flag’s black. That makes herBardini,” said the tallest boy withassurance.

“I don’t know—if Gaetano—”“Show some salt! There’s one of her

and lots of us. Haven’t you heard who

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broke her arm?” The tall boy continuedtalking even as he approached her.“She’s hasn’t even got a flag—”

Way too casual. Sofia was ready. Shedodged his lunging banner and snatchedit away in one movement, and his jawhad no time to drop before she flooredhim with a neat parietal tap. By the timeshe looked up the others had vanished,gone to get Valerius before she got them.Sofia returned to the narrow alley andvaulted left-right-left up between thewalls.

Etrurians said that Rasenna’s towerswere different heights because not eventhe local masons could agree. But theymade good climbing, and bandieratori

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jumped between towers as easily ascivilians climbed stairways. The upperstories were peppered with shallowbrick holes, invisible from the ground,that had originally supported scaffoldingbut now allowed the fighters to scalewhat they couldn’t jump.

With only one working arm, Sofiaknew her climbing was awkward andinefficient. Even so, when she madetopside she took a moment to catch herbreath and scan the endless red roofs,feeling no need to hurry despite theirhead start. This was her territory, andshe knew every roof, every crumblingwall. They did not, and in the wan lightof dusk they’d have to be cautious.

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In the heat of the chase the boys letone of their number fall behind, and itwasn’t long before Sofia caught up. Hisfalling scream was cut off by the crashof broken slates.

Two down, outclassed on strangerooftops. Normally in this situation itwould be each raider for himself, butthese three knew that their only hope ofever getting home was to regroup andturn and fight together. They werewaiting on the next tower Sofia leapedfor and gave her no time to recover herbalance. Two of them launched a noisyattack to make her retreat while the thirdslipped behind. As Sofia dodged flags,she was struck in the back of her knee.

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“Ahh!” she cried as she landed on herback, sliding a little before haltingherself. She had no time to rise beforeshe felt a flag stick prodding against herneck. She lay still before the pressurecrushed her larynx.

“Beg your pardon, Contessa.”Sofia ignored their giggling. She still

had the advantage. She knew everytower bottom to top, their flags, thefastest routes, how old they were. Shekicked her heel, and a slate came loose;then several fell in its wake, and thetower shed its skin with a shudder thatdrowned out the boys’ shouts as they allslid and tumbled together. Sofia wentover the side with the rest of them, but

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she reached out and grabbed the unseenflagpole. She didn’t look down. Noneed.

She heard them land with the slates,breaking all together.

Sofia hauled herself onto the flayedrooftop, then climbed back down. Shefound Valerius waiting streetside with anamused expression on his face, which,like his clothes, was splashed withblood. The boys’ bodies lay wherethey’d fallen, perfectly arranged in asemicircle around him as if hunting himeven in death.

“Where’s the rest?” she asked, moreto herself than to Valerius. She had beenoccupied, yet the others hadn’t gone for

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the Concordian. Wasn’t he the prize?Valerius ignored her, more interested

in rolling the corpses to see their lastexpressions.

“Show some respect!” she snapped.“The dead are forgiven.”

“Sorry!”“Come here,” she said, pulling

Valerius toward her.“Oh, Sofia, I was frightened too!”She pushed his embrace aside

roughly. “I’m checking for wounds,cretino!”

But no, none of the blood was his.Doc’s charge was intact, the Contractsecure. “You got blooded, Valerius.

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Satisfied?”

It was a blade-sharp February, but thiswinter’s night the alleys around theworkshop were ablaze with torches.Groups of Bardini bandieratori gatheredon the corners, banners up, tense andjumpy. Sofia nodded to a tall young manslouching against a wall, his hood pulledlow. The other boys intended to keepdarkness at bay with a constant uproar,but Mule contented himself with silence.A flat-faced boy, he had a droopingeyelid that suited his sleepy air. Nobodyhad ever called him stubborn, and thatwas enough in Rasenna to earn him hisnickname.

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“What’s got so many flags out?”“Burnout,” he said. “Ghiberti’s.”Sofia saw the ruse now and swore.

“We going over tonight?”Mule shrugged. “Check in with the

Doc. He was worried about you.”“He was worried about Payday here,”

said Sofia, angrily pushing Valeriusforward. “Move it, will you?”

She led him to Tower Bardini. Blackflags bobbed aimlessly around the baseof its ladder. The single calm face in thecrowd looked up. With no neck to speakof, the Doctor’s bald head hardly brokethe hill of his shoulders. He made nolarge gesture when he saw her, just

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raised his eyebrows. Sofia nodded backand pulled Valerius out from behind her.When he saw the Concordian, the Doctorpaled.

Sofia patted Valerius’s cheek and heldup a blood-smeared hand. “Don’t worry,Doc. It’s not his.”

“Are we safe now?” Valerius asked.She nodded briefly, keeping her eye

on the Doctor’s reaction as heapproached.

Valerius stepped forward and slappedher. “Show me some respect!”

The Doctor leaned forward andgrabbed Sofia’s arm before she couldstrike back.

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Valerius stuck a finger in her face.“Noble or not, you’re still just aRasenneisi!”

The Doctor put his sturdy framebetween them. “We apologize, my Lord.My ward forgot her place through herzeal to protect you.” His fingerstightened around her arm. “Right,Sofia?”

“Right,” Sofia managed throughclenched teeth.

Valerius looked sour for a moment,then nodded. “Fine. I’m hungry after allthat. Doctor?”

The Doctor released Sofia and bowedto Valerius. “I shall await you.”

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Valerius watched him leave, thenturned, smiling, to Sofia, the guiltlesscherub once more. “I thank you forsaving me, Contessa,” he said stiffly andthen, lowering his voice, “Look, sorry Ihad to do that. Concord’s dignity—”

“Demands no less,” Sofia said. “Noapologies but mine are necessary, myLord.”

“Oh, Sofia! Don’t be so formal. Let’sbe friends again,” he said, and leanedforward to kiss her cheek.

She watched him scurry up thetower’s ladder. Had he stayed, he wouldhave recognized the glow surroundingher. It was not her throbbing arm that hadmade her angry—and not even Valerius;

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the Concordian was acting properly, inhis own way. It was the Doc and that shewas party to his appeasement.Distrusting herself around either of them,she decided to retire to the Lion’sFountain. Mule and his brother wereprobably at the tavern already. Thesmoke of another burnout tasted bad inevery mouth. First, though, she grabbed aworkshop flag. It wouldn’t do for theContessa to be caught unarmed twice inone day.

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CHAPTER 2

Etruria was wrong: the ConcordianEmpire did possess a heart, of sorts. Itwas this unsleeping place of grease-pumping clockwork pistons. The finaldome crowning the Molè Bernoulli hadbeen dubbed the engine room byordinary engineers such as CaptainGiovanni, although ordinary engineerswere rarely privileged to see it—or,indeed, to be personally briefed by theApprentices. Giovanni did not rejoice to

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be so favored, for he knew it was acurse.

Giovanni wore sober black like everyother engineer. Only the Apprenticeswore the long colored vestments of thesupplanted cardinals. Even so, the Thirdand Second Apprentices were shades inthe darkness. Only the First Apprenticewas entitled to wear the true color, a redso vivid that it seemed to emanate from aburning interior.

“Rasenna?” said Giovanni.“You think the posting beneath you?”“No, my lord.”“We are all heirs to Girolamo

Bernoulli. You are not special.”

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“I know that, my lord.”“Captain, I will not dissemble. You’re

a disappointment.” The First Apprenticeraised his hands as if he had beeninterrupted, though Giovanni kept hishead lowered, letting his unruly darkhair hide his eyes as he struggled tocontrol the restless muscles of his broadface.

“You showed promise once. Youperformed a service that shall beremembered, once. Since then?”

“I follow orders.”“Oh, you have an engineer’s

obedience; no one questions that. Wequestion your enthusiasm.”

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A man’s voice behind Giovanni said,“Rasenna’s ambassador is waiting, myLord.”

“Let him wait, General!” the FirstApprentice snapped.

He was tall, and his sorrowful facehad severe high cheeks and a tragiccomposure disturbed by neither joy norwrath. He spread his arms, letting hislong sleeves fall open, and looked onGiovanni. “Captain, as different as theywere, your father and grandfather hadsomething in common: conviction. Showsome. Be an engineer or be a traitor. Donot be lukewarm. Nature abhors it. Weabhor it.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

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“We would advise you to makeRasenna fear you, but we suspect youare too lukewarm to do even that. Weshall see to it.”

Giovanni looked up suddenly.The First Apprentice was pleased to

have pierced his feigned apathy. “TheRasenneisi ambassador expects todeliver our message. He will be ourmessage.”

“Please, my Lord, it’s unnecessary—”“I am the First Apprentice of

Concord, Girolamo Bernoulli’s trueheir. Do not lecture me on necessity.”

“Forgive me,” Giovanni said quickly.The First Apprentice nodded, though

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whether satisfied or just signalingsilence, Giovanni could not tell.

“Rasenna no longer matters, but itappears destined always to stand in ourway, if now only in a physical sense. Itsposition is key in the coming campaign.It must be ready before we send theTwelfth Legion south. You have theState’s resources at your disposal. Ifcooperation requires soldiers, send forthem.”

“That won’t be—”“Necessary?”Giovanni looked down and said

nothing.“Well, we shall see. If we expected

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your work to be difficult, we would sendsomeone who had our fullest confidence.Possibilities outweigh the certainties ofthis world, but some things we maycount upon: towers fall, smoke rises, andRasenneisi quarrel. Use them. If you fail,it won’t be your delicate conscience tosuffer, but Rasenna. Send up theambassador on your way out. Wedismiss you.”

Giovanni didn’t move. He waslooking at his hands, remembering whatdeeds they’d done in Bernoulli’s name.

“You may go, Captain,” the FirstApprentice repeated.

“They’ve suffered enough,” Giovannisaid quietly.

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“Suffered enough?”At the far end of the engine room there

was a screech of chalk as the otherApprentices stopped their work.

“Suffered enough?” The FirstApprentice repeated the queer wordpairing, and his colleagues in the darkchuckled.

Giovanni lifted his eyes to meet theFirst Apprentice’s—a small act takinggreat effort.

“Oh, Captain,” the First Apprenticesaid wistfully, “there is no limit.”

It was a curiously unpleasant smile foran angel. The statue’s colossal body

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glowed in the intersecting shafts of light.Bowing to read the Low Etruscan mottoinscribed in the base, the ambassadorwas covered by its shadow. “Eademmutata resurgo,” he mumbled, andtranslated, “Although changed, I shallarise the same.”

Valentino was pleased to display hiserudition, if only to himself. He was farfrom home and did not belong. He hadbeen abandoned in the great hall ofsoaring pillars. The pillar in the centerwas thicker than the others and made ofglass that was dappled inside with palegreen fugitive gleamings. Did everyambassador receive this treatment or justRasenna’s? In their place he would do

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the same, so he could not resent it.Much.

He looked around while using hissleeve to rub the chains of office thatstubbornly refused to shine. He was stillglad his father had appointed him. Theold fool had agreed only whenpersuaded that the prestige outweighedthe danger. The problem as ever wasmoney—another bad year, and Rasennacould not raise its tribute. Such fuss oversuch a small problem, with such anobvious solution. He would beg. TheEmpire had larger concerns than oneinsignificant town.

Valentino retreated from the colossus.In a gleaming breastplate he was pleased

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to find not some unremarkable boylooking back but an elegant youngdiplomat. He passed a happy minuteadmiring his dignity, growing confident.Whatever they called themselves in theirvulgar dialect, the Apprentices wereConcord’s elite just as the Morello wereRasenna’s. Ultimately, they spoke thesame language.

A distant large sound of great metalplates scraping off each other madeValentino scurry back into the shadow ofthe colossus. They would discover himthere, lost in aesthetic reverence. Hisgaze was drawn up the column to a pointof pure white in the distant darkness.The great dome seemed large as Heaven,

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and something was falling fast, emittinga whine that grew louder by the second.He yelped as the column began fillingwith water, the level rising to meet thestar. The large coffin-shaped capsulecushioned on the water came to a stop.Valentino expected an Apprentice toemerge, not yet another engineerfunctionary, but he masked his annoyancewith a smile and began his speech: “Justadmiring—”

The engineer broke free of the oldsoldier flanking him and grabbedValentino’s outstretched arm. “Ride fromConcord tonight,” he whispered fiercely.

“I don’t understand—”“Say you must return to Rasenna. An

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emergency. Say anything. You don’tbelong here.”

Valentino snatched his arm away. “Icame to see the Apprentices. I shall notleave before that meeting.”

A heavy hand on his shoulder.“Ambassador,” the general said, “theApprentices are waiting. You have yourorders, Captain. Give Doctor Bardinimy regards.”

Giovanni looked on helplessly as theambassador was led away. Valentinogave the colossus a parting glance,discerning too late that it was smilingderisively.

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CHAPTER 3

The History of the EtrurianPeninsula

Volume III: The Bernoullian Re-Formation

FOREWORD

The Author’s ambition in thesevolumes has been to narrate anewthe most glorious chapter of our

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History, while avoiding, to speakplainly, the excessively reverentialtone of recent scholarship, whichignores, or more likely fails to see,the simple truth that our Re-Formation, like the Molè, was thework of many hands.1

An initial sketch of the main actoris necessary, but be assured,Reader, the pivotal events heretouched upon will be redrawn inlater chapters from perspectivesthat other Historians, to bestowthat noble title with perhapsunwarranted liberality, neglect.

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CHAPTER 4

North of the trespassing river, dawncrept on cat paws over Rasenna’s brieflygolden towers clustering sheepishly inthe long shadow of Tower Bardini. Toone illiterate in the language of banners—in a word, foreign—Tower Bardinicould be recognized only by the smallorange trees on its roof. Every morningthe Doctor sat there for an hour, tearingoranges in two and watching overRasenna.

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His half.The older generation of Rasenneisi

permitted themselves only essentials, sothe Doctor’s sleep was undisturbed bydreams. He had still passed the nightbrooding on Sofia’s narrow escape,making careful plans and tearing themapart. He had raised Sofia like adaughter, but he remained clear-sighted:custody of the Scaligeri heir gave theBardini what passed for legitimacy thesedays, a damp seat in the Signoria.Yesterday’s target was not Valerius.

Scratching and stretching himselfawake, the Doctor ambled down thewooden stair winding around the barestone walls. A big man and wide, he

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took his time in all things, confident inhis strength if called upon. His thickarms and neck were covered with adowny thickness more like animal furthan hair. He wore wide, loose breechestied up around the middle of his chestwhere his shirt opened, and over all hewore a gown that had once been heavy.Time had exhausted the color too; it hadonce been the deepest of blues. The longsleeves were torn in places, but most ofthe time they covered his large callusedhands, which hung low when he walked,as if the knuckles carried some extraweight. His nose, broken and rebrokenmany times, was large and fleshy, andhis cat’s smile stretched wide across a

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heavy chin dark with permanent stubble.Every tower was drably similar

inside no matter what generous colorshung outside, and as in a castle keep thedoor was never on the ground floor; aladder was lowered for visitors. TheRasenneisi preoccupation with securitytold in other ways too: friendly familiesbuilt towers close enough to beconnected with rope webs but of coursenothing as permanent as a bridge. Ropescould be cut. Alliances could break.

He knocked on the third-floor door.No answer. He glanced inside. Hisshrewd eyes hid behind a squint asmerry as an old pig’s and just as cruel.He slammed the door and with

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quickened pace, muttering curses,crossed the walkway to a plain woodenbuilding, hearing laughter from below ashe entered. The workshop was as lowand wide as the towers were high andnarrow—it contained a small army andso needed no such precautions.

The students were gathered in onecorner of the long hall. Sofia’s dark hairshone out in the middle of all thoseshaven heads. She had a firm hand onMule’s shoulder, and she was laughingtoo. The Doctor ignored the laughter, buthe noticed both Mule’s bandage and therosy patch where an ear should be. Hefollowed a trail of cherry drops in thewood chippings on the floor as he

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worked out what had happened.“Morning, Doc! Mule volunteered to

teach us first aid.” There was laughter inSofia’s voice, but he caught the look sheflashed him and returned an affirmativegrunt.

She continued her story: “So, I gothome late—pretty drunk, I suppose,’cause I crashed in the workshop. Justbefore dawn, I wake up to this horrificsnoring—you can’t imagine! Somedrunk, I figure, napping on the Bardinidoorstep—” Sofia stood with one armon her hip, managing a good impressionof a house-proud mama despite hersling. “Of course, I’m outraged!”

The boys were rapt, and the Doctor

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knew that this was more than the respectcommanded by her name. It was love.The Scaligeri inspired it effortlessly,and it had been their greatest asset—their enemies hated them for it. Sofianever braided her hair in complicatedpatterns, nor did she pluck hereyebrows, or apply perfumes, or powderher luminous olive skin. Though shedressed as other bandieratori did,doublet and hose, jacket and cap, she didnot look boyish, yet she could show anarm without embarrassment or ceremonybecause one did not compare theContessa to other girls. The Contessawas something apart, as far from theordinary run of humanity as the statues in

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the alcoves.This last year something had changed.

She’d tried hiding in different ways—her fringe hanging over those dark brighteyes, the street fighter’s sun-muddiedcomplexion, elbow and knuckle scrapesproudly displayed—but it wasn’tenough. A million other things said it:her belt slung low on her hips, the tilt ofher cap, the way she didn’t singanymore. After a lifetime looking forweakness he always saw the thingspeople tried to hide, and he knew theworkshop saw it too. When had ithappened? What moment? He guessed ithad happened the way spring turns tosummer, the way fighters become killers.

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You knew only after the event.“We’ll see about this, I say—”Mule interrupted, “Last thing I

remember was running down Purgatorioafter Secondo; then I turned into Penititoand Secondo was gone—”

“I thought you were behind me,”Secondo snapped.

Sofia had never had to break a sweat,but the Borselinno brothers had becomecapodecini the hard way. They wereequally tall and thin, and they had startedidentical, but years of fighting haddeformed each uniquely. Mule took lifeas he took this injury, with an easy laugh,but Secondo found disrespect where

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none was intended and had creased hisyoung face with frowns and vexation.Even now he was holding himself stifflyabove the general laughter.

The Doctor could see where the storywas going. Purgatorio, Penitito—thosestreets were south of the Irenicon. Afterthe burnout, the Borselinno boys hadtaken the Midnight Road. Their badintentions were good; a burnoutdemanded reprisal.

The Doctor walked to the workshopdoor and opened it.

Sofia continued, “Obviously someMorello hero got the drop on genius-boy,but what I can’t figure out is how youcan sleep nailed to a door.”

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“They gagged me!” Mule said.“You didn’t think to knock?” She

punched his arm before turning to heraudience. “So I yank open the door andscream, ‘You know what time it is?’”She paused for a moment, then,“Riiipp!!”

Mule was now helpless with laughter.“There’s blood spraying everywhere!

I get a face full. I ungagged thisdeficiente. He looks at me all innocentand says, ‘What you wake me for? I wasdreaming!’”

“I was!”The Doctor tore the cold meat off the

door and then slammed it. “Basta,

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bambini. Story time’s over.”The circle broke up and reassembled

into classes. The intermediates had justgone from sticks to flags, and it showed.The Doctor looked at Sofia, unsurprisedto find her unsmiling now that theaudience had dispersed. The incidentwas nothing to laugh at—herperformance had been for the novices.Boys needed to acquire a casual attitudeto spilled blood.

The Doctor divided his bandieratori,those young men who needed noinstruction, into sparring pairs beforediscreetly approaching Mule. Theinjured fighter was sitting quietly on thestairs with a dazed smile.

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“Want this back?”“Naw, Doc. That was just my spare.”“Wise up, Mule. Getting separated is

apprentice stuff.”Mule gave a noncommittal shrug.The Doctor had enjoyed the

performance, but there had been a lot ofblood spilled on the doorstep. “Go up tothe tower and finish your nap.”

“Don’t get any blood on my sheets,”Sofia sang as Mule went upstairs. “I’vegot a reputation to protect!”

As her students giggled, she called toSecondo, “Keep an eye on this bunch.”

“I’m going with you.”

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“No one’s going anywhere!” theDoctor barked. “You’re training.”

Secondo quickly wilted under hisstare and retreated without protest. Sofiakept walking. The Doctor grabbed hergood arm and pulled her out of earshot.

“It wouldn’t have happened if I’dbeen with them, Doc.”

“Keep your voice down. I didn’t trainyou to be a common street fighter.”

“What’s wrong with that? You’reone.”

“Grow up. Someday soon you have torule.”

“If Quintus Morello had his way, I’dbe dead already. You think the south will

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suddenly pay homage when I turnseventeen? Right now, the Bardini nameis in the mud, and Scaligeri is neck deepwith it.”

“You’ve inherited your grandfather’srhetorical skills at least,” he saidpatiently. “So what does my bloodthirstyContessa propose?”

“Nothing complicated. Cross theriver. Crack some heads.”

The Doctor pushed her hard againstthe wall, slammed a fist down besideher face, and glared.

“What’s wrong with a good fight?”she said coolly, all music gone from hervoice.

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“The only good fight’s one you canwin.”

“What, then? Do nothing?”“Not nothing. We wait.”She pushed the Doctor away and went

to the door. “You think I don’t know yousent Mule and Secondo over?”

He looked back at his students untilthey went back to training, then saidquietly, “Don’t question me, Sofia.”

“When I’m Contessa, I’ll be in charge.How will I run Rasenna when you don’tlet me run my own life?”

“Your life’s not yours to waste. Imade a promise.”

“To a dead man!” Sofia slammed the

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door behind her.The Doctor followed her out and

shouted, “Be back by evening. There’san emergency meeting of the Signoria.”

She didn’t break her stride. “There’salways an emergency.”

The Doctor’s anger was dulled by hisbemused recognition of a familyresemblance: for a Scaligeri not to carryhigh her head would have been grosslyfalse, politic though feigned humilitymight have been. There are few things inlife as truly ugly as conceit or ascommon. Sofia’s pride was the rarerkind, and it made her beautiful.

Back inside, the students were busy

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with their sets and pretending not to haveheard. The Doctor pried his fingersseparate to crack them. In repose theycurled naturally into fists.

The young always hurry. CountScaligeri once told him that everythinghad an appointed hour. Have patience,study, and come the hour you maysucceed—if you’ve acquired sufficientskill. Thinking of Sofia’s grandfatheralways cheered him, not in spite of theend but because of it. To execute any actgracefully in this life was hard. To diewell, hardest of all.

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CHAPTER 5

The pristine morning light blended theIrenicon with its surroundings soperfectly that a stranger might beforgiven for assuming that it had alwaysbeen so, that the town had grown uparound the river. No Rasenneisi wouldmake that mistake, though, and as theyears flowed by, the town turned its backever more determinedly on the river. Toacknowledge the trespasser would be abetrayal of the dead, a form of

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collaboration.In the days after the Wave, the water

subsided a few braccia to reveal a fewshattered structures that now stood likesentinels keeping futile watch on a no-man’s-land. Those towers still occupiedstood back from the river.

The young man wore good boots dirtyfrom his travels. Under his dark hoodand cloak his clothes were neat, even thepatches where they had been torn. Hisequipment bag was heavy, and he hadcarried it a long time. He let it downbeside the base of the statue with care.The dun stone carving was long broken;all that remained were its paws—theperfect monument for the town left

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behind by History.

The Doctor walked up and down thetoiling rows with eyes closed. Therhythm of banners slicing air whenbandieratori fought was distinctive. Onecould tell how advanced apprenticeswere by the sounds of sticks clashing.

“Again.”The hallowed Art Bandiera drill: the

same set every day, every day the same.Do it a thousand times in the workshopuntil you fight like an old alley cat—noplan, just the most efficient attack,decided and executed in the samemoment. No second chance on the street.

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“Again.”They started young. When Rasenneisi

were born, the question wasn’t “Boy orgirl?” but “Good grip?”

“Again.”After an hour’s review, he retired to

the tower. A mournful sound as heclimbed the ladder told him the creaturehe ventured to call Cat was waiting. Itsmother had abandoned it withoutteaching it the most rudimentary skill ofits species, so instead of purring, it hadan ear-piercing whine for everyoccasion.

“Breakfast,” he grunted, throwing thesevered head.

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Like any old couple they livedtogether successfully by ignoring eachother. Cat’s best instinct was in judgingwhether the Doctor would tolerate itspresence or was sufficiently angry tokick it. This morning it crept awayhastily, gnawing the meat and shudderingwith satisfaction.

The Doctor tore an orange in half andstudied his flags. Keeping Valerius alivewas going to be tricky if he insisted onputting himself in harm’s way. Second,their ambassador had not returned.Gonfaloniere Morello had been foolishto send his son to Concord, given itsreputation. Would grief make apredictable rival unpredictable? Lastly,

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Concord had given notice of theimminent arrival of an engineer—acaptain no less. His mission wasunspecified.

Cat was not around to kick, so herubbed the stubble of his head and chinwith vehemence while looking at thesurrounding town with suspicion.Rasenna had changed many times inmany centuries, but in one thing it wasconstant: even when Etruria was knownas Etrusca, Rasenna was quarrelsome. Acentury ago, Rasenna’s population hasexpanded in step with its dominion.Most of the towers were built in that ageof victory. The law forbidding newbuildings higher than one hundred and

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one braccia was enacted to curb therivalry even then plaguing Rasenna, andthe Bardini had obeyed the letter of thelaw, all the while building on the“healthy” northern hills (those too poorto live in the valley could scarcelyafford debilitating indulgence). As aresult, their tower of regulation heightlooked down on all the others.

The Bardini were proud to have risenhigh. Their workshop was the mostfamous school in a town famous for itsmartial artistry throughout Etruria. Talentwas the reason the Scaligeri had winkedat Bardini infractions. That age felt likea dream more than memory; it had endedthe moment the Wave swept through

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Rasenna, when the low were made highand the high were swept away. Only areputation was left, and that, twentyyears later, was almost forgotten too.

The Doctor’s rueful gaze was drawninevitably across the river to thehandsome palazzo at the end of PiazzaLuna’s arc. Like the Bardini, the Morellohad been far enough from TowerScaligeri to escape the Wave. Theirweakness had made them powerful in thenew Rasenna, not a city but the remainsof one. The weak had inherited the earth,as the Virgin had predicted; he didn’tthink this was what She had actually hadin mind.

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While the Doctor studied his enemy, hewas himself under scrutiny.

Every tower in Rasenna flew abanner, but only the Vanzetti flew amultitude, advertising the family craft.Pedro was small for his age, smallenough to be sitting comfortably in thewindow frame of Tower Vanzetti. Hismother had perished upon his earlyarrival into the world, and he might havejoined her had it not been for his father’stireless care. Even now, Vettori Vanzetticould not be persuaded that Death wasnot waiting to steal his son away, and hisfretting meant Pedro grew without everlosing his eggshell fragility. No amountof food would ever make this boy fat,

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but if Death had cast a cold eye, hewould have seen small hands grippingtightly to life.

Pedro did not believe that lackingphysical stamina made him an invalid orthat expending his energies on books andmechanical instruments, things mostRasenneisi had no use for, was evidenceof deficiency; he ignored such whispers,just as he ignored the heatedconversation in the room behind him.His eager face was creased with theintense concentration it took to hold thedevice steady while focusing. Freshlywashed wool smelled of home to Pedro,but weaving bored him—the finalproduct was just a basic weapon. Yet the

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looms with their elaborately dancingparts had fascinated him since he couldremember, and his father had come torely on him to keep the hardworkingmachines going, though they ought tohave been replaced a decade ago. Pedronot only kept them working, he madeimprovements, and on those rareoccasions when nothing needed repair,he returned to his experiments.

Vettori’s conversation with his oldbusiness partner was more fractious thanusual—Fabbro Bombelli wasdiplomatic by nature as well as by trade.The men danced around it, but now theirdiscussion gradually spiraled toward thefamiliar argument.

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“We’re the Small People,” Vettorisaid with his practiced resignation.“That’s our fate.” He marked a length ofnew fabric with a chalk piece that thendisappeared into his dusty leather waistjacket. He had scissors, rulers, clips,and sundry other tools cleverly secretedabout his clothes, which were tight andtrim as befitted a tailor.

“Who says we have to stay small?”Vettori had returned to the loom. “The

men who decide.” His face wasstretched and unlined, and his lips werecareful and tight, as if emotion wereanother luxury they could not afford. Hislong, quick hands remained expressiveof the generous man he had once been.

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“They do.”Fabbro Bombelli picked up the glass

he’d perched on his generous belly andswirled it under his curlicue nose,looking sideways at Vettori. For everyinch Fabbro had gained around themiddle, his old partner had contracted.Some great unseen weight seemed tohang from the tape around Vettori’sshoulders, though it was not years but themanner in which he had spent them,curved over the rack, that had left himstooped in obeisance to the world, hishead bowed so low that wearing a youngman’s neat beard looked like an oldman’s vanity. His loom jerked his limbsin tandem with its creaking parts, like a

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tired old puppet made to dance.In the last decade demand had fallen

until Vettori could no longer afford toemploy carders and dyers—though stillhe wove, believing it the last thing hecould do competently. He had once wonhis Woolsmen’s respect by arguing ontheir behalf with the Signoria, and hestill saw himself as the Small People’sadvocate, but talk that had once reflectedhealthy self-respect had become shrill,self-pitying. Years of defeat werestretching him thinner than the old threadhe wove.

“You’re really going to ask him?”Vettori asked.

“Won’t be the first time I’ve asked.”

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“Or the first time he’s said no.”“And I keep asking. What’s the worst

he can do?” said Fabbro, running fingersthrough a beard as bright as whitesmoke. It separated out into two plumingcones, mirrored by the cloudy scuffencircling his bald and sunburned skull.A portrait of respectability was an assetto maintain as judiciously as oneweighed metal.

Vettori looked up pointedly from hiswork.

“All right, there’s plenty,” Fabbrosaid quickly, “but the Doc can’t keep me—us—down forever. I’ve got money.”

“He’ll say it’s not about that,” Vettori

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said mildly.Fabbro was not going to tolerate

quibbles. “I’ve got a right to sit in theSignoria, as much as Guercho Vaccarellior any of those Family heads who comeknocking at midnight for loans I mustn’tspeak of. Maybe the Bombelli bannerisn’t as old as Bardini’s or as pretty asMorello’s, but we do well. People go tothe Doc for his flag. They come to me topay for it.”

“And you go to him when you needhelp. If you have a voice in the Signoria,you won’t need him anymore.”

“Well, he’s pushing against thecurrent.”

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“Sure it’s pushing that way? Whydon’t you wait till next year? TheScaligeri girl will be Contessa then;maybe she’ll—”

“Bah! The Doc raised her. When sheholds the mace, it’ll be another way tohide his hand. No. The time’s now. Ihave a claim to a seat and a right. Hecan’t fight progress.”

“He can do what he likes. The SmallPeople can’t fight the Families.”

“How would you know? Triedlately?”

Vettori slumped as if the frayed stringhad finally snapped. The loom ceasedwith indiscreet silence.

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“Sorry,” Fabbro said quickly. “I’mjust—Not being able to use your people—it’s frustrating. I’ve outgrown myshoes, but nobody will sell me a newpair.”

Vettori gave a thin laugh. “Don’tworry about it, Fabbro. You’re right.You’re the one who kept your businessgoing, not me. What do I know?”

“You’re just down on your luck.”“Sure.” Vettori smiled, his lips tight.Fabbro looked around for a

distraction. He understood that oldfriends, like old ambitions, becameembarrassing when you were poor.“Madonna! What’s that, Pedro?”

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“It’s what I needed the glass for,Signore Bombelli.” Pedro’s maybe-machines were inhibited not only by adearth of information; most remainedsketches because the only material hehad readily to hand was uncarded wool.On his last visit, Fabbro had brought hisgodson some Ariminumese glass as wellas the usual descriptions of inventionsPedro so loved hearing about. Bycollating these stories and sifting throughthe layer of suspicion attached to allthings Bernoullian, Pedro learned what aparticular machine did, and then hecould tackle the larger question of how.

Now the merchant held the magnifierto the light. His restless hands were

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always picking up things, appraising,weighing, costing—cost was more than afigure; it was merit enumerated,judgment every bit as just and severe asHeaven’s, although God was not knownto be open to negotiation.

He peered through.“Dio! I can see across the river! You

devised this?”“I just copied it. The Morello’s

Contract this year is shortsighted. He hasa pair of glass disks that let him seebetter. I just copied the design anddoubled them up like this so I could seefar.”

“Bah! A typical Vanzetti, too modest.

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That’s not copying—that’s inventing. Tosee a complete thing and understand itsworking, that’s a gift.” Pedro blushed asFabbro ruffled his hair. “You remind meof your old man young.”

Vettori’s head was bowed, and he wasback at his loom. Fabbro downed thedrink, smacked his lips loudly, then saidwhat he’d come to say, quietly: “If youneed a small loan, Vettori, just ask. Ofcourse, no interest for old friends.”

Vettori looked at Fabbro, contrastedthe bright banners of the past with thegray and threadbare present, and set hisjaw. “Thank you for your concern,Signore Bombelli, but I didn’t knock onyour door.”

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Fabbro saw that Vettori would gohungry before taking charity. He knewtoo that unless he regularly made theperilous crossing, their friendship wouldexpire. Eager to avoid that day andconscious of the sudden change in mood,he made his excuses.

With his back resolutely turned to thehumiliating scene, Pedro continuedscanning the northside until he came to afigure standing by the river. The youngman was dressed in the black hood andshort cloak of an engineer, but Pedrowould have known he was foreignanyway—he was standing closer to thewater than a Rasenneisi ever would.

Pedro was delighted when his father

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instructed him to escort SignoreBombelli to the Midnight Road. “Wear ascarf and wait until you can see he hascrossed safely.”

He leaped down from his perch andflung on a long cassock. Like hisfather’s, it had a strange array of tools inhidden pockets. Pedro was always gladfor an excuse to escape from the stiflingsmell of wool and caution, but right nowall he wanted to know was why thisstranger was not afraid of the water.

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CHAPTER 6

The moment the sun appeared, CaptainGiovanni threw off his dark hoodedcloak, revealing a mane of untidy blackhair covering a brow furrowed inthought as he studied the river. His eyeswere dark, and his broad leonine facewas dominated by a large, honest nose.An emaciated dog had limped after himsince he’d arrived, and now it sniffed atthe bag cautiously, clearly expecting tobe chased away. He let it be.

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It was too early in the year for thenorthern mountains’ snowmelt, but thecurrent was still powerfully fast andloud. He could see where the landslideshad happened, of course, but there’dbeen little erosion of the banks after theinitial Wave, which was typical of aforced river diversion: when they came,they came suddenly. These were thesigns trained eyes detected, but it did nottake an engineer to see this river wasabnormal. Normal rivers do not flowuphill.

No wonder the Rasenneisi kept theirdistance. He knew the theory, and he hadseen one other like it, but still it madehim uneasy, like a thing from a story of

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omens and prodigies. From what he hadheard, Rasenna was a town out of placetoo, still living in a time when it wassomewhere that mattered.

“Probably don’t get many strangers,eh?”

The dog turned its head curiously. Theflat Concordian accent sounded strange,almost toneless compared with thesinging dialect it was used to. Theengineer took a biscuit from the bag andthrew it, and the dog snatched it out ofthe air, teeth clamping loudly.

“I guess they don’t feed strays hereeither.” A soft smile spread over his facelike the sun moving over rocks, softeningthe deep shadows in between. While the

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dog barked and wagged its appreciation,Giovanni turned back to the river withthe same stern look. He opened the bagfully. Everything inside fit neatly, withno wasted space. The dog studied theyoung man as he patiently searched; itwas accustomed to intemperate passions—a Rasenneisi would either havechased it away or adopted it by now.

The engineer found the tool he neededand, after adjusting the dials on the smallglass rod, sank to the ground andcrawled to the side of the bank. He’ddipped the rod into the water and wasabout to sink his whole hand in when thedog growled. Giovanni watched hisflickering reflection carefully, then

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quickly stood as a shimmering handgushed from the water and swiped atwhere his face had been a moment ago.The water lost its shape and droppedback formlessly into the river, and as thedog barked again, Giovanni realized itwas barking not at the creature but at him—it had been warning him.

He frowned. His unkindly brow wasat odds with his shepherd’s eyes.Normally pseudonaiades movedsluggishly out of water, as awkward asmen were in their world, but he guessednormal did not apply to a river not meantto be: a residue of the charge that hadcalled up the Wave must still be present,though much depleted. As the errant

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partials tried to get home, so the watertended to stray—that was his theory, atleast, and it was as good as the nextwhen the pseudonaiades’ very existencewas so at odds with Bernoullian WaveTheory. Among so many imponderablesone thing was certain: without a safeplace to work, nothing could be built.

He searched his bag and took out asilver egg and a small belt strap. Heunscrewed the narrow end of the egg,which remained connected by a finewire, and slotted the tip into a notch inthe belt. He found a small piece of oldmasonry by the bank to fasten the beltaround, then, using the belt as a sling, helaunched the lump of brick into the air

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while holding the egg tightly in his otherhand. The brick splashed down thirty-five braccia away, half the river’sbreadth.

That was sufficient.He rotated a second dial on the egg;

its clockwork shuddered to life, and itshot from his hand the moment hereleased it, skimming the water’s surfaceuntil it reached the point where the brickhad landed. There it stopped, vibratingand bobbing on the surface. He crouchedand gingerly held his hand over thewater once more and waited. The doggrowled to see such folly.

Nothing happened.

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The egg was a phased-currenttransmitter of his own design thatinduced density to a depth of threebraccia, which in theory—and now infact—repelled pseudonaiades. He waspleased. Men immersed in this hostilewater would still drown, of course, butthis would prevent watery hands frompulling them in—and it would alsoprevent Strays, a more serious concern.

Giovanni stood and pushed the hairback from his brow impatiently. Now,information. The glass rod was aWhistler; it calculated distance based onhow long it took to hear its song echo.He repeated the procedure at five-braccia intervals along the uneven bank

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for the next hour, considering whatRasenna’s Signoria would want to hearand what he should tell them.

The dog tagged along.

Sofia had no destination; anywhere wasfine as long as it was out of TowerBardini’s shadow. She needed distancefrom the Doc’s hypocrisy. He was toosmart to believe he could just hand overRasenna to her as a birthday gift.Whoever ruled Rasenna had to be readyto fight for it or they wouldn’t rule forlong. He let himself be irrational onlywhen the subject was her.

She was not allowed to be involved

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in raids, but she knew about them. Trueenough, some of the stories shocked her,but at least the Bardini didn’t stoop toattacking family towers. She had learnedto countenance the other violence, just asthe Doc obviously had. It was for thegreater good, and so for peace, for theBardini and for her. Really, no excusewas necessary. It was enough to say: thisis Rasenna.

Even without taking to the rooftops itwas still easy to cross northern Rasennaquickly. The narrow interlocking pathswinding downhill to the riveroverlooked one another, a tieredarrangement offering shortcuts aplenty.The sorrowful chime of a bell made her

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notice she had reached the limits ofBardini territory, and she hastilychanged routes. Her last visit to theBaptistery was a fresh memory and stillpainful.

The morning was dying when Sofiacame to the abandoned towers before theriver—the gauntlet, as it was known—and discovered the body at the entranceof an alley. There was nothingremarkable in a dead dog, but thisanimal had not starved to death: its furwas still wet. Local animals knewenough to avoid water, yet somehow, ata distance from the river, this dog haddrowned.

“Signorina?”

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Sofia looked around and saw aConcordian coming from the directionof the river. She instantly raised her flag.Her face showed hostility even as herbody went taut, ready for fight or flight.

Keeping an eye on the alley, theengineer crept toward her stealthily. Hetouched his lips. “Shhh, Signorina, becareful.”

“Where’s the buio?” she said withloud aggression.

At first Giovanni was confused, thenhe realized the term must be localdialect for the pseudonaiades, what therest of Etruria called waterfolk. Heexplained, “On its way back to the riverit took fright. The dog chased it.”

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Her eyes narrowed, and a sharpcrease divided her brow. “Who the devilare you anyway?”

He was taken aback momentarily.“My name is Giovanni.”

“A dog scared a buio? I don’t thinkso.”

“Not the dog, a machine.”“It scares them into our streets?”

Sofia said, growing angry now. “Whywould you want to keep buio away fromthe river? It’s where they belong.”

“I know. My machine is designed toprotect people.”

“Great job so far, but I’ll take it fromhere. Which way did it go?”

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Giovanni pointed.“Cretino!” Sofia smacked him on the

head and ran in the direction of TowerBardini.

Giovanni watched her go, blinkingstupidly. In Concord women weredemure, closeted creatures, to beadmired from a distance and mostcertainly never to be spoken to withoutan introduction—but whatever the localcustoms, something dangerous waswandering the streets and it was thanksto him. He cursed his carelessness fornot considering that a Stray might beloose before turning on the transmitter.

“Signorina, wait!”

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There were too many streets to searchfor the buio before children found it—and young Rasenneisi delighted in riskygames. Sofia stopped and listened; shecould hear voices, catcalls, from thelevel above her. She climbed up andfound them throwing rocks and shouting,herding the creature into a small alley.The children had made a game of italready, hitting the buio with theirtraining sticks and retreating before itcould launch itself at them in wave form.When the buio re-formed as a pillar,another child would take the dare andleap in. Strays were as dumb as animals,but if they were kept too long fromrunning water, they lost cohesion and

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dissolved into lifeless puddles—whichwas exactly what the children wanted tosee.

“Get out of here!” Sofia grabbed oneby the collar and kicked him in the ass.“Leave it alone, little stronzo!”

The boy ran off bawling, and theothers pursued him, content with a newvictim.

Sofia turned to face the buio as it re-formed like a tower rebuilding itself. Itshuffled toward her. She wasn’t worrieduntil she took a step back and felt thealley wall at her back.

“Signorina! Don’t make any suddenmovements!” The Concordian was on

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the level above, brandishing a burningtorch.

“What are you doing?”“Saving you!” he said, leaping into the

alley awkwardly, and spoiled themoment’s heroism by dropping his torch.He kept his eye on the buio as he pickedit up, and he spoke over his shoulder,“Now, very slowly, climb onto myshoulders and—”

Sofia nimbly vaulted up between thewalls and then sat looking down at himwith a sweet smile. Giovanni lookedmore impressed by her acrobatics thanby the danger. “How did you—?”

The sizzle as the buio advanced into

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his outstretched torch reminded him ofhis priorities.

“I’m a little confused. Is this part ofthe rescue? What happens next?”

“I was in this situation before. It’llattack.”

“Oh, so you’re used to it.”The children’s sadism had vexed

Sofia, but the chance to make aConcordian squirm, one she didn’t haveexplicit orders to protect, was too rareto ignore. Her vague plan was to let thebuio attack, then rescue him before hedrowned.

Giovanni backed up against the wall.“Signorina?”

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“I’d help, but this arm,” Sofia said,showing her sling. “Sorry!”

“Can you give me your flag?”Sofia’s smile faded. What kind of

Concordian was he that he didn’t realizeshe might be enjoying this? She felt atwinge of conscience. He had tried tosave her life—ineptly, but he had tried.She was about to help when it struck herthat the buio had not attacked and didn’tlook as if it was about to. It just stoodthere, neither advancing nor retreating.

“ ”Both Sofia and Giovanni looked at the

alley’s entrance, where an old womanhad appeared. Sofia raised her flag and

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leaped down. “You’re not supposed tobe here. These are our streets!”

The nun looked scornfully at Sofiabefore again speaking: “!

”It sounded like the Ebionite tongue,

but something about the tone madeGiovanni’s hair stand on end. Whateverit was, the buio obviously understood,for it slowly shuffled toward her. Theold nun was a hardy one with callused,rough hands and wide, sturdy hips and alarge bosom beneath a shapeless blackhabit. A chain of prayer beads hung fromher belt like a mace.

Sofia glanced back at Giovanni, who

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looked surprised to be still alive.“Where are they going?” he asked.Sofia turned and saw the nun had

gone. “Come on! Let’s see what thatstrega does with it—aren’t youcurious?”

“Strega? She saved me!”“She should have asked permission.”“Permission?”“These are Bardini streets. Besides, I

was about to. I was just having somefun.”

“You think she’ll be all right?”“Oh, she can take care of herself, that

one,” Sofia said.

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They walked in silence for a moment,and Sofia glanced over shyly. Lookingdown at the foreigner in the alley, shehad noticed that he was no weakling. Itwas not bandieratoro muscle, finelymodeled and honed by daily practice.His chest and upper arms had substance,but it was crudely carved bulk, like thefarmers who came from the contato afterharvest.

“Look, back there, I—” she began.“That’s all right. What’s your name?”

he said.Sofia had hoped for anger so that she

could respond in kind. Why did aConcordian care what a Rasenneisi wascalled?

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“Honestly, I wouldn’t have let it hurtyou.”

“But you object to someone elsepreventing it?”

She gamely tried to take offense.“Well, you’ve got a nerve, walkingaround Rasenna without permission,unannounced.”

Giovanni wondered how to respondpolitely. “But I have permission—that’swhy they opened the gates to me. And Ihave been announced, so I understand.Your Signoria has been informed of mymission: I’m the engineer.”

“And I’m the Contessa. Whatmission?” She said it coolly, though she

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was fuming: yet another instance of theDoc’s secrecy.

“The bridge?” said Giovanniuncertainly.

“There’s no bridge in Rasenna.”“Not yet there isn’t. I’m here to build

one.”She stopped walking and for the first

time really saw the engineer’s uniform.“You’re going to bridge the Irenicon?”

“For Rasenna.”“Let me get this straight: Concord sent

you to bridge the river Concord itselfsent twenty years ago? For Rasenna?Don’t be patronizing—Concord needs abridge, and Rasenna happens to be

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where you need it.”If she’d been looking for a reason to

be offended, Giovanni saw she’d foundit. Her reaction didn’t bode well for hismission. “My brief’s very limited,” hesaid. “They don’t tell me why, they justtell me what.”

“I’m wondering how you intend tobuild this bridge without getting yourselfand a whole lot of Rasenneisi killed.You had better talk to my guardian.”

“I’m supposed to report to yourSignoria first.”

“My guardian is Doc Bardini. Is he inyour brief? If he isn’t, they left outsomething important.”

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“General Luparelli mentioned him. Ishe the gonfaloniere?”

“No, but he’s part of the Signoria. Ifyou’re trying to get something done, youneed him onside. Better idea thanchasing buio into our streets.”

She sounded determined to pick afight; was it personal or simply that hewas Concordian? He attempted tochange the subject. “What happened toyour arm?”

“None of your business.”The buio had stopped at the river,

simultaneously drawn and repelled. TheReverend Mother was trying to coax it.

“Excuse me, Contessa. I need to tell

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her what’s stopping it.”“I’m not stopping you,” said Sofia,

twirling her banner casually.Giovanni introduced himself to the

nun and, after thanking her, tried toexplain what was keeping the buio fromthe river. “The signal’s too strong at thispoint,” he said, gesturing at the crystalrod. “If you lead the creature away a fewbraccia, it falls off in strength.”

As Giovanni spoke, the ReverendMother was studying him with interest.He could only guess that she had notseen many Concordians in her cloisteredlife. Stranger, though the buio was just afaceless column, he got the disquietingsense that it too was interested in him.

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The nun thanked him and led the buioaway.

Sofia walked over. “Looks like youmade an impression on the buio,Concord. Must be attracted to coldblood.”

“Signorina, my name is Giovanni.Have I done something to offend you?”

“Let me think—oh, wherever did thatriver come from? That’s inconvenient.Never mind; I’m sure they’ll bridge itpresently. I’ll just wait twenty years orso.”

“I’m just an engineer—”“And who sent the Wave? The

Cobblers’ Guild?”

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“I wasn’t even born then!”“Neither were you, Contessa,” the nun

interrupted. “Don’t confuse blood withwater under the bridge. He tried to saveyour life, didn’t he?”

“Bit generous, but I suppose youcould say that,” Sofia said evenly. “Whoasked for your advice anyway? Not me.”

“Not yet. But the offer stands.”Sofia laughed hollowly.The nun shrugged, and Sofia watched

her, scowling, as she walked away.When she finally turned around,Giovanni’s attention was on the far sideof the river and the boy standing there.

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Pedro was red-faced and out of breath;he had run back to the riverbank afterseeing Fabbro Bombelli safely home. Hedidn’t need his magnifier to know thatthe engineer could see him too: theforeigner was shouting and waving athim.

“I thought engineers were supposed tobe smart. He can’t hear you,” Sofia said.

“I just want his attention.” Giovannitook from his bag a bundled rope andanother metallic contraption, a cone withtwo thin scallop shapes and a springgrip, like praying hands, on oppositesides. Completing the resemblance to atoy angel, it had a golden sheen and was

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crowned by a small hoop.“Well, I should be going,” Sofia said

very casually.He didn’t look up. “Good-bye,

Contessa.”He unrolled the scroll he had been

jotting measurements in all morning andtore off a corner to scribble on. He priedthe angel’s “hands” apart and placed thenote in between.

Sofia studied the stranger as heworked, reminding herself that this wasthe real enemy. He might be a clumsyclimber, but his thick fingers weredexterous and efficient. TheConcordians they trained in the

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workshops were soft sons of soft fathers,but the engineers were a different breed.They had not inherited their authority;they had taken it.

When Giovanni glanced up, she wasstill standing there. He held out the rope.“Want to help?”

“Not unless you tell me what you’redoing.”

“Making a temporary rope bridge.How else am I going to get across to theSignoria?”

“The Midnight Road, of course.”“Excuse me?”“The ruins of the old town wall.

Enough still stands to jump across.”

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Giovanni looked down at hismeasurements. “Sounds like the longway around.” He was looking at heragain. “Will you help me?”

Sofia was surprised. Rasenneisi madedo, and Concordians took what theyneeded. Nobody asked for help. She tookthe rope and slowly knotted it around thebroken statue’s base while Giovanniskillfully tied the other end to the angel’sbottom half.

After consulting his notes on theriver’s breadth he began winding thehalo. “Tied off?” he asked.

“Madonna, wait!” she said, then, “Allright, now.”

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The angel shot up into the air, and shelaughed despite herself.

As the contraption hovered across theriver, Pedro laughed too. He’d hearddescriptions of mechanical carrierpigeons—annunciators, they calledthem—but he’d never imagined he’d getto see one.

Suddenly his smile vanished. Helooked around. If he could see it, socould other southsiders, and Virgin helpanyone the Morello saw associating withcivilians or, worse, northsiders. But itwas early yet, and no one else wasaround. Most people avoided the riveranyway, preferring to imagine it—and

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Rasenna’s other half—did not exist. Heknew his father would warn him toavoid entanglements with strangers, buthe had to know how the contraptionworked.

As it passed the halfway point, thewings’ rhythm slowed and it started todescend. It was going to undershoot.Bracing himself on the remains of awall, Pedro caught it before it fell intothe water.

The note was written in a smallprecise hand. Please help, it said. Tierope off, rotate halo 25 times, facenorth & release. GB

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“What’s he doing?” said Giovanni.Sofia squinted. “Did you think flags

were just weapons? He’s signaling. It’show we primitives communicatebetween towers.”

Giovanni ignored the sarcasm. “Youcan read it?”

“Of course. He says, ‘Why should I?’Cheeky little—”

Giovanni brightened. “Can youanswer for me?”

“And say what?”“Tell him I want to build a bridge.”Sofia waved the message and read the

reply: “‘Is that an order?’” She laughedand explained with a shrug,

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“Southsiders . . .”Giovanni frowned, attempting to

employ the logic he’d studied for solong. He knew he had authority to giveorders—all Etruria had learned to fearConcord and thus to comply with itsagents. He didn’t know if the Contessawas a typical Rasenneisi—she didn’tseem a typical anything—but she wasnot being in the least cooperative. Itwould be illogical if the towns that hadsuffered most were the least afraid, yet.Giovanni just knew that the boy wouldbalk at an order, and that wasn’t logicaleither.

“Tell him I’d consider it a favor.”She chuckled skeptically as she

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signaled back.After a moment, she said, “Well, fancy

that! In return, he wants to know how theangel works.”

“Tell him it’s a deal.”Sofia relayed the message, then said,

“I’ve got to go tell the Doc what’s up.There’s an emergency Signoria meetingthis evening. Guess you’re theemergency.”

He smiled. “This should be readywhen you return.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”“Trust me,” he said.Typical Concordian presumption . . .

Strangely, she did.

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CHAPTER 7

Girolamo Bernoulli’s origins are,inevitably, surrounded by the clutterof legend. None dared broach thesubject after the Re-Formation, andhe never discussed them. Thefolktales agree with each other asrarely as they match the historicalrecord, and that occasional scholarcourageous enough to eschewhagiography’s siren song is obligedto discard these several picturesque

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versions.2

The Engineers emerged in thelast decades of the thirteenthcentury from a controversy soonforgotten,3 and the stage was clearfor an actor of genius. The innocentlad we meet in the early thirteentwenties, dazzling the Curia’spreeminent Natural Philosopherswith his mathematical gifts, is allbut unrecognizable. While the manwas solitary and secretive, the boywas noted for his friendships withthe great theological andphilosophical minds of the day. Hecultivated many masters.4

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CHAPTER 8

Before the Wave overturned Rasenna,the city was already upside down, itspoor packed into high towers lookingdown on the nobility in their thick-walled palazzi. There was oneexception, in the heart of old Rasenna,where the palazzi clustered aroundTower Scaligeri like worshipperspraying to an idol. The family namederived from the dizzying stairway to thetower’s only entrance on its uppermost

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floor.The Morello family grew up on the

southern periphery of the center ofpower. They were the Bardini’s onlyreal rivals in Art Banderia, but theywere ambitious to be more than meresoldiers, and on the back of theirgrowing wealth they gilded the scales oftheir Dragon crest and descended fromtheir towers to a palazzo more suited totheir rising status. Their abandonedtowers went to poorer cousins,bodyguards for the new palazzo,betraying an insecurity that names oflonger standing and surer footing hadoutgrown.

This was obvious to those Rasenneisi

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who remembered life before the Wave,but there were few of those left. Toeveryone else, Palazzo Morello wassimply the finest building in Rasenna,and Lord Morello the city’s first citizen—excepting, of course, the Contessa, thelast of the Scaligeri.

Gaetano Morello was a broad-shouldered youth combining strengthwith restless agility, as balanced as agood sword should be. So why did henever feel sure of his footing in hisfather’s study? It was a refined, high-ceilinged chamber of wood with toomuch varnish lined with scrolls with toomuch ink, and he hated it.

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Gaetano knew his father was waitingfor him to go. The old man’s jealousfingers were fondling the seal on hisring, fearful even of those of his ownblood. Gaetano did not shout or poundthe desk with his fist. He did somethingmore foolish: he attempted reason. “Saywhat you must in the Signoria, it doesn’tmatter anyway, but afterward we shouldmake terms,” he said quietly.

“What for?”Gaetano groaned and put his hands on

his head, which was shaven, like everybandieratoro’s. He was still beardless,and his dark brows framed gentle,sincere, and now pleading eyes. “If westop now, we can consolidate. If we

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keep pushing, Doc will push back.”The very martial qualities that made

Gaetano a leader on the streets as wellas in the workshop somehowdisqualified him from being takenseriously in his father’s study.Ordinarily, he didn’t care—he’d neverenvied Valentino’s influence—but now,when their father’s unrealistic ambitionwas making more bloodshed inevitable,he wished for just a portion of hisbrother’s glib verbal facility.

Quintus Morello pushed back hischair with a beleaguered air, retreated tothe window, and sighed. “I missValentino, don’t you?”

Valentino’s mischievous counsel

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would only acerbate their problems, butsuggesting that would be a completewaste of time. “I do, Father. His delay isstrange.”

“Stranger still that he hasn’t written toexplain.” As usual, Quintus Morello’sattention was fixed on Tower Bardini.The old man was a contradiction. Thehair that had once curled up like a towerfire at night was now graying, and just ashis pale skin became more wine-blotched, so the expensive gonfaloniererobes had faded to the colors of wiltingautumn. But he was still a Morello,descended from fearless bandieratori,and such blood would never be water.He had the bearing of a patrician; his

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brow was noble, his nose Grecian—butbeneath these assets, his face crumpledinto skeptical lip and timid chin.

“Gaetano, everywhere I look I seeBardini reversals,” he said. “You sayit’s different on the streets, but look!There is the smoke of another burnout,proof writ large that we are winning.What do you see that I cannot?”

“We’re winning because Bardinihasn’t struck back.”

“Because he can’t,” Quintus saidblithely.

“Because he’s strong enough to wait!”Gaetano took a breath and regained hiscomposure. “The bridge will let them

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use that strength. If it goes ahead, we areundone. If you let this become a war, welose, either way—they beat us, orConcord makes us an example to enforcepeace.”

“Perhaps.”Gaetano watched his arguments

running aground against willfulblindness. His father had never stoopedto study the Art Banderia even though itwas the means by which the Morello hadrisen. Gaetano had been taught by anuncle he promptly succeeded asworkshop maestro. History had repeateditself in Quintus’s sons: while Gaetanodutifully trained the Morellobandieratori, Valentino pursued politics

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and power.That was the real reason Quintus

missed Valentino. Deciding wasdifficult. It was easier to let his sonsfight it out and then choose a middlepath.

Quintus lifted his chin andstraightened his neck against the tallcollar, as he always did when he had toexercise authority. “I will,” heannounced with gravity, “see whatcomes from the meeting.”

Gaetano sighed. This ambiguouscommitment was obviously the best hecould hope for.

A strangely smiling servant opened

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the door suddenly, and Quintus becamesuddenly lordly. “How dare you enterhere without knocking?” he barked. “Ishould have you—” He stoppedsuddenly. “Why the devil are yougrinning, man?”

“Your Lordship’s son has returned!”“At last!” cried Quintus, and flew past

Gaetano to the door.Draped still in his ambassador’s

cloak, Valentino Morello climbed thestairway slowly. In the great hall below,servants and bandieratori alike lookedon in disbelief as his father and brothersimultaneously backed away. The youngman was much changed. His hair, oncedark and neatly coiffed, had grown long

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and wild and was streaked with white.His pallid skin stretched insubstantiallyover a bruised skeleton.

Quintus strove to fill theuncomfortable silence with babble.“What timing! Arriving the very houryou’re most needed, Valentino. Theprospect of victory makes Gaetanonervous. Could you credit it? Hecounsels me to make peace with theDoctor.”

Valentino ignored Gaetano. “Father, Ihave seen the future in our enemy’s face.If we do not pacify Rasenna, Concordwill do it for us. With fire.”

“I am so glad to have you back!”Quintus exclaimed, drawing his older

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son into the room. “Gaetano, that will beall.”

As the door slammed behind him,Gaetano felt the small influence he’dbuilt in the last few weeks collapse likea burning tower, but as he walked downthe steps to join his bandieratori, hediscovered he felt unburdened, notdisappointed. He did not belong in thatroom. Servitude was more congenial fora sword. “Back to your sets!” heshouted, clapping his hands.

Quintus quickly released Valentino froman awkward embrace. “Barely there atall, son. You’ve left the better partbehind in Concord!”

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“I have just been exhumed.”Quintus choose to treat this as a joke.

“We shall fatten you up as we talk. TheSignoria meets in an hour.”

Valentino’s face was ashen like thefaces of the damned in the murals ofHell’s torment, though he did notgrimace or weep like those doomedsouls. His smile was that of one who hadretreated from flesh too far to find theway back to the common symmetry.

“I may accompany you?” he asked.“Of course—you must tell us all of

Concord’s answer.”For an instant Valentino’s courtier

smile warped into a bestial snarl before

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he mastered himself. “I must show you,”he whispered.

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CHAPTER 9

The condottieri rode through the northgate, knowing that eyes were watchingfrom every window of every tower,though this pair would have been noticedeven if Rasenneisi were moreaccustomed to strangers—each man andhis horse, draped in the same gaudypatterns, looked and moved like onegreat beast.

Condottieri did not pretend tochivalry, and when knights of Europa

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said mercenaries were beasts,condottieri laughed at their deludedhypocrisy; obviously they were allbeasts together.

After a while the steeply windingstreets so confused the condottieri thatthey dismounted, allowing the facesbehind the dark windows better study.The first was a big fellow, arranged in adignified, sensible hierarchy: broadchest and shoulders supporting a stoutneck and manfully frowning face, cappedwith a squared-off, proudly plumedhelmet. Like his piebald charger he wasgroomed fastidiously, and his armorcaught bolts of light that fell betweentowers and sent them shimmering back

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blindingly.The other was skinny and ragged like

a scarecrow, a poorly gotten-togetherspecimen beside his colleague, yetquicker in most respects, and certainlyquicker to smile, which made him themob’s first target. All condottieri weretanned by life in the saddle, but thedarkness of this man’s skin must haveoriginated in the peninsula’s southernextreme, perhaps even farther. His armorwas older than his partner’s or perhapsjust less well polished, and it wassoftened by a floral-patterned greenkerchief that wound around his long necklike ivy.

“We’re under attack!” he cried as

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young beggars squeezed out ofimpossibly narrow crevasses anddropped from unbelievably highwindows. He scattered coins, but thatonly left a gap for the next bombardment,making their progress slow. They wererelieved to finally find a particularly talltower draped with black banners and thecrest depicting two flags crossed in frontof a charging hog emblazoned with therobust motto:

Who Shall Divide Us?“Thank the Virgin,” the Scarecrow

laughed, “this must be Tower Bardini.I’m almost out of ammunition.”

The Doctor was watching from theworkshop entrance while Sofia told him

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about this morning’s events. In herexcitement, their quarrel was quiteforgotten. Sofia was not easilyimpressed, but this young engineer hadapparently managed it, and the Doctorwas curious to meet him.

“Call off your hounds, Signore!” avoice called out.

“Don’t tell me a condottiere doesn’tknow the quickest way to break asiege?” he responded.

The Scarecrow sighed, “I thought asmuch,” and threw his purse to one of thebeggars. “Boy! Yours—if you can keepit!”

The luckless child bolted with his

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fellows in fast pursuit. As the men tiedup their horses, the Doctor whispered toSofia, “I’d rather a certain Concordiandid not see us fraternize with thesegentlemen.”

“I’ll get him out of the workshop.”“Then send for Guercho. I need to

confer before the meeting.”Sofia looked at the strangers. “Why

are they dressed like that? We’re not atwar, yet.” There was almost a familyresemblance between her and the Doctoras she stood with arms crossed andstudied the strangers with a cooldistance.

“It’s to advertise their profession.”

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“What do they want?” she said withdistaste.

“Gainful employment, I fear. I’ll showthem the view first.”

The Doctor waved her off andadvanced with a smile and a bow.“Gentlemen, welcome. Doctor Bardiniat your service.”

The Scarecrow gave a neat bow. “Myname’s Colonel Levi; this is ColonelScarpelli.”

Scarpelli removed his plumed helmetto reveal a neat but old-fashioned bowlcut like some militant monk of a centuryearlier. He did not bow, and if theDoctor was offended, he hid it well.

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“Would you prefer to talk privately orhave you time to take a tour of theworkshop?”

“How about it, Levi? I know I’vealways wanted to see how toughRasenneisi really are.”

The Doctor looked up at Scarpelliwith a bland smile and recognized akiller. The condottiere towered over himby more than a braccia, and his armswere sculpted muscle. He was balanced—and ready, too.

Levi laughingly interrupted the face-off. “Perhaps later, Doctor. First let’stalk.”

As the Doctor led the way up the

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endless stairway, Levi systematicallycomplimented Rasenna’s history,architecture, food, women, and fightersuntil Scarpelli interrupted, “It’s true,then? You train Concordians?”

The Doctor turned on the step. “I do.”In the moment’s silence, Levi became

aware how high they’d climbed and howfar they could fall and laughed. “I’m sureyou have your reasons.”

The Doctor ignored him. “Whateveryour opinion of engineers, ColonelScarpelli, you will agree they aresensible. Forgive my crudity, but theGuild uses their nobility like a stud farm.Blue blood means nothing to them, butit’s respected by the scum who make up

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the infantry. Officer selection iscompetitive, so Families who can affordit send their boys here.”

“I don’t doubt Concord’s policy issensible. I merely ask how you stomachtraining the enemy.”

The Doctor nearly smiled. “Rasenna’snot important enough to have enemiesanymore. If one must be a servant, is itnot better to be a useful one?”

Scarpelli looked stony-faced at theDoctor.

“A sensible attitude,” said Levi.The Doctor grunted, as indifferent to

flattery as to antagonism, and continuedup.

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Levi hung back and whispered,“Madonna, Scarpelli! If you can’t bepolite, behave.”

The other spit, “Why are we here? It’spointless begging from beggars.”

Cat was waiting on the roof for thestrangers. As Levi admired the view, itrubbed against his legs with a friendlywhine, hoping for a bribe. For a rudesoldier he was indecorously handsome,though hardly any part of him matchedtogether; no painter ever painted a knightwith such an unserious smile.

“Enough shadowboxing,” said theDoctor.

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“John Acuto sends his regards,” saidLevi.

“Please return mine. I’ve longfollowed the exploits of the Hawk’sCompany. All Etruria has.”

“You know of his quarrel withConcord these last few years?”

“Men rarely admire their employerfor long. I’m only surprised they haven’treconciled.”

“It’s no tiff,” Levi replied seriously.The Doctor shrugged. “I spend much

time up here. When you can’t see details,you concentrate on important things. Acondottiere who wants a raise picks afight with the city employing him. If that

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doesn’t work, he starts working for itsenemies.”

Levi chuckled. “War is salarynegotiation by other means? Doctor, youmake us sound cynical.”

Scarpelli interrupted, “It’s a mark ofcondottieri professionalism to remainneutral.”

“This is different?” said the Doctor.“This is personal.”“If you say so. But come, it hardly

matters what I think. You didn’t come tohear secondhand gossip.”

Levi agreed, considering how to put itpolitely.

The Doctor didn’t flinch when

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Scarpelli drew his sword.“This sword’s for hire, Bardini.”“I have soldiers.”“You need an army.”“A freelance army,” said Levi hastily.

“Respectfully, we offer our services.”The Doctor smiled. “A Contract?

Then this is a question for ourgovernment, not a citizen.”

Levi said, “We have been frank withyou, Doctor. Do likewise, I beg you. It’sJohn Acuto’s business to know who totalk to.”

The Doctor looked at them seriously.“I’ll carry your offer to the Signoria ifyou prefer, but Rasenna has never dealt

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with condottieri and,” he said, jabbing athumb to his chest, “as long as it listensto my advice, it never will.”

Scarpelli grunted disgustedly andresheathed his sword. Levi tilted hishead at a certain angle the Doctorrecognized.

“Perhaps,” he began, “if we make adonation to your workshop, you couldrepresent our case in a summer light.”

“I appreciate the offer, but again Imust refuse. Condottieri are not inRasenna’s interests, and so not in mine.What need have we of an army? We lostour war twenty years ago. I wish yousuccess in yours, but we cannot be partof it.”

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Scarpelli didn’t bother concealing hisirritation. “I thought Rasenneisi weresupposed to be passionate, but you’re assensible as an engineer. We’re wastingtime, Levi.”

“Doctor, you said you trainConcordians,” Levi said. “How many?”

“This year just one. There’s another ina workshop across the river.”

“Formerly there were more?”“Many more,” the Doctor said

cautiously. “Concord seems to havechanged its policy.”

“And now they are building a bridgehere,”

“You’re well informed, Colonel

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Levi,” said the Doctor. “Why don’t youmake your point?”

“What if the bridge is the first step ina permanent garrison?”

“And now you reveal the limits ofyour information. The temperament ofRasenna is such that it cannot begarrisoned. Concord sent a podesta togovern us once; he soon left. They’velearned since that we don’t need agarrison or podesta to keep us obedient.Our own quarrels keep us divided.”

“Which suits you,” said Scarpelli.“I will unite Rasenna one day, Virgin

willing. Until then, half is better thannone. If we took up your offer, Concord

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would destroy us along with you.”“When Rasenna’s value stops being

its workshops and starts being itslocation, neutrality may be bothimpossible and imprudent,” said Levi.“To go south, any army has to go throughRasenna, but why bother building apermanent bridge unless to laypermanent claim to the south?”

The Doctor shrugged hopelessly as ifsuch things were beyond him.

Scarpelli said, “Let’s go, Levi. I toldJohn Acuto that Rasenna was out ofsalt.”

Cat leaped away from Levi, agitatedby the rising tension. As it ran between

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Scarpelli’s legs, he kicked it away, allthe while holding the Doctor’s eye.

The Doctor smiled. “I’m sorry todisappoint you after you’ve come so far.Perhaps that workshop tour will make upfor it.”

The boys stood in four lines, each boypaired off. At the end stood Sofia.

“Avanti!”The swooping banners and clashing

sticks were deafening rain.“Contrario!” Sofia roared.The same exchange repeated with

roles reversed, attackers now defendingin the same well-drilled rhythm. She

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walked between rows, adjustingstudents’ posture, feet, and grip,correcting flaws with quickdemonstrations.

“You teach girls as well asConcordians?” With no prospect of aContract, Scarpelli was being moreblatantly rude.

“She’s the one teaching,” Leviobserved.

“Must gall to sell yourself so cheap,Doctor.”

The Doctor smiled at Scarpelli.“Actually, we’re rather expensive. Butwhat, pray tell, is the difference betweenus? John Acuto may not be Etrurian, but

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you are.”Scarpelli reddened, and the Doctor

knew he had made a hit—so, acondottiere who wanted to be a knight.

Scarpelli covered embarrassmentwith anger. “Yes, my loyalty’s for sale.I’m sensible, like you.”

The Doctor just smiled as he calledSofia.

“You’re being rude,” Levi whispered.Scarpelli spit on the floor chippings.

“So what? This baby tyrant isn’t buyingwhat we’re selling.”

“Colonel! You wanted to see howtough Rasenneisi are?” Not waiting foran answer, he threw Scarpelli a combat

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banner. Sofia stepped forward.Scarpelli looked at the flag

contemptuously and dropped it. “In thereal world, soldiers fight with steel.”

The students began to take an interest.A civilian might not know what throwingdown another’s banner meant, but evenScarpelli could sense the sudden changein the air.

“Use your sword, then,” the Doctorsaid coldly.

“This is absurd. I won’t attack a girlwith her arm in a sling!”

The Doctor stood close to Levi.“Doctor . . .”“Relax. I’m sure a condottiere can

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defend himself.”Scarpelli put his hand on his sword

but got no further. Sofia jabbed him justbelow the diaphragm, partially windinghim. A boy laughed as Scarpellistumbled. The condottiere blushedviolently and pulled out his sword.

The Doc wanted a show. Sofia let thesword strokes pass close by her body,keeping her flag low, luring him on.

Scarpelli was red-faced and alreadygetting tired. She glanced at the Doctor.He nodded, and her flag went up.Scarpelli stabbed desperately and strucknothing; then a pole crunched into hisnose, followed by a bruising rap on hisknuckles. He dropped his sword. Flag

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strokes above him, in front of his face—where was she?

“Boo!” Sofia whispered, and kickedhis feet out from behind. Quicklypropping the end of her banner on thefloor, she jammed her knee intoScarpelli’s back. He struggled to stophis own weight from strangling him.

Levi’s hand went for his sword andfound the Doctor’s hand resting lightlyon his. “You’ll just embarrass yourself.That’s all Signorina Scaligeri is doing toyour colleague.”

“Scaligeri?” said Levi. “Of the—?”“My ward,” said the Doctor.He walked over to Scarpelli. “See?

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It’s easy to disarm the weak. For years,Concord has kept our leash loose, andwe have been sensible. But struggle”—Sofia jerked the pole—“and we die! Getit?”

Scarpelli gargled affirmatively. TheDoctor nodded, and Sofia released him.The condottiere rolled on the floor,gasping, and the circle broke up.

The Doctor turned to Levi. “Should Iswap a leash for a noose?”

“I apologize for my colleague’s poormanners,” Levi said, slipping intodialect, “but John Acuto’s war onConcord is real. By Herod’s Sword, Iswear. Acuto’s son died in the belly ofthe Beast.”

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“Should I risk my town for that? Youseem less of a fool than your friend. Youthink your Company can win a pitchedbattle against a Concordian legion?Believe me, you can’t. I trainedConcord’s generals.”

Like Scarpelli, Levi had known thismission was a long shot. Now hewondered if the forthcoming campaignwas too. “Thank you for your hospitality,Doctor. You’ve made your positionclear. I understand you cannot riskContessa Scaligeri’s inheritance.”

“This isn’t Rasenna’s war.”“It isn’t the Hawk’s Company’s war

either. It’s Etruria’s. For everyone’ssake, Concord has to be stopped.”

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The Doctor extended a hand.“They’ve already won.”

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CHAPTER 10

The condottieri left without delay. TheHawk’s Company mustered shortly in thesouth, and John Acuto had to knowwhich towns had rallied, which had not.

As they left, Guercho Vaccarelliarrived in answer to the Doctor’ssummons. He wheezed and creaked ashe walked, reminding Sofia of theravaged towers by the river. The oldman’s eyes were weak; his youngdaughter, Isabella, a pretty girl with

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cheeks spattered with freckles, usuallyaccompanied him, but today he leanedon someone else.

“Signorina Scaligeri, you look likeyour mother more every day!” The inlaiddisks in Bombelli’s sleeves jingledmusically as he kissed her hand. Tornclothes were common in Rasenna, butthe slits in Fabbro’s fur-lined jerkinwere high fashion, not accident,designed to display the expensive silkchemise underneath. When visiting oldfriends such as Vettori, Fabbro dresseddown. When visiting the Doctor, hedressed up.

“Thanks,” Sofia said flatly. “Look,come back tomorrow. The Doc’s

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preparing for the meeting.”“That’s why I came! Doctor!”The Doctor eyed Fabbro coolly,

nodded briefly, then turned to embracethe old man. “Signore Vaccarelli, how isyour Family?”

After exchanging pleasantries, heblandly regarded his uninvited guest.“Bombelli. What do you want?”

“To help, Doctor. Let me accompanyyou to the Signoria.”

“Certainly—come along. We’re aboutto set out.”

“I mean sit with you, Doctor.”“Sofia, show Signore Vaccarelli

around the workshop,” the Doctor said,

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putting his arm around the merchant.Then, “Fabbro, haven’t we discussedthis before? What could be so urgent thatyou must tell the Signoria?”

“Business.”“Your business is none of their

business,” he said with a kindly smile.“Nobody stops you from making money.”

“I have employees in all the towersyou watch over, but”—for a moment hehesitated—“that’s only half the town! It’slike trying to eat with one hand tiedbehind my back. There’s money acrossthe river too.”

The Doctor took his arm away andstarted rubbing his chin. “Ah,” he said.

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“Fabbro, I respect you. You look afteryour tower and do well—”

“I can do better with a whole town,working with Vettori Vanzetti again—”

“Vanzetti doesn’t have weaversanymore.”

“He could get them.”“How would they cross the river?

What with the buio and the raiding?”The Doctor waved his hands in the air toconvey the immensity of thecomplications he foresaw.

“I can solve problems like that—andthe more I make, the more you can taxme!” Fabbro had rehearsed thisconversation, considering every

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objection.“Only the Signoria has the authority to

tax. You make donations to myworkshop.”

“Yes. Donations. Fine.”“And what if Morello is jealous?”“I’ll give him one,” Fabbro said

impatiently.“Problematic,” the Doctor said.But Fabbro was too excited to stop.

“We can find a way around, surely.”“If this is all you have to say, then let

me speak to the Signoria on yourbehalf.”

“I can speak for myself.”

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“But will they listen? You know Idon’t look down on new men, butQuintus Morello, some of the olderFamilies, they see the money you makeand—”

“Does my money smell? Does it hurtpeople? What’s so noble about fightingall the time?”

“Nothing, but it makes us dangerousfolk to cross.”

Fabbro saw finally the line he hadcrossed. His hands dropped impotently,and his chin sank toward his chest. “Iunderstand. My money’s good. My nameis the problem.”

“No, no!” The Doctor grabbed the

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man’s arms, embraced and kissed him.“The point is you have me! I will beyour champion.”

As Fabbro left, he saw the Doctorreturn to Guercho Vaccarelli with awarm smile. The deference wasespecially galling because he knewVaccarelli was broke. He himself hadgiven the old man loans he would neversee paid back. But that didn’t matter,because Vaccarelli was noble. It didn’tmatter how rich you became if you wereunlucky enough to be born one of theSmall People. At times like this, Fabbrounderstood why his old friend Vettorihad given up a long time ago. DocBardini was not the one pushing against

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the current.

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CHAPTER 11

An hour later the Doctor led his alliessouth. An uneasy peace held among theheads of the northside towers, but theseold fighters all recognized Bardiniauthority. Young Valerius insisted oncoming along—the truce observed whilethe Signoria sat was a great chance tosee Rasenna’s other half. TheConcordian had recovered fromyesterday enough to begin bragging ofthe adventure, much to Sofia’s

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annoyance. It was downhill all the way,but Signore Vaccarelli set the group’space, so it was late afternoon by the timethey reached the river and foundGiovanni’s rope bridge in place.

“Where is he?” said Valerius,impatient to see his newly arrivedcountryman.

Sofia shot him a disdainful look,wondering the same thing. She saw himthen—on the other bank, talking with thesouthside boy—and at almost the samemoment, Giovanni waved. He boundedonto the bridge (it was just three tautropes, one to walk across, the others forbalance) and made his way across.

When he came within earshot, Sofia

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called, “You said you’d be waiting.”“Sorry. Pedro kept me,” he said,

leaping down.“Pedro? You made a new friend.”Hearing the playfulness in her voice,

Valerius frowned, regarding Giovanniwith hostility and a sense of familiaritythat was odd because Concordian noblesand engineers rarely mixed.

“He had many questions,” saidGiovanni.

“He’s not the only one. Captain, myguardian.”

Giovanni bowed. “Pleased to meetyou, Doctor Bardini. General Luparellisends his regards.”

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“Ah! Nice to be remembered by anold student. This is the general’s son,Valerius.”

“Did Father have any word for me?”Giovanni began awkwardly, “I’m

afraid he didn’t mention—”“No matter,” Valerius said blithely.

“This bridge doesn’t look much,Captain. How do we know we won’tend sleeping with the buio?”

“It’s temporary but sound. Care to tryit?”

The Doctor climbed up withouthesitation and shouted to the others,“What are you waiting for?”

The northsiders had assurance of safe

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passage, but nothing could make themfeel safe south of the Irenicon. Whenthey reached land, flags went up and theytraversed the empty expanse of PiazzaLuna like explorers in a hostile landwhere every looming tower heldenemies, not countrymen.

Only the Doctor was unperturbed,walking as if he had merely chosen anunusual route for his eveningpasseggiata. Adopting the role of host,he led Giovanni toward an antiquetemplelike palazzo sitting precariouslyon the piazza’s crumbling edge. Thebuilding he grandly described as theRasenneisi Senate was supportedlaboriously by an uneven row of stone

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pillars of pale green, like sodden oldbread sticks.

The Palazzo della Signoria’sremoteness from the center of oldRasenna showed how little the Scaligerihad paid attention to the collective voiceof other towers; it was also the reason ithad survived the Wave—survived,though not escaped: to reach theSpeakers’ Chamber, the men had to wadethrough a braccia of stagnant water. Themildew encasing the outer hall’s pillarslike tired ivy and the way the pillarswere doubled in the inky cold watermade normally unimaginative men seethe Speakers’ Chamber as an ancient,mottled crypt within a winter forest, a

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crypt wherein the quick petitioned theunheeding dead. Sitting in their soddenshoes, they yearned to adjourn evenbefore they had begun, and now meetingswere called only in crisis, so loathedwas the Chamber.

Giovanni glanced at the oldRasenneisi crest on the door as theyentered. Gold leaf was peeling from thecrudely carved Lion, and the red wasbarely visible. He felt ashamed that hiscountry left vanquished enemies aliveonly from the neck up, with enoughblood to generate income but not a dropmore.

As they came to the Chamber door, theDoctor whispered, “Captain, know that

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people will say things in here intendingthe opposite. If you need help—and Ithink you will—come see me. I’m agood friend.”

Giovanni had sensed tension talking tothe boy and the Contessa. Like thisrotting palazzo, Rasenna was on aprecipice, and contrary to theApprentices’ recommendation, hebelieved he must maintain independenceif he was to accomplish his mission. Hesaid nothing but pulled his sleeve fromthe Doctor’s grasp.

Amused, the Doctor let him go ahead.“Keep an eye on the wolf cub,” hewhispered to Sofia.

She took Valerius’s arm. “Come

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along, principino. The town fathers tendto express themselves undiplomatically.”

Valerius laughed. “About Concord?Now I really want in.”

To the left of the Chamber door werethree high steps leading to a smalllanding where a bust of Sofia’sgrandfather stood sentry. Above CountScaligeri’s sage portrait hung a swarmof family crests, a checkered field offaded green, scarlet, and yellow overrunby creatures fantastic as griffins,mundane as swine. They belonged toRasenna’s Families, those whoserarefied blood entitled them to sit in theSignoria and made them eligible to beelected gonfaloniere. This niche had

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become a shabby shrine to old Rasenna,a reminder of how many once-greattowers had fallen. Sofia led Valeriusthere, just far enough from the Speakers’Chamber to prevent eavesdropping.

She was surprised, pleasantly, to findGaetano Morello waiting there too. Sheguessed the stout, happy pale-haired boywith him was the Morello’s Contract thisyear; just like her, Gaetano had beenrelegated to baby-sitting. She marchedover with a lopsided grin, twirling herflag around her arm.

“Well, well.”Gaetano smiled. “Contessa.”“If it isn’t the terror of Rasenna.”

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“Don’t start.”“So what’s the next stage of the

Morello master plan, Tano? Overthrowthe Apprentices?”

“All right, get it out of your system.How come you haven’t been making anuisance of yourself lately?”

Sofia leaned against the wall. “Theusual. Doc’s got me on the leash.”

“We should trade places. I think I gotdemoted to foot soldier this morning.”

Sofia laughed. “Your brother returnedin one piece?”

“Not quite,” said Gaetano, glancing athis student. The boy was placidlycleaning a set of glass-ringed disks.

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“Never mind that. Allow me to—”The boy perched the glasses on his

nose and interrupted, “Contessa! Therenown of your noble name precedesyou, but of your beauty I heard not awhisper! Count Marcus MariusMessallinus, at your service.”

Sofia smiled at the round little boybursting with old-fashioned chivalry.“Pleasure. Don’t listen to a word Tanotells you. The Morello fight like girls.”

The notary’s ink-stained spidery fingersdrifted over the leather cover of theRasenneisi Signoria’s Book of Minutiaeand Procedure. Like him it was a

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yellowing relic, and he loved it. Heopened it with the light touch ofdevotion. So long had it been since thelast session that a dust cloud escaped.He inhaled with relish and let the restsettle on him as he looked around theSpeakers’ Chamber.

On his right, the heads of southernFamilies encircled this year’sgonfaloniere, speaking in whispers. Thenotary wondered if Quintus Morelloappreciated the irony of beinggonfaloniere of a town that no longerpossessed a banner. Doubtful, hedecided, and, sighing more profoundly,he turned to his left, where Bardini’sunruly and noisy allies lounged. A

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reluctant parliamentarian, the Doctor sattoward the back and spoke only whencalled upon, and even then under protest.

The notary’s family members were notartisans or fighters: they were literate.That skill was little valued today, butthere had been a golden age whenRasenna’s swift heralds had daily riddenforth carrying Count Scaligeri’s words—strong words elegantly inscribed—toall Etruria. Then his family members hadcarried their humpbacks as proudly asother families carried banners. That agewas gone.

The Doctor was early. Today wascertainly unusual. The assembly watchedas he led the Concordian engineer to the

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center. While the seated areas werecovered, the Speakers’ circle was opento the elements, the shattered domecreating an accidental but perfectspotlight for orators. The notary wasdisappointed at the hush caused by theforeigner’s arrival. He particularlyenjoyed banging his gavel.

The Doctor effortlessly took theSpeakers’ mace from the notary and sethis sights on Quintus Morello, as ifpreparing to hurl the dense metal orb. Hegave the gonfaloniere a nod beforehanding it to Giovanni.

Sofia and Gaetano ignored theirConcordian charges while they caught

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up. They hadn’t spoken for months, sincethe escalation, and both were relievedthat it was still possible.

“Does every Concordian have agenealogy instead of a surname?” Sofiasaid.

“All except engineers, I suppose.Speaking of which—?”

“He’s all right. Got salt for aConcordian.”

“I wasn’t asking what he’s like. Why’she here?”

“As if you don’t know.”“I don’t,” Gaetano protested.She wanted to believe him. It would

be a relief if her old friend was kept

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from intrigue or, still better, avoided it.“He’s going to build a bridge, Tano.”Gaetano whistled. “Madonna!”Sofia nodded.They were silent, thinking what it

meant for Rasenna, for them; they hadalways avoided each other on the streets—with a real bridge, that wouldn’t bepossible.

“Remember when I used to come overhere?”

Gaetano smiled. “Sure—you used tobeat me up.”

“Just to make you chase me.”They laughed together, reminiscing

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about crossing the rooftops, not hunting,just running for the fun of it, innocent ofthe arguments below. When Gaetano’suncle died, all that stopped and Gaetanobecame workshop maestro. Sofia knewfrom her closeness to the Doctor whatpower does: it stunts; to be constant is tobe static. Gaetano remained that boy onthe roof, catching his breath, while sheran farther every year.

“We have to grow up sometime,”Sofia said with a smile she did not feel.

The Concordian boys were engaged ina dance of their own. Deciding who hadhigher status was complicated, andValerius took the steps more seriouslythan his rival did. He circled warily,

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probing Marcus’s defense with smalltalk about cousins and titles.

“I’ve heard of everyone, but I’venever heard of you. You can’t be anyoneimportant.”

Marcus laughed. “That’s reasonable, Isuppose. Well, what matter? We’re allnobodies now.”

“Speak for yourself. My father’sgeneral of the Twelfth Legion.”

“Really? That is impressive!”“We Luparelli have adapted to the

times.”“He studied in Rasenna too? That’s

why I was sent here too, to get a goodposting.”

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Valerius drew himself up. “May thebest men win.”

“No need to be like that. There aretwelve legions.”

“Child, everything is a competition.”Having enjoyed a genteel upbringing,

Marcus had no idea how to deal withthis extraordinarily aggressive boy. Hedecided it was best to agree.“Undoubtedly. I just meant that wenobles are in it together since theengineers took over, if you follow.”

“You’re preposterous. Ifcircumstances change, the best Familieschange with them; the best always rise.”

Valerius thought of his year in

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Rasenna as a career step; for Marcus itwas an extended holiday, full of roughcamaraderie and daily drama. What didthe nobility’s irrelevance matter? Thatrace had been run and lost before he’deven been born.

“I suppose there’s no point asking ifyou know who this engineer is.”

Marcus was relieved to change thesubject. “I heard he’s here to build abridge,” he said in a conspiratorialwhisper.

“Bah, everyone knows that! I’ll writeto Father. One thing’s certain: he can’tbe any good.”

“But he is a captain. Must have done

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something to earn that rank.”“And something worse to be sent

here.”“What’s wrong with Rasenna? I like

Rasenna.”“It’s a fine place to learn fighting. But

for an engineer, it’s relegation.Punishment. For incompetence,insubordination, who knows what.” Hesuddenly looked over his shoulder.Gaetano had succeeded in making Sofialaugh. She never acted that way—like agirl—with the boys of WorkshopBardini, certainly not with him. WhenValerius turned back, he saw Marcus hadbegun polishing that ridiculous glasscontraption again.

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He smiled his cherub’s smile. “I’venever seen eyepieces up close before,”he said in a friendly way.

As evening drew on and torches were litaround the Chamber, faces already angrytook on a demonic hue and the millingwhisperers threw monstrous shadows.

Fearing he would blunder, Giovannihad made a note of what he needed tosay—and for a horrible moment hethought he’d lost it. He found it andlooked down at the swimming text indespair. Then, with his heart hammeringin his chest, he looked up and began tospeak. “Men of Rasenna, thank you forthis audience. I am Captain Giovanni of

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the Engineers’ Guild. My task is tobridge the Irenicon.”

He waited for the whispers tosubside, then went on. “I will completemy survey this week and then providedetails of the material and men I need.Based on a cursory examination, I shallconfirm to Concord that the allocatedtime is sufficient. Concordian machinesmake it possible to build a bridge bysummer’s end, but Rasenna’s men willmake it happen. I propose taking anequal number from north and south. Ileave my initial notes, with approximatecosts and quantities, for the Signoria tostudy.” He felt that he was speaking tooloudly but carried on. “Concord expects

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your cooperation. My task is to bridgethe Irenicon—it is your task too. Thankyou.”

He folded his note slowly beforelooking back up into the impassive facesof the cynical and prematurely old men,and he remembered Pedro’s firstquestion this morning: Was it a requestor an order?

He cleared his throat. “More than justcooperation, I ask your support. I saythis bridge is for all Rasenna knowingthat you have reason to doubt me. Untiltoday, you have only seen NaturalPhilosophy’s destructive power. I prayyou, see today as I do—a new beginningfor Rasenna and Concord, an opportunity

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to heal our discord.”The faces were still hostile but now

were looking toward their respectiveleaders.

“Thank you, uh, again,” he finished.Quintus Morello stood. “Thank you,

Captain. This is indeed a new era. Asgonfaloniere, I pray your exampleinspires Rasenna to put aside our owndivisions. May the Virgin grantsuccess!”

The applause surprised andembarrassed Giovanni. He bowed to theassembly, gave the mace and estimatesto the notary, and, blushing furiously,went toward the door.

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In the outer chamber, Sofia waswatching the Concordians play theirgame of status. The games she’d playedwith Gaetano had been more innocentyet more dangerous. She remembered theday she had blundered into a crow’s neston the eaves of Tower Ferruccio. Whenthe outraged mother crow attacked, shelost her footing and began sliding downthe tiles—she still woke sometimes fromnightmares in which she kept sliding—but Gaetano had caught her, and she hadkissed him and slapped him and then runhome in a cloud of giddy laughter.Everything was easier back then.

The Chamber door burst opensuddenly, and the engineer stepped into

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the water. He was wiping his browdazedly, then blushed when he saw themlooking at him. He nodded stiffly beforewading out to the piazza.

Sofia caught Gaetano’s skeptical look.“Really. He’s all right.”

A tinkle of smashed glass broughttheir attention immediately back to theConcordians.

“Damn it, Valerius! What did youdo?”

“Are you all right, Marcus?” saidGaetano.

“I won’t be able to see now!” Marcuscried.

“You little stronzo!” said Gaetano,

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grabbing Valerius and slamming himagainst the wall. Several crests fell andsmashed.

“Get your hands off me!” screamedValerius.

“Hands off, Tano!” The end of Sofia’sflag stick lightly touched Gaetano’stemple.

“All right, all right—” He let go andbacked away, dragging Marcus with him.

“I can’t see!”“I’ll make sure he’s punished,” she

said.“Do that.”Valerius laughed. “Idiota! She can’t

punish me!”

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Sofia stuck Valerius in the stomach.He doubled over and gasped, “Why didyou do that?” He sounded genuinelyshocked.

She held her stick under his chin. “Sayit again. I dare you.”

Gaetano pulled her away. “Sofia, he’sright. Anything done to him, Rasennagets back tenfold. Let’s just keep themseparate.”

Sofia had to leave or she’d dosomething she’d regret. Outside, amidthe slender-columned loggia adjoiningthe palazzo, she found the engineerglumly regarding the river.

“What’s the matter with you?” Then

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she saw: someone had cut the ropebridge. While he had been speakinginside about reconciliation, somebodyhad been sabotaging it before it had evenbegun.

The applause ended the moment theengineer left the room. Quintus Morellocrossed the floor, snatched the estimatesfrom the notary, and crumpled them intoa ball. “Let’s hope the buio take him fora tour of old Rasenna.”

Cheers and laughter erupted from thesouthern benches, while across the floorthe Doctor leaned forward andwhispered to Guercho Vaccarelli.

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The old man took the mace and fixedhis one functioning eye on Quintus.“Levity?” he spit. “At this hour,Gonfaloniere? If our extension wasrefused, and we gather it was . . .” Hespoke in whistling gasps, and whenbreath was exhausted he left sentencessuspended in midair while his dustylungs recovered a second wind.

“We have not come to that point on theagenda,” the notary interrupted, glancingat the ambassador. Valentino sat quietlybeside his father, his slender frame stilldraped in his cloak, his face as blank asthe empty sky above the old man.

Guercho Vaccarelli caught his breathand continued. “If there is no extension, I

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say, then Rasenna faces greater demandsthan ever: tribute for last year and theyear to come! This is no time for levityor partisanship, not in this house, not onthe streets.”

A southerner jeered. “You liked itwhen you were winning!”

The old man ignored the interruptionand raised a shaking finger ofadmonition. “Concord will pay for thebridge. It brings employment andcommerce to profit our merchants and towe who tax them. It is a means to payour debt. Who knows another? Beforedisplaying your considerable patriotism,my Lords, consider one more point.”

“Hurry up!” Boos erupted from the

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southside, and the notary hammered hisgavel, shouting for order.

“Defaulting has strained relationswith the Empire. What if we adddefiance to our sins? You are all towerowners. When a tenant defaults, youthrow him out. But when he insults you,you throw him out of a window.”

Property owners on both sides of theChamber laughed in recognition.

The old man was not smiling.“Concord has a strategic reason to buildthis bridge. Is it to help Rasenna? Or isit a provocation to goad us intorebellion?” He waited a moment beforeloudly answering himself, “It is neither!We are not that important. The reason is

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simple: before Concord looks to Europa,it must secure its rear. It must bring toheel the last free cities of Etruria.”

“The Doctor’s visitors revealed allthis?” Quintus Morello interrupted withexaggerated surprise.

The notary piped up, “Lord Morello,the condottieri are a separate order ofbusiness.”

Vaccarelli was unfazed.“Gonfaloniere, it’s obvious to anyonewho troubles to study a map. Concordneeds a bridge to campaign south, butthere is no reason to build it inpermanent stone except to send amessage to the south and us that this isthe new order. As we own our towers,

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they own us. If the bridge is unfinishedin five months’ time, they will pauselong enough to complete it, and whenthey leave, there will be a bridge and noRasenna. Our role as playground forConcordian pups comes to an end. Asword hangs over us. We can beConcord’s vassal and live or her enemyand die.”

The old man proffered the macechallengingly. “Gonfaloniere?”

Quintus Morello waited for Vaccarellito take his seat before speaking in tonesof barely contained rage. “Friends, donot be deceived by arguments ofexpedience. Concord’s Wave made useunuchs! This bridge is another assault,

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more insidious, for it comes giftwrapped. If it was indeed Trojans whofounded Rasenna, should we emulatetheir valor or their credulity? TheDoctor—excuse me, Signore Vaccarelli—paints a dark picture. Is it really sodark, or is it colored by ambition? Doeshe hope to win Concord’s favor bybending over at every opportunity?”

As every other southsider dutifullycheered his father’s words, Valentinostared at Doctor Bardini. There wassomething impressive about the oldstreet fighter. He had not troubled to puthis name in the election purse for years.What would be the point?

In the ebbing light, Quintus Morello’s

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faded red robes had become finallycolorless and his voice had reached thatunpleasant pitch that meant he wasgetting to the point. “Are we children, tobe scared by rumor? I remind thenorthside that Rasenna is a republicwhere all the people have a voice. Oram I not your elected gonfaloniere?”

Riotous cheers answered his question.The Doctor whispered in Vaccarelli’sear again. “The northern towersrecognize the gonfaloniere’s authority,”the old man answered.

After the roars died down, Morelloannounced proudly, “Very well. Asuncontested gonfaloniere of Rasenna, Iapprove this bridge—” He paused for

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effect.“—on the condition that the engineer

lodge in a southside tower underMorello protection.”

Guercho Vaccarelli turned andwhispered with the Doctor for a whileand then, looking a little puzzled,croaked, “No objection.”

Valentino would have admired suchcoolness once, but the Beast had taughthim better. Yes, the Doctor played moreskillfully than Quintus, but the gameitself was ignoble—the two worms werevying for a dung heap.

The notary moved to the second orderof business, and, scratching himself like

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a flea-ridden dog, the Doctor wanderedinto the circle, carrying the mace and adeferential manner, and said, “Friends,you know me as a plainspoken man.There’s been talk that this morning’svisitors came by invitation to propose anew Southern League. It’s a wonderfulstory, but the truth is more mundane. Thecondottieri were merely passing through,and they were curious enough about ArtBanderia to ask for a workshop tour.”

When the Doctor went to return themace, Quintus called out, “Anythingelse?”

“Now that I think of it, Gonfaloniere,we did discuss a hypothetical situation.”He scratched his chin. “It’s embarrassing

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to repeat it, but they invited me tospeculate on whether Rasenna wouldhire condottieri. I said it would not—itwas but idle conversation; I am glad theywasted a citizen’s time and not theSignoria’s. Entertaining such guestsofficially would be difficult to explain toConcord should they hear of it.”

Morello harrumphed. “Why shouldRasenna not employ condottieri? It isour right—”

The Doctor nodded. “As is suicide.”He added as an afterthought, “Thoughit’s rarely a wise course.”

He dropped his abstracted airabruptly. “Etruria has no use forcondottieri. The towns that employ them

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have been bankrupted or betrayed oftenenough that they see their foolishness.The last such army in Etruria is led byJohn Acuto, who fights for whoever hecan bully into employing him. As myesteemed colleague mentioned,Concord’s Twelfth marches south thissummer—not a few squadrons, not apatchwork of allies fighting with the aidof one Concordian engineer, but anentire legion. That is the end of JohnAcuto, and Rasenna, too, if we jointhem.”

“In short, you told those mercenariesyou were happy to be a slave.”

The Doctor smiled good-naturedly.“Much eloquence is spilled on the

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subject of freedom—its splendor, itsnobility, its necessity. I only ask,Gonfaloniere, what is its use? We areslaves of time, of hunger, of passion, yetwe make no complaint. We are rarelyslaves of reason in Rasenna; of thosechains we are unfortunatelyemancipated. We are too weak to winmore freedom but perhaps wise enoughto keep the little we have.”

The Doctor handed back the mace to abarrage of cheers and insults. Beforevitriol turned violent, the notarysquealed, “Next order of business!Ambassador Morello, please.”

The young man stood. A hushdescended. When Valentino had left to

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seek the extension, he had been mockedfor his youth. Now every eye was lockedon him. He reached the circle, shruggedaside the cloak, and cried, “Here isConcord’s answer!”

As shock rippled through the chamber,Valentino’s gaze was nailed on one man.The Doctor remained expressionless.

A northsider broke the silence. “Noextension, then?”

“A small reduction,” the Doctor said.The southside benches erupted with

anger, but Valentino dropped the macewith a bang, bringing sudden silence.

“I am a warning of the price ofdisobedience.” He raised his remaining

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hand. “But Concord misjudges us! Iwould sooner cut off this hand too thancast away my honor. Rasenneisi”—Valentino pointed his stump at theDoctor—“this man is a traitor!”

With surprising haste, old manVaccarelli leaped to his feet. “Slander!Slander, I say! Notary, remove this boy.”

Red-faced, Quintus Morello stood.His men’s flags rose with him.“Everyone, be seated. As you value yourlives, molest none of my house.”

Bardini and Morello affiliates shoutedat each other, then crowded onto thefloor. In the crush, Valentino foundhimself back to back with his father.

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The Doctor was amused that a boywho had left Rasenna before everwielding a flag himself had returnedmilitant. Whatever tortures he had beensubjected to, he had left more than fleshbehind in Concord. Quintus Morello wasthe perfect rival, weak, irresolute, andpredictable; what if this son tookcharge?

With a tired grunt, he stood. He let theshouting dwindle before he spoke.“Brothers, anyone who bleeds forRasenna has earned my respect and yourattention.”

It was enough to restore order.Everyone returned to his side of thechamber as the other Signoria members

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looked upon Valentino Morello withmingled curiosity and annoyance.

Valentino spoke calmly. “TheDoctor’s analysis is essentially correct.The Concordians mean to be paid.They’ll plunder the south to feed theirwar machine. Rasenna has no riches tolose, but we still have our pride.” Heturned slightly. “Perhaps that’s where wediffer, Doctor. I ask how we can hold onto our honor, not what price we ask forit.”

The mace lay where it had fallen.Instead of the usual shouting, boos, andthreats, there was unbearably tautsilence. Hastily the notary adjourned.

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When Sofia said they must go home theold way, the Doctor soundedunconcerned by the sabotage. His catlikegrin spread over his wide face as hesaid, “It went well.”

He had told her that he desired onething from the meeting only, and the restwas theater, and that had happened: thebridge was going ahead. Come whatmay.

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CHAPTER 12

Unwilling to be a mere parchmentengineer, Bernoulli made his nameby mapping the so-called hydra,Etruria’s river system. Because ofhis youth, his first building projectwas a renovation. The Etruscanbridge connecting the old city wallsto the mainland was straining underthe rising population. Unimpressedby its antiquity, Bernoulli consideredbolstering inadequate structures not

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only folly but immoral.His alternative proposal, an

audacious one-span bridge, wascontroversial. Surveyors, masons,and engineers of the day insistedthat such a structure would notsupport its own weight, let alonethe city’s traffic. Bernoulli found aninfluential advocate in the PatricianSenator Postumus Tremellius Felix,5whose forceful argumentsconvinced the Curia. The old bridgewas demolished and speedilyreplaced with a bridge immediatelyrecognized as an architecturalmarvel. Bernoulli was neverquestioned again, at least in

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matters of technique.

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CHAPTER 13

Giovanni was given a floor in a Morellotower that, although unfurnished andrather strange-smelling, suited his needs.An open space with good light was allhe needed for drawing. After gettingsettled, he climbed the stairs. Thetrapdoor opened before he had a chanceto knock.

“Dio, you take a long time to unpack!”Pedro motioned him up with impatience.“Come up and meet my father.”

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When Giovanni saw the woolcrammed into every corner, he realizedwhat his room had been used for. VettoriVanzetti rose from his loom. “Captain,Pedro has told me all about you. He’swanted to interrogate an engineer sincehe was old enough to put two wordstogether.”

“My door will always be open.”“You might live to regret that,” said

Pedro with a grin.“I’ll take my chances.”As the men spoke, Pedro went back to

repairing a loom. Noting Vettori’s freshblack eye, Giovanni guessed he had notvolunteered for the job.

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“What do you need, Captain?”“Answers, to start with. You have

construction experience?”“Not much.”“Quintus Morello recommended you

as foreman. Why?”“I can’t speak for my betters, Captain,

but I used to run a small business.People know me, northsiders too, andtrust me, as far as that goes.”

“Concord will pay for yourequipment, however it got damaged.”

“None of the crew can accept money.We’re all in debt to Morello or Bardini.Our money is their money. My loom, Ibroke it myself. That’s how I got this

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shiner too. I’ll help you, Captain, but ifyou don’t want an accident-prone crew,please don’t ask questions.”

“I am not here to cause trouble.”“Simply by being here you will.”The two men stared at each other in

silence.“He’s all right, Papa.”“What do you need, Captain?” Vettori

repeated.Giovanni knew it would take more

than his son’s word to satisfy Vettori. Hestuck to practicalities. “Stone. Wood.Iron.”

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He cut and pinned paper to the wall tomake one large sheet and drew his planswhile Pedro watched over his shoulder.It had been a long time since he had feltany enthusiasm for his work. The bridgewas a tool. Even if the Apprenticesplanned to use it for war, the bridgeitself would be innocent. Perhaps hecould be too. His window looked out tothe piazza and the river beyond, and hesaw it as it could be: a gracefulsymphony of material, a lithe shapebelying hidden tensions—the contest ofstrength between design and matter andthe pressures they must bear: of gravity,load, and environment. The first wassimple to calculate, the second was a

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variable, and in time he would come tounderstand the third.

The charcoal snapped. He caught hisbreath. There were other contests,warring bone, warring muscle. It waswith him always.

Gubbio.Always, though he’d done his duty.

Always, though the Guild said thatgeometry was innocent, that guilt wasatavism, that sin did not exist. There wasno Right and Wrong, only correct andincorrect. For the hundredth—thethousandth—time he wished he believedthe dogma.

Vettori warned his son not to be

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distracting, but Giovanni needed anassistant and curiosity was the primequality of a good one. Vettori,overhearing the engineer’s explanationsto the unending questions, noticed hespoke to Pedro not as a child or aRasenneisi but as a colleague, and hewatched as Pedro responded withgrowing confidence, absorbing thebarrage of new ideas Vettori himselffound so alien.

Discussing logistics, Giovanni waspleased to find Vettori rational, fair, andfar too cautious—these were thequalities of a good foreman.

Before the week ended, Giovanni’s

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plans had the gonfaloniere’s seal. TheSignoria’s indifference suited him. Hedid not need assistance, and he dreadedinterference.

Scaffolding was the first priority. Twodecades with no building had allowedthe forests outside the walls toregenerate. Time had also erased anyevidence of previous visitors, andGiovanni could imagine himself the firstman to walk there.

He broke a branch off and peeledback the bark. “You don’t know howlucky you are, having this life outsideyour walls, near enough that you cansmell it. Touch it.”

Vettori watched the Concordian

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moving softly between the trees. “Aye,”he said evenly, “it’s peaceful.”

“It’s more than that: it’s alive. Theland around Concord has been barren foryears.”

Vettori didn’t respond, unsure of hisground. Normally the engineer talkedfast and only about practicalities, andnormally Concordians boasted of thethings they had, things that others lacked.

“When they started diverting rivers,the trees stopped growing. We werewoodsmen once, but you can’t plant indust. All the scaffolding for the Molè’snave had to be imported—that’s whyBernoulli built the domes without any.”Giovanni pulled off another branch. “He

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wanted to prove even Nature couldn’thold him back.”

“What are you looking for?” askedVettori.

“Quality”—he stripped another in thesame way—“consistency.”

Vettori waited. It was irrational,perhaps, but he felt patrioticallyconcerned that the wood would meet theengineer’s standards. “Well?”

“It’s good. Who owns it?”“Morello,” Vettori told him, “and

Bardini owns the quarries on the north.”“Think they’ll give me a good deal

since I’m buying wholesale?”“Sorry, Captain. They’ll both gouge

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you for every soldi they can.”“I won’t quibble. Concord has deep

pockets. I suppose it’s good the Familiesagree on something. I expect iron will bemore problematic.”

Vettori smiled. “I know a northsiderwho eats problems for breakfast.”

They crossed the river on the east side,where the Wave had smashed though thetown walls on its way out. It was a riskyjourney, leaping from one uneven pillarto another. Vettori was far from athletic,but he was a still a Rasenneisi; Giovannifound himself clinging to the wet rockshis guide had leaped between without a

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second thought.“Why’s it called the Midnight Road

anyway? It can’t be used solely byassassins,” Giovanni shouted over thewater’s roar.

Vettori looked back incredulously.“Why else cross over?”

Giovanni, taken aback, had noresponse. Since the Signoria meetinghe’d brooded on the consequences ofreuniting this turbulent town. He sawsomeone standing on the north bank andshouted, “Seems we’re expected.”

“Spotted, more like. Every riversidetower is a lookout for raiders.”

Sofia leaned nonchalantly on her flag

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and called, “Madonna, I’ve never seensuch clumsy climbing. I’m surprised youhaven’t broken something yet.”

“Is that how you broke your arm?”“Still none of your business, Captain.

What is your business northside?”“I’m meeting a merchant to discuss

supplies.”“Fabbro Bombelli, Contessa,” Vettori

stuttered.“Fine. Follow me. I don’t know what

lies those southsiders have told you,Captain, but it’s not safe forConcordians to walk the streetsunescorted.”

“I’m not a soldier; I’m an engineer.”

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“What’s the difference?”

Vettori was visibly relieved to reach themerchant’s tower. The door burst open,and Giovanni saw a short, well-fed,well-dressed man sliding down theladder with surprising grace forsomeone with so white a beard.

“Vettori! Just as I am about to come toyou, you come to me. Hello, Captain!Pleased to know you. You’ll neverguess; just this morning another friendsuggested I help out with your famousbridge. Naturally, I was delighted.”

Giovanni caught Fabbro’s shrewdglance at Vettori’s black eye and wasn’t

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surprised when he asked, “You’ll beworking on it too, my friend?” Heclapped his hands and cried, “Vanzettiand Bombelli, together again! Captain,may you never have sons as cruel asmine! The scoundrels mock me, tellingme you have the power to keep the buioat bay!”

While Giovanni explained how theeggs worked, Fabbro tilted his headappraisingly. He looked upon businessopportunities with almost motherlyaffection, and though he did notunderstand the technology, he saw thepossibilities at once. “Let meunderstand: we can unload bargeswithout endangering the operators? But

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this is marvelous—my sons are honest!”“You’re forgetting the wall,” Vettori

interjected. “What’s left of it.”“We’ll knock it down,” Giovanni

said. “With a real bridge, you won’tneed it.”

The very notion left Vettorispeechless, but Fabbro’s nimble mindhad already leaped into a future in whichriver traffic was not feared butwelcomed. “Knock it down. Howsimple. This will make delivering youriron a trifle, Captain. Tell me exactlywhat you need and Bombelli and sonswill look after the rest.”

After Giovanni had gone over his

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requirements, he turned to Vettori. “Youcan go back now. I need to speak withDoctor Bardini.”

Vettori looked sheepish, and Sofialooked suspicious. “Why?” shedemanded.

“He’s in charge, isn’t he?”Sofia picked up her flag. “Go home,

Vanzetti. I’ll see the Concordian getsback in one piece.”

When Vettori had left, Giovannicaught up to her. “I didn’t mean to berude, Signorina. I just meant—Well, youare under his protection, aren’t you?”

Giovanni thought she wasn’t going toanswer until she turned on him. “The

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Signoria sits at my pleasure. I’m notsome ordinary Rasenneisi; I am theContessa Scaligeri!”

“We don’t make such distinctions inConcord.”

“How wonderfully modern. Keep up,will you?”

Giovanni followed through quicklyturning streets with difficulty, annoyedwith himself for glibly repeating Guilddogma. He had reviewed their lastmeeting several times, imagining wayshe could have done better—now this!What was it about wanting to make agood impression that ensured youdidn’t?

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The Doctor greeted him from the stepsof the workshop like an old friend.“Captain, come in!”

“Doctor, I need help.”The Doctor looked for Sofia, but she

was already dragging Valerius from thepillar he was lurking behind. It wouldn’tdo for Concord to hear secondhand ofany arrangements the Bardini might makewith the engineer.

“What’s he want, Sofia?” Valeriussaid, sulky at having been removed fromhis vantage point.

“If you paid as much attention to yourstudies as you do to gossip, you might behalf the soldier your father’s expecting

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to collect.” As she led him away, sheglanced over her shoulder. She wascurious too.

“I’m impressed that you’ve come sosoon. You’re a fast learner, Captain. AndSofia tells me you’ve got some salt in atight corner.”

“I got the impression she hated me.”“She hates Concord. In time, she’ll

see you have many good qualities.Knowing when you need friends, forexample. How can I help?”

“Keep your feud away from mybridge.”

The Doctor’s smile didn’t falter.

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“What do you mean?”“You know very well: neither Vettori

Vanzetti nor Fabbro Bombelli was givena choice in working for me.”

“Vanzetti’s a southsider.”“I already told Quintus Morello I

don’t want my crew intimidated.”The Doctor smiled a little more

widely. “And how did our sagegonfaloniere respond?”

“He said he didn’t know what I wastalking about.”

“Ah, you’re simply confused by ourprovincial ways. Fabbro Bombelliasked me, as a friend, whether he shouldget involved, and I told him exactly what

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I told the Signoria: Concord wants abridge, so Concord will get a bridge. It’sin Rasenna’s best interest to cooperate.”

“Maybe you don’t listen to others inthe Signoria. I came to build a bridge forRasenna.”

“Then, if you’ll forgive me for sayingso, you’ve misunderstood your mission.Not that it matters whether you pick it upor not; Concord holds the rod.”

“You’re still not listening, Doctor.You’re talking small-town politics. Acrew needs peace to get anything done,and if you and Quintus Morello disruptthat, there’s going to be discord anddelays.”

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“And what I’m saying, Captain, is thatdiscord’s inevitable. We’re not likeother towns—” He broke off andlaughed. “But you’ll come to see that.I’ll stay away, since you ask, but don’tthink I’ll let that dreamer take advantage.He agreed in the Signoria for form’ssake. He imagines he can stop the bridgeand still avoid Concord’s wrath.”

“You know better?”“I was a boy the first time Concord

punished Rasenna. For years I dreamedabout it.” The Doctor looked away.“Don’t misunderstand; I’m as ambitiousas Morello, but I don’t put faith indreams. The only constant in Etruria isConcord’s strength.”

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Giovanni followed the Doctor’s gaze.At the other end of the workshop Sofiawas instructing the students.

“And my ambition is not for myself. Ifyou won’t take my help, at least take myadvice. Like it or not, you’re aconqueror. Act like one. Strength is allRasenneisi understand. Whatever youare, don’t be lukewarm. It’s no good toanybody.”

“I came to build a bridge forRasenna,” Giovanni repeated stubbornly.

“Then you’re just another dreamer.”The Doctor sighed and turned. “Sofia,take the Captain home. I no longerguarantee his safety.”

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On the way back, Giovanni was quietand thoughtful. Sofia had assumed theengineer had come seeking Bardiniprotection—everybody folded to theFamilies eventually—but the Doctor’sabrupt dismissal suggested otherwise.

“Get what you wanted?” she askedcasually.

“I said what I wanted. I don’t know ifhe heard.”

“What do you want?”He realized he could easily appear

rude again if he didn’t frame his replycarefully. After a moment he said, “Idon’t want to interfere with Rasenneisipolitics, but I have a mission. I need

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both Families to keep their quarrel offthe bridge.”

She frowned. “Look, you mean well—”

“But?”“You’re not a Rasenneisi, Captain.

What you want might not be possible.”There was no arguing the point; he

could see that. He said, “I saw you in theworkshop, by the way. I’m no judge, butyou look very skillful.”

She shrugged. “I have to be.”“But won’t you inherit all this at

seventeen?”“It’s not that simple,” she started.

“Engineers know about maps, right?

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Well, you only need maps when you’regoing somewhere. I found one in mymother’s trousseau when I was seven. Ididn’t know what it was until Doc toldme. Don’t laugh, but I couldn’t findRasenna until he showed me the creasewhere the map was folded. There wewere, worn away.” They could hear theriver now. “I realized then that beingContessa was something I couldn’t counton; I’d have to be a bandieratoro too. Ipracticed harder than anyone in theworkshop until—”

“—you were the best,” he finished forher.

She blushed, realizing it sounded likepride. “So who taught you?”

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“Every engineer studies with theGuild.”

“I meant, was your father anengineer?”

“Yes. I come from a line of men withmachine grease instead of blood.”

They reached the river. Giovannilooked at it like a bandieratoro sizing upan opponent.

He caught her staring. “Contessa, yousay you’re Scaligeri, not Bardini, butfrom what I’ve heard, the Morello don’tsee a distinction. And I can see why theDoctor might not want them to.” Even ashe finished, he realized he’d done itagain.

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“And I keep reminding you to mindyour own business! You think you candrive a wedge between me and Doc?Divide and conquer, eh?”

“I’m not a conqueror—”“We’ll see,” she said, turning away.

“Mind you don’t break your neck gettingback.”

Giovanni returned to the tower feelingthat his efforts had been disastrous, yetwhen Vettori heard he’d stood up for theSmall People, he started working withgratitude and gusto.

While masons puzzled overGiovanni’s templates, Fabbro engaged in

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voluminous correspondence, searchingEuropa for the quantities of metalneeded. Giovanni sketched the machinesthat would allow building to proceed ata Concordian pace. Pedro, working witheveryone, was soon making informedsuggestions as well as following ordersand looking less assistant than engineer.

When the site was finally marked out,the masons were reassured that theburied town center’s silt shroud wouldbe undisturbed. It was better that theirancestors slept ignorant of theirchildren’s poverty.

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CHAPTER 14

After exhausting the great librariesof the Curia,6 Bernoulli wrote a listof questions touching on fields asdiverse as Anatomy and Physics.Answering these questions wouldrequire new mathematics, newmethods, new machines, and greataudacity. He was undaunted.Though he famously leftunanswered one question,7 hisDialogue with Myself is a thorough

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dissection of Nature that contradictsmuch Classical authority. Thistheoretically undercut Clericalauthority, but the Cardinals eitherfailed to notice or found suchrarefied theory harmless. HereBernoulli elucidates, somewhatpoetically, his observations onTime:

The greater theEngineer, the further hesees. The Method is toforesee Modes ofCollapse. The corollaryto the Method is that aStructure is not acomposition of Stone or

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Steel. It is an infinity ofuncreated Worlds. Eachstroke of the Engineer’spen creates the Worldanew.8

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CHAPTER 15

Dogged application of two infiniteresources, Concord’s money andBombelli’s persistence, ensured thatsupplies arrived the morning before theywere scheduled to begin. Giovanni leftTower Vanzetti with his nose buried invarious plans, double-checkingcontingencies and measurements,oblivious to the shadow overhead. As heturned a corner, the shadow dropped infront of him, and he fell back, scattering

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his plans.Sofia deftly caught them and handed

them back.“Thank you!” he stammered.“Sure I’m not a courteous assassin?”“Should I cry for help?”“You could try,” said Sofia drily.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”“But you’re a northsider.”“And proud. Your point?”“This isn’t the northside.”“The truce was extended. And as I

keep telling you, I’m Contessa—youmight not make distinctions, butRasenneisi do. Southsiders pay rent to

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Morello, but they’re still loyal toScaligeri.” She took his silence forskepticism. “You’ll see!”

Giovanni wondered if all Rasenneisiwere as changeable as Etrurian weather;had she forgiven their quarrel or justforgotten it?

“So, big day. Nervous?”“Why should I be?”“Oh, little things like half your crew

harboring vendette against the otherhalf.”

“I get the feeling you don’t want abridge.”

“Perceptive.”“The Doctor wants it.”

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“Who knows what he wants?”He heard anger in her voice and

assumed he had blundered again, butSofia was simply tired of being treatedlike hired help. The Doctor had told herto shadow the engineer after his lastvisit, but he wouldn’t tell her more.

“Perhaps I’m overlooking somethingobvious, but surely the river makes lifedifficult?” he said, choosing his wordscarefully.

“You should have considered thatbefore sending it,” she shot back.

“That wasn’t me personally—and itwas another time. Rasenna wasbelligerent.”

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“Some of us still are.”“I’ve noticed—but I still don’t

understand whether you really object tothe bridge or just to Concord.”

“Why not both?”“You can’t simultaneously object to

being divided and to being united—that’s a contradiction!”

“Well, you’re not from around here.”They were fast approaching Piazza

Luna, where Vanzetti was assembling thecrew.

“Thank you for your company,Signorina.”

“It’s ‘Contessa’ to you—and don’tthank me, thank the Doc.”

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They passed out of the alley’sshadows to find the usually empty piazzathronging with two hundred men, allmilling about in front of the town fathers,who were standing stiffly, lined up in theSignoria loggia. On seeing the Contessa,all of the crew, southsiders too, doffedtheir hats.

“Told you so,” whispered Sofia witha proudly jutting chin as they circled thecrowd of tall and shoulder-sturdy men.“What’s so funny?” she added.

“Vettori calls these men the SmallPeople.”

“They call themselves Woolsmenthese days, but they know construction;their fathers erected these towers and

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many more. Can you handle them,Captain?”

“We’ll soon find out. Have a goodday, Contessa.”

“Go to hell, Captain,” said Sofia,walking up to the loggia, where theDoctor waited with the rest. She glancedover her shoulder. “But until then, goodday to you too.”

Vettori said the men were ready tobegin, but Giovanni wanted to addressthem first.

“Rasenneisi, I’m here today for thesame reason you are—to build abridge.” A room full of politicians haddaunted him, but now he spoke with

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assurance. “Signore Vanzetti is overseer.Signore Bombelli, his second. You’llhave noticed small engines along thesurface of the water. They keeppseudonaiades—the buio—frombreaking the surface.” He raised hisvoice so all could hear. “You’ll be safewhile working—but fall in and you’lldrown all the same.”

“So put your harness on before youstart!” Pedro interrupted.

“My apprentice, Pedro, will bearound during the day to check. He canhelp you read plans if I am elsewhere.”

Fabbro grinned as Vettori failed tohide a big proud smile.

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To those with no experience withConcordian machinery, the schedulelooked impossible—it was one thing tohear of miracles, another to be expectedto perform them—but by the time theengineer had finished speaking, fewdoubted his conviction. Like theEtruscans before them, Concordianswere bridge builders, and that was thereason the Empire had expanded soswiftly despite the topography ofEtruria: a narrow peninsula so river-riddled that some foreign cartographersdescribed it as an archipelago.

A pale, wiry northsider raised hishand. He introduced himself as LittleFrog and was dressed the part in an ill-

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fitting green worker’s tunic, his long legspainted moss-yellow by old hoseventilated with rips and large feetentombed in hand-me-down boots.

Giovanni waited. He had beenexpecting interruptions.

“No objection to your contraptions,Captain,” Frog said with an amiabledrawl, “but we’re starting with a prayer,ain’t we?”

Giovanni could see the boy was notmaking trouble; the concern wasgenuine.

“He means a sacrifice,” Vettoriwhispered. “Tower builders use apigeon. I brought one, just in case . . .”

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Giovanni turned swiftly back to thecrowd. “There’ll be no prayers and nosacrifices. This is a modern buildingsite. We make do with stone and iron andeach other’s strength.”

Older builders grumbled until anotherargument broke out. A short, sweaty doursouthsider pointed at Fabbro, spit, andannounced, “I don’t work for Bardini.”

“You know him?” Fabbro whispered.Vettori nodded. “Unfortunately.”“Bandieratoro?”“No, that’d take salt. Hog Galati is

just a lowlife cafone whose idea ofwork is betting on cockfights.” Vettorishook his head angrily and added, “His

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children eat tripe.”“Signor, you work for me, not

Bardini.”“Oh,” said Hog with a quick grin.

“You work for Morello, then.” His facewas framed by black hair that curled intoimprobable ringlets stiff with grease.

He was answered by the shout“Bardini!” in turn answered by another,“Morello!”

In the loggia’s shade, Quintus Morellochuckled. The Doctor knew he expectedthe project to founder. “Don’t worry,Gonfaloniere. He’ll rein them in. Or doyou want my men to restore order?”

“Try it, Bardini. The truce holds so

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long as you stay off this bridge.”Sofia and Gaetano Morello exchanged

a glance. She gripped her banner andprayed the engineer would do something,and quickly.

“Listen, please!” Giovanni held up hishands. “I am no one’s man. On my site,you are no one’s either.”

Tower owners frowned as one, a raredisplay of unity.

“Thought this was a groundbreaking,”said Hog, “not a wind breaking.”

But the idea that a man might notbelong to another was singular enough torestore order.

“I came to build a bridge, that’s all.

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Your quarrels don’t concern me. Leavethem off my site and pick them up at theend of the day. The bridge is no-man’s-land.”

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CHAPTER 16

Even before the first day was overGiovanni fully understood howexceptional Pedro was. To ordinaryRasenneisi, Concordian technology wasalien. Most inventions are refinements ofold technology, but Bernoulli’s weredifferent: not just new concepts butapplied in an inspired fashion, and sofor the workmen, every little thing wasdifficult to begin with. Only aftergrasping this did Giovanni make

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progress by explaining first principles.Another temporary bridge was built,

this one with chains, less vulnerable tosabotage. The chains doubled as pulleysfor a small platform to carry men andmaterials quickly from one bank to theother. Though it was looking unlikelythat the framework of the arches wouldbe completed before the stone arrived,there had been no quarrels, and that,Vettori assured him, constituted success.Giovanni slept without the dark dreamsthat had plagued his nights since Gubbio.

Next morning he waited patiently butin vain to be ambushed at the samecorner. He was walking ondisappointedly when he felt a tap on his

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shoulder.“They won’t be waiting where you

expect them.”“Contessa! You really think I’m in

danger of assassination?”“I think you’re doing better than the

Families expected.”“Glad to disappoint.”“I’m glad you didn’t have a blessing.”“I presume your disagreement with the

Sisterhood isn’t theology-based.”“You really want to know how I broke

my arm?”“Only because you don’t want to tell

me,” he said, playing along.

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Sofia prided herself on being a goodstoryteller and for a moment consideredhow best to begin, though it wasn’t hard.The memory was still raw . . .

The Borselinno brothers were flankingher, and seven more boys brought up therear. Bardini bandieratori were heroesto northside children, but their motherspulled them inside when they saw adecina approaching. When flags comeout, fights break out: for Rasenneisiwomen, the maxim was a fact of life.

It was fun to hear the alarm, to seemen of unaffiliated towers keep theirflags lowered, to see the young bulls nodand make way. But Sofia knew this was

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a game with purpose. It sent a simplemessage to every family, affiliated ornot: rent due.

The Bardini owned towers, though notnearly as many as the Morello, but thiswas different: this was rent of thestreets, and the sight of a Bardini decinaon parade was a reminder of who ownedthem. The only thing spoiling the fun wasknowing this was business the Docwanted her involved in.

“How’s that?” Giovanni broke in.Sofia looked cross at the interruption.

“He doesn’t want me fighting in anunofficial capacity. The Borselinnoweren’t there to protect me—they wereto make sure I didn’t exceed orders.”

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“Which were what? Just to be seen?”“Shut up and let me tell the story! The

Borselinno turned on their heels at thesight of the Baptistery, but I keptwalking.”

“They didn’t notice you were gone?”“They were concentrating so hard on

their war stories, I’m surprised theyfound their way home. Now, zitto!”

The Baptistery, a squat octagonal gatetower, guarded the cloister. It was richerin design and ornament than any tower,but the real difference was that its largegreen doors were always open. Somemight call it hospitable. To Rasenneisi it

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was provocative.She steeled herself and entered the

airy darkness that was pierced only bythe light entering the door behind thecentral baptismal font. She wasimmediately aware of the scent ofincense and something else—moreelusive, as if time beat with a slowerrhythm here, each second dragging out alittle longer. Such peace was strange toSofia.

The Doc rarely spoke of old Rasenna,but the other survivors of his generationnever tired of telling tales of formerglories, such as the Cathedral bell thattolled then for fish and now for buio. Farolder than the Cathedral, the Baptistery

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had been built by Rasenna’s founders,the Etruscans or Trojans, whichever lieone chose to believe.

She hadn’t come to admire theiconography, but as she let her eyesadjust to the darkness, they fell upon onetreasure and then another. From themiddle of the vaulted ceiling an ornateHerod’s Sword hung tip down, reflectingdarkly in the Holy Water of the font,where infants became the Innocentsmurdered with the Christ, if one sochose to believe. Sofia had put suchthings behind her, but even so she dippedher hand in and made the Sign of theSword before going into the smallcourtyard.

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As incense gently surrendered to thescent of living lilies, silence yielded todoves cooing. In the center of the garden,an old woman was quietly pruning anorange tree.

Sofia leaned her flag against thedoor’s arch and strode over. “ReverendMother, please forgive this intrusion.”

The nun, who evidently had not heardSofia’s approach, dropped her shears inshock, and they stuck in the groundbeside her sandals. “My child,” sheexclaimed, “I dreamed you would comethis very hour.”

Suppressing her smile, Sofia noddedsolemnly.

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The nun gestured to a small table asevidence. “I had a novice preparerefreshments for us. Would you like aglass of water, amore?” said the oldlady, shuffling over.

Sofia glanced up at the surroundingwindows, but they were empty. Theirprivacy was complete. “No, thank you.I’ve come to ask your advice.”

“’Course you would. Lovely water.Just the thing. Here you go, drink up.”

Smiling, Sofia reached to take theglass—then punched her in the face.

“You what?”“I punched her in the face,” said

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Sofia.“That’s what I thought you said.”“Just wait till you hear what happened

next . . .”

The old lady staggered back, droppingthe glass, and Sofia followed up with alow sweeping kick. The nun crashed tothe ground; at the same moment, the glassshattered.

“Didn’t dream of that, huh?” Sofialeaped back. “Bardini own the northside.Everybody has to pay. Sisters too.” Herheart was pounding. This would showDoc—and whoever listened to him—that she didn’t need baby-sitting.

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Flat on her back, the nun chuckled.She poked a finger into her jaw, then spitout a tooth. “Is that it?”

“Don’t get up!” Sofia said, trying notto sound worried.

“I assume this visit is unofficial. Idon’t remember the Doc being thatstupid.”

It was all wrong: that punch wouldhave knocked out any bandieratoro, butthe nun was perfectly lucid.

Sofia grabbed the bottle and smashedit against the table. “I’m warning you!”

“Let’s see what you’ve got, then.” Thenun twisted her legs, pivoting on herback, then sprang up, and before Sofia

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could move, the bottle was knockedfrom her grip with a quick, accuratekick. She backed away hastily, but theold lady moved faster, pirouetting lightlyon her feet, and before Sofia could react,she’d been punched in the stomach once,twice, three times. They only felt liketaps, yet her whole body convulsed—and they were impossible to block,because it was impossible to see thenext one coming. Sofia realized that thenun was using her sleeves just as abandieratoro used his banner: toconceal, to distract.

Sofia let herself fall backward. Herhands touched the ground as her legs leftit.

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The nun, seeing her somersaultingtoward the door, sprang weightlesslyinto the air. Sofia snatched her flag awaya second before the nun’s masonry-shattering kick landed. Panicked birdsflew into the sky.

She defended herself, but it washopeless; the nun patiently advancedwith sweeping blows that passed by herface, closer and closer, her sharp nailsjust in front of her exposed throat. Shewas toying with her, studying hertechnique exactly the way the Doc testedthe workshop novices. Even if she wasfast enough, the nun was too close to lether use her flag. With the next blow,Sofia let herself fall and roll.

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“You’re too old to fight like a girl,”the nun said patronizingly.

Sofia knew she’d been overconfident;the blood on her tongue was evidence ofthat. A feather drifted by her face. Sheglanced up at the courtyard roof andleaped. For a moment, it felt possible—then a claw gripped her ankle.

“Enough of this nonsense,” said thenun, pulling her down. “It’s time for mynap.” She grabbed Sofia’s wrist gentlyand turned it. Sofia winced and droppedher flag. She shot a knee up, but the nuntilted her body away. Sofia leaned backtoo, grabbing the fallen shears and—

“Enough, I said!” and the nun slappedthe shears out of her hands. Calmly, with

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an almost leisurely pace, she steppedbehind Sofia, still holding her wrist, andpushed on the elbow until—

“Ahhh!”She heard cooing in the warm, numb

darkness—then, like a fire catchingalight, pain that wrenched her eyes open.

The old nun smiled down at her. “Ah,you’re back. I was just thinking howyou’ve grown, Sofia, since the day Ibaptized you.”

She pulled her up. “Well, you knowthe way now. The door is always open,”she said, and returned to pruning, “Comeback if you need more advice.”

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“And that was over a month ago,” Sofiafinished her story, finding herself a littleshaken reliving it. “The Doc set my arm,said it’ll be good as new when it heals.He hates the Sisterhood more than me,but the nuns do everything beautifully, hesaid, even bone breaking.”

“Wasn’t he angry?” said Giovanni,less surprised at the story than at thecatch in her normally confident voice.

“He didn’t give me the lecture I wasexpecting, just shook his head andscratched his chin a lot. He’s like that,never tells you what he’s thinking. Andit’s funny, up till that day, I thought hewas Rasenna’s best fighter.”

Giovanni shook his head. “Is that true,

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that she named you?”“How do I know? Even if it is, how

could that old zoccola recognize me?The Sisterhood has acted like the rest ofRasenna doesn’t exist for years.”

“Maybe she knew you were coming,like she said.”

“And let me get the first one in?Aren’t engineers supposed to berational? Or did you miss that day inschool?”

“Rationality means followingevidence wherever it leads.”

They walked on in silence until Sofiasaid, “You think I got what I deserved.”

Giovanni became engrossed in his

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plans.“Tell me. I won’t get mad.”“Do you do that type of thing, threaten

people for the Doctor, often?”Forgetting her promise, Sofia

snapped, “That’s the natural order ofthings, isn’t it? Concord doesn’t use lovepoetry to wrest tribute from bankrupttowns, does it?”

“That doesn’t make it right. Will theSmall People accept you as Contessa?”

“You saw yesterday what they think ofme. Besides, I don’t need permission;it’s my right. You might have brokenyour nobles’ banners, but we still carryours. Certain families are born to rule,

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others to follow. That’s the way it is.”“Why? Has it proved efficient?”“This isn’t Concord; we don’t aspire

to efficiency. Rasenna’s problem is theMorello. If they showed proper respectto Scaligeri—”

“What do the Scaligeri have to dowith it? The Morello quarrel’s with theBardini—”

“—and Doc’s loyal to the Scaligeri. Idon’t like what you’re implying.Concord’s no different.”

“Since the engineers took over, ournobles don’t—”

“Your Re-Formation was the samething that’s been happening in Rasenna

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for the past decade: a power struggle.The engineers gelded the oldaristocracy, and now they’re thearistocracy.”

“You misunderstand: the Guild has noinstitutionalized privilege. Promotionand advancement are based on merit.”

“Didn’t you say you came from anengineering family?”

“Of course, some families have anaptitude—”

“—just as previously the criteriawere martial skills. All that’s changed isthe criteria for exclusion. Concord,Rasenna, wherever: there’s still onegroup who rule and Small People who

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serve.”They had come to Piazza Luna, and

Giovanni did something she hadn’texpected: he agreed. Taken aback, shebecame almost conciliatory. “Don’t getme wrong—I don’t object to it here orthere. Like I said, it’s natural. Certainpeople are born with a higher destiny.”

“You believe that?”“I do. The only thing I disagree with

Doc about is how he takes the long wayaround. When I’m in charge, the Morello—or anyone who gets in my way—hadbetter watch out!”

They parted as before:“Have a good day, Contessa.”

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“Go to hell, Captain.”Sofia stopped midway over the chain

bridge to look at the river underneath. Apermanent bridge still seemed asimpossible as a tower built on clouds,but when she looked back and studiedthe man who was committed to buildingit, she knew that impossible or not, hewould do it.

In Piazza Luna, a shantytown ofworkshops for carpenters, masons, andsmiths had sprung up overnight.

The workmen were quick studies, andGiovanni was surprised at theirreadiness to adopt the labor-saving

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devices other Etrurian towns hadshunned. Gradually he began to realizethe important difference: no other townhad been so completely defeated asRasenna. Traditional techniques werecause for shame, not pride.

The first week’s progress wasimpressive. Pile-driven stakes outlinedcofferdams where abutments would beplanted even deeper for stability. Heenvisaged a structure with a long centralarch, elegantly bracketed with twolower and shorter arches, a subtle sloperising from each bank.

Giovanni was everywhere, solvingtechnical problems almost before theyarose. He knew it was vital to have the

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cofferdams drained before the springrains, and he knew the men would testeach other, so whenever confrontationcame, he did not shy away but stoodthere, arms crossed and head slightlylowered as he listened to both parties,and then decided matters with certainty.He did not draw his authority fromdistant Concord or from the ever-watching Signoria. It came from anotherplace.

And then came a problem engineeringcould not solve.

“This side, it’s lagging. Why?”Vettori was evasive, but by now

Giovanni recognized the resignationwith which Rasenneisi met certain

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realities.“I hate to say this”—Vettori looked

down at his feet—“but it’s because thecrew here is an even split. On the otherside, it’s mostly southsiders. Thenorthsiders over there are cutting stone,away from the rest. They don’t have tomix.”

“You’re telling me we make moreprogress on the other side with fewerpeople?”

Vettori called to one of the workers,“Galati, any reason why you’re justsitting there looking stupid?”

Hog looked up casually and spit. “Gotno nails, boss.”

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“Nails, anyone?” Vettori asked.Hog wasn’t the least abashed as

several hands went up. With a strangelyvain gesture he ran a hand though hislank black curls.

“What do you recommend?” saidGiovanni quietly.

“This is Rasenna.” Vettori regardedHog coldly. “Put a crow’s head on astick.”

“Fire him?”“And make sure the Signoria hears

why. Morello won’t let Bardini breakHog’s legs, but he’ll tolerate a beating.Then redivide the crew.”

“It’s divided according to the crafts

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they know!”“Which would work if this was no-

man’s-land and not—”“I know! You don’t have to say it.”Rasenna: when things fell, they didn’t

blame gravity—they said, “Rasenna!”and walked away. It explainedeverything. Giovanni had come to knowVettori as a reasonable man, a goodfather, yet here he was, calmlyrecommending throwing a man to theDoctor. He stared hard at the riverflowing under his feet. He’d drownunder logistics while they squabbledlike children. Building sites had athousand tests of competence, ofleadership, every day, but this was

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different. This was the noise of a fightbrewing. Vettori was right; an examplewas needed. An image assailed him: acrow’s beak caked in blood, a boybathing his face and smiling like a cat.

“That would be an example,” heagreed. “Not the right one, though.”

“What else can we do?” asked Vettoriimpatiently.

“Work together. If it takes longer, sobe it.”

“I guess Rome wasn’t burned in aday,” Vettori said, skeptical butimpressed at the engineer’sstubbornness.

“I’ll make up the difference today; I’m

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a decent carpenter,” said Giovanni,walking over and taking a place besideHog.

After an awkward silence, Hog spitand got to work.

By day’s end, Giovanni wasexhausted. There’d been no fights yet,but at close of play the men gravitatednorth and south like armies lining up.

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CHAPTER 17

Fabbro was frequently offsite sourcingmaterials, and when the first bargesdocked, he struck up conversations withtheir captains, but Vettori didn’tcomplain. Luck had reunited them, andhe was conscious that he’d done little tokeep their partnership alive over theyears, while Fabbro had been tenacious.

Escorting Giovanni to and from thebridge, Sofia noticed Fabbro’s absencetoo and told the Doctor.

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“Bombelli’s got plenty of sons. Tellhim to delegate.”

The Doctor grinned. “Why throwaway an opportunity?” He wrote toremind the gonfaloniere that the trucestipulated that they each have a man on-site at all times.

Sofia couldn’t understand why theDoctor picked Secondo Borselinno totake Fabbro’s place. Secondo had beenagitating for payback since the earincident.

“You said the bridge is an opportunity,Doc,” she started.

“Yes, and Secondo will help thingsalong. Trust me.”

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Sofia knew Doc too well for that. Shedecided to avoid the bridge whileSecondo was on it until she knew whatDoc was after. The truce was fragileenough.

Giovanni didn’t understand theDoctor’s methods either. “A straight lineis shortest.”

Vettori shrugged. “Not in Rasenna.”He was frustrated with Fabbro forgiving the Doctor an excuse to interfere,but he quickly saw that if it hadn’t beenthat, it would just have been somethingelse. “Don’t fight it, Captain,” headvised, “in the interests of safety.”

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The Doctor’s man proved to be not justuseless but divisive. Secondo didn’tknow construction, nor did he care tolearn, but he arbitrarily decided that thesouthsiders were working too slowlyand wasting money. It was pointless toargue. Secondo had other goals in mind.

Toward the end of the second week,the rains got heavier. Seeing cloudscoming in from the north, Giovanniordered the carpenters working on thefloating platforms to come in while thestorm lasted. They reached the bank justas the central platform broke loose. Itwas left hanging by a corner.

“Thank the Virgin no one was on it,”said Vettori.

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“That raft is worth something,”Secondo shouted.

“Don’t be stupid; it’s too dangerous!”“What did you call me?” Secondo

grabbed Vettori by his collar. “I don’ttake that from a Morello stooge.”

“Let him go,” Giovanni said.Secondo pushed Vettori away and

glared at the engineer.Giovanni had to shout to make himself

heard over the wind. “Concord’s gotdeep pockets. We can replaceequipment, but Rasenna can’t sparemen.”

Secondo gave Giovanni a slow blink,shook his head disgustedly, and turned

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back to the river.The crew huddled in the craftsmen’s

tents in Piazza Luna, and as lightningdispelled the gathering gloom for aninstant, Giovanni looked over them. Bynow he knew every face. The boy whohad asked for a sacrifice on the first daywasn’t among them.

“Where’s Little Frog?”“Secondo was talking to him,” said a

voice.“Where’s he now?”When no one answered, Giovanni ran

out into the slashing rain, cursing.Secondo was crouched on the bottom

level of the abutment, holding his combat

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banner into the darkness. On the otherend, Little Frog crawled toward thewildly bobbing platform.

“Get back in!” Giovanni cried.Frog looked back uncertainly as

Secondo shouted that he almost had it.“I don’t give a damn! Come back—

that’s an order!”Frog crawled back to the abutment——just as the platform broke free,

pulling with it the section he’d been on amoment earlier.

Secondo had the decency to lookembarrassed as Pedro took the shiveringboy back to the tent. Everyone insidewatched Giovanni berating Secondo

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outside in the rain.“Take your banner and get the hell off

my site!”“The Doc’ll hear about this.”“So? I’m not frightened.”The Captain surely did not

understand: Secondo was more than abandieratoro. Bardini capodeciniintimidated even seasoned fighters. Thecrew waited to see what Secondo woulddo.

None of them understood why hebacked down and, after a lull in thestorm, slunk back north.

After Giovanni sent everyone homefor the day, he stayed in the tent. Frog,

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shivering in a towel, was trying to drinka glass of spirits he’d been given.

“It’s my fault,” the engineer said. “Theplatforms should have been securedbetter.”

Frog’s hands trembled, but he shookhis head firmly. “Nothing you could havedone. The river hates us. What can youexpect from something the Devil setloose?”

Giovanni looked back at the Irenicon,seeing it like a Rasenneisi: somethingimpious, unnatural, unwelcome. Thewind pulled up sheets of spray, ghoststhat briefly soared before they were tornapart by other winds.

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“Quitting?” he said quietly.Warily, Frog looked up. Giovanni

knew he was debating the most prudentlie to tell a Concordian. He wassurprised to hear the truth.

“Yes. Tonight’s my last night inRasenna, and I’m going to get drunk!”The boy held up his glass. “Cincin!”

“You’re going to join the Hawk’sCompany, right?”

Frog, pale already, became paler.“Who told you?”

“No one. If I wasn’t Concordian, I’dfight us too.”

Frog laughed and handed Giovanni theglass while he drank from the bottle.

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“Then let’s drink to being someoneelse!”

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CHAPTER 18

The same drooping lips had supped foryears in the Lion’s Fountain, a simpleand charmless establishment that waslittle more than a few tables scatteredaround a square under the frugal light ofa few charred torches and the moregenerous donation of the moon. Acounter kept the patrons away from thebottles. Crammed into the constrainedpiazzetta was the usual mix of studentsand Woolsmen, each convinced they

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toiled for the other’s leisure, a nightlytest whether lions and lambs could lietogether.

Rasenna might be poor, but it was aprofitable place to own a tavern. Youngmen required to be careless with theirlives became first intemperate andfinally reckless; publicans became rich.

Valerius cheerfully joinedbandieratori in patriotic toasts of “Deathto Concord!” indifferent to the hostileglares he provoked.

He clinked Mule Borselinno’s glass.“How’s the ear?”

“What?”“How’s the ear?”

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“Speak into the other side; can’t hearthis side. My ear.”

Drunk already, Frog ordered anotherround, and after that: “One more!”Inspired by drink, he attempted afarewell speech: “As the Virgin’s mywitness, before I go, I’m going cross thatriver and—”

He fell backward, bringing a dozendrinks with him, and lay laughing, hisgreen legs and boots waving in the air.

“I think the Morello can sleepsoundly,” said Sofia, raising her glass.“Froggy, we’ll miss you. Don’t be a herotonight. Just get some sleep.”

“I’ll come back for you, Contessa,

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when I’m a famous condottiere with myown company!”

“And I’ll wait for you, amore. To thescourge of Concord, salute!”

Sofia drank, then, looking at Frogseriously, pulled aside her scarf toreveal a Herod’s Sword. “This was mymother’s. It’ll keep you safe.”

Valerius tried to interrupt the moment.“Sing us a song, Contessa!”

“‘The River’s Song,’” shouted Mule.“No, something lively!”She dismissed them all. “Sing for

yourselves. I don’t sing anymore!”Valerius watched Frog receive a

parting kiss, followed by a playful slap

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and a final admonishment.Sofia knew it was even money that he

would stay; lots of boys had “last nights”and next morning thought better of it orwent on drunken raids and next morningwere dead. Yet year by year, more boysleft town, more towers emptied.

There were more toasts to futureknightly deeds, more drinks, andcounterfeit joy. When night erupted, thechill air filled with curses and thecrowd, sensing that they werecelebrating the town’s slow death byblood loss, became irritable.

Sofia took a bottle and left, notinterested in joining the brawl shesmelled brewing. Valerius crept after

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her. Since he’d effectively blinded theother Concordian boy, Sofia had beencold, still training him and guarding him,but no more than that. But Valerius wasdrunk. He grabbed her shoulder.“Contessa! Can’t we be friends again?”

She spun around and slapped his handaway. “Touch me again, I’ll snap yourpencil neck!”

“Is that why you’re sore with me?Look, I’m sorry I hit you—I’m an ass.May I walk you home?”

“Drop dead. I’m not going home.” Shemight be too drunk to be polite, but stillSofia remembered practicalities. “Getone of the Borselinno to bring you homeor you’ll end up gutted in an alley.”

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Valerius slunk back to the party, tryingnot to be noticed. Mule slapped him onthe back. “Don’t worry, lad. You’re notthe first.” He winked his good eye andraised an empty glass: “To theContessa!”

Valerius burned crimson withhumiliation. To be usurped by engineerswas painful; to be mocked by inferiors,unbearable. But a fight broke out, and thecrowd’s attentions moved on.

Valerius quietly nursed his drink,watching the drunken Rasenneisi claw ateach other, retreating into comfortingfantasies of revenge: on his father forsending him here, on the engineers, onRasenna, Bardini and Morello, and

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Sofia—they could all drown together.With lighter spirits, he toasted theheroes: “Cincin!”

Sofia needed to clear her head, but thealley air was stubbornly stagnant despitethe wind, and there was always thechance of bumping into couples tusslingamorously or violently. She drained thebottle, threw it over her shoulder, andvaulted up the walls.

Topside, a cold wind swept off theIrenicon, waking her like a splash ofwater on the face. She wrapped her scarftighter and looked south. Sometimes,when she forgot the duty to hate it, theriver’s solemn beauty could startle her.

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Earlier that evening, Secondo hadstormed into the workshop to tell theDoctor about the accident, along with histheory that Captain Giovanni wasconspiring against them. Frog’s ratherdifferent version of events surprised her.She wasn’t naive enough to believe theengineer cared; it was obviously aboutcontrol—and a happy crew was aproductive crew—but it was far betterthan the standard brutalist tactics. Therewas no doubt about it, he was different.

Sofia skipped onto the roof of a highertower and sat smiling on its gable; it waspleasant to think of families inside,soundly sleeping, oblivious to nightvisitors. Then she caught sight of light

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shining from the narrow windows ofTower Vaccarelli; evidently somebodyelse was awake, probably old Guercho,writing more windy oratory.

She looked over the rooftops, whichwere rust-bleached in the moonlight, andimagined other nights and better times,chasing Gaetano, him chasing her:children, innocent of simmering feudssoon to boil over. She did not feel younganymore. Once she had looked forwardto turning seventeen, but lately she onlyworried about the responsibility itwould bring.

She yawned and caught an acrid smellon the air. She leaped up, her headspinning—that light in the window!

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She crossed the rooftops dangerouslyfast. Up close, she could see the lowerstories of Tower Vaccarelli alreadyburning. A window on the fifth floor wasopen. She paused to wrap her scarf morefirmly around her face, then dived. Shelanded inside, rolling, her knife out ofher belt before she’d even stopped.

A masked man looked up in the act ofpulling a dagger from GuerchoVaccarelli’s chest. He picked up historch and came for her; Sofia had notime to rise before the blow came. Sheblocked it with her forearm. As sheflinched from the sparks, the man kickedher in the chest. When she fell back, herscarf came open.

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Figuring she’d get only one chance tostrike from this position, she feignedunconsciousness. When she finallyopened her eyes, he’d turned his back onher and was climbing to the sixth floor.She swore and threw her knife withoutaiming. It grazed the back of his neck, aflesh wound, but painful, she hoped.

Sofia was about to give chase whenshe heard a cry from below. “Cazzo!”she swore again, and bounded down tothe third story. Towers would crack andcrumble before they burned, but theyquickly became ovens for those trappedinside.

The family chamber was in disarray,and smoke was already rising. In the

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center there was a mound, covered bythe family banner. Several feet stuck outpathetically.

Sofia, shuddering, pulled it back.Donna Vaccarelli was lying dead with

her sons. Their throats were cut, andthey were sprawled as if they were stilltrying to defend her, even in death. Theywere just boys but good fighting stock. Aknife against three flags! Whoever thesouthsider was, he could fight.

Sofia heard a shifting sound from thepile of blankets in the corner. She pulledthe knife from Donna Vaccarelli’s chestand crept toward the noise.

The little girl leaped at her with a

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feral scream, but Sofia caught her by thewrist and held it until she dropped herknife.

“Isabella!” she shouted. “You knowme, don’t you?”

Tears and soot smeared the girl’sfreckled cheeks. At last she mumbled,“Contessa?”

Sofia lifted her up. “Come with menow,” she said, keeping the child’s faceburied in her shoulder. Her tangled blackcurls stank of smoke already. “They’rejust sleeping.”

“They’re dead,” the little girl saidwith chilling calm.

Sofia considered her next move. Up

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or down? Jumping from the second floorto the ground was their best bet, damnthe height, damn the heat.

She climbed down the next flight ofsteps. The center of the floor wassmoldering; the room below must be aninferno. She pressed Isabella tighter toher shoulder, trying to protect her fromthe smoke that was filling the greatroom. She kicked at the door, and whennothing gave, she put the little girl down,telling her to wait, and ran at it with hershoulder.

The pain from her broken arm wasintense, but she willed herself to ignoreit. They had blocked the door, so thiswas no ordinary raid; it was planned.

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Somebody had marked the Vaccarellifamily to burn tonight.

“We’re going to die too, aren’t we?”Isabella said as Sofia lifted her in herarms again.

“Someone will see the flames andhelp,” Sofia said, but that wasn’t trueeither. They’d raided on a night wheneveryone was too drunk to notice.

CcraaAK!Sofia flung herself to the wall as the

burning beam just missed them andcrashed though the weakened floor,starting a general collapse. She divedfor the stairs and started running up aseverything else fell into the fire below.

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With more air to burn, the flamessuddenly grew higher.

She put Isabella down on the fourth-floor steps.

“Don’t leave me!” the little girl cried,looking terrified.

Sofia slapped her hard, so it stung.“Listen, Isabella, I lied. No one’scoming—it’s just you and me,understand? If we panic, we die, and ifyou die, who’ll avenge your family?”

The child stopped crying.“That’s more like it. Now, I can’t

move as fast carrying you, so if I get intotrouble, you’ll have to start climbingyourself. You need to jump from the top

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floor to the nearest tower. You can dothat, can’t you?”

She nodded, calm now.“Ready?” said Sofia, looking up,

calculating.Suddenly the girl broke free and ran

down the stairs into the smoke.“No, Isabella! They’re all dead!”

Sofia cried, but a moment later the girlhad returned.

“Ready,” she whispered. She had abundle under her arm: the Vaccarellibanner.

They reached the fifth floor, but thewindow was blocked by burning debris.Below it, old Vaccarelli’s body was

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smoldering black. Sofia prayed themasked man wasn’t waiting on the floorabove; she could hardly walk now, letalone fight. But when they climbed up,they found the upper part of the stairsbeing eaten away by flames and a hole inthe roof where beams had fallen in. Thebastard had tried to cook them from bothends.

Halfway up, the staircase began tocrumble. Sofia hoisted Isabella throughthe gap, then leaped after her.Thankfully, there was little to burn on thetop story. The night sky beckonedtantalizingly through a skylight. Sofialooked around and saw a locker in thecorner, about the right height. She pushed

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it as close to the hole in the center as shecould get and, praying the floor wouldhold long enough, lifted Isabella onto itbefore clambering up awkwardly afterher.

She was breathing smoke now andgasping. “Get on my shoulder and jump,”she rasped.

“You’ll follow me?” Isabella saidanxiously.

“Yes—hurry!” She doubted she couldeven stay on her feet much longer.

Isabella crawled onto her shouldersand sprang up through the flames andinto the night.

“Thank you, Madonna,” Sofia said,

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sinking to her knees.There was a loud creak: the floor,

sagging beneath the locker’s weight.This is it, she thought.

“Contessa!”She looked up and saw the Vaccarelli

banner being lowered toward her.“It’s tied off!” the little girl cried.

“Hurry!”

The rain sizzled on the ruins of TowerVaccarelli. A column of bitter smokerose with the morning sun, another blackspectacle for Quintus Morello’ssatisfaction.

Giovanni had worked through the

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night, oblivious to events across theriver. He set out to work with a smile,expecting to be accosted at any turn, andhe was looking for her overhead whenhe finally noticed the smoke. He brokeinto a run, fearing for the craftsmen’stents in Piazza Luna, but as he got closer,he saw that the column originated acrossthe river. A northside tower had burned—that was why Sofia hadn’t appeared.He felt a stab of dismay. What if—?

Yet if the smoke had nothing to dowith the bridge, why were his foremenwaiting and looking so grim?

“Turn back,” Fabbro said. “There’sno need for you to see this.”

Giovanni ignored him and pushed

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past. “An accident?”He caught the import of Fabbro’s

glance. “Maybe not an accident, Captain.Don’t get involved.”

“I’m already involved,” he said, andelbowed his way through the Woolsmen,hardly seeing them. The crowd thinnedout on the gangway leading to the firstcofferdam. The pump had been smashed,and Giovanni could see the pile driver,suspended over the pit as normal, exceptfor the body that was lying on thegangway underneath. A boy’s body, legsin ripped green hose, feet in clumsy oldboots. The head would have beendirectly under the pile . . . but there wasno head. Flies buzzed greedily around

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the red mess pouring from the neck. Ithad been Frog’s last night in Rasenna,after all.

“We have to get this drained,”Giovanni said, pulling off his shirt.

“Captain, someone else can do this,”said Fabbro.

Giovanni turned on him fiercely. “It’smy responsibility. It’s my bridge!”

The Baptistery door was open, asalways. The Doctor received the newsso impassively that Sofia knew he hadanticipated Guercho Vaccarelli’smurder; he had, after all, used the oldman as a mouthpiece for years.

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Guercho’s other task, plainly, was to bea lightning rod.

Sofia’s task was to find a home for hisdaughter.

The Reverend Mother appeared justas she was about to knock. “Bit old toleave on the doorstep, don’t you think?”

“You think it’s funny? We lost anothertower, and she lost her family last night.Or didn’t you dream that?”

The little girl hid behind Sofia.“Don’t worry, Isabella. She’s not a

witch, just ugly.”“I’ll protect her.” The nun took her

hand. “Hello, Isabella. I remember youtoo.”

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By midday the puddles had dried upunder a burning sun. On her way backfrom the Baptistery, Sofia went by thebridge. Men were pacing on the bankinstead of working. She pushed her wayto the pit and saw him working in a kindof frenzy, waist-deep in bloody water.Before he looked up, she backed away—

—and walked, then ran back toWorkshop Bardini. Vaccarelli and LittleFrog were Rasenneisi; they expected thisend. The engineer was blooded now fordreaming anyone could live differently.Welcome to Rasenna.

She burst into the workshop.“Bandieratori, flags up!”

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CHAPTER 19

“Are we really going across?” Valeriussaid.

Decini assembled with bandieratori attheir heads. They grew loud with theintoxication of wrath.

“We are. You’re not,” said Sofia.“No one’s going anywhere. Flags

down!”Sofia and everyone else looked up.

The Doctor stood calmly in the stairway.

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“Doc, we’re getting it from all angles!We’ve got to hit back!”

“We wait.”“For more bodies? More burnouts?

How many will it take?”He went back upstairs without

responding. A raid had been imminent,but he said the word, and flags dropped.For all the affection the borgata had forSofia, she had no chance of persuadingthem. She was not Contessa yet.

The Doctor sat placidly in his usual spotby the low table in the shade of theorange tree.

“The hour is now, Doc.”

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“The hour’s when I say it is. I’m headof this Family, and you’re still my ward.I’m not planning a raid, and if I were,you would not be part of it.”

“Why not?”“Because you have to rule one day!”“You didn’t see Isabella’s family,”

she cried, trying to swallow the hitch inher voice. “They were butchered.”

He looked at her. “What if a timecomes when we must do likewise?”

“We’re strong, Doc—we don’t haveto go sneaking around at night, burningtowers. We could cross the river today,fight it out, and win.”

“You’re too old for fairy tales, Sofia.

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In a civil war, no one wins. I want you tounderstand that, because you’ll lookback one day and want to know why Ikept you away from”—he scowled—“the things I have to do. When wepush our enemies to the wall, we have togo all the way. Are you ready for that?”

“I’m ready to fight!”“The thing about being a Scaligeri is

you don’t have to fight. Don’t throw thataway because of one night’s excitement.Fight smart, not mad. Making the bridgethe focus puts us on the side of Concord.Let the Empire do the heavy lifting.”

“The engineer won’t be drawn intoour quarrels.”

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“We’ll see about that.”Sofia sighed disgustedly and began to

descend, then stopped. “You’ve said‘wait’ for as long as I can remember.The hour is now, but you’re too used towaiting to recognize it.”

As she went downstairs, the Doctorstood shouted after her, “Don’t doanything stupid.”

He picked another orange and lookeddown at the river, smiling. Red streakedaway from the bridge like a comet’s tail.Things were moving along nicely.

It was evening before Giovanni hademptied the last bucket into the river; in

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the end the blood was thoroughly dilutedwith mud. Utterly spent, he had to behelped out of the pit. He’d learnedsomething down there. It wasn’t hisbridge anymore; it was Rasenna’s.

He went to redraw a schedule inwhich every day was precious. Hourslater, a light was still burning in awindow of Tower Vanzetti. As thenight’s black tide drew over Rasenna,the storm waited, nursing one lasttantrum before it expired.

Addled by too little sleep and toomany figures, Pedro walked to thewindow to stretch his legs. He picked upthe magnifier, remembering howsuperficial his understanding had been

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when he’d made it. The bridge wouldprobably look even more like some greatbeast’s skeleton in the dark.

After a moment, he said, “Captain?”“What? I need to finish this before

dawn.”“I don’t think you do,” Pedro said,

handing him the magnifier.Through the lashing rain, Giovanni

saw it. It was a boy, most of one anyway.The clothes covering its limbs and trunkwere blood-red, daubed with black. Itwas standing by the riverbank, lookingaround Piazza Luna, although what orhow it saw was a mystery, for the thinghad no head.

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“Madonna, what is it?”They took turns watching the specter’s

aimless wandering. It seemed to begetting its bearings but stayed close tothe bridge, as if it did not want toabandon that one surety. Then at last—

“It’s going north.”But not by the chain bridge. It

staggered drunkenly across the river’ssurface, and wherever its boots stepped,blood blossomed for a moment beforebeing torn away by the current.

Giovanni rubbed his eyes, hoping thevision was just some leftover nightmare,but he knew full well he wasn’t asleep.This was happening.

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He wondered at how calm Pedro wasbeing and returned to the idea he’d hadsince coming here; if a person could beunreasonable, a family perhaps, could awhole town? If certain altitudes inhibitrespiration, might sufficient density oflunacy inhibit reason, permit prodigies,break rules supposed to be unbreakable?

Or was Concord to blame? DidGirolamo Bernoulli break something inNature when he sent the river?

“Tell Vettori to keep the crew away,”Giovanni said, grabbing his hood.

“They know, Captain. Nobody’s goingto come to work.”

And sure enough, one by one the

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windows of every riverside tower werebeing bolted shut.

Wrapped in her flag, Sofia kept alonesome watch in the abandonedembankment tower she’d stationedherself in. Doc wouldn’t sanctionreprisal, but she’d be damned beforeallowing raids to become nightlyoccurrences, though it wasn’t likelyanyone would venture out on a night likethis. She was thinking of her warm bedback in Tower Bardini when she saw itwalking from the river to the land as ifthere were no difference.

After taking a few steps on land, thespecter stopped, seeming to lose its

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resolve and direction. Sofia suppressedher dread, reminding herself that shewas the front line; she was the Contessa.She shook herself awake and climbeddown.

“Who are you?” she said softly.It took a hesitant step forward, and

she recognized with shock the chainaround its neck stump. The Herod’sSword that had failed to protect LittleFrog.

“Damn, why are you haunting me?Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”

After a few steps away from the riverand its influence, it remembered itsdestination. She stood aside as it

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marched up the sloping streets.“Contessa!” Someone was coming

across the chain bridge.Sofia raised her flag. “Who goes

there?”“Are you all right?” said Giovanni.

“Did you see it?”“It’s Little Frog!”“That makes no sense.”“I guess nobody told him—it—that.

Whatever it is, it’s on Bardini streets.”Giovanni followed her, marveling that

at a time like this all she could thinkabout was territory.

“Maybe he was right,” said Sofia,

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“about that blessing,”“You think that’s why he’s roaming the

streets?” he said doubtfully.“It’s not that complicated. Frog was

Rasenneisi. He wants to know why theBardini haven’t gone south to avengehim. Hell, I want to know too.”

“The Doctor wouldn’t allow it?”She didn’t reply, and he understood.

“And you disagree?” He had to run tokeep up with her and shout to be heardover the wind, “Contessa, I was neck-deep in blood this morning.”

“I don’t expect a civilian tounderstand.”

They followed the creature at a

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distance. It wasn’t difficult: it left a trailof bloody footprints and moved slowly,drunkenly lurching through the emptystreets. It stopped in the PiazzettaFontana, illuminated when the exhaustedstorm unveiled the dead man’s eye in thesky.

“This is where we gave Frog hissend-off,” Sofia whispered.

“You think he’s thirsty?”She gave him a look.“I wasn’t joking! They say ghosts

don’t know they’re dead, don’t they?”“Pretty superstitious for an engineer.”“All I know is what my eyes tell me,

and that’s an unquiet spirit!”

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“Brilliant deduction, Captain.”“Thanks. I can’t believe I’m saying

this, but maybe the nun can help.”“Help how?” she said angrily.“Keep it down! I don’t know, an

exorcism, maybe?”“That woman has no business on

Bardini streets, and I’ll be dammedbefore I invite her to shake her beads atthis thing. There’s nothing to be afraidof. Look—”

Sofia leaped out of the alley andwalked boldly toward the creature withher flag down.

“Hey, Froggy. What’s the matter, myfriend?”

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Somehow the specter heard or sensedher, for it turned with the same blindlumbering movement.

“Are you lost?”It swung; she dodged and brought her

flag up, jabbing into the thing’s sternum.But her stick didn’t meet bone; it justsank in and came out bloody.

“What the—?” She hadn’t hit it thathard.

“Sofia, look out!”She dropped low as it swung again

and rolled out of reach. It turned tofollow and cracked open where she hadpunctured it, falling apart like waterspraying from a broken glass.

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Sofia was on her back as the bloodflowed toward her, searching for herhungrily. Giovanni pulled her out of itspath, and the pool stopped, then rantogether, leaving dry a space for twofootprints, then rushing in to form boots,then legs and the rest, stopping at theneck.

“Did you see that?” said Sofia.“I don’t think it’s Frog . . .”“It’s a buio, idiota!”“That’s even more irrational. Why’s it

shaped like a human?”“Who cares? We need to get it home.”“You can’t fight water with flags—

Hold on, where’s it going now?”

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“Tower Bardini. All right, damn it,let’s go and disturb the nun’s beautysleep. See if she’s got any lethal prayersup her sleeves.”

They met her coming from theBaptistery.

“I got tired of waiting for you. I was—”

“Expecting us? Not this again,” saidSofia. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“How can I help?” the ReverendMother said.

It was close to dawn. They found it

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standing in front of Tower Bardini,looking up, if something without eyescould look, at the Doctor leaning out of asecond-story window.

“How long’s it been standing there,Doc?” Sofia shouted.

“A while.” He was breakfasting onorange segments and didn’t look tooworried.

“He wants to find out what he paid histaxes for. Don’t let conscience ruin yourappetite.”

“I won’t. Under control?”“No thanks to you,” she mumbled.“Fine morning, Sister,” the Doctor

said with a half salute. It was not

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returned.“Well, I’m going back to bed. Call me

if you need anything,” he said, and wentinside.

The nun approached the creature.“Poor boy.”

“It’s not a ghost, Sister.”“I know. It’s the water the boy bled

in.”“How can you tell?” asked Giovanni.“I’ve contemplated water since I was

a girl, Captain. I’ve learned a thing ortwo. I can see the things people hidefrom themselves”—she glanced back upat Tower Bardini—“and everyone else.Concordians think they can cut Nature

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open with a scalpel. Some things arelearned only by going inside yourself.”

“That’s wonderful, Sister,” Sofiainterrupted, “but why did it try to killme? Frog was my friend.”

“Because it’s only part Frog.”Giovanni wasn’t satisfied. “But it’s

impossible. The transmitter on the riversurface stops buio—”

“But this buio believes it’s human.”“That doesn’t matter! Natural

Philosophy isn’t contingent on belief!”“Bah, Concordians! Always think they

know reality.” She smiled then and said,“Belief can change the world, and if youdoubt it, I’ll prove it.”

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The Reverend Mother stood veryclose to the creature. “Little Frog,” shesaid, “ ”

Their shadows stretched behind them asthey followed the nun and the creature.The creature’s shadow quivered likewater in a glass shot through by light.The night’s storm had retreated, pursuedby ghosts of misty drizzle.

The sun was peeping behind thetowers when their strange processionreached the embankment, though thestreets remained empty and windowsremained tightly closed.

The creature stopped.

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“He’s afraid,” the Reverend Mothersaid.

“You blame him? This is whereFrog’s head was caved in.”

“He said the river hates us.”“This isn’t Frog, Giovanni.”“It thinks it is. And if he still wants to

leave Rasenna, I can help.” TheReverend Mother took a step toward thecreature.

“Sister, don’t get too close.”“There’s no danger, Captain. Today’s

not my day to die. Or yours.”Sofia and Giovanni watched and held

their breath as she reached out andtouched the creature’s hand.

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“It doesn’t know what it is. I have toshow it.”

It snatched its hand away suddenlyand stepped back. The buio becametransparent, then re-formed. It raised itshands and left bloody prints hanging inthe air where its face should have been.The misty rain around it took on a redhue. Frog’s face materialized for amoment; he looked grateful.

“I know,” she said.The hand vanished as the creature

changed from boy to buio, thencollapsed into a puddle of nervouslyshimmering water that rushed off thebridge’s limits.

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It bloomed briefly in the water, thenwas taken.

“He’s at peace,” the nun said, sighingdeeply, suddenly unsteady on her feet.

Giovanni reached out to help, but shedrew back. “I’m fine. It’s just—Theriver is so powerful—you can’t openyourself to it without getting some back.”

Sofia knelt where the puddle had beenand picked up the chain.

The nun watched her. “Anything elseyou need from me, Contessa?”

“No, the buio’s gone. You can go too.”

Giovanni escorted the old lady home andapologized for Sofia.

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She laughed. “The Contessa doesn’tcare for me.”

“You did break her arm, Sister.”“Yes, unfortunate, that. Yet I think she

would have forgiven me if she hadwon.”

“She’s proud,” he said, smiling tohimself.

“The Doctor taught her to act likesomeone apart, and so she is, but not ashe thinks. He’s taught her to ruleRasenna as it is now. When a childwants a thing, it takes it, whatever theconsequences.”

“She’s fearless.”“Children are fearless. They believe

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they are immortal. It never lasts. Wemust face fear and overcome it orsurrender to it.”

They stood in the Baptistery’sdoorway, where they could feel thespice-bloated air of the cool darkness.

“Can Rasenna change?” Giovanniasked after a moment.

“It must, or must die. The street tellsus to ignore fear; that’s why we’ve tornourselves apart ever since your peopleshowed us how cheap life is. That’s allshe knows too. But when she findssomeone to love and the fear that comeswith it, oh, Virgin help her!”

“Fear?”

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“Certainly. Fear of dropping one’sflag, fear of losing love, fear of beingrejected, fear of being unworthy: thebeast has many forms. Sofia must growup or drown in it. She’ll need your help,Giovanni. You came to Rasenna to makeup for the past, and you can.”

He looked away. Impossible; howcould she know? Yet he’d seen otherimpossible things tonight. “How?” heasked.

“Fight for her when the hour comes,”she said, then went inside.

She watched the engineer walk awayand called out, “You can come out now,Lucia.”

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The novice, a long-limbed girlyounger than Sofia, emerged from behindthe font.

“Get to bed,” the nun growled.“Remember your vows!”

Rasenna was still locked up in hertowers when Giovanni returned to thebridge. The sun tinted the river abloodless yellow, washing away thenight’s sadness. The nun had saidRasenna must change or perish, but thatdidn’t help today or tomorrow. If thebridge was not ready for Luparelli’sarmy, Rasenna would pay. No use tryingto rise above the conflict. Like it or not,he was waist-deep.

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He could throw his tools away if hesent for reinforcements—the crewwould never trust him again. The otheroption was to play the game like aRasenneisi: climb back into the pit readyto get dirty. Sofia was right about onething: prayers were worthless at a timelike this. But as he walked to TowerBardini, he prayed she wouldunderstand.

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CHAPTER 20

The greatest irony of the SecondItalic War is that Rasenna’s earlysuccess persuaded Concord to useits greatest—and as then unused—asset. Bernoulli was not yet twentywhen the Curia founded theEngineers’ Guild in Thirteen andTwenty-Eight and appointed himFirst Engineer.9 He set to work withenthusiasm, though keener perhapsto apply principles discovered in his

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anatomical studies than to bolsterConcord’s ailing war effort.

Unlike previous anatomists,Bernoulli was unhindered by theCuria’s traditional prohibitions: theyforbade only dissecting corpses. Ifhis technique of “wet dissection”required immense numbers ofexperimental subjects, the resultingdata was also immense.10 Hecreated engines with the movingjoints and suppleness of living fleshand, with them, turned the courseof the war. The Guild’s realimportance, as we shall see, is nothow it hastened the inevitabledecline of Rasenna but how it

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brought about the unthinkable: theend of the Curia.

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CHAPTER 21

Mule laughed as the Doctor disarmed hisbrother with a tap on the wrist.

“Secondo, how many times? Hold thatthing correctly! Too loose and you’re notin control. Too tight and you’ll lackflow. Now tell me, Mule, how long isyour stick?”

“Ask Maddalena Bombelli,” Secondosniggered.

The Doctor ignored him. “Hold itstraight. What point will it reach?

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Here?” He pointed in the air, then again,“Or here?”

Mule shrugged. “Merda—”“Practice, the knowledge will come.

Avanti!”The Borselinno came for him with

sincerity. Full-contact training was whatgave Bardini’s black flag its snap. Aftera few passes, the Doctor suddenly kneltto simultaneously snatch their flags.

“Less bad but still bad. What wasyour mistake?”

“Let you get too close,” said Secondobreathlessly.

“Didn’t hit you?” offered Mule.“Those are just the effects caused by

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lousy priorities! Concentrate on the man.Your flag is to distract me—if you let itdistract you, you’ve lost before youbegin. A bandieratoro must learn to bestill as the world moves or he’s lost.Secondo, you’re not listening.”

“Look who’s here—”“Captain!” the Doctor cried joyfully.He threw the brothers their practice

sticks, and if he noticed the blood onGiovanni’s clothes, he didn’t show it.“This is overdue; I won’t count last nighta proper visit. Come see my wonderfulview!”

Behind the slender rooftops, the Irenicon

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shone white in the crisp morning light.The Doctor sat at the low table by theorange tree.

“I see why you like it up here,” saidGiovanni. “You see all Rasenna.”

“The other reason is that Rasenna seesme. Ever wonder why nothing badhappens in Baptisteries? Sinning’sharder when God’s watching.” Hepoured the tea. “I saw you in the pit theother day. Horrible business, but I wasimpressed. You’re not afraid to get yourhands dirty.”

“When I have to. It shouldn’t havehappened.”

There was a silence. Giovanni took a

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drink.“Why don’t you ask what you came to

ask, Captain?”“One of my crew was murdered.”“No, one of my crew was murdered.

Frog was a northsider. Lie to me butdon’t lie to yourself. You’re herebecause of your bridge.”

“Sofia was right. I should have cometo you before the Signoria.Undiplomatic, perhaps, but it wouldhave prevented this.” He gestured to hisbloodstained clothes.

“You sound like a Rasenneisi.”“I’m learning. I haven’t mentioned the

delay in my reports to the Apprentices

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yet, but the pilings should be sunk beforethe meltwater comes. I’ll miss mychance unless the saboteurs arestopped.”

“And brought to justice?” the Doctorasked innocently. “Who do you believeresponsible?”

“Stopped, I said. Morello,obviously,” Giovanni said with growingexasperation.

“Why not tell the Signoria?”“It’s ineffective, as you’ve made it. I

want Bardini colors over the bridge.”“You say it like a simple thing. It may

mean—”“I know what protection means!

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That’s why I came to you. You’re moredangerous than Morello.”

“I’m blushing, Captain! I accept.Consider me your trusted ally!”

“That’s a problem, Doctor, trustingyou.”

He rubbed his chin for a while. “I’llthink of something to make it easier.”

The Concordian stood. “Thank you forthe tea.”

“Surely you won’t leave withoutthreatening me?”

“I wish my country loved peace, butwe know it does not. It will go hard forRasenna if I am delayed. I want to avoidmore blood.”

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“I believe you, Captain.”After he left, the Doctor watched the

river for a while. He held a knife in onehand. His grin, the lively spark in hiseyes, all expression, drained graduallyfrom his face. His breathing slowed tothe in and out of a tide.

The Doctor was leaning over the side,his back to her. There was a smallyellow box on the table.

“I want you to guard the bridge.”She yawned. “I’ve been keeping an

eye.”“I know, but I want you to be seen

doing it. I want Bardini flags flying over

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the bridge in an hour.”“We said we wouldn’t get involved!

Giovanni doesn’t want—”“He came here this morning to invite

me.”“I don’t believe you.”The Doctor handed her the box. She

noticed his little finger was bandaged.“Been hearing that lots lately. Tell himthis represents how seriously I takeConcord’s friendship.”

She opened it to find a silkhandkerchief wrapped around somethingbloody. “What’s this?”

“A declaration of loyalty in termsConcordians understand. To protect their

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bridge, we’re ready to spill blood. Ithought you’d be happy—you finally getto throw your weight around. Take adecina with you.”

“Why upset the truce?”“Sofia, I give you what you want and

you question it—and you wonder why Ican’t trust you? The first rule isobedience.”

Sofia turned away in anger as theDoctor scratched his chin and murmured,“Quintus Morello understands now thatthe bridge is key to your secure reign.That’s why he wants to stop it.”

“Then why did you insist on Secondoas overseer? He did nothing but cause

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trouble till the engineer sent him home.”“Because Quintus Morello’s brain

moves slowly, and the crew wassplitting at the seams. Nothing bringspeople together like a common enemy;until Morello was ready to act, it wasnecessary to be that enemy.”

“You weren’t surprised by Frog’smurder.”

Now he looked at her, his eyessnapping. “How dare you! If I’d known,I’d have stopped it.” He turned andlooked back at the bridge.

“But you knew something wouldhappen and then the engineer wouldcome calling. You sit up here and weave

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plots when it shouldn’t be complicated.Yesterday, we should have gone to war.Now, instead of doing something real,we’re going watch a construction site.And when it’s finished, what then?”

He walked over to her until they wereface to face and said, “What then? That’sthe hour we march over. That’s why weneed the bridge, Sofia. We’re stronger,but as long as the Irenicon divides us,we can’t use that strength. It’s obvious,and Quintus can’t avoid seeing thatevery day the bridge gets longer, his endgets closer. I mourn the dead, but Irejoice at what’s coming; you’re tooyoung to know the virtue of patience.We’ll strike, but we want a clean kill

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when we do. And until then—”Sofia grimaced. “I know: we wait.

Fine. I’ll watch the bridge while ourallies get slaughtered and you stay safein your tower. I hope the hour comesbefore they burn it down.”

Sofia went down to the ground-floorkitchen to make breakfast. As shecooked, Cat repeatedly attempted toinfiltrate the larder until she lostpatience and hurled a plate at it. She hadgrown up fending for herself; the Doctorwanted her to be independent, just likeCat. That Doc, the one who didn’tmeddle like other parents, Sofia loved.There was another—watchful, secretive,

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and unendingly patient—that she wascoming to hate.

She heard Valerius enter—his heavyfootsteps were unmistakable—but kepther back turned. He helped himself to thelast drop of broth, then sat opposite her.“Why so glum?”

She was giving serious thought tofeeding Cat Doc’s finger.

“Ah, I think I know. I could tell myfather about the escalation if you like.Citizens of the Empire shouldn’t liveunder the shadow of civil discord.”

“I’m not in the mood for Imperialpropaganda this morning.”

“Don’t be like that, Sofia. I can help.

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Concordians know politics likeRasenneisi know fighting; I see what’shappening. The Bardini aren’t the powerthey were.”

“Bardini run Rasenna.”“For the moment, maybe. What about

that burnout the other night? That makeshow many this month?”

Sofia pointed a fork at him. “Study ArtBanderia as closely as you studypolitics and maybe you’ll be capable ofholding a flag properly before we’re ridof you.”

“Madonna! I only wanted tosympathize! If I’d known you were sotouchy, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

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She stabbed a ham slice. His pryingannoyed her less than his presumption—eating in Tower Bardini instead of theworkshop, aping Rasenneisi dialect—and since when did Concordians call onthe Virgin?

Valerius tried a different tack. “Whatabout the accident on the bridge? That’sinsult enough to Concord. My father—”

“Enough!” Sofia pushed her plateback and stood. “I don’t care about yourbridge. I care about my friend who diedon it. Bardini fight our own battles.Shove your family connections up your—”

“I beg your pardon.” Valeriusattempted to stand, but Sofia pushed him

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back.“Concord encourages our feuds to

keep our nails sharp,” she said, glaringat him. “And who are you kiddinganyway? Engineers run Concord; noblesare the help! Your blood’s blue enoughto bleed for the Empire, but that’s all it’sgood for.”

“Sofia! I’m a guest!”“You’re no more a guest than the

bridge is a gift.” She sat back down, stillglaring, taking savage bites of her bread.

After a prudent minute, he tried again—he couldn’t help himself. “SmallPeople at Concord’s helm gall me too.The Scaligeri and the Luparelli—we’re

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both noble families under their thumb—”“We have nothing in common!” Sofia

threw down her fork. “Excuse me, yourLordship, I’ve been appointed guard dogon your paesani’s bridge.”

Before the door slammed, Cat was onthe table finishing her meal, leavingValerius to ask in dismay, “What did Isay?”

Sofia assembled her men, whowondered at the cause of her suddenanger. It wasn’t Valerius—she hadaccepted the rules of that game a longtime ago—nor was it Doc’smachinations. At the bridge, she saw the

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foremen talking to the engineer. He hadtold her he was no one’s man, and likean idiot she had believed that thingscould be different. How quickly he’dlearned the rules. How quickly he’dadapted.

It was early, but Hog Galati was alreadycovered in sweat. He hadn’t startedworking yet; the sweat was stale. TheMorello wouldn’t stand for it, he opinedto anyone who’d listen. “That’s why theCaptain didn’t use a bird for the openingprayer. He wanted to sacrifice one of us.We’re building a real Concordian bridgenow, boys.”

Hog spotted the Bardini bandieratori

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as soon as they arrived. He dropped hishammer and asked loudly, “Why is thathere?”

Vettori said, “Keep working—andshow some respect. That’s your futureContessa.”

Hog spit and went back to hishalfhearted hammering.

“Captain, this is a problem,” Vettorisaid in an undertone.

Giovanni looked up from the stonedelivery he was examining. Othersouthsiders had noticed Sofia and hermen too. She wasn’t trying to beinconspicuous.

“What else can I do?” he asked his

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foreman.Vettori knew the strain Giovanni was

under, but he started, “Well, the Bardiniand the Morello—”

“I know how it works!” the engineerinterrupted. “You think Rasenna isunique? Every town Concord’sconquered is overrun by borgati—that’show we prefer it. I wanted to keepcolors off the bridge, but I have to makemy deadline. Black flags will be bad formorale, but more murder would beworse.”

Vettori shook his head sadly.“Captain, in a town like this there’sgoing to be killing whichever way, andnow that you’ve reached out to Bardini

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—”“Doc’s only interested in helping

himself,” Fabbro finished.Giovanni saw Sofia walking toward

their huddled conference and droppedhis voice. “I see that, but what otherchoice is there?”

Fabbro shrugged nervously.Vettori put an arm on Giovanni’s

shoulder. “If that’s the way it is, that’sthe way it is. I’ll explain it to thesouthsiders. They won’t be happy but—”

“Let’s just keep an eye on it,” Fabbroforced a smile, “and hope the Virgindoes likewise.”

“Thank you,” Giovanni said sincerely.

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The two men went back to work,leaving him alone with Sofia. She thrustthe box at him.

“Little gift. Hope you like it.”He opened it warily, lifted the cloth,

flinched, and dropped it.“Compliments of Doc.”“Sofia, I’m sorry.”“Don’t waste lies on me,

Concordian.”“I mean it.”“You say plenty you don’t mean. This

bridge is no-man’s-land; rememberthat?”

“You saw what happened to Frog!”

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“If it wasn’t him, it would have beensomeone else. Morello was baiting you,and you, cretino, you took it. When youmade the Doc back off, I thought you hadsome salt, but that was just your openingmove, wasn’t it? You figured it waswhat the Small People wanted to see.”

“Please, keep your voice down.”“No—I take orders from Doc; that’s

why I’m here, remember? You ran to himthe moment your schedule wasthreatened.”

“I had to do something!”Sofia pointed to the Woolsmen around

Hog.“See all those friendly southsiders?

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This is a Bardini bridge now, whetheryou’ve realized it yet, and the Morelloare obliged to respond.”

“I’m sorry to involve you in this.”“You think you’re sorry now? Just

wait—oh, look, here comes thewelcoming committee. Maybe you won’thave to.”

Gaetano Morello was marchingacross Piazza Luna, a decina of his ownin tow.

Before Sofia went to head him off, shelooked back. “I really thought you weredifferent,” she said bitterly.

Gaetano’s decina didn’t step onto thebridge. That would be a provocation too

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far.“Look. The engineer’s got a pet

Rasenneisi already.”She ignored the taunt. “Who came

over the night Tower Vaccarelliburned?”

“That’s not why we’re here. By theterms of truce, you can’t be here.”

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,Tano. This time. Tell your father andbrother that they crossed a line.”

“I’m not your messenger. If you’ve gotsomething to say, cross and take yourchances.”

“Maybe I will.”They looked into each other’s eyes. It

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was unfair but undeniable: the day hadcome, and now they were set againsteach other—by Gaetano’s father, by theDoc, by the engineer and his damnedbridge—and there was nothing left but tovoice but the formalities:

“Stay away.”“Try stopping me.”

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CHAPTER 22

The southsiders filing in under the blackflags the next morning felt like prisoners,a feeling Sofia’s decina did everythingto enhance.

Even before noon came, Giovannitried again to apologize.

“You don’t get to say that. I know howprecise engineers are: you don’t makemistakes; you take calculated risks.When being nice to the natives didn’twork, you didn’t think twice, just moved

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straight on to your contingency plan.”“It’s not like that—I’m not like that.”“Because you’re different? That’s

what all Concordians think. It’s how theybreed you!”

“If the bridge isn’t finished on time,the Apprentices will blame Rasenna,” hesaid, desperate to make her understand.

She laughed drily. “There’s that rodagain.”

Neighboring towers were used to thethird floor of Vanzetti’s being lit up intothe early hours, but tonight its usuallytranquil working atmosphere was absent.

Giovanni swore softly as his quill

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blotted.“You all right, Captain?”“Fine, Pedro. Fine.”He threw the worn-out feather down

on the plans and groaned. “I messed up,didn’t I?”

“There’s no right answer in thissituation.”

“Bardini was the wrong answer. Howmuch worse will he make it? That’s thequestion.”

The boy shrugged. “Who knows?”“I do—the Apprentices told me

before I came here that once killingstarts, there’s no limit.” He suddenlywalked away from the table. “I had to do

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something!”“But you were!” Pedro held up a new

design. “Listen, the Families can’t dothis! They only know how to tear thingsdown. You can’t beat them at that game.”

Giovanni was surprised, hearing anecho of Sofia’s accusations.

“Sorry, Pedro. I let you down too. TheDoctor told me strength’s all Rasenneisiunderstand, and I believed him.”

“Morello says that too—it’s the onlything they’ve got to offer. They want usas incapable of learning as they are—butwe Rasenneisi can understand otherthings when we get the chance. Sinceyou came, I’ve learned enough to know

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that another life is possible.”Giovanni paced back to the window,

taking Pedro’s consolation as areproach. “And damn it, I’ve thrown itaway.” He saw the northern towers’reflection in the river. “And now Sofia’sinvolved.”

“The Contessa?” Pedro laughedcynically. “If she’s part of the Bardiniborgata, she’s part of the problem.”

“But she’s not a Bardini, is she,Pedro? And you know what’s funny? Itold her she had to show people thedistinction between Scaligeri andBardini. I told her it’s how you act thatmatters. Madonna, I’ve been a fool. CanI fix it?”

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“Doc Bardini and Quintus Morellowould say no. My father would saySmall People can’t stand against theSignoria.”

“What do you say, Pedro?”“I think we can do better.”Giovanni nodded slowly. “Let’s get

back to work then.”Pedro looked at him. “There is one

thing you can fix tonight.”

Sofia awoke from the same dream aboutthe Baptistery and that day. It was stilldark and her bedchamber was silent, noshadows looming, yet instinct hadwoken her and she knew better than to

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ignore it. She held her breath and let hereyes adjust to the darkness as her fingerssearched.

There! A whirring and movement atthe tower window, a glimmer ofmoonlight on gold. She rolled onto thestone floor and grabbed her flag. Thedark shape hovered outside, the size of abird, though it didn’t move like one. Shecrept toward it, keeping her flag up. Thewhirring tempo slowed, and the shapebegan to drop.

She dropped her flag, thrust her armout the window, and grabbed it before itfell. It was the annunciator, and therewas a note between its “hands.”

She read it, then looked over the

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balcony.“I should drop this on your head!” she

said, wanting to shout but trying to keepher voice to a whisper.

“Then I’ll be back tomorrow withanother,” said Giovanni, pale in themoonlight and smiling.

“Will you shut up? You’ll wake theDoc.”

She quickly pulled on hose under herlinen night rail. “Stay there; I’m comingdown.”

The moonlight was bright enough tolight her way, but Sofia had done this athousand times and needed no guide. Shestopped at the second-floor window. She

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could see Valerius’s blond curls on hispillow and hear his snoring. He alwayswoke up later than the other students,and for once she was thankful for hissloth.

Giovanni watched her descend. Itreminded him of the controlled falling ofa cat. She landed soundlessly in front ofhim.

“Have you gone crazy?” she hissed,looking around at the shuttered windowsof the surrounding dark towers. “Youcan’t show up in the middle of the nightand send notes through my balcony. I’mthe Contessa Scaligeri! Towers haveears and eyes and tongues!”

“You care what people think?”

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“I’m still mad at you, remember?Doc’s got me watching your bridge, but Ifinished work hours ago. Keep it up andwe recommence hostilities.”

“Sofia, I made a terrible mistake. I’msorry. I came here as an engineer, not aconqueror, and I do believe in mymission: I think the bridge will bringRasenna together, and I didn’t wantanything to delay that. We saw Frog—whatever it was—rise up. It might nothave scared you, but it scared me! And Isaw more innocents being sacrificedbecause I’m not leader enough to stop it.I forgot what I promised the crew andyou. I acted like any engineer would inany other town, but this isn’t any other

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town. It’s different—it’s the edge ofthings.”

“All right, stop blathering. So youmessed up: you’re not a liar, just adeficiente. The crew’ll come aroundtoo. Whatever happens, my men won’tmake the first move. Satisfied?”

“Contessa, you have my gratitude,”said Giovanni with a courtly bow.

“Oh, Madonna. Do you have any ideahow this looks? Get the hell back toTower Vanzetti, will you? I’ll see youtomorrow.”

“Thank you!”“Go!”Sofia clambered back up, keeping her

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eye on the Doctor’s top-floor window.She didn’t check on Valerius again.

She got back to her chamber andlaughed. “Idiota,” she whispered,crumpling up the note. She put the angelon the windowsill and got back into bed.After a moment, she threw the sheetsback and found the note in the corner.She flattened it out, refolded it, andplaced it back in the angel’s hands.

“Idiota,” she repeated, smiling in thedark.

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CHAPTER 23

The weeks of spring melted into onelong pitiless day of summer.

The Doctor said he’d remove Sofia’ssplint soon. Though he trusted his web ofstratagems to protect them, she fearedthe imminent war would be a storm,coming suddenly and at no one’sconvenience. She spent evenings in theworkshop becoming dexterous with herleft hand, horribly conscious of howvulnerable she would be in a real fight.

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So far she had not kept her promise tovisit Isabella. She told herself practicewas more important—told herself itwasn’t fear that kept her from theBaptistery—but her dreams, deaf tothose excuses, returned her repeatedly tothe garden to refight the fight: thatwhirlwind of sleeves around her, thatleisurely final snap. She practiced.

Vettori passed Fabbro on the bridge, andthey shared a look of dread that thebridge, having tasted blood, might thirstfor more.

The midday sun hung stubbornlyimmobile, pouring molten heat on thewater and on the land and on the men

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who moved over it, scheming andfighting and toiling. The no-man’s-landbetween the river and the northerntowers, abandoned since the Wave, wasall hustle and bustle: a fire fed by men,material, and machinery.

Sofia was sitting on her usual perchbetween the broken statue’s paws,fanning herself with her cap, ponderingonce more the nun’s uncanny technique.Her reflections were brought to a stopby a sudden awareness that somethingwas out of place.

She’d been around fighters all her lifeand she was attuned to the bitter reek ofa brewing quarrel. Tools slipped fromthe sweaty hands of heat-drunk workers

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shoulder bumping against one another,with no apologies voiced or evencurses.

Yet there was another spirit movingtoo. Since Giovanni’s apology, she madesure her men behaved discreetly. Shecompared his method to the Doctor’s ashe went from station to station,exchanging quiet words with hisforemen, meeting questions, suggestions,and obstructionism from the crew withthe same composed intelligence. TheDoctor might grunt opaque Etruscanproverbs if pressed, but he remainedimpatient and distrustful of words, ateacher who preferred that students fightfor their epiphanies.

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Experienced masons, carpenters, andsmiths who thought themselves entitledto professional informality weredisappointed and intimidated by theengineer’s detachment. The Woolsmenwere used to being spoken down to; theyappreciated his impartiality.

The Bernoullian Re-Formation wastraditionally dismissed as an ungodlyrebellion, but the engineer spoke of thenew mathematics, of action and reaction,balance and tension, with a preacher’sconviction, and they were surprised atthe common sense of his hierarchy ofverifiable principles. Consistent if notbeautiful.

Firm foundations rose from

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cofferdams, defying the rushing waters.The wooden template was complete, askeleton prophecy of the bridge’seventual silhouette. It grew like a bodydisintegrating in reverse: dry bonebecame covered in muscle, bloodunclotted and pumped once more, dust toflesh.

Two spirits; which would triumph?Gut told her that Rasenna always choseblood, and to confirm this black instinct,she caught Hog Galati’s malicious staredirected not at the engineer but at her. Hemet her stare and turned aside and spitbefore going back to work.

Sofia grabbed her flag—and thenstopped, realizing in that moment what

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was out of place.“You must be distracted.”She spun around to find Giovanni

standing there awkwardly. “Didn’t thinkI’d be able to sneak up on you,” headmitted.

“I was thinking.”“Me too. You first.”Sofia glanced around to see if any of

her men were nearby, then held up hersplint. “When this comes off, I’m goingback to the Baptistery.”

When Giovanni looked at her withdespairing exasperation, she laughed.“Not for a rematch! I’m going to ask herto teach me.”

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“I thought you hated her,” he saidskeptically. “And anyway, you can fightalready.”

“Not like her.”“Think she’ll have you?”“I have a strange feeling she’s waiting

for me to ask.”“Doesn’t the Doctor know Water

Style? I got the impression he knows theReverend Mother.”

“He told me once that Water Stylewas ineffective, and besides, nobodyknew it anymore.”

“Why would he lie about that?”Sofia looked around again. “I come

into my inheritance in a few months. I

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need to be ready. Doc won’t let me—Well, he won’t give me certainresponsibilities even though I’m his beststudent. And lately we can’t agree onanything.”

“You can’t agree to differ? He caresfor you, I think.”

“This is Rasenna. He was fine withme being Contessa when it was yearsaway, but I’m not a little girl anymore. Ifhe’s gotten used to being number one, Ican’t just wait to be given power. I haveto be able to take it.”

“But how can she train you withouthim knowing?”

“He’ll think I’m here, watching over

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you. Bringing me to the next point: Ishould go. I’m not helping.” Shestopped. “What’s funny?”

“That’s what I wanted to say, but Icouldn’t think of a nice way to put it.”

Sofia picked up her flag and said,“I’ll check in every day, and I’ll keep therest of them watching from a distance.Doc just wants to see black flags.”

As Giovanni watched her leave,Vettori came up to him, smiling. “Bravo!You finally told her to go.”

“She suggested it.”Vettori looked skeptical.“She didn’t bring black flags to the

bridge, I did. Bardini came at my

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invitation, but I still feel . . .”“Manipulated?” Vettori suggested.

“Now you know how the Small Peoplefeel. Don’t be upset; that’s how theFamilies stay powerful.”

Giovanni looked in the direction Sofiahad gone. “That’s not how she’ll rule.”

Vettori squinted into the sun. “If shegets to.”

“The Small People still revere theScaligeri.”

“That makes her useful today.Tomorrow it’ll make her a rival. She’s apawn, just like the rest of us, and oncethe Bardini or the Morello get the upperhand, she’s disposable.” He saw

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Giovanni’s reaction and shrugged.“Things could be worse, Captain.”

“That’s not success. I remember theday I made that rope bridge with Pedro.It was easy, Vettori. With so many men,shouldn’t this be easier? Instead, ourproblems are multiplying. You knowthese men—what’s keeping them apart?”

“Hate’s a hard habit to break, Captain.Things happened over the years thatcan’t be forgotten just because theFamilies say ‘work together.’”

“Was it like this when you ran yourworkshop?”

Vettori shook his head. “No, I was toosmall to compare—and all my people

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came from the south.”“But what did you do?”“I gave them a share. When I made

money, they made money. When you ownsomething, you fight for it. That’s thething: the northsiders think it’s theirs,and the southsiders resent it.” Vettorilooked around at the men from bothnorthside and southside. “What can youdo? We can’t all own it.”

That night, Giovanni burned through adozen candles studying old maps ofRasenna. Next morning, he found Pedroalone on the bridge. It was the feast dayof Saint Daniel; for once Giovanni was

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grateful for the congested sacredcalendar that was playing hell with hisschedule.

“How’s the crane coming?” he askedwith a grin.

Pedro pulled the toggle, and theengine sputtered to life and rolled alongthe track. A second lever rotated thesegmented neck. “Perfect day for a testrun. Anything in mind?”

Since there was no work on the bridge,Sofia and her bandieratori were back inthe workshop. With a gentle touch, theDoctor unwound the sling and moved herarm at the elbow. “How’s that?”

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“Good,” she said, flexing it.He looked thoughtful and said

offhandedly, “By the way, where’sValerius?”

Sofia shrugged. He’d taken tosneaking out alone, looking for attention,presumably. “If he wants to get himselfkilled, let him. All part of growing up,right?”

“You’re supposed to be looking afterhim. Try the arm,” he grunted.

She did a few clumsy flagcombinations.

“It’s fine, just weak. In a day or twoI’ll be ready to spar.”

“You think your enemies will wait?”

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the Doctor said, looking around theworkshop, then saying, “Mule, bannerup.”

Sofia set her jaw firmly. The Doc wasmaking a point. She wanted to fight? Sohe’d make her fight.

Fine. She wasn’t worried. She hadbeen able to beat Mule since she wastwelve. He had terrible defense; all shehad to do was wait for a big obviousattack and see where he left himselfexposed . . .

Nevertheless, Mule managed to dobetter than usual, landing several blowsbefore she put him down with a carefulattack that took advantage of his weakereye.

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The Doctor was stern. “What’s onyour mind? It’s certainly not the fightyou’re in. Secondo, you’re next.”

Normally she wouldn’t be worried,but Doc was right: she wasn’t focused.Secondo lacked Mule’s courage, but hewas more dangerous: he had enoughcunning to change tactics whennecessary. He fought smart, made herwork her weak arm. Kept up thepressure and—

“Ugggh!”Sofia recovered and picked up her

flag again. A crowd of students wasgathering. She ignored them, tellingherself this was just practice.

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Thinking he was winning, Secondobecame as obvious as Mule. Shelowered her flag, inviting an attack, andhe thrust his stick behind an obviousflourish. She dived for it, and Secondofell back with a cowardly yelp. A quickblow to the knee and he tumbled to theground, groaning.

The Doctor didn’t congratulate her.“Wake up. Daydreaming makes you fightlike a novice in the workshop. On thestreet, it’ll get you killed.”

Before she could retort, the door burstopen.

“Doc!” Valerius called loudly soeveryone would look. “You’ve got tosee what the engineer’s done!”

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The Doctor led him away so hewouldn’t distract the students more thanhe already had, and Sofia watched hisexpression change from annoyance toanger.

“He did what?” Doc grabbed a flagand went to the door with Valerius.

When Sofia followed, he shouted,“Where do you think you’re going?”

“With you.”“You can’t even focus in the

workshop. Practice until you can.”He slammed the door in her reddening

face, leaving the students staring at her.Publicly undermined. Again.

It felt like a gut punch.

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“Well, you heard,” she said, flatteningall emotion from her voice. “We needpractice.”

Rasenna looked on as the Lion waslowered into place on the bridge’s southside.

Using old plans and estimating theimpact of the Wave, Giovanni hadcorrectly triangulated the likely positionof the first of the old town’s mascots.Pedro fished the first sculpture up withthe crane. The native stone’s earthy grayhad turned mottled green underwater, yetthe accumulated filth and weatheringsomehow accentuated its dignity. Thecrew cheered as it was set down.

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“Madonna, he’s ready to roar!”Fabbro laughed, stopping abruptly whenhe saw the Doctor.

“Captain, have you gone mad?” theDoctor whispered fiercely.

“No,” said Giovanni, “but I’vestopped being lukewarm. This bridgebelongs to Rasenna. The Lions are oneof the few things people have incommon.”

“Don’t be facetious. The banner ofRasenna is outlawed by Concord. TheMascots only remained because no onecould see them. Put it back.”

Giovanni refused to back down. “I’mresponsible for this and the civil war

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that’ll happen if Rasenna isn’t unitedwhen it’s complete.”

“Dreamer!” The Doctor used theword as an insult. “We risk far worseoffending Concord! Put it back.”

“It’s staying,” Sofia said loudly.The Doctor turned and found her

standing with the crew.“Girl, be obedient,” he growled.“How dare you! I am the Contessa

Scaligeri. I don’t take orders; I givethem.”

The Doctor checked if Valerius was inearshot, then stepped forward andwhispered, “And what if one of theConcordians mentions this in a letter

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home, Contessa? What about whenGeneral Luparelli comes? You don’tthink he’ll notice?”

“No—you’ve spent too long in yourtower. Just look around! See what itmeans to them.”

The Doctor turned his back on Sofia’sangry stare. He walked up to the Lion,lightly touching it. “The others remainwhere they are, Captain.”

“Very well.”“Explain to the Apprentices in your

next report that you did it without theSignoria’s sanction and with myreservations.”

“Very well.”

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The Doctor seized his arm. “Captain,you mean well. You see ragged flags andwant to return our pride—but pride ledus here!” He released him suddenly andturned north. “Contessa.”

“Doctor,” she said, apparentlyunruffled even though she felt the groundshifting beneath her feet. The bridge wasthe future of her reign, he said, but whenGiovanni tried to make it part ofRasenna, he objected. He’d left her nochoice but to hide a dagger behind herbanner too.

Sofia only remembered the smell ofincense. The last time she’d been here,she’d been too apprehensive to pay

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attention to her surroundings. In a darkniche, the Madonna of Rasenna held theinfant Savior’s body in one arm; in theother, a cluster of miniature towers. Herface was kind, but she was still aRasenneisi: one of her delicate feet wascrushing a serpent’s head.

The Baptistery roof was a mosaicdepicting the Virgin showing SaintBarabbos the keys of Heaven. He andthe Prophets would languish in LimbusPatrium until the Second Coming, or sowent the story.

The font bore closer inspection too, ifshe’d truly been baptized in it. Its fivefaces were decorated with paintings,composed in gold, black, and red,

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showing the traditional Stages of theVirgin’s life: the Annunciation, theNativity, the Error, the Substitution, andthe Assumption.

Familiarity had dulled the tale’sstrangeness. From a distance, it was justa record of madness and hysteria: agrieving mother who called herself avirgin and her murdered child, God,preaching of a Kingdom to come, untilthe Etruscans grew fearful of sedition.Her Apostles claimed She escapedcrucifixion and bodily corruption byascending to Heaven.

The virgin who conceived a saviorwho could not even save Himself. It wastruly an odd story—was it odd enough to

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be true?The Doctor had not raised her with a

shining example of observance—herecognized no obligations, religious orotherwise, unless they profited him—butthese tales were in the air in Rasennaand in the blood.

Her reverie was broken by the soundof footsteps. “Contessa, are you here tosee Isabella? She’ll be pleased.”

“No. Yes. I mean—” Sofia stood toattention. “I apologize for attacking you,Sister.”

“No harm done. To me, anyway.”“Well, it was impolite.”There was a strained silence until the

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Reverend Mother said, “Why don’t youask what you came here to ask?”

“Will you teach me?”“I’ll think about it. Anything else?”

The crowd was still on the bridge whenSofia returned.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,”said Giovanni.

“Are you a pagan?” the nun inquired.“I’m an engineer.”“Then be rational! What harm can an

old woman do?” she said, striding ontothe bridge and pulling up her sleeves. “Ionly wish you’d called me earlier.” She

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stopped abruptly at a certain point in themiddle of the bridge. “Here. Let uspray,”

The crew knelt as one.“The river has been much offended:

driven from its natural course, madeparty to murder, by Concordians andRasenneisi. This bridge will divide theriver, just as the Wave divided us.Forgive us, Madonna, all trespasses.The hour is late and the Lord is notrefused. He cannot be diverted, thoughHe suffers Himself to be delayed. Like ariver, History pushes through allobstacles; if the Lord’s will is divertedin one age, then It will be made manifestin another. Therefore, be patient, the

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Kingdom is at hand. The Lion awaits itsbrothers. Until they come, he will notwait alone. The Virgin, who has alwaysprotected Rasenna, now protectsRasenna Bridge!”

“Amen!” the crew agreed.The nun nodded. “Less bad. Assist

me, my child.” As Sofia helped her toher feet, she whispered, “We’ll start theday after tomorrow. You must bring twothings . . .”

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CHAPTER 24

The wind’s howling made it impossibleto hear other footsteps, and until thatmoment Marcus Marius Messallinus hadnot really missed his spectacles. Losingthem was a good excuse to skip thetraining intended to give his militarycareer a head start. The youngConcordian saw no reason to applyhimself; modern generals didn’t lead somuch as point the machines in the rightdirection.

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Gaetano would never have allowedMarcus to venture alone from PalazzoMorello, but after all, Gaetano mightwell be part of the plot. Marcus hadlearned of the conspiracy only today. Inthe excitement of the bridge ceremony,someone had dropped a note in his hood:

If you love Concord, be inPiazza Luna at Midnight—

A fellow Patriot.

What Marcus lacked in drive, hemade up for in imagination. Clearly, hiscounterpart in the Bardini workshop hadput aside rivalry to enlist his help.

He waited in the empty piazza until

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bells rang out across the river. He hadbright visions of himself and Valerius,friends tested by battle, returning toConcord in triumph, to be congratulatedby the First Apprentice. On the twelfthchime, a figure gestured on the far sideof the piazza. Yes, Valerius was shrewd!If the two heroes were seen, it wouldalert the plotters.

An hour later he was lost in the dark,twisting backstreets and seriouslyworried. A strange thought was gnawingat him ever more insistently. Perhaps this“patriot” was a Rasenneisi. It hadsimply never occurred to Marcus thatone could be loyal to a place thatspawned schismatics so prodigiously—

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but why not? If he had learned nothingelse in his time here, it was that Rasennaand contradiction were no strangers.Was it true, though? Had someRasenneisi murderer lured him fromsafety this night? Wait, was that someoneup ahead, at the mouth of that alley?

“Valerius?”He felt a chill that had nothing to do

with the wind. He’d overheard stories ofthe headless northsider; if one ghost hadrisen, might not another? How manyRasenneisi had Concord drowned allthose years ago? How many yearned toshare their tombs? He dropped his flagand ran.

The boy had been ensconced in

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Palazzo Morello for the last year, andhis knowledge of the streets was poor atthe best of times; in the darkness it waseven worse. But if he could find his wayback to Piazza Luna, he could get toPalazzo Morello and safety.

Had he seen that Madonna statuebefore? That mural? It was pointless;they all looked the same. In trying toretrace his steps, he’d just gotten himselfeven more lost. The harsh sound of clothripping made him jump, and he calledout tentatively, “Hello?”

There was no answer—then a glint ofgold, his flag, torn from its stick! Bywhom? By what?

It danced on the wind and then,

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animated surely by vengeful spirits ofold Rasenna, flew toward him.

The blood pounding in his ears waslouder than the screaming wind. Marcusran around corner after corner, but everytime he looked back it was closer. Heturned into a narrow alley and stopped.

It was a dead end where two towersleaned into each other.

“Oh, Madonna, help me!” he cried.He turned and—

Nothing. It was gone.After a moment, he stuck his head out

of the alley. That Madonna, painted likea doll; he recognized it! This must beVia Purgatorio, east of Piazza Luna.

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In his haste, he stumbled and crackedhis head on stone. He pulled himself upin a daze and saw it—

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”Gold covered him, trapped him,

struggle as he might. The weight on hischest was holding him down, hands onhis neck were strangling him—hecouldn’t escape, couldn’t breathe—

The fabric invaded his mouth, athousand raging corpses teaching himhow they had drowned . . .

As breakfast was served in the lonelyluxury of Palazzo Morello, Gaetano’smen were searching every tower south

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of the river. He just prayed Marcushadn’t been dumb enough to cross thebridge. Bardini would eat him alive.

“Oh, he’ll turn up, Gaetano!” Hisfather had been unbearably garruloussince the engineer’s behavior on thebridge. The Doctor’s Concordian hadturned out to be insufficiently loyal toConcord; what a great joke.

“Don’t you realize what could happenif—?”

“Oh Gaetano, tranquillo. The boy’sjust hiding in a tower. Have a drink.Your brother’s never understoodpolitics, has he?”

Valentino smiled.

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Quintus kept going, “Either our wateris potent enough to breed faction in anengineer’s heart or the fellow waseccentric to begin with.”

“Perhaps that’s why they gave him thisjob,” Valentino suggested, amused at hisfather’s heroic self-deception. The oldfool had made a policy of populargestures, but his patriotism was a posemade safe by the Doctor’s pragmaticbalancing act. They’d performed thisritualistic dance so long that Quintus hadforgotten he was being led.

A bandieratoro entered and whisperedsomething to Gaetano.

Valentino noticed his sudden loss ofcolor. “What is it?”

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Gaetano looked at him suspiciously.“They found Marcus’s body by the Lion,under a golden banner.”

Quintus Morello spit out his drink.“Our flag!”

He followed Gaetano out in a stupor,leaving Valentino alone with his thoughtsand the dozing Donna Morello.

The only thing that upset the dancewas disagreement about who shouldlead. The bridge would changeeverything, and his father was toofrightened to acknowledge that Morellopower had waned. Gaetano suspected it;the Doctor knew it. Valentino hadanother ambition entirely: to see thedancers destroy each other and let the

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world burn afterward. They had sent himto the Beast. All were guilty; all must bepunished.

With threat of murder abroad, Valeriuswas safely under guard in Tower Bardiniwhen the emergency Signoria meetingbegan.

The gonfaloniere was haranguing theDoctor. “You all know—the assassinknows—that Concord will hold theContract holder as responsible as theassassin. But this assassin hasmiscalculated: this crime endangersevery tower in Rasenna!”

Gaetano and Sofia sat next to the

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respective heads of their families, asilent signal of violent expectations.

The Doctor, grieving for GuerchoVaccarelli at last, took the mace. “Whywould I provoke Concord?” he asked.“How could I possibly imagine theywould smite my enemy and leave mytower standing? War will not make suchnice distinctions: if no one is guilty, allare guilty. If war comes, all suffer. Callme a scoundrel, a murderer, but please,not a fool. Why would I suddenly changemy policy, which has ever been one ofconciliation and realism?”

“Because we are winning!” Quintusspit.

“Order!” said the notary.

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“The murder of Marcus MariusMessallinus can, more plausibly, beblamed on a reckless unknownprovocateur.”

No one doubted who the Doctorsuspected: Valentino sat at Quintus’sother side, nursing his stump like apeevish baby.

When the notary’s gavel failed to curbthe din, the Doctor knelt and pounded themace on the ground. “If you cannot becivil, be rational,” he said.“Gonfaloniere, I fear war more than hotwords. I swear by Herod’s Sword, myhand is not in this. When GeneralLuparelli comes to collect tribute, therewill be repercussions, yes, but we will

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bear them together. For my part, the trucestands. No raids, no retaliation.”

Sofia stared disbelievingly at theDoctor as he returned the mace. TheMorello murdered their own student andhe begged for peace? Shameful.

In the strained silence Gaetanowhispered to his father.

Valentino surprised everyone byleaping up. “Are you such fools to betwice deceived?” he cried. “He seeks toescort us to the scaffold! You’re amarked man, Bardini!”

At that, every flag went up. Sofia’splanted bandieratori surrounded theDoctor as Gaetano’s men poured into the

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Speakers’ circle.Sofia stood between them, her flag

lowered. “Stand down. I am yourContessa.”

Gaetano lowered his flag slightly.“Not yet, girl!” Quintus shouted. “You

don’t have a voice in this Chamber untilthen, and you can’t shield a murderer.When you rule, you’ll rule at Concord’spleasure, as I do.”

“You heard my guardian. Bardiniaren’t behind this. Look to your ownhouse. And see you keep the truce.”

The Doctor looked on proudly asSofia turned her back the Morello.“Let’s go,” she said.

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They waded out of the palazzo withgold flags shadowing them as far theLion and crossed the scaffolding to thenorthside in single file. Anticipating thisoutcome, the Doctor had the entireborgata waiting for their arrival.

Sofia stared back at Gaetano,separated by the river and a bridge thatdespite everything remained no-man’s-land yet.

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CHAPTER 25

Night fell impartially on both sides ofthe Irenicon, a crushing black weightbringing fear and darkness but norespite. Rasenneisi woke gasping likedrowning men, their chests too narrowfor hearts beating too fast. Theclaustrophobic air between the banks,between towers, was pregnant withviolence to come. From river windowshidden watchers spied for interloperswho never came.

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It was dark yet when Sofia went down tothe pantry to steal a glass. She creptfrom Tower Bardini into seldom-usedback alleys, taking a winding route. Justbefore sunrise she entered theBaptistery.

The pigeons’ murmuring dispelledtensions lingering from yesterday. Asbefore the Reverend Mother waited inthe enclosed garden, but this time shewas not alone. The nun took the glass,examined it solemnly, then handed it tothe novice. “Put it in the chapel, Lucia.”

Sofia gave her a cursory look. Just asit was a bandieratoro’s business to knowevery tower on his side of the Irenicon,it was the Contessa’s to know all the

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families who inhabited them. This girlwith an uncharitable jaw was a strangerto her, obviously then a southsider—presumably another orphan taken in bythe Sisters. She was pale, skinny,breakable, like most.

“Now let’s see if you brought thesecond thing I asked: an open mind.First, your stance. Make it stable.”

“Like this?”The nun palm tapped her chest, and

Sofia found herself on her back lookingup at clouds.

“You could have just said no.”“Ah, but would you have listened? I

know you better than you think, child.”

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Sofia adjusted her stance.“Did you come with the Doctor’s

permission this time?”“The Contessa,” Sofia said frostily,

“does not require permission.”“I see. Where does he think you are?”“Guarding the bridge,” Sofia said

grudgingly. “The engineer knows whereto find me.” She didn’t like discussingBardini business in front of the southsidegirl. She changed the subject. “Whatabout Isabella? Has she told you whoburned her tower?”

“If you didn’t recognize the raider,you can be sure she didn’t. Besides, wedon’t remind her of that night. I’m

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surprised you don’t ask if she is better.”After a moment, Sofia muttered,

“Well, is she?”“Lucia looks after the other girls.”The novice had just returned and, after

throwing Sofia a quick dart of disdain,said shortly, “She’s sleeping,” andcontinued her exercise with imperiousserenity. Sofia wasn’t surprised by herimpression that the novice despised her.The girl was a southsider. Reasonenough. She looked her over again andrecognized a common Rasenneisideformity: the girl had suffered andresponded by growing sharp. The severeline of the novice’s mouth and thenarrow focus of her eyes marred her

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austere beauty.“Isabella couldn’t sleep at all at

first,” the nun said. “All she talked aboutwas revenge.”

Sofia smiled. “She’s a Rasenneisi.”“I told you, Sister,” Lucia interrupted,

“she’s just a thug.”“Hey, I’m right here,” Sofia said

indignantly. “If you’ve got something tosay, say it to my face.”

“Lucia, that’s enough. Contessa, a manwho managed to be both philosopher andsaint said a city is people connected bylove of something—that can be God, ormoney, or any other thing. If Rasenna isunited only by the capacity to hate, the

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same thing that keeps it apart, then yourinheritance is doomed.”

“That’s nice, Sister,” Sofia said,scowling at Lucia, “but this thug came tolearn Water Style, not listen to fairytales.”

“Bah!” The Reverend Mother slappedher shoulders. “Back straight!”

She adjusted her stance again. “SoIsabella can sleep now?”

“Yes. I calmed her down with anotherfairy tale—how Water Style came to be.Do you want to hear it?”

“Do I have a choice?”“Ignorant girl. Imitate my movements

as closely as you can.”

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The nun fell languidly into asuccession of elegant stances, whichLucia copied with such grace that Sofiawas embarrassed. The movement was sosubtle that she couldn’t tell where oneposition stopped and the next started.

Stopping occasionally to correctSofia’s grosser infelicities, the nunbegan her tale.

“Long ago, before Christ was bornand died, Rasenna and Concord were thetwin capitals of Etrusca, allies in a waragainst the growing power of Rome.Rasenna’s bandieratori kept the legionsback for years, but finally the Romansreached the city walls. It was only amatter of time before the siege

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overwhelmed Rasenna, and her sister,Concord, would be next.

“In Concord one morning, a youngmaid was sitting by the river where herbeloved, a knight of Rasenna, had saidgood-bye to her. She prayed that hewould be returned to her before nightfell that day. God heard her prayer.

“The next morning found the youngmaid once more by the river, nowwashing the blood from her beloved’sbody with her tears. The maid fell to herknees in the water and entreated God forhelp, promising both cities’ eternalobedience in return. It was not God whoheard her despairing prayer this time butthe river. But we rarely recognize our

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prayers when they are answered. Afaceless angel rose from the water, andshe attacked it but could not land a blow.Its movements were as quick andpowerful as a waterfall in spring.”

“Angel? Sounds like a buio,” Sofiasaid.

“Before the Wave, water did not seekto drown men any more than fire seeks toburn.”

“If you say so.”“The maid knew she was defeated.

She begged the angel to teach her or killher. And the angel said—”

“This is so stupid. Buio can’t speak.”“The angel said it could not teach her

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to fight, for it did not know how. Instead,it taught her what men call prophecy,which is really understanding Time’sflow, and when the angel left her, themaid realized she could fight like Water.As the Etruscan Empire spread, theknowledge spread too and bound itscities closer. The legions were turnedback, and after Rome was burned, therewas peace in Etrusca.”

“Nice story,” said Sofia. “I see how itput Isabella to sleep. But seriously,Concord and Rasenna as allies? A bitfar-fetched.”

“Nothing is parted that was not oncewhole.”

“Then Concordians know Water

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Style?”“For a time it flourished, but after the

Empire fell, it declined in both cities. Itis a difficult art; one can have a schoolof Art Banderia, but Water Style cannotbe codified any more than a river canstop flowing. Rasenna put its faith in theArt Banderia, Concord in NaturalPhilosophy. Rasenna, led by your family,was dominant for many years and then—”

“And then Bernoulli came,” saidSofia, “and we lost.”

“But perhaps Concord did not win.When you are as old as I am, you beginto see Time repeating itself.”

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“That’s called senility, Sister.”“Ignorant girl. Move this way . . .”

Rasenna woke that morning with thefeeling it had been spared some awfulpunishment. Perched on the pier whereSofia usually sat, Giovanni watched themen coming to work giving the Lion anaffectionate pat as they passed.

He had a good feeling for the day,which sure enough passed fluidly. Hiscrew had acquired that rare economy ofmovement and speech he’d seen in theworkshops.

Giovanni stopped Pedro as he ran by.“Good catch with the wood. We’d have

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lost days if that batch had been used.”Pedro stammered thanks and changed

the subject. “Something odd, Captain. Idon’t know if it means anything.Yesterevening I set the eggs recharging,but this morning they were flat.”

“Someone turned them on in thenight?”

“Seems unlikely, doesn’t it? Howmany Rasenneisi know how to workthem?”

Giovanni furrowed his brow and ranhis fingers through his hair, messing itfurther. “Maybe we should post bettersecurity. Who knows how long the trucewill hold?”

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“Fabbro said he’d look after it.”“Good, thank you.” He smiled,

thinking how Pedro’s competence wasgrowing daily and how appalled theApprentices would be at the thought of aRasenneisi engineer.

Concord now seemed strange to him.He remembered the lofty bridges andaqueducts, the broad empty streets, theAcademy, and, overshadowing andmocking all other human endeavors, theMolè. Details of the dark white citywere clear, but like stained-glass facetsthat somehow never coalesced into a fullmemory.

Was it another Engineers’ Guild mindtrick? They took your name and replaced

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it with number and rank. They took yourfamily and replaced it with—what? TheGuild itself. Comforting as it would be,it would be another sin to pretend hispast wasn’t his.

Fabbro disturbed Giovanni’smeditation with a hearty clap on theback. “You were right, boss! They don’tlove each other, but we won’t have tosplit the crew up. Typical Rasenneisi,though; they need an enemy, so nowthey’re grumbling about the Signoria.”

“They have a right.”“Oh, Madonna, not so loud, Captain!

You sound like Vettori! Ask me what’sthe secret of long life.”

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“Signore Bombelli, pray tell, what isthe secret—?”

“Be apolitical,” Fabbro said, tappinghis nose, “like condottiere.”

“I’m a Concordian engineer,remember? We do the impossible andnever think of the consequences. By theway, you’re here at odd hours, aren’tyou?”

“Well, not really. I—”“Have you seen anything out of the

ordinary?”“No, no—actually, maybe. Yes, now

that you mention it, Captain, I wasworking late with my sons last nightdown on the embankment—”

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“Yes?”“—and someone crossed over from

the south. I shouted ‘Stop,’ but theydidn’t.”

“That’s it?”“Like I said, it was dark.”Giovanni was as puzzled by Fabbro’s

evasiveness as by his story, but he let itbe. He had trouble enough withoutlooking for more.

Sofia splashed her face in the font beforegoing back into the garden. Bandieratorihad to be in excellent condition, yet themorning’s lesson had exercised musclesshe didn’t even know about.

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Unimpressed, the Reverend Mothercriticized her many bad habits—andeven worse, too much style! “When youdo something, do it,” she told Sofia.“Why think? Only necessary isnecessary.”

Now she waited for Sofia in the smallchapel that adjoined the garden, almosthidden behind the row of lush orangetrees. Inside, the chapel had bare walls,a wooden floor, and no furniture otherthan a low table with a terra-cotta jugand the glass Sofia had brought. In spiteof its homely austerity, it was awelcoming place. A large stained-glasswindow on the wall facing Sofia bathedeverything in a warm yellow light. It had

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colder colors too, emeralds and ceruleanblues, but they changed moment tomoment.

The Reverend Mother sat below it, infront of the table. When Sofia settledherself in cross-legged imitation andlooked into the light, she immediatelyfelt her tiredness lift. Some artfulcraftsman of old Rasenna had fancifullydepicted the Virgin as a well-to-doEtrurian housewife whose embroideryhad been interrupted by a mostunexpected visitor.

Our Lady of Obedient Domesticitybowed in submission to God’s will.Flowers shot up wherever the angel trod—must be a nuisance, Sofia imagined.

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The angel had an androgynous sort ofbeauty, a youthful but wise face, and aslight smile played on his lips. Perhapshe’d forgotten the pain his gift wouldbring, or perhaps he smiled in spite ofthe knowledge, knowing the gift’s worthwas greater.

“Behold the handmaid of the Lord.”Every Etrurian child knew the humblewords with which the Virgin hadaccepted her role as God bearer. Sofiasmiled to think that once she hadbelieved it too. Now that she knew theworld, it strained credulity: Who wouldwillingly accept such pain? Perhaps thatwas why the angel smiled—thehousewife had no idea what she was

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buying into.After clearing her throat, the nun took

a set of beads from her sleeve.Sofia groaned. “Madonna! We’re not

praying now, are we?”“No, I just like to keep my hands

busy.” She poured water to the top of theglass. “Oh! I don’t know about you, butall that exercise gives me quite a thirst!”She drank the water down without takinga breath, her gullet bobbingmechanically.

Sofia watched in silent horror,swearing to herself she’d never get thatold.

The nun slammed the empty glass

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down, wiped her mouth, and pouredanother. “Yaaaahh! Didn’t realize I wasso parched!” And again she drank it inone go.

When she carelessly emptied the restof the jug into the glass, Sofia blurted,“What about me?”

“Oh, did you want a drink?” The nunheld out the glass and smiled.

You sadistic old cow, thought Sofia asshe reached for it.

The nun placed the glass on the table.“You, ungracious child, do not have topray. Instead, perform this simple taskwhile I pray: contemplate the water.When I finish praying, you may drink.”

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“Contemplate. The. Water.”“Yes.”Sofia strove to mask her irritation

better and thanked the Virgin that no oneexcept one very old, very mad nun couldsee her now.

The old woman looked asleep, but theclick of her busy bead-counting fingersand the low, constant drone of her prayerresounded eerily in the small room. Itwas neither speech nor song; thehumming had something of that tone shehad spoken to the Little Frog ghost with.

Sofia took a deep breath. No pointarguing with an ubazze; that would becrazy in itself. But when she tried to

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concentrate on the water, it wasn’t easy.Water, she saw for the first time, wasalways moving. There were little piecesof matter whirling around the worldwithin; Sofia saw beads of moisture asthe glass perspired, felt it drying on herown body, saw it on the old lady’s upperlip, drops of sweat creeping though thesmall forest of hairs. The morning’sexercise had brought new clarity as wellas aching muscles.

The colored light poured through thewindow, through the Virgin, and into thewater and shattered into stars swimmingon the table, on the walls, and on her.The particles in the colors and in thewater were all moved by the same

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unheard, unfelt wind.The water the nun had spilled

gradually seeped to the edge of the tableand held in precarious tension over theprecipice. Sofia watched breathlessly asa single drop began to creep down theside of the glass. The light shook withterror; the world trembled as it reachedthe bottom, racing toward the end andcrashing; the puddle broke its bonds, andthe Wave came.

In the water everything tumbled, buioand people together. In Tower Scaligeri,the old Count floats away from his desk;in the liquid space around him, the inkspreads and steals out of the windowlike a fragment of night escaping dawn.

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Above the sunken tower, a man comesdown from a liquid sky. The buio rushfor the invader, but he swims on towardthem, his face becoming finally clear.

She tried warning Giovanni but foundshe had no voice to scream, no air tobreathe. She was drowning.

The glass shattered on the floor. Theold woman had dropped it.

“Hey, my water!” Sofia cried.“My water! I told you it was your

reward for contemplation, and insteadyou took a nap—so no water for you!”The nun sprang to her feet. “The Doctorthinks you’re guarding the bridge? Thengo. There’s trouble.”

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Sofia had to physically untie her legs.“How do you know?”

“You slept. I contemplated water.Go!”

The keystone was ready at last. Themassive piece was bound with thickropes and restrained by wooden stays asPedro chiseled the date.

“Rings like a bell,” he commented,standing back to examine his work, hisfoot resting on the rope. Suddenly aheavy chain crashed against the stays. Asit swung back, he ducked and shouted,“Shut it off!” at the crane operator.

“What? Speak up!” Hog shouted back.

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The keystone hit the river with asplash heard by everyone on the site.Whipping after it, the rope tightenedaround Pedro’s leg.

Giovanni was conferring with themasons on the platform below thecentral arch. He turned in time to seePedro flying past. He ripped an egg fromthe water and climbed the rope ladder.

Everyone was frozen, watchingVettori grappling with Hog in the crane’scockpit. Giovanni pulled Vettori away.

“He’s a traitor!” Vettori cried.“Madonna, forgive me,” Hog wailed.“Hog, I know you didn’t mean to hurt

Pedro.” Giovanni looped his safety

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harness around the crane. “Help menow.”

“What can I do?”Giovanni unscrewed the buoyant half

of the egg. “After I dive, count three,then release the chain as far as it’ll go.Then start retracting it, half speed.Understand?”

Hog nodded. “What if you can’t findhim?”

“I’ll find him.”

When Sofia arrived, she saw her decinakeeping out of the way. They were betterat causing havoc than dealing with it.She pushed into the center of the crowd

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to see Vettori kneeling and staring withterrible intensity at the water.

“The Captain dived in,” saidsomeone.

“Killed rescuing a corpse,” anothertutted. “Stupid.”

Sofia felt a dark pit open at her feet.He couldn’t have—and yet she knew itwas true; she’d already seen him divingin her dream in the Baptistery.

The rope shuddered. A hand broke thesurface.

“Giovanni!” she cried.“Vettori, he’s got him!” said Fabbro.Giovanni said, “Take him first.”

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The lifeless boy was lifted from handto hand up to the light. Giovanni shouted,“He needs the Doctor!”

Sofia threw down her flag. “No time.He’s breathed water; lay him down.”She brought her hands together like aclub on his chest, once, twice . . .

The crew waited, Hog weeping.Vettori prayed. Sofia listened and thenthumped again, once—

—and Pedro convulsed in a coughingfit. Sofia helped him turn over and pattedhim on the back, helping him spit out thewater.

“Stand back. Give him air!” someoneshouted.

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Vettori smacked Hog to the groundand stood over him, brandishing thechisel.

Fabbro restrained Vettori. “He wastrying to hurt the bridge, not Pedro.”

“But why?” Giovanni demanded,climbing the ladder.

“He said he’d take my hands!” Hogwas shattered, tears and drool mixingwith blood pouring from his nose. “Heshowed me his stump and said he’dleave me with two. What could I do?Who’d feed my boys?”

“You’d kill my child to save yours?”Vettori raised the chisel.

“I swear, Vanzetti, on Herod’s Sword,

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I would never—” Hog caught sight ofPedro, white and trembling on the deck,and pulled his shirt open. “Oh, kill menow!”

“Fabbro, let Vettori go,” said Sofia.“This is Rasenna. It’s his right.”

Giovanni looked around and saw shewas right. Every one of them knew howthis would end.

“So do it, Vanzetti,” said Sophia. It’sexactly what they want.’

“Who?” sobbed Vettori.“The Signoria. Don’t you know how

scared they are of this? These men aren’tsouthsiders and northsiders anymore.They’re Rasenneisi.”

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“What do you care? You’re Bardini.”“My name is Scaligeri. I want a town

worth inheriting. The Bardini andMorello feud is theirs. This bridge isyours. They can’t have it unless you giveit to them.”

Giovanni said, “Make a choice.”Hog flinched and closed his eyes.

When he heard the chisel drop, heopened them to see Vettori cradlingPedro.

Giovanni looked for Sofia to thankher, but she had already gone to visit hercousins, and she had taken her flag.

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CHAPTER 26

Quintus’s sons ate in silence, disturbedonly by Donna Morello’s snoring in herstew, which was always servedlukewarm because of her impromptusiestas.

There was a clamor outside, and anunconscious guard came through thedoor, closely followed by Sofia, choke-holding another. She kicked the door shutand slammed the guard against it.

“You dirty son of a bitch.”

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“Pay no heed, Mother. CousinScaligeri is upset,” said Valentino.“Correct me if I’m mistaken, but isn’tthere a truce in effect?”

Sofia kicked his chair out. His chinslammed on the table, and he fell to theground, moaning. “Mow! My tonugu!Gaetamo!”

Gaetano finished cutting his steakbefore looking up. “This should beentertaining.”

She stood over him. “Your ‘accident’nearly killed Vanzetti’s boy.”

Valentino touched his bloodstainedlip. “So?”

“A child! A southsider!”

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Valentino remained impassive as heslowly reached for the nearest weaponto hand. “If he’s on the bridge, he’s oneof yours.”

“The engineer almost died too! Doyou even care about the consequences?”

“What shall I say, better luck nexttime?”

“There’s not going to be a next time,”she said, grabbing Valentino’s wrist andmaking him release the fork.

Gaetano’s knife flew by Sofia’s face,landing between the shrewd eyes of theDragon in the family crest. “Sofia, I’dhappily let you carve him up, but Fatherwould be put out.”

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“Relax, Tano. Me and Tino are justtalking.”

She suddenly stuck the fork in hishand, pinning it to the crest.

“AhHHHH ahah oww!”“Something to remember next time

you feel like burning a tower.”Gaetano had raised his flag.

“Contessa, I warned you.”“No, I warn you: keep this dog on a

leash or I’ll put him down.”“Sofia!” Gaetano called, but she was

gone. He sat down again pensively.“Oooohhhhohahaha.” Valentino’s

moan became a laugh. “You think she’llpop around often once the bridge’s

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finished? I must say, her manners arerather—”

“Father obviously didn’t orderMarcus killed. Did you?” Gaetanoasked.

“No. Did you?”“I wish I could believe you.”“It’s the truth. Perhaps Mother found

him in the wine cellar. Um, I seem tohave run out of hands. Little help here?”

Gaetano went on eating.“She accused me of tower burning,”

Valentino said, “but I’ve never goneraiding in my life.” He smiled whenGaetano shot him an aggressive look.

“She doesn’t really know you, does

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she?”“The Doctor hides Family business

from her.”“Silly of him. I daresay she’s almost

as good a fighter as you.”“Better,” Gaetano said with a small

smile.“You still like her, don’t you?”

Valentino laughed. “You think she likesyou? I see: forbidden fruit and all that.”

Gaetano took Valentino’s plate andtipped the contents onto his own.“You’re finished with this steak, right?”

Perhaps the rosy clouds behind TowerBardini augured better weather to come.

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When the day’s work was finished andnorthsiders wished southsiders goodevening, Giovanni knew that somethinghad changed. Vettori had passed up hisright to revenge, unthinkably, and thatsingle act had bound the crew tighterthan any symbol could.

The Contessa herself said it was theirbridge, silencing the cynics whopresumed her coronation would besimply an exchange of yokes. The notionof a Contessa who stood up for themwas profoundly strange, profoundlyinspiring.

He was watching the southsidersspilling into Piazza Luna when he sawher—coming from Palazzo Morello—

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flushed but happy.He waited till she was in earshot.

“Not a diplomatic mission, I presume.”“No, but it made me feel better.”“Thanks for speaking to Vettori,” he

said.“Doc won’t be happy. A southsider

publicly killing another southsider? Hewould have loved that.”

“You said you only disagreed with histactics.”

“Madonna, I did, didn’t I? I’ve beenasking myself recently what kind ofleader I’ll be.” She blushed slightly,laughing to cover her embarrassment.“Don’t get a big head, but it’s partially

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because of you.”“Me!”“They told you to build a bridge. No

one told you to worry what we madmendo afterward. You worry anyway.”

“I have my reasons.”He was uneasy, and she guessed

where he was going. “Look—I knowyou’ve been posted to other towns. Waris war.”

“Sofia, you said that certain peopleare born with a higher destiny. Do youstill believe that?”

She shrugged. “It suited me once tothink of Rasenna as my divine right. I’mContessa, but maybe that’s just luck.

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Maybe nothing’s meant to be. TheSisterhood said that Rasenna woulddefeat Concord, just like the Prophetssaid a virgin’s son would save theworld. Rasenna was flooded, and Christwas murdered in his crib. Bad average ifyou believe in destiny. Prophecies arejust dreams people want to happen. I betbuio have prophecies too. It doesn’tmake them real.”

“Just because something hasn’thappened yet doesn’t mean it can’t.Don’t laugh, but I thought I was sent hereto make up for things I’ve done. I thoughtthe bridge was the answer. It is,partially, but there’s something else.”

“Sounds like you swallowed too much

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water, Captain.”Giovanni watched her go, troubled.

He tried to concentrate on the workahead, but it was impossible—asimpossible as what had happened downthere.

It was like a half-remembered dream.He found Pedro tethered to the stone.

The swarming buio pulled back as heswam closer, but while untying Pedro hedropped the transmitter. Instead ofattacking, the buio floated there. Heheard them in his mind, speaking astrange language. He remembered onlyone word: Iscanno.

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At the other end of the bridge, theforemen made use of the evening lull totake stock.

Fabbro caught the direction ofVettori’s glance. “He’s not like anyConcordian I’ve ever met either.”

“Or any Rasenneisi. He’s not afraid ofbuio.”

“That’s the courage of youth. Speakingof which, how’s Pedro?”

“Shaken up, naturally. But good. Andno, I didn’t fire Hog.”

Fabbro became suddenly interested inthe hem of his jacket. “What do youmake of this?”

“You don’t have to change the subject,

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Fabbro. I know I nearly lost control. I’mnot proud of it.”

“No, really, I want your professionalopinion.”

Vettori took the proffered material.“It’s good, but that stitching . . .” Heshrugged, a doctor with a bleakdiagnosis.

“I got it through an agent fromBurgundy. You could do better?”

“Fabbro, don’t take offense!”“None taken. Could you?”“Yes,” Vettori said cautiously.“That’s what I thought. Last night we

smuggled in a shipment of wool.”

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Vettori hurriedly looked around to seeno one was within earshot. “You’recrazy!”

“Well, they can’t come over land!Borders mean bribes, and too manyborders means no profit. I turned on theeggs to keep away buio while my sonsunloaded.”

“So that’s what you’ve been up to—Madonna, if the Concordians catchyou trading with Europans, they’ll hangyou! That or the Signoria will kill youwith taxes.”

“Bah! They’re all too busy fighting toworry about my business. The woolcomes from a monastery on the AnglishIsles, and bad stitching or no, it sells for

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a good price.”“Congratulations,” Vettori said

awkwardly. He was happy for Fabbro,but he had trouble making ends meet.

“I’m not bragging, Vettori! I’m sayingI’d double profits if I could bypassBurgundy. It’s cheaper to order rawwool instead of finished goods. I knowyou could get weavers, but what aboutcarders and dyers?”

“Hang on. I didn’t agree to anything.”Fabbro went back to examining his

jacket.“I could organize it,” said Vettori

slowly.“Good! And since I’m taking the most

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risk, we’ll divide the profits sixty-forty.”“Say fifty-fifty, since I’m doing most

of the work, and you’ve got a deal.”Vettori turned back to his stock listnonchalantly.

Fabbro was amused at his efforts tobe casual. “Deal.”

“Sofia Scaligeri invaded my home?”Gaetano kept eating while Valentino

glared at him. He had finally managed topull himself free.

“Yes, Father, your Contessa-to-be.Like she owned the place. Suppose shedoes, in one sense.”

Quintus pulled the knife from the

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crest. “Well, Gaetano? A Bardinibandieratoro walks into my palazzo andnot one of your bandieratori tries to stopher?”

“She’s the Contessa!”“Think, Father,” said Valentino. “If

it’s like this now, how’ll it be when thebridge is finished?”

“We won’t let that happen,” Quintussaid haughtily.

“Cretino!” Valentino slammed his fiston the table, then winced at the pain.“It’s come too far for that.”

Quintus slumped. “What can we do?”“Face facts first. The bridge is

coming, and when that bitch becomes

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Contessa, we won’t be the highest-ranking family in Rasenna anymore. Weneed to try a new flag while we stillcan.”

“Tell me—I’ll do it,” Quintuspleaded.

Valentino recognized that Quintus wasfinally desperate enough to listen to him.He glanced at Gaetano, then said, “Writeto the Doctor. Tell him we don’t want thebridge to bring civil war, and thereforewe propose a settlement. Say you’llsupport Sofia Scaligeri as Contessa and,as a measure of your sincerity, youpropose a union to consecrate the peace,that she marry your eldest son—”

Gaetano stood. “Shut your poisonous

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mouth—”Quintus remained slumped. “What

will that get us?”“Father! For once, please listen to

me,” said Gaetano. “Sofia—theContessa—should choose her ownhusband.”

“The Doctor would allow that?” saidValentino. “Please. Father, he sent herhere to show you he can spit in your facewith impunity.”

“That’s not true!”Valentino whirled on Quintus, crying,

“Father, you know it makes sense.Bardini’s promised to shoulderresponsibility for the dead Concordian.

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He’s lying, but this obliges him to meanit. What’s more, it’s statesmanlike.Think! You’ll be Rasenna’speacemaker.”

“Will he agree?”“Whatever else, the Doctor’s

practical. For Rasenna to accept hisward, she needs to appear impartial, atleast to begin with.”

Quintus struggled to keep up. “Youbelieve peace is possible, Valentino?”

Valentino’s body began to tremble,then rock; his mouth opened, but nothingcame out: he was laughing, though hedidn’t make a sound. He shut his mouthwith a snap. “No,” he said after a

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moment, “there must be war! But withoutthe Doctor, Sofia Scaligeri is just a girl,and without her, the Bardini arepretentious upstarts we’ll slap down,then cut down.”

“I won’t be party to this.”“If Gaetano’s not interested, you can

put me forward,” said Valentinodiffidently.

Gaetano pushed his chair back withblazing eyes. “No!”

“Then you’ll—?”“If I have to, yes, I’ll do it, but—”“I shall draft a letter this very night!”

Elated at the prospect of finally bestingthe Doctor, Quintus skipped all the way

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upstairs.Valentino watched him go with a

derisive smile.“Valentino,” Gaetano said quietly,

“please, don’t do this.”“If I can keep him resolute, it’s done.

Remember what we used to dream ofwhen we were growing up, Tano? You’dbe workshop maestro like Uncle and I’dbe gonfaloniere like Father. Becomingambassador to Concord was the firststep. Remember? You’re the one whoconvinced Father to send me.”

“I thought it was the first step—youwanted it!”

“And thanks to you, I got it. Now

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you’ll get what you’ve always wanted.See how you like it.”

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CHAPTER 27

Over a decade of war Rasenna’sinitial advantages, its extensivealliances, its genius for violence,came to naught thanks to theorganized intelligence of theEngineers’ Guild. Manycommentators have overlooked thefar-reaching consequences of this,Bernoulli’s so-called Revolution ofEfficiency.11 The military overhaulmeant, in essence, that Generals

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shared command with seniorEngineers.12 By the last decade ofthe conflict, the Generals’ authoritywas so nominal that those who diedwere not replaced. Concord’s civilauthority was thereby surroundedeven as its final victory appearedimminent.13

Rasenna was isolated, her alliesdefeated by siege craft or bribery.Though Concord’s victory wasassured, the reckless impatience ofSenator Tremellius’s faction almostundid it. These professed hawkstook to ending their bellicosespeeches with the mantra Rasennamust be destroyed. Repetition

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seems to have dulled the Senate’swits, for in the summer of Thirteenand Forty, it endorsed a prematureand disastrous offensive.

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CHAPTER 28

“Focus!” the Reverend Mother said.“You’re daydreaming.”

“And you sound like the Docsometimes.”

Sofia was recalling with amusementGiovanni’s notions of Fate’s plan forhim. Guilt truly was the victor’s luxury.People came to Rasenna to commit sins,not atone for them.

Another dry, monotonous morning.She yearned to swing a banner in the

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workshop, but instead she dutifullymarched to the chapel, where a newpitcher and glass were laid out. Thenun’s eyes were closed, so instead of“contemplating” water she wouldn’t getto drink, Sofia studied the window.

This afternoon Our Lady of ChronicDehydration didn’t look full of grace,she looked weary. At the end of a longday of housework, some wingedcoglione swans in to dump anotherchore on her. Thanks a lot. What didyour last handmaid die of?

CRASH!Sofia woke to the sound of breaking

glass.

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“Until tomorrow,” the ReverendMother said serenely.

“Until tomorrow.” Vettori waved to themen passing the Lion, then turned backapprehensively.

Fabbro shook his head. “It won’t do.”Vettori snapped the garment back and

studied it. “Is it the cross-stitch? I canassure you—”

Fabbro chuckled. “It’s too fine! Wecan’t keep up this standard, surely.”

“Vanzetti have weaved forgenerations,” Vettori affirmed proudly.“Of course we can keep it up! Thequestion is, can you sell it?”

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“Sell it? Yes! And for more than thoseFrankish rags retail. You must explainhow you make such vivid colors.”

“Pedro experimented with the dyes.”“Inventive as ever, that boy. He’s

recovered, then?”“Yes, and with his help, I’ll finish the

rest in a month.”“If I send this example, they’ll trust us

with a bigger order.”“Slow down, Fabbro: for that, I’d

have to make more looms, rent morespace. I don’t have—”

“I have money, enough for that.”“That’s not the only issue,” he said,

and looked north. “An attic business

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smuggling in small loads can be keptsecret, but—”

“If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doingbig. So word gets out—”

Vettori crossed his arms starchily. “Soword gets out—and what then,protection?”

“Feed the wolf, he’ll keep comingback.” Fabbro beat his belly like a drumas he thought it out. “And part of theservice will be wrecking equipment andproduct on the ‘wrong’ side of the river.”

“Even if we ask them not to?”“Nobles taking orders from the Small

People? Vettori, the idea!”

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After another day’s training, Sofia oncemore contemplated the window. Thatconceited angel was oblivious to OurLady of Artful Subterfuge’s scheme.

The nun finished praying and began tostretch. Sofia’s hand shot out andgrabbed—

—nothing. She hadn’t seen the nunmove, yet—

CRASH!That sound was becoming tediously

familiar.Next day, she affected indifference to

the proceedings until the second theglass dropped. The nun caught Sofia’shand in midair.

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CRASH!SMASH!BASH!tinkle. . .

As Fabbro walked Vettori home, heremarked how vulnerable he would havefelt crossing Piazza Luna in the old days.

“I’ve been thinking about the thing,”Vettori interrupted. “Be honest, oldfriend. Will the Signoria really let usimport and export without interfering?”

“Certainly not.”Vettori took a deep breath. “Then I’m

sorry. I can’t get involved. I’ve got my

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son to think of.”“I’ve got seven!”“You’re used to risk—how can I

invest in equipment that’ll be destroyedto prove I need protection?”

“Vettori, all I know about business isif you don’t risk anything, you don’t getanything. It comes to this: If you let aman steal from you, he owns you, butpay him for what you want and you ownhim. Stay frightened and you’re a slave.Now, here we are!”

As Fabbro reached for the doorhandle, a snub-nosed dragon with its tailentwined around its neck, Vettorirealized whose palazzo this was. “What

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the hell are you doing?” he asked.Fabbro put a finger to his lips as the

door opened. He slipped a coin to theservant, who led them through acourtyard of practicing bandieratori,their gold flags shimmering likewindswept corn, and up the stairs at theback. Fabbro whispered, “Since theWave, Rasenna’s only export isviolence. And the Signoria has amonopoly.”

The door of the study opened toreveal Valentino Morello dictating aletter over his father’s shoulder. Thegonfaloniere looked up eagerly, relievedto escape his son’s attention, if onlymomentarily.

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Bowing neatly, Fabbro said,“Gonfaloniere, we need protection.”

“How serendipitous!” Quintusexclaimed. “No need to propose unionwhen Bardini’s own people come to us,eh?”

Valentino looked them over coldly,saying nothing. Vettori doubted this wolfcould be satisfied with scraps.

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CHAPTER 29

She made a habit of stopping by aftertraining so she could later report onprogress to Doc. And if she spoke onlyto the engineer, why, who better to talkto?

“Then you’re on schedule?” She triedimagining the bridge a year from now.The Irenicon would be as much a part ofRasenna as its towers.

“No—ahead of it.” He spoke withoutmodesty or pride. Sofia had grown up in

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a town defined by what it had lost. Now,thanks to him, the Wave’s shadow wasretreating.

“Where do you go when it’sfinished?”

“Wherever they send me—if I finishahead of time here, I am to conductmineralogical surveys. We like to knoweverything we can extract from oursubjects.”

“Oh . . .”“I have a different plan. Look”—he

pointed—“that’s not a river, it’s a herdof wild horses, and with the rightexpertise, Rasenna could harness themtogether. Whisper it, Contessa, but Pedro

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Vanzetti and some others working on thebridge have real talent.”

It took her a moment to understand. “ARasenneisi Engineers’ Guild? If you’refeeling suicidal, you could just dive intothe Irenicon. They’ll label you traitor—”

“Let them!” he said with vehemence.“I won’t be the first.”

“Maybe not, but countries are likefamilies: you don’t get to choose.”

“Engineers don’t have families,” hesaid quietly. “We’re not supposed to,anyway . . .”

She didn’t expect him to continue, but—

“A few years after the Wave there was

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a plot against Girolamo Bernoulli.”“I didn’t know that.”“It’s not part of our glorious history.

The plan was discovered, but Bernoullilet it go ahead to draw out theconspirators. The Nobility wasinvolved, of course, but also someengineers who felt the Re-Formation hadveered off course. My father wasexecuted in the purge.”

Sofia touched his shoulder and heardherself say, “My father was murderedtoo.”

He looked at her strangely and said,“I’m sorry.”

“Everyone says my grandfather was

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special, but he drowned like everyoneelse. My father survived. He and theDoc were like brothers—our familieshad always been close. Ten years afterthe flood—Rasenna wasn’t as bad then—there was still traffic across the river,and friendships were possible. Myfather wasn’t the politician mygrandfather had been, but he tried. Hemarried Quintus Morello’s sister.” Shekept her eyes on the river and addedwith bitter humor, “Building a bridge, Isuppose. When I came into the world,my mother left it, and the alliance diedwith her. Morello wore black with myfather, feigned friendship, and waited.”

“For what?”

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“The hour, I suppose. It’s my firstmemory—I don’t know what that saysabout me.” She laughed softly. “I wasthree, maybe four? The cart burningcommemorates the capture of Concord’scarroccio at Montaperti.” She laughed.“Ancient history is all we’ve got!Anyway, that year Morello organized aspectacular show—sweets,entertainment, music, the lot. I loved tosing. Even the lowering clouds couldn’tdampen the crowd’s sprits. When thecart—it’s shaped like a lantern—waspushed out of Palazzo Morello over thecobblestones, I remember worrying itwould tumble. Across the river, theBaptistery bell rang. Quintus Morello

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was waiting on the steps of the Palazzodella Signoria—of course, he knew whatwas going to happen.”

Giovanni followed her glance to theSignoria’s silent, empty loggia.

“There was a high-pitched squeal thatended with a loud bang. Fireworks shotup, beating out a rhythm, and peopleclapped along with the explosions.There was another big bang, and a flockof pigeons flew up from the palazzo, andeveryone applauded as if he’d arrangedthat too! The Signoria was hiddenbehind colored smoke and lit fromunderneath—it looked hellish, and Istarted crying. Papa just laughed, and helifted me onto his shoulders so I could

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see better. The rhythm of the explosionsgrew faster, then, with a funny little pop,a miniature Morello banner unfurledfrom the lantern’s spire. Everybodylaughed; it was nicely done. The Docwould have understood, but my fatherwas no fighter. He just clapped alongwith the crowd.”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” hesaid softly.

“I want you to know who I am!” Sheglared at him fiercely. “When the showended, it began raining—moreimmaculate planning; he’d evenorganized the elements to suit his needs!I sang the Virgin’s hymn along with thechoir as Morello servants distributed

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red umbrellas, and when they wereopened, gold confetti rained down. Iremember my father shielding my eyesfrom the spokes. I remember peeking outbetween his fingers; the umbrellas werelike a rolling sea.”

She gave a short sad laugh. “It wasbeautiful. When the choir began theirprocession to the river, we followed. Isaw a man standing ahead of us, and thecrowd parted and moved around him—there was time to warn Papa. I keptsinging.”

She looked at the river for a longtime.

“You see, holding me like that, hisribs were exposed. He let me down

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gently. It was like sinking under a redsea. The crowd moved on, and I stoodthere, holding the umbrella. His bloodspread over the cobblestones. I thought itwas searching for me, but really it wasjust flowing down the slope to the river.Then the wind got stronger, and I criedwhen it took my umbrella. I was tooweak!

“The Doc came looking for me.Eventually he found me, still standingthere on the cobbles. He brought me up,but not soft like a noble, not weak likePapa.”

“I’m sorry, Sofia.” His voice wasgentle. “That’s horrible.”

Her voice was hard. “That’s Rasenna.

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The one bold act of Morello’s life, buthe didn’t have the salt to follow throughand kill me. He never expected acommoner to oppose him, but the Docremembered his promise to the oldCount.”

She stood abruptly. “It’s late. Doc’llbe waiting.”

“Sofia, wait!”But she had gone. She would not let

him see her cry.

Later, in the warmth of Tower Bardini,Sofia went to sleep looking at theannunciator, still surprised that she haddropped her flag the way she had. Like

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her senses, her dreams had grown moreintense, more real, in the last few weeks,and for the first time in years, shedreamed of her father’s murder. Nomatter how she ran from the spreadingblood, it followed, sentient like a buio,until finally darkness swallowed her.

She left the tower with another stolenglass and as usual glanced back to see ifshe was watched. The day’s firstsunlight was glinting off the angel on herbalcony. Valerius’s window was dark,as always.

Today. If Giovanni could harness theriver, if northsiders and southsiderscould be civil, if a virgin could

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conceive, surely she could reach theglass before this doddering crone?Sofia’s attention narrowed to that singleobject. Her universe was the glass.

Who cared how Our Lady ofHopeless Causes was feeling? Themiracle of God made flesh was trivialcompared to that glass of that water onthat table.

CRASH!“Cazzo!” Sofia swore.The Reverend Mother opened her

eyes sleepily. “I’m sorry. I think I dozedoff.”

She seemed not to have moved. Thebroken glass said otherwise. “Why are

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you standing? I haven’t dismissed you.”“I quit! Every day we do the same

thing. Am I making progress? No. Have Ilearned anything? No.”

The nun pointed to the shattered glass.“Is this not progress?” She leaned closerto the broken shards. “Yes, veryimpressive.”

“You’re crazy! Why didn’t I see it tillnow?”

“Fine, go—but clean up your messfirst.”

“You spilled it, you clean it up!” Shedidn’t care that she sounded like apetulant little girl.

The nun closed her eyes. “I did not

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spill it. Good-bye, Sofia.” She resumedher prayer.

“All right, then,” Sofia said,interrupting her droning, “so who spilledit?”

The nun opened her eyes and lookedat Sofia. “You did.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’ttouch it—”

Presently the nun opened her eyes.Sofia was sitting once more.

“Good. I keep my glassware in thesame closet as the mop. Lucia willdirect you.”

Five minutes later, Sofia was watching a

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glass filled with water with a newabsorption. The nun turned the glassupside down so fast that she almostmissed it, pressing its rim down tight onthe table. No water had spilled.

“What happens when I remove theglass?”

“Nothing—the water will spill,” saidSofia.

“You are the contents of this glass.Why do you not spill?” The ReverendMother slowly lifted the glass away. “Itoo am water.”

Sofia stared. The liquid did not spill.Its surface was still molded to the shapeof the absent glass.

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She held her breath. If she let it go, theworld would collapse.

The Reverend Mother placed theempty glass on the table, then held herhands to each side of the column ofwater. “Faith is the reason,” she said.“We live in a world we see only darkly,Sofia. Learning to see it all is the nextstage in your training. You are ready.”

As she spoke, she moved her hands,and the water moved with her. Shepulled them back as if dropping a greatweight, and the water splashed into theglass once more. “You were born withgreat power—and I do not mean yourname. You came here to learn to fight,and that is well, for a great and terrible

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battle is coming. But before that battle,you must pass into a darkness that cannotbe fought, and to reach the light, you willneed faith.”

The colored light pierced the glass, asbefore. The particles floated in thewater, as before, circulating somewhatfaster perhaps. Sofia felt like she wastumbling with them. Had she seen whatshe had seen?

The nun got up slowly, like anordinary old woman. “Why are youwaiting? You’ve been thirsty a long time.Drink! We’ve finally emptied your mindof illusions. Tomorrow we start filling itwith truth.”

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CHAPTER 30

Uncertain what to do without her, Sofia’sdecina went to report the unscheduleddocking to the Borselinno. Secondoraised his flag and led them back to thebridge. Mule stayed behind; he had anintuition of where Sofia might be.

Giovanni confronted Secondo at theriver. “I told you to stay away.”

“It’s nothing to do with you,Concordian.” Secondo pushed by him,telling his men to hang back.

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“You’ve no right—the bridge isn’tcomplete!” Giovanni was about tofollow when Fabbro pulled him aside.

On the southside, Gaetano Morellohad arrived. He too left his bandieratorioff the bridge as he stepped onto it.Workers parted, making a path for thecapodecini. Flags up, focused on eachother, neither noticed Vettori waiting inthe middle.

“We defend this barge,” Gaetanoshouted.

“Like hell you do, Morello. Theshipments are under Bardini protection.”

“Now, just hold on,” said Vettori,trying to keep them apart.

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“Gentlemen,” Fabbro said as he ranbetween them, “let me explain—”

As soon as they understood that themerchant had sought both Families’protection, they turned on him.

Fabbro was implacable. “My dearboys, this is but part of a delivery. Ihave large orders to meet. The workrequires the skills of both north andsouth, so I sought shelter of two greathouses, north and south. Was that wrong?Our need for security is genuine—as, Itrust, is your protection.” He smiled, asif anything else was highly improbable.

“I will pay for protection,” hecontinued, “just as I pay my taxes. Idon’t interfere with Signoria business,

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but without my money, how will it paythe tribute?”

There was no answer.“Gentlemen, quarrels cost more than

we can afford. Please, lower yourbanners.”

“I don’t take orders from tradesmen,”Gaetano said.

“Go home, then! Let your mastersdecide if Rasenna should survive andwhat price we must pay for that favor,”Fabbro said.

Mule brought Sofia from theBaptistery in time to see the standoff.

“We were looking for you,” saidSecondo angrily.

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“I’m here now.”“What should we do?” whispered

Mule.She answered him loudly. “Signore

Bombelli is right. If we can’t pay tribute,we won’t have a town left to fight over.Lower your flags.”

“Is that an order, Contessa?” Gaetanosaid.

“This isn’t the time to show me what ahero you are.”

“Doc won’t like this,” said Secondo.“Who’s the Scaligeri heir, me or him?

I’ll answer to Bardini. What do you say,Tano?”

“I’ll take it to my father.”

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Giovanni wondered whether it wasFabbro and Sofia’s words or theunprecedented spectacle of united angryWoolsmen that made the borgati retreat.

“Where have all the glasses gone?”Cooking l’ampra dotto usually

calmed the Doctor, but this evening hewas livid. “How did things get to besuch a mess?” He took a few bites, thenthrew his fork down. “Sharedprotection? This really stumps us—if wefight, we lose the Small People.Bombelli’s a wily one: he’s balanced usagainst one another. And Morello wentfor it! That’s the difficulty when youropponent is a fool; sometimes they make

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the right move without knowing it.”He raised his wineglass. “When

you’re Contessa, Sofia, I wish youintelligent enemies.”

“Thanks!” She took a sip herself andsaid, “Have you ever considered thatprotecting the Small People is in ourinterest?”

The Doctor couldn’t disguise hisfrustration. “A couple of months ago youwere thirsting for southside blood—nowyou’re the friend of the working man?”he growled. “I wouldn’t be bleedingwind now if you’d watched the bridgelike I told you.”

“I’ve kept my flag down so as not to

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antagonize the southsiders.”“I didn’t tell you to do that! And

where are you if you’re not on thebridge? Not the workshop anyway.”

“You’ve got the Borselinno.”“And they idolize you, Sofia—all the

students do. In a few weeks the Twelfthcomes, and you come into yourinheritance. The hour’s at hand. I hope todo it neatly, but flags blow where thewind takes them. If things go awry, Ineed every student at their peak.”

“Sorry,” she said, finally sounding alittle contrite. “I’ve just been thinking alot lately. I guess I’m nervous aboutbecoming Contessa,” she said, studying

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his reaction.“I’m behind you every step,” Doc

said. “Eat up now.” And he refilled herwineglass.

Sofia went early to bed, and the Doctorclimbed the tower with a heavier treadthan usual. He’d spent a lifetime learninghow to look for weakness, and he sawthe things people hid from themselves,from others. What was she hiding fromhim?

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CHAPTER 31

Sofia should have noticed her shadowtrailed by another, but her mind waselsewhere that morning. She felt guiltydeceiving Doc, about asking herself ifshe could side against him when justmonths ago the question had beenunthinkable. Before Giovanni came,Doc’s way was her way; her onlycomplaint was being excluded.

Things were different now. She’dgrown accustomed to the pace of the

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nuns’ quarter. Every day was a crisis inBardini streets: grief in the morningturned into revenge by nightfall. It wasthe way the Doc preferred it. “When theworld is off balance, it takes a smallnudge to spin it your way,” he alwayssaid.

The Reverend Mother was waiting inthe garden, Lucia too, and for once thenovice looked happy to see her.

“Today you will show me whatyou’ve learned,” said the nun. “Forceyour opponent out of the square. Youwill attack, Sofia, Lucia will defend,then the reverse. Avanti!”

This is more like it! Sofia thought, andlaunched herself gleefully at the novice.

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Lucia sidestepped and gently pushedSofia as she passed. She found herselffacedown on the edge of the square. Shewas unhurt, though her cheeks wereburning. She leaped up and attackedagain, more carefully this time.

Still the novice parried every one ofher blows.

“Contrario!”Sofia didn’t have a moment to catch

her breath before being pushed to theedge again and again. She was flailingabout like a beginner; her opponentmight have been arranging flowers.

She tried to get close, but somehowLucia got behind her. It took only a

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gentle push and—“Uggg!”She picked herself up. “Cazzo!”“What just happened?” the Reverend

Mother said.Sofia, walking back into the square,

scowled at the nun’s facetiousness. “Igot beat.”

“How? What were the last six movesyou made?”

“Madonna, I don’t know. She wentlow, I blocked? Then she went high . . .”

“Show me.”“You can’t analyze fighting like an

engineer; that’s not how it works. It’s

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instinctual.”“Instincts are important; yours are

excellent. You’re naturally fast, naturallysupple, and naturally aggressive—andthose instincts are the only reason youare still standing. Lucia is exceptionallyadept. Imagine what you could be withher level of control combined with yourown natural talent.”

“I’m in control.”“You think so?” The Reverend Mother

chuckled. “Lucia, show me the last set.”“Yes, Sister.” The novice began to re-

create the fight move for move, exactlyas it had happened.

“Now: slower.”

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And that became the pace of themorning: the brutal attack became adance, elegant and poised, and nowSofia recognized moves she hadpracticed for the last month, combinedand adapted to the need of the moment.

“Now, go back to the first stance,Lucia.”

The dance unwound backward; only apigeon passing overhead reassured Sofiathat Time was marching forward asnormal. As though she were reading herthoughts, the Reverend Mother said,“You think Time is immutable, that thepast is gone and the future is a wall youcan never punch through.”

“Is there any other type of wall?”

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“Hush, child! These are illusions.Realize that Time is fluid, and if youtrain your mind to feel that flow, you canuse it. The current still carries you, butevery move you make carries it too.Your speed and strength are constrainedby your flesh, but matter no longermatters when you have fluidity. Evenskill is unimportant when you move withTime’s flow.”

“Great—so no more practice?”The nun smiled sourly. “Skill is the

means to attain understanding. Lucia,same combination.”

“Let’s see if a thug can learn,” saidthe novice with a smirk.

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Sofia limped to the bridge, musing on thelesson. So Water Style was more than away to fight—but if the Sisterhood couldsee the future, why hadn’t they warnedRasenna about the Wave? Perhaps thatwas the reason Doc distrusted them.

She found the bridge crew lined up asif for a fight.

“Crane malfunction,” Giovanni said,greeting her with a smile, “so we’removing stone the unfashionable way.”

Sofia tapped Pedro’s shoulder. “Takea break, kid.”

“You sure, Contessa?”“Don’t think a girl can handle it?

Relax. And call me Sofia; I’m not

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Contessa yet.”Curiosity abated as the evening went

on and she held her own. Giovannitalked about progress at first, then asked,“And yours? How’s your Water Style?”

“We’ve just started,” Sofia said,grimacing.

“I’m still amazed that she agreed toteach you. The night Frog—whatever itwas—returned, she told me the last thingRasenna needed was more fighting.”

“Who knows why an ubazze doesanything? Maybe she thinks we’ll befriends—all I know is she’s making mesuffer: for every hour we train, there’sthree of meditation—”

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“Sofia, look,” said Giovanni quietly,breaking her flow.

Sofia grabbed her flag. “Maybe he’scome to surrender.”

Gaetano Morello was standing by theLion, watching them.

“Since when do you need a flag to talkto me?” he said as she walked over tohim.

“I see you forgot your friends today.”“Fine, be that way.” He scowled.

“You’re getting pretty friendly with thatConcordian.”

“What business is that of yours?”“Well, you’re supposed to be

Rasenna’s Contessa—”

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“I said, what business is that ofyours?”

His shoulders sagged. “None, Isuppose. I’m sorry.”

“All right, all right, don’t startblubbing.”

“Sofia, things are getting out ofcontrol.”

“You’re telling me?”“I want you to know this wasn’t my

idea. I said I wanted no part of it, butafter yesterday . . .” He handed her aletter. “It’s for the Doctor.”

Sofia was perturbed that her oldfriend couldn’t meet her eye—whateverhis limitations, he had never lacked for

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courage before. “What is this?” sheasked.

“I had nothing to do with it,” herepeated.

“I get it: you’re just the messengerboy.”

“Sofia, why be like that? You knowI’ve never done anything to hurt you. I’mnot my father. I’m not my brother.”

“Sorry, Tano,” she said, “I’m just—Like you said, things are out of control.”

“All right.”“All right.”“Well, see you around,” he said

quietly, and turned and walked acrossPiazza Luna, trailing his flag behind him.

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The Dragon on the letter’s seal staredat her. She was about to pull it openwhen Gaetano looked over his shoulderwith such an expression—of warning, ofregret, of hope—that it convinced her todeliver the letter immediately. It must beimportant.

“What’s on your mind? It’s clearly notthe fight you’re in,” the nun scolded.

Sofia was wondering about theMorello letter. After the Doc had read it,he had just scratched his chin. Whenhe’d noticed her still standing there, hehad offered her an orange. She hadturned on her heels in a fury.

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Now she said defensively, “I’mmaking progress!”

The nun grunted, but it was true, Sofiahad done better that day. Lucia stilldominated their sets, but lately Sofiahadn’t embarrassed herself. Even as shesought to emulate Lucia’s control, shewas testing it. The modest penitent girlbelonged to Rasenna as well as God,and Sofia thought there must be a placewhere prayer had no purchase; if therewas, she did not recognize it becauseshe was seeking hot hate, suddensqualls, joyous short-lived rage.

“Somehow, child, you are. It showsself-control to meet something strongerand not give in to fear.”

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“Thank you, Sister.”“You’re welcome. Proceed.”Sofia took up the pitcher and poured.“Now, show me your faith. You are

the contents of the glass.” She began topray. The surface of the glass stirred asif a breeze flowed over it. Slowly, thewater bulged from the center. The smallswelling grew slowly until a bead ofwater pulled away and hovered justabove the rippling surface. The nun’sdrone dropped to a deeper tone; she wasshaking with effort.

And, somehow, Sofia felt its weighttoo.

“Don’t try to help!” the nun gasped.

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“I didn’t!”“Child, you think I can’t sense your

ambition? It’s large enough to fill thisroom. You must learn to see beyondappearances.”

The bead floated higher.“All water is one. The drop is not

separate from the water in the glass orthe ocean. If you are not ready, you candrown in it. Controlling even this muchis a lifetime’s work. Lucia cannot do it,and you’ve seen her level of self-control. Yet two days ago, you movedthe whole glass with your mind.”

Sofia wasn’t listening; she wasentranced by the drop. She could feel the

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power. “I can take it!”“No—!”Suddenly Sofia felt herself sucked up

in a great wind. The current stopped andreversed with the speed of a greatweight dropping. The glass exploded.

She came to with the nun cluckingover her. “Why must the young assumethey know everything?”

“What happened?” she groaned.The nun pointed to the wall; the

plaster had crumbled where her bodyhad smashed into it.

“You pushed. Water pushed back.”

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“Gaetano didn’t say?”“He just said it wasn’t his idea, three

times. What is it?”The letter was on his lap. Doc stood

up, handed it to Sofia, plucked anorange, and sat on the edge of the tower,waiting.

She suddenly cast it away likesomething infectious.

“It could work.”“Doc, I’m a woman! I’ve answered to

you since I was a girl; I won’t be adocile bride waiting on another man.”

“Don’t be irrational,” he saidirritably. “You’ll still be Contessa;Gaetano would merely be consort.”

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“You can’t make me!”“It wouldn’t be for long.”“I don’t care if it’s for a day!” Sofia

shouted, then stopped short. “What doyou mean?”

“Morello’s panicking—about thebridge, about the assassination of theirContract—” He caught her look. “Forthe last time, I’ve no idea who killed theboy. But this will make him relax. I needhim relaxed.”

She left, shouting, “I won’t do it!”

He didn’t bother knocking on herchamber door. She was on the balcony,looking down toward the bridge.

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“Damn it, Sofia. Talk to me!”“I can’t take a vow knowing you’re

going to break it. I can’t believe Gaetanoagreed to it, but he’s not my enemy.Whatever you’re planning, I won’t beparty to it.”

“You wanted to finish Morello forgood!”

Sofia spun around. “And I was wrong!Don’t you see that there’s no end if wekeep fighting each other?”

“Noble sentiments; where do theyspring from, I wonder?” He picked theangel from the windowsill. She wantedto snatch it back but affectedindifference.

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“This isn’t about an old friend. It’sabout a new one. You’ve been actinginappropriately.”

“Who dared say that?”Instead of answering her, the Doctor

read the angel’s note. He glared as hecrushed it in his fist.

“It was that little stronzo, wasn’t it?”“If it wasn’t Valerius, it would be

somebody else. All Rasenna’s eyes areon the bridge, and still you rolled upyour sleeves like a common laboreryesterday.”

“And now southsiders accept me asone of them!”

“Precisely! But Sofia, you are not one

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of them! This tower’s protected you forthe thirteen years since Morello killedyour father.”

“And now you want me to marry hisson!”

“A means to an end! All these yearsI’ve safeguarded your reign. Obey me inthis one last little thing and you neednever listen to me again.”

“Little thing?” She was almostincandescent. “How dare you, Bardini?You’ve taken advantage of being myguardian too long. The word of aScaligeri is not something I soil lightly.”

“I wish you’d have the same care withyour name.”

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“What’s that supposed to mean?”“Open your eyes, Sofia! You’re a girl,

he’s Concordian. People talk.”“Let them talk!”“Let them talk? Let them talk?” he

said murderously, “I will not!”He leaned out of the window and

flung down the angel. It smashed intostone, leaving just crushed metal andscattered screws. Keeping his backturned as he stopped at the door, he saidsoftly, “You’ll do as I say while you stayin this tower. I’ll keep my promise toyour grandfather with or without yourapproval.”

When the door slammed, she ran to

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the balcony. The angel was just a messof springs and cogs and fragiledevastated beauty.

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CHAPTER 32

Count Scaligeri inflicted on Concordits greatest defeat at Montaperti.After the rout, the Senate expectedSenator Tremellius’s promptresignation and suicide; instead hepronounced himself vindicated—surely now it was obvious to all thatRasenna must be destroyed. Andjust as obvious, where arms hadfailed, they must deploy a strongerweapon.

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Girolamo Bernoulli was invited toaddress the Senate, a signal honorfor a commoner. His speech beganmodestly enough:

Senators, I am no orator.If I speak plainly, allowme the indulgence dueany novice. Regardlessof my words, I remain inyour hands a dumb tool,to be utilized as you will.You employ my enginesin Concord’s gloriouscause. I would say a fewwords about my Method,if I may.

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The young Engineer’s self-effacingtone drew appreciative murmursfrom the Senators. He continued:

I make each partseparately, taking greatpains. I choose thepurest ores and combinethem precisely to createstrong alloys, equal tothe pressures of theworlds in which I encasethem. My Lords, myprofession obliges me tosee not only further thanyou, but more clearly, soI must tell you thatConcord is not like a

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well-made machine. OurCreator, in His wisdom,chose to leave the meanand base material mixedwith the better. Is it wiseto test our weak alloy inWar? Take care that,striking hard, we do notforge our Enemy’s metal,weak like ours, intosomething stronger. TheEngineer may for a timesurpass his materials,but finally Nature willhave her due. Think onwhat poor material youare before acting.

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Imagine a commoner arguing forpeace by questioning the quality ofConcord’s assembled Nobility; Ineed not report how unprecedentedthis was, how unpopular,14 howembarrassed Senator Tremelliuswas, or how Bernoulli’s argumentswere shouted down, but I must tellyou what happened next, when hewas made to act.

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CHAPTER 33

“My guardian instructs me tocommunicate that in principle he is notaverse to the gonfaloniere’s proposaland is prepared to discuss terms.” Sofiahanded over the letter, a replica of thefirst but for the Boar in place of theDragon.

“Very well.” Gaetano gave a militarynod.

“Tano?”“Yes?”

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When he spun around, she slappedhim. “You knew what it said!”

He stepped back but kept his flagdown.

She followed him into Piazza Luna.“You made me carry it!”

“Tranquillo, Sofia!”“I feel sick. You think I want that?”“Be rational, girl, for once in your

life! When the bridge opens, you thinkthe streets will flood with brotherlylove? They’ll be flooded all right—unless we act, and now. The SmallPeople look to us for an example.”

She laughed bitterly. “You stillbelieve that? We’re the reason for this

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mess.”“Excuse me for not having an outside

perspective.”“What’s that supposed to mean?”“Nothing. Look, for good or ill, the

Families are in charge. If we go to war,Rasenna follows our banners and theriver will run red, towers will tumble. Idon’t want to force you against yourheart, but I don’t see another way. I’myour friend—I’ll always be your friend—but if it’s a choice between diplomacyand killing, I choose diplomacy.”

“Diplomacy? This is a tacticalmaneuver conceived by your father—or,more likely, your brother. Do they love

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peace? They want me in a cage of prettydresses and servants while they run riotover the north. I know that.” Sofia took abreath and said quietly, “And the Docknows it too. Please, don’t do this.”

Gaetano whispered in turn, “Youdon’t think I know that? I may not havemy father’s ear, but I am his arm.” Heheld up the letter. “And however nice hisreply, I’m not naive enough to trust theDoctor either.”

She didn’t contradict him.“I know he’d never give you away if

he couldn’t get you back. I know yourborgata is stronger. I know Doc’s beenholding back so he can deliver a deathblow. But Sofia, I trust us! That’s why I

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gave you the letter, so I could propose areal alliance—call it that instead ofmarriage. We used to whisper about itwhen we were little; don’t youremember? Teaming up, stopping thefighting? Well, here’s our chance! Fightfor Rasenna, with me—we’re as guiltyas them if we don’t. So, will you? Willyou be my ally?”

Sofia kissed him. “Tano, I don’t loveyou.”

He swore and raised his banner tostrike.

She didn’t flinch.He lowered his weapon and gave that

same constrained martial nod. “Thanks

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to your Concordian friend, Rasenna’scoming together, so their way or ourway, it’s happening.” He held up theletter. “And you can let them rip it apartagain, or you can put duty above yourfeelings and bind it forever.”

“I don’t care what Doc’s letter says.I’m not marrying you or anyone else,”she said, knowing that he couldn’t hearher and that there was nothing more tosay.

He watched her walk away, back intothe engineer’s arms. Was this fidelity’sreward? He’d been raised in intrigue; heknew what to call it.

Betrayal.

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As hard as that first week of full-contactsparring had been, Sofia realized as thetraining went on that Lucia had beenholding back. Still, she managed todefend herself and, after another week,actually land a blow. It was sufficient tokeep her motivated.

“So, can you see the future or what?”“It’s not that simple. We can’t choose

what’s shown to us. We merely stayaware of Time’s current and hear echoesothers are deaf to, and when the currentshifts, we see possibilities.”

“Impressively vague. Prove it: What’smy future? Will I be married like a fairy-tale princepessa?”

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“I told you, we see only ripples. It issaid adepts experience the whole currentbefore death, but for us, usually, it’s justa feeling—it’s not much, but an intuitionabout what an opponent will do next canmean the difference between victory anddefeat.”

The sun, low over the river, threw thecrew’s shadows across Piazza Luna asthey headed home.

On the bridge’s north side, Giovanniwaved to Sofia. “Just doing a finalcheck.”

“Me too.”“We’re fine,” he said, waiting till she

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came nearer to continue. “The Morellohaven’t interfered lately.”

“They’re keeping a low profilebecause if they behave, they get me. Icome with a hell of a dowry.”

“I heard about the proposal,” he said,crouching to examine the balustrade,either very preoccupied or trying hard togive that impression.

“I’m not going to be bought and soldlike that.”

He looked up suddenly. “You don’twant to marry Gaetano?”

“I never do anything I’m told to.”“Well, that seems to be level,” he

said, not hiding his smile very well. “All

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good here. I should be—”“Walking home? I’ll escort you.”“I’m not in danger anymore.”“I just want to walk with you”—she

raised her voice—“if that’s all right withyou, Captain.”

“Oh,” he said, getting flushed, “I’d bedelighted.”

“Avanti!”The bandieratori circled. Gaetano

waited a moment, let his focus sharpen,then took a step back and, keeping hiseyes on the front two, jabbed his stickbackward, where it connected with theface of the third.

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“You could have taken me if you’dcoordinated. Now I’ve got a chance.”

“Do you really?”Gaetano looked up to the second

floor. Valentino stood in the door of theirfather’s study, smiling sympathetically.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he said,descending the stairs.

That was impossible; Gaetano’scholeric younger brother intimidated thestudents more than he ever could.

“So, Bardini accepted our proposalbut the Contessa refuses to dance?”

“Shut up.”Valentino paced around the training

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square, oblivious to the twirling bannersaround him. “Unless! Ah, here’s athought—”

Parrying the attacks of the twostudents in front, Gaetano received aside jab from the third. He dropped hisflag and grabbed the one who’d gottenlucky, pulling him into his fist. That lefttwo.

He whipped around and parried theirjoint attack while sliding a foot under hisown fallen flag. He kicked it into the airand caught it, twirling each flag untilthey balanced.

“Unless?” he grunted.Valentino sauntered between the

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nervous bandieratori. “Unless theContessa likes forbidden fruit as well.”

Gaetano roared and went for the lasttwo. They struck back, too fast, offbalance. He rotated his stick, caughtthem in the chest together, and pushedthem off their feet.

“But unlike you, she gets to taste one.”Gaetano swung but pulled up short.Valentino laughed. “I’m not afraid.

That’s what the Concordians taught me.Train with these boys all you like. Youneed to be ready up here”—he tappedGaetano’s forehead—“for what’scoming.”

“And what’s that?”

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Valentino went back upstairs, shakinghis head with exaggerated grief. “War,Brother. War.”

“Flags up, boys,” Gaetano said.

Sofia and Giovanni walked south in easysilence. The evening retained the day’sheat yet, with no whisper of impendingautumn’s funeral march. In the once-deserted piazza, Rasenneisi mingledaround the workers’ food stalls. The lifethat appeared with the bridge came soeasily that it went at first unnoticed, likethe passing away of summer.

They walked from the piazza throughnarrow streets lined by towers—and

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they too were different as overheadneighbors leaned from windowsexchanging worries: the legion, thetribute, the prospect of peace, and, ofcourse, the bridge, which one neighborcalled a godsend while another cursedit. That was another difference: silencemay be better than whispers, butargument out loud is better yet.

The expiring sun painted dark towersblinding white, and Sofia had to squintto see beyond the shimmeringcobblestones in the heat. White-glowingseed heads from the surrounding contatofloated lazily through the streets likebubbles in a slowly moving stream. Sheimagined the street was the drowned

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heart of old Rasenna, that that was thereason they walked so slowly.

The first Giovanni knew somethingwas wrong was when Sofia raised herflag. He looked up and saw shutwindows, heard the silence.

“Let’s go.”There was no point trying to get back

to the bridge; they were nearer to TowerVanzetti now.

She turned a corner to find fivebandieratori waiting, all masked but one.

“Stay behind me.”“Should we run?” he said.“I don’t turn my back to pigs like

these. Who sent you, Tano?”

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“No one.”“’Course they did. You’re just too

dumb to know it.”Gaetano held back as four gold flags

went forward. Sofia tried at first todefend and keep an eye on him, but thatwas impossible, so she focused onbringing the flags down efficiently.When she turned back, Gaetano thrust athreatening flag toward her with onehand; his other held a knife toGiovanni’s throat.

“Idiota! You can’t kill a Concordianengineer. The consequences—”

“Damn them! I should have done thismonths ago!”

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There was no talking to him; he’dcome to kill—nor was there any way toreach him in time or stop him fast enoughif she did.

In a moment, Giovanni would die.And that too was impossible; there

was no way she’d let that happen. Andbelieving that, Sofia saw that the time ittook to cross the distance didn’t matter.She just had to get to the point where shecould stop Gaetano, even if she had tomove faster than a blade could cut air.

She watched the moisture drops in herexhalation, then inhaled and

m o v e d

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Gaetano’s body slammed against thewall. Sofia stood several braccia fromwhere she had been a moment earlier.The blade clanged noisily as it struck theground.

“Giovanni, come on!” Sofia shouted.“How did you—?”“No idea, but I feel drunk.”“Tower Vanzetti’s back there.”“First place they’ll look.”“Where, then? I can’t climb like you.”Her curse echoed in the narrow

streets. She had never realized howconstraining those streets could be.

“The bridge will be guarded too.

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Where’s the last place anyone wouldlook for a Concordian?”

Gaetano’s men searched fruitlessly forhours before returning to PalazzoMorello. Quintus had panicked whenValentino revealed Gaetano’s likelyintentions; a second dead Concordian—an engineer—would seal their fateirrevocably.

“How could you be so reckless?”Gaetano took his admonishment in

sullen silence; he could scarcely explainit to himself.

Inside the Palazzo della Signoria,

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Giovanni picked up the Speaker’s mace,feeling its weight. “I can’t go back toTower Vanzetti?”

“Not tonight,” Sofia said. “Not untilQuintus Morello gets a leash on Tano.”She paced between the rows as if shehad lost something important there.

Giovanni put the mace back. “Hecares for you, doesn’t he?”

“That’s how Love looks in Rasenna,exactly like Hate. I hate this town.”

“Why don’t we leave?”“And go where? Ride south and join a

Company?” she said in exasperation.“Would you fight paesani?”

“I’d fight for Rasenna.”

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“Oh, stop!” Sofia snapped. “Just stop.This is just dreaming—that’s allGaetano and I did when we werechildren, and now look at us, all grownup and can’t be enemies, can’t befriends.”

She sat down in the Doctor’s usualchair. “There’s nowhere to go, nowhereyou could escape your country or I couldescape my name. You can’t understandwhat it means to be a Scaligeri . . .”

“It’s your decision,” he said quietly.“You’re the one who’s going to have tolive with it.”

Everyone else told her what to do;they all wanted her for something. Shenever had to think what the right

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decision was, just do the opposite. Hewas asking her to decide for herself, andthat was scarier than any approachingarmy.

She left after an hour, ordering him tostay hidden until she got back. “If theyfind you, they’ll kill you,” she repeated,somberly. “I’ll figure something out.”

She knew there’d be no waiting thisone out, however. Gaetano was aRasenneisi, new to love but wellpracticed in hate. He’d keep cominguntil one of them was dead. Unless shethought of something, Giovanni wouldn’tlive to see his bridge open.

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Lucia wiped the blood from her noseand bowed low and, for the first time,with respect.

After she left, Sofia said casually,“Less bad?”

“I’d go as far to say good.” The nunstudied her. “You’re differentsomehow.”

“I think I used Water Style last night. Iwas attacked. It was strange—”

“Strange that you needed it; you’realready a match for any Rasenneisi.”

“One of them had Giovanni, and aknife—”

“And you were frightened?”“I—”

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“And, best of all, for another!” Shesounded almost excited.

“You act like getting ambushed was agood thing.”

“You care for him?”“Sister, if a second Concordian is

killed, an engineer especially, Rasenna’sgoing to be in serious trouble.”

“Perhaps more than care . . .”“Perhaps you’re getting imaginative in

your old age.”“As you like. Whatever the spur, it

was the fear you’ve been avoiding. Thisis a start. We must go further.”

“Can’t we spar for a little longer? I’mfinally getting good at this.”

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“You still don’t understand thatfighting is secondary, do you? No matter.I’ll show you.”

When she closed her eyes, she couldhear the nun warning against haste, butshe wasn’t sure if it was real orimagination. The twilight was pleasant;she felt as if she were floating in warmwater.

“I can reach your mind because youare near. You cannot stay on the surfaceand learn.”

Reluctantly, Sofia swam down untilshe could feel the Water’s coldness, itsimmensity, its power. She could hear the

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nun’s voice still, but now it was distant.“Yesterday you felt dizzy, yes? That

was Water, pushing back. Fear pushesback too. You must learn to go toward it,and that means seeing it as it truly is.You must go

d o w n

Sofia went deeper into the pit; waterso chilly should freeze, but it justdrained strength and speed from herlimbs. She could not hear the nun butrealized she was not alone—death was abreath away. This was the farthest pointone could be from life and yet live.

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In the darkness below, the waterbecame, impossibly, still colder; therewas something there—not in thedarkness; it was darkness. Fear, the DarkAncient, boiling furiously like a blacksun, took shape. She felt paralyzing iceobstruct her blood’s flow, dead bonefingers enfolding her timidly beatingheart and squeezing.

It was when she decided to flee thatshe heard it—a voice, calling frombehind the Darkness. It wasn’t theReverend Mother’s but a youngwoman’s; it was music, a song, but not asiren’s.

Sofia.Before she could answer, the

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Darkness felt her presence and reachedout. Its cold tentacles touched her flesh,and she was back in that moment:Giovanni had a knife at his neck, and thistime she knew she would never reachhim in time. It was too hard, too far, toodark.

A voice, small, distant and weak: Sofia,wake up!

The Reverend Mother pulled her back.She was in chapel. And safe.

“Madonna!” The nun’s face wasashen. “I’m sorry, child; you were notready. It’s just that there’s so little time

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left.”Sofia’s heart was beating as if she’d

been in a fight. “What was it? A buio?”“More—and less—than that. There is

a power that connects man and buio,land and water. We see one face of itevery day in Nature, but the dark faceprefers to hide. It is in you, in all of us,and we nourish it with doubt anddespair, with hate. It is the sum of a lifelived in fear, and one day you must faceit again.”

“It almost killed me!”“It impedes your progress. If you dive

deep enough, you leave behind Historyand reach the infinity of what might have

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been and might yet be. Giovanni’smachine may restrain buio, but when Iwas a girl, water needed no restraint.Because Man is fallen, we made thebuio fall; bit by bit we will corrupt thewhole world until all is rotten and mador until things are set right.” She sighed.“Rest, child. Tomorrow we go deeper.”

Sofia was still shaken by her vision.She stopped at the doorway. “The worldis the world. How can I change it?”

“Your life’s only worth something ifyou give it away,” the nun said.

Sofia heard and knew what she mustdo.

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CHAPTER 34

When Sofia told Giovanni he couldsafely return to work, she did notmention the price. If being a leadermeant anything, it meant sacrifice.

“I’ll marry Gaetano.”The Doctor was surprised to see her

on the rooftop. They hadn’t spoken sincehe had made her deliver his response.

He smiled. “Then we shall have

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peace.”“Doc, I know your peace. All this

time I wanted to be just another Bardini,and you wouldn’t let me. I understandwhy now, but you have to let me be myown woman. I won’t be Morello’s,either. I need you to promise you’ll givethis alliance a real chance.” She did notmention the other reason.

“You’re growing up, Sofia. It’s hardto let go.” He rubbed his chin. “Ipromise!”

That morning she practiced withpassion. She even pushed Lucia out ofthe square a few times.

The nun remarked on her improvement

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during meditation. “Lucia’s my beststudent,” she said, watching Sofia, “andshe’s studied for years, but you canalready defeat her.”

“Which fight were you watching? Shestill wins most times.”

The nun chuckled. “Ah, but you’vebeen holding back, haven’t you? Youcould beat her—you could even beat meif a lack of faith didn’t restrain you.You’ve embraced hate for so long thatnow you’re its prisoner.”

“I came here to learn fighting, not beconverted. What’s faith got to do withanything?”

“That’s what it takes to drop your

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flag. Lucia has it. Do you know how shecame to be here? Her family was killedin a raid, just like Isabella’s.”

“But she’s a southsider.”The nun let her realize the

implication.Sofia’s hand went to her dagger. “If

that were true, she would have killed meon the first day. I couldn’t have stoppedher.”

“Is it so unbelievable?”“Bardini don’t hide in shadow like

Morello. We’re fighters, not butchers.”“You’ve let yourself be sheltered from

the truth.”Sofia snatched up the glass and threw

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it. “Liar!”The nun avoided it effortlessly, but it

smashed the window, and harsh daylightinvaded the chapel.

“I only went along with this nonsenseto learn Water Style!” Sofia kicked thetable at the nun.

The old lady moved gracefully out ofthe way, then went on the attack.“Foolish girl. You hide your skill, butyou cannot conceal your thoughts.”

Sofia blocked a barrage of kicks,backing out of the chapel to get somespace. The nun didn’t let up, advancingon her, whirling her sleeves the way shehad before.

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“The Doc’s right: you’re eithertraitors who knew the Wave was comingor liars who didn’t.” This time Sofiawasn’t distracted by the nun’s sleeves;she dodged and then grabbed one, pulledthe old woman forward, and kickedhard. The nun staggered and grabbed abranch to prevent herself from falling.

“I know what Doctor Bardini thinks ofme! When your father died, he refused tolet me teach you Water Style. So Iwaited. I know how proud the Scaligeriare; the only way you’d submit tolearning was if I beat you.”

“That’s why you broke my arm?”“Reverend Mother!”

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Sofia turned. Lucia had appeared atthe entrance of the Baptistery, drawn bythe noise.

“Here’s your little acolyte; why doyou need me? You remind me of the Doc,you know that? I’m sick of beingmanipulated by old men and oldwomen.”

“Stay back, Lucia,” the nun said.“Let’s see what she really knows.”

“I’ll show you!” Sofia focused as theytraded punches. The nun was stillsuperior, but she wasn’t toying withSofia anymore.

“If you saw this coming, why did youteach me?”

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“You’ll have to understand thatyourself.”

“Have I hurt your feelings?”“No. I’m just not going to be around

much longer.”The nun suddenly stepped around

Sofia’s arms and planted two fists intoher torso. Sofia flew back and landedjust outside the square.

The nun did not press her advantage.“The sooner, the better,” Sofia spit.

She pushed Lucia out of her way. “Bothof you, stay out of Bardini territory. Stayaway from me.”

Sofia watched the deal done from an

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abandoned tower. So many torches wereassembled on the bridge that it lookedlike a great shining hourglass.

While their masters stood face to face,discussing terms and making a greatdisplay of their amity, Morello andBardini bandieratori waited on the banksfor a war cry that never came.

In the shadows, Sofia’s face burnedwith shame. Every man in Rasenna couldhear them trading her like livestock,haggling over the price. The deal wasdone; only the exchange of goodsremained. The Doctor spit on his hand.Morello overcame his fastidiousnessand shook it. War asks only blood; peacedemands sacrifices more brutal.

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“What were those lights on the bridgelast night, another shipment?”

Fabbro and Vettori looked at eachother. After they told him, Giovanni wentstraight to the Baptistery. His foremenseemed to think the deal was the bestthing for Rasenna: even if the SmallPeople north and south were content tolive and work together, they’d have nochoice but to follow if the Families wentto war.

“Signorina Scaligeri understands thechoice she’s making. And it’s abouttime,” Fabbro said vehemently. “Whyshould the Small People make everysacrifice?”

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The nun was in the enclosed garden witha younger novice, performing a kind ofslow-moving dance together.

“Sister, they’re making Sofia marry! Ithink she’s doing it to protect me. It’swrong. I thought you could—” Giovannistopped as the Reverend Mother turnedaround. “How did you get that blackeye? Oh—”

“This is nothing,” she mumbled. “Ihad a brother once.”

“You asked me once before if I wouldfight for her. Well, I’m ready to dowhatever it takes.”

“You’ll get your chance. She will notmarry.”

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“How do you know?”“How do you know your bridge will

bear an army marching over it? Becauseyou have studied such things. I too havestudied. It’s hard to describe things thatare shifting, but Sofia’s destiny is evenstranger than yours.”

“I need more than that!”She glanced at the girl. “Go into the

chapel, Isabella. I’ll follow shortly.Captain, imagine a line, curved like awave. It could be a man’s life, or atown’s, or a nation’s. Now imagine asecond line, rising when the first falls, areflection—the intervals can be minutesor centuries. When they intersect,wonderful or dreadful things happen.

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One thousand three hundred years ago,Christ was born, and His birthintersected with the reign of a wickedand jealous king. If the currents had meta year earlier or a year later, the childmight have escaped the sword. Whatkind of man would He have become?His Mother spread the Word, but Shecould never do what He was meant to,and so we remain unredeemed.Bernoulli ensnared the buio with a songof absolute power. Their first sin, likeMan’s, was murder.”

“But the first sin was—”“A lie to justify the Curia’s ignorance.

Engineers have committed many sins, butseeking knowledge was never one. God

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wants us to understand His creation. Allsins are forgivable but for murder; afterCain slew his brother, paradise was lost.Now we have tainted the water.Murdered, murderer, and Messiah, thesame person. Man and buio, fallentogether, together we must beredeemed.”

“But the Christ did die—”“At the wrong time! The choice must

be understood! That is what makes asacrifice.”

“Sister, what has this to do with me orSofia?”

Her head hung heavy with age. “Timehas a direction, just like a river. In the

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flood of centuries, there are momentswhen History can change course.”

He looked down. “What if you’rewrong? If one of us is not—”

“We are none of us what we seem.Our nature is hidden to us until the hourcomes.”

“How will I know when that is?”“You’ll know. The earth itself will

shake.”

As the hot season ended, a storm rose upin northern Etruria. With the indifferenthunger of locusts, the Twelfth Legioncrossed down the peninsula. Towns paidtribute, and in return Concord brought

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not Justice but Law, a thing like Nature’sviolence: containing no hate, no love,and no mercy. Feuding factions madepeace and prayed together till the stormpassed.

All sought shelter, the good and thewicked together. Some were passedover, some perished. And the stormmoved on, on toward Rasenna.

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CHAPTER 35Though we are more concerned

with the Wave itself than thePhilosophy that created it, it woulddistort our subject to ignore hissublime calculation.15 In an agedisfigured by War, its beauty is tooseldom mentioned.

Bernoulli’s maps were a boon forConcord’s soldiers, but that wasaccidental; Bernoulli had surveyedEtruria’s plentiful rivers to learntheir secrets. And learn he did,discovering that apparently random

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undulations were no such thing: asrivers travel from source to sea,friction causes erosion, whichcauses winding, even as land tilt,gravity, and momentum carry themforward. This contest betweenorder and disorder was governed bya certain ratio.16

From the hour of this discovery,Bernoulli’s study changed coursetoo, to focus on all things governedby Chance.17 The Curia’sinconsistent mathematiciansthought and taught that PerfectNumbers occurred as randomly asthe stars fret Heaven, but Bernoullisoon proved that they were

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governed by the same ratio thatgoverned his rivers. He appears tohave found religious significance inthe fact that every Perfect Numberhas a negative twin, “a fallenangel” forever seeking itsreflection’s annihilation.18

So by happenstance foundationswere laid. Likewise, Bernoulli’searlier work on Harmonics, Number-theory, and Time proved a vitalspringboard for the leap from WaveTheory to Wave Technology, ahappy confluence that no one, theunworldly young boy least of all,predicted.19

Unleashing the Wave would be

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simple enough now that he had aunifying system. The remainingproblem, he told the Senate, washow not to destroy Concord alongwith Rasenna, and after sevenyears’ toil this last minorinconvenience was surmounted.

The Wave struck Rasenna,dividing her forever, and theexample of that great city broughtlow was sufficient to shatter theSouthern League.20 Yet for SenatorTremellius and his party therewould be no laurels; while theEngineers succeeded in controllingmost of the Wave’s physical effects,the Senators took the brunt of the

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political storm unleashed inConcord.

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CHAPTER 36

For good or ill, the week promised to beeventful. Tomorrow there would becelebrations as the bridge opened. Theday after, the Concordians wouldinterrupt their march south to collectRasenna’s tribute. On the third day, Sofiawould turn seventeen, come into herinheritance, and marry to share thatinheritance with a new husband.

Many pitied the Contessa, but fewdoubted the union was necessary to

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prevent war in the imminently-to-be-united town. For Sofia, it was simply asentence of death and a uniquely cruelsentence, for not only could she see thescaffold being assembled from thetower, she must participate in itsassembly.

Fabbro’s wife, the imposing DonnaBombelli, led the invasion of TowerBardini. Her army of giggling matrons,who’d come to prepare Sofia’s bridalclothes and trousseau, repeatedly saidthe dress, one of her late mother’s,hardly worn, became her splendidly. Theoverdress was of deep burgundy velvetand sewn with pearls and lavish goldtrimmings; the underslip was a bright

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poppy-red, the same color as theimpractically long sleeves danglingalmost to the ground that obliged her toclasp her hands as though praying.

The high waist, just below her bosom,accentuated the womanly shape she hadmade such efforts to conceal in recentyears, as did the neckline, cut low andwide, the type of coy bait an ordinarygirl would display for a husband. Sofiawore her Herod’s Sword to distractfrom the expanse of skin. The highcollar, which accentuated the gracioustower of her neck, was set with jewels.She would get used to the discomfort,the matrons insisted, as they washed andpowdered every inch of her exposed

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skin till she resembled a porcelainMadonna: Our Lady of DynasticMarriage.

Her hair—they’d insisted she let itgrow for the last month—was pulledtight to flaunt her unlined brow and thenwrapped laboriously in a crépine thatwould keep its shape “no matter howvigorously you dance!”

She endured the tittering matrons’innuendos with growing impatience. Shewas, of course, forbidden a glimpse ofthe other dress. Her wedding gownpromised to be an even more elaborateprison. Her new, coddled life was areduction in every sense. She hadmisunderstood the terms of the Contract:

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she was merely Rasenna’s proxy: thetown itself was being married.

Her mood was foul when DonnaBombelli finally let her see herself in thelong mirror. “Aren’t you pretty, amore?”

She couldn’t speak. The womanstaring back was noble and beautiful andstrong, the ideal Contessa she hadcarried in her heart as a motherless girl.It was immaterial how—or if—Giovanni remembered her after this, butsomehow it blunted her grief to think thiswas how he would see her last.

The opening fell on the Feast of theAssumption, so it was only correct that

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Our Lady of Rasenna, garlanded inroses, was the first to cross. TheSisterhood, much reduced, like everyRasenneisi institution, carried the oldstatue from the Baptistery and chantedthe Virgin’s Hymn, followed by excitednorthsiders pressing around to pin noteson the Madonna, who was bearing thehopes of every Rasenneisi that day.

She saw him in the throng ofsouthsiders crammed into Piazza Lunawaiting for the procession. There was nopoint weeping or fighting, so she blushedand played the docile Madonna they’dmade her. To be Contessa was to befirst, first to suffer; you carry the town, itcarries you. When a sacrifice is needed,

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you are the well-fed lamb ready for theoccasion. Your life is not your own.

When the hymn ended, the ReverendMother untied the flags and cried, “In thename of the Virgin, I declare RasennaBridge open!”

The crowd cheered as the processiontook on a carnival pace, pouring into thepiazza.

Giovanni was caught in the crush asthe Madonna approached. After fightinghis way out, he found himself next to—

“Sofia?”Now he saw her as Rasenneisi had

always seen her: a Scaligeri, somethingmore than a person.

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“You look like a Contessa,” he said,smiling calmly, though he wanted to grabher and steal her away. “Shouldn’t yoube with the Doctor?”

“Probably, but I’m still yourbodyguard, remember?” Her smiledidn’t reach her glistening eyes.

“I know why you’re doing this,” hewhispered. “You don’t—”

“But I do! And who knows, somegood may come of it.”

There was nothing he could do. Hepointed at the Madonna. “What did youwish for?”

“Don’t heathens know how wisheswork? That’s between us girls.” She

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joked to distract him from the truth thatall this joy came at the price of hers.

The procession slowed in front of thePalazzo della Signoria, and as QuintusMorello called for attention, she had toadmit he wore the full regalia ofgonfaloniere with patrician dignity.Beside Quintus stood the Doctor, andbetween them was a small chest filledwith dull silver coins.

“Many of Rasenna, and I am one,”Quintus started, “predicted this bridgewould bring only discord, but I lookaround today and see before me nonorthsiders, no southsiders, butRasenneisi all. Today I see citizens in

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congress, friends united, families madewhole: a town ready to know itself oncemore! Concord’s army will pass throughand have this tribute tomorrow onlybecause Rasenna is united today.Tomorrow we may disagree, but we feudno longer; that is yesterday. Today Iextend another bridge, the hand offriendship, to my friend DoctorBardini.”

They shook hands and then togetherdropped a final soldi into the tributechest to the sound of applause andcheers.

Once the Madonna was installed inthe loggia, the carnival proper began.Rasenneisi mingled: cousins who had

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never before met embraced; bandieratoriwho’d only interacted in street battlesbought drinks and toasted each other’shealth. Thanks to the bridge, foreignerswere not the rarity they had been; therewere even novelty acts, juggling andtumbling to triple-time galliards toentertain the boisterous throng.

Sofia pushed into the crowdsurrounding the puppet show, and whenthe engineer was accosted by crewmembers offering congratulations, shekept a tight grip on his hand; they wouldnot be separated today.

“Congratulations, Captain,” said theDoctor over the hoots and laughter.

Sofia stiffened, but she did not release

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Giovanni’s hand. The tension betweenher and the Doctor, renewed since theReverend Mother’s allegation, was morefraught for being unexplained. Sofia toldherself the old woman was nothing but alying troublemaker, but her accusationremained horribly plausible, and it washard to meet the Doctor’s eye with theburning memory of Isabella’s familytower as a great chimney. Was he trulycapable of such deeds?

Giovanni examined the miniaturestage before them. “What is this?”

“Don’t you have the MarionetteTheater in Concord?” Sofia shouted inhis ear. “Poor thing! They take a storyeverybody knows, from history. This is,

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let me see—”Draped in a shabby gown, a bulky

puppet bounded on stage, precariouslybalanced on the edge of a narrow bridgeand cried, “None shall pass!” to themass of soldiers on the other side.

“Horatius on the bridge?” Giovanniventured. “In our version, he betrayedRome to the Etruscans.”

“Ours too—but in these shows theroles are played by locals.”

“Ah, I see,” said Giovanni, “andHoratius is—the Doctor?”

On the other side of the audience,Sofia noticed Quintus Morello and hissons. They’d chosen a spot where they

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could keep an eye on the show and theDoctor.

Much to the crowd’s amusement, the“Etruscans” wore Concordian uniforms.A tall, slender one pranced up toHoratius and cried,

“Good knight, wouldst thoumake way

Please. Tell me what I have topay.”

The ambassador puppet did a doubletake as he noticed his stump. “Aahhh!”

“I swear, by Jove, that Rome

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will last,Eternally for none shall pass!”

Horatius waved his black bannerbombastically.

“But nothing lasts so well asGold,

So best be rich before you’reold!”

Horatius caught the oversized soldiand stood aside as the ambassador andtroops hopped across the bridge.

“Some shall pass I meant to

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say.Welcome to Rome, enjoy your

stay!”

Sofia watched the Doctor smile andraise a glass to Quintus. “Most generous,Gonfaloniere!” he shouted over thehoots.

The children in the crowd laughed, allbut one; Sofia’s former sparring partnerwas holding a little girl’s hand. Isabellahad grown as pale as Lucia during herstay in the convent, and she had lost herfreckles. Sofia wasn’t surprised atLucia’s stony demeanor—the novicenever smiled—but it was odd behaviorfor a little girl. She followed Isabella’s

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gaze to the Morello; Valentino waslaughing, delighted with his caricature.

The Doctor leaned over to Sofia.“Why have you stopped going to theBaptistery?”

“You’ve been spying on me?”“The information came unsolicited.

Don’t trust that woman.”“I don’t. Answer my question. Who

told you?”He pretended to watch the show.“Valerius,” she said.He laughed loudly, then whispered,

“He’s taken an interest in Bardinifortunes. You seem to have lost yours.I’m not angry. After tonight, it won’t

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matter anyway.”Horatius laughed villainously:

“Would it turn new friendshipsour

If I asked for just a little more?”

The ambassador threw an oversizedtreasure chest.

“Traitors are insatiable, that Iknow

If you want more money, hereyou go!”

Horatius wailed as the bridge began

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to collapse.

“Lend me a hand! It weighs aton!”

“Alas, Horatius, I have butone.”

Horatius sank under a wave of coins,and the ambassador addressed theaudience with mock solemnity.

“Alas, the Roman could notswim.

Betraying traitors is no sin!”

The curtain dropped with a cymbal

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crash. The Doctor and the gonfaloniereapplauded with the crowd, toasting eachother. He suddenly turned to Sofia andembraced her.

“Sofia, obey me—this once,” hewhispered urgently. “Slip away quietly,get to the tower. It’s not safe out tonight.”

She pushed him away. “Doc, youpromised! What have you done?”

The Doctor’s eyes glazed over as hetransformed into a smiling reveler.“Speak up! I can’t hear you.”

“What’s wrong?” said Giovanni.“Nothing, nothing,” she said quickly,

backing off and forcing a smile.This was serious; normally, the

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Doctor wouldn’t say anything untilafterward. If the target was Giovanni,she was there to protect him.

The evening drew on, and music tookover. A drummer beat out the proud,strutting rhythms of old Rasenna, and thepuppeteer revealed another talent whenhe took up the accordion. He startedwith a joke song about an old womanizercuckolded by his pious wife.

When the laughter finished, the Doctortapped his goblet for silence. “Friends,join me in a toast to the Morello and ourcontinuing partnership in government.”

The crowd cheered and cried,“Salute!”

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“To healthy profit margins,” Fabbrosaid to Vettori, winking.

“Eh, look who it is.”Vettori turned to see Hog Galati,

nervously sweating and lookingawkward in the middle of smiling faces.When Vettori extended a friendly hand,he took it quickly, obviously relieved.

“Signore Vanzetti, I—Well, I justwanted to congratulate you on this day.Oh, this is my youngest son, Uggeri.”

The boy wore an ugly cambellottotilted low on his head so that his eyeswere hidden. When he removed it,Fabbro could see he had father’s blackcurls but little else: he had dark, cold

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eyes that looked straight ahead.Vettori shook hands. “And what will

you be when you grow up? A mason,like your father?”

Hog blushed. “A bandieratoro like hisolder brother, I fear.”

“Well, don’t force them to besomething you want them to be. Youknow, I always thought that Pedro would—”

“Nobody forces me,” Uggeriinterrupted bluntly. “I want to be abandieratoro.”

“All right, son, all right,” said Vettoriquickly, disturbed by the boy’s intensity.He was close to Pedro’s age, but he had

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the composure of someone older. Thetension of the moment diffused in thesudden hush as Gaetano Morelloclimbed the stage and called forattention.

“Signorina Scaligeri, would you singfor us? We must live together now.”

Sofia gave Gaetano a look he couldn’tdecipher. “So we must,” she said, thenturned to the musicians. “You know ‘TheRiver’s Song’? Just follow my voice.”

It was the only song the Doctor hadever taught her, an old lament builtaround an eccentric conceit: the wordswere the Wave’s thoughts as it racedtoward Rasenna, cursing Man for makingit party to its wars.

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As the Contessa sang, each manretreated into his secret thoughts: dreamsthat comforted, memories that taunted.Giovanni’s eyes too were downcast;Rasenneisi melodies were shrill andstrange to him, but he felt the song wassung for him alone.

“I’d like to say your bride to be onlyhas eyes for you, but—”

Gaetano shoved Valentino away. Thesong ended with an instrumentalcrescendo; when Gaetano looked back,Sofia was walking toward him. As themusic peaked, she touched his cheek.

“Sofia, I need to warn you—” Heleaned forward and whispered, “Youshould get to your tower—”

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Sofia put her finger on his lips.“Shhhh.”

The crowd looked on pruriently as herhand touched Gaetano’s chest, the othermoving to the back of his neck. His eyeswidened as her fingers reached the scar,but she reached his knife before him.

“Doctor!” Quintus protested.“It was you, Tano. You butchered the

Vaccarelli, didn’t you?”“Sofia, stop!” the Doctor said.A line of blood appeared where she

pressed the knife to Gaetano’s throat.“Do it, then. You know what happens

next,” he said coolly.Giovanni touched her shoulder.

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“Don’t.”She spit on the ground and then

dropped the knife; Gaetano glared at theengineer.

“You did this!”“Blame yourself, Gaetano!” Sofia

hissed.He knocked Giovanni to the ground.Sofia put her hand on her dagger.

“Back up!”People were unsure whether to watch

the drama unfold or run. With effort,Giovanni sat up. “Sofia, don’t let thishappen.”

Bandieratori of every color lookedon, waiting for the order. She helped

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Giovanni up, then turned to thegonfaloniere and the Doctor. “If either ofyou hurts another Rasenneisi familywhen I’m Contessa, I’ll cut you out likecancer!”

When she pushed her way through thecrowd, Quintus remarked, “So that’s mynew daughter-in-law.”

Relieved to see her going toward thebridge, the Doctor slapped his back withnonchalance. “Lovers’ quarrels defylogic, Gonfaloniere.”

Quintus laughed, equally tolerant.“We’re old enough to know they rarelylast.”

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Halfway across the bridge, Sofiagrabbed the balustrade and looked downat the water, nauseated. There was noescaping the spreading blood.

“Sofia.”“Madonna, look at you. Tano got you

a good one.” She laughed despite hertears. “Here, let me see.”

She wiped the blood from Giovanni’sface with her sleeves, then touched hisnose tenderly. “It’s not broken.”

“What’s happening tonight?”“I don’t know, but it’s not safe.”“If the bridge brings more blood, I’ll

never—Sofia, my hands are dirtyalready!”

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She smiled sadly; he imagined he hadblackened his soul by following orders,but it took far more than that. “You’re nokiller,” she said, thinking of Gaetano.Killers traveled light; guilt didn’t slowthem down.

“You don’t know me.”“I know enough; you’re the first

person I can drop my flag with.”“That’s only because I can’t use one.”“Giovanni! I want you to stay—stay

forever. That’s what I wished for!”She tore the Herod’s Sword from

around her neck and pressed in it into hishands, then kissed him suddenly. “Takeit. I need you to promise me something.”

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“Anything,” he whispered.“Go to Tower Vanzetti. Stay inside.”“Are you involved?”“Of course not! They’ll blame each

other for Marcus’s murder, but GeneralLuparelli won’t listen to conflictingversions. He needs someone to hang orhe’ll raze all Rasenna.”

“What can you do?”“Find the murderer. Now go. You

promised.”“Wait, I—”But she was gone, swallowed by the

night’s darkness.

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Dancing stopped only when fog rosefrom the river to invade the piazza. Thecrowd thinned as children were sent tobed and couples stole away. Finally,only drunken old men and their maudlinsongs remained.

The Doctor toasted Valentino andQuintus. “I leave the night to better andyounger men,” he said, draining hisglass. “It has defeated me.”

“Golden dreams,” said Quintus.The Doctor stumbled by Giovanni on

the bridge and wagged a finger. “Get tobed, Captain. Haven’t you heard? Thereare ghosts roaming tonight.”

It surprised Giovanni that Bardini had

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let himself get so drunk; perhaps thebridge had changed things.

Once over the bridge, the Doctor lookedbefuddled by the labyrinth of narrow,twisty streets before him and randomlytumbled into an alley.

Gaetano silently dropped from arooftop and crouched in shadow as theDoctor staggered by. Instead offollowing, he waited, held his breath,and listened. He could hear only theerratic rhythm of a drunkard’s footsteps.Good. He signaled, and threebandieratori dropped down and drew inon the target. At the intersection of fouralleys, the Doctor stopped to urinate.

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Gaetano heard the blades drawn; didthe Doctor? Unlikely; he was cheerfullysinging of the cuckolding cuckold. Butwhen Gaetano crept closer, the Doctorstumbled, pushing Gaetano into the wall,and a sharp elbow cracked his rib.Where were the others? Why didn’t theyhelp?

“First time north, Tano?”He tried to get up and got kicked in

the jaw.“No, I think not. You’ve visited

regularly, haven’t you?”Gaetano saw the others held at

knifepoint by Bardini men.“That reminds me; you owe one of my

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boys some flesh.”As the tall bandieratoro sauntered

over, the Doctor held Gaetano’s headstill.

“Remember me?” Mule grabbed anear and pulled.

“Ahhhhhhh!”“Don’t look away,” the Doctor

whispered in the bloody hole inGaetano’s head. “This is the good part.”

The blood loss was making himgroggy, but still the voice kept talking.“Your wedding’s canceled—but don’t bedisappointed. The good news is I’mpromoting you. By tomorrow, you’ll bethe eldest Morello. Don’t thank me; just

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remember when you wake up who ownsRasenna, to whom you pay rent. That’sthanks enough for me.”

Standing by the resurrected statue,Quintus Morello waited for them toreturn, their knives wet with Bardini’sblood, the deed done. He looked upimpatiently at the somber Lion. “Oh,cheer up, would you?”

Footsteps in the fog.“Who’s that? Did you get him?”“Got him.”Quintus tried to hold himself up

against the Lion, but for some reason hislegs didn’t work. Secondo pulled the

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knife out, listened to the gasping for awhile, then knelt down and used thegonfaloniere’s long sleeves to wipeclean the blade. “Go to sleep, old man.Dream golden dreams.”

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CHAPTER 37

At dawn the towers remained encased inlingering fog, rearing out of the mist likeancient tombstones. Rumor alighted fromtower to tower, whispering to sleeperswithin of some great crimeaccomplished, and Rasenna awoke,groggy from the night’s revelry and justbeginning to remember that they hadbeen foolish, disgraced themselves,received insults cravenly or given themboorishly. The memories of hearty

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laughter echoed with hypocrisy,deception ineptly masking hatred,disgust still vital.

Any souls with business that morningscurried between the towers like beetlescaught in the light. Rasenneisi senses,honed by twenty years of hate, scentedfresh blood on the streets.

Only Workshop Bardini wasundisturbed by the whispers. It wassilent but for the patient respiration of ahundred students, waiting and ready.

A little later than usual the Doctorcame down from his tower and smiled tosee them sitting there, flags at theirsides: his army ready for war if he saidthe word. “We have cut off the dragon’s

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head, but its body is twitching yet,” heannounced. “Show me your loyaltytoday. Do nothing. Before the sun sets,the Morello will destroy themselves.”

He looked around. “Where’s Sofia?”“Nobody’s seen her,” said Mule.“Or Valerius,” Secondo added.“Porca vacca! Nothing’s easy. All

right, goddamn it, I’m going over. Stayput!”

Valerius ran through the sloping streets,his gaze on the space between therooftops. Someone was following him,but this time he had his flag. He was stillscared, though; the Morello would love

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to drop his body on the Bardini doorstepand let the Doc share their troubles. Heturned a corner and hugged the wall,listening. The shadow dropped behindhim, and he turned with a showy bannerswipe. The shadow dodged the blowwith ease, snatched his flag, and threw itaway.

“Sofia!” Valerius laughed. “Wherehave you been? You’re supposed toprotect me from the Rasenneisi whowant me dead.”

“I’m one of them,” she said coldly. “Iknow it was you, Valerius.”

He laughed again but took a step back.“What are you talking about?”

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“You murdered Marcus.”“Who?”“That was his name, the boy you

killed. You’re really blooded now.How’s it feel?”

“I preferred you before you startedacting like a nun. How did you know?”

“Fabbro Bombelli saw a northernercrossing the bridge that night. Then theDoc told me you’d been spying on me,trying to act like a Bardinibandieratoro.”

“That’s what I am!”She slapped Valerius with an open

hand.“You don’t raise your hands to me!

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The Doc—”“Won’t be in charge after tomorrow.

I’m done taking orders from all of you.”“So what if I killed him? It helped the

Bardini, didn’t it?”“You murdered a paesani in cold

blood.”The cherub’s face creased into a

sneer. “That’s funny coming from aRasenneisi. At least Concordiansrequire a reason to kill each other.”

“Reason? Marcus was a boy—aninnocent!” she said, and slapped himagain.

He fell against the wall, bursting hisnose open, and screamed, “I did it for

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you! You! I love you! You were too busywith the engineer or praying to your pigMadonna to notice that the Morellowere winning.”

“You don’t know anything. You’re acivilian.”

He grabbed his banner. “I’m more of aRasenneisi than you!” he cried, andlunged at her. Though Sofia hadn’texpected it, she easily avoided his attack—but Valerius didn’t want to connect; hewanted space. He bolted into the fog.

Sofia raced after the recedingfootsteps. His confession was the onlything that could prevent war. The beastwas breaking its shackles. The bloodwas spreading.

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The Palazzo della Signoria’s damp heartlooked empty, yet the notary wasscribbling as if an especially busysession were under way.

“I thought you’d be here.”“Try to be more punctual next time,

Doctor,” said Valentino summarily.“Let’s not spend all day at it, Notary.”He sat in his father’s chair, wearing thegonfaloniere’s chain and gown, stillstained with last night’s blood.

The notary cleared his throat and readwith a quivering voice, “The House nowvotes on a motion to commencehostilities against the ConcordianEmpire. All in favor?”

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“Aye,” said Valentino.“All against?”“Are you mad, boy?”“The Doctor’s abstaining. Notary?”“The ayes have it. Motion carries.”The Doctor kept his composure.

“Only the head of a Family has a vote.”“You would enter our towers now,

tyrant? I am the rightful head of theMorello. My brother will not contestme.”

“Rasenna would not survive a war,fool.”

“What matter is that?” Valentino saidpleasantly.

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“You,” the Doctor growled at thenotary, “leave. It’s time for a closedsession.”

The notary scrambled toward thedoor, scattering scrolls like a moltinglizard.

“Here, take this fool’s bauble!” Themace smashed against the door as itclosed.

“The people have spoken, Doctor.”The Doctor cracked his knuckles.

“You want war, boy? I’ll give you ataste.”

Devious bastard, Sofia thought,realizing Valerius had calculated that

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he’d be safest on the side of the riverwhere everyone wanted to kill him. Shecaught up to him on the bridge. Indesperation, he turned to fight. Sheknocked his flag into the river andrapped his ankle with precision. It wentpop, and he fell with a bleating cry.

“You’ve got to confess!”Facedown, Valerius snorted. “General

Luparelli will want more than contrition.I know my dear father and the people heanswers to. The Apprentices will wantblood!”

“The Guild will go easier on you.”“You know that’s untrue.” He sat up

and wiped his nose, laughing strangely.

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“You never cared for me at all, did you?The funny thing is, I thought you lovedGaetano. I told myself you wouldn’t lookat me because you’d never love aConcordian. Shall I tell you his name?It’s an unsuitable match.”

“Blood’s not important when you lovesomeone!” She turned away fromValerius in disgust. And standing there—

“Sofia, look out!” Giovanni pushedher out of the way, catching the knifeValerius was thrusting, and they toppledbackward together. There was a shrillcry as the knife sank into flesh.

Valerius’s body was the first to move.“No!” screamed Sofia.

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Giovanni pushed him off with a gruntand went to Sofia and held her.

“I thought you were—Oh, Giovanni!”“Sofia, I love you too!”Valerius gripped the balustrade.

Whimpering, one hand on the knife in hisgut, he pulled himself up. “Look whatyou did to me, Contessa!” He tore theblade out and flung it down in front ofher. “I can’t hurt you, not with that,anyway.”

He leaned against the balustrade andtumbled over.

“No!” Sofia heard the splash beforeshe reached the balustrade. She saw hissmiling cherub’s face just before the

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buio pulled him under: a boy happilydying for revenge, a real Rasenneisi, justas he had always wanted.

“They’ll burn Rasenna for this,” shewhispered, watching the half-realizedforms of buio swarming beneath theriver’s surface. She didn’t cry. All shefelt was relief that Giovanni was alive.

“We’ll face it together,” he lied,knowing he must do alone what neededto be done.

In Palazzo Morello the students satfacing the Dragon crest, flags ready andwaiting, a mirror of the Bardiniworkshop, but the reflection was

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warped: they were no longer an army,just leaderless boys facing death.

Earlier that morning, Gaetano hadwoken in a pool of his own blood.Bardini’s men had dragged Gaetanohalfway across the bridge beforeabandoning him, and he’d staggeredhome, too delirious to notice the othertrail of blood leading to the doorstep.Servants bandaged his wounds and lethim rest.

It was only when he stumbled out ofbed at noon that he learned of the night’sother events: the wounded gonfalonierebeing found on his own doorstep andValentino, after putting him to bed,leaving the palazzo dressed in his

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father’s robes of office. Gaetano went toinvestigate and found his mother spread-eagled on the floor in front of thebedroom door. She was sharing hergoblet with the dog. “Gaetano, wherewere you?” she asked. “Valentino’s justcome back. He’s a good boy, such agood boy . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Gaetano found Valentino standingover their father’s bed, clasping hishand. “What happened to you?” heasked.

“Doctor Bardini and I had a vigorousexchange of views,” Valentino mumbledthrough a swollen jaw. He threw downQuintus’s hand. “Congratulate me,Brother. Father has just named me Head

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of the Family. Will you follow me?”Gaetano saw his father’s petrified

attempt at an approving smile andguessed how Valentino had made hiscase. It didn’t matter—nothing matteredanymore.

“Where?”“To war.”Gaetano kissed his brother’s hand.

“My Lord.”

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CHAPTER 38

The decina posted on Rasenna’s wallswas as pointless a gesture as thedecrepit battlements. They heard beforethey saw the solitary horse race out ofthe mist.

The Herald pointedly halted withinarrow range and proclaimed: “Burghersof Rasenna, Concord approaches.Prepare Tribute.”

As there was only one possibleanswer, he scorned to wait, turning

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immediately and returning to the mist.Rasenna held its breath as the doublegates were raised. There was a longsilence, worse than a scream. Mothers inevery tower prayed and hushed theirfractious babes. The Wave’s thunder stillsounded in the town’s nightmares, andnow they were coming: the FloodMakers.

Proudly wearing the gonfaloniere’schains of office, the Doctor left theSignoria. He found them on the bridge.

“Bracing morning, Captain! Sofia,I’ve been waiting to tell you the goodnews. The wedding’s off!”

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“Valerius is dead.”The Doctor smiled as if it might be a

joke, then took a step back. “Madonna!What have you done?”

“Valerius killed Marcus,” said Sofia.“No, no—that was Valentino

Morello.”“Why would he?” Giovanni asked.“Because he’s mad, because he hates

Concord. When the bridge came undermy protection, the boy was a convenientalternative.”

Giovanni shook his head. “Concord’sjust an excuse. The Morello only want torule Rasenna, like you, Doctor. Youknew from the start the bridge could help

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you consolidate your power andcontrived a strategy of tension to makeme seek your protection.”

“Nobody made you do anything.”“The Morello had nothing to do with

Frog’s murder.”Sofia looked at Giovanni, then at the

Doctor. “Say it’s not true!”“It was necessary,” the Doctor said,

walking toward her. “I wanted to protectyou from all this.”

“By murdering your own? Burningfamilies? Protect me from what?”

“People like me, I suppose,” he saidsoftly. “What now, Captain?”

“If Concord doesn’t have a culprit for

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both murders, they’ll take Rasenna apartbrick by brick. You can blame theMorello for Marcus’s death but not forValerius too.” He took a breath. “Takeme.”

“What are you saying?” Sofia cried.“Say Valerius’s blood is on my hands

—mine alone.”The Doctor rubbed his chin

thoughtfully and looked at the engineer.“Could work, I suppose. You’ll confessto Luparelli?”

“Giovanni, no!”“Yes, I will.”“Good boy!” The Doctor laughed and

grabbed him. “That makes everything so

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much easier. Sofia, return to theworkshop.”

“They’ll kill you!”“Do as he says, Sofia,” said

Giovanni. “I know what I’m doing.”He was certain now why he’d been

sent to Rasenna: only he could preventwar. The rest were either powerless tostop it or mad enough to want it.

As their steps echoed across the emptypiazza, the Doctor tried explaininghimself to his silent prisoner. “I onlywant to protect her.”

“As do I, Doctor.”“If you mean that, you’ll confirm

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every word of my story. Trouble is, thatlittle bastard was General Luparelli’sson, so there’s no telling what he’ll do.Play your part and there might still be atown for her to inherit tomorrow.”

Looking down at the Herod’s Swordshe had given him, Giovanni said, “Iwon’t contradict you.”

In the bloody aftermath of thecelebrations the players fled Rasenna,abandoning their stage and props. TheDoctor picked up the Morello puppetand deftly made it dance a tarantella. Helaughed and threw it aside when heheard the distant rumble. “Here theycome!”

While the first wave of infantry was

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still squeezing through the north gate, thecavalry rode ahead though the streetsand thundered across the bridge withoutceremony.

The Doctor glanced at Giovanni. “It’sdone its work, Captain.Congratulations.”

The cavalry passed unchecked thoughPiazza Luna to the single straight roadthat led to the southern gate. Though thelegion sent to confront the Hawk’sCompany was Concord’s smallest, itwas vast beyond the Doctor’scomprehension. He thanked the Virginthat he was not John Acuto.

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The Doctor ordered Sofia to return to theworkshop, so she did exactly that.

“Bandieratori, flags up!”The students looked at her uncertainly.Secondo said, “Doc ordered us to stay

put.”“Get up or they’ll burn Rasenna down

around us!”“But the Doc said—”“Your loyalty is to the Scaligeri,”

Sofia snapped, struggling to soundimperious and not desperate. “If youlove Rasenna, follow me.”

Mule stood. “Let’s go!”Secondo held on to his brother’s

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sleeve. “His orders were explicit. Thefirst rule is obedience, remember?”

Mule turned to Sofia. “Maybe weshould—?”

“Secondo was the one who did Frog,”she said loudly. “Weren’t you?”

Secondo looked around. Now thestudents were focused on him. “Shut up,Sofia!”

“Make me.” She glared at him—andSecondo keeled over suddenly, whackedin the back of the head by his twin.

“How’s that for explicit?Bandieratori, you heard the Contessa.Let’s move!”

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The last cavalry squadron halted in thepiazza and divided to form a guard asthe infantry crossed the bridge.

“Doctor Bardini, it’s been a longtime.”

The Doctor smiled solemnly.“General Luparelli.”

A dozen years had passed, but theDoctor easily recognized the boy he hadtaught in the man. Another cherub, likeValerius, but grown large, with scrubbedpink skin bulging between joints ofpolished armor.

“That’s what these swine call me,Doc, but you can always call meLuparino!”

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“Yes, I remember.”“Madonna, I remember it like

yesterday. I remember I didn’t want toleave at the end of it.”

“You wanted to be a Rasenneisi.”“The things that matter to young men! I

became worried that Concord wasn’t onthe side of the angels. Now I’m certain itisn’t, and it doesn’t bother me a bit, ha!Ah, wonderful time for me, wonderful.Expect Valerius is just the same.”

“Well . . .”“Of course he is. We’ll let the infantry

pass before we get down to it, shallwe?”

The Doctor smiled fixedly.

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The din of the legion’s passage disturbedeven the Baptistery’s silence.

The water in the glass trembled.Knowing her end was close, theReverend Mother had expected the finalvision—but not its violence. It had hernow, and she understood at last howgreat the power flowing through Rasennawas: so much larger than the squabblesof the Families, more important than thecoming war. With an effort of will sheput her imminent death aside: ego’s hugepowers of distortion could prevent herfrom seeing, and one life was a smallmatter, after all. The water began to boil.The vision clarified and fell

The engineer

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The horseThe arrow fallingWaterSofia screamingTwo men hangingDreams are not to be commanded by

dreamers, but she must be sure who washanging here . . . She’d expectedresistance, but the vision shifted easilyenough. It was something Water neededher to see.

She saw Quintus Morello and DoctorBardini before the glass shattered.

After a moment, she turned to heracolyte. “Lucia, I’m relying on you now.The Virgin will give you grace.”

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“Don’t leave!”The nun leaped up. “I must—it

wouldn’t do to keep Death waiting.”

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CHAPTER 39

After the extensive supply train came thearchers and gunners. Two units broke offand assembled beside the general.

“Now, Doctor! I recognize a man witha problem, so let’s see if we can fix itonce we get business out of the way. Ihave Tribute and two Concordian lads tocollect, one of whom I’m rather attachedto, ha ha!”

“General, the Tribute is here in full.”Luparelli gestured to an aide to take

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the chest. “Received with thanks. It’s nosmall amount for a small town—business must be good. Perhaps weshould raise it next year, ha ha! And theboys? So sorry to rush—I’d love tocatch up, but you know, the situationdown south with these damn condottieri.It’s like trying to delouse a wholecountry! You understand.”

“Perfectly,” the Doctor said. “Theboys, it grieves me to say . . .”

Finally Luparelli began to realize thatsomething was seriously amiss.“Bardini, where is my son?”

“He is dead, General. Both of themare dead.”

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Luparelli staggered and lookedaround dazedly, then back at the Doctor,as if he had misheard. After a longmoment he shook his head and bellowed,“But this is treachery! Gunners!”

As the soldiers leaped to surroundthem, the Doctor pulled Giovanni to hisside and started speaking quickly.“General, please! Let me explain! Thisis the man—this traitor—he is the onewho murdered Valerius.”

“Impossible!” he scowled. “We sentthis engineer—”

“The boys discovered that he plannedto betray Concord,” the Doctor said and,as the general started to look even moreconfused, added, “He intended to

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collapse the bridge with you and yourtroops on it, and I’m ashamed to say ourgonfaloniere colluded. The boys came tome for help; I was skeptical, but I knewif Valerius said it, it must be true. Ibegged him to let me confront theengineer, but he was too brave, General,and his bravery’s reward was thistraitor’s dagger. Ask him: he bears theEmpire no love. I’d have hung the dogmyself if I had the right to executecitizens. General, the Bardini are—”

“Shut up,” Luparelli snapped, andturned to Giovanni. “Captain, is any ofthis true?”

“I am responsible for Valerius’sdeath,” he said evenly.

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Luparelli calmly removed his iron-coated glove and struck Giovanni withit.

“Uggh!” he cried involuntarily as themetal cut his cheek.

“Damn you!” Luparelli shouted. “Mylittle angel never harmed anyone! Whywould you do such a thing?”

The Doctor, hugely relieved thatGiovanni did not respond, gave ahopeless shrug. “I’ve heard rumors,General. A quarrel—a girl.”

“Madonna! It doesn’t take long to gonative, does it? Like father, like son, Isuppose. What of the other boy?”

Feigning reluctance, the Doctor

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solemnly pointed to Palazzo Morello.“My student was murdered by a traitor.The Morello murdered their own.”

“How many?” Gaetano asked from thedarkness.

The palazzo’s door was opened acrack, and Valentino peered out of it.

“I see a cavalry squadron, archers,gunners—and the Doctor, pointing thisway. I told you he would blame us. Stillwith me, Brother?”

“Till death.”

Seeing General Luparelli’s indecision,

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the Doctor chose his words carefully.Much depended on them. “The engineerwill tell you how I defended your bridgewith my men”—he held up his four-fingered hand—“with my own blood.Think how the Morello hate you,General! To murder a student under theirsupervision, in their territory.”

Luparelli said. “No doubt you’ve gotsome recommendation.”

The Doctor bowed his headsorrowfully. “Rasenna can know nopeace while such crimes gounpunished.” He looked up suddenlywith gleaming eyes. “Exile them!”

“It was me,” said Giovanni.

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“What did you say?” said Luparelli.“I killed them both.”“Shut up!” the Doctor hissed. “Pay no

mind, General. It’s a lie.”“No Rasenneisi shed Concordian

blood,” the engineer repeated.“I said shut up!”The General looked at the Doctor

with suspicion and was about to speakwhen a soldier called his attention to thecrowds filling the side streets around thepiazza.

“This begins to resemble an ambush,Doctor. Who are these men?”

“The bridge crew,” the Doctor saidincredulously.

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General Luparelli glared at him andgrabbed his chains of office. “I don’tremember Rasenna so democratic!You’re gonfaloniere now, aren’t you? Sotalk to them before I do something you’llregret for the rest of your very shortlife.”

In all the Doctor’s calculations, theSmall People had never been a factor.“Go home,” he said, but his voice barelycarried. “Rasenneisi, this is Signoriabusiness. Return to your towers.”

Pedro, bearing the Vanzetti banner astheir Standard, had never felt so proudof his father. He knew what it had costVettori, that it might still break him, yethe took the risk.

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Fabbro, seeing the Concordian gunsup close, was less sanguine. “This iscrazy!” he muttered.

“Think of all he’s done for us,” Vettorisaid. “We can’t abandon him.”

“But Vettori, they’ll kill us!”“If we stay frightened, we’re slaves.”“That’s business. There’s calculated

risk and there’s suicide.”“I’m not a slave anymore. Decide for

yourself, my friend.”Fabbro looked again at the

Concordians and pushed his way backthough the crowd to the prudentignominy of safety.

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The door of Palazzo Morello widenedjust enough for a slender figure to stepout. Draped in his old ambassador’scloak, Valentino Morello trotted acrossthe piazza as if oblivious to thecommotion, as if today were any otherday.

The Doctor grabbed the general’s armand hissed, “Here is your enemy!”

Irritated, Luparelli pulled his arm freeand struck the Doctor with his glove.“That’s enough! You think I’m here tofight your battles, you weak fool? Youdon’t change—I remember it all, yourpetty conspiracies, your feudingRasenneisi . . . To think I once thoughtyou wise.”

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“General Luparelli?” said Valentino.“It’s been too long.” He gave a graciousbow.

“Lord Morello? Have we met?”Though his face was alarmingly

swollen, Valentino smiled charmingly.“Don’t you recall?”

“You have me at a loss.” The Generalproffered his unarmored hand butgrasped empty air.

Valentino’s cloak fell back, revealinga long sword, which he raised andswung.

Hot blood struck the Doctor’s stunnedface, and he tripped on the stage, pullingGiovanni with him as he fell. The

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engineer struck his head on a step.The general’s hand fell onto the

cobblestones, and the fingers begantwitching like an overturned insect tryingto right itself.

“Forza Rasenna!” Valentinoscreamed, thrusting the sword aloft, andthere was an explosion of gold asbandieratori burst from PalazzoMorello. Valentino slashed away at thegunners left and right and was about todispatch the general when he caughtsight of the Doctor. “You stumbled,Gonfaloniere Bardini—?”

The general, stunned andhyperventilating but seeing his lastchance of survival, scrambled for a

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fallen gunner’s arquebus.Valentino said with a manic grin,

“Allow me to right that—”Gore rained over the Doctor as

Valentino’s chest exploded.

“Forza Rasenna!”The Woolsmen took up the cry as they

advanced into the piazza. Vettori wastrying to reach Giovanni, but nothingwas clear in the mingling gun smoke andfog.

The archers on the other side of thepiazza launched a barrage into theconfusion, and as their deadly hail slicedthe air, the front row, as one, dropped.

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Vettori was struck down with the rest.The crowd buckled, then sundered. Onemoment there was order and unity; thenext, every man was alone, screamingand pushing for his life. Pedro droppedthe Standard to protect Vettori frombeing trampled as Woolsmen tried toflee.

Hog Galati tried pulling him away.“You can’t say here!”

Pedro snapped his arm away. “I’m notleaving him!”

“Let me pull him out of the piazza atleast.” And he got Vettori back to thealley before the second barrage fell.Then Hog coughed strangely and said,“Say good-bye now. Say good-bye—”

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He stumbled back into the piazza, andPedro saw the arrows sticking in hisback as he lifted the Standard.

“Forza Rasenna!” Hog cried as morearrows found their mark.

“Pedro, it’s us!” Vettori was gaggingon blood.

“Papa?”“It’s not them, it’s us,” he whispered.

“The Signoria—the Small People. Don’tbe afraid, promise me.”

Pedro didn’t understand, but herepeated, “I promise.”

He closed Vettori’s eyes, then stood,ready to take up the Standard, when hefelt a firm hand on his shoulder.

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“You’re coming with me now,”Fabbro said.

The Doctor left Giovanni where he layand ran to the general, avoiding swords,arrows, and banners. In the thick of themelee, Luparelli was sitting in a shallowpool of blood, patiently trying toreconnect his hand to his wrist. TheDoctor tore up a Morello banner andbandaged his wound, then dragged himto the Signoria’s loggia, where thefighting was less intense.

The mist burning off as the sun rosehigher revealed the true disparitybetween Morello and Concordian. TheConcordians had regrouped after the

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initial surprise attack and had now takenthe offensive. Their victory was certain;disorganized bandieratori, no matterhow athletic, could not leap walls ofpikes or dodge arrows or arquebus fire.Gaetano held them back outside thepalazzo until the bombardment becametoo intense, when he ordered theMorello to retreat and had the doorclosed and barred.

Once Luparelli was on his feet again,he marched unsteadily to the palazzo totake charge himself. The Doctor trailedhim obediently, smiling contentedly—inspite of all that had gone wrong, he hadsucceeded!—but his grin faltered whenhe spotted the dark line of Bardini flags

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assembling across the river. Luparellisaw them too and pushed him toward thebridge.

“Keep them back or I promise you,when I leave Rasenna, the only thing Iwill leave standing is my bridge.”

Sofia led the Bardini though the northernstreets, gathering men from other towersas they marched. Reaching the river, shesaw the commotion in Piazza Luna andbroke into a run, crying, “Follow me!”

The Doctor was dashing toward her,waving her back frantically. Realizingthe only steps she could hear on thebridge were her own, Sofia turned. The

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borgata had stalled on the northside.“Bardini, hold!” the Doctor shouted.“Traitors!” Sofia screamed, “I am

Contessa Scaligeri; follow me!”The Doctor reached Sofia. “They’re

traitors if they follow you—can’t yousee? Our enemies are being killed forus!”

Giovanni came to with the general’shorse nuzzling him. He stood unsteadilyand tried to take in the mayhem:Woolsmen slain, the piazza strewn withgolden flags, blood running freelybetween the stones. He was covered inblood—somebody else’s once more . . .

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once more back in the pit . . .Was this what the Doctor had wanted

all along, to clear the field of his rivals?Including the Contessa? Nothing elsemade sense anymore. He had beenpositive that he was meant to sacrificehimself for Rasenna, but somehow warhad come on regardless. That didn’tmatter now. To save Sofia would beenough—he could do that even if theworld was intent on destroying itself.

Luparelli was overseeing the palazzosiege, but he recognized his horse as itwent by—and its rider. “A thousandsoldi to whoever hits the traitor!” hebellowed.

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“Count Scaligeri ordered me to keepRasenna safe for you,” the Doctorrepeated.

“Your only loyalty is to yourself,”Sofia said, and threw her banner down.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Sofia.”“You think you’re capable?” Before

the Doctor could lift his flag, Sofiaattacked: a series of chest kicks doublinghim over, then a knee to the chin. Heused his flag to stop his fall, pushedhimself up with a grunt, and charged ather, his flag elegantly masking a flurry ofsudden jabs.

Sofia sidestepped, clawing his face ashe went by. She looked back at the

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northsiders. “Come on, you cowards!”“Stay!” the Doctor shouted, then

touched the bloody cuts on his face.“Impressive. I didn’t teach you that.”

“That’s nothing. Watch this!”The Bardini students couldn’t advance

and they wouldn’t retreat, so they didwhat Rasenna had taught them: theywaited. The fight would decide.

The Doctor defended himself againstanother onslaught of Water Style,knowing he couldn’t do more and hopingit might be enough: he had to stall onlylong enough for the Concordians to dotheir work.

Sofia jabbed his shoulder. It didn’t

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hurt, but his arm went dead and shesnatched his banner away.

He jumped back and risked a glancesouth. “Look! Palazzo Morello’s burning—we’ve won!”

“You never understood what mygrandfather meant,” Sofia said.

Secondo arrived from the workshopand joined the borgata. “What’s goingon?”

“See for yourself,” said Mule coldly.“Doc, behind you!” Secondo shouted.“Sofia!”Sofia and the Doctor turned together

to see Giovanni thundering toward themon horseback.

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“Giovanni, look out!” she screamedas a black swarm of arrows rained downin his wake.

When one sank into his shoulder, hejerked left, and obediently the horsecrashed through the balustrade and theytumbled together toward the river.

“No!” Sofia screamed.The Doctor recognized the moment to

strike. He dropped her with a neat punchto the chin. He picked her up and lookeddefiantly at his bandieratori. A hostilearmy stared back.

“It was for her own protection,” hesaid calmly.

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By the time Palazzo Morello’s doors hadbeen blown in, most of the students hadabandoned their flags. The rain of debristhat had knocked Gaetano unconsciousnow concealed him as the Concordiansrushed in. Those servants too loyal ortoo stupid to flee were swiftly struckdown on the stairs. Donna Morello,standing beside her husband, had beenprepared to kill herself in classic style,but when the soldiers broke in, sheentirely forgot her purpose and rushed atthem, screaming a war cry.

Quintus Morello was dragged fromhis comfortable deathbed to witness hiswife being hurled from the balcony.

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The Reverend Mother arrived at theriver and found her way blocked by atall, surly bandieratoro.

“We have orders, Sister.”“As do I, amore.” She tapped his

chest lightly, and Secondo landedseveral braccia away, unconscious oncemore.

Having dealt with the uprising’s point oforigin, Luparelli ordered the Palazzodella Signoria to be burned as well andthen made his way onto the bridge,gunners in tow.

The Doctor looked at the swirlingwater enviously. The engineer had won

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himself a good death: it was best it hadhappened here, and quickly. In Concordthey’d have made him suffer.

Luparelli was enraged to be robbed ofhis revenge. “See that smoke, Bardini?When you fail to keep peace, Concordforces peace on you. Your parliamentburns!”

He bowed. “Yes, General.”“Don’t look so pleased. Rebellion

must be punished. If the Signoria isguilty, the Families that ruled it areguilty too, and you are the Head of theBardini.”

As the ragged form of QuintusMorello was dragged toward them, the

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Doctor looked around to see the soldiersforming a line in front of his borgata. Hesuppressed the instinct to fight his wayout—if the general was denied justice,vengeance, call it what you will, hewould level Rasenna and go on his way.Dying might not have been part of theplan, but a warrior was always ready.What matter if Morello was executedtoo? The Contessa’s reign would be thatmuch more secure.

“I’ll come quietly,” he said. Hehanded Sofia to a soldier and submittedto be bound. He called out, “What I donow I do willingly, for the Contessa.Mule, take her to the tower. It’s hersnow.”

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“Keep your place,” Luparelli said.“The Contessa is coming with us.”

“General, I saved your life today!”“And your instruction has saved it

many more times. I’d return the favorgladly, but you give me no option. Yourown circuitous policy has led you here.”

“I don’t care what you do to me, butspare her!”

“That will be the Apprentices’decision. I have already said: if you failto keep peace, we will force it on you.”

As Morello, barely conscious, wasled to the section of shattered balustrade,the general saw his gunners backingaway from the old woman implacably

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advancing toward them.“Excuse me, General?”“This isn’t the time for prayers,

Sister.”“You’re quite right. I am here to

hang.”The Doctor looked around. “Sister?”“The Doctor is not the eldest

Bardini,” she announced. “I am.”“Is this true?” Luparelli said quickly,

relieved to have an excuse not to executehis old master. “Very well, set him free.I repay my debts, Doctor.”

“He’s taking Sofia!” the Doctor saidas the Reverend Mother removed hisnoose herself.

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“You’ve earned a traitor’s death, littlebrother,” she said quietly, “but you mustlive a little longer.”

She put the noose around her ownneck, tightened it. “Until Sofia returns,Rasenna needs you. I’ve seen it.”

Luparelli mounted up. “My God, whata sorry mess. Let’s get on with it. Takethe prisoner.”

Sofia regained consciousness as shewas being slung onto a horse.

The Doctor had to be restrained as hecried out, “You can’t do this!”

Sofia screamed at him, “This is whatyou wanted, isn’t it? Damn you!”

“Sofia, I never meant for this to

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happen—everything I did, I did for you,everything! Bardini, flags up!”

The northsiders stayed frozen. Thefight had decided for them.

As Luparelli rode over to the Doctorand knocked him out with a heavy bootto the jaw, the Reverend Mother,standing beside Quintus Morello, saidsoftly, “Don’t be afraid, child.”

Behind them, two solders awaited theorder.

“Sister!”“You only need faith,” the nun said,

taking Morello’s hand.“No!” Sofia screamed.The Concordians mounted up.

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“Thus perish the enemies ofConcord.” The general stopped to spitinto the river. “Waste of a damn goodhorse.”

Sofia watched the black flags fade asshe was led through the carnage ofPiazza Luna, and the Lion watched hergo as impassively as it had watched thelast disaster fall on Rasenna.

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PART II:

CONCEPTION

Verily, verily, I say unto thee, except aman be born of water and of the spirit, he

cannot enter the kingdom of God.

Saul 58:15

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CHAPTER 40

As the Guild grew, so did the Curia’sconcern at its influence. Seeing arival church in the Guild, and inNatural Philosophy a rival faith, theCardinals reviewed the Discoursefor evidence of Heresy, composingtheir treacherous arguments evenas the Guild’s foremost mindsdeveloped the Wave at theirbehest. The Wave’s remarkablesuccess confirmed that the time had

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come to act. In the cold autumn ofForty-Six, Bernoulli was calledbefore the Holy Inquisition andcharged with Deifying Reason. Theyaccused him with his own words:his impious presumption thatnothing was unknowable.21

The fashionable consensus thatthe Curia was the tool of anaristocracy who saw the Guild as arival elite is not only cynical butsimplistic. This philosophical clashwas genuine. Before Bernoulli, mostof what the Curia was pleased tocall Natural Philosophy wassuperstition buttressed with feeblemathematics. Though Bernoulli cast

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much aside, there was much thathe kept. For example, he foundJohannes of Palermo’s Laws ofAttraction correct up to a point.Difficult as it is to see from ourluminous present, it was this idea ofconditional truth that was trulyiconoclastic, truly insidious.

When Bernoulli’s devotedApprentices urged him to flee, herefused, believing it was his duty asa Natural Philosopher as much as aCitizen to speak what he knew tobe true. Clergy and Nobility packedthe Senate, eager to see thisupstart Engineer brought low.Bernoulli was harangued by a

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parade of Cardinals who chargedthat Philosophical Relativism ledinexorably to Blasphemy. If Truth isnot a constant, what then is Good?What is Evil? Variables too?22 FinallyBernoulli was asked to affirm DivineAuthority and replied:

The Lord is omnipotentand infinite and theDestiny He has writ isimmutable. Up to apoint.

It was a trap, of course, for theInquisition. Bernoulli knew that histrial would gather all his enemies.The coup began in an orgy of

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explicable but perhaps immoderateviolence. While belated Nobleresistance was crushed in the city,praetorians stormed the Senate.

Senators, Necessity maybe the Mother ofInvention but she is alsothe Mother of War. Ilisten to her voice mostintently.

So began the last, somewhatrambling, address the Senateheard, punctuated by screams andcheers from the streets. The climaxrevealed a hitherto privatemysticism:

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Hear me, Senators, andknow History’s certainty.History has no allies.History requires nopreparation, no tact, nocaution. It needs none.Its will is Law, that youthink it Right or Wrongmatters not. None of youknow what is necessary.I know it. I do it. Standagainst me, you standagainst a flood.Necessity and I,together we’ll drown all.I tell you I am Time’sExecutor. I am History’s

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end. Yield to me!

Shaking and sweating, pale andoverwrought, the Senate’s newMaster collapsed into fever. TheRevolution was complete, the Re-Formation just beginning.23

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CHAPTER 41

Tap, tap, tap.She woke, shivering on metal, into

dark silence disturbed only by theceaseless drip. It smelled like . . .nothing. In place of Rasenna’s noisomeblend of spice and sweat and blood wasa sterile absence: a ghost trace of iron,bitter at the throat. She began to explorethe darkness but soon stopped. It was acold world and greasy to the touch.

She couldn’t much remember recent

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events except one, and that one wasimpossible, a poisoned whisper from abad dream: he could not be dead. Shecould not have been here long: her jawstill ached where the Doc had punchedit, and there was another, fresher, pain atthe back of her head. She was still tooweak to stand, so she lay back andlistened to the drip as the journey fromRasenna came back in fragments . . .

. . . of rocks fallen into the sea, knockedloose by the carriage wheels. Shewatched their escape with envy througha small vent in her mobile creaking cage.

After the Twelfth left Rasenna, Sofiawas sent north in a small convoy—either

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General Luparelli found prisonersburdensome or this particular prisonerwas wanted in the capital. Most of thejourney was by narrow winding roadsalong the coast, avoiding Rasenna andother towns. It was late autumn, and therolling Etrurian landscape was frozeninto austerity. They traveled north untilthey came to a place with leafless treescovered in thick dust, the land strippedof life by something more permanentthan winter. Sickened by it, Sofiaconcentrated on keeping warm inside.

It was snowing when she caught herfirst glimpse of Concord. It was reallytwo cities, the new built on the corpse ofthe old. Sandstone walls and the towers

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on the periphery were all that remainedof the city defeated by Rasenna atMontaperti, and they were left behind asthe carriage crossed an immense bridgelined with flags and torches. It wasrecognizably from the same architecturalschool as Giovanni’s, but where his hadelegant human proportions, this had beenbuilt for titans. They approached a wallof steel-blue plates overlapping like fishscales; they rippled open with thecrunching chime of a phalanx, an echo ofthe many legions that had marchedthrough it over the decades.

They were woodsmen once, soGiovanni had told her, and she could seehow they had replaced forests with

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soaring columns capped with steelbranching into coiled limbs. Narrow,endless stairs connected the old city ofearth and wood to the dark white city ofsteel and marble. She counted scores ofaqueducts, wide as rivers, all flowingfrom the same source: the mountain thatdominated the city center like adecapitated giant, looming black andbaleful. Looking irrelevant amid itsjagged peaks were the networked towersof the Engineers’ Guild, minute parasiteson an indifferent behemoth. From themountain’s summit there rose up anawful black cathedral, a fell idol lookingdown on its wretched worshipperswithout love, without pity, as if it were

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not the interloper, as if it had alwaysbeen here and Man himself was theaberration. She had never seen anythinglike it—but like any Etrurian, she knewits name, for it could only be that tower,more ambitious even than Nimrod’s: thiswas the Beast itself, the MolèBernoulliana.

Only the mountain on which it stoodrivaled the Molè’s spiraling height. Itssmoky-green triple dome was capped bya savagely tapering needle stabbing thesky. Its array of buttresses was festoonedwith entangled wires: the web of anarmy of blind spiders toiling away formad centuries . . .

. . . and here memory became

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confused as the carriage door openedand a hood was thrown at her. She hadbeen transported somewhere else, thistime by boat, then she was led up stepsand into a large open space—she couldtell that by the way her footstepssounded. The only voices were hushed—guards conferring, she supposed.Though her hands had been boundtogether, they were otherwise free, andshe’d begun to lift the hood when theblow came from behind.

Then darkness. Then silence . . .Tap, tap, tap, tap.

And now she was here, wherever here

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was. She could feel no seams in therough stone walls, so either theindividual bricks were huge or thewhole cell had been carved from rock.As her eyes became more accustomed tothe darkness, she thought she discernedlight coming weakly from one wall.Crawling closer, she found a large metaldoor with a window that might havebeen large enough to squeeze through butfor the thick iron bar bisecting it. Shegrabbed the bar and pulled herself up.As she looked out, she sneezed, and itechoed in the space above and below.She cursed the unaccustomed length ofher hair—it would never dry in thisplace. Already it had taken moisture

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from the air till it could absorb no more,and now it straggled lankly around herneck and down her back.

She thudded her head on the bar.“Guess not,” she whispered to herself.Before she could inspect the exterior,

her legs gave out. The ground was damp,but she was too exhausted to care. Shefell again into darkness . . .

. . . and was woken by an agonized groanof metal. The only machines she hadever heard were those Giovanni hadused on the bridge, but they had soundednothing like this, mountains of rustscraping together like animals in pain,

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too tired to scream. She lifted herself tothe window again, stooping because ofthe low roof, and peered into thedarkness.

Outside, above and below, there wasnothing, but in the center of this emptyspace was a glass column, thick as anold oak, and beyond that an endlesscurved wall dotted with other cells likehers, hundreds of them, all set in a greatspiral in an inverted conical pit. As hereyes grew used to the twilight gloom,she could see the pit was not bottomless,as it had first appeared. It ended aboutthirty rows below in a dark lake.

She studied the wall across the void,and after a while she realized that the

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rows of cells were moving—veryslowly—and that was most likely thecause of the groaning. That mysterysolved, Sofia started to wonder if shewas alone, but that question wasanswered quickly enough when thegroaning stopped and the screamingstarted. Peering across the void, shecaught a glimpse of a bearded, skeletalfigure dancing around his cell. Therewere other people too, and they were allrunning to their cell windows, thrustingout bony arms as if to grasp something.Listening closely, she could make out avariety of dialects, some prayers, someblasphemies, but mostly gibberish.

Strange, she thought. The movement

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wasn’t terrible, merely disconcerting.Another noise, like a bee’s hum, came

from the lake below, and she saw a lightbeneath the water, like a long blue-glowing worm, writhing with spasticmotion. The volume and pitch of the humrose till it sounded like swarmingwasps, and the screamingcorrespondingly erupted into frenzy.Sofia could see the occupant of a cell inthe row just below hers: his head wasbleeding, but still he kept beating at itwith his fists.

The light broke the surface like thesparks Giovanni had used to repel buio,but engorged to lightning bolts, andcircled the bottom row, then the next

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row, then the next. Some cells it skippedover, others it briefly illuminated; Sofiacould see no discernible pattern to itserratic movements other than that it wasmoving up the spiral of cells and comingever closer to her row.

As it got nearer, she could smellburning hair and ozone intermingled.

The light shot though the row belowher, skipped the bleeding man’s cell, andstopped at his neighbor’s beforeshooting on to the next row. Sofia hadonly a moment to witness his rapturousrelief before her cell was flooded withlight—

—and pain. There was no heat, yether body burned, and she clenched her

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teeth together so she could not scream;she would not give them that satisfaction—

—and it was gone as suddenly as ithad come.

For a while there was numbness; then,as heartless as a sunrise, pain returned,this time coming from inside, from thespace between her bones, growing untilgums and scalp and eyes screamed. . .

Inside her cell there was only thedrip, but outside there were two distinctsounds: the ecstasy of those the light hadspared and the sobbing of those it hadchosen. Before long they mergedunintelligibly. Sofia cried because thepain was too real for a nightmare. She

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was in the belly of the Beast, andGiovanni—there was no hiding from it—had drowned in the Irenicon. She hadpinned her foolish wish that he wouldstay in Rasenna forever to the Madonna.It had been granted.

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CHAPTER 42

“Come down!”He recognized the expectant note in

Cat’s whine: the stupid creature waswaiting for him up there. He stumbledover a pile of dirty plates to get to theladder. His steps became slower thehigher he mounted, and at the last rung hestopped altogether. He looked up warilyas snow floated through the square ofcold, cloudless sky. What else was upthere?

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Rasenna. If he could see it, it couldsee him. He was naked and exposed, hishand no longer hidden. They’d takenSofia, and with her his excuse for hiscrimes, and without that his past loomed,a monstrous reflection.

“Starve for all I care,” he mumbled,then retreated down the ladder andcrawled back under his bedsheets.

The Doctor had abandoned his perchfor so long that many assumed he wasdead. No one took to mourning: thequarrel with Sofia and the truth of LittleFrog’s murder had sent fissures thoughthe workshop; younger students stayedaway, and older bandieratori deserted.He avoided mirrors. His shabby

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appearance had once been an affectation;it was no longer.

“Go away,” he growled to the knockat his chamber door.

“I need a doctor.” The girl’s tone toldhim that she wouldn’t leave this time.

He swore, crawled out of bed, andopened the door. “Good morning,Sister.”

“Morning was a couple of hours ago,”said Lucia.

“What can I do for you?”“You are a doctor, aren’t you? As

well as a murderer, I mean.”“Sister, look—”

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“You look!” Lucia jabbed a finger tohis chest. “The Reverend Mother died tosave your worthless neck. She must havehad a reason—maybe it was so youcould save a life worth saving.”

“Whose?”The novice lost some of her assurance

as she answered, “Someone who isn’tready to die yet.”

Gaetano was woken by the angry hiss ofsnow falling on smoldering wood. Hecrawled out from the debris and saw theblackened shell that was all thatremained of Palazzo Morello: theDragon that consumed itself. He had

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been abandoned by all, but he wouldstay—let the snow fall as it might; hewould keep a fire burning.

While clearing the fallen timbers fromthe workshop floor he came upon amirror, cracked and buckled. He wipedoff the ash and set it against a wallwhere he could see its warped reflectionwhen practicing. When he was resting,he spent silent hours studying his newface. The scars were the climax of acareer of low deeds, a liberatingconfirmation: finally the outside matchedthe inside. He would share his epiphanywith Rasenna. She would see her truereflection and know her true name wasHell.

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He recovered old strength with a newclarity. The weight of doubt and guiltdied with his family, burned away withhis home. The succession was clear. Thelast Scaligeri was gone, so the lastMorello would rule Rasenna. He hadobeyed for too long. It was time to beobeyed.

Mulling on fortune’s caprices, theDoctor walked out of the shade of theBaptistery into the bright snow-coveredgarden. Owning this part of Rasennawould have given him immensesatisfaction once, before he’d beenshown his miniature empire for theillusion it was. He’d thought himself

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strong, yet he had proved incapable ofkeeping the one promise worth keeping.

Lucia came from the chapel.“Doctor.” She had become somewhatless hostile when she saw the effect ofhis ministrations. The Doctor didn’tblame her for being hard on him; theReverend Mother was the only motherLucia had known, and in the passage of aday her whole world had changed. Hissister’s death had dropped allresponsibility for the Order on this slightgirl’s shoulders. That might explain herobsession with saving this patient; ifthey could wrestle just one innocentfrom Death’s grasp, then the world wasnot completely unjust.

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“How is he today?”“Little better, still feverish, babbling

all the time. He wants to make hisconfession.”

The Doctor rubbed his freshly shavedchin. “It’ll do him good. When themind’s at ease, the body follows.”

“You don’t understand: he wants toconfess to you.”

The Doctor frowned. “Delirious?”“Clearly!” Lucia snapped, then

continued more calmly. “But whatevermiracle saved him from the buio, if thisfever doesn’t break soon . . .”

“It’ll break. I’ll talk to him.”The Doctor gave dietary instructions

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and reminded her to rest too. More thanonce he had glimpsed her shedding tearsover her sleeping patient when shethought she was alone. Perhaps it wasmore than ordinary compassion.

In the chapel, a young novice waspatting the patient’s brow with a dampcloth. The Doctor recognized thedaughter of his old ally.

“He keeps asking for Sofia. I didn’ttell him she was—”

“We don’t know she is, child.Hostages are most useful when they’realive, you know.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” saidIsabella, brightening for a moment

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before remembering her duties. “He’sstill burning. I try to cool him down, buthe soaks the water up like a sponge.”

“You’re doing a good job. Leave himwith me for a while.”

He watched her go. It was good to seeyouth bearing tragedies that broke theirelders. If they were Rasenna’s future,perhaps there was hope—for this patientat least.

“Giovanni, wake up!” he commanded.

After the Concordians left, the bridgewas not empty for long. Fabbro venturedsouth to visit his deceased partner’s son.They left Rasenna together on what

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Pedro at least considered a fool’serrand.

“Maybe it is,” Fabbro said equably,“but what have we got to lose?”

Pedro couldn’t argue with that, andwhen they found Giovanni washed up ona bank downstream, Fabbro took it asDivine Providence.

And perhaps he was right, for thatfirst crossing was the beginning of aflood. Under the Signoria’s watch,Rasenneisi might—would—have beenmore circumspect, but both Familieswere underground, so the Small Peoplefound reasons to cross each day, andalmost immediately partnerships sprangup, both conjugal and financial, and

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though the results were sometimeschaotic, they were, often as not,profitable too.

It was the giddy optimism of a worldstarting over, and it felt wrong to hideaway from it, but if nothing else, Pedroowed his father a period of mourning.He tried to find meaning in Vettori’s lastwords as he sat in the window of TowerVanzetti—more cramped than heremembered—and focused his oldmagnifier on Fabbro. The merchant wasoverseeing the unloading of anothershipment of wool as if nothing hadchanged, as if he still had a partner toweave it. Of course, Fabbro would soonfind a replacement.

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Some might think it strange that hisfather’s old partner—his old friend—just kept working, but Pedro knew it wasthe merchant’s way of dealing with grief.He looked around at his father’s silentlooms and suddenly snapped the scopeshut. Why should Fabbro find areplacement?

That morning, Pedro visited thetowers of every Vanzetti worker andasked them why they had not returned towork. They told him the same thing: theyhad assumed there was no work to go to.

Giovanni’s eyes took a long time tofocus, and his voice came from a distantplace. “Doctor,” he croaked, “I need to

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confess.”The Doctor laughed softly. “For what

grave sin, Captain?”“Sofia thought I was good, but I’ve

got blood on my hands, Doctor. That’swhy the buio didn’t take me; theyrecognized what I am. And now she’s—” He tried to rouse himself but fellback.

“Sofia’s alive! You’re the one who’lldie if you don’t start eating. You’redelirious; that’s what’s making you saythese things.” The Doctor firmly heldhim down. “Listen, boy, I’ve knownkillers. You’re not one.”

Giovanni’s eyes fluttered, sinking

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under again.The Doctor grabbed him and shook

him until he became lucid. “You buildbridges for soldiers to march over; thatmakes you an accomplice, at most. Sofiaknew you better than you know yourself.You failed trying to do the right thing. Ifailed doing all the wrong things; begrateful you don’t live with shame likethat. And remember, Luparelli saw youdrown—to Concord, you are dead. I’dgive anything for a fresh start like that.I’ve heard your confession. Here’s yourpenance: Live and help Rasenna. Areyou man enough to accept?”

When Giovanni next awoke, Lucia was

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lighting candles around the room.He coughed. “He thinks she’s alive.”“He’s right.”“It’s not possible. How can you have

faith after all that’s happened?”There was a candle in front of the

window, and its flame trembled in thebreeze.

“Did you know the Virgin wasn’tspecial, not at least in the way the Curiaimagined?” Lucia said. “Her conceptionwas soiled with Humanity, just like ours.The Lord chose her because she wasstrong enough to bear the responsibility—that grace made her special.”

Lucia went to the window and moved

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the candle. “Sofia’s strong too,Giovanni.”

When she looked at him again, he hadsunk back into unconsciousness.“Madonna, give us grace,” shewhispered. “We need it so badly.”

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CHAPTER 43

The half-light never changed, so therewas no way to tell how long she’d sleptor if it was morning or evening, but shewoke to a sound that was becomingfamiliar: the screaming told her the lighthad returned. Too weak to move, she layon the damp floor and watched the driphard at work, envying its purpose. Wasthis how the Scaligeri line ended, its lastscion’s body and mind worn away untilnothing was left?

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It was just below her row now. Shecould hear the sudden wails of thechosen. Her eyes shut tight and—

—nothing. The hum moved on.Yesterday and today, the Angel of Deathhad passed over. The Doc said deathshould find a warrior ready, but when itcame for her, she would be eitherinsensible or too insane to notice.

She looked at the bar in the window.How long had the drip taken to wear thatgroove in the floor? How long would ittake to penetrate metal? She turned herback on the pit and focused on the drip,feeling each drop as it fell, its weight, itsspeed, its surface tension.

Tap, tap.

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Whooooomp KRAK!Tap.“Uhhhh—”Sofia wasn’t sitting where she had

been a moment ago. An invisible handhad batted her against the wall. So tomove even a single drop, she had toopen herself to all its latent force—impossible—yet she had seen theReverend Mother control an entire glassfull without suffering the same fate. Itwasn’t possible.

ShuuuuDUNK.The door slowly opened. That seemed

impossible too.She tentatively poked her head out

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into the void. There was nowhere to go—was it an unsubtle invitation to end itall? Looking down at the lake, shewondered which would kill her first, thecold or the buio.

Her attention was drawn upward by ascreeching sound, and she saw a fallingstar gleaming inside the glass column. Amoment later it was by followed by ascream of torn air. She followed itsdescent, expecting a splash, but instead,the lake water became agitated, withtremors racing to the center. The jet shotup to meet the capsule and lifted it withanother surge of power to Sofia’s row.The metallic capsule, like a coffin butlarger, hovered tantalizingly close,

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though a gap remained.There was another tremor from the

lake, and a long metallic panel emerged,pivoting around the glass column. Thewalkway stopped at the same point,forming a path to the coffin.

With a silent prayer, she stepped outand waited.

Nothing happened. She took a fewmore steps, and the coffin door crackedopen like a seed pod. She decided itmight be wiser to observe for a whilefrom her cell, but before she could doanything, the walkway began dropping.There was no time, no option. She had toleap.

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When she reached the coffin, its doorclamped shut behind her. From insideshe saw it was not metal but thick glass,like the column, almost opaque withscum.

The coffin sank abruptly, pushing gutto gullet, and after a moment the waterrose again to shoot her into darkness.She peered up and saw, falling towardher, a pale body, but as it came closer,she realized the scale had deceived her;it wasn’t a person but a colossal statueemerging from the blackness as she drewcloser. There was no time to study itbefore the coffin passed by. After a fewmoments there was light enough todiscern a blur of masonry in front of the

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glass, as if the coffin were ascendingsome impossibly deep well. The lightgrew until she was forced to squint; sherealized she had grown used to darkness.

The first thing that drew her attentionin this new vast space she was emerginginto was, again, the angel—it was thesame statue, but this time rising withsword aloft in triumph. There wassomething comforting about its confidentsmile. But there was no time for study.

This time, when she looked up, shesaw the approaching interior of a domethat was as broad as the sky. The roofwas decorated by a mural of the LastJudgment, an unusual rendition in thatthere was an apeish beast consuming

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sinners at its center rather than aMadonna rewarding saints. Sofia lookeddown through the glass at her feet,comprehension dawning. Just as thestatues appeared to reflect each other,the pit was under the MolèBernoulliana, inside the black mountainwhere the aqueducts flowed. Theconclusion was impossible yetinescapable—the Molè had been builttwice, first proudly spiraling skyward,visible to the whole world, and then as adark reflection, hidden from all but itsarchitect.

The coffin passed through the mural,swallowed by the devil, and emergedinto another, smaller dome. Her speed

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was diminishing, so now there was timeto see its curved walls were lined withbooks beyond counting, so many thateven the dome had insufficient shelfspace. More books were scatteredacross the floor and stacked in tallheaps. In the middle of this forest ofwords stood a plump little man. Hewaved eagerly as the coffin flew by.Sofia didn’t wave back—her attentionwas fixed on an old-fashioned bannerhanging from a tall narrow bookshelfbehind him.

Then she was gone, into the third andfinal dome. Here the journey ended.

A port closed beneath, and when thecoffin had settled, its door hissed open.

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In front of her there was a spacebetween two great stone tables to the leftand right, and beyond that a greatpendulum made long bisecting sweeps ofthe room, flushing dead air toward her.She stepped out and stumbled—she wasdizzy, but it was more than that: thesurface was rhythmically moving,shifting both up and down and from sideto side. She was inside a boundlessclock; the walls were not really wallsbut moving parts of an engine. Man-dwarfing cogs made slow revolutions,bleeding black grease and cracking intoeach other with explosive violence.

Behind the pendulum, at the summit ofa short set of steps and standing in front

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of a vast slate board, were three figures,all dressed in the flowing robes andmiters of the Curia they had overthrown,identical but for color. The boy woreyellow; the youth, orange; and the youngman on the left wore a red so vivid thathe seemed to be ablaze. He was writingnumbers rapidly on the slate while theothers watched respectfully.

These were Bernoulli’s three wisemen: the Third, Second, and FirstApprentices.

She took a step away from the coffinand rested her hand against one of thetables. When she was sure she wasn’tgoing to be sick, she announced herself.“My Lords.”

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Her voice sounded a small thingagainst the cacophony, yet with a screechof murdered chalk, the scribblingstopped. The man in red stood back withhis colleagues to examine the work. Inthe ensuing silence, Sofia glanced downand saw on the table a large map ofEtruria and the surrounding TyrrhenianSea. Reverse the colors and thepeninsula would look like a single longriver flowing into the ocean of Europa.She was unused to maps, accurate onesat least, but Concord’s location wasobvious: all roads led to it, all riversfrom it. The smoky green of Concorddominated the north; the south was ofvaried colors. Painted markers like

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chess pieces dotted the map. On theother table, there was a more detailedmap of the south.

Presently, the man in red nodded. Heremained while the boy and theadolescent ascended. They didn’t slowtheir pace as they crossed thependulum’s path, assured that theycommanded Time even as theycommanded Etruria.

They circled her silently for amoment.

The boy spoke first. “SofiaScaligeri.”

Before she could respond, a sarcasticvoice behind her added, “The ‘Contessa’

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of Rasenna. Do you know where youare?”

The Beast. They wanted to hear hersay it. She replied simply, “Yes.”

The boy continued, “Cooperate,Contessa, and within a month you willbe fighting. Rasenneisi rise quickly inthe legion ranks. You’d prefer that todying in a cell, surely?”

“What do you want?” she asked.“The truth—your version. The

engineer who built Rasenna’s bridge.Who was he?”

Sofia turned to face the adolescent.“You sent him; you should know.”

“We know what we know. We want to

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know what he told you.”“He told the truth,” Sofia said. Her

voice was unexpectedly loud, and thelast word echoed around the chamber.

The adolescent chuckled. “What doRasenneisi know of truth? Have youheard rumors?”

“His name was Captain Giovanni.”“We know that. What was his

surname?”“SenzaChiama, like the rest of you.

He had none.”“Think, Contessa,” the boy said.“He’s dead, so what does it matter?”“What’s the point of protecting a dead

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man?”Sofia bowed her head, clenched her

fists. What should I say, Giovanni?Why did he confide about his father’s

execution? She knew how feuds worked.Any surviving relatives would beendangered if she revealed anything.

“He said engineers have no name. TheGuild was his family.”

The adolescent laughed outright atthis, a grotesque sound. “Was he angryabout that?”

It hurt to remember at all, and toremember like this, in this place, wastorture. Was that their aim, another turnof the screw?

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The boy asked seriously, “Why did hekill the Concordian boys?”

“He didn’t.”“He confessed to General Luparelli.”“That was a lie.”“You said he told the truth,” the

adolescent interrupted. “Were theyinterfering with his work?”

“He wasn’t like that.”“Like what?”“Like you. He was ashamed of

Concord, if you must know.”“Of Concord or of himself?”“He had nothing to be ashamed of. He

was good.”

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“Good? He killed no one?”“He—there was an accident.”Before Sofia could say more, the boy

asked, “Why did he dredge up the Lionstatue?”

The heat and noise made it impossibleto concentrate. She stopped trying toface her questioner, focusing instead onanswering the question. “To stop thefighting.”

“And did it?”“It became worse, didn’t it?” The

adolescent sneered.“You’re trying to confuse me. Go to

Hell!”“He lied, he murdered his

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countrymen. Why?”“Because he loved me!” Sofia

screamed.Her outburst echoed around the engine

room while the pendulum swung backand forth indifferently. The Apprenticespaused a while.

“You can’t treat me like this. I am theContessa Scaligeri!”

“We don’t make such distinctionshere. So, murder is a romantic gesture inRasenna?”

“You can’t understand,” she said.“Why?”“Because Natural Philosophy can’t

help you here! Giovanni was good. He

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died doing right—or trying to. You cantry to scare me, confuse me, hurt me ifyou want; it won’t change the truth. Hedied a Rasenneisi!”

She turned her back to them. “Lock meback up. I’m through with yourquestions.”

“You think he loved you?” a voicelike an ill-tuned instrument asked.

Sofia turned and saw the man in redcoming down the stairs.

“What if he lied?”As he came closer, she began backing

away.He leaned in and whispered, “You

must have considered the possibility.”

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With a scream, she threw a fist. Hedid not block the punch; he was simplyelsewhere when it came. She tried again,and again the First Apprentice avoidedher; then he tapped her chest with a rigidpalm and she flew backward andslammed into the coffin. Before thedoors shut, she heard them conversing. Itwas like a person talking to himself.

“She knows nothing,” said the boy.“He knew nothing! His death has no

consequences, just as his life had none.As I told you, First Apprentice,” theadolescent said irritably.

“Be not complacent,” the tunelessvoice said. “Consequence is the finalmystery.”

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The porthole opened beneath thecoffin; a star fell into darkness.

That night, the blue light returned. Therewas no mark on her door; it simplydeigned to pass over. Tomorrow it mightnot; an inconsistent torturer was worsethan one who followed rules, howeverharsh.

She dragged herself to the door. Thepit bottom lake was getting closer day byday. This was a more subtle torture; withevery turn of this giant screw thosechosen were robbed of strength, andthose spared, of hope. It must haveanother purpose—just using it to petrifydoomed men was too petty a reason for

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this remarkable engine, Sofia thought;logically, its effect on individualprisoners must be secondary. And yetsometimes logic was a poor tool. Hersenses had become keener since hertraining, and this amount of fear anddespair was powerful. The very airquivered with it.

She looked back at the wall she’dbeen thrown against in her last attempt tocontrol the drip. The nun not only wasable to feel the current, she could controlit. She’d said it took years of mediation.Sofia didn’t have that kind of time, butshe wasn’t resigned to being a cog forwhat little of it she had left. She satdown cross-legged, as if she were back

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in the Baptistery, and let her breathmirror the drip’s slow rhythm. Shegathered focus and asked the stillness,Where do I go now? She already knewthe answer was down. Into the Pit,where something pale, ancient, and darkwrithed in slow anticipation. A tentacleuncoiled. It was more powerful in thisplace. The Beast was where theDarkness incubated, the loci of allmisery, where the buio were churnedand remade.

This is Fear.She wrenched open her eyes with a

scream. There was no escape within orwithout. All doors were locked.

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CHAPTER 44

Better to be caged, she thought when herdoor remained shut the next time thecoffin appeared. This time, however,when the grimy capsule opened, a fatlittle man—maybe the bearded creatureshe had seen surrounded by book stacksin the second dome—leaped gingerlyonto the platform and looked aroundwith the curiosity of a newborn, a queerimpression enhanced by the rosy gloss ofhis skin, which looked as soft as

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undercooked meat.In age he looked close to sixty, and

although he was dressed too expensivelyto be a notary, he looked like one toSofia. Beneath squinting eyes his neatbeard circled a small mouth bent up intoa nervous smile around which his fingersplayed; his hands were neither afighter’s nor a worker’s—a scholar,then.

He glanced at his solemn escort fromtime to time as if seeking approval. Theyoungest Apprentice was moreaccustomed to the pit, and his attentiondidn’t wander as he led the way to hercell. Sofia instinctively took a step backon seeing the boy in yellow approach.

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The boy’s large hands and sure strengthreminded Sofia powerfully of the Doc:he took his time but was confident in hispower. He had a pallor strange to see onone in such obvious rude health. Thisperiod of his education was evidentiallyconducted indoors, far from the kindlyeye of the sun.

Sofia couldn’t help but think of anoversized infant accompanied by adiminutive adult.

“Has it revolved today?” the littleman asked.

“Probably not,” said the boy wearily.“I wonder,” he began with a nervous

titter, “would it be possible, do you

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suppose, to see it?”“The current’s activated by a random

algorithm.”The fat man blinked innocently.“I can’t turn it off,” the boy said

slowly. “If we’re here, we’ll be shockedtoo.”

“Oh, I so wanted to see it!”“Well, there’s a manual switch for

each cell.”He clapped his hands. “Really? May

I? They—I mean, you—wouldn’t mind,would you?”

The boy sighed. “Why not questionher first?”

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“Oh! Yes, capital idea! Hello, hello inthere?”

Sofia looked at the little face peeringin the window.

“Do I have the great honor of greetingthe Contessa Sofia Scaligeri?”

“What do you want?”“Ha! Direct, isn’t she, Third

Apprentice! In a word, Contessa, to beas forthright as you manage to be withoutapparently trying, what I want is a thing,a very small thing, useless to you butmost precious to—”

“Names,” said the boy.“I didn’t have any for you. I don’t

have any for him.”

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The little man chuckled, a sound like ablasphemy in this hopeless place.

“Not that kind of information,Contessa, oh, no! What did theApprentices want to know, secret battleplans? Troop positions and such? Oh,no, I leave war to the experts. Wars startto interest me only when the contestantshave been dead for a couple of decades.Which is to say, I am merely a humblehistorian. Though perhaps, ha ha, Ishould say with all modesty that ‘merely’does not do my status full justice; I am,you see, rather well known in Concord—I daresay in all Etruria.”

He drew himself up to his full height,though the difference was hardly

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noticeable. “I am Count Titus TremelliusPomptinus,” he announced, “Knight ofthe Order of Saint Jorge, Laureate of theEmpire, and Librarian of the ImperialRecord.”

He leaned closer, his voice droppingto a confidential whisper as he went on.“I should add that several Tremelliusgenerations were Concordiangonfaloniere—of course, that was whenthe office still existed!”

Sofia backed away to escape thehistorian’s breath. She suspected hisperformance was not only for herbenefit.

The historian’s eyes bulgeddramatically and he turned to the boy. “I

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mention that only as historical record.”“Fine.”Tremellius’s pudgy fingers played

with his beard. “It is relevant, you see:she’s a noble too, so this will make herat ease with me.”

He didn’t seem to notice or care thatshe could hear every word. He turnedback with an unctuous smile.

“Forgive my manners; we’ve becomevery proletarian these days. This isTorbidda, our current ThirdApprentice!”

“We’ve met,” the boy said.“Ah, well, then, you know already

what a tremendously bright young fellow

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he is. Someday he’ll be FirstApprentice, captaining our great ship ofstate, and you’ll remember my kindnessthen, won’t you?” He reached out as if tograb a cheek, then thought better of it.

“He helps me hold back the deluge.Ceaselessly! It pours ceaselessly in fromthe world’s every corner—Europa too.Some of them write, you know—somuch information: tax forms,geographical and mineralogical surveys,political reports, census and books, somany books—in so many languages! Thebabble of the Hebrews I learned, thedusty tongues of Aegyptus, Grecia, andEtrusca, I exhumed, unwrapped, andconjured life into. Then came the hard

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bit, wrestling sense from them! Mymasters need information on so manysubjects, and Contessa—”

Sofia drew back as he leaned inconfidentially and whispered, “They areso impatient!” Crossly, he added, “I do itall alone! Well, perhaps not all alone.”Again he reached out to scruff theApprentice’s hair, and again he changedhis mind.

“As I mentioned, I am also a historian,and it is History that brings me here.And you to me, Contessa, in a manner ofspeaking, ha ha! We are all moved by itscurrent; our tragedy is that we onlybecome aware of it after its passage.Just like the Wave over Rasenna—you

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never saw it coming, did you? Ha ha!There’s still so much to understand aboutConcord’s rebirth, how it came to be,who drove it, and why. I of course havecoursing blue blood in my veins,Contessa, like you, so you will assume Iam, like you, biased againstengineers . . .” He glanced at the boy.

“Well, you would be wrong! Quitewrong! Knowledge enlightens me, givesme the perspective to cast off theshackles of class consciousness andrejoice at liberation. The true value ofthe Concordian Empire is not land orslaves or new towns to tax, no, no, no! Itis the Empire of Knowledge we havebuilt. What was dark, Girolamo

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Bernoulli illuminated; that which wasmystery, Nature and the Elements, wenow understand, and in understanding,we control. The World, from Rasenna toGubbio, has been flooded with ourknowledge.”

“What do you want, fat man?”“The proverbial blunt Rasenneisi. Is

this the switch, Third Apprentice?”The boy nodded. Tremellius turned

the lever, and Sofia’s cell was suddenlyflooded with blue light. She fell,immobile, to the ground.

Tremellius giggled uncontrollably ashe looked in. “Contessa, the Apprenticesdon’t need you. I do. You’ll die soon

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without me. I can give you food, and ifyou cooperate—think of this!—I can getyou transferred to another prison!” Hisinnocent face was free of malice, simplyhappy.

“I ask only for names, dear child:sons, fathers, grandfathers. I am writinga history of Etruria, and you are theScaligeri heir. I expect that you know allthe branches of Rasenna’s family trees; Isimply require a guide to help menavigate that tangled forest. It’s not goingto hurt anyone. The people I’m interestedin are long past harm. What say you,Contessa?”

Sofia tried to answer but onlysucceeded in drooling. “Guhsplurl.”

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“She’ll be like this for an hour or so,”said the Third Apprentice.

“Really? Oh, merda—you might havewarned me! I wanted to begin today!”Tremellius leaned into the window. “Ican see you’re tired. Sleep on it, dearchild. Dream dreams of gold andfreedom.”

Next day, he came alone.“Eat slowly,” he said as he handed a

plate of dry chicken and hard bread toher.

Sofia placed the food on the floor.“Aren’t you going to hit the switch?”

“Oh, an accident, my dear! This old

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place just needs maintenance. Bernoullisaid the body is the perfect machine, andyou need maintenance too, ha ha! Youmust recover your strength. Let’s startover. Look! I brought a gift.”

He handed a rolled-up cloth thoughthe barred window. “Now, I’m not sillyenough to give a Rasenneisi a stick to gowith a banner, but look, Contessa! Theblack and gold! Don’t you recognizeScaligeri colors? You see, I understandthat blood matters. I knew it would giveyou some comfort to have it back,finally. Aren’t you going to unroll it?”

“A pillow. Thanks.” She threw it, stillrolled up, into the corner. “You wantinformation? So do I. How is it that the

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Apprentices know Water Style?”The historian looked around

cautiously as if expecting to find anApprentice at his shoulder. “Well, theydon’t call it that anymore, but Iunderstand that Bernoulli taught it to hisFirst Apprentice, the First Apprenticetaught the Second, and so on.”

“But how did Bernoulli learn it?”“You could say he taught himself.

After the Re-Formation, the clergyweren’t exactly cooperative. You see,it’s said that men were originally taughtby angels—”

“I’ve heard that one,” she said,crunching on the bread.

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“Like so many old stories, once freedof religious trappings, it was explicableby Natural Philosophy. Bernoullispeculated these angels werepseudonaiades.”

“But the Wave made the buio.”“Or perhaps it only brought them to

our attention. In any case, in controllingrivers, Bernoulli also controlled thepseudonaiades.”

“Tortured them, you mean.” Sofia felta strange foreboding. “You’re saying allengineers know it?”

The historian smiled. “Dear, sillychild, of course not. Only the very giftedare even capable of learning it, and no

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one ever mastered it like Bernoulli. It’staught in some elementary form to allcadets who become Apprenticeshipcandidates, which, I suppose, isn’tmany.” He sighed wistfully.“Everything’s less romantic these days,isn’t it?”

Sofia looked up from the food. “If thebody’s the perfect machine, why build amachine to ruin it? That’s what this is,right?”

“Only the Apprentices know theMolè’s purpose,” he said grudgingly,then smiled. “Besides, Bernoulli alsosaid, ‘To know man, dissect man,’ whichI’ve always taken to mean that you nevertruly appreciate something until you’ve

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taken it apart, ha ha, rather like History.”“Don’t you ever think for yourself?

What makes Bernoulli so special?”Tremellius took the question as a great

joke; his jowls started wobbling as hechuckled. “Ha ha! Where to begin?Bernoulli cast off the superstition thatpreviously shackled us. I speak of Man,you understand, not merely Concordians.When the Molè falls and Time grinds themountains to sand, Bernoulli’s proofswill remain inviolate.”

Sofia let him drone on until she hademptied the plate. She was stillravenous, but the food had given her aclearer head. “All right, what do youwant to know?” she asked.

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Days ground by. The drip still fell intoits groove, but Sofia had given up tryingto stop it. The Apprentices had given upon her too; they probably assumed shewas dead, Tremellius joked. Mostprisoners didn’t last to the water.

That was for the best. If there was tobe any chance of escape, theApprentices’ attentions had to beelsewhere. Nobody was coming torescue her, certainly not the Doc; withoutQuintus Morello or the Reverend Motherto restrain him, Rasenna was his, as hehad planned all along. Giovanni wouldhave come for her, but he was dead.

Tremellius visited daily, feeding herin return for information. After Sofia ran

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out of Rasenneisi genealogies, she beganto invent obscure dynasties untilTremellius finally became suspicious. Indesperation, Sofia asked about hiswriting.

It was like a dam breaking.Gurgling with pride, the fat little man

told Sofia his book would be unique.“Bernoulli is naturally the central figureof my History, but mark me, Contessa,mine will be a realistic and soberportrait, with dark strokes whennecessary.”

Feigning enthusiasm was unnecessary;Tremellius was enthusiastic enough forboth of them. “We live in a new agebecause of him, Contessa! Think of the

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strength it took for a medieval mind tothrust us into this future. How he liftedus onto his giant shoulders is the subjectof my tale. Most men are shaped byHistory’s current. Girolamo Bernoulliwas a man who stood outside it.”

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CHAPTER 45

The ill-fated attempt of Thirteenand Fifty-two to reverse ourglorious revolution was once toocontroversial to pronounce upon. Nolonger.24

The years spent perfecting Wavetechnology,25 preparing for the nexttest, were years in which Bernoullineglected his family, but it ischurlish to ask if things might haveturned out differently if he had been

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less remote a father; a lesser mancould not have been father to hiscity. Responsibility for his son’s fateis his son’s alone.

Jacopo Bernoulli was a weakman, lacking talent butoverburdened with ambition. Hisfather was surrounded by the firstgeneration of great Engineers, butJacopo, raised in the shadow ofpower, had more in common withthe first generation ofdisenfranchised nobles. It is truethat a clique of opportunistsexploited his credulity, but we mayjustly condemn him for taking upthe dagger. And Justice was

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watching, for another familymember betrayed Jacopo in turn.

Thus is treachery repaid withtreachery.

Might things have turned outdifferently? Bernoulli thought so.His philosophy, harshly cynical inthe bloom of youth, took on evendarker cast after the scandal, trial,execution, and attendant purge:

You seek Truth? Looknot to Love nor to Artnor to Philosophy. Lookto the tragedy in whichwe are bit players. Lookto Nature. Look to

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beasts tearing the fleshof their young. Ourbodies vying withthemselves. War is theperpetual truth ofNature. Nature is War.War is natural. Its fruitsare beauty, grace, andharmony.

Here we detect the importantphilosophical shift where a war ofexpansion is recast as a crusade.26

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CHAPTER 46

The Bardini workshop was an emptybattleground. There was no longerviolence, but neither were there scenesof chivalry and courage. The Doctorpracticed flag sets. He was rusty anddistracted, and everything was harderwhen one needed to think, but the oldsenses were still sharp enough to knowwhen he was being watched.

“Good to see you vertical for achange, Captain,” he said when he’d

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finished the set.“Thanks to you, Doctor.”“Thank Lucia; she—”“No—I wouldn’t have recovered if

you hadn’t told me Sofia was alive.”“It wasn’t a trick. There’s no reason

to stop hoping.”“Concord takes hostages. No matter

how well towns behave, it doesn’t returnthem. They keep prisoners alive ifthey’re useful, but Sofia has nothing tointerest them. Concord no longer needshostages; it needs only—” He stopped,his face white.

“Go on.”“Energy. They’ll have put her into the

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belly of the Beast.”“What are you going to do?”“I came to say good-bye. I’m going

home.”“Going to get yourself killed, you

mean.”“Doctor, I loved her! Without her—”

He paused to collect himself. “Anyway,I’m going.”

The Doctor studied him for a while.The young man was much changed. Hewas emaciated and his skin was as paleas a weather-faded fresco, but there wassomething more. There was no longerthat distance; whatever else he was, hewas all here, for better or worse.

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“You know why my sister took myplace in that noose? She told me thatSofia would return to Rasenna some day,and she would need me. That’s why theriver gave you back. She’ll need youtoo, just like Rasenna needs you now.”

“The Reverend Mother told me thingstoo,” he admitted, “but after what’shappened I don’t believe in Destiny.Things just happen. Sofia’s not comingback.”

“Come with me, Captain. I want toshow you something.”

Cat was waiting on the tower rooftop,whining triumphantly.

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“Madonna, tranquillo,” the Doctormuttered. He went to the side of thetower and looked down on Rasenna;Giovanni did likewise. The windingstreets led his eye to the river and thebridge bestriding it.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?”“Seems like pride to agree.” There

was wonder in Giovanni’s voice. “Itstill looks like my plan from here. Ididn’t think it would. So many detailschanged in the making.”

“Up here you see the importantthings.”

After a moment, the Doctor went on,“I’ve seen hundreds of boys become men

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over the years, seen all grades of talent,all types of character in the workshop.And I’ve learned that it’s not talent orcharacter that makes a real artist but thecombination. You’ve got to have avision, but the greatest vision’s uselesswithout the will to execute it. I knowyou’re brave. I’m no engineer, but Irecognize talent when I see it.”

“Runs in the family,” Giovanni saidquietly.

“I’m not finished. You’ve got both, butyou’ve also got this guilt to get over ifyou’re going to be any damn use.”

“You wouldn’t ask me to stay if youknew the things I’d done.”

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“I keep my ears open. I know howConcordian engineers learn their trade.”

“Then how can you possibly—?”“Same reason I don’t throw myself off

the tower and be done with it.” TheDoctor laughed. “Everyone’s guilty inRasenna. If we can’t have proper angels,we’ll make do with fallen ones. Thequestion is: Will you help or won’t you?Don’t think I’m going to let you backdown those stairs without an answer.Sofia believed in you.”

“She didn’t know me!” Giovannishouted, angrier than the Doctor hadever seen him.

“She knew enough.” The older man

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looked away, remembering brokenpromises.

Giovanni watched the work on theriver. “Town’s getting busy.”

Some difference in his voice made theDoctor look up at him. “Yes, it is. Ididn’t have the courage to come up herebefore today. So, which is it? Stand upand fight or lie back down and get itover with?”

“Concord doesn’t even let its forestsgrow. Subject towns making money is asprovocative as building new walls.”

“We’ll need better walls before theyhear about it.”

“We’d better get started,” said

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Giovanni, and turned toward the stairs.The Doctor stood out of his way.

He began to climb down, then paused.“Doctor, I’ll work for Rasenna but notfor you, understood?”

The Doctor nodded and turned back tothe town and the river that was part of it.The sun hit the water, a band of whitepulsing through the old town, bringingnew life, bleaching everything pure untilold stains faded; for the first time, itseemed to belong.

Cat whined contentedly.“What are you laughing at?” he said.

Down on the embankment, Fabbro saw

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the silhouette up on Tower Bardini andswore. He preferred Rasenna withoutgreat men.

“In Rasenna, we’re all saving to buyboats before the next flood,” he said tothe man walking beside him. It had beena good meeting so far; the Ariminumesemerchant had that combination of bluntspeech and sharp thinking he respected.

“So, can you fill the order? And don’tanswer quickly, Bombelli, it makes menervous. I don’t think you knowRasenna’s reputation in my city. Peoplesaid I was crazy just coming here.”

“Why did you come here?”“I keep my eyes open: I’ve seen

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quality goods from Rasenna in themarkets, but not the important ones. Youneed distribution partners,” he said,looking around at the towers.

“I do, and I know what you’rethinking.” said Fabbro. “We’ve got nosoldiers but those we hire, and yes, theysteal. Shipments regularly arrive with atenth of the cargo missing.”

“Fallen overboard?” the other saidwryly. “Well, some predation is normal,but that’s a high price to do businesswith Rasenna.”

“Not for you. It’s my cost to bear as acitizen—if we partner up.”

“How do you meet costs? These boats

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—”“I don’t own them—I’ve arranged

leases from Ariminumese bankers, if youmust know. Your paesani will tell youI’m a good bet.”

“Or tell me you’re a minchia! Don’ttrust bankers, Fabbro. Surely yourSignoria can protect you from thesebandits.”

Fabbro laughed. “Believe me, if ourSignoria hadn’t burned down, none ofthis would even be possible.”

“But with fighters at a loose end,aren’t there hijackings?”

“We’ve hired enough flags to preventoutright looting. The Families are both

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underground, so it might go either wayyet. Me, I see it as a time of greatprospect.”

“Before the flood comes, right?”“Exactly! Come to my tower; we’ll

eat and discuss the details.” As hespoke, Fabbro caught sight of Pedrocoming across the bridge.

He excused himself for a moment andran to meet him. “Get the net, Pedro! I’mabout to land a big fish.”

“Well, you might want to reconsiderme as your fishing partner. I can’t stickto the price you agreed to with myfather.”

“We have a deal!”

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“What do you want me to do?” Pedrolooked over his shoulder and droppedhis voice. “My employees get robbed somuch, it’s better to work for someonewho pays less.”

“Business costs,” said Fabbro with achuckle. “You remind me of your fatherwhen you’re like this. Tranquillo,Pedro; we’re in this together. How’sthis? I’ll up what I’m paying and yourworkers can take home the same.”

“That would help short term, butMorello’s putting people on the streetsagain. He’s testing the wind before heraises his flag.”

“Well, we don’t have to wait around.With no Signoria draining us, we can

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afford to hire flags of our own.”Pedro was uneasy. “Signore

Bombelli, you sound like one of them.We’re Small People; we’re not fighters.”

“You think I like it? But that’s whatwe’ve got to do to stay in business. Lookbehind me.”

“I don’t see anything.”“Look up, at Tower Bardini.”“Dio Impestato! I heard he’d hung

himself.”“I heard a nicer story, that someone

cut his throat, but no such luck. If theDoc’s back, pretty soon he’s going tostart making moves again too. Men likeBardini can’t stop themselves. We’ve

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got to show the Families that they don’thave the monopoly on flags anymore.”

Pedro was becoming calmer. “It couldwork. I’ll take a smaller percentage. Youdon’t have to hurt yourself because ofwho my father was.”

“Forget it; the cut’s the same. Gettingrich makes me a target. I need all thefriends I can afford.”

Pedro laughed. “Go and land yourfish. I think the natives make himnervous.”

All day the Doctor watched the comingsand goings around Tower Bombelli. Itwas as busy now as Tower Bardini used

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to be. It was late when the stranger left,sliding down the ladder a sight moreeasily than the labored steps that hadcarried him up. So he’d cut a goodbargain—but Fabbro’s friendly wavewas no sham. A fair deal for everyone,then. The Doctor guessed the man was amerchant; he dressed well enough toadvertise success but practically enoughto travel.

The Doctor watched the merchant ashe made his way to the northern gate.These days that was much busier too,with trade coming in and goods leavingthe town. Visitors to Vanzetti’s andBombelli’s Towers crossed paths on thebridge and often arranged to meet there

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again, one with wares to sell, the otherwith money to buy . . . And a fair washeld the first Saturday of the month, then,as word spread, the same Saturday thenext month, and then every Saturday—allhis to tax, yet he let them be.

He rubbed Cat’s ears, asking,“Where’s this fool civilian going?”

The merchant, contemplating futureprofits instead of his present route, hadwandered into the back streets.

Cat jumped down, sensing a change inthe Doctor’s mood. Three maskedbandieratori were creeping along therooftops. The one wearing a hood wasmuch taller than the others, probably theoldest. He gave a signal, and the other

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two went forward, the smallest boy withthe cambellotto leading the way. The onewho hung back was familiar to theDoctor, as was the dodge under way.The hood was going to “rescue” theforeigner from the bandits; a “reward”would then be demanded.

What surprised him was to see it donein the shadow of Tower Bardini—butthen, he had hidden himself away lately;in Rasenna, that too was a signal.

“Well, I’m back now,” he said to Cat,picked a rooftop, and leaped. Airhowling in his ears as it passed, thestone streets hurtling toward him, to bestill as the world moves: he’d missed it.Calmly he reached out and grabbed the

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flagpole at the side of his tower andturned with it, landing against theneighboring tower and pushing himselfoff into air again. It wasn’t like oldtimes. The rooftop he landed on wasn’tthe one he’d picked, and he smashed intoit instead of lightly landing. Catching hisbreath, he scrambled along the gable.

All of the pair’s intention was on themark. Amateurs, thought the Doctor.Always have a lookout. He leaped andlanded in the alley, along with a rain ofloosened slates. Merda! He was theamateur.

The bigger boy fumbled with his flagwhile the smaller boy wearing thecambellotto took his time. With the

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lightest of pulls the Doctor took thebigger boy’s stick and with it nudgedhim into his partner’s swinging flag. Hewent down without a sound. The smallerboy wasn’t fazed and swung again. Notbad. The Doctor ducked and grabbed theboy’s flag. The strong grip wassurprising too, but it couldn’t make upfor a lack of training, and a well-aimedpunch dropped the boy just as themerchant rounded the corner.

“Good day, Signore.” The Doctorbowed. “Your quickest route to the northgate is that way.”

The merchant stuttered his thanks andbolted.

The Doctor waited for the hooded boy

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to come to the “rescue.”“Mule.”“Doc? I thought you retired!”Mule went to embrace the Doctor and

got slammed into the wall instead.“Where’s your brother?”“What brother’s that?”The Doctor pushed a little harder.“Ugh! Working for Morello.”“What about you? Working my streets,

under my tower? Who do you workfor?”

“I’m freelance.” Mule smiled. “Doc!These civilians, they all bring heavypurses. Don’t worry; you’ll get a taste.”

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“I’ll only say this once, so listen:these merchants with their juicy pursesbring money to Rasenna. Rob them andthey won’t come back.”

When Mule blinked dumbly, theDoctor sighed. “Look on it as aninvestment if I can’t appeal topatriotism. Rasenna’s back in business.We leave them alone and we all get rich.Got it?”

Mule didn’t look back at his erstwhilepartners. “Not really, but I’m Bardini, sowhat you say goes.”

The night had descended on the desertedbackstreet when the younger boy

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regained consciousness. He wasdisgusted that Mule had deserted themand at the wasted day. He picked up hiscambellotto, settled it on his head, andkicked the other boy awake, then set off.The boy followed him down to thebridge calling, “Uggeri, wait up!” PiazzaLuna was deserted and dark. Theytentatively approached the ruinedPalazzo Morello, pushing and daringeach other forward.

“I don’t think no one’s here.”“I saw him,” said the younger boy

firmly. He was the one who hadimpressed the Doctor with his coolness.

Scorched planks had been propped inthe palazzo doorway, but the boys were

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small enough to squeeze though.“Anyone here? Tano? Aw, there’s no

one here. Let’s go.”Gaetano stepped out of darkness.

“You will address me as Lord Morello.What do you want?”

They saw others in the shadows. Thesmaller boy, undaunted, spoke up. “Wewant to join the new Morello borgata.”

“You can get paid to protectBombelli’s shipments. Don’t you likemoney?” said Gaetano.

“It’s not like that, Lord Morello,” thebig one said nervously. “We’rebandieratori, so—”

“You want to fight?”

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He nodded in relief, uncomfortablebeneath the heat of Gaetano’s gaze.

“That’s not enough anymore. Youdidn’t lose anyone in the uprising.”Gaetano turned to the smaller boy. “Butyou did.”

“Yes, my Lord.”“You’re a Galati—Hog’s boy?”“Uggeri is my name.” The boy had

always been serious, but something hadchanged. There was a silence about himnow, tense as a storm’s eye.

“Your father wasn’t much, but yourbrother was. He stood with me to theend.”

“I know. I’m on my own now.”

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“We all are. Who gave you that eye?”“The Doc.”“Bardini flag’s flying again?” said

one of Gaetano’s bandieratori, a tall flat-faced boy.

“Dangerous time to have the wrongpartners,” said Gaetano.

Secondo shrugged. “Just curious, LordMorello.”

Gaetano turned back to Uggeri. “Well,is he?”

The boy met his stare. “Maybe. It wasa hijack. He let the mark go.”

“Do you know why?”Uggeri shook his head.

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Gaetano said sadly, “Does this townnever learn?” He turned to the others,focusing particularly on those, likeSecondo, who’d once been Bardiniaffiliates. “He’s playing the patriot sincemy father’s not around to play it. He’lllet everyone get comfortable, earn alittle, then make a loud noise, and thoseshopkeepers on the bridge will beg himto take their money. Rasenna willsleepwalk into tyranny if we let it,Uggeri.”

“That mean we’re in?” the bigger boysaid.

“Show me what you’re capable of,”he said, throwing Uggeri a flag. “Thingshave changed. I only want killers.”

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CHAPTER 47

Sofia swore when she saw the coffindrop. The historian had already broughtfood that day; she hoped that he hadn’tcome back for seconds.

Over the week she had negotiated anew bargain: he fed her in return for anaudience—the problem was thatTremellius often tried out several draftsa day. Sofia, knowing she was finishedas soon as the text was, tried keepinghim distracted with irrelevant questions.

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Luckily, he liked to talk about himself.But instead of the fat little man, the

Third Apprentice emerged with a tall,dark-skinned prisoner. The scarecrow ofa man was shackled and hooded, but hisrapidly moving jaw was working fine.“Kid, don’t be naive,” Sofia heard himsay. “Every prison I’ve been in theguards did favors.”

She went to the window. The voicewas familiar.

“Look, we can do business—you havesomething I need, and I’ve gotdisposable income.”

“But not at your disposal,” the ThirdApprentice said equably. “Why should I

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believe you?”“Every condottiere has a stash in case

he’s taken hostage.”“We don’t trade hostages,” the boy

said, removing the hood.“And is that really economically

responsible?”The last time she had seen him, he had

been in armor. That was gone, but hewore the same green neckerchief, and hehad the same cajoling manner as whenhe’d visited Workshop Bardini a yearago. His patter had not persuaded theDoctor then, and it did not seem to beworking on the boy now.

Colonel Levi, close to panic, was

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talking fast. “Look, the market’s bigenough for everyone. Your engines giveyou an edge, you exploit it: I respectthat. But war’s an expensive business.When Concord stopped returninghostages, it overturned the right of theEtrurian market to regulate itself. That’sbarbaric.”

“Not to mention all the people theykill,” Sofia hollered.

“That’s bad too,” Levi agreed. “Hey, Iknow you! Rasenna, right?”

The Third Apprentice searched for thecell key, not really listening. When heopened the door, the body of theprevious owner slumped against his feet.

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“Cavolo! Was he shocked to death?”Levi asked.

The boy examined the corpse briefly.“No, looks like cardiac arrest. Stress-aggravated, I imagine.”

“Stressed? Here?”Apparently impervious to bribery and

sarcasm, the boy hauled the corpse overthe railings. The splash’s echo in thedarkness galvanized the condottiere.This was his last chance. He lunged, butthe boy just stood aside and let him hitthe railing, then dropped low with asweeping kick. Levi landed facedownand gave no further trouble.

Sofia was staring up at the

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disappearing coffin when Levi’sbefuddled face came to his cell window.

“Contessa!” he shouted over, “nice tosee you again. Shame about thecircumstances. Doc Bardini was wisenot to team up with us after all.Madonna, the Company took a hiding atTagliacozzo!”

“I’m here too. Didn’t make muchdifference.”

“I guess not. Hey! My wall moved.What’s that sound?”

“Get ready for lights out.”“Isn’t it early for that?”

Tap

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Levi groggily stumbled to his window.Across the void he found Sofia lookingback. “Contessa? Oh, I forgot where Iwas.” He pulled on the window bar.“Unfortunate. Dying’s not part of myfive-year plan.”

“Didn’t you say you’d escaped fromlots of prisons?”

“I’ve been in lots of prisons. I got outthe civilized way,” he said, rubbing histhumb and two fingers. “This is theBeast, kid. Even if you get out of yourcell, there’s nowhere to go. I don’t knowhow to call that thing down. Far as I cansee, there’s only one way out of here.”

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“You don’t seem too worried.”“Well, what’s the point in getting

upset? Not everyone in Etruria is asemotional as Rasenneisi. Occasionalimprisonment is just the cost of doingbusiness as a condottiere. We acceptthat. The problem, as I tried explainingto the little fellow, is when thecompetition changes the rules. It’s killingus. They just march in and take over!”

“As opposed to?”“As opposed to marching in and

threatening to take over, like civilizedpeople.”

“Contractors profit from war morethan anyone. You don’t have much to

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complain about.”“I’m not doing much profiting over

here, you know.”“So how did you find yourself in the

position of a lowly soldier?”“Don’t ask.” Levi sighed.“Come on. I’m curious; I thought that

condottieri drop flags at the first sign oftrouble.”

“That’s a classic small-townmisunderstanding. Yes, we have beenknown, on occasion, to make tacticalretreats. And what’s wrong with that?We’re paid to win, not to get killed ortaken prisoner. One ransom can eat acondottiere’s whole season’s pay

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packet.”“The horrors of war.”“Some of my bills are horrifying!

Armor, mail, squires, horses, repairs—Icould go on—”

“No thank you. Don’t you just stealfrom civilians?”

“Nothing to steal these days,” Levisaid slowly, “and by the way, go easy!This hasn’t been a great week so far, andwe just met!”

“How long does it usually take?”“I get it: you don’t like condottieri.”“No matter who suffers, you prosper.

You bleed towns of their last soldi, thenleave them to Concord. What’s to like?”

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“Well, I wish life was as simple asDoc Bardini explained it. You think hebecame boss of Rasenna though eloquentoratory?”

“No, I suppose not.”“Sorry, kid,” Levi said quickly.

“Didn’t mean to bring up a sore spot.”“Just for that, when I break out, I’m

leaving you here.”“Come on. We’re neighbors. We

should be making friends.”“Right. So how did you end up here,

Colonel?”“Call me Levi. Seriously? I think we

were betrayed.”“I know the feeling.”

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Levi told her about the Hawk’sCompany’s defeat at Tagliacozzo. JohnAcuto had attempted to meet Concord onits own terms, and though he’dconscientiously prepared his allianceand strategy, everything had comeundone in a moment. Sofia listened withan odd sense of déjà vu.

Before she could tell him about it,Levi cut himself off. “Oh, Madonna,what’s that sound? Not a visit of the bluefairy?”

“Relax,” Sofia said. “This is my ownprivate torture: the death of a thousandfootnotes.”

Levi sank back into the darkness ofhis cell as the historian pulled himself

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free from the coffin.“Now, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve

brought some more chapters of mybook,” he said as he saw her. “It’s sorare to find a good listener!”

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CHAPTER 48

In the same year the Guild wasfounded, Bernoulli began the Molè.Over a quarter of a century, growingfrom the first simple structure tothe colossus that now overshadowsour capital, the Molè proved to bethe other constant of his career.Following the triumphant bridge,young Bernoulli had persuaded theCuria that a true temple mustresound and echo the perfection of

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God’s system. He redrew century-old plans with curious proportionsto ensure that very harmony.

In this land so partial toconspiracy, there are naturallyrumors of hidden wings, secretpurposes. Bernoulli’s successorsinherit the title First Apprentice,together with certain secrets ofstate.27 It was not simplemisfortune that so manyApprentices died duringconstruction; it was a cull, for onlythe best may wear the red—or so atleast the more fanciful of mypredecessors theorized.

Indifferent to these fevered

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rumors, the Cathedral28 climbedever closer to Heaven, but as itgrew taller, its architect grewweaker. Three days after itsconsecration he died.

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CHAPTER 49

“We need new samples. If buyers don’tsee our product, they won’t know theywant it.” In Tower Bombelli, Fabbrowas finishing his morning briefing.“That’s it. Avanti!”

“Someone to see you, Pop.”Fabbro’s daughter Maddalena showed

in a dark-haired boy wearing acombellotto. The dark-haired boy hadnever seen anything like it—the countingroom was the eye of the mercantile

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storm brewing in Rasenna. Nothing hadits own place, so everything vied forspace on every available shelf or flatsurface, in every chest and basket; eventhe ceiling was hung with camphorpomades. There was a gleaming moundin one corner: the crests of bankruptedfamilies, silver and gold beaten intostrange shapes: pyramids and stars,whales and worms. They would soon bemelted down to something moreuniversally appreciated.

The merchant himself, getting stouter,was squashed behind a desk buttressedwith a collection of scales; Etruria wasas incontinent with currencies as withdialects, and a town needed someone

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who could accurately and cheaplychange concordi to soldi to grossi tofisoli to keep the money flowing in alldirections. Bombelli’s integrity wasunquestioned—after all, he gained mostfrom Rasenna’s new reputation for trade.

“Young man, how can I help you?” heasked, looking the boy over.

Uggeri waited for Fabbro’s childrento leave, then dropped a large purse onthe desk.

Fabbro didn’t blink. “What’s this?”Uggeri’s deeply furrowed brow was

odd in a boy of his age. “Sample of ourwares. Lord Morello knows you’reinvesting in boats and equipment. He

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wants you to know who to come to if youneed extra capital.”

When the merchant frowned and wentback to writing, Uggeri thought he hadblundered somehow. Lord Morello hadgiven him this job so that he could showhis range, show he was more than abrawler. He spread his arms wide,smiling this time. “It is a gift, SignoreBombelli. No interest, understand?”

Fabbro looked up. “I keep track ofeverything in this book, you see? Oneline for sales and one for purchases, so Iknow how I earn money.”

“He doesn’t want anything in return,”Uggeri repeated more hesitantly.

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“He steals his from southsiders,people like Pedro Vanzetti’s employees,doesn’t he?”

“Why should that concern you?”Uggeri said with just a touch of menace.

Fabbro put down his quill. “Iunderstand now. It’s a token offriendship. And if I ever need a silentpartner, the door is open.” He smiled,his restless hands at rest.

The boy sighed with relief. “Signore,you understand everything.”

Fabbro stood up. “Just business.”

It was noon, and the bridge was packedwith tradesmen and merchants. Pedro

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was haggling over crushed lapis whenthe old dye trader broke off and asked,“That boy’s a southsider, isn’t he?”

The crowd parted for Fabbro’s sons.They threw Uggeri to the ground atPedro’s feet.

“This thief stole from you,” saidFabbro, throwing him the purse. “Checkit.”

Business casually stopped to watchthe scene play out; some variety offracas was a daily diversion. In thesilence, the coins’ jingle was painfullyaudible.

“Now get off our bridge!” Fabbroshouted. “It’s for Rasenneisi.”

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“Fake Rasenneisi,” the boy said,dusting himself off and giving Pedro aparting look. “I’m real.”

Fabbro watched the boy saunter away.After the uprising, when anger hadoutstripped fear, the Small People hadturned away from the Families. Now, tokeep them from turning back, he ensuredthat money flowed to both sides of theriver. Morello’s attempt to bribe himwith his neighbor’s wealth underminedthe very meaning of the bridge, so it waseasy for him to rebuff. But Rasenneisiwere so used to deferring to the Familiesthat slipping back would be easy.

He addressed the crowd. “Sorry forthe upset. Please go about your

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business.”“Don’t be a traitor, Bombelli,” a

southsider said. “You’re siding with oneof them.”

Fabbro pushed the man away. “YoungVanzetti is one of us, idiota. Morellostole from my partner. That means hestole from me.”

“You’re only loyal to money,” a voicejeered.

The old dye trader shuffled over.“You think it’s just northsiders suffering?We get raided too!”

“Workshop Bardini’s defunct,” thenorthsider disputed.

“Exactly—and left to their own

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devices, Doc’s bandieratori cause moretrouble than before.”

“Oh, for the good old days,” anorthsider jeered.

“Well, at least no one tower cast itsshadow on the rest,” the southsiderreturned. “It was better than anarchy!”

As arguments flared around them,Fabbro studied Pedro carefully. “Youthought he was working for me, didn’tyou? I hire bandieratori to protect mystock, not extort from my partners.”

“How could I know that?”“Because I paid you more so you

could keep your workers—why would Isteal it back?”

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“It’s what the Families have alwaysdone.”

“You insult me; your father—”“Died on these streets! I know how

Rasenna works. The Small People getpushed around, and you’re growingbigger.”

“This is ridiculous.” Fabbro lookedaround the bridge. “If we can’t trust eachother, we can’t do business. I was crazyto think it could work.”

As the intermingled Rasenneisiseparated, the foreign traders belatedlyrealized that today’s squabble wasn’tone to watch safely from the margin.

“People, quiet!” The voice cut through

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the squabbling. Fabbro, most of all, wassurprised at the sudden authority inPedro’s voice. “If we can’t agree, wecan take our problems to the Signoria.”

There was a scattering of laughter.“They burned it down, remember?”

“They burned a palazzo. Before hedied, my father told me something that Ididn’t understand until just now, whenwe started arguing like the Families usedto. We are the Signoria.”

Pedro looked around the faces; all ofthem were listening now. “We can’tblame the Families for Rasenna’sproblems anymore. If it needs fixing,we’re going to have to fix it. We can’tbuy security by hiring more flags—that’s

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what the Families did. The Small Peopleare Rasenna, so if anything’s wrong withRasenna, it’s wrong with us. And if wecan change, then Rasenna can too. Myfather also told me that the Empireinstalled a Concordian as head of theSignoria after the Wave.”

“A podesta—my town still has one,”said a bearish Tarquinian trader.

“I remember that unfortunate fellow,”said the old dye trader gruffly. “MaybeVettori’s bedtime story had a happyending, but the podesta was assassinatedwithin a year.”

“By persons unknown,” his neighborchuckled.

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Pedro said, “Yes, and do you knowwhy Concord let us rule ourselvesafterward?”

When no one spoke, he continued,“Because our feuding made a garrisonunnecessary. I don’t say it was wrong tokill him—a partisan leader’s worse thannone. I say we need someone whodoesn’t have a side to take.”

“So who do you suggest?” the old maninterrupted. “Nobody’s innocent inRasenna.”

Pedro looked at the skeptical crowd,northsiders, southsiders, and foreigners,all together on the bridge. “The reasonyou’re standing where you’re standing.Captain Giovanni.”

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Pedro expected accusations ofbetrayal and outrage, but instead therewas only a thoughtful silence. Peoplelooked for each other’s reactions, notnecessarily trusting their own: that itseemed right, natural.

“The Concordian?” the dye tradersaid doubtfully.

“I never saw Rasenneisi work as welltogether as here,” said Fabbro.

People murmured agreement.“I’m too old and too poor to chase

dreams,” the dye trader said irritably.“He’s a good man, certainly, but is itpractical? Would a Signoria led by theCaptain have legitimacy? Hell, I’ll say it

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straight—without strong men, wouldanyone listen to us?”

“Where does authority come from,”said Pedro, “if not us? Our fear gives theFamilies power. If we reject bothbanners, we take that power away.That’s what Giovanni showed us: itwasn’t the bridge that brought ustogether, it was fear that kept us apart.”

“If it were true . . .” the old man saidwith a wondering whisper.

Fabbro clapped his hands together.“Right, then! All in favor, say aye.”

The shout of approval, heard fromTower Bardini to Palazzo Morello, relit

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hope in the Doctor’s heart.It kindled Gaetano’s into a blaze.

Deciding that it was time to remind theSmall People of their vulnerability, hegave his crew a list of names. Oncemore Pedro found his workforce notshowing up to work, and once more hewent knocking on doors. He returneddespondently home hours later,wondering what to tell Fabbrotomorrow. Behind the few doors that hadopened he saw frightened employeeswith fresh bruises and broken bones.The doors that remained closed were themost ominous of all.

Pedro realized something was wrongwhen his own door swung open. A flag

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struck the back of his legs.“Pick him up,” said Gaetano.Secondo and Uggeri yanked him up by

his shoulders.“Shopkeepers form a parliament? Is it

a joke?”No answer was expected; the question

was followed by a gut punch.“You make me laugh. You’ve got some

money now, so you think you ownRasenna? You think I’d let you take it?”

“It’s our decision,” Pedro mumbled.“Small People are too witless to

appreciate how Concordians work.Don’t you see he planned this? Thatbridge is cancer, destroying us from

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inside. All you see is the money it makesyou!”

Another punch, this time to the face.“You’re a relic,” Pedro said.Gaetano laughed. “You’ve got more

salt than your father, I’ll give you that.Here’s how it is: you don’t go to worktomorrow—you wait for my permission.If you want a new Signoria, you petitionme to form it. Got it?”

Pedro spit out a tooth. “No, comeagain?”

When Pedro awoke, he sat up too fastand had to wait for his eyes to clear. Itwas evening. The workshop was

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thrashed. There was wool everywhere,fabric shredded, and, worst of all, hisfather’s looms broken apart. He lay backdown and groaned. “Business costs.”

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CHAPTER 50

Sofia was close enough to the water nowto hear the last gasps of prisoners astheir cells went under. And she wasclose enough to see that the surface wasalive with buio driven mad by the vortexof churning water. All Nature wasimprisoned here.

Sometimes the rotation took Levi’scell far away, but often they were nearenough to talk. Levi was noticeably lessanimated than when he had arrived—and

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thinner too, though that hadn’t seemedpossible. While she was fed daily, Leviwas stoically suffering starvation and thelottery of the blue light.

After one of the historian’s morningvisits, Levi asked, “Are you really thatinterested in his book?”

“I’m defenseless, and he’s a frustratedsadist who loves the sound of his voice.The longer I keep him happy, the longer Istay alive. Hungry?” She threw him theloaf she’d kept from her breakfast.“Catch!”

“Damn, I thought you’d woven a ropefrom your hair.”

“I’ll work on it. So what is your five-

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year plan, Levi?”“It’s more of a target really: me,

captain of my own company, and enoughgold to take a bath in.”

“Well, good luck with that. Listen, Iwas thinking about Tagliacozzo. Youwere betrayed.”

“How can you be sure?”“I was here when the battle took

place, but what you described wasfamiliar. Levi, I saw the plans in theengine room when the Apprenticesquestioned me. They knew your strategybefore the battle.”

“Madonna!” said Levi, and wentback to eating.

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“What, that’s it? Doesn’t it make youburn for revenge?”

“I want to live. Revenge won’t fill mybelly.”

“You’d make a lousy Rasenneisi.”“I’ll take that as a compliment,

Contessa.”

That night the collective tension waschurned into frenzy until the pitresounded with mad cries. Sofia wokewith water dropping on her face. Shewent to the door and peered out: anotherrevolution and they would be under thewater.

“Levi, are you awake?”

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There was no answer, just an echo,answered by the moans and creaking ofthe pit. He might be dead already, andshe would have done nothing to helphim. Sofia looked up in desperation asthe coffin descended for what might verywell be the last time.

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CHAPTER 51

The tale rehearsed thus far is wellknown,29 but the present Author’sprivileged access to State Archiveshas allowed him to uncover a moredisconcerting narrative. Closereading of Bernoulli’s notes from theperiod before the Guild’s formationshow that even as he planned hisbridge, even as he sketched theDiscourses, he secretly researchedanother subject: Miracles.

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If it seems ironic to the Readerthat the tyranny of priests wasoverthrown by one so devout, hewill do well to remember thatNatural Philosophy was not asrigidly defined then as now30 if weacclaim Bernoulli as the firstModern, we must remember hehailed from a medieval world asdistant from ours as the Etruscanwas to his. If we never learn whysuch a mind entertained suchfantasy (indeed, there may be noexplanation), his real achievementsmust always stay our censure.

Young Bernoulli wasted monthsresearching esoteric subjects we

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have today dismissed as thegrossest superstition. Regretfully,only a summary is possible.31 Hebelieved that the myths of Virginbirth32 and Transubstantiation33

were linked in more than aScriptural sense. His ambition, itappears, was to give them somemathematical explanation.

Bernoulli abandoned these blindalleys from the tumult of theThirties through the repeated crisesof the Forties, but the reprieve wastemporary. In the early Fifties theMolè’s final ascent mirrored itsarchitect’s descent into senility, anunraveling that began soon after he

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began dissecting pseudonaiades bymeans electrical. Perhaps he priedout other secrets with their liquidanatomy. More likely he wasalready mad.

While the Molè occupied his days,the Etruscan Scriptures34 consumedhis nights. He reread their so-calledBooks of Fate, and, coming tobelieve the old story that ourancestors had successfully predictedthe hour of their Empire’s collapse,he sought to fix the date ofConcord’s.35

The present Author takes nopride revealing the pathetic lastchapters of Bernoulli’s life nor does

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he believe that these revelationsdiminish our great debt to him.36

That his secret half was unknowntill now is some small reassurancethat however deep this madnesswent, it never impinged upon hisreal duty. The Curia was unworthyto govern because it allowed itselfto be governed by superstition, butBernoulli suppressed thatirrationality, and, rising above it, heshowed his true worth.

It is the most signal victory of anuncommon life: before heconquered the World, Bernoulliconquered his soul. Reader, pass onin respectful silence. Who but

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genius knows the dark countriesgenius must traverse?

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CHAPTER 52

Tremellius finished with a sigh thatcontained years. “The end.”

Sofia leaped to her cell window withwide-eyed interest. “It can’t be! Whathappened next?”

“You can stop now—the act. It’s theend for you, Contessa. Not my book—that’ll never be finished. I know whatyou’ve been doing these last few weeks.I know how wretched it is to livewithout hope.”

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Sofia’s smile faded.“And I know I’m just a slave with

useful talents—nobody studies theHumanities these days. This place feedson hope. Call me sentimental, but Iwanted to deny it yours.”

“Why?”“Because it’s stolen mine. Because

you are the last Contessa of Rasenna.Because blood matters.”

“You don’t believe anything youwrite, do you?” she said sadly.

“Of course not!” Tremellius shouted.“It’s not History, it’s a creation myth—it’s all obfuscation and mystery whenreally it couldn’t be simpler: an

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exceptional generation of engineerssought a king. One got lucky—KingBernoulli, though of course none maycall him such. The engineers insist thatthey came to liberate, that our religionand aristocracy were shackles. Well,maybe they were, but they just took ourplace! I write this story and weave apattern into it, confidently explain thereasons why this followed that, butnobody really knows how we weremade small. A power came into theworld and swept us all away. My familywere gonfalonieres! I know what welost.” His voice tailed off. “I just don’tknow how.”

“You have to help me!” Sofa cried. “I

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need more time.”“Dear child, I’m just a noble—

nobody listens to me.” He sighed andcomposed himself. “Best that you’reweak when the end comes.”

“What are you doing?” she screamed.“No, don’t—!”

He pulled the lever calmly, and bluelight flooded her cell. Sofia fell and herhead hit the ground, and the sound itmade was TAP.

Her body sank into the cold water likethe star falling. All the pain, the anger,she left them behind on the surface.Behind the darkness was the infinity ofwhat might have been and might yet be.

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But first she had to face the Darkness—or go back to the cell, to the drip, to aslow death. No. She swore that she’ddrown before that. She swam down.

Fear, the Dark Ancient, boiledfuriously, a black sun being born. Atentacle shot out of the darkness andanother. It pulled her in. She didn’t fightit. She prayed:

Madonna, be my shepherd.

And suddenly it was the moment beforedawn, an electric hum in the air; nothingwas different, but everything hadchanged completely. The tentaclesloosened, the Darkness fled. And then

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there was light.

And Sofia beheld Her: the Handmaid,adrift in timeless space, incubatingsalvation as She waited patiently. ThenSofia heard an insistent sound likebecalmed thunder. A heart fiercelybeating—Her sacred heart!—beating inthe darkness most silent and terrible,waiting to synchronize with History’sslow pulse once more. Then eyes thatwere old as the stars opened and beheldSofia at last. Heaven roared in joy, butthe world did not hear it. The voice thatspoke was kind and whispered not inwords but in music.

Do not be afraid. Years beyond

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counting, I waited for you. I see younow.

“I’m nothing!”No, you are strong enough to break

through fear, strong enough for whatlies ahead.

“I’m not ready!”Lies and all your fear, all your grief.Giovanni fell again, slowly tumbling

into nothing, into the black water.Sofia closed her eyes to block out the

vision, and when she realized she saw itstill, she knew that She too saw. Thoseeyes that had looked upon the mostterrible grief now looked on hers. Arumble then, like a storm brewing in the

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distance, and once more She spoke:Changed but stronger, it will return.“I’m not strong like you.”I am not strong. Only my love was

strong. That is what sustained methen, sustains me now, and no otherpower but Love can sustain you in thecoming darkness. Only Love.

Love.Sofia opened her eyes. The next drop

fell, but it did not land. She had it now.Control did not feel like something shehad learned, it felt like somethingrecalled.

Tremellius talked on, obliviously.“The Heavens revolved around us until

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King Bernoulli taught us there’s noscheme to History, no Music around theSpheres, only a bloody vacuum. Man’striumphs and failures, his laws, hiscrimes, they’re nothing but dust—juststories for children. God’s breath doesnot warm us, nor inspire men toprophesy, nor virgins to conceive.”

Tap.The water didn’t drop because it had

to. It dropped because Sofia let it. Shefocused on the next drop and instead ofcatching it made it change direction. Itsplashed against the door.

Tap.“If there is no pattern, there are no

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constraints. We’re free ofCommandments. Free of God. Madonnahelp us, we’re free.”

Anger rose up, but she didn’t releaseit. She let the drop hang in space asanother fell into it, and another, until itwas trembling under the growingweight . . . just a few seconds more . . .

She grabbed the banner she’d used asa pillow.

Tremellius sighed again and made hisway back to the coffin. “Farewell,Contessa. Dream golden dreams.”

It blasted through the window and outacross the void, and Sofia dived thoughthe gap, rolling as she landed on the

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walkway.Levi woke to see the fist-size hole

blasted in his door.“Ungrateful troia, get back in your

box!” Tremellius screamed.Feeble as they were, Sofia couldn’t

block his kicks.“After all I’ve done for you, you’ll get

me in trouble! I should drown you righthere!”

Water had pushed back, and Sofiacould hardly move her arms, let alonefight. As she fell back on the walkway,her hand touched the lake surface.Seeing how weak she was, Tremelliuswas emboldened to catch her in a choke

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hold, using his weight to push her headdown. She saw buio rising from thedepths toward her.

Suddenly, Tremellius slumped over.Behind him stood Levi, brandishing thewindow bar from his cell. He pulled herup as the buio lunged.

“Thanks,” she coughed.“Thank you, Contessa! Technically,

this is your breakout.”“I thought you were dead.”“Takes more than a few days’ fast to

kill me. I’ve endured army food.” Helaughed.

A metallic groan heralded a newrevolution of the pit.

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“Help me!” Sofia shouted, andtogether they dragged Tremellius into thecoffin with them.

“Didn’t he just try to kill you?” saidLevi conversationally.

“He kept me alive first. Besides, wemight need help up there.”

“It’s going to be awfully tight. Howdo you make this thing go up?”

“I don’t know; someone up therealways operated it. Wake him up!”

“I shouldn’t have hit him so hard,”Levi lamented. “There’s got to be abutton!”

“Is it this?”“How the hell do I know? Just hit it!”

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The coffin stopped in front of the secondcolossus. Levi jumped out, ready tofight, but the great hall was empty. Thedarkness was barely dented by scatteredcandles and the last faint rose glow ofsunset spilling in misty wisps through theopen doorway.

Sofia looked up at the statue,wondering if it was the original or theshadow. Whichever it was, there wassomething about it that made her heartglow despite the circumstances.

“Getting dark. Well, that’s lucky.”Levi was talking to himself nervously ashe looked around for another weapon.

She walked toward the base of thecolossus until she was standing in front

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of the carved letters, each a braccia tall:Although changed, I shall arise thesame.

She realized suddenly why the angel’ssmile was comforting; the statue’sidealized portrait was familiar. Horriblyfamiliar.

She went to the coffin and draggedTremellius to his feet. He was groggybut conscious.

“The statue,” she demanded. “Who isit?”

“The angel?” he said dazedly, tryingto keep up, “T—that is Saint Michaeltriumphant, he who cast out the Serpent.An allegory of the Re-Formation, I

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suppose. The artist was, let me see—”“Whose face does it have?”“Oh, I see; well, naturally the portrait

is he who cast out Superstition.”It hit her like a blow. Choking back

tears, she asked, “What was Giovanni’ssurname?”

“Oh, no need to be coy with me,Contessa. I’m not an Apprentice.”

“What was it?” she screamed.“Bernoulli—”Sofia pushed him against the glass.

“You lying cazzo!”“Giovanni was his grandson—I can

prove it,” he gurgled.

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“The darkness will help, but we needsome kind of distraction,” Levi said,prying an antique sword from the wall,oblivious to what was happening in thecoffin. He turned to see Sofia gettingback into the coffin. “Hey! Where areyou going?” Tremellius was still withher.

“I have to see something. I’ll beback,” she promised, and before Levicould protest, the coffin door hissedshut.

“If you’re not back in five, I’mleaving!”

Tremellius led the way from the coffin to

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his desk between the towering stacks ofbooks, babbling nervously. “I justassumed he would have told you—it’sonly natural to be proud of that lineage.But having proved himself unworthy,perhaps it was natural to be ashamed—”

This last finally penetrated Sofia’sstupor, and she mumbled, “It’s certainlya name to be ashamed of.”

“Well, you are not Concordian,” hesaid reasonably. He pushed some heavyvolumes out of the way and fished out ascroll. “Look, this is GirolamoBernoulli’s family tree.”

“What about those stories of himfloating down the river?” Sofia said asshe took it from him.

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His fat little fingers scrambled for apaper cutter under the books. “Oh, morenonsense: the Bernoullis were justcommon masons. He appeared to comefrom nowhere because Small Peoplewere invisible to the Curia.”

Seeing her staring at the family tree,totally absorbed, he lunged.

Almost without looking up Sofiacaught his wrist, took the knife away,and slapped him hard across the face.“Don’t.”

As he raised his hand to his cheek, shesaid, as if nothing had happened, “Heproved unworthy, you said.”

“At first, he did live up to

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expectations,” he gibbered. “This was aboy expected to be the youngest FirstApprentice ever. He had hisgrandfather’s intelligence, and not justthat, he had his ambition and ferocity too—it was he who revealed his father’splot.”

“No!” she cried. “Giovanni wasn’t atraitor!”

“Technically, Jacopo Bernoulli wasthe traitor. But yes, the Giovanni youknew was very different. Somethingwent wrong in his third year at the GuildHalls.”

Sofia looked at the scroll. The treenarrowed to Girolamo Bernoulli, his sonJacopo, and his grandson Giovanni. The

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truth had been staring her in the face allalong.

Tremellius’s eyes darted to thewaiting coffin—this might be his lastopportunity. He leaped up.

She slammed the knife into his hand.“Ahhhh! Ah ah ahhh!”“What went wrong?”He squealed, “I don’t know! No one

does. He was—how to put it?—active atGubbio.” He glanced timidly at Sofia’sface. “In the aftermath of the Wave hewas engaged in fieldwork with thepseudonaiades, continuing hisgrandfather’s research. All was goingwell until he was attacked by one, or so

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he said. Most people just thought he losthis nerve—burnout’s common amongyoung engineers—but whateverhappened, he returned to Concorddifferent, though at first he seemed justthe same. Before, well, everyone knowsabout Gubbio—he had no qualms, hewas willing to do anything, but when hecame back—”

Tremellius wiped sweat from hisbrow. “Dissection’s nasty work by allaccounts, and I can see that most peopledon’t have the stomach for it, but withhis lineage—and after such a promisingstart—you can imagine thedisappointment. Gradually theApprentices lost confidence in him, and

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interest, until the, um, incident thatbrought you here. The last chapter, youknow, a disappointing career ending inthe disgrace of mutiny.”

Sofia cocked her head to the ceiling.“Why did they care if he’d told me hisname?”

“Hard to say. The current FirstApprentice has taken a rather mysticalturn. He’s convinced that the secondmeeting of Scaligeri and Bernoulli wasmore than coincidence. I assume hewanted to know if Giovanni was simplya traitor like his father or if it was morethan that.

“Certain secrets are not written inbooks, Contessa, but whispered over the

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years. The First Apprentice believes thata new age is dawning. More than that Icannot say.”

Sofia twisted the knife handle.“Ahhh! I can’t say because I don’t

know! That’s all I know, I swear!” Helooked shifty for a moment. “Why do youcare, Contessa? The boy’s dead; hishistory’s of no consequence. All thatlives of Bernoulli is this temple.”

“I loved him,” Sofia said more toherself than to the historian.

“You—aha ha—”She could feel it even as she stood

there: the Darkness was regenerating,more powerfully this time. Anger is

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stronger meat than grief. She was angryat herself, angry at the nun for keepingthe truth from her, but most of all angryat him—she would not say his name—angry for making her love him, formaking her grieve him.

She held the paper to the candle.“What are you doing?”“Blood matters,” she whispered as

she walked back to the coffin, draggingthe burning scroll behind her.

The historian watched as scraps ofpaper lit up in her wake. He tentativelytouched the dagger’s handle, but the painwas too great. As the hungry flamesclimbed the bookshelves, as the towers

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tumbled, he wept.

Levi breathed a sigh of relief as the starascended once more.

“We should leave,” he said quickly.“This is Bernoulli’s tower, Levi.”

When he looked at her blankly, sheshouted, “We have to burn it!”

“Are you all right? You seem—”“Just help me!”The angel watched impassively as

they took torches to the tapestries of thegreat hall.

As the library became an inferno,

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Tremellius’s fear of death routed his fearof pain. The Apprentices would savehim. He wrestled the blade out andscrambled to the glass column. Theengine room was empty but for the ThirdApprentice, who was serenely cleaningthe slate.

“Scoundrels! They have left us toburn!” the historian cried.

“Be calm,” the boy said. “The othersare in the lantern.”

Sofia rammed the glass column with acandelabrum until great crackssplintered up the shaft.

Levi had to pull her away before she

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hurt herself. “That’s enough, Contessa.The heat will do the rest.”

Scraps of burning paper were fallingfrom the distant dome. They pushed themassive doors closed as they left. Sofiagave the angel no final glance. It wouldnot see her cry.

Tremellius was unconvinced. The“lantern” was the Grecian mausoleumcrowning the Molè’s triple dome.“Perhaps we’d be better off goingdown.”

Far below, the water shot up thoughthe pit. When it reached the great hall,the pressure was enough to finally

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shatter the fissured glass.Tremellius toggled the coffin’s handle

ineffectually. “It’s not working. We’retrapped!”

“Just follow me,” the boy said,walking to one of the walls. He turnedand watched the pendulum as thehistorian waddled over to join him. Thewall parted for a moment, a pistonlowered, and the boy stepped into thedarkness. The historian scampered afterhim. They ascended from piston topiston in the space between the innerdome and outer dome. The noise wasdeafening and the light was dim, but theboy, comfortable as a sewer rat, led theway confidently.

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Finally he threw open a trapdoor to abreathtaking night. Tremellius wasgasping already from the climb, but thesky was so fretted with stars that hefancied he could pry his fingers intothem and tear night aside for day. He felthe could breathe freely for the first timein decades, that he had escapedGirolamo Bernoulli’s mind. Red andorange, the First and SecondApprentices stood in the open door ofthe mausoleum, watching.

“My Lords, what are you thinking?”he asked. “That is Bernoulli’s tomb.”

The First Apprentice answered, “I’msurprised there are rumors you haven’theard. The tomb is empty. It will be our

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refuge from the fire.”“Calm yourself,” the Second

Apprentice added. “He has not returned;he waits where he always has, in hisreal tomb. In the real Molè.”

“This is not the Molè?”“The Beast is the real wonder of our

age. This imperfect reflection shallburn.”

“You knew this was coming?”“Bernoulli told us the Signs that

would herald his return. The destructionof his greatest lie was one. Hismonument is concealed, just as hissecrets are revealed only to initiates.”

Tremellius’s eyes widened. “I am an

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initiate?”“You are redundant. There is no need

for historians at History’s end.”“Then—what shall I do?” he said

with a nervous laugh.The man in red gave a smile worthy of

a wolf. “You shall be free.”

They picked at random one of many longstairways winding from the mountain’ssummit to the canals and were lucky. Atthe bottom, Levi untied one of the boatswhile admiring the layout from asoldierly perspective. “It’s a citadel.Even if you took the city, you couldn’thold it without the Molè.”

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Sofia couldn’t bring herself to lookback at it, still less praise it.

Levi soon discovered that the canalshad parallel currents, leading to andfrom the mountain, and once he got theboat into the right one, they speedilycrossed over the new city.

“They made it so hard to get in,” Levisaid. “Getting out will be easy!”

He glanced back nervously at Sofia,who was staring at the water passing bythem, clutching her banner tightly. Oncethey reached garrisoned city walls theycould no longer count on mere luck.They’d have to fight their way out. Wasshe up to it?

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Through a sea of thick fog below,Sofia finally saw the great city again. Itssmooth streets were set in a perfect grid,the few curves allowed graceful andrestrained. Marble columns gleamed,their cold beauty illuminated by orbs ofblue fire. Everywhere there wasproportion and order, balance andharmony. It was an alien beauty, and hersoul shrank from it. There were nocitizens abroad, only soldiers. It was acity remade as a prison for itspopulation, and for a terrifying momentshe saw the world from GirolamoBernoulli’s remote perspective, abeautiful sphere infested by swarmingpests, perfection riddled with human

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maggots with all their corrosive lies andhopes.

She risked a look back at the Molèand was startled to see the sky empty,washed white by fog, and tall columnsfading into nothingness like tiredbrushstrokes. The Molè’s upturnedwhale’s belly left no impression on a skyit should have dominated.

“Levi, where—?” she began.“Should be a big enough distraction,”

he chuckled as the dome becamesuddenly illuminated by flames.

“Look, the lantern,” she said, pointingat the summit of the third dome.

A man slid and rolled and bounced

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and finally shot though the wall offlames at the base of the last dome,emerging into the empty air, burning likea falling star. They were too far away tohear his scream. All over the city, bellsrang out.

The city walls emerged from mist.“Get down, Sofia,” Levi said in an

undertone.A sentry called out a challenge, “Hey,

who goes there?”Levi saluted casually. “Me. Tie this

off, will you?” he said, preparing tothrow the rope.

When the sentry reached out for it, anoose fell around him, and he yelped as

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he landed in the water. The cold wouldfinish him before the buio could getthere.

Levi helped Sofia out of the boat.“What happened up there, Contessa?”

“Nothing. I’m all right,” she said.“You don’t look all right. I don’t know

how you did that trick with the water, butit obviously costs something. We’regoing to have to get down and out as fastas possible. I need you to keep up. Gotit?”

Sofia rubbed her arms, trying to getwarm. “Is it the only way? How manymen are down there? I’m weak, andyou’re half starved.”

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“Just the odds I like. Just stay behindme, kid.”

Levi opened the door and then closedit just as quickly. “Hmm, this could getugly.” He made the Sign of the Swordand said, “Madonna, help us out and Iswear I will live a better life.Contessa?”

“What?”“Swear!”“Oh, right. I swear.”He opened it again and leaped in with

a yell. A guard coming up the stairs gotkicked in the chest, brawler fashion.

“You weren’t kidding—that wasugly.”

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“You going to be this helpful allthrough this escape?”

“Look behind you!”Levi gave an involuntary cry as two

more guards bundled up from thelanding. He slipped, luckily, as the firstguard swung. He kicked, and the guardfell to the ground, clutching his groin.His helmet came off when he landed.Levi scrambled to his feet, just avoidingthe second soldier’s sword. The bladesparked on stone with a clang. Beforethe swordsman recovered, Levi hadgrabbed the helmet and whacked him.

He rubbed his hands with satisfactionand winked at Sofia as he reached forthe door at the end of the corridor. “And

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that’s how condottieri do it.”His smile faded. The room was full of

guards drinking and playing cards. Levistood there as the laughter stopped.Behind him, Sofia quickly sized up thesituation. Levi was doing well for acivilian. But they were both weak andnow outnumbered. If even a single guardescaped to raise the alarm, they weredone for.

“Catch,” she said, throwing Levi herbundle.

Before any of the guards had moved,Sofia was inside, striking withprecision, bouncing between preselectedtargets. She knew where every blowlanded, what effect it had. A moment

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later, all the guards were on the floorand Sofia was filling a satchel with foodfrom the table. She threw Levi a chickendrumstick.

“And that is how Rasenneisi do it,”she said with a grin. “What’s the matter?Not hungry?”

Levi lost the dazed look and clearedhis throat. “All right, I’ll admit you’vegot some skills, but stay behind me nexttime! I don’t need you hurt before I breakus out.”

“Sure thing.” She was glowing; it wasgood to be in a straight fight again.“What are you looking for?”

“Someone you haven’t concussed.

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This fine fellow will do!” Levi threw amug of beer in the moaning soldier’sface. When he started struggling, Leviheld a sword to his neck and brought himto the window. A red glow lit up thenight.

“See that? That’s not the sun comingup early; that’s the Molè. This niceyoung Signorina did that. You don’t wanther angry. We need fast rides out oftown.”

“Heralds get the best horses. Theirstable’s on the other side of the PonteBernoulliana.”

“How do we open the gate?”The solider explained, and Levi

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thanked him with a whack of the tankard.Before they got to the bridge, Levi had

several more opportunities to admireSofia’s skills. Only when they reached itdid she hesitate. Like the statue, it was areflection: a dark mirror of Giovanni’sbridge. She remembered talk of aRasenneisi Engineers’ Guild with ashudder.

“Sofia, we can’t wait for sunup,” Levisaid urgently. “Come on!”

They galloped away from the dark whitecity, swift hooves echoing in the night,not stopping to rest until they’d had anhour’s hard riding. Dawn broke, but the

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air was still frigid with wintersparseness and snow blew down fromthe northern mountains. They didn’tnotice; they were too glad to have leftthat unnatural desert surroundingConcord behind.

“We made it!” said Levi with asavage whoop. “Can you believe it? Theonly man to ever escape from the Beast!Levi, you are an immortal!”

Sofia slumped in the saddle, moretired than she had ever been.

“Going home, Contessa?”“Where are you going?”“Southeast. The Hawk’s Company’s

rendezvous was in the Ariminumese

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contato—they might not have gottenthere in one piece after Tagliacozzo, butthat’s where I’ll start looking. If there’struly a traitor in the Company, I’d bepartly responsible if I didn’t warn JohnAcuto.”

Sofia gave no indication of havingheard. The emotional rush of the escapewas fading, leaving her with a host oftruths she’d sooner not face.

Giovanni had lied to her. He hadhidden his name, his past, and whoknows what else. He was capable ofbetraying his own father to the engineers.What else had he done—what else hadhe planned? She had accused the Doctorof betraying her, but how much worse

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was her own betrayal? Whatever Doc’smethods, at least he always fought forRasenna.

She had never before questioned ifshe was worthy to be Contessa. Now theanswer was unavoidable.

“I can’t go back,” she whispered.Levi pretended not to notice her tears.

She’d been strong for him, so he’d bestrong for her.

“You want to keep fighting? Comewith me.”

“I’ve got nothing worth fighting for.”“Don’t they have money where you

come from? There’s a home for anyonewho can fight in the Hawk’s Company,

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and Contessa, you can fight!”“I don’t want to be a condottiere,”

Sofia said, wavering.“You get to fight Concord,”That settled it.“Send your horse south anyway. Two

tracks will slow them up if they trytracking us.”

She did it and then begged a favor:“Never call me Contessa again. It’sSofia, just Sofia.”

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CHAPTER 53

Mad-dog winds chased each otherthrough the dusky streets. Lucia hadretired to the chapel to meditate, she’dsaid. Instead she was spying on the threemen though the broken stained-glasswindow. Giovanni was trying to fend offFabbro’s and Pedro’s arguments; themore insistent they became, the morereluctant he got.

“I’m just not the right person.”“You’re the only person!” Pedro

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insisted. He was still sore from hisbeating, and he wanted to press thequestion, but Fabbro, the moreexperienced salesman, knew when togive a customer time to consider.

Lucia’s vision had come suddenly andtold her much—too much. But whatdreams she had prayed for were dustnow; only the Virgin’s will mattered.Seeing Giovanni walking toward thechapel, she returned to a serene pose ofmeditation: that was what Historyexpected of her.

“They asked me—”“—to be podesta. You must accept,”

she said.

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“It can’t be me.”“It can only be you, Giovanni.”He saw her trembling. “Why are you

crying?”“Because I have seen my death!” she

said, her breath escaping in sobs. Thetruth was a lie; her vision was not thereason she cried—but she must now beas selfless as the Reverend Mother hadbeen. History made no allowances forfoolish girls who fell in love.

Giovanni was silent for a moment. “Ithought I would die when I went into theriver. Yet I didn’t. Maybe it’s the same—”

“Giovanni, listen—” Lucia took a

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breath and composed herself. “TheVirgin’s will is manifest in us all, but inyou Time’s river divides.”

“That’s what the Reverend Mothersaid, but what does it mean? That I havetwo destinies?”

“I cannot tell you in words, but I canshow you.”

“Sister, stop!” Giovanni cried. “Icannot be taken into any moreconfidences! I am not who you think I am—I told Sofia that I came to build thebridge for Rasenna, but I built it formyself, to salve my conscience, neverthinking of the bloody consequences.Sofia died for me, and now they want meas podesta. I don’t deserve this trust.

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Lucia, I must tell you who I am or bedamned for it, if I’m not already.”

Lucia said, “The Contessa lives.”Giovanni slowly sat down in front of

her. “I wish it were possible, but I knowbetter than anyone what Concord does toits prisoners. My name is—”

“Giovanni Bernoulli was your name.You are something else now.”

“How—? How do you know who Iam?”

“One cannot understand water withoutfaith. Now you must begin to believe.Sofia will return, and she will bechanged. And when she does return, youwill have to make a choice yourself, to

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save yourself or save her”—she held upthe glass of water—“but to make thatchoice you have to know—”

“What?”“That you are the contents of this

glass. You are trying to make sense ofit,” she said. “Don’t. You are water, andunless you believe that, Rasenna isdoomed. Imagine a world where you arenot heir to the beast but simply thecontents of the glass. Imagine.”

She released the glass, and itshattered against the stone floor. For amoment there were no other sounds butthe tinkle of the glass shards coming torest. Slowly Lucia breathed out and thensaid briskly, “Good.”

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Giovanni said nothing, only staring atthe water floating in a slowly shiftingcolumn in front of him.

“You’re here for a reason, Giovanni.The buio were pure, and we spoiledthem, as we will spoil everything, giventime. You’re coming to see how we areconnected to them. The buio have livedwith that knowledge since the beginning.It defines them. In our Salvation istheirs; in theirs, ours.”

At the door, she looked back.“Contemplate water for a while. I willkeep watch for you.”

Night fell on Rasenna, but the Doctor

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could not sleep. A scent in the air,auguring something awful and imminent,kept him awake. He took to the roof,hoping fresh air would clear his senses,knowing it would make no difference.There would be blood tonight.

The moon’s reflection on the riverquivered with the same anticipation.

Movement on the bridge caught hiseye—two figures running south, chasedby a bandieratoro with a Bombellibanner. The first was a boy with a headstart; the second was a tall man, limpingand carrying a torch.

The boy made it to the safety of PiazzaLuna and disappeared into the nightwithout a glance back at his lagging

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partner. The bandieratoro caught up withthe limper. There was a moment’sstruggle. The limper dropped his torchbut knocked down the bandieratorobefore hopping away. When thebandieratoro recovered, he picked upthe torch and took the time to aimcarefully.

The torch stuck the limper’s backsquarely, and in the moments he layprone the flames caught. He might havescreamed, but the sound did not reachTower Bardini. He crawled to thebalustrade and pulled himself onto it,then lay still.

The bandieratoro approached thesmoldering carcass, poked it, then turned

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back north. The Doctor’s gaze followed.Bombelli’s tower was obscured bysmoke.

He landed by the tower’s Madonna.There was a lot of smoke, but the firehad been contained.

Fabbro was surveying the damagewith his wife. He greeted him casually.“Not as quick as the old days, Doc.”

The Doctor caught his breath. “Yourfamily?”

Fabbro looked skeptical at theDoctor’s concern, but Donna Bombellisaid quickly, “All safe. Thank you,Doctor.”

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“Morello,” he grunted.“After Vanzetti’s was hit, I figured

we’d be next. We were ready.”“You could have sent for me.”“I have flags of my own now,” Fabbro

said proudly.One of his older sons, Salvatore,

came back; the Doctor recognized thebandieratoro from the bridge.

“Got one, Pop,” he said.The Doctor looked around. “It doesn’t

make sense.”“Small People standing up for

themselves? Get used to it.”“If Morello wanted to burn you out, he

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would have. He has plenty ofexperience, believe me. He knowsyou’ve hired flags too. He knew you’dexpect this after he trashed Vanzetti’s.”

Fabbro was worried now. “You thinkit’s a warning?”

The Doctor shook his head.“Vanzetti’s was the warning. This is adistraction.”

“From what?”But the Doctor was already

scrambling up the walls. Realizing theanswer, Fabbro glanced up at the iconand prayed that the Doc would be asquick as in the old days, for Giovanni’ssake.

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The wind was dying down, and a faintrose blush on the clouds heraldedapproaching dawn. Lucia walked outinto the garden, clasping her handstightly to prevent them from shaking.

“Madonna,” she prayed, “give megrace. I would have made an obedienthandmaid. I do not question Your will, Isimply ask that You give us both thestrength to bear what we must bear.” Sheentered the Baptistery and blessedherself in the font. The water was ice-cold, but her hand no longer trembled.Grace.

“There is no need to hide,” she saidquietly. “I know you are here.”

From the shadows the Morello

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bandieratori emerged. In the half-light,their flags were glistening sheets ofburning gold.

“The door was open, so we took theliberty,” said Gaetano. “Stand aside andyou can go free.”

“I am free. Here is where I am meantto be. So come take him, if you can.”

Giovanni awoke gasping for air, with amemory that didn’t make sense. Heremembered the Wave that struckRasenna. It was a dream where past andpresent merged, for he was on the newbridge, not in the old town center, as theearth trembled and a shadow fell over

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Rasenna. The glass was broken. Thewater was spilled on the ground:obviously, making it float had been partof the dream.

Dawn was breaking as he stepped intothe garden. He stopped to look at the sunand stretched and yawned. Strange, hethought; the pigeons were usually sonoisy in the mornings. He entered theBaptistery.

There was blood everywhere. Brokenbodies were strewn around the floor,heads smashed open, torsos impaled onflagpoles, and legs sticking out of thebaptismal font.

“Lucia!” He pulled her broken bodyout of the water.

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“If it’s any consolation,” Gaetanoslurred through a swollen lip, “she soldher life dearly. You really havesomething that turns girls’ heads.”

He pushed Giovanni over and knelt ontop of him, pinning his arms and holdinga knife in front of his face.

“I’ll tell you what else you’re good at:failing. You could have saved mybrother in Concord, but you didn’t. Youcould have saved Sofia, but you didn’t.And you could have saved that novice ifyou’d stayed dead, but you didn’t. Solet’s try it again, one last time. Whereshould I start, Captain? Your ears? I’mshort one, see? Your hand, for mybrother? Your neck, for my father? Or

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perhaps that Concordian nose, forsticking it where it’s not wanted. Willthey still adore youUH!”

A smear of black and white. A footsmashed into Gaetano’s jaw. The knifewent spinning.

Gaetano shambled after Isabella, butthe young novice avoided him easily.“Come here, amore mio,” he saiddrunkenly. “Look how I baptized yourfriend—you can be reborn too.”

Giovanni grabbed his leg and shouted,“Run!”

Gaetano kicked Giovanni’s hand awayand stomped on his chest, then turnedjust as Isabella ran at him; she skidded

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between his legs, then spun on theground, giving a sharp kick to the backof the knee. As he fell, he lunged andgrabbed the hem of her habit.

“Little pest! You should have diedwith your misbegotten family,” saidGaetano, pulling her toward him.

“You too, Tano.” The Doctor held aknife to his throat and with a steadypressure brought him to his feet. Isabellapulled her habit free and stood behindGiovanni.

“Shall I do him right now, Podesta?He’s earned it.”

Giovanni looked down at Isabella.She shook her head gravely. “Thou shall

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not kill.”“Doctor,” he said, “take him to the

bridge.”

The crowd, summoned by the chimingbells, formed a circle and pushed theprisoner into the center of the bridge.Death hung in the air, as eager to fall asa sharpened ax.

“Hang him, Podesta!”The violence of Rasenna was

palpable, as material as the towers andthe river, and Giovanni felt as powerlessto stop it as he would be to stop asecond Wave. The beginning and end ofRasenna’s law was the right to revenge,

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yet somehow a little girl had found thestrength to push back at it. And somehowLucia had seen her death coming andgone to meet it unafraid. To be podestahe would have to find that samestrength . . .

Lucia knew his name and still said hemust be podesta. The Reverend Mothermust have known his name too. Did theyreally see his crimes, or were theyobscured by his grandfather’s shadow?

Leaving his place by the Doctor’sside, Mule went to the balustrade andturned over the burned corpse. Hepushed Secondo’s body into the river,spitting a hopeless curse along with hisverdict—“Traitor!”—then turned back,

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both eyes red now and streaming tears.And Giovanni knew the moment he

heard the lonely splash why it had toend.

“Rasenneisi,” he shouted, “if I be yourpodesta, will you accept my judgment?”

“Yes!” they roared.“This man came to assassinate me. He

killed my friend. Shall we hang him?”The mob howled for blood, louder

than before.“And what if, tomorrow, this man

comes for me?” Giovanni pointed at theDoctor. “Do I hang him too?”

His finger moved to Fabbro. “Or thisman? Or you, Pedro? Or you? As long as

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Rasenneisi follow separate banners, anyof you may one day be strong enough tobe the law. If the Contessa was here,things would be simpler.”

“She will return,” said the Doctor.“Perhaps, but to what? If we don’t

change this, she’ll have nothing to returnto. As long as Rasenneisi followseparate banners, strength is the onlylaw that matters, and I cannot be yourpodesta. Twenty years ago a Concordianarmy occupied Rasenna after the Wavestruck. They pillaged nothing but theScaligeri banner and by that one actmade a strong town weak by setting itagainst itself. But by Rasenneisi law,because they were strong, they were

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right to do it. So hang Morello—but notbecause he’s a schismatic; hang himbecause he’s in our power and we arestrong. Why deliberate? This isRasenna. We need no other reason.”

He grabbed Gaetano and pushed himtoward the gap.

“Who will give me rope? I cannot beyour podesta, so let me be yourhangman!”

The crowd was silent. The Doctorcleared his throat. “What would youhave us do?”

“Throw down your banners! Throwdown your banners or give me rope!”

The sun was up now, and the wide

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river beneath was as beautiful as gold. Itfelt as if they were awakening, alltogether, from a long, fevered sleep. TheDoctor dropped his flag. After amoment, Fabbro dropped his. His sonsand men followed. Woolsmen droppedtheir Guild colors.

Giovanni removed Gaetano’s gag.“Lord Morello, will you throw down

your banner?”Gaetano ignored him and unsteadily

walked over to the Doctor. Glaring at hisenemy, he spit on the Bardini flag.Fabbro quickly put a restraining hand onthe Doctor.

“I’ll be hanged first,” Gaetano said,

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“and the last true Rasenneisi will curseyou all for traitors with his dying breath.Traitors and fools. Why are you listeningto this Concordian’s lies? He tricked youbefore, remember? He said you werebuilding a bridge. It was a scaffold foryour paesani!”

“So be it,” said Giovanni. “My firstact as podesta is to banish you for life.”

“You don’t have that authority. I exilemyself.”

When Gaetano was returned hisbanner, he defiantly proclaimed, “Oneday soon this flag will return, and with itthe honor today lost.”

The crowd watched the Morello heir

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ride from Rasenna with the awereserved for miracles, then turned toGiovanni with the same expression.

“My second act as podesta is topropose this: we have expelled factionfrom within, and we will do so in thefuture. Any man who usurps the Signoriawill be banished. From without, thethreat comes from Concord. We lost ourlast battle. To be ready for the one tocome, we need warriors, an army ofnorthsiders and southsiders, andweapons and walls, and wealth to payfor them. Doctor Bardini, will you trainour army?”

“I will, Podesta.”“War’s a creature that eats from both

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ends, and a growing prosperity affordsgreater protection than any wall. Withbetter machines and faster ships we cancompete with cities like Ariminum and,in time, Concord. Signore Bombelli,will you counsel us?”

“I will, Podesta.”“Neither walls nor wealth will stop

Concord’s engineers. Nothing can cancelthat power but the same power. Itherefore propose that Rasenna form anEngineers’ Guild of its own.”

A sudden disquiet went through thecrowd. The wrinkled brows of oldercitizens were troubled with a darkmemory.

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Giovanni paused for protest that nevercame.

“Hear hear,” said the Doctor a littletoo loudly.

“Signore Vanzetti, will you help meform it?”

“I will, Podesta,” Pedro said quietly.And they were a mob no longer but

citizens, united by hope and a question.Fabbro voiced it: “Can we win?”“United, we can do anything.”“Then,” said Fabbro, with a wink to

the Doctor, “who shall divide us?”He led the cheer. “Forza Rasenna!”

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CHAPTER 54

“It’s unnecessary, First Apprentice.”Snow drifted down through the

charred skeleton of the triple dome. Thewinds that assaulted the black mountainnow roamed the ruins of the Molè’sgreat hall. The cold air and darknessleached every color to gray except theFirst Apprentice’s red gown. His facewas as tragic as ever as he lovinglycaressed the individual letters spellingresurgo at the base of the colossus. The

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angel had come through the fire intact,though the gilt decorating its breastplateand sword had been scorched away. Allwas changed.

“Bernoulli’s heir must be true to hislegacy.”

“Oh, you are,” said the SecondApprentice with a bitterness that beliedhis youthful face. He was breaking offshards of glass from the shatteredcolumn and dropping them into the emptydarkness of the pit. “He was delusionaltoward the end too.”

“Are not the signs he left us borneout?” said the man in red with passion.“He told us that after his blood betrayedhim, one would be born to overturn the

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power of this world. Our power.”“His blood already betrayed him—

his son—and yet we remain. You lookfor signs where you should seek facts.Yes, you should have killed her; justaccept that you made a mistake andmove on,” he said with empathy.“You’re insecure because the generationof Forty-seven wanted a Bernoulliinstead of you; there is nothing you cando to change that. You’ll always bejudged against him.”

There was a faint krinch of crushedglass. The First Apprentice spun aroundand knocked the shard out of the youngman’s hand with a chop, then kicked himin the chest.

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“Uuggh!” the Second Apprenticegasped. He staggered toward theshattered column and would havetumbled into the pit had not the FirstApprentice grabbed his collar.

“And you would love to wear the red,boy, so you must just accept that youwill have to wait your turn.”

He was defiant. “We have enoughproblems in Europa without wastingmore time on foolishness.”

“Granted, the Captain was a weakvessel without talent, but don’t you findit odd that Bernoulli’s grandson turnedagainst us there, of all places? You wereright. I should have killed her while Ihad the chance.”

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“Our scouts say they went southeast.She could be in Oltremare for all weknow.”

“She’s a Scaligeri. She’ll return toRasenna. We must finish her, and it, forgood.”

“But we’ve already set the target.”“There are other ways to deal with

Ariminum. Are you blind? Somethinghappened in Rasenna to turn Bernoulli’sown flesh against him—what otherpower could it be?”

“Logic worthy of a Cardinal! We’rePhilosophers. How do you know theseare not just coincidences?”

“Faith.” He smiled. “You’ll need to

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acquire some if you’re ever going towear the red. Until then, your agreementwill suffice. Do I have it?” He let theApprentice’s collar slip a little in hisgrasp. A cold charnel wind came upfrom the darkness.

The man in red showed his teeth.“Feel that, boy? Be assured that it feelsyou, and it smells your fear.”

The Second Apprentice was pale butstruggling to keep his composure. “I’mnot going to bow to superstition, butthere are perfectly valid strategicreasons to target Rasenna. It’s proveditself incapable of obedience once toooften. We can’t let that stand.”

“Good enough,” said the man in red

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with a laugh that was soft and withoutmusic as he pulled the SecondApprentice up. He walked to what wasleft of the doorway and looked beyondthe snow falling on the dark white city.

“Run to the world’s edge, Contessa.We’ll catch you.”

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CHAPTER 55

She would never return to Rasenna, butit was instinctive to compare its rollinghills with the flat fields of theAriminumese contato. The calm sea wasas flat as the land, but she could sense itspower; the salt-sharp coastal air wasedged with it. The last time she had seenit, she had been peering through a cage.Now, looking at its world-spanningexpanse without constraints, she sworethat she’d never return to confinement,

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whether it was a cell’s walls orRasenna’s towers. This was freedom—from strictures, from the burden of aname—and she would embrace it. Shemust.

Levi studied the landscape for otherreasons. Although they had crossed someland scarred by troop tracks, there wasno evidence of outright pillaging.

“This field is newly sowed,” saidLevi.

“So?”“Madonna, Rasenneisi are a slow

breed. So the farmer expects to bearound for the harvest. So the Companyisn’t besieging Ariminum, it’s

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negotiating a Contract.”“The city is buying an army?”“The Hawk’s Company is not for

sale,” Levi said proudly, and thencoughed. “Besides, it’s a rentingculture.”

They rode until they spied the camp ina valley a few miles from the city walls.Even at a distance, Ariminum’s wealthwas obvious. An extensive portdominated one half of the city, and theinland half had burst its limits, with newtowers being built outside the walls,spurning their shelter.

“Didn’t we promise the Virgin we’dlive better lives if she helped us

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escape?”“Being a condottiere is the best life

there is. Oh! It’ll be good to see somefriendly faces again,” said Levi happily.“Hey, watch out!”

An arrow landed a braccia away. Thehorse bucked, but Levi got it undercontrol.

“Dismount, Sofia. Make it slow.”“Your friends don’t seem too

friendly.”Five heavily armored soldiers rode

toward them. Another arrow landedbeside the first.

Sofia reached for her dagger.“Don’t . . .” said Levi.

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“Are we just going to let them ride usdown? I’ll be damned if—”

“Tranquillo! It’s too late to run. Theyfired to show us we’re covered.”

The leader of the advance party rodeforward and then stopped and lifted hisvisor. “Porca Madonna!” he saidreverently. “It can’t be!” He pulled offhis helmet altogether and laughedheartily.

Sofia recognized his monkish hair andstiffened.

“Scarpelli? I thought you were dead!”said Levi.

“We thought you were dead!”exclaimed the broad-shouldered

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condottiere, leaping down. “Come here,you slippery dog!”

They embraced like brothers. “Wherehave you been lying low? Salerno?Veii?”

Levi cocked his head and saidcasually, “Concord.”

“Tell me another one, Levi. They’renot in the hostage game anymore.”

“I didn’t buy my way out. I brokeout!”

“You escaped from the belly of theBeast?” Scarpelli failed to conceal hisskepticism. “That’s a first! And thispretty young lady?”

“You remember Sofia?”

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“No, I don’t believe I’ve had the—Hold on, the Rasenneisi?”

Scarpelli took a step back with a handprotectively to his neck and laughednervously. “How could I forget DoctorBardini’s prize student? You’re quite afighter, Signorina.”

“Thought we could use another one,so I took her along,” Levi saidexpansively.

“Well, welcome both. It’s damn goodtiming—we’re about to beginnegotiations with Ariminum.”

“I figured. For a campaign?”“I’ll tell you all about it in camp.

Let’s just say it’s been an uneasy

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courtship so far.”Levi and Sofia followed Scarpelli

down into the valley. When he was outof earshot, Sofia slapped Levi on thehead.

“Ow!”“Took me along?”“Sorry! Listen, just follow my lead

until I know who we can trust. And,technically, I did take you with me—

“Ow!”

The old priest opened the cage andselected one of the older doves. Hecovered its head and cooed softly. Whenit stopped struggling, he snapped its neck

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with an efficient twist.A man stood at the flap of the tent,

impatiently watching the procedure. Hewas a little younger than the priest,though his square beard was grayer andhis face more lined by years of worry.He was a big man, and the armor on hisupper torso and the bulbous general’scap on his head made him look evenlarger. If the old bull had passed hisprime, it wasn’t obvious.

“I want a name. I want to know whathe’s planning next.” It wasn’t a request.The general expected obedience.

The priest ignored him and continuedstudying a diagram in a tattered book.His old eyes were shadowed by grayly

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blossoming cataracts, and they weptconstantly. He threw the book to oneside angrily and turned to an old cheststocked with vials of powder, variousroots and dried plants, and a variety ofrusted cutting tools.

“I’ve told you before, John Acuto:guts tell no names. Keep the questionsbroad and you’ll get useful answers.Don’t, you won’t.”

The general bristled but did not retort.Only the priest dared speak to him thisway. The general wasn’t the type toseek, cultivate, or keep friends, but if hestill had one, it was the priest. Theywere rocks molded by the same river:both old, where every other face in the

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Company was young and trusting—young and trusting enough to still believethat Fortune truly did favor the brave. Itwas a relief to be around someoneburdened with the same bitterknowledge: that Fortune was fickle andfavored cowards and champions, saintsand scoundrels, as the fancy took her. Infact, she favored all but her mostdevoted suitor, John Acuto—and now itappeared she chose even traitors abovehim.

“Fine. Should I worry?”“No point. The dog stalking old men

is not outrun.”“Don’t riddle me, Priest. Is there

treachery in my Company?”

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The priest wiped away the snail trailspouring down his cheeks, grunted, andset to work.

It began well. It usually did. He deftlyripped out handfuls of chest feathers,then cut away the skin and fat of thebreast. Snapping the bones away, hepulled out the irrelevant organs andplaced them separately in trays sittingready.

And then the familiar cloud came overhim, and the usual confusion arose tospoil the work. A breeze disturbed thetent flap, and smoke got in his eyes, andJohn Acuto’s massive shadow coveredthe light as he paced. The priest rubbedhis red-wet hand across his brow and

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thumbed through the pages of hisweathered Etruscan Scripture. The pagesconcerning divination had been torn, andsewn back together, torn again, stainedwith dried blood . . .

“What do you see?”“I see . . .” He pulled the entrails out

and picked off the small feathers stickingto them. His heart pounded. He laid themout and tried to dispel the cloud with adistracted wave. Was that blob of fleshthe bird’s heart or just meat? He lookedat the beaker, at the water swirling in amaelstrom of blood. He swore andtipped the tray’s contents into the fire.They bubbled and spit, filling the tentwith noxious air.

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“Nothing. I see nothing, John Acuto.”“Never mind, never mind.” The

general put his hand on the priest’ssunken shoulder. “Sometimes Fortuneprefers us to stumble in darkness.”

As the general went to leave, thepriest raised his head. “General, I maybe a blind old fool, but you don’t needaugury to know there’s a traitor in theCompany. You can smell it.”

Acuto narrowed his eyes; was thepriest just telling him what he wanted tohear? No, it was the truth. His ownintuition had prompted the question.“Aye,” he said after a moment. “I hopedto be told I was mistaken.”

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They rode down into the valley. WhileScarpelli brought Levi up to date on thedevelopments since the Tagliacozzodebacle, Sofia took in the camp. She’dbeen expecting the carousing usual inRasenna before and after raids—drinking, gambling, and fighting—but theplace was as serious and neat as FabbroBombelli’s account book. The tents werearranged in straight rows like aConcordian camp. She was amused thatthe only army in Etruria to challenge theEmpire in the last decade did so whileimitating its mechanistic efficiency.

“Madonna, is John AcutoConcordian?”

Levi laughed. “The general’s from the

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Anglish Isles, but we’ve all sorts here—Teutons, Franks, Ibericans, some Russ,Welshmen, even some Hibernian brutes.We condottieri take business seriously.”

Sofia smiled to see how merry Leviwas and how proud he was of theCompany. He was right, too: no one wasidle. Soldiers were tending their horses,sharpening swords, polishing armor,repairing, cleaning—or training as ifbattle were imminent. In Rasenna,violence was unplanned, coming on likea convulsion. It was intense, irrational,and transient. It was queer to be amongmen who treated war as profession, nota vocation.

She stared at a man sewing up an arm

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wound with a bored look on his face. Hewas almost four braccia tall, with broadoxlike shoulders and a thick neck. Hecaught her stare as he bit through thethread and threw her a wry half saluteand wink. Saluting back, Sofia saw thegiant’s smile broaden when he spottedLevi at the horse’s reins.

“Hey, peddler boy!” he called in athick accent.

“Yuri?”“We thought maybe you were

promoted to Heaven.”Levi leaped down and embraced the

giant. “Not yet, my friend.”Sofia noticed how Yuri’s easy smile

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faded when he saw Scarpelli. Heembraced Levi again and whispered,“We talk later maybe.”

Levi remounted, telling Scarpelli thatthe Russ owed him money beforechanging the subject. “Speaking ofmoney, shock me: Who’s been appointedtreasurer in my absence?”

Scarpelli gave him a look. “TheDwarf.”

“Oh. Didn’t know he could count,”Levi said mildly.

Scarpelli laughed. “We’re luckyyou’re back in time for the negotiations.”

“The Ariminumese are wary about theContract?”

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“The Contract, the campaign, thevenue, seating arrangements, just abouteverything!”

“They’ve never used condottieribefore, so they think we’re criminals.”Levi turned around to give Sofia apreemptive look of reproach.

She politely feigned astonishment.“That’s the trouble,” said Scarpelli.

“They’ve never had to use condottieri.And you know what these burghers arelike: insufferably proud of their punymilitias in peacetime, but when warcomes, they start to have visions of theirprecious walls tumbling like Jericho’s.”

“Towns protecting their walls?

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Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”Sofia asked.

Scarpelli smiled at her, a little morenaturally this time. “It’s absurd,Signorina, but that’s how we humblecontractors make a living. Whenburghers get anxious about theirproperty, they pay whatever we demand.Rich towns think it’s the height ofsophistication to hire an army to fight forthem—they think they’re better andsmarter than everyone: nobles,Concordians, and us. Especially us.”

“Well, they can think what they like,”said Levi.

“Because in the end you’ll bleed themdry and move on.”

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“Sorry about her, Scarpelli. Anythingmore complicated than flag-wavingmakes Rasenneisi suspicious.”

Scarpelli just laughed. “She’s right,isn’t she? That’s how it should work.But wait till you meet theseAriminumese, Levi. They’re practicallyholding us hostage.”

“Times are changing.”“Try telling John Acuto,” Scarpelli

said with sudden bitterness.Levi raised his eyebrows. “He’s not

involved in negotiations, is he?”“He was always a better soldier than

politician, but since Tagliacozzo he’sbeen as paranoid as Herod. I’m sure

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he’ll share his theories with you.”“Acuto suspects treachery?” Levi said

guardedly.Scarpelli was blasé. “Ever know a

general who lost who didn’t? The panicstarted when the Standard fell and theyfound the Standard-bearer with a daggerin his back.”

“But the carroccio was behind thefront line.”

“So they say, but you know howchaotic it was. We lost, simple as that.But since then, the old man’s beenconsulting Father Blood-and-Guts onstrategy and checking for assassins underhis pillow, so you’d better get your

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escape story straight before he questionsyou.”

“Questions me?” Levi stopped hishorse. “Last I checked, I’m a colonel,not a prisoner. It’s not a story—”

Scarpelli clapped him on the back.“Tranquillo, Levi, I’m just telling youwhat to expect. Follow me.”

At the center of the camp was a largetent flying the Hawk’s banner. OnEtrurian crests, hawks were depicted asplump-plumaged patricians; this foreignbird of prey was a clinical killer, sharpand lean, drawn with straight decisivelines.

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The tent flap was suddenly thrownaside, and a short man, dark-skinned likea Moor, scurried out between the twoguards. He was followed by a largeangry man brandishing a scroll like ageneral’s baton.

“Tell your Signoria that if that’s allthey have to offer, they’d better swallowtheir pride and make terms withConcord. This is the Hawk’s Company!”He threw the scroll at the notary. “Thisisn’t a Contract, it’s an insult!”

“You’re not the only contractor in thepeninsula, John Acuto.”

Acuto slapped the notary’s hat off andgrabbed him by the collar. “Then hirethem! Throw your money away. Just

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don’t be surprised if you wake up onemorning with your palazzi burningaround you.”

Scarpelli leaped down to pry thenotary from the general’s grip. “What thegeneral means is that we need a fewdays to digest this and prepare acounteroffer,” he said, picking theContract out of the mud.

“Take your time,” the notary said.“We’re in no hurry.”

Scarpelli helped the notary mount hissumptuously decorated mule andescorted him out of camp.

Acuto glowered after them. “What’swrong with cities these days? Used to be

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we only had to show up outside theirwalls and bang a drum to getcooperation.” Finally noticing Levi, thegeneral cut short his rant and glared athim.

Levi dismounted, gesturing to Sofia tofollow his lead. “General,” said Leviwarmly, extending his hand.

The general looked at Levi with muchthe same hostility he’d shown the notary.“How did you secure your release?”

“I escaped, General,” said Levi,awkwardly dropping his hand.

“Escaped. Not the first time you’veleft a Concordian prison in one piece.Not many are so fortunate. Come in,

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Colonel. I wish to congratulate youprivately.”

Levi swallowed. Telling Sofia he’dbe back in a minute, he turned andentered the tent just as an old manshuffled out. Distracted, hugging a bookto his body, he stumbled. Sofia caughtthe book and held his arm as he regainedhis balance.

“Good catch, Sister!”“I’m not a nun, Father,” she said

quickly as she handed him the book, buthe barely heard as he hurried on his way.Sofia remained outside the tent for anhour. She wasn’t eavesdropping—thegeneral’s roaring was impossible not tohear. She was pleased to hear Levi

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defend himself at last.“Concord killed Harry, General, not

me—and not you, though I see you’restill intent on blaming us both.”

When Levi came out with a red faceand set mouth, Acuto called after him,“Colonel! You’re coming to thenegotiations tomorrow. I need that clevertongue for once.”

Levi saluted frostily.John Acuto’s glare fell on Sofia.“What are you looking at?” she said.“Colonel, who’s this?”“My name is Sofia Sca—”“Nobody. She escaped with me.”

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“Another spy, then? Nice to know I’mimportant enough to merit two.”

“Say that again, Methuselah—” Sofiaput her hand on her dagger.

Levi rested a restraining hand on hershoulder. “I can vouch for her.”

“That’s supposed to comfort me?”said Acuto. He looked down at Sofia.“What can you do?”

“I’m good with a knife. I’ll show youif you like.”

Levi saw the guards watching Sofia;she hadn’t taken her hand off her dagger.

“She means she’s a cook, General.”Acuto snorted. “Fine, fine. But you

taste everything she prepares first. If I’m

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to be poisoned I want to take myassassin with me. Best teach hermanners too.”

As Sofia and Levi made their way to themess tent, she saw that the soldiersweren’t in the same condition as theirneatly arrayed and polished equipment.Every man bore scars from pastcampaigns as well as wounds still freshfrom Tagliacozzo.

“I’d like to teach him some manners,”she fumed.

“I hope you can cook,” said Levi.“Don’t worry; I grew up looking after

myself. But why not tell him who I am?”

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“Sofia, if you wanted to be thatperson, you would have gone back toRasenna.”

She was stung for only a moment.“Answer the question.”

“Condottieri aren’t knights, they’rebusinessmen,” said Levi, still tense.“Your name could make you acommodity.”

They found the giant hard at work infront of a range of boiling pots.

“Yuri, got you a new assistant. Sofia,everybody’s sick of Russky food. Maybeyou can mix it up a little.”

Yuri wagged a spoon in Levi’s face.“The peoples are loving my cookerys. I

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get many compliments to it.”“I thought you were a soldier,” said

Sofia.“Why do you think this?”She pointed to an old scar on his neck.

“That’s an arrow wound, so is that, andyou didn’t get those”—looking at thefresh stitches—“from peelingvegetables,” she said.

“You have smarts like Levi,” saidYuri, “but not to be so sure ofvegetables, especially asparagus, verysneaky!”

“Everyone’s a soldier here,” saidLevi. “Cooks, surgeons, even priests.John Acuto runs a tight ship.”

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“I am hearing he’s giving you somewelcomes.”

“The old man’s gone crazy!” Leviexploded. “He’s seeing conspiracieseverywhere—”

“But maybe there is one.”“I know there’s one—but I also know

the real problem: times are changing;things are getting harder.”

The giant nodded. “Maybe.”“Acuto said you’d escaped Concord

before,” said Sofia.“He’s just being sarcastic. I was a

hostage for a time, about five years ago,when the Hawk’s Company still workedfor Concord, when Concord still

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returned hostages.”“Back home, they said John Acuto

betrayed Concord.”Yuri slammed a tomato into mush.

“This is big lie!”“Relax, Yuri,” said Levi. “That’s what

all Etruria thinks. It wasn’t like that,Sofia. Concord double-crossed us. Wehad a Contract with them, so at the startof each season we’d provide hostages—pretty standard; contractors don’t havegreat reputations for fealty, after all.”

“You don’t say?”“Anyway, that year I was one, and so

was Harry.”“That’s an Anglish name.”

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“Harry Acuto. John Acuto’s son.”“Brave fighter,” said Yuri.“And a good friend,” said Levi

quietly. “I was released. Harry wasn’t—Concord’s way of canceling ourContract, I guess. Since then, the Hawk’sCompany only takes Contracts fromConcord’s enemies.”

“Was good policy, for a while,” saidYuri.

“I bet. Dying men spend freely,” saidSofia.

“Now everyone’s broke, and thegeneral’s still wary of me just because Ilived and Harry died. I told him thatConcord had known of our plans, and it

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just made him more suspicious.”“That’s how condottieri think, all

twisty like noodle.” Yuri dangled astring of pasta.

“Concord wants you to fight amongyourselves. That’s how the swine work,”Sofia said.

“Well, it’s working,” said Levi. “I’mbeginning to think we should have stayedand taken our chances with the buio.”

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CHAPTER 56

The first official day of Contractnegotiation was something allcondottieri looked forward to. Mosttowns, relieved to have securedchampions, would hold celebrations atwhich the Contract brokers could play atbeing chivalrous knights to the rescue.The company could also expect lavishquarters for the duration of negotiations.

Strange, then, said Levi, to findAriminum’s gates closed that morning,

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and stranger still, after they weregrudgingly opened, to ride throughstreets that were empty but for barkingStrays—empty, though Ariminum was abusy, wealthy town. The reason for thisshabby reception was obvious anddisconcerting—their hosts were tellingthem they were unwelcome.

The Sala dei Notari, a lofty chamberof wood-carved dignity, had been builton an inhuman scale, with everything afew inches too high, all a little too largefor the stony-faced Signoria, men whofaded beside the decorative banners,shields, and ribbons covering the walls.John Acuto and his colleagues felt, aswas intended, out of place and inferior,

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like petitioners begging for debt reliefrather than the city’s saviors.

Before the session came to order,Acuto glanced over his negotiating team,appraising his three wise men’s loyalty,a game he played with everyone thesedays.

Scarpelli’s face was, as usual, amask, polite and blank. The Dwarf, nowtreasurer, was innocent and guilty both atonce—he owed his inglorious title to hisobvious ambition as much as to hisstrange proportions. He always did whatwas asked of him, but still Acutodistrusted him—maybe it was thecovetous way he stroked a banner thathung within reach or the way his yellow

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skin shone like old fruit. Hardly goodreasons not to trust the man.

That left Levi, whom Acuto had onceconsidered a protégé. Since Harry’sdeath the distance between them hadbeen insurmountable, though Levi hadattempted to bridge it. Acuto followedhis gaze and saw Levi was studying thecarved town mascot looming over theproceedings; the griffin looked about assympathetic as the beak-nosed doge ofAriminum glowering down at thembeneath it.

The general’s massive frame perchedawkwardly on a small stool. Heassumed his discomfort, like the otherslights, was intentional. Well, let them

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play their games. The foundationtownsmen built their courage upon wasignorance—ignorance of how easilybuildings burned, how little strength ittook to tumble walls and how muchcould be lost in a moment. So let themhave their pride so long as in the end hehad their money.

The Moorish notary brusquely calledthe session to order, and the general roseto speak. “My Lords, long has Ariminumbeen famous for pride and prudence andwealth; I must now add hospitality tothat list. Today the urgent need ofAriminum and the talents of my famousCompany meet harmoniously. Let usmake haste then to sign our Contract and

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begin what will undoubtedly be a bondof mutual advantage.”

Levi caught the general’s eye as he satdown. If they had been on winking terms,he was certain he would have gotten onenow. The old bull had been negotiatingContracts for decades. Whether thetownsmen were deaf to sarcasmremained to be seen.

After a protracted silence long enoughto be rude, the doge glared with barehostility at the condottieri. “We deignedto invite you inside our walls, JohnAcuto, but you were not invited tospeak. Ariminum has traditions that wereold long before you stole into thiscountry. We begin Signoria meetings

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with prayer, not vacuous pleasantries.”He made the Sign of the Sword andstood. “On this, the day of Saint Francis,we pray he will protect us as heprotected the people of Gubbio.”

The doge suddenly interrupted hispious drone to ask, “You’ve heard of thismiracle, John Acuto?”

Acuto’s smile didn’t falter. “I knowthe town.”

The doge continued, “Oh? Perhapsyou are familiar with its recent history,but once, long ago, it was terrorized by aWolf. The Saint came and called theWolf from the forest. ‘Brother Wolf,’ hesaid, ‘if these townsmen feed you, willyou promise not to kill them?’ Naturally,

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the townsmen’s lives wereincomprehensible to the beast, but itunderstood a free meal. Without the giftof speech, it could only twist itsemaciated body—it was starving too—in such an unnatural way that everyoneunderstood it agreed to the Contract.Saint Francis piously went on his way,and the Wolf lived in peace with thetownsfolk ever after.”

“Charming story,” Acuto said, hidinghis impatience.

“You were not invited to speak!” thedoge shouted.

“When the Wolf died, the townsfolkmourned it and buried it in holy ground,just like a citizen. You see, they’d

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forgotten that it was a beast. But a beastremains a beast no matter how it learnsto twist. You will not be given quartersinside our walls, John Acuto. You willremain outside with your mercenaries.Expect a lengthy stay. All Etruria knowsthe only language condottieri speak wellis Contract law, so we will not makehaste; we will deliberate, we will parse,and if you don’t like it—”

“My Lord, this hostility is—”“—all you can expect! If it does not

please you, break camp, and we willfind a Company with less vanity andmore respect. The scavengers thatremain in Etruria would be happy for thework. This marriage of convenience will

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be brief, so speak of no ‘sharedinterests’—you would not be here ifyour private war with Concord had notbeggared you, and we would not bereduced to hiring you, the cancer ofEtruria, if Concord did not covet ourwealth.”

“You speak candidly, my Lord,” saidJohn Acuto.

“If you prefer the dung of hypocrisy,leave our contato, Brother Wolf. Go tothe poor wretched towns that are left, ifyou haven’t already raped them of everysoldi.”

John Acuto stood. “Candor suits meentirely, Doge. You talk of war anddrape your walls with ribbons, but they

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are not combat banners and you are notsoldiers. You think you have me at adisadvantage because bargaining is yourprofession. I advise you to remember myprofession. If the Contract is not signedwithin a month and a day, I will breakcamp, but first I’ll break your walls andburn your towers. Then you’ll be thestarving dogs!”

He kicked aside his stool and strodeout. The three wise men looked aghast,then scrambled to follow.

The negotiators passed through the towngates attended by barking dogs. Levistudied the famous triple walls. Theywould be difficult to breach if it came

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down to it. He broke the silence. “Well,they hate us.”

“Expect friendship and you’re in fordisappointment,” said John Acutowearily. “This wretched country’sclimate doesn’t suit it. Aye, they hate us.Lucky for us, they love their moneymore.”

The evening meal was simple, with theemphasis on nourishment and quantityover taste, but Sofia had added afeminine touch the soldiers were gratefulfor.

“Look, Yuri—the general’s joiningus.”

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“Why would he not?”“In my town, the Families keep a

distance from the Small People.”“Do I look small to you? Company is

not like towns is. If general don’t eatwith men, men don’t elect general.”

Sofia was ladling out the stew whenAcuto’s turn came.

“I apologize for my earlier rudeness,Signorina. Old soldiers see enemieswhere there are none.”

She shrugged. “Levi’s the one youowe the apology.”

Yuri winced, expecting an eruption,but the general just took his plate with agrunt and sat down with his officers.

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After the majority of the men wereserved, Yuri told Sofia to eat. She satbeside the fire with Levi. He and theDwarf were already arguing. TheHawk’s Company was small enough thatthe Dwarf was needed for both fightingand brokering, but Levi, knowing enoughabout both to know the Dwarf wasincompetent, could never disguise hisskepticism.

The general smacked his lips. “Youprepared this l’ampra dotto,Signorina?”

“Yes,” said Sofia coolly, not to bewon over by compliments to her cookingeither.

But flattery was not his aim.

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“Rasenneisi dish, is it not? If youoriginate there too, perhaps you weren’tlying about your knifework.”

“I don’t lie!” said Sofia hotly.“Look!” The Dwarf wheezed a laugh.

“The Rasenneisi Dish’s blushing!”“I wouldn’t—” said Scarpelli.“Oh, relax, I’m just being friendly.

Anything else on the menu tonight,amore?”

Acuto said, “Dwarf, you may not be aknight, but try to be a gentleman.”

Yuri lifted the Dwarf by the collaruntil his feet dangled. “You havecomplainings, you come to me.”

“Let’s see if she can fight her own

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battles,” said Acuto.“Suits me,” Sofia said, putting down

her plate and cracking her knuckles.Scarpelli and Levi exchanged a

knowing glance. The Dwarf wasembarrassed to suddenly be the center ofattention.

“General, I’m not going to hit a girl—”

He came to with Sofia kneeling overhim.

“Don’t try to talk. Your jaw’sdislocated.” She braced his head andpushed his chin to one side.

He screamed.

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“Next time, I set it crooked.”The Dwarf whimpered and passed out

again.John Acuto cocked an eyebrow at

Levi. “Tell me again, Colonel, whorescued whom?”

“Well, she didn’t slow me down,”said Levi breezily, glad to be civillyaddressed again.

Yuri sat down beside Sofia. “Youteach me this moves?”

After the meal, the officers discussed thedifficulties with the Ariminumese.

“The month you gave might not be

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enough, General,” Levi said.“An empty threat. That overdressed

griffin was right; we’ve bled every townin the Peninsula dry, those Concorddidn’t get to first. We need this Contractmore than Ariminum does, and theyknow it. I’m going to turn in. I have towrite home and tell my wife I’ll bedelayed another season.”

He stood and announced, “I suggestthose of you with loved ones dolikewise. We camp here for spring.Golden dreams, gentlemen.”

Levi watched the general lumber intothe darkness. “He’s still writing thoseletters?”

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“Still—” said Yuri wearily.When that subject was exhausted,

Levi discussed Tagliacozzo with theother captains. Everyone had a differentversion of the battle, but the unspokenconsensus was that the Hawk’s fortunehad simply run out. Their loyalty wasintact, but even a stranger like Sofiacould see it was shaken.

As it got dark, damp winds heavywith the last chill of winter blew in fromthe sea. The men sang songs of distanthomes in distant lands, melancholy airsthat Sofia understood, though the wordswere strange. Before her turn came, shestole away. She had no loved ones towrite to, no home to sing of.

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CHAPTER 57

No screaming. No groaning metal. Nosound in the pit. Not even the drip.

She walked to the door. Her cell hadalmost reached the water. The surfacechurned as the platform rose up andstopped at her row. She looked up forthe coffin, but the darkness was empty.The lake’s surface began to churn oncemore, and the coffin rose slowly fromthe water.

“Who’s there?”

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The coffin door opened with a sibilanthiss. Black water oozed, sloshing, out.She saw fingers, white maggots withblack fingernails, curl around the door.She backed against her cell wall. Sheheard a rasping wet noise: drownedlungs breathing. The sodden steps camenearer. The bolt shot back; her cell doormoved slightly on its hinge. Tired ofwaiting, the Darkness had come to her.

She woke screaming.

“Porca miseria!” Sofia struck the flintagain but got not even a spark. Springhad arrived, stubbornly inclement, andthe rain was unrelenting. Getting warmwas more pressing this morning than

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cooking, but the straw was damp and thewind was howling; it was never going toget light. Until the Contract was signedthe Dwarf had stopped paying salaries, apolicy that worried Levi. Bored soldiersneed money, because if they can’tgamble or whore, they find amusement inways that cause discipline problems. Headvised Sofia to stay close to Yuri andto wear her hair in a bob. Sofia cut it.She’d hated it long anyway.

“Can I help?”Sofia looked up with a scowl. “What

do you want? I’m still not a nun, beforeyou ask.”

“It was not my intention to offend,Signorina. My name is—”

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“I know who you are: John Acuto’spet fortune-teller. And you can’t helpunless you fart fireballs.”

“Rarely—but if you are trying to boilthat water . . .” The priest held his handout, and the water shuddered andabruptly started bubbling.

“You know Water Style?” she gasped.He smiled. It was a strange sight with

his piteous weeping eyes. “I believe I’mnot alone.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” shesaid, regretting opening her mouth.

“You mean to say you’re really not anun?”

Sofia searched his clouded gray eyes

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and saw he was genuinely puzzled. “Istudied with one. She’s dead now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that and sorry fornot believing you—traditionally, wedon’t make initiations lightly. For mostpeople it’s a lifetime’s commitment.”

“She had her reasons, I suppose.”“Maybe she saw her end coming.”

The priest was thoughtful. “The water’sstopped boiling. Why don’t you try?”

Sofia looked into the cauldron. Asbefore, the water was perfectly still,with only a few wisps of vapor to showit really had been boiling. She hadavoided meditation since she’d learnedwho the engineer really was—the

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Reverend Mother had told her to havefaith, but it had been a mistake to trusther: if she hadn’t realized Giovanni wasblood to the devil who sent the Wave,then what good was Water Style? And ifshe did know who he was—well, theDoc was right: blind faith in anyone wasfoolish. Even the Doc, even the Virgin—they were all liars, manipulating her fortheir own ends.

The Hawk’s Company was different;here everyone was anonymous, allviolence impersonal. Here she could dothe only thing that made sense anymore:fight Concord.

“Look, I just want to be normal,” shestarted.

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“You needn’t be afraid of the dreams,you know. That’s how the Virgin showsus the future in motion. It’s ours toaccept or change.”

“Damn it, I said no!” she shouted.“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

Better get those vegetables in.”The water was boiling again.“I don’t believe it—you’re doing

that.”“You’ve almost given up on yourself,

haven’t you?”“I already told you, I’m not interested

in fortune-telling.” She stirred the potaggressively. After a moment sheglanced up.

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“Boiling is easy,” he said patiently.“It’s much harder to cool it down.Whoever you are, you’re not a cook.”

“You want to hear my confession? I’ma traitor, all right? Happy?”

The priest tutted quietly. “Well, you’llfit in if you stay. Everyone is guilty toone degree or another.”

Sofia changed tack. “You want megone? You’re threatened by someone thatknows your tricks.”

“I could sense your power evenbefore I saw you. It’s as big as the seaout there! Whoever taught yourecognized that you’re special. But ifyou stay here, sooner or later, special or

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not, you’ll make choices that will tarnishyou forever.” He turned and began towalk away.

“What did you choose?” Sofia said.He turned. “You’re afraid of what you

might see. For me, the water’s alwaysclouded.”

“You don’t know me!”He was gone, and the pot was still

boiling. It was her. Could she stop ittoo? Sofia held out her hand andconcentrated.

It was waiting, suckling on anger,swollen like a louse, the Darkness thathad a name now: Giovanni Bernoulli theliar.

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She came up gasping to find the waterboiling furiously, spilling over the top,and tears pouring down her face. Shewas exiled; there was no going back. Itwas worse than any torture she’dendured in the Beast, because then shehad believed her punishment unjust.Now she knew better.

In the Sala dei Notari, Levi studied thetown’s mascot. You know where youstand with griffins—they show theirteeth from the start. The Ariminumesewere infuriating. After weeks of offerand counteroffer they said they wereready to sign, but the terms were stillinsulting.

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Or, Levi thought with another glanceat the griffin, perhaps they were as goodas the Company could expect in a worldwhere only Concordians paid top prices.If they accepted that, it would be only amatter of time before condottieriquestioned the logic of perpetual waragainst Etruria’s top payer. Would Acutohave an answer? In the accounts, Harrywas just another written-off solider. TheCompany’s purpose was to make money,not to make Etruria a better place.

The doge pushed the counterofferaway like a meal without salt. “No,” hesaid without ceremony. He walked out,followed by the Signoria.

The notary cleared his throat. “The

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Signoria reconvenes in a fortnight. In theinterim, there is the matter of your campsupplies . . .”

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CHAPTER 58

“We’re back to the start if we pay.”“And if we refuse, it’s war. We knew

it was coming, but we’re not ready. In afew months, maybe, but now? Whetherwe consent or refuse, we doomourselves.”

Couched in congratulations forRasenna’s growing wealth, the letterwas the clearest threat yet.

“There’s another option,” saidGiovanni.

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“What?”“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”“You want me in on a Signoria

meeting? Bad idea, Podesta. Sends thewrong signal to southsiders.”

“The right signal. If towns can change,people can.”

The new Palazzo della Signoria echoedwith lively discussion. The notary,straining to keep up, wondered ifperhaps the old days were better beforedeciding no, nothing could be better thanhaving a say in what one wrote.

Conjuring up visions of burningtowers and empty purses, Fabbro

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advocated paying the larger tribute, andPedro agreed that there was no otheroption.

“What’s the alternative, Podesta?”asked Fabbro impatiently.

“Dally.”Fabbro was nonplussed, but the

Doctor laughed.Giovanni explained, “Paying without

procrastinating would draw Concord’sattention. We allay suspicion by doingexactly what they expect of paupers. Wewrite as groveling a letter as we cancompose, quibbling with the amount,asking for another extension, begging topay in installments. They will reply

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sternly. We will equivocate. They willinsist. We will plead, and then—”

“They will demand anotherambassador to send back mutilated!”said Fabbro.

“Only if we send one, and we willnot. We will say we have to elect a newambassador.”

“But what does it give us?” saidPedro.

“Time!” the Doctor answered,clapping his hands together, “AfterTagliacozzo, Concord has turned fromEtruria to Europa. When someoneforgets to watch their back, that’s anopportunity.”

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Giovanni held up the letter. “This isn’ta tax; it’s a declaration of war. A warwe cannot avoid, only delay. To paywould be to drop our shield even as theblow falls. We must use the money andtime we have left wisely. The strongerour walls, the sounder our defenses, thefitter our bandieratori, the better ourchances when Concord realizes wemean to defy them. Before the giantmoves, we must grow large enough todefend ourselves.”

“Or,” the Doctor remarked, “makefriends with other giants.”

Afterward, Giovanni walked the Doctorto the bridge. “It isn’t the stuff of

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Homer.”The Doctor shrugged. “Whatever

works, that’s the best strategy. If youcan’t be Achilles, be Odysseus.” Hecaught the direction of Giovanni’s waryglance. “You didn’t expect everyone tobehave just because some shopkeepersagree they like money, did you?”

Since Gaetano’s banishment, theburned-out shell of Palazzo Morello waslike a slumbering monster in theirmiddle. Around the dragon’s cave,groups of boys loitered. Instead ofMorello gold, there were a dozendifferent banners: a dog pack that onlywatched, but that was enough; peoplecoming and going from the bridge felt

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their hungry stares.“That’s cynical, Doctor. I thought that

after we exiled Morello—”“I’m telling how I saw it a year ago.”“How can they still stand apart? Even

if we delay, Concord will be at the gatebefore the year is out.”

“Children don’t think abouttomorrow.”

“Can’t you reason with them?”The Doctor laughed. “The only thing a

pack understands is strength. It’s not justthis side of the river; every day, adifferent bandieratoro whispers in myear about what an opportunity this is.”

“What do you tell them?”

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“I tell them to shut up, and I keepBardini banners north.”

A boy pushed his way through thegroup in the doorway. The Doctorrecognized Uggeri and noticed that eventhe older boys showed deference.Calmly, Uggeri watched them walk by.

“Isn’t that Hog Galati’s son?”“He’s the last of Morello’s crew of

killers,” the Doctor said. “Got some salttoo.”

Uggeri spit and turned his back on theDoctor to enter the ruined Palazzo. Mostof the other boys followed.

“A Rasenneisi needs something tolove so he can fight for it,” the Doctor

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said. “They don’t remember the Wave.They hate each other more thanConcord.”

A balmy evening swaggered on, andthe bridge stalls closed up as merchantswent to waste money in Rasenna’shostels, taverns, houses of gambling andother activities.

“Unity can’t wait until Concord’s atthe wall. By then—”

“Like I said, children don’t thinkabout tomorrow. The Bardini bannercan’t unite them either. Now thatMorello’s gone, hating me is the onlything southsiders have in common.”

“So what do we do? Exile the

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ringleaders? That boy—”“Stick a crow’s head on a stick?” The

Doctor laughed. “A show of force wouldunify them, but against us. The Scaligeriflag was the last thing that unified allRasenna. For a long time that was theonly choice—to be slave or master.They don’t have a leader anymore, butit’s only a matter of time before one ofthem raises colors. Still, we’ll figure outsomething. Coming up?”

“Not tonight. Work. Golden dreams,Doctor.”

Giovanni had opened his floor inTower Vanzetti to Rasenna’s youngengineers. They called it the studiola,and even this late he knew they would be

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working. Delaying Concord was onlylogical if every hour was used toprepare for the inevitable confrontation.

Doctor Bardini climbed the steps,brooding on the violence promised inUggeri’s stare, not afraid but unsettledby the boy’s resemblance to the youngman he himself had been.

The Doctor hadn’t dreamed in years,but that night he was immersed in atwenty-year-old memory:

In Tower Scaligeri, aserious young man takesdictation. CountScaligeri stands by a

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long narrow windowwatching the black andgold banner blowing inthe wind. The Count’sstudy is on the tower’stop floor, so the windsare always fierce. It hasbeen especially gustythat day, which makes itall the moredisconcerting when theflag abruptly goes limp.

The boy’s penmanshipis good, but the word heis writing, Concord,comes out illegible. Thetable, the tower,

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Rasenna itself isshaking. The ink andwater swirling in the jarbeside him begins toseparate, small dropsrising to the surface andfloating in space.

“My Lord, look at thewater!”

“So they have done it,Madonna help us.”

The boy looks up andsees the Count leaningout of the window to teardown the banner.

“Bardini, the hour hascome. Where is my son?”

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“With my sister, in myfather’s workshop.”

“Something iscoming,” the Count says,“and I must wait for it.Take my banner, protectmy son—whateverhappens, the Scaligerimust survive.”

“I should stay withyou!” the boy saysstubbornly.

The Count slaps him.The boy is speechless:he has never seen hismaster angry.

“Never start a fight

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you cannot win.” TheCount touches his cheek.“If you learn nothingelse from me, learn that.Obey me one last time.Get to high ground. Donot look back.”

The boy takes thebanner and goes to thedoor. He looks back onelast time. The Count sitsat the desk to completethe letter. Only the inkremains in the jar besidehim; the water floats inthe air. Frozen rain.

He looks up suddenly

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and roars, “Fly!”

Down and down anddown the steps the boyruns. He passesnoblemen and womenpanicking in the piazza.He passes the Lions,silently roaring defianceat the spreadingdarkness, up the northsteps to the old town andthe “healthy” hills, toTower Bardini. He doesnot look back. Thethunder grows louderuntil the shadow coverseverything and the

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rumble drowns out thescreaming. Morningbirds fall silent. Nightfalls on Rasenna.

The air in the Doctor’s chamber wasstifling, reeking of guilt anddisappointment. Why did his youth comeback to him now? After Count Scaligeri,he’d never sought another leader. Andwhat had he achieved? Nothing. He’dfailed to keep any promise he’d evermade—his career, a record of thingslost: banners, battles, and a daughter inall but name. And now, after all thistime, he’d put his trust in another leader—what chance that he’d chosen wisely

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this time? What chance he’d picked afight he could win?

He slowly lay back down on hissweat-damp mattress and cursed himself—sleeping without a banner to hand wasapprentice stuff. As his hand silentlysearched the floor beside his bed, hespoke to the darkness:

“What are you waiting for, aninvitation?”

The boy stepped into a shaft ofmoonlight. His skin was ghostly blue, theknife he held a purer white. It burnedwith the same intensity as his eyes.

“Not surprised, old man?”“It’s what I would do.”

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The Doctor waited, but the boy justheld his knife ready.

“Uggeri, isn’t it? Why did you reallycome?”

“You’re fake, aren’t you?”He sighed in the darkness. “Not

anymore.”“You used the Contessa. Now you’re

using the engineer. This fake Signoriathinks it’s in charge, but you’rewhispering in the ears that matter, aren’tyou?”

“You won’t believe me, but no.” Evenas his hand touched his banner, he kepttalking. “I wouldn’t if I was in yourposition, but then, in your position, I’d

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be dead by now!”He rolled out of the bed. Uggeri threw

the dagger, but it struck his banner. Hekicked the bed, slamming it into Uggeri’sshins. The Doctor pried the blade out ofhis stick and advanced. Uggeri watchedcalmly as the Doctor aimed. The knifelanded in the floor beside him.

“Take it and go.”“What’s the matter?” Uggeri said

casually. “No wind in your flag?”“I said get the hell out.”The boy left through the window he’d

entered. The Doctor watched the shadowscramble over the rooftops, knowingwhat would come next as well as he

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knew himself. Uggeri would raise hisflag. He couldn’t let that happen. He’dfailed Count Scaligeri; if blood neededspilling to keep his promise to Giovanni,well then, blood would spill.

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CHAPTER 59

“Important order,” Pedro explained,shutting the door in Giovanni’s face.

Later, as Giovanni drafted theresponse to Concord with Fabbro, hementioned the incident, only to learnthere was no new order.

He returned in the evening to TowerVanzetti to investigate—but Pedrowasn’t home. He went down to thestudiola, a bad feeling in his gut.

“What the hell?”

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It was still bright enough to see thebridge from the window. Giovanniwatched as Pedro handed DoctorBardini a bundle. The Doctor put thebanners on his shoulder and marchedinto the piazza.

Obviously he had changed his mindabout that show of force: he wascarrying a Bardini banner south. IfGiovanni had seen it, other towers hadseen it too. Southsiders might bedispirited and leaderless, but theywouldn’t surrender without a fight. Hereached the piazza too late. The Doctorhad entered the dragon’s cave.

A bonfire burned in the center of what

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had once been the workshop. Its flamesreflected in the warped mirror, throwingup strange shadows in the charred ruins.In the dancing light, the boys surroundingthe Doctor looked as large as men andmore dangerous. They carried Galati’sblue banner, but that wasn’t the realchange. There was a difference betweena pack of bandieratori and a borgata. Aborgata needed someone to obey.

Uggeri sat on a pile of rubble that hadonce been a staircase; now it was athrone. When he spoke, the otherslistened. “You think your bandieratorihiding in the shadows have ussurrounded? They’re surrounded, byRasenna.”

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“I came alone.”“So that’s what this is.” Uggeri leaped

down. “It won’t do you any good. Whenyou kill me, someone takes my place.That’s how Rasenna works, old man.”

The Doctor looked back to thedoorway. The leaders of other southsideborgati were blocking the way shouldeither think to flee. They’d come to seewhich dog would win the fight.

The Doctor thrust his banner into thebonfire. He let the cloth catch and thenheld it up and let them see it burn. “HowRasenna works is what I came to talkabout.” He threw the charred stick intothe fire. “I’m at your mercy.”

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There was a long silence in whichthey studied each other. “So talk,” theboy said.

Uggeri’s soldiers looked to him. Thefire popped and cracked, goading themto act.

“Hear that, bambini? Concord’scoming. Kill me tonight, we’re all deadtomorrow. Concord won’t need to knockdown our walls and towers—they’ll fallon their own.”

As the Doctor spoke, he lookedaround the hostile faces of Uggeri’sarmy. It was early evening, and darkclouds enshrouded a pale distant sun.The wind stirred up the bonfire and theDoctor’s voice with it.

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“I wish I could blame Concord for it,but I remember life before the Wave—faction had already slithered intoparadise, though it was under CountScaligeri’s boot. If that’s the type ofunity we want, we can have it. You onlyhave to follow one tower’s banner.”

“Yours, Bardini?” Uggeri sneered.“I don’t deserve loyalty: the Families

that replaced the Scaligeri set theserpent loose. I take no pride that myflag’s still flying. I know my methods. Imade a weak man my enemy to make mytower strong, and Morello used me.Well, look at our reward.” He gesturedto the blackened stones. “Our separatetowers don’t protect us, they enfeeble us.

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Where there was a river between us webridged it, and as a result we havegrown in wealth and unity, choking theserpent till it’s almost dead. We must gofurther. We must make bridges betweenour towers—make them one. Whetheryou hear or not, bambini, Concord iscoming. We die tomorrow unless wecast out the serpent today. Our newSignoria needs an army, not moreborgati. United, Rasenna may survive,but that means you, not the merchants orengineers, must exile the real enemy:faction!”

He untied the bundle, and a dozen newflags fell to the ground. He took one anduntied it. As it fell open, a wind caught

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it. It was blood-red, with a Lion’ssilhouette embroidered in gold.

“Here is a banner belonging to notower. It belongs to Rasenna. If I carry itand my enemy carries it, we are enemiesno longer. We are brothers!” He pickedup another. “Who will take it up?” heroared. “Who dares?”

His voice echoed in the palazzo andthroughout the piazza outside.Southsiders nervously eyed one another,unsure how to take this challenge. Theboy threw his banner on the fire, took anew banner from the Doctor, andunfurled it. They stood watching eachother.

“You better be real, old man,” Uggeri

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said.After a minute’s doubtful silence,

others came forward and added theirflags to the flames. The sparks flew up,and the glow could be seen from everytower of Rasenna.

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PART III:

ADVENT

Therefore the Lord Himself shall giveyou a sign; Behold, a virgin shall

conceive.

Jeremiah 7:14

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CHAPTER 60

Every venture has its own risk. Betrayalattends love, death attends war, ruinattends commerce, but the penalty foravoiding risk is always the same:nothing happens. For Rasenna’smerchants that had been the worstpenalty: years of self-imposedstagnation.

Now they were bold, and boldnessmade them rich.

Rasenna’s new affluence showed in a

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wealth of different ways, from elaborateweather vanes on her tower tops toexpensive clothes on her citizens below.Color used to be reserved for essentialssuch as banners, but now black, gray,and tan retreated before vivid yellow,brilliant scarlet, lush Cambria green.

Both rivers seemed to flow faster—who could deny that the steady pulse ofpeople to market was a river too—andas wealth breathed in new life, it broughtnew people; there was noveltyeverywhere. Strangers stopped tomarvel at the engines used to constructthe riverside towers or the mills and,passing through the new walls, admiredthe engineering skill their design

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revealed: octagonal—eminentlydefensible—towers projecting fromeach corner; the slope, to turn aside theimpact of bombardments. If the strangerunderstood such things, he saw thebuilders’ chief concern was imminentsiege, but he could not pause for long, asothers pushed behind him, eager to seethe miracle of Etruria. After all, it wasnot aesthetics that drew the pilgrims butcommerce.

Stepping onto the bridge, our strangermight rub one of the Lions’ paws andpray for good bargains that day.Although one of the northside plinthsremained empty, the other three Lions,intact and virile, were now back in their

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traditional perches—dragging theremaining two sentinels from theriverbed had been the first task forRasenna’s growing Engineers’ Guild andits visionary podesta.

The bridge lured them all with theclamor of wares advertised and sold.Bombelli’s currency-changing stall wasset up beside the broken balustrade—just as one Lion was left broken inmemory of the Wave, so the gapremained as tribute to the fallen of theuprising. The clinking of coins was aconstant heady accompaniment to the dinof bargaining. Thieves attracted by thesound of easy money soon learned thatthe risk of working the markets far

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outweighed the putative rewards. Andjust as Rasenna changed, so the bridgechanged daily, with different stallsselling different goods, each taking itsturn.

Bandieratori no longer loitered atstreet corners; like everyone else theyhad business to attend to. While somewere on duty, patrolling walls, manningtowers, and policing the markets, the restwere drilled in new tactics andweapons.

“Salute,” Pedro said without looking upfrom his work. “Sorry about the dust.” Itwas late, and Giovanni had sent theother apprentices home. They were

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young and enthusiastic, but they’d beengoing without sleep to get Rasenna’sdefenses ready, and he needed alertminds.

“What’s that you’re working on,Pedro?”

“Just a distraction. The Doc gave methe parts, asked me if I could put themback together.”

“It’s the annunciator I gave—”Giovanni was quiet for a moment, thensaid, “He still thinks she’s comingback.” Without its cover, the angellooked undressed, its gown’s elaboratewhalebone showing. “You’ve changedit?”

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“Not really; the old design’s sound butfor a few redundancies.” Pedro held upa discarded part. “These gears weresparking off each other.”

Giovanni held it up appraisingly.“Lighter, easier to reproduce.”

Pedro was embarrassed. “Too bad weneed weapons, not toys. I just needed abreak.”

They’d both been coordinating otherwork with defensive engineering—Giovanni rehearsed battle plans with theDoctor while Pedro kept busyoverseeing workshops across town.

“You think we’ve got a chance?” Itwasn’t a question Pedro would have

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asked around the others. Giovanniunderstood by now that he’d taken onmuch more than authority when he hadbecome Rasenna’s podesta.

“Last time Concord didn’t have tobeat us; they just had to show up.”

“We’re still one town against anEmpire.”

“That’s the thinking that let Concordbuild that Empire. True, we’re only atown, but we won’t have to defeat anEmpire.”

Pedro gave a careless Rasenneisishrug. “Oh, just a legion. No problem,then.”

Giovanni smiled. “If we can bloody

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their nose, every town in Etruria underthe Concordian boot will join us. Andthat’s a fight we have a chance ofwinning. Our mistake was trying tooverpower them. Rasenna’s got thegreatest fighters in Etruria, but againstdisciplined troops holding a line—well,you saw what the Twelfth did. Ourparticular skills, we need to get close,and to get close, we need to change therules. Look here—”

There were four powder piles on hisdesk: “Charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur.”He carefully held up the forth saucer.“Together, it’s called serpentine.Bernoulli found the recipe in an Ebionitealchemical text.”

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“How do you—?” Pedro began, thenasked, “What does it do?”

“Give me that gear you took out of theangel.”

He watched as Giovanni crouchedand poured a small pile with a trail to it.

“Stand back and cover your ears.”Giovanni struck the gear. There was a

sudden hiss as the trail lit up, then, as itreached the pile, there was a loud Pop!that sent a cloud of dirty yellow smokespiraling into the air.

Pedro laughed when Giovanni lookedup coughing, his face blackened.

“It’s used for propulsion in cannonsand such.”

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“Pity we can’t lob a cauldron of it atthem. That would even the oddsquickly.”

Giovanni shook his head. “Thank theVirgin it’s too unstable for that. Our newwalls can withstand arquebuses andcannonballs but not direct explosions.Any large amount is liable to explodeprematurely, killing the wrong person.”

“Then what’s it good for?”“Changing the rules. Concord will try

to make our walls our prison—they’llwant to starve us, bomb us, and burn us,then roll up their siege towers and spitout an invasion. With serpentine, we candecapitate their towers when theyapproach. They’ll have to approach on

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foot, between rows of burning topplingstacks.”

“We need to cast cannons then?”“Small ones, with tempered iron. I

already have smiths working onprototypes.”

Pedro tried to conceal his misgivingson finding the engineer so adept at the artof war. “This isn’t just for Rasenna, isit?”

Giovanni wasn’t listening. He rubbedtired eyes, feeling the chemical sting.“When I came here, I’d lost faith inmyself; she believed in me.”

Pedro saw his discomfort andchanged the subject. “What do you

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suppose Bernoulli was looking for inalchemists’ recipe books?”

“I don’t have to guess,” Giovannisaid, suddenly angry. “Power. Inwhatever form he could harness it.That’s all he was ever looking for and—” He stopped himself, then went onmore calmly, “In any case, it givesConcord’s legions tactical advantage inbattle, just as hydroengineering givesthem strategic advantage. The Ebionitesdidn’t know how to use it safely.”

“They kept blowing themselves up?”“It’s prone to accidental combustion

when dusty. Bernoulli found a solution:just add water. It makes a better weapon,too. The flame spreads evenly before

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exploding. You can change the ratiodepending on whether you want noise,light, or power. I haven’t perfected themixture, but I’ll make sure it’s loud andsmoky. Legions are used to winning, soanything we can do to puncture theircomplacency is to our advantage.”

Pedro looked serious. “We can’t wina war by avoiding battle. Sooner orlater, we’ll have to make contact.”

“Superior discipline beat us, nottechnology. Up until now, ourbandieratori have been expending toomuch energy on noise and color. TheDoctor is training them to coordinatelike a Concordian phalanx.”

Pedro interrupted abruptly, “Can you

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increase the speed serpentine burns?”“Yes, but increased pressure explodes

cannon.”“We need many small explosions, not

one big one.”“Then we’d have to get close, give up

the advantage of our walls. We can’tplant them like caltrops either. It’simpossible to keep the fuse and powderdry.”

“I know how we can get close andkeep our distance.”

Giovanni smiled. “Tell me more,Maestro.”

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CHAPTER 61

As the Doctor studied the letter,Giovanni told him Pedro’s scheme inbroad strokes.

He chuckled. “Won’t even the odds,but it’ll give them a scare. I hope thelegion they send is the Twelfth. Luparinonever did have much salt.”

The letter that had brought Giovannito the Tower Bardini that evening wasthe latest of the exchange that had beencarried out over the summer. In contrast

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to previous missives, its language waspolite, almost timid.

Giovanni was optimistic. “Perhapswe’ll have more time than expectedbefore they grasp our intentions.”

The Doctor rolled up the letter andhanded it back. “Podesta, I’ve got a nosefor this type of thing. They know. We’dbetter be ready, stocked up and lockedup, within a month.”

Giovanni descended the northern slopeless complacently than he’d climbed it.Concord was coming. He hadoverlooked some crucial factor. Theplace where he had first met Sofia was

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now a building site, transubstantiatedinto valuable real estate by othercurrents. The bridge was deserted. Hestopped by a Lion, looking down at thewater, thinking of the old saw aboutrivers always changing. Perhaps menseemed equally inconsistent to buio.

“Giovanni!”He looked over to the embankment.

“Pedro! You gave me a fright!”Pedro came up. “One of the eggs

malfunctioned. How was the Doc?”“More illuminating than usual. We’ve

got to step up preparations.”“I suppose we can fix this later. There

hasn’t been much buio activity.”

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Halfway across the bridge, theystopped. Something was standing at thefar end, waiting.

“Turn around slowly, Pedro.”They turned to find several buio

blocking the way north also. Turningagain, more buio had joined the first.They began slowly advancing.

“What do we do, Giovanni?”Jump? No. Surviving the river again

was as unlikely as lighting strikingtwice. Giovanni looked up at TowerBardini, hoping to see the Doctor’ssilhouette against the moon. For once hewasn’t there.

The watery columns seeped closer

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until they were surrounded.Giovanni knew that judgment had

finally come.“Pedro, you’ll have to run when they

attack me.”Water must be water.“Who said that?” Giovanni cried.We. Our souls hear your soul.“Who said what?” Pedro asked.“You can’t hear them?”“Hear what?”Many voices spoke at once in his

mind. The columns were immobile andindistinguishable. Small ripples passedover and leaped the space between them.

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Something has changed, he thought.The Reverend Mother said all waterwas one—if she was right, then Luciahad accidentally doomed him by havinghim “contemplate Water.” Now theyknew he was a Bernoulli and knew tooabout Gubbio. Every day he paid a littlemore, but it didn’t matter. Some debtsare too large to pay. However theyknew, they’d come for revenge.

Thou shall not kill.Giovanni looked around at the

faceless pillars.“You drown men!”Not murder. Water must be water.“If you didn’t come to kill me—”

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You must feel Wind.The night was still and peaceful.“. . . no.”“Giovanni, what are they saying?”Forgotten much. Wind blows in wet

world, not dry world.“The river?”We will be part of it. Stop us.“I don’t understand!”Water must be water. Stop us.The buio were sinking away into

puddles.“From doing what?”Forgotten much.

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The puddles flowed over the edge.“Answer me!” he shouted.They were alone on the bridge,

unchanged, as if the visitation had nothappened.

“You didn’t hear anything, Pedro?”“No, I saw but—what did they say?”Giovanni looked down into the dark

rushing water. What sounded like riddleswas obviously much more than that.

“They kept saying ‘Thou shall not kill’and ‘Water must be water.’”

Pedro could see the Concordian wastoo upset to reason. “If buio havelanguage, perhaps they have morality ofa sort.”

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“You don’t consider drowningmurder?” Giovanni snapped.

“I’m just trying to be logical! It’s notair that kills fish but fishermen, right? Sodrowning isn’t murder because it’snatural. What else?”

“They kept talking about a wind in awet world.”

Both were silent, then, at the samemoment. “A current?”

“Madonna!” said Pedro.“Something’s going to make them kill,

and they want us to stop it,” saidGiovanni. “They didn’t come forrevenge. They came for help.”

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Later still, Pedro was somberly studyingthe calculations scribbled on the studiolawall. “Can we stop it? I mean, power tocreate a forced Wave; once it’s formed,the energy has to be used. That’sBernoulli’s Second Law, right?”

“That’s why we can’t let the Waveform. If it forms, we’re sunk—literally.The technology’s moved on sinceGubbio, and there’s been time to storeenough energy for a Wave five times aslarge.”

“That would wipe Rasenna off themap! Why not just send an army?”

“I have no idea.”“Don’t you?” Pedro said with sudden

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hostility. “Why did you think the buiocame to punish you?”

Giovanni shook his head blankly.Pedro stood up. “Captain, what’s your

father’s name?”“. . . Jacopo.”“His surname.”“An engineer’s father is Concord,” he

began in a confident voice that faded tonothing. “I knew if anyone figured it out,it would be you.”

Pedro pushed Giovanni over in hischair. “We made you podesta!”

“I told you not to!” Giovanni cried.Pedro picked the only weapon to

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hand, a chisel. “My father trusted you. Ishould kill you.”

Giovanni stood up and faced him.“It’s your right.”

“It’s the right of every Rasenneisi,Concordian!”

Giovanni doubled over with thepunch.

“You’re lucky that we need yournative cunning.”

Giovanni saw the chisel drop andheard the door slam.

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CHAPTER 62

The weeks had blurred into drawn-outmonths, and hope of the Ariminumeseever signing the Contract was ebbingdaily.

Tents clustering in cliques redrew thecamp’s lines crooked. Fights broke outevery day—over equipment, overgambling, over Ariminumese women,over many things, and ultimately all overnothing. Faction thrives on hopelessness.With no prospect of fighting Concord,

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the enemy became Ariminumesemerchants, who took advantage; JohnAcuto, who did not pay advances; andeach other, who were available. TheCompany sank into chaotic equilibriumall too familiar to Sofia. It was likebeing sober among drunks.

Even waning, John Acuto’s star stillshone: it was easy to fight and get dirty,harder to keep one’s armor polished.Levi said Acuto liked her because shestood up to him, but the past had moldedthem to fit—she was a tomboy raised bya fighter, and Acuto was a father withouta son. But the more they talked, the moreof a contradiction he was: a man whoexcelled at war but hated it. He fought

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for profit like a man doing penance.What sin is absolved by blood? shewondered.

“I never understand race who buildMolè but cannot queue.” Yuri hadsprained his wrist breaking up one of thedaily mealtime fights. Sofia made asplint and brought him to the priest, whodoubled as camp surgeon.

He examined her work. “Nicely done,Signorina.”

“I knew a doctor once.”“He taught you well. I couldn’t do

better. Yuri, just avoid punching anyonefor the next few days.”

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“I no promise, Father. TheseEtrurians, they crazies,” said Yuridarkly, leaving the tent.

“Keep him out of trouble,” the priestsaid.

“I wouldn’t have to if you told JohnAcuto to leave Ariminum. He listens toyou, Father. Tell him—tell him the gutsrecommend it.”

The priest smiled as he lit the fire.“You think augury is sham too?”

Sofia didn’t blush. “All that matters isthat the old man believes it. You have aresponsibility. He asks your advice.Maybe you don’t see it, but everypassing day undercuts his authority.”

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“So you think someone’s planningmutiny too?”

“Mutiny doesn’t need planning anymore than weeds need planting.”

The priest moved a pile of books anddropped a cushion on the tent floor. “Sitdown, Sofia,” he said, seating himselfamong the litter of feathers and smallbones.

“Are you going to tell my future?”“Don’t patronize an old man. Even

now you could see more than I everhave, if you’d let yourself.”

“Yuri said you’ve correctly predictedthe outcomes of battles.”

“Two parts experience to one part

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luck. But once—ah, once, my Sight waskeen. The Virgin’s turned her back on mesince Gubbio.”

Sofia drew back. “Gubbio? But—thatwas Concord!”

The priest picked up a bone. Hebreathed out heavily and said clearly,“Concord sent the Wave. We sacked thetown.”

Sofia just looked at him.“The Company had just come down

from Europa. Etruria was a great feastwaiting to be eaten. The Concordianssaw us for what we were, savages withjust enough discipline to be useful.”While the priest spoke, his fingers

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moved the bones around as if trying toreassemble some long-dead beast.

“They sent us there in the aftermath.What happened, happened. We don’t talkabout it. I’m not saying we becamesaints after Gubbio but . . . It didn’tmatter, no matter what we did; it hungabout us like a smell. I suppose Concordrealized Acuto had lost his appetite andthat’s why it terminated his Contract.Those who joined later, Levi and therest, still think this life is a greatadventure. They’re too young to knowthe cost, too young even to consider it. Ithink Harry’s become another casualty ofGubbio in Acuto’s mind, another bodythrown on the heap. I told you, Sofia,

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everyone in a Company is a soldier:smiths, grooms, cooks—”

“And priests.”“You too if you stay. Go home before

this becomes home.”“I have no home!” she shouted,

kicking the bones away, then, morecalmly, “So since then you’ve beenrattling bones and gutting birds forshow?”

“The price of blood is always toohigh.”

Sofia looked into the smoldering fire.“You give yourself too much credit.You’re guilty because you were weak,but you’re not responsible. The general

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wears the laurels.”

She ran past drunken soldiers carousingby campfires. They weren’t men—theywere wolves in human pelts, like the oldstory. Outside the camp, there was alarge weathered rock overlooking thevalley. The old bull stood on it, studyingAriminum in the night.

“That sentry’s not too sharp, Rasenna.Good thing Concord doesn’t think we’reworth spying on.”

“Is it true?”“No. Luigi’s a decent watch. I doubt

you make much noise, and I’ve beensneaking around for years—”

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“I said, is it true!”“Why are you crying, girl?”“The sack of Gubbio. Who’s

responsible?”The general slumped. “Who told

you?”“Answer me!”A long time passed. Sofia prayed he

would scoff and deny, but a decade ofexcuses no longer held up.

“I am.”“Bastard.”“I didn’t plan it, but I let it happen. If

I’d known my destiny was to go down toGubbio—”

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“I’ve heard that excuse before. Noone made you take that choice.”

“I’m guilty, no argument there, but Iwould have ended there no matter whichroad I chose. I was caught up in History.The war’s been going on in Europa sincemy father’s time. The Concordians thinkthey’ll end it, but I doubt it. The Anglishand Franks quarrel like brothers,growing strong in the struggle. Myfamily was the people Etrurians callSmall—poor. My ambition was to be aknight until I saw how knights showfealty. I wanted to be rich, not dead, so Isought a new fortune. I decided thewisest course in a violent world was tofight for profit. Ha! The idiocy young

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men call wisdom. In Etruria, every townwas a kingdom and any man could beking, if he was strong. A place where themidday sun is hot, the women arebeautiful, and towns are willing to payothers to fight for them—sounds a betterplace to be a knight, doesn’t it?” Hesmiled, tasting the dream afresh.

“The Etrurians called us condottieriinstead of knights. We didn’t care whatthey called us so long as they paid. Wehitched our carroccio to the Empire’sexpansion, all the while still thinking wewere forging our own destiny even aswe fled from what we knew was right.That naïveté made us ideal. TheConcordians put us in the right place,

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knowing our nature. After what was leftof the town was—”

He stopped and searched for theword. “—subdued, the Concordianengineers came and did worse things.”

“Don’t you dare shift the blame!”“You misunderstand—we stood by.

That was worst thing Concord did. Theyleft us no one else to blame.”

“You expect pity?”“No. I know this debt will never be

paid. There were plenty ready to hire usafter we chased the Moor’s Companyout of Etruria, and we became rich. Itdidn’t help drown out the screaming.Look, Sofia, I’m a soldier of Fortune

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abandoned by Fortune!”She turned away. “I can’t.”

Ariminum’s port never slept. Fleets ofloutish fat-bellied ships waited to beunloaded and loaded, to come and gobetween the numberless trading partnersof the Republic. In a town so busymaking money, a girl, beautiful or not,tearful or not, running by the streetsellers’ stalls was sure to be ignored.

The gauntlet of islands protecting theharbor from the sea’s temper alsostopped wind from dispelling theaccumulated stench. The sea’s conquestof the decaying land was a slow march

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by stealth, a mist that suited those whowanted to be lost.

Sofia stopped only when she reachedthe end of the dock. It was quieter here,where the ships were bound for moreobscure ports. At the end of a longnarrow pier an elderly yet resolutelyundignified boat was moored. At firstsight it looked long-abandoned, but oncloser examination its sails were neatlyrigged.

The old sailor who’d been charilystudying the horizon noticed the girlemerge from the mist. Like his boat, he’dseen better days. His skin was crackedleather like an old turtle’s and burnedbright red by a life on the water. Even on

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a day when the sun was a diffused blushin the mist, he squinted as if lookingdirectly at it. “Ahoy, Signorina! Come tome, kiss me, and say you’ll miss me?”

Sofia wiped her eyes and examinedhim with hostility. Another wolf,probably.

“If you’re here to accuse me ofbesmirching your honor, I must warn youthat I smirch only when invited.”

“Where do you sail?”“Farther than you want to go, I’ll

wager. Oltremare, once known as theHoly Land, if you believe that.”

“I can cook.”The sailor disappeared. A moment

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later, the end of a thick corded rope hitthe dock with a thump. As she reachedfor it, it suddenly pulled back up.

“What’s the purpose of yourpilgrimage? Business or pleasure?There’s a war there, you know.”

“War’s everywhere.”“That’s true,” he said thoughtfully,

waiting for more.“I don’t want to go there especially. I

want to leave here.”“Then perhaps you’re not a pilgrim

but a fugitive.”“I’m neither.”“Perhaps you are and don’t know it.

You are running from something. What is

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it?” He pulled up the rope fully.She couldn’t go back. “Liars,” she

said.“A common complaint, but I cannot

help you. There are liars in Oltremare,some of the best. Plenty on board too.Alas, Signorina, you picked the wrongboat.”

Nevertheless, he dropped the rope.“But perhaps you’re running from aparticular liar?”

“What does it matter?” Sofia reachedfor the rope, only to have it pulled awayagain.

“Well, I need to know what kind ofshipmate is on the end of my line.”

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“If I don’t like liars, I’m honest.”“Ack! Whatever else you might be,

you are a weak logician. Even liars hateto be lied to. But my question is whetheryou are escaping a dishonest world, inwhich case you are a philosopher likemyself and are welcome.”

The rope lowered, then was quicklyyanked up again.

“Or you’re running away fromsomeone who fooled you, or helped youfool yourself, in which case you’re acoward.”

“I’m not a coward!” Sofia’s voicesounded small next to the sea’s grandand indifferent silence.

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The rope finally dropped to theboardwalk, and the sailor said, “As ithappens, I’m both. The sea’s got enoughsalt already. You’re welcome aboard,but hurry—tide’s changing.”

Levi found her sitting by a dying fire,keeping warm, wrapped in the Scaligeribanner. If there was no country farenough to escape the past, at least theHawk’s Company was a place she couldlose herself. This time there was no oneelse to blame for deception. Of coursewar entailed murder, rapine, andmassacre. What else could it be?

“The Company’s part in Gubbio,” shestarted. “Did you know?”

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He sat down by the fire. “That wasn’tthe Hawk’s Company I joined. After Iheard, I thought about leaving, but—” Hesat down with a sigh. “What will youdo?”

“He should retire,” Sofia muttered,“go home to his wife.”

“He couldn’t disband the Company ifhe wanted to. All these men are far fromhome—what would they do? Take upfarming? Even if they wanted to, they’dbe killed before they picked up apitchfork.”

“By who?”“By Etruria! Do you think we are

welcome guests? Feuds turn to wars

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when towns can hire help. We’re fuel ona burning fire. We’re pests, andindividually we’d be exterminated likepests.”

Levi mimed squashing bugs—splat,splurge, splug—then grinned. “Together,that’s something different. Forgive me; Iknow Rasenneisi don’t go in much forunity.”

Sofia punched Levi in the arm.“Illuminate me.”

“Ow! Together, we get paid to makeand not to make war. Together, kings payus money and respect—that’s the realreason we fight our unwinnable war.”

“You told the Doc it was Etruria’s

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war. You said Concord had to bestopped for everyone’s sake.”

“I did?” He laughed. “Madonna, I’llsay anything when I’m selling.”

“You’re a bunch of chicken hearts.”“Don’t judge us so harshly. Most of us

weren’t lucky enough to be born withnames like yours, and the few who wereare bastards or second sons left out oftheir fathers’ estates.”

“Which were you, a second son or abastard?” Sofia snapped. Condottieriwere only one link in the chain shacklingEtruria. War paid for itself, peacebrought mass unemployment, so war’spurpose became self-perpetration.

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“Sorry,” she mumbled.“Well, it is more glamorous than

plowing. Not many homeless thieves getto play at being knights.”

She poked the fire. Was this nobility?An overflowing pot pouringdisenfranchised rejects into other lands,spreading disorder and war. In Rasenna,there was a river of blood. In Concord, adifferent type of aristocracy, a brood ofmonsters. Everywhere, the noble gavebirth to the bestial. The title she’d beenso jealous of, the system she’d been apart of—it forged the chains.

“Stay,” Levi said.“What choice have I? I’ve got

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nowhere to go.”

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CHAPTER 63

“Thought I’d find you here. Sure it’s safedown there?”

Pedro didn’t look up. “I borrowedyour tools to repair the malfunction.Hope that’s all right.”

He was crouching on the narrow shelfwhere Piazza Luna abruptly terminated.“I don’t understand it. I’ve been takingdepth samples. There’s no deviationfrom what’s normal at this time of year.”

“That’s because it hasn’t happened

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yet. The individual partials of a Wavedon’t need to move to transfer energy.For buio, the past, present, and futuredon’t come in any sequence. They’re justdifferent states of existence, permeablestates.”

“Oh,” Pedro said, frowning, “thatexplains this then.”

He scooped up some water in abeaker and held it still until tiny globulesbegan breaking free. They hoveredabove the surface until the wind tookthem or they ran out of energy and fell.

“That’s right,” said Giovanni.“Whatever’s causing this is weakbecause it’s in the future. It’s growingstronger as we get closer.”

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They both looked at the river gloomilyuntil Giovanni said, “I’m the sameperson I was.”

“No, Captain, you’re not. If the truthgot out, it would tear Rasenna apartagain. They’d fight for the privilege ofhanging you. Does the Doc know?”

“No one knows. Sofia didn’t either.”Pedro laughed suddenly. “I know that.

The Contessa would have cut your heartout. If by some miracle Rasennasurvives this, you have to go.”

“I know.”“So, can we survive it?”“I don’t know. I’ve been working on it

but—” Giovanni struggled to maintain a

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philosophical distance. “Only anotherWave, out of sync by half a pulse, cancancel a Wave. But it must be as strongor stronger.”

Pedro looked back at the river.“What’s stronger than that?”

“No power in the world—none that Iknow.”

Pedro threw down the beaker.“Where’s your salt, Captain? Before Iknew anything about Natural Philosophy,I used to figure out things by hearingwhat they did. Show me how the Waveworks . . .”

Sketches and scribbled-out calculations

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were strewn all over the studiola’s floor.Working alone, Giovanni hadn’t made

much progress. He tried to explain theimpasse. “Thinking the Wave issomething than can be unleashedovernight keeps Etruria terrified, but itcan’t: it takes huge amounts of energy.”

“From where?”“The Curia’s Architects were

obsessed by acoustics. That’s how mygrandfather won the competition to buildthe Molè: his design was a great spiralbased on Euclid’s extreme and meanratio, a number that the Curia believedrevealed the name of God. Mygrandfather wasn’t that superstitious, buthe did believe it was a power he could

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harness.”Giovanni took out the main lens of

Pedro’s magnifier. He extended thesegments and said, “The engineerssecretly built another building under theMolè with that same spiral reversed.”He flicked his wrist, and the magnifierinverted. “An anti-Molè, if you will.Together they amplify whatever power isgenerated within. The Curia wanted acathedral filled with songs of praise. Mygrandfather had other plans. After theRevolution, the Beast became a prisonfor men and water, the perfect place tocollect, distill, and perfect fear. Overtime, the Water comes to associate Manwith this torture, so when it’s finally set

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loose on a town—”“—the Wave is triggered by the

town’s own population. Elegant,” Pedrosaid with uneasy admiration. “What washe like, Giovanni?”

“I barely remember. Always busy. Isaw even less of him than my father.What I did see was that everyonerespected him. I was different then; Iwould have done anything to impresshim.”

“Sorry; I shouldn’t have asked.”Giovanni shook his head angrily, then

looked up. “So. Any ideas?”Pedro was doodling. “Maybe. You?”“Maybe. Remember the day I came

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here? Sofia told me signaling was yourprimitive way of communicating. I foundit ingenious, though I didn’t contradicther.”

Pedro smiled. “Fast learner.”“It’s an efficient means of

communication if you have limitedpower. We can’t hope to match theMolè’s power—unless we steal some.”

He showed Pedro a sketch ofsomething like a church spire connectedto an engine. “A machine that transmits asignal with a pulse frequency of 1.6 willresonate with the Molè.”

“Allowing their magnifier to magnifyour own signal.”

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“That’s the idea—like the signals theeggs emit, but over a longer distance. Ifthe buio hear it as they approachRasenna, the Wave won’t form. But it’lltake time to build, and this isn’tsomething we can afford to mess up.What’s your idea?”

Pedro held up Giovanni’s Whistler.“This thing works by listening for theecho, right? Can you teach it a newtune?” He handed Giovanni a sheet onwhich he had matched a sequence ofnumbers and musical notes. “Somethingwith a progression that occurs at theintervals equal to the ratio—”

Giovanni read, “1-2-3-5-8—”“And so on. We can play it at the

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bridge, so if anything gets past yourtransmitter or we miscalculate, it’s afail-safe.”

“It’s an elegant solution. Anengineer’s solution. Vettori would beproud.”

Pedro reddened as he adjusted therod’s dial. “Wonder what a golden spiralsounds like.”

“Don’t underestimate them again,” theDoctor cautioned. “It won’t be longbefore they figure out the Wave signal isblocked. That’s if your plan works.”

“It’ll work.”The Doctor shrugged. “If it doesn’t,

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we won’t be around to worry about it.Assuming it does, Podesta, I think weneed to start making friends with othergiants. You’re looking down at yourbridge, as usual. Try looking beyond.”

“South?”“A year ago all those towns exhausted

by war or bankrupted by condottieriwere resigned to vassalage. Now we’vereminded them that Rasenna once led aSouthern League against Concord.”

Giovanni looked at the land south ofRasenna, cooling as night drew on, andhe imagined the wild possibility ofTarquinia, Salerno, Ariminum, Caere,Vulci, and Veii not as rivals but asallies. Some would be suspicious of any

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gesture of friendship, some would waitand let rivals risk the wrath of Concord,but might some raise a flag?

“You think we can bring the southtogether?”

The Doctor showed the letter he’ddrafted. “Podesta, we have to. I don’tknow why Concord is willing to wasteanother Wave on us, but that willingnesstells me they won’t back down easily.”

“We’ll bring it to the Signoriatomorrow.” Giovanni stopped on hisway down the ladder. “That lament Sofiasang on the night the bridge opened—”

“‘The River’s Song.’”“Where did she learn it?”

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“From me. It was something my sistertaught me—a strange lullaby, but then,my sister was a strange woman. Why doyou ask?”

“No reason. Golden dreams, Doctor.”

The Doctor grabbed an orange, lookedsouth, and whistled. A grand alliancewas optimistic, but the inescapable factwas that only with a miracle orcombination of miracles could Rasennasurvive.

“What do you think, ugly? We got aprayer?”

Cat moaned skeptically.He threw an orange peel. “Bah. All

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cats are pessimists.”

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CHAPTER 64

The three wise men fought on two fronts,redrafting the Contract night after night,battling Ariminumese intransigence onone side and John Acuto’s temper on theother.

Sofia missed Levi and was glad to seehim approach the mess tent.

“Yuri, I’m taking your little helper.Watch out, Sofia; I think Acuto sees aprotégée in you. He wants you to see thebusiness side of Contracting, not just the

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glamour.”Sofia threw a wet dishcloth. “I’d

prefer to kill Concordians if that’s stillon the menu.”

“By the legion! But not until we getthis damned Contract signed. Come on,you’ll enjoy the cut and thrust ofnegotiation.”

“Do I get to talk?” Sofia said, leapinginto the saddle.

“Certainly not.” He laughed.“Why is this Contract taking so long?

Doesn’t Acuto want to get home to hiswife?”

“Acuto’s been saying that for the lastdecade.”

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“Maybe he’s afraid of going home.”Levi glanced over his shoulder. “You

can relate?”“Go to hell.”“Well, anyway, he has no choice.

Contracts take time, and I can tell you,I’ve seen tough negotiators, but thesetake the prize. For example, we’dusually be sold supplies at cost price—”

“To prevent you from raiding thecontato.”

“It’s the done thing. But word’s outthat Acuto will fight Concord regardlessof price.”

“Last I looked you were condottieri.Why don’t you throw your weight

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around?”“Time was, we would. But Acuto’s

taking this shining knight business moreseriously the older he gets. Scarpellithinks you’re a bad influence. I’minclined to agree.”

“I know you’re a mercenary, Levi, butsince when are you such a mercenary?”

He laughed. “I just don’t think weneed to advertise our good deeds. Weshould be taking advantage of townsfolk,not the other way around.”

As the notary brought the session toorder, Levi whispered, “Remember,you’re here to watch, listen, and learn

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from the professionals. The trick isnever to lose your temper.”

He stood. “My Lords, we think we’vefinally found a payment schedule thatwill suit—”

The doge interrupted, “Colonel, newinformation has emerged that willchange the terms of agreement.”

Levi’s smile faltered. “My Lord, atthis late hour—”

“In fact, the situation has so changedthat it remains to be seen if we need youat all.” The doge held up a letter. “Doyou recognize this seal?”

Levi and Scarpelli looked at eachother blankly, but Sofia spoke up. “It’s

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Rasenna’s seal.”Scarpelli threw her a look that said be

quiet or be gone.“Correct, young lady. Your friends are

only concerned with our country’smilitary landscape, but Rasenna returnsto the map of Etruria at last—and shereturns rich. Soon they will have bankersgiving loans.”

This suggestion prompted nervoussmiles from the Signoria—most werescions of banking families.

Levi took the chance to interrupt. “Ifail to see what relevance—”

“Precisely,” the doge snapped. “Youfail to see, but Rasenna’s new podesta

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does not. He sees Ariminum’spreeminence and invites us to lead areformed Southern League. It remains tobe seen what scraps are left in thisalliance for the dogs of war.”

Struggling to maintain his composure,Levi stood. “With respect, Doge, it isnaive to—”

“Be seated! This house will not belectured to!”

“But you will lecture us and wasteour time.”

“Levi,” Scarpelli cautioned.But Levi was beyond caring. “My

Lords, it may amuse you to imagineyourselves empire builders, but such

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fantasies can be fatal. War’s notsomething to play at. You risk the wrathof John Acuto and Concord both. Whileyou daydream, one will knock downyour walls and the other will burn yourtowers.”

“You threaten us, Colonel?”“Consider it augury. Rich enough to

buy an army is rich enough to temptConcord. Hiring the Hawk’s Company isa logical deterrent; joining this leaguewould be a senseless provocation.Concord’s aims are in Europa—all itwants from southern Etruria is peace.Ariminum is rich enough to rent an army—but you must be realistic. You arebankers and merchants, not fighters.”

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“Perhaps not, but the men of Rasennaare.”

Scarpelli stood, pulling Levi up withhim. “We should adjourn. We’ve all gotsome rethinking to do.”

“My Lord?”The doge had been so busy glowering

at Levi that he’d forgotten Sofia’spresence.

“Yes, my child?” he said pleasantly.“What is the new podesta’s name?”He lifted the scroll close to his face.

“A Bardini or a Morello, I suppose.Who’s in charge these days? Hmm,unusual: no family game given, just aninitial. It must be a Bardini. It’s signed

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Giovanni B.”

As they left the city with yapping dogs attheir heels, the Dwarf admonished Sofiafor interrupting.

She was in a dark, cold place where astorm was kindling. Even his death wasa lie! To think, if she’d never discoveredhis true identity, what joy she’d befeeling. The dagger was barbed everyway; she couldn’t let it be, and shecouldn’t pull it out.

“You were told to keep your mouthshut!” the Dwarf fumed.

Sofia ignored him. “Levi, this leagueis a trap. Rasenna’s new podesta is a

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Concordian spy.”Levi shook his head slowly. “That

wouldn’t make sense. Concord hasalways ruled by division.”

“Just like condottieri,” she muttered.“Not quite,” Scarpelli said. “Concord

has long-term goals.”“And we do it for money.” The Dwarf

laughed.“Maybe the League’s designed to fail.

If Rasenna brings all the towns togetheronly to betray them, it’ll finish the causeof unity for good.”

“Too subtle,” Levi said dismissively,“but it is surprising that Ariminum iseven considering this alliance. They’ve

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always exploited the other southerncities; they have that much in commonwith Concord. If Rasenna’s growing richby trade, it’s as big a threat to Ariminumas Concord.”

“But don’t forget,” said Scarpelli,“Ariminum’s got the fear!”

“You see that doge standing up toConcord?”

“He stood up to Acuto,” said theDwarf.

“That’s different. Concord may beoverstretched, but it’s not weak. IfTagliacozzo taught us anything, it’s thatGuild technology trumps every alliance.Paying homage to Concord would be

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easier and cheaper than starting a warAriminum can’t win.”

Sofia remembered the day Giovannisaid he had blood on his hands. Shehadn’t believed him. Nobody told herlove made one deaf as well as blind.What was he planning now?

“It doesn’t make sense,” theyannounced together.

John Acuto crouched awkwardly at thetent flap. His shadow fell across her.“Don’t go.”

“I’m leaving at dawn. Of all people, Ithought you would understand.”Bernoulli was engineering Rasenna’s

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destruction, from the inside this time,and she was the only one who knew it.She had no choice. “You were a knight,John Acuto, but you ran from yourdestiny. You recommend that course?”

“No,” he said quietly.“General, Levi said you couldn’t

disband the Company if you wanted to.What if the Company had a home?”

“All Europa is our home.”“I mean a permanent home.”“Find me a town where violent men

are welcome.”She waited.“Bah! Rasenna had its chance to join

me at Tagliacozzo. It turned me down.”

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“All Etruria refused you.”“Concord would grind us to dust

together.”“You could win this time.”“Win? Have you been paying

attention? Tagliacozzo was a rout, andyou told me yourself how Rasenna’slittle rebellion was squashed before itstarted.”

“You lost because you were betrayed.We lost because we were borgati facingan army. United, it would be different.”

“Walls are for knocking down, nothiding behind. I’m glad you’ve stoppedrunning from whatever chased you here,but don’t try to rope my Company in on a

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doomed mission.”“It’s already on a doomed mission.

Times are changing—everyone knows itbut you. Every town’s bankrupted or invassalage to Concord, and Etruria’s justthe start. If you really want to fight theEmpire, this is your last chance.”

He saw she wasn’t giving up and satdown with a heavy sigh. “Businessmendeal in Contracts. By what authority doyou speak for Rasenna, girl?”

Sofia said nothing.“That’s what I thought. Besides, what

can Rasenna offer that Ariminum can’t?I’ll fight Concord for Ariminum and getpaid. The future is here, not on a doomed

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crusade for a doomed town,” he said,and walked away.

“You’re a rare fool, John Acuto, tohave lived so long and found nothingworth fighting for but money.”

Soldiers in neighboring tents stoppedto watch. Acuto turned around slowly.“Remember yourself!”

Sofia stood in front of him.“Remember yourself! They say your sondied a hero. Madonna, he’d bedisgusted to see you now.”

The general growled and grabbed herby the arm. She hit him in the jaw. Theblow would have felled an ordinaryman. John Acuto wiped the blood from

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his nose and ordered the soldiers whocame running to stay back.

“You had better be gone tomorrow.There’s no place for you here anymore.”

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CHAPTER 65

The sickly incense wafting out of thepriest’s tent was an effective warningthat he was not to be disturbed. He setthe cauldron on the fire; messy workdemanded warm water.

The blade went in easily. Thesleeping dove did not struggle.

He prayed. “Virgin, you seeeverything. You see a blind andworthless and faithless priest with butone friend left. I beg you, let me help

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him. Leave me in darkness forever morebut give me Sight one last time!”

As the bird’s life spilled out in warmblood, its viscera did not have thefamiliar stench; they were tart as newlyplowed earth. He spread them out amongthe dust and the bones and whispered,“Sweet Virgin, let me See!”

He shook epileptically as the visioncrashed upon him with the power of anocean. When it passed over, he criedout, “You are betrayed, John Acuto!”

He ran to the tent flap, pulled it back—and found a smiling Scarpelli standingthere.

“Going somewhere, Father Blood-

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and-Guts?”The priest stepped back, coughed, and

looked down at the blade stuck in hisbelly. Scarpelli pushed him onto theground.

“Madonna! This place stinks!” hesaid. Disgust turned to sudden anger, andhe knelt on the priest’s chest, holdinghim down in the dust, which was soddenwith fresh blood.

“Sorry, Father. The Company’s goingthrough a period of restructuring.”

“Traitor! You’ll die like a dog, with aleash for a noose.”

“Another prediction, blind man?Please—you couldn’t foresee the one

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death that mattered.”Scarpelli slid the knife sideways

across the priest’s abdomen. It went ineasily. The cauldron water began to boil.

Sofia was trapped in a deep slumber.The pit was waiting for her, as real asever. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She heard the hum, but as the cells’revolution began, there was no one toscream but she. Great stones groundagainst each other. The lake waterchurned, and the coffin emerged,changed, aged as if submerged forcenturies. It hissed putrid gas when itcracked open, and a hand emerged, not

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white and bony but flesh: live andbloody. The priest stumbled out,frightened and bewildered, visceradangling and weeping blood.

His voice was strangled, distant.“Sofia, it’s you; it always has been. He’ssearching for you. Return to Rasenna!Every river overlaps there.”

A bolt of blue light dropped from thesky. When it hit the water, everythingshook. Heaven and Hell broke open.

“It’s you, Sofiaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

She woke in darkness, gasping for air,covered in sweat. Her pillow was dampwith tears. The vision did not take wing

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like a normal nightmare but sat gloatingon her chest. She’d nursed the angersince learning who Giovanni was. Nowthat she knew he was alive, it didn’tneed nursing; it grew like a tumor until itseeped from the pit into her dreams: abloated maggot feeding on cancerousmeat and spiced with tears of betrayal,grief, and suffering, just as the Virginhad promised her. The Virgin hadpromised love stronger than all three, yetof that she felt nothing.

She turned over. The dawn’s light casta shadow against her tent. She held on tothe banner as her other hand reached forher dagger.

“Sofia?”

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“Levi?”By the crazy gleam in his eye she

knew he hadn’t slept either.“Something’s wrong. Yuri just saw theDwarf and John Acuto leave with anAriminumese escort, going to sign theContract.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”“It’s impossible. There hasn’t been a

new draft in weeks. It doesn’t smellright. I need help.”

“All right. First we need to get thepriest.”

“Prayer won’t stop mutiny.”“I can’t explain right now, Levi. Just

trust me.”

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The Dwarf reined in his horse. “We’llwait here, General.”

He drew a deep breath and blew afeeble whimper on a hunting horn. Hethrew the horn at the Ariminumesesoldier. “You blow it.”

The horn sounded lonely and strangeon the empty plane. They were half amile yet from Ariminum’s walls.

John Acuto took off his helmet andwiped his brow. “What’s that for?”

“Signaling, General.”“I realize that, but why? Are we being

denied access to the city now? If theymake us negotiate from the saddle, I’llmake them pay for it.”

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“No, General. Treachery is afoot.”“Levi, that viper!” Acuto swore, “I

knew it!”“I daresay Levi’s dead by now,” the

Dwarf said. The Ariminumese soldierstayed behind the general.

“Good work. Was he alone?”“Extraordinary! You still don’t

understand.” The Dwarf pointed to theparty of knights riding from the towngates. “They come for you, old man.”

It took him a moment to comprehendthat he had not been rescued butkidnapped, but by then a pommel hadslammed into his skull. By then it wasdark.

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Steam from the cauldron filled thepriest’s tent. He lay beside a dove thathad been cut open in the same way.

Levi looked at her forcefully. “Behonest: You saw this, didn’t you?”

“No! I have dreams—I can’t controlit.”

“But you knew he was in danger.Sofia, you asked me to trust you. I do.You have a power; I don’t know whyyou’re fighting it, but I’m asking forhelp.”

“What can I do?”“Just think about John Acuto. Where

is he?”“It doesn’t work like that. Something’s

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blocking it. Levi, I’m afraid.”Levi knelt beside the body. “You

know, back when business was good,we’d all get paid handsomely. Somehoarded; others spent freely. Nextcampaign, Fortune treated the misers andprofligates the same. If your time’s up, itdoesn’t matter how rich or poor youare.”

He closed the old man’s wet staringeyes. “Sofia, life’s only worth somethingif you live it. If you hide away fromdanger, you rob yourself twice, of lifeand of the prize that’s behind the fear.”

“Prize? What prize?”“The only thing money can’t buy in my

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experience: freedom.”Sofia looked at the steam swirling

from the cauldron. She whispered, “I’mnot afraid.” She watching the steamvapors snake through her fingers.Bubbles burst and spit scalding water.She closed her eyes and plunged herhand in.

“NooooSofiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—”

She heard Levi from far away. Shefloated there and waited, and lookingdown, she saw the dark sky and, thoughit, a battlefield—but it was a battlefought and lost many years ago. Thevision shifted, and now it was just an

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ordinary field where the general waitedwith two others.

The brooding sky pressed down, andthe vision rose up again, repainted withmore detail: John Acuto’s hoarsebellow, manly and sorrowful, a bull cutdown, and blood pumping through roughhands vainly trying to halt the leak as therivulets cascaded over fingers like rubyrings. She saw Acuto, unconscious in hissaddle, and two horsemen waitingbeside him, looking at the east andwaiting. The earth was shaking.

The vision shifted once more. Shecouldn’t control it; there was somethingit wanted her to see.

Below, where the water ran cold,

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something old and hateful shifted anduncoiled. It smelled her fear and washungry.

She was in Rasenna, and the earthwas still shaking. Giovanni was aloneon the bridge. He was looking at her,and behind him night was falling as theWave rose up.

A tentacle grazed her leg, and sheflinched into

Daylight.“—fiaaaaa, don’t!” Levi screamed,

but suddenly the water wasn’t boiling.Levi cautiously dipped a finger in. Itwas chilly.

“How in the name of—?”

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“There’s no time—Acuto’s in trouble,outside Ariminum.”

“Figures. If it’s outside their walls,they can claim ignorance,” said Levi.“You should go.”

“Me?”“They’ll send knights. It pains me to

say it, but you’re a better fighter than me.I’ll stay here.”

“Why?”“Because I’m a better soldier.”

“Who’s that?” said the Ariminumesesoldier.

The Dwarf squinted. A lone rider was

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coming from the west.“I’ll tell you who it’s not: Scarpelli.

He said he’d fly an Ariminumesebanner.”

The soldier dismounted and loadedhis crossbow.

“Someone’s about to get a surprise,”he said.

John Acuto’s horse reared and kickedthe soldier into the mud. His arrow shotoff into the sky and narrowly missed therider.

The general unsheathed his broadsword with a groggy roar as the Dwarfswung. He didn’t parry but let himselffall from his saddle, and landing next to

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the fallen soldier, he rolled over in timeto see the Dwarf spurring his horse totrample him.

Acuto flung his sword at the horse’sfront legs, and there was a whinny ofpain and its head met the earth with asudden sharp crack. Momentum kept thebody rolling, and it was Acuto’s turn toroar as his legs were pinned.

The Dwarf picked himself up andwalked over unsteadily, panting andwheezing.

“How much,” Acuto asked, spittingbile and blood, “did Concord pay you?”

“The deal was with Ariminum. Part ofthe deal was you.”

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“Levi was right: you’re a lousybusinessman. You should’ve cut out themiddleman. Concord would’ve paidmore.”

The Dwarf paused to ponder. “Youthink so?”

Acuto suddenly sat up, pushed anarrow into the Dwarf’s stomach, andyanked it out again, the barbs ripping amess of entrails with them. The Dwarfgurgled for a while, then fell facedownin the dirt.

“That’s for the priest, you dog.” Hefell back, exhausted, and waited for thelone horseman, praying Fortune had senta friend, and knowing he had few left.

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Several mounted soldiers were waitingwhen Levi returned to his tent.“Scarpelli,” he shouted, “I think theDwarf’s going to betray Acuto.”

“There’s still time.”“Yes, if we hurry, we—”“There’s still time to join us. I wanted

to involve you, but the Dwarf thoughtyou couldn’t be trusted.”

“A compliment of sorts.”“Acuto betrayed us, Levi. I didn’t sign

up for a Crusade, did you? We’re here toget rich, not change the world.”

“And the priest?”“He’d never have agreed to what

needs to be done,” Scarpelli said

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impatiently.“What’s that?”“Ariminum want to deliver the Hawk

with their tribute to Concord. Agoodwill token.”

“With their tribute? They neverintended to do business?”

“Oh, they did—just not with JohnAcuto. Come on, Levi! It’s the obviouschoice. Concord’s winning.”

“Just tell me one thing: Who betrayedus at Tagliacozzo?”

Scarpelli shifted in his saddle.“They killed Harry!” Levi cried. “You

were his friend too.”

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Scarpelli laughed bitterly. “That’sfunny. Harry was a condottiere born, andif he were still alive, he would be sittingwith me. It’s you who betray his memoryif you don’t join us.” He laid his hand onhis sword.

“Like you said, the choice isobvious.”

Yuri and a company of archersemerged from the surrounding tents.Some of Scarpelli’s men tried to flee,some tried to fight; they were all cutdown. Stunned, Scarpelli dropped thesword he had not even had the chance toraise.

“You were always a better politicianthan a soldier,” Levi said with contempt.

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“Take him. John Acuto can judge him.”“Levi! Help me, please—for old

time’s sake!”“You betrayed the Hawk. This is for

old time’s sake.”

Pushing with her legs, Sofia managed tomove the horse’s body enough for thegeneral to roll free.

“Where’s Levi?” he groaned.“I got the easy job, saving your

ungrateful hide. Levi’s saving yourCompany.”

Acuto touched the wound on his headtenderly. “I’m done for, girl. Get out ofhere.”

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Sofia tore an Ariminumese bannerinto strips and did not answer.

Acuto continued, “I know Rasenneisican handle themselves in a fight, but noone survives a cavalry charge. Do an oldman one last favor and go.”

He doubled over, coughing. Sofiaquickly counted the approachinghorsemen. The knights rode in a body,the wet earth sinking under the weight oftheir armor.

“I’m staying.”“Today’s youth worry me. In my day,

we only made selfless gestures whenthere was someone around who’d live tosing about them.”

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“You’ll live.”Acuto grinned, showing bloodstained

teeth. “You’re a doctor too? It’s worsethan you know. Listen—” He held hisnose and blew.

Sofia heard a hissing wind andcongealing blood popping.

“Skull fracture,” she said quietly.“Aye. Not something I’ll shake off

with chicken soup.”“Then die well—not in this mud over

a petty money squabble.”“That’s my profession you are

slandering. Sadly, there’s no demand forheroism these days.”

“I know a place.” She bandaged the

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general’s wound quickly.“Even if you could persuade an old

brain-damaged general, why would hisCompany follow? No, my story endshere.”

“Damn you, then!” She turned angrily,calculating her chances. There weretwelve knights in heavy armor. Thehorses made it harder. An advance bodyof four broke off and spurred theirmounts into a full gallop.

“I’ve waited a long time to see my sonagain . . .”

Sofia didn’t look away from theapproaching knights as she answered. “Ithought you were a fighter, John Acuto,

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but you’re just a weak old fool.Rasenna’s got too many of those already.Maybe I was wrong to invite you.”

“Damn you, Sofia. I know whatyou’re trying to do, but it’s too late. Go,before they’re upon us!”

She readied herself.The lead knight drew closer; he tilted

his lance and charged. She sidesteppedand tapped his lance as it passed. It duginto the earth, vaulting the knight into theair. He landed hard, metal breaking onbone.

When the next two riders came, Sofialeaped for the first, swinging around hishorse’s neck with a kick to the chin. She

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took his place in the saddle just as hecrashed to the ground. He got up, dazedbut lucid enough to unsheathe his sword.She pulled hard on the warhorse’s reins;it reared and came back to earth,crushing its master into the mud.

The next knight was already charging.“Yaaah!”

Sofia charged too, but before theypassed she leaped from the saddle ontothe knight’s lowered lance, sprang off,and kicked—not his breastplate but thebody encased within.

The armor bent like paper. Metal isthe weakest element, no match for water.

He was unconscious before he landed.

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Sofia picked up a lance and broke offthe handle. With one eye on the horizon,she took a banner from her satchel andunrolled it; black and gold gleameddarkly. She fastened it to the stick andthen closed her eyes, testing the weaponwith a combination, listening for thesnap—and hearing it. The Vanzetti madetheir banners to last.

She waited calmly. The other knightshad seen their colleagues attackingindividually and falling one after theother, and now they charged together andit made no difference. As John Acutowatched eight experienced knights fall toa slip of a girl, he decided that Contractor no, he must see Rasenna before he

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died. It would be a fitting last pilgrimagefor a warrior.

Sofia drove the banner into the groundand pulled the old man to his feet.“General. I offer the Hawk’s Company aContract.”

“We’ve been over this. Who are youto offer Contracts?”

“I am Sofia Scaligeri, Contessa ofRasenna.”

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CHAPTER 66

The walls of Rasenna emerged from aslowly churning white sea, and themorning mist advanced until the fierybanners of besieging and besieged werethe same neutral gray. As yet there hadbeen no assault. The Twelfth Legion hadarrived a week ago, and now the townand the river together were blockaded.The forests nearby were besieged toofor wood to make siege towers, ladders,and other tools.

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The tumult outside Rasenna promptednone within; her walls and towers weresilent. To Concordians, accustomed toinspiring panic and hate with their warmachine, this pure indifference wasstrangely disquieting.

General Luparelli contemplated theempty walls with rueful curses: hecursed his previous clemency, and hecursed Rasenna for all it had stolen fromhim—his hand, his son, and, worst ofall, his laurels. After Tagliacozzo, did henot deserve plaudits? Had he notdeserved a Triumph? But as usual, he gotnothing; it was a noble’s lot.

Unusually, all three Apprentices hadcome to watch the siege unfold. For

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some reason, they had become suddenlyfixated on Rasenna. Luparelli did notknow why, nor did he care to know; hejust welcomed the opportunity to makeRasenna pay.

So it seemed especially cruel whenthe First Apprentice showed him theterms of surrender.

“My Lord,” he sputtered, “these termsare absurd—we will lift the siege if theysurrender the engineer? That’simpossible; I saw him die!”

“He lives,” the man in red saidsimply. The front line separated to makeway before him, and General Luparellifollowed dutifully.

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“I don’t question your orders, but canyou be sure your information isaccurate?”

The Apprentice came to a stop by thelegion’s carroccio. “Bring him out!”

An aide led out the prisoner. His pale,malnourished body was a ruin, apatchwork of bruises and scars. His eyesdarted around like a snared animal.

“You recognize the Morello heir,General?”

Luparelli held up his stump. “Iremember his brother, my Lord, and ifthis boccalone told you CaptainBernoulli lives, don’t believe it.Rasenneisi are liars!” The general

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grabbed Gaetano by the arm. “What’syour game, boy?”

The prisoner said nothing.“We too thought he was lying at first.

When he finally understood our intentionto make Rasenna our final example toEtruria, he became somewhat lesscooperative.”

“You cut out his tongue?”“We remained skeptical until our

Wave signal was disrupted—only a verygifted engineer could manage that. Histongue is no longer necessary; thesewalls suffice to tell us a Concordianengineer schools Rasenneisi in our hard-won secrets.”

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The general recovered his composureand growled, “They’ll be lessimpressive as rubble.”

“Well, we shall see,” the Apprenticesaid. “The traitor will deliver our terms,General. Before you send him home,collect what’s owed; the heir inheritseverything, including family debts.”

Fabbro, Pedro, and the Doctor crouchedbehind the walls, waiting.

“This fog is a godsend,” whisperedthe Doctor. “The Virgin hasn’tabandoned us even if Ariminum has.”

“Is everything ready?” Fabbro asked.He was accustomed to being the one

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supplying all the answers, and now hefelt redundant. The last month of anxiouspreparation had taught him the starktruth: Rasenna’s fate once moredepended on her warriors.

The Doctor kept his eyes on theConcordians. “All’s done that can be.War isn’t any more predictable thanbusiness.”

“Where’s Giovanni? Shouldn’t he behere? Surely they’ll want to talk first.”

“We’re done talking.”“He’s on the bridge, Signore

Bombelli,” said Pedro, “monitoring theWave frequency. It’s been building for amonth, and now it’s peaking. If we can

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hold it back for a couple of days more,it’ll dissipate.”

“If we don’t?”“We wake up tomorrow dead.”“That’s not funny, Doctor. What are

these water buckets for, in case of fire?”“Look, it’s going to get dangerous

soon,” Pedro said. “You should get to asafe tower.”

“No. I failed your father when heneeded me; I’m staying.”

“Your family needs you now, andRasenna will need you in the aftermath.”

“What if there is none?” he saidreluctantly.

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“Then it won’t matter,” the Doctorsaid.

But when Fabbro finally got up, therewas a sudden loud crack, and he divedback under the battlements.

“Has it started?”The catapult’s whip-snap echoed in

the silence, and a golden missile flewover their heads.

“Not yet,” said the Doctor, leaping up,“but that’s our ultimatum.”

The golden bundle landed in PiazzaLuna, and blood started seeping almostimmediately from it, running toward theriver. As the Doctor knelt beside it, he

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saw Uggeri coming across the bridge.“Stay in position, damn it! You don’t

need to see this.”“Yes, I do.”He didn’t argue anymore. The boy did

have the right to know his old Master’sfate. The Doctor unrolled the Morellobanner. Inside, gold had turned red. If thefall hadn’t already killed Gaetano, bloodloss would have. His arms were boundtogether and severed at the wrists: adisgraceful death. The Doctor tore awaythe scroll fastened to the stumps.

“Uggeri, I need you to follow the plan.If everybody does their part, we’llavenge all our fallen soldiers. Is

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everything ready?”“That’s what I came to report.”“All right. Keep your flag up,

bandieratoro.”“You too, old man.”The Doctor watched him go and

ripped up the scroll. As he coveredGaetano’s face with the Morello banner,he thought on his own death, doubting itwould be much better. He’d lived lifethinking that the only good fight was onethat was winnable, but reason andexperience, those two dry sages, assuredhim he would not see tomorrow. And yetthe fight was good—the best.

Giovanni called from the bridge,

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“What did it say, Doc?”“Nothing—surrender or die. All

good?”“So far.”

As General Luparelli rode closer to thewalls, he could see the rows of stakesplanted in the surrounding embankment.His horse grew skittish. and he failed tocalm it; he couldn’t master himself, letalone another.

He cleared his throat and shouted,“Men of Rasenna! You have seen howwe treat collaborators. Think how weshall treat enemies. Your walls, yourtowers, and your leaders’ lives are

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forfeit, but you can save your womenand children. Accept our terms. This isyour final warning. Give us the—”

Out of the silent mist, a solitary dab ofgold floated toward him with the patterof mechanical wings. The generalswore; he’d been looking forward totaking revenge on Rasenna and taking itnice and bloody, but it looked like thequailing burghers were prepared to giveup the engineer. He should have knownDoc Bardini would do anything to savehis skin.

ticktickticktickticktickticktickThe annunciator’s wings beat like a

terrified bird’s as it ascended, and thegeneral had to spur his horse forward to

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catch it. He took the paper from its graspand read:

“Luparino! Still wondering if youare on the side of the Angels. Look toheaven, Dr. B.”

The wings slowed. “Is this a joke?”he shouted up at the walls.

And then he saw them, lighting up likestars as another and then another angelemerged from the mist until a thousandannunciators were floating from thewalls over the neat line of his siegetowers, over his head.

Tick tick tick tick tick tickGeneral Luparelli stared at the angel

in his hand, a single thought exploding in

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his mind.

Tick beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeb!“Oh, sweet mother of Go—!”

The soldiers saw the general shatterbefore they heard the blast. His blood-spattered horse bolted and trampled thesoldier who ran to catch it, but theruckus was ignored as every eye staredin horror at the hovering swarms nowdescending.

Wings beat more slowly, thenstopped, and first one angel, then dozensdropped to the ground. The first wave hitbehind the front line, in the middle of

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ranks packed too densely to flee. Theylanded in clusters, causing stampedesand wreaking even more carnage, waveafter wave of them, until the legion’shandsome face was spoiled and theirregular crump! of the explosions wasjoined by the shrill screams of the dying.

Rasenna’s walls remained gallinglyempty, indifferent to the suffering. Whenthe panic subsided, the SecondApprentice sniffed and gave an amusedsnort, recognizing the bitter smell ofserpentine.

The First Apprentice tapped an aideon the shoulder. “Fetch me the general’sbaton, there’s a good boy,” he said, andwhen the aide returned, snatched it from

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him, looked about for a moment, andthen handed it back. “I suppose you’lldo.”

“Oh—! Thank you, my Lord—I reallydon’t know what to say—”

“Say ‘attack,’ General.”“Yes, my Lord, of course—

Concordians, attack!”

The order was an incantation. At oncesleeping engines shuddered into life.Catapults sent hails of fiery comets overthe still-silent walls, and where theystruck the towers, the burning cagesburst open and spilled fire in the streets.The fog meant targeting was arbitrary,

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but terror and confusion were the realaim of these opening moves: a panickingtown defeated itself, so the best militarytheory advised.

But from Rasenna there was nothing.Fire rained uselessly on empty streets,

and no screams or cries were heard overthe muffled explosions. Concord’s warengines were the terror of Etruria; fortheir onslaught to be simply ignored wasunprecedented. Lurking behind thesoldiers’ professional concern was amore atavistic fear: if panic found nopurchase in Rasenneisi hearts, it needsmust prey on others.

Swallowing their fear, they advanced,dragging and pushing their engines

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closer to the walls. The siege might beprogressing unusually, but they tookreassurance in the knowledge that therewas another front, and another army,advancing beneath their feet.

In silence and darkness thesubterranean siege had begun days agowhen the sappers began burrowing likeblack worms, ignoring the constant threatof collapse and suffocation. Unlike theirbrothers overhead, the sappers neverlost heart—for men already in graves,there is no retreat; their only way outwas to dig, stopping only when theyreached the walls, where they wouldkindle fires with pig fat hot enough tocrack stones. When the walls fell, some

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would be buried and some would seedaylight, and either fate was freedom.

Overhead, the infantry waitedpatiently, ready to rush headlong into anybreach created. This dual offensive washow the Concordian Army won sieges;there was no reason for disquiet, forwith an army so well drilled, soexperienced, there really was only onequestion: How long would Rasenna holdout?

Pedro made the rounds, checking in atevery wall tower. Since the Twelfth hadarrived, Rasenna’s engineers had beenmonitoring the sappers’ progress. TheConcordians’ belief that their machines’

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speed made countermining ineffectivewas correct—unless countermining hadbegun weeks ago. Studying thelandscape over the last months,Giovanni had predicted where tunnelswould most likely be dug; now theywaited for their early-warning system toreveal which route they’d taken.

They watched the water buckettogether. The tremors were regular.

“Getting close?” the engineer asked.“Too close,” said Pedro, and gave the

command.The walls shook as the water passed

under, and a moment later, deep behindthe Concordian ranks’ front line, the

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tunnel’s concealed entrance exploded.Sappers’ bodies rained down with thewater and mud and rock.

Just as Concord’s undergroundadvance was parried, its moreconventional assault stalled too. Beforethe first row of siege engines could getclose enough to the walls to cast theirgrapping hooks, the top-heavy beaststoppled ignominiously into theconcealed pits everyone had failed tospot.

As Concord’s own power overmachines and water turned back on it,even veteran courage wavered.

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The Apprentices, discerning adesigner’s hand everywhere, marveled.Their soldiers were no more free thanlivestock herded to slaughter. Like anarchitect, the Captain had known wherepressure would bear fruit, and theirarmy’s rote-learned tactics, efficiency,and speed were liabilities against therare—the very rare—opponent whocould exploit them.

“And you said he lackedimagination,” the Second Apprenticeobserved.

The First Apprentice was serene. “Helearned something at his grandfather’sknee, but he cannot understand what ishappening. Our privilege, gentlemen, is

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not only to witness the moment whenGod moves His hand in the world againbut to have the power to slap It away!”

The Third Apprentice laughed like aboy.

The first wave of infantry, concentratedat Rasenna’s north gate, fell without ablow as rusted caltrops planted weeksearlier pierced boots, leaving the slow-moving incapacitated to be crushedunder their own machines that followedso close on their heels.

“Loose the Sows!” ordered theTwelfth Legion’s new and increasinglyapprehensive general.

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The crews were protected by the hideroofs of the battering rams as theyblundered to the embankment and itsrows of waiting stakes. Those whoescaped the crush at the wall wereswiftly cut down by unseen archers, butthey had done their job and cleared pathsfor the siege towers, which spit flamingarrows at the walls as they followed.Soon the towers themselves becametargets. The most effective firebrandswere mallets wrapped with rags andstudded with nails, all dowsed inburning pitch; they stuck fast whereverthey hit.

Catapults were too unwieldy toeffectively cover the towers, so smaller

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ballistae were wheeled up, and theirpracticed crews quickly gaugedtrajectories to concentrate their loads onone target: the northern barbican. Thistoo was routine; the gates were naturallythe weakest part of any wall.

Under the unyielding barrage, the firstgate broke and the infantry, frenzied forrevenge, trampled injured comrades tobe first to the breach. They paused onlyto flay a fallen siege tower of itsprotective skin. They used the hide-covered wattle to bridge theembankment, but no sooner had theyentered the barbican than a second gatedropped behind them. Trapped inside thetower, immobilized by their own

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numbers, all they could do was screamwhen the long pikes came thrusting outof the murder holes overhead.

Every normally successfulConcordian advance was undone withsuch strange ease that each unit wasmore cautious than the last. But still theodds were weighted heavily inConcord’s favor—and then blind lucklent a hand. A burning siege towermanaged to reach the wall and drop itsdrawbridge. Though most of the crewwas struck down, some survived to runalong the wall to the northern gate, thefocus of the battle. At the same momentanother tower to the east fell into aconcealed trench and tottered, creaking,

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like an old tree in a forest, then crashedagainst the wall; though its crew wascrushed to death, soldiers behind quicklyclambered up the accidental bridge tojoin the struggle at the gate.

The hidden pikemen vanishedsuddenly, and sensing weakness, moreinfantry rushed the barbican andmanaged to lift the portcullis—itjammed less than halfway up but leftspace enough for the Concord men tosqueeze into the town in ones and twos.“Now, by God, now! Show no mercy!”the new general whooped. “To thebreach!”

Strangely, no Rasenneisi attempted tostop them.

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They rushed into the streets, bawlingchallenges, howling like wolves. Bytradition, when Concord soldiers firstbreached a besieged town, theyabandoned their normal strict militaryorder for a short carnival of brutality.After a taste of anarchy, the unfortunatetown’s population would beg for martiallaw to be imposed. From a commander’spoint of view, the worse the soldiersbehaved, the better; it was that wildinghour that veterans reminisced over,bragged about, and prayed for.

The pack spread out, prowling fortownsfolk, and found . . .

Nothing.Just like Rasenna’s walls, the streets

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ignored them. The men’s greatexcitement and the narrowness of thesteep alleys made orderly advancementimpossible. On every street corner, aMadonna glared down, not a Mother ofMercy but a vengeful She-Devil,reproachfully displaying the slain babeat her breast. Under that pitiless,omnipresent gaze, penned into therestricted streets and isolated by theimpenetrable mist and an imperioussilence, wolves became sheep.

The town must be abandoned, the youngsoldier concluded. The gate had beendefended just long enough for the restto escape. Clever ploy.

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Something came out of the mist; heswiped his sword but missed—

Just a pigeon. He laughed nervously,thankful that the mist hid his blushesfrom the others.

Then he realized there were no others.He retraced his steps, holding his

blade up to the whiteness. He wasn’tlost; that was something: he recognizedthis particular four-alley intersection. Helooked down each one for hiscolleagues.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.He listened—was that something?

There was a fluttering sound, thensilence. More pigeons?

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Too late, he thought to look up.

The bandieratori were patient. They letthe Concordians get drawn out beforepicking them off; Uggeri’s decina wasespecially effective at this. Occasionalscreams were allowed to be heard,which made them all the more chilling.The streets, the fog, and the silence werethe Rasenneisi’s allies in this battle.Some soldiers, scared into witlessness,dropped their swords and waited for theend; others roared challenges into themist and ran, slashing at the fearfulemptiness. Concordian fell onConcordian, crying Mercy, cryingTraitor, just crying.

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Others ran, more terrified than ever intheir lives.

The wheezing soldier turned corner aftercorner until, quite by accident, hereached the river. He was a veteran ofGubbio, of Veii; to die in Rasenna of allplaces—it didn’t make sense! In themiddle of the bridge, a hooded figurecrouched over a curious device. Thesoldier uttered a despairing oath, finallybeginning to understand: Rasenna hadengineers! Why hadn’t the Apprenticeswarned them?

He turned around and saw what wasimpossible to see in between theclustered towers: each of the towers was

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connected in a great web of ropebridges, and they were all manned bybandieratori turned archers, shootingdeadly darts into the mist below.

He made an especially easy target.

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CHAPTER 67

A week passed before the Ariminumesedared venture from their walls. Wherethe condottieri camp had been, theyfound a newly erected gallows, andunder a wooden sign with the word“Traitors” burned into it were CaptainScarpelli and a dog, both hanged by theneck.

The doge understood the dog was hisproxy and trembled. The only questionwas how long before the condottiere

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returned for justice.

The Hawk’s Company, justly famedthroughout the peninsula for its speed,moved quickly, but for once John Acutodid not lead the march. In the lastcarriage of the baggage train Sofiawatched helplessly as the old bulldeteriorated by the hour. He demandedwater but could not drink; he demandedpaper to write but could not hold a quillsteady. Finally, sinking in and out ofdelirium, he lay back and surrendered tofevered memory.

“She asked me what I hoped to earn,Sofia, and when I said I’d be rich, sheaccused me of abandoning her for

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Fortune. I told her I’d write, but sheturned her back on me. You knowwomen—Fortune’s jealous, brooks norival lovers. She stopped answering myletters!”

“You’re tiring yourself, General,”Sofia said. “Hush.”

“My boy, Harry, came to me—thatwas later. He followed me to Etruria totell me that after I left, Plague made acuckold of me. Or was it Fortune? Shestole her, then tired of me . . . shestopped answering my letters . . .”

Yuri rode with Levi up to the carriage.“Thought you’d want to know, Sofia.We’re in sight,” Levi told her.

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She heard the strange note in Levi’svoice. “What is it?”

“It’s not how I remember.”“You tolded me it was poor!” said

Yuri reproachfully.She leaped down from the cart. “I

want to see.”

The First Apprentice placidly studiedthe battle though his magnifier. “General,it’s time to pull your men back.”

“But my Lord, we’ve breached—Imean to say, we’re winning!”

“The opening round goes to Rasenna.It’s just that nobody’s escaped to tell youyet. Here—look east.” He thrust the

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scope at the general. “East, I said!”“Why—it’s an army!” the general

said.“Well deduced, General! You

certainly are earning that promotion.”“Perhaps it is our allies, come to lend

aid?”“The Ariminumese don’t fight their

own battles—they’re certainly not goingto fight ours. Look at the Standard.”

“Ah.” The new general palednoticeably and unconsciously took a stepback. “Perhaps we should retreat to abetter position. Of course we can defeatthe Hawk’s Company again, but if theymeet us here—”

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“Yes, we will be under siegeourselves; rather ironic. But there’snothing for it. My colleagues shall dealwith Rasenna; you deal with JohnAcuto.”

The general saluted. “Yes, my Lord.”“Keep our horses ready. We will need

a quick exit.”And the three Apprentices marched

into the fray, and their colors were soonobscured by the mist and smoke.

Only the towers were the same. Sofiadidn’t know which she felt more, dreador elation. Rasenna’s walls werestanding proud and strong and keeping a

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Concordian legion at bay. If this was theengineer’s work, what was its end?What was the point of further subterfugeif he was in league with theApprentices? Perhaps Rasenna was onlya pawn in a larger game and this wasabout reclaiming his Family title fromthe Apprentices.

She knew only one thing for certain.When the Darkness touched her, sherealized that her heart was a traitor. Herchoice now was whether to betray herheart or Rasenna.

“I have to get in there,” she said.“Impossible.” Levi pointed. “Look,

they’re turning. They’ve seen us.”

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The forces that had not yet beencommitted were maneuvering away fromthe walls; the rest were pulling backslowly.

“Attacking their rear is all we can dofor Rasenna now.”

“That’s plenty,” said Yuri.“I’m surprised Rasenna’s withstood

this long—most towns would’vesurrendered already.”

“Not Rasenna. I need to get in!”“Sofia, we can’t just charge at them.

Our best tactic is to draw them away.”“It can’t wait that long. I have to get in

there or there won’t be a Rasenna tohelp. I’ve seen it, Levi! Another Wave is

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coming, and I’ve got to stop it!”Clad in his hauberk, John Acuto

climbed from the carriage. “How?” hegrowled.

“I don’t know yet, but I know I have toget in there to do it. Please believe me,General!”

“Sofia, we’re outnumbered three toone. Unless there are men in there tofight, men who’ll leave the safety oftheir walls to help us, we’ll be riding toour doom.”

“They’ll fight, Levi! Even if it’s justwomen and children left, Rasenna willfight.”

“So be it. I’ll clear you a path,

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Contessa.”Levi dismounted. “This is madness.

General; you are in no condition toride.”

“I’m in no condition to be living atall. Let me leave life as I should havelived it, as a knight!”

“You’re fortunate to still be alive.”“Damn it, Fortune has nothing to do

with it! We make our own fortunes forgood or ill. All the excuses we use—Concord, money, kings—it’s nonsense.Nothing stops a man but himself. We canbe knights, Levi! Knights!”

Levi didn’t argue, and Yuri gave ashrug. “Why not?” They both saw the

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strength it took the old bull to keepstanding.

“Then let me help you, General.”Once in full armor and heaved into the

saddle, Acuto said quietly, “This needn’tbe pure folly. A nice rain of arrowheadswill puncture their confidence, so get theWelsh lads out first. I’ll lead the cavalry,and we’ll smash their lines wide open.”

Levi passed the order on and thenrode up to the line to get a better look atthe Concordians. Sofia rode up behindhim.

“Was a doomed charge in the five-year plan?”

Levi shrugged. “Don’t underestimate

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condottieri pride. Treachery beat us atTagliacozzo. You’re going to see howwe do in a fair fight.”

“Why are you doing this, Levi? Forthe money?”

Levi laughed. “Not this time. This isEtruria’s fight. Scarpelli might havebeen right, chivalry may be a myth, butlook at the old bull: half dead alreadyand still ready to fight. If it’s a myth, thenwhat a myth! If there’s nowhere left inEtruria for condottieri, I suppose I’ll bea knight, fighting for lost causes.” Levirabbit-punched her arm. “And fairdamsels like you.”

Sofia smiled thinly and said nothing.

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“Are you afraid we won’t breakthrough?”

“I’m afraid of what I’ll find in there.”Levi touched her shoulder, gently this

time. “Whatever it is, Contessa, you’reequal to it.”

In the shadow of the walls the press ofdying men was bitter. Their cries did notdistract the Apprentices. Nothingdistracted them.

Morning retreated before noon, anddark clouds gathered in the north, blownin on the same wind that had begun toscatter the mist.

Arrows flew by from both directions

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as they climbed up a fallen siege towerand leaped down onto the walls. For thefirst time, Bernoulli’s heirs looked uponRasenna.

“Handsome bridge,” said the SecondApprentice.

“That’s where the Captain will be,”said the man in red. “I must congratulatehim. The Contessa’s sure to beprotecting the fail-safe. Remember,destroying her is more important thandestroying it. It’ll be on a tall buildingsomewhere.”

“There,” said the Second Apprentice,pointing, “that tower on the northsideslope with the orange trees.”

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As Sofia rode back to the line, JohnAcuto spurred his horse forward,winking at her as he passed. The menwatched as he stopped to look down atthe Concordian Army.

After a moment, he turned back andunsheathed his sword. “Impressed?”

“No!” the Company roared mightily.“Then look again!” he roared back,

and waited, letting an uneasy silencespread over the line.

“Look: see their famous discipline,their numbers, and their engines. That iswhat you face. If you are afraid, this iswhat you fear. So look again. Are youimpressed?”

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There was no answering roar thistime, and the general spit. “I’m notimpressed. Concord’s strength is drills,numbers, machines, and I’m notimpressed because I know the quality ofthe men they face. You may haveforgotten; look at the man next to you.Thank the Virgin that you will not facethat man in battle! Look at the ranks ofknights behind you! Thank the Virgin thatyou will not face them! You, my men,you impress me. If you faced that knight,these ranks, this company, you would bewise to fear. But you do not!”

He pointed his sword down at theConcordians. “These are slaves! Theyknow condottieri who surrender and

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retreat. They have never faced knightswho fight and win! Do they evenremember what a charge sounds like? ByGod, we’ll show them!”

The Company’s roar was like thunder,thunder soon joined by the rumble of athousand horses advancing.

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CHAPTER 68

The bandieratori capos went to thenorthern wall to discover why theConcordians were not attacking.

“They’re retreating,” Pedro explainedmorosely.

“Porca Madonna!” Uggeri said.“What’s the problem? We got them on

the run.”Uggeri looked at Mule scathingly.

“It’s disastrous.” He too had been party

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to the Doctor’s planning; stalling theConcordian Army’s machinery was onlyhalf of a plan that relied on attrition andterror: Giovanni and his engineerswould repulse forays during the day, anddecini would “raid” the Concordianlines by night. This sudden withdrawalwas more than a surprise; it might be afatal setback.

“Doc thought we could sap theirstrength for days. What do we do now?”

“Listen,” said Pedro.On the walls, the ripples in the

buckets grew until they tipped over.“Sappers?” shouted Mule.Pedro turned the magnifier east. “I

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don’t think so.”A wall of gleaming silver filled and

then spilled over the horizon. The legionturned to meet it, but the maneuverwasn’t executed with typical precision—it was impossible to assemble aunified line under fire from Rasenna’swalls. By the time they turned, theapproaching condottieri were in ballistaand archer range.

He focused on the cavalry’s first row.The rider in front looked like a chargingbull, but something behind him hadcaught Pedro’s eye—a banner, black andgold. He knew it well. It was the bannerdepicted in the Vanzetti crest, their finestpiece of work.

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He searched among the debris on thewall until he found what he was lookingfor, dragged loose the discardedgrappling hook, hurled it over the wall,and pulled the attached rope taut arounda merlon.

“Contessa!” he cried, but his voicewas lost in the growing clamor. Thehook had landed in front of theembankment just as the first ridersreached it.

There was no way she could hear himunless—

“Hey!” Mule exclaimed as Pedrosnatched his banner.

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The cavalry crashed into the Concordianlines, spears snapping, pikes driving intobreasts of horse and man, hoovescrushing helmets and punching througharmor. The wave of beast, man, and steelbroke the line and poured through thebreach.

Following in its wake, Sofia sawsomeone on the walls waving a banner.She read the signal and saw the lifeline.Ahead, the tumult of hacking, screamingbodies was fast approaching. She tookher feet out of the stirrups and pulledherself up until she stood crouched onthe saddle, holding the reigns loosely.As her horse leaped into the fray, sheleaped too.

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She caught the rope and hung there fora moment, looking down at the ground,which was churning with dying men. Inthe center, John Acuto was slaughteringprodigiously before the Concordianpikemen took courage. And she watched,hot tears pouring unnoticed down herface, as the old bull dropped, skeweredfrom all sides and with blood pouringfrom his lips like a stricken bull.Looking up, he caught her eye. His facewas ecstatic. “See what I earned!” hebellowed, and then had done with theworld, declining payment like a king.

Pedro helped Sofia over the top, andshe bent down to catch her breath andwipe her face.

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Then she looked up and she saw thatthe bandieratori lining the wall weresouthsiders and northsiders and theywere all carrying the same flag, and sheunderstood, as only a Rasenneisi could,that all had changed.

But there was no time to wait. “Pedro,there’s a Wave coming.”

“No, we’re blocking it.” Pedrohanded her his spyglass. “Doc’sprotecting the first transmitter, butGiovanni’s alone on the bridge.”

Now that she looked more closelySofia could see that Tower Bardini wasthe hub of the rope bridges and that twoblack ink stains were fighting their waytoward it. The mist was blowing away,

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and with it the Rasenneisi’s advantage.With nowhere to hide, bandieratoribecame embroiled in fatally brief duelswith the black specters.

She looked down at the bridge andsaw a hooded figure. Her heart skippeda beat and then skipped again when inPiazza Luna she saw another ink stain,red like blood, marching calmly towardthe bridge. A familiar cold chill creptover her.

“The Doc can take care of himself,”Pedro said quietly.

Mule took back his flag from Pedro.“I’m coming with you, Contessa.”

She flinched; she had not expected to

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be addressed that way again. Thebandieratori were looking at her,familiar faces like Mule’s, new ones likeUggeri’s, but all with the sameexpectation and the same loyalty. Shewas their Contessa still, whatever flagthey now carried.

“I’ll need a new banner. This one’stoo old,” she said, and threw down herfamily colors.

In the silence, a boy stepped forward.“Take mine.”

“The Hawk’s Company fights forRasenna now,” Sofia said. “They needour help.”

“We know what to do,” said Uggeri.

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“Good.” She turned to Pedro. “Keepattacking the Concordian rear; throweverything you’ve got at them. There’llbe no second chances.”

She was right. This was the type of fightConcordians excelled at, and it wasn’tlong before they were presenting thecondottieri with a closely packed line ofimpermeable advancing steel.

After John Acuto fell, Levi took up theStandard and rallied the Company. TheConcordians made a renewed effort andpushed them back from the wall. In thechaos, Levi was thrown from his rearinghorse. He left the Standard where it fell,remounted, and turned tail, and the

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majority of the Hawk’s cavalry followedin disarray.

Sensing a rout, the Concordians broketheir newly formed lines to pursue.General Luparelli would haverecognized the old ploy, but hisreplacement, leading the charge, did not.

The condottieri suddenly spun aroundand recharged their pursuers, riding themdown in a maelstrom of mud and bloodand flailing hooves. The maneuver gavethem space, but the advantage could beonly temporary: in a grindingcompetition of strength, inevitablynumbers would tell.

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The Doctor, studying the inexorableapproach of the two Apprentices, beganto cut the ropes leading to TowerBardini. There were archers stationed inthe surrounding towers, but theApprentices’ speed and their billowingrobes, yellow and orange, made themimpossible targets.

The Third Apprentice was gettingcloser. The boy, fast as a wharf rat,climbed along the rope to get to thebandieratoro firing on him from a nearbytower, advancing fearlessly in the faceof the onslaught of arrows. He reachedthe tower and snatched thebandieratoro’s bow away, and theDoctor watched, lips tight, as the

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Rasenneisi fell screaming from thetower. When he looked back, the boyhad vanished behind the slanted roof.

He turned and scanned in alldirections for the yellow, recognizing thedistraction for what it was too late. Anorange shape crashed into his side andas he was sent sprawling, his flag wentover the edge. In the center of swirlingorange robes the Second Apprentice’sface was inhumanly calm as he watchedthe Doctor get to his feet.

The Doctor didn’t wait but leaped atthe youth; a moment later, he wentcrashing down onto the table. As he gotup, the Apprentice kicked him hard inthe chest and sent him skidding to the

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tower’s edge. He stopped himself intime and in desperation picked up anorange-tree pot, but before he couldthrow it, the Apprentice lunged forwardand jabbed him in the neck. The Doctorgagged and released the pot. It smasheddown on his own head.

The Apprentice drew a dagger butinstead of finishing off the unconsciousDoctor turned his attention to thetransmitter. A white shape leaped fromnowhere with an angry whine, and therewas a ripping sound as the Apprenticepried Cat off his face and flung it fromthe tower. Cat caught a banner hangingfrom a neighbor’s tower and scrambledinside, its moment of heroism over.

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But before the Apprentice hadrecovered his equanimity, the Doctordived at him, and the young mansidestepped just as the Doctor had hopedhe would—he hadn’t been going for theman. His precipitous fall over the edgeof the tower was halted suddenly as thecape snapped taut, and the Doctorclimbed back up until he reached thestrangling Apprentice and then lethimself fall again, still holding the cape.The Apprentice’s face slammed intostone, and the Doctor scrambled up overthe unconscious body and sat down hard,breathing strenuously, and mumbled,“Thanks, Cat.”

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The Twelfth Legion pushed until theywere out of range of Rasenna’s wall.With that danger out of the way, it waseasier to sustain order, though Pedro didall he could to disrupt it by flooding theremaining canals.

Levi’s horse had been killed, andYuri’s too, and now they fought side byside, trying to hold the hard-pressed linetogether. Both were conscious what adisaster a true rout would be.

“Levi,” cried Yuri, “look!”And the bandieratori of Rasenna came

marching from the gate, spinning theirflags like reapers at harvest. This wasno mad charge; instead they assembledthree rows deep and advanced steadily,

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each row spinning flags in a differentrhythm. The motion all together was likean approaching wave, unbreakable andunstoppable.

“Madonna!” Levi whooped. “OurContessa came through!”

When the last rope he had to cuttwitched, the Doctor leaped to his feetand shouted, “Come on!”

A sudden tightness in his chest madehim gasp, and he glanced down. Anarrowhead stuck out from his chest, andas he watched, it was joined by another.He turned just as the Third Apprenticefired again.

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The Doctor caught the arrow androared, “Come fight like a man!”

The boy shook his head and calmlynocked another arrow.

“You don’t die easy, do you, DoctorBardini?” said a strangled voice behindhim.

The Doctor turned and watchedhelplessly as the Second Apprentice cutthe cord, then cast the transmitter fromthe tower. He heard the impact it madejust as another arrow struck his back. Helurched toward the side of the tower.

When the boy drew closer to deliverthe killing shot, the Second Apprenticehissed at him, “Torbidda, why are you

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still here? It’s coming! Go. I’ll follow ifI can. If I can’t, it doesn’t matter.”

“What about the First Apprentice? Ifthe Contessa’s not here, she must be onthe bridge.”

“I’ll help him, but don’t worry aboutus. Our time is over. You know what todo.”

“Yes.”“Say it!”“We are but vessels,” said the boy,

and without a backward glancescrambled away on the rope.

Giovanni double-checked the readingsand realized that the transmitter had

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stopped. He looked over his shoulder atTower Bardini.

“Captain Giovanni,” said a tunelessvoice. The First Apprentice was leaningagainst the Lion, watching him with asmile.

“My Lord,” he said, maneuveringhimself in front of the machine as theman in red approached.

“I see you don’t lack for convictionanymore.”

“I’m a Rasenneisi now. They don’tcome lukewarm.” Giovanni swung a fist,but the man in red slapped it and himaside in one easy motion. Giovanni’shead struck the balustrade. He didn’t get

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up.The First Apprentice examined the

apparatus Giovanni had failed toconceal. Professional interest satisfied,he unplugged the Whistler and shatteredit on the stones.

“Looks like rain,” he said wistfully.

Sofia and Mule raced toward the river,first topside and then twisting throughthe alleys. The sounds of battle outsidethe walls, the clash of metal and thescreams of the dying, filled the air, butthe streets were eerily empty. Everyman, woman, and child of Rasenna waseither defending the walls or outside

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them, having joined the battle.

Even as the Hawk’s Company rallied,the legion’s rear ranks were forced toturn once more and defend themselvesagainst this second assault. Evenveterans had never faced fighters ortactics like these: not men but a wall ofdancing color, and the sounds attackingtheir ears were not war cries but ahypnotic whoopwhoopwhoop of spinningflags. Without warning the rhythm wouldget faster, and a bandieratoro wouldburst though the red and gold to attack,then vanish behind the color again,leaving only cries of agony as the flagsslowed to a soothing

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whoopwhoopwhoop.And for the first time in two decades,

squeezed between condottieri andbandieratori, the strength of aConcordian legion broke.

On Tower Bardini, the SecondApprentice touched his cheek as araindrop stuck. The water mingled withthe bloody claw marks. “Perfect. We’llall be wet soon. Can you hear therumble, Doctor? Can you feel it?”

The Doctor groaned.“I pray you will excuse me. I must

assist my colleague.” The young manleaned his weight on the Doctor’s neck

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and pressed down. “But don’t worry.You won’t miss a thing. I’ll leave youhere, where you can see it coming.”

The Doctor looked down on thebridge, and something familiar caughthis eye: a banner he hadn’t seen fortwenty years.

Madonna, they could win this fightyet!

He grabbed and twisted theApprentice’s foot until it cracked, thenpushed himself up with a roar andwrapped his arms around the man. “Youwon’t steal her again!”

But it was like trying to grasp water:the Apprentice twisted in his grasp until

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he had only a weak one-arm choke hold.It wasn’t enough. Laughing as he did it,the Apprentice stabbed down andstabbed again, but as the dagger sankinto the Doctor’s flank, as his bloodspilled, still he held on. An Apprenticecould fight, but the Doctor could suffer.

“You can’t stop me, old fool. You canbarely stand,” the youth said mockingly.

The Doctor took a step back intoempty air, dragging the Apprentice withhim. The air howled as it passed by, andthe workshop rooftop hurtled towardthem, the Apprentice struggling like ademon while the Doctor held him tightly,eyes closed, still as the world moved.They crashed through slate and into the

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boards an army had trained upon,spilling blood together on the woodshavings, the Second Apprentice’s robesturning red at last.

The Doctor smiled. It was aninelegant death and yet a good one.

When Sofia and Mule reached PiazzaLuna, the rain was falling more heavily.It was still early, but it was getting dark,and it wasn’t the storm clouds. Sofia didnot notice the body covered in a goldenshroud; her attention was solely on thebridge, where he was waiting. And thequestion: If a Wave was coming, whywas he here?

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They reached the original Lion andstopped there. On the far side of thebridge, Giovanni lay prone while theFirst Apprentice stood looking down atthe gap, waiting.

“Stay back, Sofia,” said Mule, rushingforward.

“Mule, no!”He went in swinging. The man in red

waited calmly and when Mule came nearducked under his banner swing, lungedforward, grabbed his head, and turned itbackward.

Sophia heard, “CracKKkkk!” andMule dropped without a cry.

“Mule!” she sobbed.

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The First Apprentice turned to faceher. “You’ll join him soon enough,Contessa.” He frowned. “That’s not thebanner you stole from us.”

“Rasenna has a new banner.”“Then we’ll take that too. Why did

you come back? To be reunited withyour lover? Haven’t you figured out yetthat he lied?”

“I know.”“You know nothing, child.” He

laughed his off-key laugh. “He fooledeveryone, even himself. There arecurrents intersecting here that you can’tpossibly fathom.”

“You’re afraid of it, aren’t you?”

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The man in red dropped all pretenseof a smile. “You think the Art Banderiacan defeat our Water Style? It didn’t helpyour friend.” He kicked Mule’s corpseand glanced back toward Tower Bardini.

“The thunder you hear means it didn’thelp your Master either.”

She dropped her flag. “I had morethan one Master. Did you come to talk orto fight?”

Giovanni, woken by the rumble, hobbledover to the machine in a daze. He hearda crunch and looked down at the glassfragments beneath his feet.

Then he saw on the far side of the

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bridge—“Sofia?”It was true, then, everything Lucia had

told him. Sofia was alive, and he couldtell her all the things he’d been tooafraid to: the truth, his name.

IscannoGiovanni looked down at the river

and saw a buio standing there.Wind is coming.

With a scream of hate, the FirstApprentice attacked. Sofia did nothing.She saw the Darkness and the FirstApprentice for what they were: one. Shewas tired of running, tired of fighting,

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tired of being afraid. The ReverendMother had said only faith wasnecessary, and she had been willing todie for it. Was she that strong?

Sofia let go of a lifetime’s trainingthat told her to strike first and watchedhim and watched herself.

This is fear, this is hate. Regard itsteadily.

Sofia could feel the adrenalinesurging though her body, into her heart,her limbs, bone and muscle.

The surge slowed, her heartbeatslowed. Time melted away. She did notdodge or strike; she breathed. TheApprentice’s scream and his body

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slowed in space together, and then—Stopped.In the pit, the Dark Ancient screamed

as it was burned by a fire brighter than athousand suns. Sofia saw the Source andwas covered by—

Light.She had never been this deep before.

Measurements such as seconds andcenturies were meaningless in this place;here she was outside Time. The futurebecame the past: both a gray memory tobe observed with not too much interest;neither could ever be as important again.She felt as if she had been keeping oneeye closed her whole life and now she

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had suddenly opened it.And there was something else: the

thing that the First Apprentice hadspoken of with dread, that somethingwas about to happen here and it wassomething good. Nature was pregnantwith a wonderful idea—it was soobvious. How had she ignored it herwhole life?

Exhale. The last of the mist swirledlazily in the air, thicker in patches,catching the crisp golden light andturning into curious shapes, spirals,letters. Was this magic all around me allthe time? Why did I never see it? Inhale.

The mist quickened and raindrops fellfreely and the scream grew shrill once

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more and all again was movement—Sofia was not where she had been a

moment ago.“How—?” the First Apprentice

gasped.“I told you I was through answering

your questions.”The answer was beyond words: the

First Apprentice was a Student of WaterStyle and she, though only a moment hadpassed, was now a Master. The blowshurtling toward her were a distraction,easily parried. When he threw anotherpunch, Sofia caught his hand and twistedit effortlessly, and his wrist was broken.

He didn’t pause, so Sofia batted his

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other hand away and then kicked himunder the chin, knocking him backtoward the gap. He would have fallenthrough had she not caught his collar andheld it.

“Sofia!” Giovanni shouted, limpingtoward them.

The Apprentice gagged andwhispered, a manic gleam of hope in hiseyes. “Contessa, you know his name—why don’t you kill him? He lied to you.”

“Not about love.”“How can you be certain?”“Faith,” she said.“Ah,” he said, now understanding the

battle was lost. “I too have faith. I shall

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tell my Master your name.” He rippedhis collar from her grip.

The river recognized the voice of theone it hated most of all and was waitingat the surface to drag him under.

Giovanni looked back and saw thebuio seeping onto the bridge, followinghim.

“Stay away from her.”Cannot stay in Dryworld. Must

leave, Iscanno.“Stop calling me that! My name’s

Bernoulli!”“It can’t be!” Sofia gasped.Giovanni turned to face her. “It is,

Sofia. I’m so very sorry—I wanted to

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tell you so many times—”“No. Giovanni, you don’t understand:

you’re not a Bernoulli—you’re one ofthem! A buio!”

“What? No, I’m as human as you.”Sofia walked toward him. “Give me

your hand.”

Suddenly they were in another time,another place, immersed in the samevision.

“Where are we, Giovanni?”“. . . Gubbio . . .”A boy came out of a Concordian tent

and looked about. His eyes were as

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sharp as knives. Snow drifted in the coldgray air as if reluctant to touch the earthof this awful place. The tent was pitchedbeside a steep bank leading to a rapidlyflowing river, the water leaping andsurging as it flowed up and over anincline.

In the middle of the rapids weretowers, freshly smashed. There wereother remnants, lying in piles and pits,and carrion birds and wild dogssquabbled lazily, though they had noneed to fight. There was enough for all.

The boy’s tent was more elaboratethan the others and stood apart.

His work was private.

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He was and was not Giovanni—hewas younger, of course, but thedifference was more profound than that.

His apron was covered in blood, hishands and face too, yet he looked aspleased as a well-fed cat. He evenwalked differently, with a self-confidentstrut. Shooing away a crow with ablood-caked beak, he crouched by abasin and washed himself. He cuppedthe water in his hands and frowned at thereflection he saw. Someone—something—was behind him, and he turned to faceit.

He had no time to scream. Envelopedin the buio, he struggled noiselessly, theblood washing off his skin as he

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drowned. Now moving more slowly, thebuio faced the river again and the bodywas expelled with a gush of bloodywater and rolled down the bank to theriver.

“You killed him.”“I don’t know how to say it, I—we—

were angry. I had forgotten it till now. Iwas reborn that day . . .”

The buio tried to get back to the riverbut found each step heavier. Blood wasin it now, filling it, finding the placeswhere veins would be, where a heartwould beat.

“I was changed, but I arose thesame.”

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“You were punished for it? Why? Hewas the same as his grandfather, amurderer.”

“They—we—do not kill in anger.Bernoulli made us kill. I remember itnow. Our Law is Water will be Waterbut shall not kill. My punishment—ourpunishment—was to live a murderer’slife.”

Sofia let go, and the vision ended. Thebuio surrounded them, waiting. Therumble was amplified to a tooth-rattlingroar now. It was midday but dark as lateevening, and the rain was pelting down.

“Whoever—whatever—you are, I

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love you.”The other buio were sinking into

puddles and flowing back into the river.Wind coming. Must join it, Iscanno.“No!” Giovanni said.Cannot fight it— part of it.When they were gone, he felt it too:

the pull of the Wave. It was like athousand hooks pulling at the smallestpart of his essence, and it was almostupon them.

“Why don’t you run, Sofia?”Sofia said, “There’s nowhere to go,

and I’m not afraid anymore.”She kissed him.

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“Why are you smiling?” he said.“Because you can’t die,” Sofia said.“I won’t live without you. I was put

here to stop this. Time is different for us;we knew the Wave was coming evenbefore Concord thought of sending it.Sofia, something wonderful is going tobe born here; they’ve been waiting for it—all History has been waiting—”

“What?”“It wasn’t an accident that I became—

this, who I am. I’m here for a reason.”They looked to the west

simultaneously. The Wave had not yetpeaked; when it reached the walls, itwould scatter them like straw. It was

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several times broader than the river,wide enough to flood the town andcontato together. As it came closer to thebridge, the Hate grew, a crescendoingscream.

On the walls and on the battlefieldbeyond them, they saw it too and knew itwould sweep them all away—Concordians, condottieri, andRasenneisi—all together.

Every atom of Giovanni’s beingscreamed to join it, but he did not. Nowthat he finally understood the cost, heknew what was necessary.

“Go, Giovanni. It’s too late! It’ll pullyou apart.”

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“I won’t let Bernoulli win.”“I can feel what you feel—and

Madonna, it hurts! You can’t fight it!You’re part of it.”

The signal peaked, and the Waveclimbed to breaking point, swollen withloathing for Men and their weakness,their cruelty, their lies. The wind died,and every flag dropped. The shadowcovered the trembling towers ofRasenna. On the battlefield, Concordianand Rasenneisi alike cried out to theVirgin for succor.

Giovanni pulled away from Sofia andfaced it. He raised his hand and pushed,pushed, against the river. Raindropshung in the air, waiting to fall. The river

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did not flow. The Wave did not break.Love was stronger.

On the walls, outside them, everyonelooked about in wonder, all asking thesame question: How were they stillalive?

Like a tower collapsing, the Wave fellback into the river, and the rain that hungwaiting to fall dropped—all of it. Thetowers shook with the impact.

The Baptistery bells chimed, andevery Rasenneisi cheered, all but one.Giovanni had pushed the river. Sofiawatched as that power pushed back onhim alone.

“I’ll always be with you,” he said,

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reaching out.Before her hand touched his, he was

scattered into a cloud of mist.“Giovanni!”The mist hung in the air, holding a

man’s shape for a moment, and thenpassed away on the wind.

“No cause for tears, Contessa.”Isabella reached for her hand. “He’swith you forever now.”

But Sofia picked up the Herod’sSword he had left behind and looked onthe river and cried anyway. The rain,liberated now, danced on the surface ofthe Irenicon. Water was water.

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EPILOGUE

To walk the streets on summer dayslistening to the towers babble wassweet. Returning from a Signoriameeting, Sofia reflected on the year thathad passed since the Wave. The bridgesbetween the towers were permanentnow, and neighbors spent hours on them,gossiping and arguing and watching theworld go by for the pleasure ofcriticizing it. The pale flecks of cotton,blown in on a temperate breeze from theRasenna contato, floated indolentlythrough the streets, and the sun poured

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down until the cobblestones rippled likewater. She often imagined that shewalked in the heart of old Rasenna withher grandfather and father proudlywatching over her.

Nobody guessed it at the time, but thesiege inaugurated the third contestbetween Rasenna and Concord: the finaland most terrible war. There was morethan a year’s respite before Concordregrouped, time enough for Rasenna torebuild broken walls and grow stillstronger.

Rasenna had withstood the mostpowerful weapon Concord had. It waspredictable that the cities of Etruria

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would believe that it had engineersequal to Concord’s; they neitherunderstood Natural Philosophy norbelieved that anything could be stronger.Still, it was true that a miracle had cometo pass, and the cities of Etruria lost notime forming a new Southern League forcollective security, the chance ofrevenge, and, most of all, a stake in theEmpire’s assets when it collapsed.

This was premature.Though the First and Second

Apprentices had perished, leaving amere boy in charge of an Empire thatwould never again be seen as invincible,much remained unchanged. The Guildstill ruled Concord, and Concord still

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ruled northern Etruria. The TwelfthLegion was lost, but eleven other legionscontinued to fight and win the war inEuropa. At best, Rasenna had been givenan opportunity; whether it used thatopportunity wisely or squandered it asbefore depended on the men and womenwho led it.

Under Pedro Vanzetti, Rasenna’sEngineers’ Guild expanded as rapidly asConcord’s had more than three decadesago—but there was no question ofRasenneisi engineers abandoning theirnames.

Family banners hung proudly fromfamily towers, no longer cause forcontention or rivalry; the only banner

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that would be carried into future battleswas the city’s, as both a weapon for herbandieratori and a Standard for herknights.

The men of the Hawk’s Company,tired of scratching a living in a countrythat could no longer afford condottieri,petitioned to stay in Rasenna, andColonel Levi was nominated podesta.Vowing never to become toorespectable, he accepted the honor.

Sofia crossed the bridge and stopped atthe gap to watch the river. Though shehad thrown off her rank, she was stillconspicuous among the crowds. Stallowners whispered to civilians that this

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was the Contessa Scaligeri—thenoblewoman who had returned toRasenna with an army; she might haveseized power, but in giving up herbirthright, she had instead slain theserpent of faction forever.

There were certain bandieratori andcertain towers that urged her toreconsider, but the Contessa—Sofia—insisted there would be no return toaristocracy in Rasenna; the chain wasbroken. Her only ambition was to sit inthe Signoria as one respected voiceamong many and to support GonfaloniereBombelli.

She turned away from the river andwalked back to the workshop. In the

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months after the second Wave she’dstruggled to come to terms with a griefthat existed without death, though sheknew that Isabella was right: Giovanniwas not really gone. He was with herforever, as the Irenicon was one withRasenna.

The Scaligeri banner had found a newhome on what once had been calledTower Bardini. The Doc had beenfaithful to her, so she in turn kept hisworkshop alive, and it was as throngedwith students as ever. Now she brieflyconferred with Uggeri before climbingup to the tower roof.

Up here, she felt as if she could callupon the Doctor’s ghost for counsel. She

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peeled an orange as she looked down onthe bridge and pondered the questionsstill unanswered since that terrible,wonderful day: the Reverend Motherand her own visions had spoken of achoice she would have to make, yet itwas Giovanni who had sacrificedeverything.

Why had the Apprentices been sointent on destroying Rasenna instead ofsimply reconquering it?

What were they so afraid of?She still felt that a terrible ghost was

loose in the world and a wonderfulpromise. Her recurring nightmarealways started the same way:

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At night, with wind and rain howlingthrough the ruin of the Molè’s great hall.Indifferent to Nature’s agony, the charredangel looked down at the circle of torch-bearing engineers standing around therepaired glass column. In the center, theThird Apprentice, now First, nowwearing the red, looked balefully up atthe statue.

“This is a great honor,” the boy saidnervously. “We are but vessels.”

“We are vessels,” came the engineers’response.

“Although changed I shall arise thesame,” he intoned as he approached thewaiting coffin with faltering steps.

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When the door hissed closed andthere was no one to hear, he whispered,“Madonna, preserve me. I am afraid.”

The star dropped into darkness. Astorm that had been incubating forcenturies attacked the dark white city,with bolt after bolt striking the lantern atthe Molè’s summit. The charges shotthrough the triple dome and lit up thegreat hall as they hit the angel’s upraisedsword. The engineers fell back in fear astheir torches were snuffed out.

In the underworld, a moment later, thecharge shot from the second angel’ssword through the void of the pit andinto the lake.

The water’s surface boiled with buio

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in agony.When the coffin rose from the filthy

black water, the boy inside was nolonger crying.

The thunder that followed was thesound of Heaven cracking open.

Sofia awoke. It was just before dawn,and she realized she was not alone. Theair was humid, as if an imperceptiblemist hung in the air, and on her skin weredroplets like morning dew.

The buio stood at the window, waitingfor the morning light.

“Is it you?” she asked.The sun came up over Rasenna and

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swept into the room. The light swamover Sofia, and she understood theresponsibility offered.

“Behold the handmaid of the Lord,”she said, and felt at once the quickening.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to my readers: Ernesto Brosa,Matt Whelan, Ciaran Lawless, SheenaMurphy, Fergal Haran, Michael, andNorah Harte for advice on variousdrafts.

Thanks to Nicola Budd and theQuercus staff, who got us to the churchon time. A big to LavieTidhar for assistance with Hebrewincantations.

Thanks to my intrepid agent Ian Druryfor seeing the potential of Irenicon and

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to my wise and wonderful editor, JoFletcher, for helping me realize it.

Aidan Harte, 2011

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FOOTNOTES

1 One example will suffice: “All that is required to

discover a new world is to sail until one runs out of

water. Bernoulli did something immeasurably harder:

he illuminated that sphere we stumbled over since

Time began, before we had even seen the darkness.”

Sycophantic drivel like this may keep Duke Spurius

Lartius Cocles in print, but it is not History.

2 In one charming version the babe floats down the

Irenicon in a basket, rejected by mother and river

both. Others have it that he had no human master; an

Angel taught him the Divine Masonry. Predictably,

many southern versions replace this Angelic

instructor with an erudite Demon.

3 As elaborated in Volume II, from a trivial theological

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disagreement came schism. A reforming branch of

the Curia proposed that the Original Sin was not

Seeking Forbidden Knowledge but Murder. In the

heat of the controversy, the Empiricists (as they

became known) went further: no knowledge was

forbidden. After the Heresy trials the surviving

Empiricists resigned themselves to the study of

Nature. Within a single generation the Engineers’

ecclesial origins were forgotten.

4 That generation’s fate is a question for another

History. Most of his first champions denounced him

eventually: Plagiarist, Heretic, Tyrant, and so on. In

turn the Inquisition denounced many of them, while

others were simply discredited. After the Re-

Formation there was small appetite for Theology.

5 The Author’s father.

6 He consumed facts “like a pig, eating all that was put

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before him,” according to contemporary diarist and

wit Ciuto Brandini (Born 1304–Executed 1348).

7 “Pace Pythagoras, material proof of Perfection, X3 +

Y3 = Z3, possible?” Since it was found scribbled in a

proof margin, most scholars consider it a whimsy

rather than a question proper.

8 Two decades were to pass before the Most Holy

Inquisition made their jaundiced interpretation of this

passage the centerpiece of Bernoulli’s trial for

heresy.

9 He was, however, already universally lauded as a

second Daedalus and had just been made Chief

Architect of St. Eco’s Cathedral. A decade would

pass before it acquired its current title.

10 The morphological changes occurring postmortem

make corpses inefficient for anatomical study but

ever practical; when subjects expired, he used them

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for “harmonic” experiments. It is unlikely, however,

that these attempts to find “Divine Music” to

animate the inanimate produced anything but

ghastly smells from his student quarters.

11 A set of reforms pushed through the Senate by

Bernoulli’s obliging Patron, Senator Tremellius.

12 Drawn from Bernoulli’s inner circle, the brilliant

young men known as the Apprentices.

13 By unhappy coincidence, eight Generals died in the

last decade of the war. The four remaining were

purged in Forty-Eight. Our current Generals’ limited

tactical authority makes them pale beside these

predecessors.

14 Unpopular in the Senate; this voicing of intellectual

independence changed the way the Guild saw itself

and becomes, in hindsight, one of the early

intimations of the reforming spirit of Forty-Six.

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Afterward Bernoulli decided never again to bow to

intellectual inferiors. As ever, he planned patiently.

15 As less conscientious commentators have seen fit to

do. Conscious that he is a relic of an obsolete

pedagogy, the present Author proceeds with

gratitude for his Masters’ patient explanation and the

needless caution that any errors are his own.

16 A ratio of extreme and mean, i.e., the Golden Section

of the Etruscans. Before this discovery, Bernoulli

dismissed Clerical reverence of Classical authority as

“ancestor worship.” He soon began studying the

Disciplina Etrusca.

17 Luca Pacioli, our first First Apprentice (served 1353–

1357), commented on “this drive to unify in

Bernoulli’s thought, strategy and administration. His

method was to find in separate truths, one larger.”

18 This research prompted private misgivings, with

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Bernoulli noting in the margins of his Disciplina

Etrusca, “I have plucked the Tree of Knowledge

bare; the great Spiral is now visible and, with it, the

great Secret: the War between Order and Chaos is

itself the cause of Beauty. I have built a Tower tall

enough to spy on His design, and for that am

damned.”

19 Did the Wave will itself into being, he wondered in

later life. Did it cast a shadow on the Past as well as

Future? The question, variously phrased, appears

often in his last notebooks.

20 We live with the unexplained side effects to this day.

After two decades of research, the pseudonaiades,

colloquially known as waterfolk, or buio, remain a

mystery, a subject where even the use of the word

creation is contentious. Were they created, or were

they freed? Whatever the truth, after the more

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dreadful example of Gubbio, a dread of unweaving

other hidden bonds of reality prompted the

moratorium enforced to this day.

21 With such hypocrisy was the revolution nourished.

Consider: the same Curia that commanded Bernoulli

to make the Wave subsequently characterized it as a

usurpation of God. The same Curia employed Natural

Philosophy when it suited them. The same Curia’s

theologians were pleased to use Pythagoras’s

description of the flawed third dimension as a

mathematical explanation of Man’s fall, a practice

that Bernoulli gently reproves in the Discourse as

“unsound.”

22 Choice examples of the Scholastic category mistakes

that impeded philosophical progress for centuries.

23 When the first proscription list began with Senator

Tremellius’s name, speculation began that he was

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manipulated from the start. Right or wrong, the truth

is the Re-Formation consumed its Author.

24 Which makes the current generation of Historians’

willingness to repeat old myths and Imperial

propaganda doubly disappointing. Our vocation is

to doubt, to fearlessly probe and dig, however

unsettling what we unearth may be to earthly power.

Our first duty is to truth.

25 Concord had been locked in a mortal struggle with

Rasenna, so while Rasennennesi bewailed their fate

in 1347, they understood it had been earned. Gubbio,

an unimportant backwater, had maintained neutrality

throughtout the conflict; however, it was deemed to

be a perfect site for the second test of the Wave.

Without any formal declaration of war, Concord sent

a Wave substantially more destructive than that

which divided Rasenna thirteen years before. It

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incurred universal censure and, more seriously,

created the Frank-Anglo pact that has so protracted

our current Europan war. Filippo Argenti, the second

First Apprentice, criticized it as “a callous failure,

technically and politically.” The drain of resources

halted Imperial expansion at a crucial period, and

though Gubbio was extensively studied, the

aftereffects remain mysterious.

26 Taken from Bernoulli’s address on the Re-Formation’s

fifth anniversary. This subtle revision of the meaning

of Re-Formation, the expansion of Concordian

society rather than its perfection, became more

pronounced over the decade. By Fifty-nine it had

transmuted into the bellicosity that made the second

test possible. That is not to give credence to the

theory that Gubbio’s purpose was Gubbio;

personally, the present Author finds trite the fashion

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of describing the test as a demonstration. That

Concord has not since employed the Wave proves

nothing.

27 Is one of these secrets the answer to the Dialogue’s

last question? I inquired of my Masters what such a

proof would prove. Pythagoras describes two-

dimensional perfection as X2 + Y2 = Z2. The rumored

proof proving that X3 + Y3 = Z3 is mathematically

absurd. Perfection and reality are incompatible.

28 It was Concord’s awed citizenry who dubbed it the

Molè, usually translated as Miracle, although I find

the secular Wonder renders it more accurately.

Bernoulli himself gave it its less reverent handle.

29 Though it must be obvious to the Reader that such

thorough research has as seldom been tempered with

such rare insight as it has been so eloquently

expressed.

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30 Too rigidly defined now, some argue. The Empiricist

school and the more generous vision of the

Naturalists continue to find their adherents within

the Guild. The second First Apprentice, himself an

aggressive Empiricist, did much to foster the

materialism of our contemporary Guild. Our current

First Apprentice takes a more embracing view; like

Bernoulli, Guglielmo Bonaccio is a bridge builder.

31 Owing to the dearth of records. If Bernoulli was

secretive in his public works, imagine, Reader, how

much more jealously he concealed his researches

alchemical.

32 He investigated folktales of autoconception with

credulity marvelous to our age of reason.

The archives contain accounts of ewes producing

lambs without rams, frogs changing sex, fish

inseminating themselves, and reptiles dying to be

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reborn with new skin, new youth.

33 Metamorphosis is a recurring theme. As the Virgin

made water become wine, so he theorized that water

and man were interchangeable states.

34 The first two books of the Disciplina Etrusca

concern Divination and Interpretation. But judging

by dog ears and annotations, the last book,

concerning Ritual, is the volume that most

preoccupied Bernoulli.

It too trisects: the first book concerns Lifespan, of

everything from People to Empires. The second,

those Worlds we visit in mediation and death. The

last book, on Reading, purports to be a key to hidden

truths in Scripture; imagine a lock that is key to itself!

35 Why he assumed Concord’s end and the Second

Coming would occur concurrently is unknown. The

date, he speculated, corresponded to the relationship

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of the Golden number to its conjugate, approximately

–0.618. “The first describes all that is Perfect. Its

Dark Twin (the absolute value of the length ratio in

reverse order) must then describe all that is Wrong.

The perfection of an anti-God.” An elegant

hypothesis, but what the Devil he meant by it, we

have no idea.

36 What it says that we, who live surrounded by his

monuments, have remained ignorant of this, his

shadow, is a question for Philosophers more than

Historians. If nothing else it reveals the slipshod

scholarship of the present Author’s colleagues.