Irenicon

by Aidan Harte

  The general’s massive frame perched awkwardly on a small stool. He assumed his discomfort, like the other slights, was intentional. Well, let them play their games. The foundation townsmen built their courage upon was ignorance—ignorance of how easily buildings burned, how little strength it took to tumble walls and how much could be lost in a moment. So let them have their pride so long as in the end he had their money.

  The Moorish notary brusquely called the session to order, and the general rose to speak. “My Lords, long has Ariminum been famous for pride and prudence and wealth; I must now add hospitality to that list. Today the urgent need of Ariminum and the talents of my famous Company meet harmoniously. Let us make haste then to sign our Contract and begin what will undoubtedly be a bond of mutual advantage.”

  Levi caught the general’s eye as he sat down. If they had been on winking terms, he was certain he would have gotten one now. The old bull had been negotiating Contracts for decades. Whether the townsmen were deaf to sarcasm remained to be seen.

  After a protracted silence long enough to be rude, the doge glared with bare hostility at the condottieri. “We deigned to invite you inside our walls, John Acuto, but you were not invited to speak. Ariminum has traditions that were old long before you stole into this country. We begin Signoria meetings with prayer, not vacuous pleasantries.” He made the Sign of the Sword and stood. “On this, the day of Saint Francis, we pray he will protect us as he protected the people of Gubbio.”

  The doge suddenly interrupted his pious drone to ask, “You’ve heard of this miracle, John Acuto?”

  Acuto’s smile didn’t falter. “I know the town.”

  The doge continued, “Oh? Perhaps you are familiar with its recent history, but once, long ago, it was terrorized by a Wolf. The Saint came and called the Wolf from the forest. ‘Brother Wolf,’ he said, ‘if these townsmen feed you, will you promise not to kill them?’ Naturally, the townsmen’s lives were incomprehensible to the beast, but it understood a free meal. Without the gift of speech, it could only twist its emaciated body—it was starving too—in such an unnatural way that everyone understood it agreed to the Contract. Saint Francis piously went on his way, and the Wolf lived in peace with the townsfolk ever after.”

  “Charming story,” Acuto said, hiding his impatience.

  “You were not invited to speak!” the doge shouted.

  “When the Wolf died, the townsfolk mourned it and buried it in holy ground, just like a citizen. You see, they’d forgotten that it was a beast. But a beast remains a beast no matter how it learns to twist. You will not be given quarters inside our walls, John Acuto. You will remain outside with your mercenaries. Expect a lengthy stay. All Etruria knows the only language condottieri speak well is Contract law, so we will not make haste; 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 will find a Company with less vanity and more respect. The scavengers that remain in Etruria would be happy for the work. This marriage of convenience will be brief, so speak of no ‘shared interests’—you would not be here if your private war with Concord had not beggared you, and we would not be reduced to hiring you, the cancer of Etruria, if Concord did not covet our wealth.”

  “You speak candidly, my Lord,” said John Acuto.

  “If you prefer the dung of hypocrisy, leave our contato, Brother Wolf. Go to the poor wretched towns that are left, if you haven’t already raped them of every soldi.”

  John Acuto stood. “Candor suits me entirely, Doge. You talk of war and drape your walls with ribbons, but they are not combat banners and you are not soldiers. You think you have me at a disadvantage because bargaining is your profession. I advise you to remember my profession. If the Contract is not signed within a month and a day, I will break camp, but first I’ll break your walls and burn your towers. Then you’ll be the starving dogs!”

  He kicked aside his stool and strode out. The three wise men looked aghast, then scrambled to follow.

  The negotiators passed through the town gates attended by barking dogs. Levi studied the famous triple walls. They would be difficult to breach if it came down to it. He broke the silence. “Well, they hate us.”

  “Expect friendship and you’re in for disappointment,” said John Acuto wearily. “This wretched country’s climate doesn’t suit it. Aye, they hate us. Lucky for us, they love their money more.”

  The evening meal was simple, with the emphasis on nourishment and quantity over taste, but Sofia had added a feminine touch the soldiers were grateful for.

  “Look, Yuri—the general’s joining us.”

  “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 eat with men, men don’t elect general.”

  Sofia was ladling out the stew when Acuto’s turn came.

  “I apologize for my earlier rudeness, Signorina. Old soldiers see enemies where there are none.”

  She shrugged. “Levi’s the one you owe the apology.”

  Yuri winced, expecting an eruption, but the general just took his plate with a grunt and sat down with his officers. After the majority of the men were served, Yuri told Sofia to eat. She sat beside the fire with Levi. He and the Dwarf were already arguing. The Hawk’s Company was small enough that the Dwarf was needed for both fighting and brokering, but Levi, knowing enough about both to know the Dwarf was incompetent, could never disguise his skepticism.

  The general smacked his lips. “You prepared this l’ampra dotto, Signorina?”

  “Yes,” said Sofia coolly, not to be won over by compliments to her cooking either.

  But flattery was not his aim. “Rasenneisi dish, is it not? If you originate there too, perhaps you weren’t lying 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 a knight, but try to be a gentleman.”

  Yuri lifted the Dwarf by the collar until his feet dangled. “You have complainings, you come to me.”

  “Let’s see if she can fight her own battles,” said Acuto.

  “Suits me,” Sofia said, putting down her plate and cracking her knuckles.

  Scarpelli and Levi exchanged a knowing glance. The Dwarf was embarrassed to suddenly be the center of attention.

  “General, I’m not going to hit a girl—”

  He came to with Sofia kneeling over him.

  “Don’t try to talk. Your jaw’s dislocated.” She braced his head and pushed his chin to one side.

  He screamed.

  “Next time, I set it crooked.”

  The Dwarf whimpered and passed out again.

  John Acuto cocked an eyebrow at Levi. “Tell me again, Colonel, who rescued whom?”

  “Well, she didn’t slow me down,” said Levi breezily, glad to be civilly addressed again.

  Yuri sat down beside Sofia. “You teach me this moves?”

  After the meal, the officers discussed the difficulties with the Ariminumese.

  “The month you gave might not be enough, General,” Levi said.

  “An empty threat. That overdressed griffin was right; we’ve bled every town in the Peninsula dry, those Concord didn’t get to first. We need this Contract more than Ariminum does, and they know it. I’m going to turn in. I have to write home and tell my wife I’ll be delayed another season.”

  He stood and announced, “I suggest those of you with loved ones do likewise. We camp here for spring. Golden dreams, gentlemen.”

  Levi watched the general lumber into the darkness. “He’s still writing those letters?”
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  “Still—” said Yuri wearily.

  When that subject was exhausted, Levi discussed Tagliacozzo with the other captains. Everyone had a different version of the battle, but the unspoken consensus was that the Hawk’s fortune had simply run out. Their loyalty was intact, but even a stranger like Sofia could see it was shaken.

  As it got dark, damp winds heavy with the last chill of winter blew in from the sea. The men sang songs of distant homes in distant lands, melancholy airs that Sofia understood, though the words were strange. Before her turn came, she stole away. She had no loved ones to write to, no home to sing of.

  CHAPTER 57

  No screaming. No groaning metal. No sound in the pit. Not even the drip.

  She walked to the door. Her cell had almost reached the water. The surface churned as the platform rose up and stopped at her row. She looked up for the coffin, but the darkness was empty. The lake’s surface began to churn once more, and the coffin rose slowly from the water.

  “Who’s there?”

  The coffin door opened with a sibilant hiss. Black water oozed, sloshing, out. She saw fingers, white maggots with black fingernails, curl around the door. She backed against her cell wall. She heard a rasping wet noise: drowned lungs breathing. The sodden steps came nearer. The bolt shot back; her cell door moved slightly on its hinge. Tired of waiting, the Darkness had come to her.

  She woke screaming.

  “Porca miseria!” Sofia struck the flint again but got not even a spark. Spring had arrived, stubbornly inclement, and the rain was unrelenting. Getting warm was more pressing this morning than cooking, but the straw was damp and the wind was howling; it was never going to get light. Until the Contract was signed the Dwarf had stopped paying salaries, a policy that worried Levi. Bored soldiers need money, because if they can’t gamble or whore, they find amusement in ways that cause discipline problems. He advised Sofia to stay close to Yuri and to 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, before you ask.”

  “It was not my intention to offend, Signorina. My name is—”

  “I know who you are: John Acuto’s pet fortune-teller. And you can’t help unless you fart fireballs.”

  “Rarely—but if you are trying to boil that water . . .” The priest held his hand out, and the water shuddered and abruptly started bubbling.

  “You know Water Style?” she gasped.

  He smiled. It was a strange sight with his piteous weeping eyes. “I believe I’m not alone.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, regretting opening her mouth.

  “You mean to say you’re really not a nun?”

  Sofia searched his clouded gray eyes and saw he was genuinely puzzled. “I studied with one. She’s dead now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that and sorry for not believing you—traditionally, we don’t make initiations lightly. For most people it’s a lifetime’s commitment.”

  “She had her reasons, I suppose.”

  “Maybe she saw her end coming.” The priest was thoughtful. “The water’s stopped boiling. Why don’t you try?”

  Sofia looked into the cauldron. As before, the water was perfectly still, with only a few wisps of vapor to show it really had been boiling. She had avoided meditation since she’d learned who the engineer really was—the Reverend Mother had told her to have faith, but it had been a mistake to trust her: if she hadn’t realized Giovanni was blood to the devil who sent the Wave, then what good was Water Style? And if she did know who he was—well, the Doc was right: blind faith in anyone was foolish. Even the Doc, even the Virgin—they were all liars, manipulating her for their own ends.

  The Hawk’s Company was different; here everyone was anonymous, all violence impersonal. Here she could do the only thing that made sense anymore: fight Concord.

  “Look, I just want to be normal,” she started.

  “You needn’t be afraid of the dreams, you know. That’s how the Virgin shows us the future in motion. It’s ours to accept 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 pot aggressively. After a moment she glanced up.

  “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’m a traitor, all right? Happy?”

  The priest tutted quietly. “Well, you’ll fit in if you stay. Everyone is guilty to one degree or another.”

  Sofia changed tack. “You want me gone? You’re threatened by someone that knows your tricks.”

  “I could sense your power even before I saw you. It’s as big as the sea out there! Whoever taught you recognized that you’re special. But if you stay here, sooner or later, special or not, you’ll make choices that will tarnish you forever.” He turned and began to walk away.

  “What did you choose?” Sofia said.

  He turned. “You’re afraid of what you might see. For me, the water’s always clouded.”

  “You don’t know me!”

  He was gone, and the pot was still boiling. It was her. Could she stop it too? Sofia held out her hand and concentrated.

  It was waiting, suckling on anger, swollen like a louse, the Darkness that had a name now: Giovanni Bernoulli the liar.

  She came up gasping to find the water boiling furiously, spilling over the top, and tears pouring down her face. She was exiled; there was no going back. It was worse than any torture she’d endured in the Beast, because then she had believed her punishment unjust. Now she knew better.

  In the Sala dei Notari, Levi studied the town’s mascot. You know where you stand with griffins—they show their teeth from the start. The Ariminumese were infuriating. After weeks of offer and counteroffer they said they were ready to sign, but the terms were still insulting.

  Or, Levi thought with another glance at the griffin, perhaps they were as good as the Company could expect in a world where only Concordians paid top prices. If they accepted that, it would be only a matter of time before condottieri questioned the logic of perpetual war against Etruria’s top payer. Would Acuto have an answer? In the accounts, Harry was just another written-off solider. The Company’s purpose was to make money, not to make Etruria a better place.

  The doge pushed the counteroffer away like a meal without salt. “No,” he said without ceremony. He walked out, followed by the Signoria.

  The notary cleared his throat. “The Signoria reconvenes in a fortnight. In the interim, there is the matter of your camp supplies . . .”

  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 a few months, maybe, but now? Whether we consent or refuse, we doom ourselves.”

  Couched in congratulations for Rasenna’s growing wealth, the letter was the clearest threat yet.

  “There’s another option,” said Giovanni.

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  “You want me in on a Signoria meeting? Bad idea, Podesta. Sends the wrong signal to southsiders.”

  “The right signal. If towns can change, people can.”

  The new Palazzo della Signoria echoed with lively discussion. The notary, straining to keep up, wondered if perhaps the old days were better before deciding no, nothing could be better than having a say in what one wrote.

  Conjuring up visions of burning towers and empty purses, Fabbro advocated paying the larger tribute, and Pedro agreed that there was no other option.
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br />   “What’s the alternative, Podesta?” asked Fabbro impatiently.

  “Dally.”

  Fabbro was nonplussed, but the Doctor laughed.

  Giovanni explained, “Paying without procrastinating would draw Concord’s attention. We allay suspicion by doing exactly what they expect of paupers. We write as groveling a letter as we can compose, quibbling with the amount, asking for another extension, begging to pay in installments. They will reply sternly. We will equivocate. They will insist. We will plead, and then—”

  “They will demand another ambassador to send back mutilated!” said Fabbro.

  “Only if we send one, and we will not. We will say we have to elect a new ambassador.”

  “But what does it give us?” said Pedro.

  “Time!” the Doctor answered, clapping his hands together, “After Tagliacozzo, Concord has turned from Etruria to Europa. When someone forgets to watch their back, that’s an opportunity.”

  Giovanni held up the letter. “This isn’t a tax; it’s a declaration of war. A war we cannot avoid, only delay. To pay would be to drop our shield even as the blow falls. We must use the money and time we have left wisely. The stronger our walls, the sounder our defenses, the fitter our bandieratori, the better our chances when Concord realizes we mean to defy them. Before the giant moves, we must grow large enough to defend ourselves.”

  “Or,” the Doctor remarked, “make friends with other giants.”

  Afterward, Giovanni walked the Doctor to the bridge. “It isn’t the stuff of Homer.”

  The Doctor shrugged. “Whatever works, that’s the best strategy. If you can’t be Achilles, be Odysseus.” He caught the direction of Giovanni’s wary glance. “You didn’t expect everyone to behave just because some shopkeepers agree they like money, did you?”

  Since Gaetano’s banishment, the burned-out shell of Palazzo Morello was like a slumbering monster in their middle. Around the dragon’s cave, groups of boys loitered. Instead of Morello gold, there were a dozen different banners: a dog pack that only watched, but that was enough; people coming and going from the bridge felt their hungry stares.