A Wizard In Mind - Rogue Wizard 01

by Christopher Stasheff

  When they calmed a bit, Gar said, "They'll be searching for us by daybreak, if not before. Drop those soldiers' clothes right here and hide them in the bushes. Keep the belts and boots—you can trade them to peasants for whole suits of clothes."

  "What about the halberds?" Rubio asked.

  "A dead giveaway," Gar said, "and if you let them give you away, you'll be dead indeed—soldiers take a dim view of peasants beating up other soldiers."

  "But that leaves us unarmed," Vincenzio protested.

  Gar hesitated a moment, then said, "Break off the handles so you can thrust the heads into your belts as hand axes. That way, you'll each have a walking staff, too. You'll need it."

  "We will?" Feste looked up at him alertly. "Why?"

  "Because as long as you're on the road, you'll be in danger. You need a refuge, and the one place that's sure to take you in is Pirogia."

  "Pirogia!" Rubio cried indignantly. "I, a man of Venoga?"

  "There's a lot of country between us and Venoga," Vincenzio reminded him, "and most of it's infested with Stilettos."

  Feste frowned. "Why should Pirogia admit us?"

  "Because I'll vouch for you," Gianni said. "You can join our army."

  "I didn't know Pirogia had an army."

  "We don't, but we will," Gianni said grimly, "and very soon, too."

  "But each pair of men go by a different route," Gar counseled. "Find different bypaths within this wood, and come out at different points. The more of us there are together, the more the prince's men will be sure we're the fugitives who stole their clothes. At the very least, if you absolutely must go by the same road, let one pair go out of sight before the other starts from this wood. If you can, trade your boots for the clothes of a woodcutter or a poacher. Go now, and meet us at Pirogia!"

  He and Gianni set the example by striking off through the woods without any trail.

  The rest of the trip home was surprisingly uneventful, but Gianni later decided that was because they had learned how to cope with the roving bands of Stilettos who roamed the countryside—and because Gar kept his wits, though he certainly did a good job of pretending to have lost them when he needed to. A dozen times they heard horsemen coming and managed to hide in the brush, or to lie down in a roadside ditch and cover themselves with grass, before the riders came in sight. They were always Stilettos, of course—they seemed to have driven all other traffic off the roads, except for the occasional farm cart. Gar and Gianni hid in one of those, too, and rode it for a mile before the carter began to wonder why his beasts were tiring so quickly. Only twice did Stilettos catch them out on the open road without any cover, and both times, they played Giorgio and Lenni to such excellent effect that the soldiers settled for giving them a few kicks, then riding on as the "half-wit" and his "brother" fell by the wayside.

  Finally, one day in the middle of the morning, Pirogia's steeples rose over the horizon. Gianni ran ahead a few hundred feet until he could see his whole city spread out before him and shouted for joy. Grinning, Gar came up behind him, clapped him on the shoulder, and passed him, striding toward their haven.

  As they came up to the land gate, though, four grubby forms lifted themselves from around a campfire and hailed them. "Ho, Giorgio! Ho, Gar! What kept you?"

  "Only the road, and a few beatings from Stiletto gangs." Grinning, Gianni clapped the jester on the shoulder. "Ho, Feste! But why are you camped here outside the city?"

  "Oh, because the guards wouldn't let us in without your word," Feste told him.

  "They were quite rude about it, too," Vincenzio added.

  Glancing at him, Gianni could see why—dressed in a patched woodcutter's smock and sandals, he scarcely looked like the man of letters he was.

  "They told us they didn't even know a man named Giorgio who traveled with a giant!" Rubio said in indignation.

  "Ah! I'm afraid there's a good reason for that, friends." Gianni felt a rush of guilt. "My name isn't really Giorgio, you see."

  "Not Giorgio!" Vincenzio frowned. "But why did you lie to us? And what is your name?"

  "I lied because the Stilettos were looking for me, and my real name is Gianni Braccalese."

  "Gianni Braccalese!" Rubio cried. "Oh, indeed the Stilettos are looking for you! We overheard them talking about the hundred ducats the prince has promised to the man who brings you to his castle!"

  Gianni stared at him, feeling a cold chill—until Gar clapped a hand on his shoulder, saying, "Congratulations, my friend. A price on your head is a measure of your success in fighting the lords' tyranny."

  Gianni stared up at him, amazed at the thought. Then he grinned. "Thank you, Gar. Not much of a success, though, is it?"

  "Just keep being a pest to them," Feste advised. "You'll bring a thousand before long."

  Gianni grinned and punched him lightly on the arm, surprised at his own delight in seeing these vagabonds. "Come, then! Let's see if I'm not worth more to you than I am to the prince!" He led them toward the land gate, and as he came in sight of the sentries, he called, "Ho, Alfredo! Why didn't you let my friends in?"

  "Your friends?" The sentry stared. "How was I to know they were your friends, Gianni?"

  "Who else travels with a giant named Gar?" Gianni jibed. "You might at least have sent word to my father!"

  "Oh, that kind of giant!" Alfredo looked up at Gar, looming above him. "I thought he meant a real giant—you know, out of the folk tales—twice the size of a house, and thick-headed as a ram."

  Gar inclined his head gravely. "I am flattered."

  "No, no, I didn't mean you!" Alfredo said quickly. "I meant ... I mean . . . "

  "That you weren't like that," said the other sentry, "and neither of us could remember your name."

  "I quite understand," Gar said gravely. "It is rather long, and difficult to pronounce."

  The other sentry reddened, but Gianni said, "Don't let him needle you, Giacomo. He only means it in fun."

  "Yes, quite enough needling, Gar," Feste said. "I'm sure he gets the point."

  Gar gave him a pained look. "I thought you were a professional."

  Giacomo gave them a jaundiced eye. "Rather silly lot you've brought, aren't they?"

  "They're just giddy with happiness at having come safely home," Gianni said, then amended, "my home, at least. Let us all in, Giacomo. They're recruits for the army."

  "Army? We only have a city guard!"

  "It's going to grow amazingly," Gianni promised. "Oh, and there should be four more men coming—a beggar, a thief, a glazier, and a young merchant of Venoga."

  "Venoga! We're to let one of them in?"

  "You would if he wanted to trade," Gianni reminded him. "Besides, he's rather had his fill of noblemen. I think he may prefer to change allegiance to a city where there are none."

  When they came into the courtyard of the Braccalese home, Gianni's father nearly dropped his end of the cask they were manhandling onto a wagon, when Gianni and Gar came in sight. He called for a worker to hold it in place, then ran to embrace his son. His wife heard his cry and was only a minute or two behind him. When they were done with fond exchanges, and Papa held his son at arm's length, Gianni said, "I'm afraid I've lost you another goods train, Papa."

  "It's on my head, not his," Gar said, his face somber.

  "On his head indeed! They broke his head so badly that he lost his wits for a while! In fact, we're not sure he's found them for good yet!"

  "His teachers at school weren't sure, either," Feste put in.

  Gar glared daggers at him, and the Braccaleses laughed. "We're delighted to have you back alive, son," Papa said, "for there's not one single goods train has gone out from this city in a fortnight that has not been lost! Oh, the lords have us well and truly blockaded by land, you may be sure!"

  "But not by sea?" Gianni's eyes glittered.

  "Not a bit! Oh, one or two of our galleys had brushes with ships that looked to be pirates—but they were so inept they must have been lordlings' hirelings." Papa gr
inned. "Our galleys can still defeat with ease the best the lords can send against us!" Gar nodded. "Free men fighting to save their own will always best driven slaves."

  "It seems so indeed." Papa's eyes gleamed with added respect as he looked up at Gar.

  "He has brought you something worth a hundred ducats, though," Feste said.

  Papa stared at him. "What?"

  "His head."

  "It's true," Gianni confessed. "My new friends here tell me that the lords have put a hundred ducats on my head."

  "And a thousand on your father's," Vincenzio added.

  Mama turned pale, and Papa's face turned wooden, but Feste only sighed. "Poor Gianni! Every time you try to make your own way in the world, you find that your father has been there before you!"

  The tension broke under laughter, and Papa asked, "Who are these rogues?"

  "Our road companions," Gianni said. "They helped us escape from Prince Raginaldi's castle, so I invited them to join Pirogia's army."

  "A good thought," Papa said, turning somber again.

  But Mama gasped, "Prince Raginaldi! How did you run afoul of him?"

  "By stealing his hen." Feste looked up at the sudden stares of surprise all about him, and shrugged. "Well, you said he had run a fowl."

  They groaned, and Gar said, "If that's what you were paid for, friend, I can see why you were wandering the roads. Signor Braccalese, this is Feste, who purports to be a professional jester."

  " 'Purports,' forsooth!" Feste snorted. "Do you 'purport' to be mad, Gar? What shall I say you 'purport' to do next?"

  "Wash, if I may." Gar held up grimy hands. "If you will excuse me, gentlefolk, I have an appointment at the horse trough."

  "You shall do no such thing!" Mama scolded. "We have a copper tub, and kettles to heat water! You shall all bathe as gentlefolk do! Come in, come in all, and share our bread while we wait for the water to heat!"

  The travelers cheered, and Feste sighed, "I thought they would never ask," but Mama didn't encourage him any further, only shooed them all inside and set about the task of organizing an impromptu celebration.

  The next morning, Gianni woke to shouted commands and the sound of tramping. He leaped from his bed, ran to the window, and saw Gar, in the center of his father's wagon yard, barking orders to eight men who were marching in two rows of four—the four vagabonds and four of Papa's drivers. Gianni stared, then pulled on his clothes and dashed out into the courtyard. He came up to Gar, panting, "Why didn't you tell me? I want to learn this, too!"

  "Very good, very!" Gar nodded. "Find a pole to put over your shoulder, Gianni, and step into line!"

  Gianni ran to fetch a pole, then slowed, frowning. "What's the staff for?"

  "To represent a spear or halberd—I'd rather teach them drill without the real weapons, so they don't cut each other's heads off every time they turn about."

  "Economical," Gianni said judiciously. "But what's the point of teaching them this marching, Gar?"

  "About face!" Gar cried, just in time to keep the men from tramping head first into the wall. As they turned back, he said to Gianni, "It teaches them to act together, instantly upon hearing a signal, so that an officer can send them where they're needed in battle, and have them point their spears in the right direction in time to keep the enemy from stabbing them." He flashed Gianni a conspiratorial smile. "It also mightily impresses Council members."

  Gianni stared at him, amazed at such duplicity in Gar. Then, slowly, he smiled.

  "Master Gianni!"

  Gianni turned. A boy came running up, panting. "The sentries at the land gate, Master Gianni! They say there are four men there, four strangers, who claim you will vouch for them, to let them enter the city!"

  "I will indeed." Gianni smiled. "Thank you, lad." He pressed a coin into the boy's palm. "I'll go and fetch them right away." He turned to Gar. "I will join your marching, Gar—but I'll bring you four more recruits first."

  "Give them my compliments," Gar said, grinning, and turned back to bark a command, then swear as the back row had to duck to avoid the tips of the front row's staves. Gianni went back inside, marveling at Gar's high spirits—he enjoyed the strangest things.

  Gianni took the time to straighten his clothes and shave, fortunately fortunately because, as he crossed the Piazza del Sol, he saw a Gypsy caravan drawn up beside the canal. His pulse quickened, and he veered toward it like a compass needle swinging.

  There she was, sitting under an awning propped out against the side of the caravan, reading a goodwife's palm. She glanced up and must have recognized Gianni, for her eyes widened, and she stared at him for a brief second. Only a second; then she was staring down at the woman's hand again, and Gianni had to stand and fidget until she finished. He glanced up apprehensively at the line of men and women lounging and chatting with one another as they waited their turns to hear their fortunes—but when the housewife smiled happily, paid Medallia, and rose to leave, Gianni was up to the table like a shot, ignoring the outraged cry behind him. "Godspeed, fair Medallia."

  She looked up, perfectly composed now. "Good day, Gianni Braccalese. It is good to see you safely home."

  Only "good"? No more than that? Gianni tried to control a massive surge of disappointment, and had to force his smile to stay in place. "It's a joy to see you returned to Pirogia. To what do we owe this treat?"

  "Why, to good business," Medallia said easily, waving at the line of waiting customers. "If you will excuse me, Signor Braccalese, I must tend to my shop."

  Signor! "Of course," Gianni said slowly. "But when you're finished . . . may I meet you here in the evening, to chat?"

  "Do you wish your fortune told?" She looked up at him with wide, limpid, innocent eyes.

  Not unless you're my fortune, he thought. Slowly, he said, "Why ... yes, I suppose I do."

  "I shall be here all of today until sunset, and tomorrow too," she said. "You may have to wait your turn, though. Good day, Signor."

  "Good day," he muttered and turned away, his face thunderous. It was strange how the sunlight no longer seemed so bright, even stranger how stupid his fellow citizens suddenly appeared, chatting and laughing, completely at ease, while Fate rolled toward them with the thunder of the hooves of an army. Didn't they realize the enemy was nearly at their gates? Didn't they realize their freedom, their prosperity, their very lives might soon be snuffed out at a lord's whim?

  No. Of course not. No one had told them.

  Gianni resolved that he must make an appointment to speak to the Council again at once, that very day if possible! The fools would see, they must see! And blast Medallia for pretending that he meant no more to her than any other customer, anyway!

  But what if he didn't?

  CHAPTER 12

  Gianni tried to shrug off his gloom as he went to greet his companions. He told himself that Medallia was only one pretty woman among many, and one he hadn't even come to know very well—but he was amazed at how little the thought cheered him, and at how much his fancy had fastened upon her. But he forced a smile and waved at the guards at the inner gate, even managing to exchange a few cheerful remarks, and was able to put on a good show by the time he reached the land gate. He saw Vladimir, Estragon, Rubio, and Bernardino, and called, "You lazy layabouts, you idle road walkers! What makes you think you're good enough for Pirogia?"

  They leaped to their feet, Rubio the merchant reddening with anger—until they saw Gianni and laughed, coming forward with open arms. He embraced each of them, surprised at how the greetings of these relative strangers cheered him.

  "It's intolerable, Giorgio!" Rubio said indignantly. "They tell me they can't trust a man from Venoga!"

  "Yes, but if you had come with a goods train behind you, they would have let you in quickly enough," Gianni assured him. "Besides, they're pulling your leg—I argued that out with them yesterday." Rubio stared; then a slow grin spread over his face. He turned to the two guards, who had rolled up their eyes, watching the sky in innocence. "You scala
wags! You've no more hospitality than your friend Giorgio here!"

  "And no less, either," Alfredo assured him. "But who is Giorgio? I see only Gianni."

  Rubio turned to Gianni in shock, and so did the other three—but Gianni only smiled apology and said, "Forgive me, friends, but the lie was necessary. The prince had set a price on my head."

  "A price?" The thief frowned, "I should have heard about this! What's your full name?"

  "Gianni Braccalese."

  Estragon stared; so did Vladimir. Rubio and Bernardino looked from one to the other, at a loss. Gianni felt a perverse sort of pride.

  "Yes," said the thief, "I had heard of you indeed! Oh, if I had known who I was traveling with, I would have walked alone!"

  "We were safer together," Gianni assured him, "and will be in the future, too. Come in, come in and accept my mother's hospitality! Then, if you wish, you can join our new army ... I mean . . ." He glanced uneasily at Vladimir, then away, ashamed of himself.

  "Perhaps not a soldier, but from what I know .of armies, they can find some use for me," the lame man assured him. "Take me to your general, Gianni. Let him decide."

  Gianni grinned and clapped him on the back. "There's no general yet, but only our old friend Gar—and yes, I think he'll find a place for you. Come in."

  Mama Braccalese welcomed the quartet with full hospitality, though she was a little put off by the beggar and the thief, and accorded them a hot tub each as her first gesture of welcome. Gar did indeed assure the beggar that there would be work enough for him as a quartermaster, but for the time being, he should learn the trade of a fletcher, learning the making of crossbow bolts and the compounding of gunpowder for the cannons.

  As they were finishing a late and rather large breakfast, Gianni's father came in, his face grim, but his eye alight. "The Council will hear you tomorrow, Gianni—and I think they will listen more closely, now that so many have lost good trains. But who are these?"