I shrugged, not wanting to explain that I had been trying desperately to steer the conversation away from Rafina before Giula blurted anything out. I was too worried to be sleepy, and watched as Frugia put her younger children to bed. She peered up the ladder again, and nodded once to her eldest daughter. The daughter opened the door and peered out, then felt our robes, which had been moved out of the way of the bedrolls. She shrugged.
Frugia came down to sit beside Giula and me; her daughter followed.
“If you have anything to hide,” Frugia whispered, “then you should go now.”
“Won’t that make us look guilty?” Giula asked.
“Yes,” Frugia said. “But he already suspects you of something. You’re better off guilty and gone.”
“Will you get into trouble?” I asked.
Frugia’s daughter gave me a slight smile. “No,” she said. “He’ll sleep well into the morning, and we’ll tell him you left at dawn.”
“What about your clothes?” I asked.
Frugia looked us over. “Give me a coin and we’ll call it even.”
Giula took out a coin to give to Frugia, and we gathered up our cloaks, violins, and packs. We pulled our boots on.
I paused in the doorway to look back at Frugia. “Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t mention it,” Frugia said. “Some of us are faithful to the Lady’s obligations of hospitality. Now get going.”
It had stopped raining, and the moon was out. “Not a bad night for travel,” Giula breathed, and we headed down the road by moonlight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I can cure the sick and cleanse the leper; I can give sight to the blind and strength to the crippled. But I cannot help those who will themselves to blindness, and turn away.
—The Journey of Gèsu, chapter 11, verse 30.
We walked through the night and through the next day, and made it almost to Pluma. We were so tired we couldn’t even walk in a straight line; as evening fell, we found a spot off the road to camp. I wanted to try asking for hospitality—what were the odds of running into the Fedeli twice—but Giula refused, and we were close enough to the city that people were less likely to be hospitable. We could see the flicker of firelight through the trees. We hadn’t seen many refugees yet; the north-south road and the east-west road crossed just east of Pluma, a few hours’ walk from where we were.
Giula scraped out a hole in the ground for our fire while I gathered up firewood. We were fortunate that I was skilled at magery, or we’d never have gotten the damp wood lit. We spread out our cloaks and lay down; except for the tree root poking into my back, the ground was softer than the hearthstones had been.
“You were studying minstrel techniques, weren’t you?” Giula asked. “With Mira, before she … left?”
“Yes,” I said.
“How well was it working?”
“Better than you’d expect,” I said. “Mira claimed she liked my singing voice.”
Giula laughed. “Could you teach me the techniques? How hard were they?”
“Not hard. Here, let’s tune up. I’ll show you a few tricks.” I sat up and took out my violin.
As Giula and I tuned our violins, I heard a footstep behind me and felt as if someone were staring at my back. I turned around slowly, afraid for a moment that it would be the Fedele.
It was not Aviro. Standing just outside our camp, staring at us, was an old man wrapped in a ragged cloak.
“So you’re here already,” he said hoarsely, still staring at me.
“Excuse me?” I said. “I don’t believe I know you.” Maybe he was someone from my village I’d forgotten? I felt a brief pang of worry. “But you can share our fire, if you like.”
He laughed, the gravelly chuckle rattling in his chest like pebbles, then hopped over a fallen branch to join us by our campfire. “Let me be the first to salute you, Generale!” he said to me, and thumped his bony chest, then held his fist out, a soldier’s salute to his commander.
Giula and I exchanged shrugs. This diverted his attention to Giula.
“Ah, yes,” he leered. “And you as well.” He sidled up to Giula, and without warning, grabbed her breast. “Sweet young thing, aren’t you?”
Giula shrieked and smacked his hand; I shoved him away from her and stood between them. He pouted at us. “No fun; you’re no fun at all. You’re all like that. No fun at all. You’ll see—you’ll see what I mean.”
“Go away,” I said. “We don’t want to share our fire with a crazy man.”
“Go away,” he said sadly. “I’ll go away. No one wants to share their fire with me. I’ll sleep under a rock—don’t mind me.” He shuffled off into the night.
Giula brushed her dress clean, shaking and looking disgusted. “I can’t believe it. What a disgusting old man. Do you think we need to take turns watching?”
I closed my eyes. “Probably. You go ahead to sleep; I’ll take the first watch.”
I woke Giula midway through the night to take over watching—but when I woke at dawn, Giula was slumped over asleep under the tree she’d been leaning against. Fortunately, no one had robbed us, and the madman hadn’t come back. I sighed and shook Giula awake.
The road became much more crowded as we neared Pluma. I wondered how many of the people around us were refugees from the famine areas. The merchant caravans with their heavily armed escorts obviously weren’t. But looking around at the other people on the road, I wasn’t sure where “traveler” stopped and “refugee” started. Some of the travelers looked like us, footsore and dirty but with packs clutched tightly against potential thieves. There were families that huddled together, resting by the edge of the road with small crying children. There were people who wore rags and carried nothing. I thought that Giula and I were obviously travelers, rather than refugees, but I saw one woman close one hand protectively over her necklace when she saw me approaching.
I smelled Pluma before I saw it. Smoke, road dust, incense, horse shit, perfume, fried meat, and the sour smell of rotting garbage mingled in the air. The city was surrounded by a high wall; we could see the ragged edge that had been filled in with newer stones after the war. The old wall that had remained standing after the war was dirty and worn; the new parts were cleaner, the rocks still rough.
Everyone around us seemed to be trying to get into the city; the press of people around me nearly pulled me away from Giula. I clasped her hand and tucked my violin under my arm to keep anyone from stealing it off my back, and we headed for the city gates.
“Name?” a city guard asked me.
“Eliana.”
“Business in Pluma?” he asked. “Just passing through,” I said.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “Got coin?” I nodded. “Let’s see it.” I dug my coin purse out from its hiding place inside my tunic and held it open for his inspection. He gave it a cursory glance and waved Giula and me inside the gates.
Pluma was the largest city in Verdia. It was sort of our province’s extension of Cuore; there were government offices, an army detachment, seminaries, a training school for children with magical talent, even a conservatory. The Pluma conservatory would have been closer to my home than the rural conservatory in Bascio, but my parents didn’t want me attending a conservatory in a city. The Pluma conservatory had many more students who paid fees, instead of being sponsored by the Circle; merchants sent their children there for the prestige of having a musician in the family.
“Do you remember where you stayed when you came through Pluma before?” Giula asked. I shook my head. “Me either.”
“I had two of my brothers with me then,” I said. Giula and I pulled out of the crowd and backed into an alley, leaning against a wall. I had never tried to make my way through such a crowd; when I had been here before, the city had been less crowded, and Donato and Rufo had pushed through the crowd on my behalf. “They chose the inn,” I said. “I don’t even remember the name, let alone where to find it.”
“At least it’s early in th
e day. We’ve plenty of time to find something.”
I shook my head. “We could move on, too.” We paused for a moment. Pluma was where Giula and I would part ways. Her parents lived south from here; mine, to the east. “But there’s no harm in resting a little,” I said finally.
“And seeing the city,” Giula said, her eyes lighting up. I shook my head. “We could buy you a dress,” she suggested.
“I rather like the tunic,” I said. “Maybe I should have been born a boy.”
She laughed. “You’re certainly tall enough.”
I wasn’t ready to move out of the alley yet, but then I heard a whisper from just behind my feet. “Signora. Pssst, signora.” I jumped and jerked away. Two eyes stared at me from a tiny gap in the crumbling brick wall, looking terrifyingly malevolent in the shadows.
“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing Giula’s arm. “Do you know what you need to buy?”
“I still think we should buy you a dress,” Giula said. “But if you really don’t want one—provisions, I suppose. We don’t have much food left.”
I didn’t know where the market was, so we followed people who looked like they were heading to haggle. Pluma was a maze of narrow streets, and there were far too many people here; the town had never been meant to hold so many. “They’ve certainly rebuilt since the war, haven’t they?” Giula said, staring around us at the tall buildings.
Pluma was the farthest north the Vesuviano army had come. They had attacked the city, then been pushed back south by the Circle. Last I’d heard, there were still soldiers stationed there. During the battle, apparently, half the east wall had been blown away and a number of Pluma’s inhabitants killed. Rumor said that nothing in Pluma would grow, either, but the city-dwellers were better off than the farmers, since they could at least buy food.
“We aren’t even in the parts of the town that were damaged,” I said to Giula.
“Oh, I suppose not. Do you suppose they’ve rebuilt those parts?”
“Signore?” I felt a hand grasp the edge of my tunic and looked down to see a scrawny, shrill-voiced child. “Signore—signora,” he corrected himself, “—please, signora.” He held out his hands, cupped upward. “I’m hungry.” He wore the remains of a shirt, stained and badly torn.
Giula paled and looked away, horrified. I wondered if she was thinking about her family, in the famine areas, or if she was trying hard not to. I dug in my pouch for a piece of cheese. “Here,” I said, putting it in the child’s outstretched hands. He stared for an instant, amazed, then stuffed the whole piece into his mouth and ran off like a frightened rat.
The market square was watched by guardsmen who looked us over before standing aside to let us in. This square was in part of the town that had been damaged during the war, and only parts of it had been rebuilt. The houses ringing the open area had new stone in part of the walls, but the ruins of a fountain stood in the center of the square. The rising curve of what was left of the fountain edge was now used by merchants to show their wares.
We made our way toward the cheese merchant. Standing in the line by his stall, I saw the flash of silver from the corner of my eye and turned my head to see that I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a Fedele priest. I instinctively ducked my head, but it wasn’t Aviro, and he ignored me as he haggled for his cheese. I listened attentively while I waited; either the cheese merchant was badly cheating the Fedele, or prices in Pluma were shockingly high.
“May I help you, signore?” the cheese merchant said. It took me a moment to realize that he was addressing me. I decided not to bother telling him I wasn’t a boy. I ended up paying the same price for my cheese that the Fedele priest had paid for his; when I tried for a lower price, the merchant just laughed.
I turned to the next woman in line. “Is cheese particularly expensive here?” I asked her.
She snorted. “The cheese is cheap, girl,” she said. “You won’t see a better price than he’s giving you.”
I sighed and dug out my coin pouch, weighing the cheese with my hand after the merchant gave it to me. Giula and I each bought several pounds, then stocked up on hardbread and wine. There seemed to be no shortage of food here, but the woman at the cheese stand had told the truth—all the prices were high. Everyone around me looked hungry; I was no longer certain I wanted to spend the night here.
“The wine merchant told me where we could find a good inn,” Giula said. “He said sleeping on the road near here wasn’t a good idea—we could be robbed.” She led me through a long maze of streets and alleys with complacent certainty until we came to a dead-end against the edge of the city wall. “Huh,” she said. “This should have had a left turn onto the street that was going to lead to the inn.”
“Maybe it did before they rebuilt,” I said. The wall here was lower, and half crumbled, leaving footholds. On impulse I climbed up to peer over. “Lady’s tits,” I whispered, looking out over a field of tents, as far as the eye could see. “Giula, climb up here, you need to see this.”
Grumbling, she did her best, catching her foot on her skirt at one point and nearly falling. Finally she pulled herself up to lean over the crumbling edge, and her eyes grew wide as she looked. “Who are they?”
“Refugees. They must be. Who else would live like that?”
“Why do they stay here?”
A breeze gusted across our faces, and I smelled rotting meat and cooking fires. “There’s food here,” I said. “At least a little.” Staring out, I realized that there were tents in the areas closer to the wall, but that past those, there were people in the open, wrapped in blankets or just sitting. I had never seen so many people gathered in one place in my life, nor had I ever seen such poverty. In my village, no one was rich, but no one starved. Even when the town drunk died suddenly, his wife and children were taken care of—sometimes grudgingly, but always taken care of—until the children were old enough to run the farm. They were pitied, occasionally scorned, often resented, but they were never left to starve, never shut out of shelter, never—
“Get off of there!”
Giula and I jumped down off the wall and turned to face two soldiers. “Sorry,” Giula gasped, cringing.
“What were you doing up there?”
“We’re lost,” Giula said. “It’s my fault. I thought I could find us an inn. The wine merchant gave us directions. I’ve never been in the city before without my brothers …” I let her babble on; she was doing a better job of it than I would.
“Do you have coin?” one of them asked. We nodded. “Let’s see it.”
I took out my pouch slowly, wondering if they were going to steal it, or demand a bribe. I stood up as straight as I could, glaring at them as they stared at me coolly. Digging my hand into my purse, I closed my fist over every coin I had, holding my purse half closed so that the soldiers couldn’t tell it was now empty. They stared at the scant coins in my palm skeptically, then shrugged and gestured for me to put it away again.
“Go back to the last street and turn left,” the taller soldier said. “Stay on that street. After a few minutes of walking, you’ll find an inn called Agostino’s. It’s comfortable and cheap, or as cheap as you’ll find in Pluma without going into areas we don’t recommend for ladies.”
They escorted us back to the previous corner. “What are you doing in Pluma?” the shorter soldier asked Giula.
“We’re going home,” she said. “We’ve been at a conservatory. Her village is east of here, and mine is south.”
The soldiers glanced at each other, then back at us. “Signora, we don’t recommend heading south from here,” the tall one said. “Not at all, not for anyone.”
“Why?” Giula said.
“It’s hungry and dangerous down there.”
“East is all right, though?” I asked.
The shorter soldier looked at me with something like pity. “East is better,” he said finally.
“We can’t stay here,” I said.
“No,” he said. “Once you ran out of c
oin, we’d have to escort you from the city.”
“Thank you for your time,” I said. “And for directing us to an inn. Good day.”
Next to me, Giula was near tears; I was angry at them, for upsetting her, and for telling us that what we were doing was stupid without being able to offer a better alternative.
“Let’s go,” I said, and urged her down the street.
“Hungry and dangerous,” she said. “How dare they talk like that about my home!”
“That’s right,” I whispered soothingly.
“There are good people in my village. The war never came there.”
“Here’s the inn,” I said. “Agostino’s.”
Agostino was surly, but he had plenty of rooms, and the inn did seem to be clean. If the price he charged us was cheap, I didn’t want to know what a pricey inn would cost. We were left with one coin each. “Dinner’s in an hour,” he said. “You can sit in the common room until then if you like.”
The common room was crowded and noisy; we were almost the only women there. We found an empty corner and slipped our violins under the table. I could see a few people sneaking glances at us, but fortunately Giula was too distraught to flirt.
“Your family is fine, Giula,” I said, squeezing her hand. “You’d have heard if they weren’t, wouldn’t you?” She nodded. “Didn’t they tell you the harvest was all right? Didn’t they say there was enough food?” She nodded again, still not answering. “How many brothers and sisters do you have, Giula? I forget.”
“Twelve living,” she whispered, finally answering. “Four brothers and eight sisters.”
“Your mother must be one tired lady.”
Giula sniffled and then laughed a little. “My mother can’t make witchlight. She’s almost a little simple—she never would have gotten married if she hadn’t been so pretty when she was young. But she can’t make a witchlight, and has to use a flint and steel to start a fire.”
“So she couldn’t keep from having babies that way,” I said, nodding.
“She used to call my father in from the fields to start fires for her. ‘Elmo, could you start this for me?’ ‘Lina, didn’t I just start a fire for you?’ ‘Yes, but you know me, I’m so clumsy, I spilled the dishwater on the hearth, and put it out.’ Over and over again, to try to make it so that my father wouldn’t be fathering any babies.” She chuckled, then sighed. “He did finally catch on, and he went along with it. She still had three more babies, though.”
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