Ercole said nothing, simply spurred his horse into movement. Everyone else did likewise and bent forward in the gallop, following the tail of Ercole’s mount.
Roberto’s mind was reeling through every curse and blasphemy he knew, and a few that he invented. He saw it now. Her plan was utter simplicity…simply stay ahead of the pursuit until she got to Brescia, then board the airship. Once the airship took flight, the trail would be broken. It was reportedly four days to Nürnberg on the airship, a trip that would take more than a week on horseback through the Alpine valleys and passes. Once the airship left, they would never find her, never catch her.
But the airship hadn’t lifted yet, and they weren’t that far from it. If they could get there quickly enough…
He bent forward, and urged his horse to greater efforts, while still swearing at and admiring his quarry’s stratagem.
* * *
“Where were you for so long last night?” Francesca murmured as she opened the jar of ash-tinged grease and used a finger to dab it around her eyes, especially under them.
“Talking with Maestro Davit,” Marco said in just as low a tone.
“What about?”
“His business,” came the reply. “He makes it sound exciting.”
Francesca’s mouth quirked a bit. “Given who he is, and even more who his father is, I imagine he’s had plenty of exciting times. Just remember that times that are exciting to read about or hear about are usually very unpleasant to live through.”
“He kind of hinted at that a couple of times,” Marco said. “Why are you bothering with that? We’re almost done. None of that stuff about hiding or disguising has been needed. Why start now?”
“Because we’re not out yet,” Francesca said. “And now is when the fortune could turn against us. So better to be somewhat prepared. Hold still.”
She took his chin in her hand and used a finger to dab a bit of the grease under his eyes, and to draw faint lines from the corners of his nostrils around the corners of his mouth to right above the jaw line.
“What did you do that for?”
Francesca cocked her head to one side and looked at Marco. “It makes you look older and a bit harder. Almost makes you look like you have jowls.”
“Eough.”
Francesca chuckled at that reaction. She had already changed to one of the older outfits and turned her coat inside out to present a different color and fabric to the world, and she had tied one of the very different scarves that Barbara had given her around her head in a style very like that of Brescia and very different from that of Firenze. Pulling out her inner purse, she transferred nine florins to an inner pocket of the coat, then laid five more on the tabletop before she restored the inner purse to its place under her bodice. The bag of her music hung inside the coat, as it had done for the entire trip.
“Tuck those inside your shirt somewhere,” she said. Marco didn’t argue, but did as he was told, pulling out a little purse of his own and loading the golden coins into it before he tucked it away beneath the layers of his own clothing.
Once that was done, Francesca looked at Marco with a very somber expression. “I know things have gone very well for this whole escapade,” she said. “But I can’t help feeling that they will somehow catch up with us and cause trouble. I pray to Dio and to Santa Cecilia that they do not, but I have this ache in my gut that it will happen. So, if something does happen, whatever happens, you get on that airship. You understand?”
Marco had a very stubborn look on his face. He didn’t say anything; but then, he didn’t need to. Francesca pointed a finger at him.
“You do as I say, understand? If something happens to me, you get on that airship and get out of here.”
She held that pose until Marco gave a very reluctant nod.
The last thing Francesca did was pull out the staggering shoes, as Marco called them. The jar and her other shoes went into her clothing bag.
“You really think you need to use those?” Marco asked with a rather pained look on his face as she slipped them on. “You know how much that’s going to slow us up?”
“Not all that much,” Francesca said. “I practiced walking around in them last night while you were talking with Maestro Davit.” She stood and essayed a few steps to the end of the room and back again. Her gait was definitely irregular, but she was able to keep on her feet and move with some regularity. Marco shrugged.
There was a tap on the chamber door. “Donna Negri,” Davit’s voice sounded. “It is growing light outside. We must be on our way if you wish to keep your appointment with the airship.”
Davit’s eyes widened as the door opened to reveal Francesca’s changed appearance. He said nothing as they left the house and made their way through the streets to the gates closest to the airfield.
They didn’t use the carriage, as it would have attracted more attention than Davit thought they should deal with at that point in the journey. It had been stored in a stable in the Jewish ghetto. But Davit, Antonio, Benvenuto, and a local acquaintance of Davit’s that hadn’t been introduced to Francesca were all nearby. The driver and the guard were walking together some distance ahead of them, wearing long coats in the style of the lefferti. Davit, in his usual attire, flanked Francesca with Marco on the other side carrying the clothing bags. The anonymous acquaintance, dressed in somewhat scruffy clothing, loitered some distance behind them. He carried the bag with bread and a couple of bottles of wine.
It wasn’t long before they walked out through the gates to the city. Once they were clear of the gatehouse, Davit glanced over to where Francesca was limping along. “Are you injured?” His voice was very low pitched—so much so that it barely carried to her ears.
“No. Special shoes.” Her voice was no louder than his.
“Ah. They don’t look very comfortable.”
“They’re not, and I will lose them at the first opportunity.”
Davit chuckled, then said, “Interesting transfiguration you made.”
“Hoping for no last-moment problems, but attempting to prepare for them anyway.”
“Prudent.”
The remainder of the walk was made in silence, with only the sound of her staggering steps to accompany them.
Chapter 19
“Good morning to you, Donna Negri.” Bonaro was standing beside the loading door, seemingly ubiquitous clipboard in hand, checking things off as boxes were carried aboard.
“And a good morning to you, Maestro Bonaro,” Francesca said as she came to a stop beside him. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Now that you are here, all that wants is to finish loading this shipment,” Bonaro said, checking items off on his clipboard. “And the little matter of nine florins.” He flashed a smile at her.
Francesca reached into her inner coat pocket and withdrew the coins she had put there for this purpose. She waited as the last of the boxes and packages were carried aboard, then handed them to Bonaro.
The airship officer counted the coins under his breath, “…Six, seven, eight, nine.” He looked up. “As agreed. Give them just a moment to finish tying the cargo down, and we’ll be ready to leave.”
At just that moment, the sound of drumming hooves filled the air.
* * *
The horses were tiring, Roberto could tell. Even Ercole’s mount had slowed enough that it had dropped back to be barely a head’s length ahead of the rest. But they had held up long enough. The staging area for the airship was before them. They would be on it in moments. There were only a few people in the area. The novelty of the airship had apparently worn thin for the citizens of Brescia. But one of those people was a woman. He couldn’t yet tell if it was Maestra Caccini, but he couldn’t assume it wasn’t.
“Ercole! Giuseppe! Take her, now!”
* * *
Suddenly there was a group of horses plunging toward them. Davit wasn’t certain how many, but most of them pulled up short of the airship loading area. Two of them, though, rode straight up to the airship a
nd their riders threw themselves off their mounts’ backs to reach out and try to grab Donna Negri. She began to hit at them and shrieked curses. They were slightly restrained in their actions until her clawed fingers left furrows in the face of the skinny one right below his eyes.
“Whore! Sow!” he swore as he swung an open-handed slap at her. She stumbled at just that moment, though, and the slap, instead of smashing into her cheek, landed on her throat instead.
Donna Negri dropped to the ground, hands grasping her throat, and her young attendant went mad. He pulled his dagger and stabbed the skinny rider twice, once in the leg and once in the lower back. Leaving his dagger there, he reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a pistol, with which he immediately shot the other rider in the leg.
At the sound of the shot, everyone else in the area either froze or dropped. Davit and his companions were exceptions, as they pulled weapons out from under their coats.
“Still!” Davit bellowed. “Hold!”
* * *
There was the sound of metallic ratcheting all around them, and Roberto looked around to see four men with long guns standing around them.
“Still! Hold!” one of them yelled.
Roberto decided that was a good idea, and reinforced that with an order of his own.
“Stand!”
Everyone took that to heart, except for one person. The scrawny youth that had stabbed Ercole and shot Giuseppe took two steps forward, and raised his pistol to point it at Roberto. He could see it well enough to see that it was nothing like any of the pistols he had ever used as a condottiere. It had a very unusual appearance with a skinny barrel, which meant it almost had to be an up-timer-patterned weapon, which meant that he was staring at the barrel of death, for it would hold several loads, not just one.
Roberto had enough time to see that the face of the youth was very hard. He marveled at the hate on that face, for one so young should not have enough experience to hold that much.
His eyes widened as he saw the woman that he assumed had to be Maestra Caccini somehow stagger back to her feet and lurch forward to place one shaking hand on the youth’s shoulder while the other still clutched at her throat. She shook that shoulder. The youth looked back at her for a moment, and she shook her head, even though it was obvious that it caused her great pain to do so and fresh waves of tears washed down her face.
A man with a clipboard in one hand stepped up beside the youth. “Don’t waste your ammunition,” he said. “Get her aboard.”
The youth snarled, but put his pistol back in his pocket and turned to help Maestra Caccini to lurch to the entryway into the airship and help her climb aboard. The man turned to face Roberto over the moaning Ercole and Giuseppe.
“You want to tell me what this is about?” he said in a pronounced Venetian accent.
Roberto looked around. The four long arms pointed at the six of his pack that were still on their horses were being held rock steady, and the faces looking at him were not very forgiving. From the look of them, they were also up-time designs, which meant they probably had capability for multiple loads as well. He hadn’t survived as a condottiere without learning to assess threats, and right now his senses were held taut at their highest level. It was a throw of the dice as to whether or not they were going to survive. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Paolo was sitting very still on his mount, hands in plain view. Obviously his read of the situation matched Roberto’s.
“I am Capitano Roberto Del Migliore, officer of the court of the grand duke of Tuscany. I have a warrant for the detainment of Maestra Francesca Caccini and the returning of her to Firenze. I believe that is the woman who just entered your airship. The grand duke greatly desires to see her and have certain conversations with her about her behavior.”
“Has she been convicted of a crime?” the clipboard holder said.
“Noooo,” Roberto drawled the syllable out, “but the grand duke greatly desires—”
“To see her and talk to her,” the clipboard holder interrupted. “I understand that.” Another man descended from the airship, claimed the clipboard, and reboarded the craft. The speaker stuck his hands in his pockets. From the bulge that was made there, Roberto suspected there might be more in his pockets than fingers. The airship man continued, “But you see, Messere Capitano, was it?” Roberto suppressed his irritation and simply nodded to the other man. “You see, you are not in the grand duchy of Tuscany. You are in the province of Brescia, which looks to Venezia for its leadership. Without the signature of a Venetian official or magistrate, your warrant is not worth the parchment upon which it is written. And so, in assaulting this area and one of my contracted passengers, who has paid for her passage and is now my responsibility, you are acting as no better than a common brigand.”
Paolo stirred at that, but Roberto held up a hand and he settled back in his saddle.
“Surely not a common brigand,” Roberto said.
That brought a brief smile to the other man’s face. “Perhaps not so common as all that.” The smile disappeared. “But this territory, this piece of ground where we are standing at the moment, is leased to Upward, LLC, incorporated in Magdeburg, United States of Europe. This is like a piece of the USE, and your warrant is really worthless here without having been validated by a USE judge’s signature. You have no standing here. I suggest you pick up your men and leave.” Left unsaid was the terminal phrase, “…while you still can.” Roberto heard it nonetheless.
Roberto looked over at Paolo and jerked his head toward the moaning Ercole and the cursing Giuseppe. Paolo motioned to a couple of the other guards, and the three of them swung down out of their saddles and converged on their two prostrate fellows. It only took a few minutes to roughly bandage the two of them, although Ercole was roused to vituperative cursing when the dagger was pulled from his back. Fortunately it was not a critical wound, and he and Giuseppe were both bound up and boosted back in their saddles.
While that was going on, another of the airship men exited the craft long enough to pick up the bundles that the woman and the youth had dropped. One of the men with the long guns nudged another bundle toward him, so he detoured to pick it up as well, then hurried back aboard the airship.
Once Paolo and his assistants were back in their saddles, Roberto faced toward the airship man. “This isn’t over,” he said. “I’ll be back, with a countersigned warrant, and you’ll cooperate with us then, or you won’t do business here. Firenze is not without influence, even in lands ruled by Venezia.”
“As the up-timers say, whatever,” the airship man said. He walked over and picked up the scrawny youth’s dagger where it had been tossed aside after it had been pulled out of Ercole’s back. He straightened, and said, “We’ll be back in eight days or so. If you want a ride then, come see me. But it will only be one of you, and it will be ten florins to carry you over the Alps one-way. You’ll have to cover all your other expenses yourself. Now clear off, because we’re leaving. Now.”
With that, he turned and walked over and entered the airship gondola himself. The door was firmly closed behind him. Moments later, at a signal that Roberto hadn’t seen, several men standing by the stakes the airship was tied to released the mooring cables, and the airship began to rise. When it was thirty feet above them all, the engines were started, and the ship began to move, turning in the air until it pointed to the north.
Roberto sat his horse and watched as the airship dwindled away in the distance until it was just a very small blob barely visible against the distant Alps. He took a deep breath and looked around. It didn’t surprise him to see that the men with the long guns had disappeared while they were focused on the departing airship.
“Something to tell Duke Ferdinando about, anyway. Know a good inn here, Paolo?” Roberto asked. Receiving a nod in reply, he said, “Lead the way.”
Paolo turned his horse toward the city gates and let the weary animal find its own pace.
* * *
Davit looked at the
other men walking with him. “Split up. Antonio, you get to the stable, get the carriage, and drive to the first curve of the road outside the eastern gate. Take Benvenuto’s gun with you and put them back in their places in the carriage.
“Benvenuto, you trot back to the inn, gather our things, and make your way on foot out the eastern gate and meet up with Antonio there. And both of you stash those long coats as soon as you can.
“Carlo,” Davit turned to the fourth man who had been loaned to them the previous night when they arrived, “give your master my thanks for your standing with us. Get back to him now, and forget that you saw or did anything this morning.”
That worthy gave a gap-toothed grin, stealthily passed his own gun to Davit, and took off in a different direction at a trot.
Davit looked at the other two. “Go. I’ll meet you at the curve.”
“What will we do after that, Maestro Davit?” Antonio asked.
“Do you know, I suddenly have a great desire to visit some cousins in Venezia,” Davit said with a broad grin. “So get going. We need to be on the road before the Firenzans get settled.”
Chapter 20
Francesca had stumbled to the rear of the compartment, backed up against the wall or partition, then slowly slid down it to the deck. Her hands were loosely wrapped around her neck. The pain was severe. She could feel the tears continuing to course down her cheeks. She wanted to cry out, to moan, to make even little squeaks of pain, but the slightest attempt to speak or utter sound sent fresh spikes of agony through her damaged throat. She could breathe, but it hurt to breathe hard or gasp. And swallowing was almost out of the question. The movement of the pharynx that caused the larynx to close off was the source of an even greater spike of pain.
“Do you have someone who knows anything about physicking or injuries?” she heard Marco asking, urgency in his voice. “Please! Anyone? Maestra Caccini is hurt badly!”
“She’s not dying, boy,” Bonaro said from the other end of the compartment. “She’ll have to wait until we’re safely aloft and moving. Then we’ll see what we can do.”
1636- the Flight of the Nightingale Page 12