Irenicon (11 page)
Giovanni reached out to help, but she drew back. “I’m fine. It’s just—The river is so powerful—you can’t open yourself to it without getting some back.”
Sofia knelt where the puddle had been and picked up the chain.
The nun watched her. “Anything else you need from me, Contessa?”
“No, the buio’s gone. You can go too.”
Giovanni escorted the old lady home and apologized for Sofia.
She laughed. “The Contessa doesn’t care for me.”
“You
did
break her arm, Sister.”
“Yes, unfortunate, that. Yet I think she would have forgiven me if she had won.”
“She’s proud,” he said, smiling to himself.
“The Doctor taught her to act like someone apart, and so she is, but not as he thinks. He’s taught her to rule Rasenna as it is now. When a child wants a thing, it takes it, whatever the consequences.”
“She’s fearless.”
“
Children
are fearless. They believe they are immortal. It never lasts. We must face fear and overcome it or surrender to it.”
They stood in the Baptistery’s doorway, where they could feel the spice-bloated air of the cool darkness.
“Can Rasenna change?” Giovanni asked after a moment.
“It must, or must die. The street tells us to ignore fear; that’s why we’ve torn ourselves apart ever since your people showed us how cheap life is. That’s all she knows too. But when she finds someone to love and the fear that comes with it, oh, Virgin help her!”
“Fear?”
“Certainly. Fear of dropping one’s flag, fear of losing love, fear of being rejected, fear of being unworthy: the beast has many forms. Sofia must grow up or drown in it. She’ll need your help, Giovanni. You came to Rasenna to make up for the past, and you can.”
He looked away.
Impossible; how could she know?
Yet he’d seen other impossible things tonight. “How?” he asked.
“Fight for her when the hour comes,” she said, then went inside.
She watched the engineer walk away and called out, “You can come out now, Lucia.”
The novice, a long-limbed girl younger than Sofia, emerged from behind the font.
“Get to bed,” the nun growled. “Remember your vows!”
Rasenna was still locked up in her towers when Giovanni returned to the bridge. The sun tinted the river a bloodless yellow, washing away the night’s sadness. The nun had said Rasenna must change or perish, but that didn’t help today or tomorrow. If the bridge was not ready for Luparelli’s army, Rasenna would pay. No use trying to rise above the conflict. Like it or not, he was waist-deep.
He could throw his tools away if he sent for reinforcements—the crew would never trust him again. The other option was to play the game like a Rasenneisi: climb back into the pit ready to get dirty. Sofia was right about one thing: prayers were worthless at a time like this. But as he walked to Tower Bardini, he prayed she would understand.
The greatest irony of the Second Italic War is that Rasenna’s early success persuaded Concord to use its greatest—and as then unused—asset. Bernoulli was not yet twenty when the Curia founded the Engineers’ Guild in Thirteen and Twenty-Eight and appointed him First Engineer.
9
He set to work with enthusiasm, though keener perhaps to apply principles discovered in his anatomical studies than to bolster Concord’s ailing war effort.
Unlike previous anatomists, Bernoulli was unhindered by the Curia’s traditional prohibitions: they forbade only dissecting corpses. If his technique of “wet dissection” required immense numbers of experimental subjects, the resulting data was also
immense.
10
He created engines with the moving joints and suppleness of living flesh and, with them, turned the course of the war. The Guild’s real importance, as we shall see, is not how it hastened the inevitable decline of Rasenna but how it brought about the unthinkable: the end of the Curia.
Mule laughed as the Doctor disarmed his brother with a tap on the wrist.
“Secondo, how many times? Hold that thing correctly! Too loose and you’re not in control. Too tight and you’ll lack flow. Now tell me, Mule, how long is your stick?”
“Ask Maddalena Bombelli,” Secondo sniggered.
The Doctor ignored him. “Hold it straight. What point will it reach? 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 what gave Bardini’s black flag its snap. After a few passes, the Doctor suddenly knelt to simultaneously snatch their flags.
“Less bad but still bad. What was your mistake?”
“Let you get too close,” said Secondo breathlessly.
“Didn’t hit you?” offered Mule.
“Those are just the effects caused by lousy priorities! Concentrate on the
man
. Your flag is to distract
me
—if you let it distract
you
, you’ve lost before you begin. A bandieratoro must learn to be still 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 on Giovanni’s clothes, he didn’t show it. “This is overdue; I won’t count last night a proper visit. Come see my wonderful view!”
Behind the slender rooftops, the Irenicon shone white in the crisp morning light. The Doctor sat at the low table by the orange tree.
“I see why you like it up here,” said Giovanni. “You see all Rasenna.”
“The other reason is that Rasenna sees me. Ever wonder why nothing bad happens in Baptisteries? Sinning’s harder when God’s watching.” He poured the tea. “I saw you in the pit the other day. Horrible business, but I was impressed. You’re not afraid to get your hands dirty.”
“When I have to. It shouldn’t have happened.”
There was a silence. Giovanni took a 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 but don’t lie to yourself. You’re here because of your bridge.”
“Sofia was right. I should have come to you before the Signoria. Undiplomatic, perhaps, but it would have prevented this.” He gestured to his bloodstained clothes.
“You sound like a Rasenneisi.”
“I’m learning. I haven’t mentioned the delay in my reports to the Apprentices yet, but the pilings should be sunk before the meltwater comes. I’ll miss my chance unless the saboteurs are stopped.”
“And brought to justice?” the Doctor asked innocently. “Who do you believe responsible?”
“Stopped, I said. Morello, obviously,” Giovanni said with growing exasperation.
“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! That’s why I came to you. You’re more dangerous than Morello.”
“I’m blushing, Captain! I accept. Consider me your trusted ally!”
“That’s a problem, Doctor, trusting you.”
He rubbed his chin for a while. “I’ll think of something to make it easier.”
The Concordian stood. “Thank you for the tea.”
“Surely you won’t leave without threatening me?”
“I wish my country loved peace, but we know it does not. It will go hard for Rasenna if I am delayed. I want to avoid more blood.”
“I believe you, Captain.”
After he left, the Doctor watched the river for a while. He held a knife in one hand. His grin, the lively spark in his eyes, all expression, drained gradually from his face. His breathing slowed to the in and out of a tide.
The Doctor was leaning over the side, his back to her. There was a small yellow 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 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 him this represents how seriously I take Concord’s friendship.”
She opened it to find a silk handkerchief wrapped around something bloody. “What’s this?”
“A declaration of loyalty in terms Concordians understand. To protect their bridge, we’re ready to spill blood. I thought you’d be happy—you finally get to throw your weight around. Take a decina with you.”
“Why upset the truce?”
“Sofia, I give you what you want and you question it—and you wonder why I can’t trust you? The first rule is obedience.”
Sofia turned away in anger as the Doctor scratched his chin and murmured, “Quintus Morello understands now that the bridge is key to your secure reign. That’s why he wants to stop it.”
“Then why did you insist on Secondo as overseer? He did nothing but cause trouble till the engineer sent him home.”
“Because Quintus Morello’s brain moves slowly, and the crew was splitting at the seams. Nothing brings people together like a common enemy; until Morello was ready to act, it was necessary to be that enemy.”
“You weren’t surprised by Frog’s murder.”
Now he looked at her, his eyes snapping. “How dare you! If I’d known, I’d have stopped it.” He turned and looked back at the bridge.
“But you knew
something
would happen and then the engineer would come calling. You sit up here and weave 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 were face to face and said, “What then? That’s the hour we march over. That’s why we need 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 that every day the bridge gets longer, his end gets closer. I mourn the dead, but I rejoice at what’s coming; you’re too young to know the virtue of patience. We’ll strike, but we want a clean kill when we do. And until then—”
Sofia grimaced. “I know: we wait. Fine. I’ll watch the bridge while our allies get slaughtered and you stay safe in your tower. I hope the hour comes before they burn it down.”
Sofia went down to the ground-floor kitchen to make breakfast. As she cooked, Cat repeatedly attempted to infiltrate the larder until she lost patience and hurled a plate at it. She had grown up fending for herself; the Doctor wanted her to be independent, just like Cat.
That
Doc, the one who didn’t meddle like other parents, Sofia loved. There was another—watchful, secretive, and unendingly patient—that she was coming to hate.
She heard Valerius enter—his heavy footsteps were unmistakable—but kept her back turned. He helped himself to the last drop of broth, then sat opposite her. “Why so glum?”
She was giving serious thought to feeding Cat Doc’s finger.
“Ah, I think I know. I could tell my father about the escalation if you like. Citizens of the Empire shouldn’t live under the shadow of civil discord.”
“I’m not in the mood for Imperial propaganda this morning.”
“Don’t be like that, Sofia. I can help. Concordians know politics like Rasenneisi know fighting; I see what’s happening. The Bardini aren’t the power they were.”
“Bardini run Rasenna.”
“For the moment, maybe. What about that burnout the other night? That makes how many this month?”
Sofia pointed a fork at him. “Study
Art Banderia
as closely as you study politics and maybe you’ll be capable of holding a flag properly before we’re rid of you.”
“
Madonna!
I only wanted to sympathize! If I’d known you were so touchy, I wouldn’t have bothered.”
She stabbed a ham slice. His prying annoyed her less than his presumption—eating in Tower Bardini instead of the workshop, aping Rasenneisi dialect—and since when did Concordians call on the Virgin?
Valerius tried a different tack. “What about the accident on the bridge? That’s insult enough to Concord. My father—”
“Enough!” Sofia pushed her plate back and stood. “I don’t care about your bridge. I care about my friend who died on it. Bardini fight our own battles. Shove your family connections up your—”
“I beg your pardon.” Valerius attempted to stand, but Sofia pushed him back.
“Concord encourages our feuds to keep our nails sharp,” she said, glaring at him. “And who are you kidding anyway? Engineers run Concord; nobles are the help! Your blood’s blue enough to bleed for the Empire, but that’s all it’s good for.”
“Sofia! I’m a
guest
!”
“You’re no more a guest than the bridge is a gift.” She sat back down, still glaring, taking savage bites of her bread.
After a prudent minute, he tried again—he couldn’t help himself. “Small People at Concord’s helm gall me too. The Scaligeri and the Luparelli—we’re both noble families under their thumb—”
“We have nothing in common!” Sofia threw down her fork. “Excuse me, your Lordship, I’ve been appointed guard dog on your paesani’s bridge.”
Before the door slammed, Cat was on the table finishing her meal, leaving Valerius to ask in dismay, “What did I say?”
Sofia assembled her men, who wondered at the cause of her sudden anger. It wasn’t Valerius—she had accepted the rules of that game a long time ago—nor was it Doc’s machinations. At the bridge, she saw the foremen talking to the engineer. He had told her he was no one’s man, and like an idiot she had believed that things could be different. How quickly he’d learned the rules. How quickly he’d adapted.
It was early, but Hog Galati was already covered in sweat. He hadn’t started working yet; the sweat was stale. The Morello wouldn’t stand for it, he opined to anyone who’d listen. “That’s why the Captain
didn’t use a bird for the opening prayer. He wanted to sacrifice one of us. We’re building a real Concordian bridge now, boys.”
Hog spotted the Bardini bandieratori as soon as they arrived. He dropped his hammer and asked loudly, “Why is
that
here?”
Vettori said, “Keep working—and show some respect. That’s your future Contessa.”
Hog spit and went back to his halfhearted hammering.
“Captain, this is a problem,” Vettori said in an undertone.
Giovanni looked up from the stone delivery he was examining. Other southsiders had noticed Sofia and her men too. She wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous.
“What else can I do?” he asked his foreman.
Vettori knew the strain Giovanni was under, but he started, “Well, the Bardini and the Morello—”
“I
know
how it works!” the engineer interrupted. “You think Rasenna is unique? Every town Concord’s conquered is overrun by borgati—that’s how we prefer it. I wanted to keep colors off the bridge, but I have to make my deadline. Black flags will be bad for morale, but more murder would be worse.”
Vettori shook his head sadly. “Captain, in a town like this there’s going to be killing whichever way, and now that you’ve reached out to Bardini—”
“Doc’s only interested in helping himself,” Fabbro finished.
Giovanni saw Sofia walking toward their huddled conference and dropped his voice. “I see that, but what other choice is there?”
Fabbro shrugged nervously.
Vettori put an arm on Giovanni’s shoulder. “If that’s the way it is, that’s the way it is. I’ll explain it to the southsiders. They won’t be happy but—”
“Let’s just keep an eye on it,” Fabbro forced a smile, “and hope the Virgin does likewise.”
“Thank you,” Giovanni said sincerely.
The two men went back to work, leaving him alone with Sofia. She thrust the 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; remember that?”
“You saw what happened to Frog!”
“If it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else. Morello was baiting you, and you,
cretino
, you took it. When you made the Doc back off, I thought you had some salt, but that was just your opening move, wasn’t it? You figured it was what 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 him the moment your schedule was threatened.”
“I had to do something!”
Sofia pointed to the Woolsmen around Hog.
“See all those friendly southsiders? This is a Bardini bridge now, whether you’ve realized it yet, and the Morello are obliged to respond.”
“I’m sorry to involve you in this.”
“You think you’re sorry now? Just wait—oh, look, here comes the welcoming committee. Maybe you won’t have to.”
Gaetano Morello was marching across Piazza Luna, a decina of his own in tow.
Before Sofia went to head him off, she looked back. “I really thought you were different,” she said bitterly.
Gaetano’s decina didn’t step onto the bridge. That would be a provocation too far.
“Look. The engineer’s got a pet Rasenneisi already.”
She ignored the taunt. “Who came over the night Tower Vaccarelli burned?”
“That’s not why we’re here. By the terms of truce, you can’t be here.”
“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, Tano. This time. Tell your father and brother that they crossed a line.”
“I’m not your messenger. If you’ve got something to say, cross and take your chances.”
“Maybe I will.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. It was unfair but undeniable: the day had come, and now they were set against each other—by Gaetano’s father, by the Doc, by the engineer and his damned bridge—and there was nothing left but to voice but the formalities: