Irenicon (16 page)
Uncertain what to do without her, Sofia’s decina went to report the unscheduled docking to the Borselinno. Secondo raised his flag and led them back to the bridge. Mule stayed behind; he had an intuition of where Sofia might be.
Giovanni confronted Secondo at the river. “I told you to stay away.”
“It’s nothing to do with you, Concordian.” Secondo pushed by him, telling his men to hang back.
“You’ve no right—the bridge isn’t complete!” Giovanni was about to follow when Fabbro pulled him aside.
On the southside, Gaetano Morello had arrived. He too left his bandieratori off the bridge as he stepped onto it. Workers parted, making a path for the capodecini. Flags up, focused on each other, neither noticed Vettori waiting in the middle.
“We defend this barge,” Gaetano shouted.
“Like hell you do, Morello. The shipments are under Bardini protection.”
“Now, just hold on,” said Vettori, trying to keep them apart.
“Gentlemen,” Fabbro said as he ran between them, “let me explain—”
As soon as they understood that the merchant had sought both Families’ protection, they turned on him.
Fabbro was implacable. “My dear boys, this is but
part
of a delivery. I have large orders to meet. The work requires the skills of both north and south, so I sought shelter of two great houses, north and south. Was that wrong? Our need for security is genuine—as, I trust, is your protection.” He smiled, as if anything else was highly improbable.
“I will pay for protection,” he continued, “just as I pay my taxes. I don’t interfere with Signoria business, but without my money, how will it pay the tribute?”
There was no answer.
“Gentlemen, quarrels cost more than we can afford. Please, lower your banners.”
“I don’t take orders from tradesmen,” Gaetano said.
“Go home, then! Let your masters decide if Rasenna should survive and what price we must pay for that favor,” Fabbro said.
Mule brought Sofia from the Baptistery in time to see the standoff.
“We were looking for you,” said Secondo angrily.
“I’m here now.”
“What should we do?” whispered Mule.
She answered him loudly. “Signore Bombelli is right. If we can’t pay tribute, we won’t have a town left to fight over. Lower your flags.”
“Is that an order, Contessa?” Gaetano said.
“This isn’t the time to show me what a hero you are.”
“Doc won’t like this,” said Secondo.
“Who’s the Scaligeri heir, me or him? I’ll answer to Bardini. What do you say, Tano?”
“I’ll take it to my father.”
Giovanni wondered whether it was Fabbro and Sofia’s words or the unprecedented spectacle of united angry Woolsmen that made the borgati retreat.
“Where have all the glasses gone?”
Cooking
l’ampra dotto
usually calmed the Doctor, but this evening he was livid. “How did things get to be such a mess?” He took a few bites, then threw his fork down. “
Shared
protection? This really stumps us—if we fight, we lose the Small People. Bombelli’s a wily one: he’s balanced us against one another. And Morello went for it! That’s the difficulty when your opponent is a fool; sometimes they make the right move without knowing it.”
He raised his wineglass. “When you’re Contessa, Sofia, I wish you intelligent enemies.”
“Thanks!” She took a sip herself and said, “Have you ever considered that protecting the Small People
is
in our interest?”
The Doctor couldn’t disguise his frustration. “A couple of months ago you were thirsting for southside blood—now you’re the friend of the working man?” he growled. “
I
wouldn’t be bleeding wind now if you’d watched the bridge like I told you.”
“I’ve kept my flag down so as not to antagonize the southsiders.”
“I didn’t tell you to do that! And where are you if you’re not on the bridge? Not the workshop anyway.”
“You’ve got the Borselinno.”
“And they idolize you, Sofia—all the students do. In a few weeks the Twelfth comes, and you come into your inheritance. The hour’s at hand. I hope to do it neatly, but flags blow where the wind takes them. If things go awry, I need every student at their peak.”
“Sorry,” she said, finally sounding a little contrite. “I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. I guess I’m nervous about becoming Contessa,” she said, studying his reaction.
“I’m behind you every step,” Doc said. “Eat up now.” And he refilled her wineglass.
Sofia went early to bed, and the Doctor climbed the tower with a heavier tread than usual. He’d spent a lifetime learning how to look for weakness, and he saw the things people hid from themselves, from others. What was she hiding from him?
Sofia should have noticed her shadow trailed by another, but her mind was elsewhere that morning. She felt guilty deceiving Doc, about asking herself if she could side against him when just months ago the question had been unthinkable. Before Giovanni came, Doc’s way was her way; her only complaint was being excluded.
Things were different now. She’d grown accustomed to the pace of the nuns’ quarter. Every day was a crisis in Bardini streets: grief in the morning turned into revenge by nightfall. It was the way the Doc preferred it. “When the world is off balance, it takes a small nudge to spin it your way,” he always said.
The Reverend Mother was waiting in the garden, Lucia too, and for once the novice looked happy to see her.
“Today you will show me what you’ve learned,” said the nun. “Force your opponent out of the square. You will attack, Sofia, Lucia will defend, then the reverse.
Avanti!
”
This is more like it!
Sofia thought, and launched herself gleefully at the novice.
Lucia sidestepped and gently pushed Sofia as she passed. She found herself facedown on the edge of the square. She was unhurt, though her cheeks were burning. She leaped up and attacked again, more carefully this time.
Still the novice parried every one of her blows.
“Contrario!”
Sofia didn’t have a moment to catch her breath before being pushed to the edge again and again. She was flailing about like a beginner; her opponent might have been arranging flowers.
She tried to get close, but somehow Lucia got behind her. It took only a gentle push and—
“Uggg!”
She picked herself up.
“Cazzo!”
“What just happened?” the Reverend Mother said.
Sofia, walking back into the square, scowled at the nun’s facetiousness. “I got beat.”
“How? What were the last six moves you made?”
“
Madonna
, I don’t know. She went low, I blocked? Then she went high . . .”
“Show me.”
“You can’t analyze fighting like an engineer; that’s not how it works. It’s instinctual.”
“Instincts are important; yours are excellent. You’re naturally fast, naturally supple, and naturally aggressive—and those instincts are the only reason you are still standing. Lucia is exceptionally adept. Imagine what you could be with her level of control combined with your own natural talent.”
“I’m in control.”
“You think so?” The Reverend Mother chuckled. “Lucia, show me the last set.”
“Yes, Sister.” The novice began to re-create the fight move for move, exactly as it had happened.
“Now: slower.”
And that became the pace of the morning: the brutal attack became a dance, elegant and poised, and now Sofia recognized moves she had practiced for the last month, combined and adapted to the need of the moment.
“Now, go back to the first stance, Lucia.”
The dance unwound backward; only a pigeon passing overhead reassured Sofia that Time was marching forward as normal. As though she were reading her thoughts, the Reverend Mother said, “You think Time is immutable, that the past is gone and the future is a wall you can never punch through.”
“Is there any other type of wall?”
“Hush, child! These are illusions. Realize that Time is fluid, and if you train your mind to feel that flow, you can use it. The current still carries you, but every move you make carries it too. Your speed and strength are constrained by your flesh, but matter no longer matters when you have fluidity. Even skill is unimportant when you move with Time’s flow.”
“Great—so no more practice?”
The nun smiled sourly. “Skill is the means to attain understanding. Lucia, same combination.”
“Let’s see if a thug can learn,” said the novice with a smirk.
Sofia limped to the bridge, musing on the lesson. So Water Style was more than a way to fight—but if the Sisterhood could see the future, why hadn’t they warned Rasenna about the Wave? Perhaps that was the reason Doc distrusted them.
She found the bridge crew lined up as if for a fight.
“Crane malfunction,” Giovanni said, greeting her with a smile, “so we’re moving stone the unfashionable way.”
Sofia tapped Pedro’s shoulder. “Take a break, kid.”
“You sure, Contessa?”
“Don’t think a girl can handle it? Relax. And call me Sofia; I’m not Contessa yet.”
Curiosity abated as the evening went on and she held her own. Giovanni talked about progress at first, then asked, “And yours? How’s your Water Style?”
“We’ve just started,” Sofia said, grimacing.
“I’m still amazed that she agreed to teach you. The night Frog—whatever it was—returned, she told me the last thing Rasenna needed was more fighting.”
“Who knows why an
ubazze
does anything? Maybe she thinks we’ll be friends—all I know is she’s making me suffer: for every hour we train, there’s three of meditation—”
“Sofia, look,” said Giovanni quietly, breaking her flow.
Sofia grabbed her flag. “Maybe he’s come to surrender.”
Gaetano Morello was standing by the Lion, watching them.
“Since when do you need a flag to talk to me?” he said as she walked over to him.
“I see you forgot your friends today.”
“Fine, be that way.” He scowled. “You’re getting pretty friendly with that Concordian.”
“What business is that of yours?”
“Well, you’re supposed to be Rasenna’s Contessa—”
“I said, what business is that of yours?”
His shoulders sagged. “None, I suppose. I’m sorry.”
“All right, all right, don’t start blubbing.”
“Sofia, things are getting out of control.”
“You’re telling me?”
“I want you to know this wasn’t my idea. I said I wanted no part of it, but after yesterday . . .” He handed her a letter. “It’s for the Doctor.”
Sofia was perturbed that her old friend couldn’t meet her eye—whatever his limitations, he had never lacked for courage before. “What is this?” she asked.
“I had nothing to do with it,” he repeated.
“I get it: you’re just the messenger boy.”
“Sofia, why be like that? You know I’ve never done anything to hurt you. I’m not my father. I’m not my brother.”
“Sorry, Tano,” she said, “I’m just—Like you said, things are out of control.”
“All right.”
“All right.”
“Well, see you around,” he said quietly, and turned and walked across Piazza Luna, trailing his flag behind him.
The Dragon on the letter’s seal stared at her. She was about to pull it open when Gaetano looked over his shoulder with such an expression—of warning, of regret, of hope—that it convinced her to deliver the letter immediately. It must be important.
“What’s on your mind? It’s clearly not the fight you’re in,” the nun scolded.
Sofia was wondering about the Morello letter. After the Doc had read it, he had just scratched his chin. When he’d noticed her still standing there, he had offered her an orange. She had turned on her heels in a fury.
Now she said defensively, “I’m making progress!”
The nun grunted, but it was true, Sofia had done better that day. Lucia still dominated their sets, but lately Sofia hadn’t embarrassed herself. Even as she sought to emulate Lucia’s control, she was testing it. The modest penitent girl belonged to Rasenna as well as God, and Sofia thought there must be a place where prayer had no purchase; if there was, she did not recognize it because she was seeking hot hate, sudden squalls, joyous short-lived rage.
“Somehow, child, you are. It shows self-control to meet something stronger and not give in to fear.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
“You’re welcome. Proceed.”
Sofia took up the pitcher and poured.
“Now, show me your faith. You are the contents of the glass.” She began to pray. The surface of the glass stirred as if a breeze flowed over it. Slowly, the water bulged from the center. The small swelling grew slowly until a bead of water pulled away and hovered just
above the rippling surface. The nun’s drone dropped to a deeper tone; she was shaking with effort.
And, somehow, Sofia felt its weight too.
“Don’t try to help!” the nun gasped.
“I didn’t!”
“Child, you think I can’t sense your ambition? It’s large enough to fill this room. You must learn to see beyond appearances.”
The bead floated higher.
“All water is one. The drop is not separate from the water in the glass or the ocean. If you are not ready, you can drown in it. Controlling even this much is a lifetime’s work. Lucia cannot do it, and you’ve seen her level of self-control. Yet two days ago, you moved the whole glass with your mind.”
Sofia wasn’t listening; she was entranced by the drop. She could
feel
the power. “I can take it!”
“No—!”
Suddenly Sofia felt herself sucked up in a great wind. The current stopped and reversed with the speed of a great weight dropping. The glass exploded.
She came to with the nun clucking over her. “Why must the young assume they know everything?”
“What happened?” she groaned.
The nun pointed to the wall; the plaster had crumbled where her body had smashed into it.
“You pushed. Water pushed back.”
“Gaetano didn’t say?”
“He just said it wasn’t his idea, three times. What is it?”
The letter was on his lap. Doc stood up, handed it to Sofia, plucked an orange, and sat on the edge of the tower, waiting.
She suddenly cast it away like something infectious.
“It could work.”
“Doc, I’m a
woman
! I’ve answered to you since I was a girl; I
won’t
be a docile bride waiting on another man.”
“Don’t be irrational,” he said irritably. “You’ll still be Contessa; Gaetano would merely be consort.”
“You can’t make me!”
“It wouldn’t be for long.”
“I don’t care if it’s for a day!” Sofia shouted, then stopped short. “What do you mean?”
“Morello’s panicking—about the bridge, about the assassination of their Contract—” He caught her look. “For the last time, I’ve no idea who killed the boy. But this will make him relax. I
need
him relaxed.”
She left, shouting, “I
won’t
do it!”
He didn’t bother knocking on her chamber door. She was on the balcony, looking down toward the bridge.
“Damn it, Sofia. Talk to me!”
“I can’t take a vow knowing you’re going to break it. I can’t believe Gaetano agreed to it, but he’s not my enemy. Whatever you’re planning, I won’t be party to it.”
“You wanted to finish Morello for good!”
Sofia spun around. “And I was
wrong
! Don’t you see that there’s no end if we keep fighting each other?”
“Noble sentiments; where do they spring from, I wonder?” He picked the angel from the windowsill. She wanted to snatch it back but affected indifference.
“This isn’t about an old friend. It’s about a new one. You’ve been acting inappropriately.”
“Who dared say that?”
Instead of answering her, the Doctor read the angel’s note. He glared as he crushed it in his fist.
“It was that little
stronzo
, wasn’t it?”
“If it wasn’t Valerius, it would be somebody else. All Rasenna’s eyes are on the bridge, and still you rolled up your sleeves like a common laborer yesterday.”
“And now southsiders accept me as one of them!”
“Precisely! But Sofia, you are
not
one of them! This tower’s protected you for the thirteen years since Morello killed your father.”
“And now you want me to marry his son!”
“A means to an end! All these years I’ve safeguarded your reign. Obey me in this one last little thing and you need never listen to me again.”
“Little thing?”
She was almost incandescent. “How
dare
you, Bardini? You’ve taken advantage of being my guardian too long. The word of a Scaligeri is not something I soil lightly.”
“I wish you’d have the same care with your name.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Open your eyes, Sofia! You’re a girl, he’s Concordian. People talk.”
“Let them talk!”
“Let them talk? Let them talk?” he said murderously, “I will not!”
He leaned out of the window and flung down the angel. It smashed into stone, leaving just crushed metal and scattered screws. Keeping his back turned as he stopped at the door, he said softly, “You’ll do as I say while you stay in this tower. I’ll keep my promise to your grandfather with or without your approval.”
When the door slammed, she ran to the balcony. The angel was just a mess of springs and cogs and fragile devastated beauty.