Aldanto nodded slowly, relaxing and letting himself give way to the drugs and the alcohol. “I think maybe I’ve been underestimating you.”
“Only sometimes. You getting sleepy yet?”
Aldanto shivered hard again, then got it under control. “Getting there—and feeling a great deal less like death would be welcome.”
“That’s the whole idea, Caesare.” An idea occurred to him, and he decided he wanted to broach it while Aldanto was in a generous—and intoxicated—mood. “Could you do me a favor? When you feel more like talking?”
“Maybe,” Aldanto replied wearily, obviously wishing Marco would leave him alone. “What’s the favor?”
Maria came in with clean bandages, salve, and a cheap broach. Marco felt his face flame with embarrassment. He hated to ask in front of Maria, but this might be his only chance. “Could you—could you tell me some time—how to—how to get a girl—to—to like you?” And what do you do with her after that, he thought, but didn’t say.
“Oh mercy—” Aldanto shut his eyes and leaned his head back on his pillow, his mouth twitching. Marco had the uncomfortable suspicion that he was trying to keep from laughing. Behind him, he heard Maria choking a little, as if she hadn’t quite managed to suppress her own humor.
“If you’d rather not—”
“Later, Marco. We’ll see about it later.” Aldanto opened his eyes and gave him a not-unsympathetic wink, shivered again, harder this time, and lost his amusement as a shudder of chill shook him. “Surely it can wait?”
“Sure—sure—” Marco hastily backed out of the bedroom, taking the bandages from Maria as he passed her. By the time she joined him, he was sitting on the couch, trying to rebandage his wound one-handed.
“Here, you fool, let me do that.” She took the things away from him and undid his clumsy work. He leaned back into the soft upholstery and allowed her to do what she wanted. “How much of this stuff of yours he gonna need?”
“Just what’s in the canister.”
She looked suspiciously at him. “I looked in your pack. You brung back a lot more’n that—”
He shrugged. “I know. I could catch it again, or Benito, or you. There’s likely to be a use for it before a cold snap kills the fever. Sophia says I can come trade her for more, anyway. And I brought other herbs.”
Maria looked thoughtful. “You know—this could be worth something. You say this is the same fever that kills the little ones.”
“The thought crossed my mind. But I was mostly doing it for Caesare.”
“I owe you one, Marco,” she said softly, earnestly.
He relaxed and shut his eyes, feeling his tired and bruised muscles go slack. “Don’t go talking debts at me. I owed him.”
“Damnfool Case Vecchie honor,” she jeered back. There was respect in that jeer, however. The scoulo families like hers might be poor, but their honor was as deep and as precious. She worked slowly, gently and precisely, first cleaning the wound with some more of Aldanto’s brandy. He could tell it wasn’t the first knife wound she’d dealt with.
“Just one of Ventuccio’s clerks.” Fatigue made irrelevant thoughts swim past and one of them caught what little was left of his attention. A thought and a memory of a couple of days ago.
What the hell, he’d risk her temper. “Maria—it’s ‘aren’t’ when you’re talking about you or more than one person, and ‘isn’t’ all the rest of the time. Except when you’re talking about yourself, then it’s ‘am not.’ Got it? Think that’ll help?”
He cracked an eyelid open to see her staring open-mouthed at him.
“How did you—?”
“Noticed you fishing for it the other day. Figured nobody’d ever given you the rule. Hard to figure things out if nobody tells you the rules. Claudia could help you better than I could. She was an actress for a while and she knows all the tricks.” He yawned. “She could make Brunelli sound like a bargee, or a bargee sound like”—yawn—”Brunelli.” His lids sagged and he battled to stay awake.
“Ain’t nobody put it quite like that before,” she said thoughtfully. “Huh. Damn, this is a bad ‘un. Looks like it hurts like hell. What’d you do here, ram your hand down on the point?”