Sophia smiled at him, shifting the wrinkles. And shook her head. “It’s time you went back, Chiano. But this is my place, now,” she said with finality.
Chapter 42
After he lowered his pack onto the cot which would henceforth serve him as a bed, Eneko Lopez heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he murmured, as his eyes made a quick survey of his new living quarters. The survey was very brief, for the simple reason that there was very little to survey in the first place. The room was tiny, as small as any cell he had inhabited in his years as a monk. Except for the cot and a small chest at the foot of it which would serve to store his few belongings, the only other item of furniture was a writing table in front of the room’s one small window and a chair. Other than that, the room was bare except for a crucifix hanging on the wall above the cot.
“I’ll miss the library,” he murmured. “But nothing else.”
His two companions smiled. Diego motioned with his head toward the open window. “The smell from the canals is bad at times, here in the Ghetto.”
“Not half as bad as the stench in Casa Brunelli,” growled Pierre. “What did you give as your reason for changing quarters?”
“I simply told Ricardo Brunelli that my work in the Ghetto had progressed to the point where I needed to live there. Which is true enough, as far as it goes.”
“You should have—”
“Oh, Pierre—do stop!” snapped Eneko. “We have enough problems on our hands without offending the Brunellis unnecessarily. Any more than I have already by spurning that infernal Lucrezia’s constant advances.”
Pierre, as usual, was stubborn. ” ‘Infernal’ is right,” he growled.
“Pierre . . . please. You admit yourself that you’ve never been able to detect any sense of a witch about her.”
“You’re making too much of that,” retorted Pierre. “My talent has definite limits, Eneko. What I said was that I could not detect any demonic possession in the woman. That’s what a ‘witch’ is, after all. That does not mean she can’t be as vile as any of Satan’s minions.”
“That the woman is evil I don’t doubt for an instant,” replied Eneko, shrugging. “But we have not a shred of evidence to think she is in any way connected to the events in Venice which brought us here. And, given the position of the Brunellis, I can see no logical reason why she would be.”
“You yourself have said ‘evil needs no reason,’ ” pointed out Pierre.
Eneko sighed. “Savoy mule! Let there be an end to it, Pierre, at least for now. We must concentrate on the matter at hand.”
“On that,” interjected Diego, “there is news. Perhaps, I should say.”
At Lopez’s cocked eyebrow, Diego elaborated. “I have discovered the identity of that boy you asked about. The local healer who also works for Caesare Aldanto. His name—so it is said, at least—is ‘Marco Felluci.’ And he doesn’t simply work for Aldanto, he lives with him. He and another boy named Benito. Along with Aldanto’s woman, a canaler by the name of Maria Garavelli.”
Lopez’s eyes widened a bit. “Are the two boys related? Brothers, perhaps?”
Diego shook his head. “Not according to the information I’ve been able to collect. The other’s last name is Oro. And I’ve seen him, once. He doesn’t resemble Marco in the least. The only similarity between the two boys is that, according to rumor, they are both orphans.”
Lopez studied him for a moment. “But . . . you are, I suspect, wondering the same thing that I am.”
Diego nodded. “It seems odd, yes. For Aldanto to take two boys under his wing . . . and he just spent a large sum rescuing the boy Marco.”
“From what?”
Pierre chuckled. “From an absurd romantic complication.” He proceeded to give Lopez a quick sketch of what he and Diego had learned from local canalers about what had quickly become a rather famous little episode.
Eneko smiled. “Love poems, eh?” Slowly, he sat down on the chair. “It is odd. Why should a mercenary like Aldanto go to such lengths to shelter two waifs? Two orphans—presumably penniless. One of whom, at least, does not seem to have the temperament one would expect from a protégé of Aldanto. Healing poor children—for no payment—love poems. Even leaving aside that angel face.”