“Oh no, boy—” Aldanto got a real, unfeigned smile on his face. “No, you won’t have to go hunting up another job; you’re going to have enough to worry about, come summer. I had a word with Milady Dorma this afternoon—”
Marco blushed very hotly, knowing quite well that the “word” was likely to have been pillow talk.
“—and it seems she’s talked her formidable older brother into giving you full Dorma sponsorship into the Accademia. Think you can handle that assignment, Milord Almost-A-Doctor Valdosta?”
Marco’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Aldanto like a brain-sick fool. Never, never in all his wildest dreams, had he thought for a moment that Angelina Dorma would follow through on her half-promise once he’d revealed how he’d deceived her with his poetry, poems she’d thought came from Caesare Aldanto.
“Now I want you to listen to me, Marco Valdosta,” Aldanto continued, staring so hard into Marco’s eyes that it felt like he was trying to inscribe his words directly onto Marco’s brain. “This is good sense, good advice I’m giving you. Put your dreams and idealism in your pocket for a minute and listen to me just as carefully as you can.”
“Yes,” Marco said, dazed.
“Dorma,” Caesare said with force, “is going to expect you to become their House Physician; that’s the price you will personally be paying for their gift. You’re going to become fairly well-off; you’ll have to be, you’ll be an associate of the Family. Now I know you want to help out Maria’s friends; that’s very nice, it’s very admirable—but you aren’t going to be able to help the poor by being poor yourself. Be smart; take what comes your way and use it. Once in the Family you will be in a position to get that medical help to the canalers. Dorma seems to have a certain sense of noble responsibility.” His tone was wry; cynical. “You can play on that if you play their game by their rules. And that’s the way to get what you want in this world. So don’t blow the chance you’ve been given; it’s been my experience that you don’t often get more than one.”
Marco got his jaw back in place, swallowed, and nodded. “You’re right, Caesare, I know you’re right. The world’s like that. And you’ve been—real good to me and Benito. Better than you had any reason to, and I can’t say as I’ve done much to deserve it. I just wish—” He swallowed again. “—I just wish I could do something to give you a shot at what you’ve always wanted. You wouldn’t screw it up.”
Aldanto turned his eyes on him. Pulled a wry face and shook his head.
That strange look lasted only a second—then Aldanto was back to his old self.
“One more thing,” he continued, pulling his interrupted dinner back towards him, and toying with the bread. “You’ve been granted two ways to prove you’ve learned your lessons and to pay me back for the trouble you caused. One—to find out what’s going on at Ventuccio. Two—to become my channel into Dorma and the Accademia, to be my eyes and ears and keep me informed. You know what kind of information I’m likely to find interesting. So—”
“Don’t blow it,” Marco completed for him, still a little bemused by the turn in his fortunes.
Caesare actually chuckled. “Right,” he said, resuming his meal.
“Caesare—would it be all right if I wrote to my grandfather and told him about going to the Accademia, do you think?” Marco asked hesitantly, as he shoved his chair away from the table and prepared to leave.
Aldanto considered the possible ramifications for a moment; Marco could almost see the thoughts behind the eyes. “I can’t see where it could do any harm,” he finally replied. “It might ease his mind about you. Go ahead.”
Marco hesitated at the doorway. “Thank you,” he said shyly, feeling that he was likely to be glowing with gratitude and happiness.
“For what?” Caesare asked, weary, but amused. “Oh, go on, Marco. If you’re not hungry, go and read, or to bed. Get out of here—you keep reminding me of how old and corrupt I am.”