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The Shadow of the Lion by Mercedes Lackey & Eric Flint & Dave Freer. Chapter 87, 88, 89, 90

The cargo wouldn’t get into the Casa proper, but there was an enclosed loading bay into the stores and slave quarters. He, Maria, and Maria’s cousin Luigi poled the barge, little more than a floating flat-bed full of barrels, around to the front of the Casa. Benito went and pounded on the door.

“Who is it at this time of night?” demanded someone, far too quickly.

“Wine delivery. From Giaccomo’s!” yelled Benito.

“Go away!” bellowed someone within. “We didn’t order any wine.”

Benito yelled back. “Party by the name of Aleri came in and paid for it, special delivery, tonight.”

There was the sound of talk, as if a small argument were going on. But Benito was relaxed, confident. No one behind that door was going to turn down a cargo of wine. And the deliverers were not exactly a threat. A ragged fifteen-year-old boy, a seventeen-year-old girl, and an older bargee. Odds on, the “extra guests” had already worked their way through most of the Dandelos’ wine stock—and with the war on, heaven knew when they’d see more.

The door cracked open. An eye appeared, examining Benito for a brief moment and then, for a much longer moment, the cargo on the barge. “All of that for us?”

Benito laughed. “You wish! Five casks. The rest are for Barducci’s. The boss won’t let us do ‘one person’ deliveries. And Barducci’s is running dry. Gotta have it there inside the hour. Party there tonight, with everyone going off to war. You goin’ to accept this load or do we take it away again?”

That dire threat brought the final decision. “Bring it round the side. Some of the men will come down and open up.”

“Send someone to offload, too.”

“Cheeky little sod. Does your master know you’re so lazy?”

“Ah, come on—”

“On your way! The men will see you there.”

On his way down the side canal, Benito whistled loudly, tunelessly. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen a glimpse of Valentina on the opposite roof, grappling hook ready. She wasn’t going to swing across, herself. But the small barrel of black powder was going to pendulum across. Valentina reckoned it’d smash through those shutters like a knife through silk. It didn’t matter whether it did or not, just so long as there was fire and trouble in the main residential part of the Casa. Still, Benito wished he could watch. He also hoped like hell Valentina didn’t stay to watch.

The Dandelo men had already gotten the rusty portcullis they used to enclose their dock half up by the time they got there. When the barge was in, as Benito expected, the portcullis dropped again. That made good security sense.

What happened next was not, however, what Benito had expected at all. There were seven Dandelo men there. As soon as the portcullis dropped, the leader smiled at the barge crew and rubbed his hands. “Well! We got thirty barrels and three slaves for the price of five barrels. And it’s on Aleri’s coin! Ha. Take ’em, boys.”

“Hey!” protested Benito. “You can’t do that! Giaccomo knows where we are. And he’ll send for the Schiopettieri. And you don’t mess with Giaccomo’s cargos!”

The slaver laughed. “By the time he knows you’ve gone, it’ll be too late. Hear that Tocsin? You got in just before the bell, boy. Now we’re shut up siege-tight until Sforza gets here. So come quietly or you’re going to get hurt.”

Benito was paralyzed for an instant, not knowing what to do. Then—dead on time—an explosion rocked the walls.

Bits of mortar fell. It was like a slap around the ears. Benito realized he still had a lot to learn about black powder. It certainly stunned the Dandelos, but Maria and her cousin Luigi were tipping barrels as if it hadn’t happened. Arsenalotti were scrambling out from under, weapons in hand. Benito hadn’t waited, either. He’d gotten between the doorway and the Dandelos. And the first fool didn’t even try to avoid the rapier he’d snatched up from between the barrels.

He hadn’t been prepared for the horror on that face. But he didn’t have time to think. The blade was stuck right through the slaver, so he pulled his knife out. The next few moments gave him several reasons to write off part of Caesare Aldanto’s crimes. Only the training he’d had at Aldanto’s hand kept him alive.

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Categories: Eric, Flint
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