by Deva Fagan
In any case, I had already determined to stay and get my father’s gold chain back from that pig Ubaldo. Had Allessandra known that? Was that why she hadn’t asked me to come? I remembered her making me promise to leave. She must have been planning her own escape even then. I clutched the bit of sparkling cloth more tightly.
I heard voices approaching behind us on the track, from the direction of town. I could tell without looking that one of them was Ubaldo. “She couldn’t have gotten that far, curse it, weak bit of a thing that she is. How dare she think she can run off on me!”
They rounded the curve of the track, just as I tucked the scrap of blue cloth away in my pouch. I might be angry with Allessandra for leaving us, but I would not betray her to Ubaldo.
“She hasn’t come this way,” I called out as soon as he saw us. Better to deliver the bad news from a distance.
Ubaldo roared, but fortunately for me Cristo was the closest at hand. Ubaldo collared the fellow, nearly lifting him up off the ground. “You, this is your fault! You slug, you worm, you lazy piece of dung. You should have caught her before she set foot outside the camp!”
Cristo choked something out that sounded like a protest. His face turned faintly purple. Ubaldo tossed the man aside—into a stand of brambles, judging by Cristo’s yelps—and turned on Father and me.
“You!” he said, his dark eyes bulging under his red bald head, fierce teeth gleaming white in the darkness of his beard. “You helped her. The two of you were always whispering together behind my back!”
“No, sir, I had nothing to do with it,” I said. “Why should I want her to leave? Now I have no work. I can’t play the ghost if there’s no medium.”
Ubaldo fell silent, but those great black eyes were burning into me. “No medium, eh?” he said at last. “No more Allessandra the All-Knowing?” He shook his head. “Not if all the Saints so willed it. The fortune-telling brings in half our coin. We will have fortunes to sell, by the seven Hells. You will do it.” He jabbed one gold-ringed finger at me.
“I will?”
“She’s trained you up well enough, or so she told me. It best be true, else I’ll think all this soup and porridge I’ve been so generous as to share has been going to waste. Allessandra taught you her craft. Now you’ll put it to use.”
“Me, tell the fortunes? But—”
Ubaldo flexed his fingers. I fell silent.
“Nata, dear Nata, do you truly have the gift?” Father exclaimed. “Your mother always said you had a touch of magic, you know.”
Ubaldo chuckled. “Yes, shoemaker, your daughter will have magic aplenty, if she knows what’s good for both of you. Now get back there, girl. You’ll be performing this very noon. You too, old man, back to work!”
I clamped my mouth shut and tugged Father with me, past Ubaldo. Father was still chattering excitedly. “Such tales you told as a wee thing. And of course Saint Fortunata is the patron of sages and prophets. Ah, what joy it brings me to know that even if my magic is gone, you have found some of your own!”
I tried to shush him. “It’s no magic—it’s just what Allessandra taught me. Trickery, that’s all.” But he kept bubbling up like a forest spring. I had no time to argue further; I had to marshal my resources for what was to come. Despite myself, my head filled with images of glory, of the lines of petitioners come seeking the wisdom of Fortunata the All-Knowing. I saw myself standing before doges, queens, great lords and ladies, all begging me to reveal that greatest of mysteries, the truth they already knew.
Then I shivered, the bright dream crumpling under my fears. If I failed, Father and I might end up on the side of the road with nothing but our ragged clothes and broken dreams. Could I really do this? What if they laughed or, worse, discovered I was a fraud? Allessandra had indeed taught me much, but was it enough for me to take her place?
I certainly could not match her striking appearance. For one thing, I lacked a proper costume. Allessandra had taken most of her things, leaving only a ragged red-and-black robe that had lost most of its sequins. At least the headdress remained: a peaked hat crowned by a silver moon and stars, trailing a long black scarf that could be wrapped around my hair to disguise the mouse-brown color. It had an unfortunate tendency to slide sideways off my head, but by dint of several pins I managed to fix it in place. That left only my face, which looked childish and round in the midst of the severe black and red and silver of the costume. At least Allessandra had not taken her paints.
With my eyes ringed in kohl, skin paled with white powder, and lips reddened by paint, I looked like something inhuman. It would have to do. At least it was better than looking like the scared girl that I felt inside.
The first patron was an easy one, thank the Saints. A girl, wanting to know whether she should agree to her parents’ wishes and give herself at the cathedral to become a chaste cleric of the Saints. I could tell at once that she had some other wish.
“There is another path,” I said, pausing for her to fill in the details.
“Oh, please, tell me, is there a lad? A lad with sandy hair and blue eyes like cornflowers?”
“Yes, he stands beckoning to you, calling you. But you do not come, there is some obstacle. . . .” I knew there must be, else this girl would be wedded already. Clearly she loved the boy with the cornflower-blue eyes.
“Oh, it’s all Mama’s fault,” the girl complained. “Why can’t she see that a shepherd is good enough for me? I will be happy. I don’t need a rich house and a servant as she does. Better a cold house with my love than a cold heart in the richest cathedral.”
As usual, the girl had told her own fortune well enough—she just could not see it. But now it was for me to cast it back to her, with the proper trappings, so that she would believe the message of her own heart.
“I see a lad, a lad with blue eyes like cornflowers. He comes to your house, he kneels before your mother and asks for her blessing. I see you stepping forth from your house, arm in arm with the lad. You stand together under the crossed boughs, before the cleric in her white robes. And more, I see a house, a large flock of sheep and children running with the lambs, and a cozy fire burning in the hearth. You will grow old there together, and though the winds may whistle and bring chill, you have merriment and love in your hearts to warm you.”
The girl departed the wagon with a string of thanks, nearly stumbling over her own feet in her haste. “Oh, thank you, thank you! We’ll go to my mother at once. And if she won’t give her blessing, well then we’ll go to the cleric ourselves.”
I watched her go, feeling a brief twinge of guilt. Perhaps it was wrong to direct her toward a life that would certainly be harsher than the security of a cleric’s lot. But it was the path the girl herself wanted, and if nothing else, Allessandra had taught me that people will not accept a fortune they do not really want to come to pass. I sent up a short prayer to the Saints that they would watch over the girl and her shepherd. Maybe they would have the warm hearth and the children and the love I had foretold.
OVER TIME, I learned to clamp down on the twinges of guilt, push them back into the corners of my mind. A conscience was not particularly useful in my new trade. Father and I needed every penny I could squeeze out of this work, if we were to purchase a donkey and escape from Ubaldo. I managed to set aside a coin or two from every fee, and the occasional extra gratuity for a particularly well-received fortune. Slowly, slowly, my pouch grew heavier.
We traveled east, toward Sirenza. It was about two months after I had taken over as prophetess that we arrived at the village of Baltriporto, across the river from the city itself. We halted the wagons in a cobbled square bordered on three sides by shops. On the fourth side, a wide thoroughfare sloped down to the banks of the river Balta. It was a bustling place, full of sailors and merchants and travelers. Boats of all kinds crowded the waters, from huge barges to tiny coracles. I could see Sirenza out upon the water. The gilded dome of the great cathedral rose higher than any other building, its single spire pri
cking the clear blue sky. The city sat on a triangle of land in the mouth of the Balta, where it ran out into the wider waters of the sea, but canals and waterways cut through the city, leaving only fragments of dry land upon which stood those distant glittering edifices.
I had my reservations about approaching this close. The rumors said that Sirenza had fallen under the control of a ruthless mercenary captain who had taken the city from its rightful king. That sort of thing was common enough. The princes and doges might have gold aplenty, but it was the captains who had the strength of arms. It was an easy step from being hired to defend a city to taking it for oneself.
These rumors were particularly disturbing, however. The man who had taken Sirenza was called the Bloody Captain, for reasons I could only suppose. He had slain the leading members of any family in Sirenza that stood against him. The whole of the king’s line had been murdered, leaving no rightful heir to challenge him. Trade and business continued to flow into and out of Sirenza, but the captain’s army assessed steep taxes on merchandise. I caught some of this from the rumblings of the merchants as they passed toward the riverbank. But no one spoke above a grumble or whisper.
I knew why. I saw the string of six bodies hung over the wall when we entered Baltriporto, under placards naming them insurgents. Inwardly I cursed Ubaldo for bringing us into such a place.
“Ah,” Ubaldo said, rubbing his palms together as he grinned over the crowds, “a fine place. If we do well, we might even pay fare on a boat and try the city itself.”
Saints, I hoped not! It was bad enough to be here in Baltriporto. I saw armed men everywhere, lounging against storefronts, hunched over dice, flirting with blushing girls, watching the bustle of the market with distant, cold eyes. I watched as one soldier seized the mugs from the hands of two old men at the alehouse, then gulped down both drinks himself. He tossed the mugs aside carelessly. They cracked against the cobbled street.
I averted my gaze as the soldier glanced toward me. He leered but, thankfully, continued on into the alehouse. Saints keep me, I didn’t know if I could lie to such men. Men with swords, men who spilled blood for a living and, from the look of it, enjoyed their work. My throat tightened; my lips already felt too dry and stiff to form words.
I tried to steady my nerves by studying the other armed men, picking out the scars and stains and fabric weaves that could help me navigate these treacherous waters. I needed to do my job now; fear would only get in the way. Coso and Cristo had begun their performance, spinning three bottles through the air between them, along with two apples and a loaf of stale bread. The circle of onlookers grew. Ubaldo glowered at me. Quickly, I ducked into the blue wagon and threw on my fortune-telling costume.
I had already given a handful of fortunes and was in the midst of predicting a bright future for a proud father-to-be when I heard the disturbance outside. Well, it wasn’t exactly a disturbance. Rather, it was a sudden hush that raised prickles on the nape of my neck. The father-to-be chattered on blithely, telling me how strong the baby was, how it moved and kicked in his wife’s belly, and how that must be a sign that the child would have a great future. Sharp footfalls on the steps brought me to my feet, just as a figure threw open the curtains at the back of the wagon.
I felt as if I were falling into a cold, dank well. I knew that swaggering walk, though it had been more than a year since I had last seen it. Captain Niccolo of Valenzia. He stood for a moment framed in the brightness of the doorway, arms crossed, observing us. I suspected he was waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the wagon interior. When the father-to-be saw who had entered the wagon, he shrank back toward the small table on which sat my crystal gazing ball. I could see his lips forming words, but he gave only a weak whimper.
“You,” the captain ordered. “Leave. Now.”
The father-to-be stumbled out of the wagon, helped on his way by a brusque shove. Niccolo pulled out the stool. He tossed back his rich velvet cape with a flourish that served both to draw attention to that fine garment and to disentangle it from his long sword as he sat. “Now, then, I wish to have my fortune told,” he began. As his gaze turned fully upon me, he paused, eyes narrowing. “Well, well,” he said at last. “Dear little Fortunata, all grown up and lying for a living, are you? And to think you chided me as a thief and ne’er-do-well. So, we meet once more, by the grace of the Saints.”
“The Saints have nothing to do with it, if my prayers counted for anything,” I snapped.
“Tsk, tsk. You’d better watch your tongue in this strange land. You’re no longer in Valenzia, you know.”
“Nor are you,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s I who came to ask the questions. I’ll pay, no fear.” He flipped a single coin onto the table. It spun on its end once, then fell with a loud clink to glimmer gold upon the dark wood.
I glared at the gold coin. “I have no fortune for the likes of you.”
“Come, now, don’t tell me you couldn’t use that coin. Put some meat on those scrawny bones you’ve got hidden under that hideous costume. How long has it been since you had something pretty to wear, or a bath, or even a decent meal?”
“I don’t want your charity. And since you think my fortunes are lies anyway, there’s no point to my reading yours.”
“Ah, but you’re wrong there. I have a great interest in hearing you prophesy for me. Tell me my fortune. Tell me what you see, and if you are correct, you may keep that coin.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he moved so quickly the words turned into a breathless gasp. He had the sword out and the tip resting gently against the skin of my throat. “But if you will not, or if the fortune is false, then I will tell you your own future. And it will be short and painful.”
I leaned back, but the tip of his sword followed after me. All right, then. I would do it. I was in a fey mood by then, with a sword at my neck and this man I hated standing before me. I looked Niccolo up and down, ignoring his arrogant smile. He was, if possible, dressed even more richly and ostentatiously than he had been in Valenzia. His doublet was black velvet, and the undershirt beneath was of red silk. They fitted him better than the garments he’d worn in Valenzia. His dark hair hung curling to his shoulders as before, but he now sported a short beard and mustache, which only partially concealed a new scar, perhaps but three months old, that slashed across his right cheek. I flicked my gaze over the rogue, finding the clues Allessandra had taught me to spy. I looked last at his hands. They were gloved. Was it my imagination, or had he flinched, just slightly, under my gaze? I remembered the rumors I had heard a year ago. Yes, I could read his past and present well enough.
“You are a man of great power and high ambition,” I said, “but cruel and merciless. You grew tired of being simply a hired sword for greater men and tried to step higher. But in Valenzia you failed, and you bear the mark of this failure there. Beneath that glove lies the mark of your true nature, the murderer.”
Niccolo’s eyes narrowed; for a brief moment, his nonchalance parted and I could see the cold brutality beneath. Then he shrugged, smirking, and nodded for me to continue.
“You turned your attention to a different city. Sirenza, the waterborne city. You came as Captain Niccolo, but you earned a different name. The Bloody Captain slew all opposition and took the city three months ago. Since then, you’ve acquired a new tailor, a cook from the south, and a mistress who favors the scent of gardenias. You fear someone is trying to poison you, and you are seeking the blessing of the Church to maintain your hold on Sirenza. You continue to slay those who stand against you or speak ill of your governance. As you will doubtless slay me, for speaking so to you. But you know very well that I despise you; there would be no point to dissembling now.”
He sheathed his sword and clapped his hands together, laughing outright. I took a long, deep breath to steady myself. I had been certain he was just playing with me and that he was going to kill me whatever I said. He still might, I reminded myself. But his che
eks were flushed, his hazel eyes bright, and he continued to laugh, waggling one gloved finger at me. “I hope that’s not the manner you affect during all readings. Hardly theatrical, my dear. But all very true, except for that last bit. I will not slay you.”
The captain rose and departed the wagon. I sat, taking great deep breaths to calm myself. I was dimly aware of Ubaldo’s voice close beside the wagon. “Yes, my lord, of course, yes, the finest in all the lands.” The stream of fawning affirmations went on. Niccolo’s light tenor did not carry so well, so I learned nothing more.
By the time I had divested myself of my costume and come outside, the crowds had dispersed. Coso and Cristo were entertaining a dozen or so, including my father. Of Ubaldo and Niccolo there was no sign. I went to Father.
“Where’s Ubaldo?” I asked.
“He went away with Captain Niccolo. Did you see, Nata? He was still wearing the boots I made him. Remember those? Such beauties, that fine red suede, and the carvings on the black leather. He always wanted the best, that one. He’s a powerful man now, you know. I hope he was pleased with his fortune.”
“He was.” Why he had been, I did not know. I was just glad that he was gone.
The Saints heeded my request, or perhaps I was lucky. Ubaldo returned a short time later, greatly agitated, but flushed with good humor. “Coso, Cristo, get the wagon packed. We leave tonight.”
“Tonight? After a single day?” Cristo asked.
“We’ve bigger meats to feast on,” Ubaldo said, grinning. “We leave for Doma this night.”
“Doma? Why Doma? Why now?” Coso asked. I was glad he had, for I was as puzzled as he, but less willing to risk Ubaldo’s anger. His moods were mercurial, and these sunny skies might hold hidden thunder.
“There’s work in Doma, a special opportunity. For all of us, but especially for you, girl.” He jerked his bearded chin at me. “And you’d best be grateful for it. You’ve been pulling in precious little coin. I should toss you and the old man on the side of the road, where I found you. But if you do well at this job, perhaps I’ll reconsider that.”
