Irenicon

by Aidan Harte

  He landed by the tower’s Madonna. There was a lot of smoke, but the fire had been contained.

  Fabbro was surveying the damage with his wife. He greeted him casually. “Not as quick as the old days, Doc.”

  The Doctor caught his breath. “Your family?”

  Fabbro looked skeptical at the Doctor’s concern, but Donna Bombelli said quickly, “All safe. Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Morello,” he grunted.

  “After Vanzetti’s was hit, I figured we’d be next. We were ready.”

  “You could have sent for me.”

  “I have flags of my own now,” Fabbro said proudly.

  One of his older sons, Salvatore, came back; the Doctor recognized the bandieratoro from the bridge.

  “Got one, Pop,” he said.

  The Doctor looked around. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Small People standing up for themselves? Get used to it.”

  “If Morello wanted to burn you out, he would have. He has plenty of experience, believe me. He knows you’ve hired flags too. He knew you’d expect this after he trashed Vanzetti’s.”

  Fabbro was worried now. “You think it’s a warning?”

  The Doctor shook his head. “Vanzetti’s was the warning. This is a distraction.”

  “From what?”

  But the Doctor was already scrambling up the walls. Realizing the answer, Fabbro glanced up at the icon and prayed that the Doc would be as quick as in the old days, for Giovanni’s sake.

  The wind was dying down, and a faint rose blush on the clouds heralded approaching dawn. Lucia walked out into the garden, clasping her hands tightly to prevent them from shaking.

  “Madonna,” she prayed, “give me grace. I would have made an obedient handmaid. I do not question Your will, I simply ask that You give us both the strength to bear what we must bear.” She entered the Baptistery and blessed herself in the font. The water was ice-cold, but her hand no longer trembled. Grace.

  “There is no need to hide,” she said quietly. “I know you are here.”

  From the shadows the Morello bandieratori emerged. In the half-light, their flags were glistening sheets of burning gold.

  “The door was open, so we took the liberty,” said Gaetano. “Stand aside and you can go free.”

  “I am free. Here is where I am meant to be. So come take him, if you can.”

  Giovanni awoke gasping for air, with a memory that didn’t make sense. He remembered the Wave that struck Rasenna. It was a dream where past and present merged, for he was on the new bridge, not in the old town center, as the earth trembled and a shadow fell over Rasenna. The glass was broken. The water was spilled on the ground: obviously, making it float had been part of the dream.

  Dawn was breaking as he stepped into the garden. He stopped to look at the sun and stretched and yawned. Strange, he thought; the pigeons were usually so noisy in the mornings. He entered the Baptistery.

  There was blood everywhere. Broken bodies were strewn around the floor, heads smashed open, torsos impaled on flagpoles, and legs sticking out of the baptismal font.

  “Lucia!” He pulled her broken body out of the water.

  “If it’s any consolation,” Gaetano slurred through a swollen lip, “she sold her life dearly. You really have something that turns girls’ heads.”

  He pushed Giovanni over and knelt on top of him, pinning his arms and holding a knife in front of his face.

  “I’ll tell you what else you’re good at: failing. You could have saved my brother in Concord, but you didn’t. You could have saved Sofia, but you didn’t. And you could have saved that novice if you’d stayed dead, but you didn’t. So let’s try it again, one last time. Where should I start, Captain? Your ears? I’m short one, see? Your hand, for my brother? Your neck, for my father? Or perhaps that Concordian nose, for sticking it where it’s not wanted. Will they still adore youUH!”

  A smear of black and white. A foot smashed into Gaetano’s jaw. The knife went spinning.

  Gaetano shambled after Isabella, but the young novice avoided him easily. “Come here, amore mio,” he said drunkenly. “Look how I baptized your friend—you can be reborn too.”

  Giovanni grabbed his leg and shouted, “Run!”

  Gaetano kicked Giovanni’s hand away and stomped on his chest, then turned just as Isabella ran at him; she skidded between his legs, then spun on the ground, giving a sharp kick to the back of the knee. As he fell, he lunged and grabbed the hem of her habit.

  “Little pest! You should have died with your misbegotten family,” said Gaetano, pulling her toward him.

  “You too, Tano.” The Doctor held a knife to his throat and with a steady pressure brought him to his feet. Isabella pulled her habit free and stood behind Giovanni.

  “Shall I do him right now, Podesta? He’s earned it.”

  Giovanni looked down at Isabella. She shook her head gravely. “Thou shall not kill.”

  “Doctor,” he said, “take him to the bridge.”

  The crowd, summoned by the chiming bells, formed a circle and pushed the prisoner into the center of the bridge. Death hung in the air, as eager to fall as a sharpened ax.

  “Hang him, Podesta!”

  The violence of Rasenna was palpable, as material as the towers and the river, and Giovanni felt as powerless to stop it as he would be to stop a second Wave. The beginning and end of Rasenna’s law was the right to revenge, yet somehow a little girl had found the strength to push back at it. And somehow Lucia had seen her death coming and gone to meet it unafraid. To be podesta he would have to find that same strength . . .

  Lucia knew his name and still said he must be podesta. The Reverend Mother must have known his name too. Did they really see his crimes, or were they obscured by his grandfather’s shadow?

  Leaving his place by the Doctor’s side, Mule went to the balustrade and turned over the burned corpse. He pushed Secondo’s body into the river, spitting a hopeless curse along with his verdict—“Traitor!”—then turned back, both eyes red now and streaming tears.

  And Giovanni knew the moment he heard the lonely splash why it had to end.

  “Rasenneisi,” he shouted, “if I be your podesta, will you accept my judgment?”

  “Yes!” they roared.

  “This man came to assassinate me. He killed my friend. Shall we hang him?”

  The mob howled for blood, louder than before.

  “And what if, tomorrow, this man comes for me?” Giovanni pointed at the Doctor. “Do I hang him too?”

  His finger moved to Fabbro. “Or this man? Or you, Pedro? Or you? As long as Rasenneisi follow separate banners, any of you may one day be strong enough to be the law. If the Contessa was here, things would be simpler.”

  “She will return,” said the Doctor.

  “Perhaps, but to what? If we don’t change this, she’ll have nothing to return to. As long as Rasenneisi follow separate banners, strength is the only law that matters, and I cannot be your podesta. Twenty years ago a Concordian army occupied Rasenna after the Wave struck. They pillaged nothing but the Scaligeri banner and by that one act made a strong town weak by setting it against itself. But by Rasenneisi law, because they were strong, they were right to do it. So hang Morello—but not because he’s a schismatic; hang him because he’s in our power and we are strong. Why deliberate? This is Rasenna. We need no other reason.”

  He grabbed Gaetano and pushed him toward the gap.

  “Who will give me rope? I cannot be your podesta, so let me be your hangman!”

  The crowd was silent. The Doctor cleared his throat. “What would you have us do?”

  “Throw down your banners! Throw down your banners or give me rope!”

  The sun was up now, and the wide river beneath was as beautiful as gold. It felt as if they were awakening, all together, from a long, fevered sleep. The Doctor dropped his flag. After a moment, Fabbro dropped his. His sons and men followed. Woolsmen dropped their Guild colors.

  Giovann
i removed Gaetano’s gag.

  “Lord Morello, will you throw down your banner?”

  Gaetano ignored him and unsteadily walked over to the Doctor. Glaring at his enemy, he spit on the Bardini flag. Fabbro quickly put a restraining hand on the Doctor.

  “I’ll be hanged first,” Gaetano said, “and the last true Rasenneisi will curse you all for traitors with his dying breath. Traitors and fools. Why are you listening to this Concordian’s lies? He tricked you before, remember? He said you were building a bridge. It was a scaffold for your paesani!”

  “So be it,” said Giovanni. “My first act as podesta is to banish you for life.”

  “You don’t have that authority. I exile myself.”

  When Gaetano was returned his banner, he defiantly proclaimed, “One day soon this flag will return, and with it the honor today lost.”

  The crowd watched the Morello heir ride from Rasenna with the awe reserved for miracles, then turned to Giovanni with the same expression.

  “My second act as podesta is to propose this: we have expelled faction from within, and we will do so in the future. Any man who usurps the Signoria will be banished. From without, the threat comes from Concord. We lost our last battle. To be ready for the one to come, we need warriors, an army of northsiders and southsiders, and weapons and walls, and wealth to pay for them. Doctor Bardini, will you train our army?”

  “I will, Podesta.”

  “War’s a creature that eats from both ends, and a growing prosperity affords greater protection than any wall. With better machines and faster ships we can compete with cities like Ariminum and, in time, Concord. Signore Bombelli, will you counsel us?”

  “I will, Podesta.”

  “Neither walls nor wealth will stop Concord’s engineers. Nothing can cancel that power but the same power. I therefore propose that Rasenna form an Engineers’ Guild of its own.”

  A sudden disquiet went through the crowd. The wrinkled brows of older citizens were troubled with a dark memory.

  Giovanni paused for protest that never came.

  “Hear hear,” said the Doctor a little too loudly.

  “Signore Vanzetti, will you help me form it?”

  “I will, Podesta,” Pedro said quietly.

  And they were a mob no longer but citizens, united by hope and a question.

  Fabbro voiced it: “Can we win?”

  “United, we can do anything.”

  “Then,” said Fabbro, with a wink to the Doctor, “who shall divide us?”

  He led the cheer. “Forza Rasenna!”

  CHAPTER 54

  “It’s unnecessary, First Apprentice.”

  Snow drifted down through the charred skeleton of the triple dome. The winds that assaulted the black mountain now roamed the ruins of the Molè’s great hall. The cold air and darkness leached every color to gray except the First Apprentice’s red gown. His face was as tragic as ever as he lovingly caressed the individual letters spelling resurgo at the base of the colossus. The angel had come through the fire intact, though the gilt decorating its breastplate and sword had been scorched away. All was changed.

  “Bernoulli’s heir must be true to his legacy.”

  “Oh, you are,” said the Second Apprentice with a bitterness that belied his youthful face. He was breaking off shards of glass from the shattered column and dropping them into the empty darkness of the pit. “He was delusional toward the end too.”

  “Are not the signs he left us borne out?” said the man in red with passion. “He told us that after his blood betrayed him, one would be born to overturn the power of this world. Our power.”

  “His blood already betrayed him—his son—and yet we remain. You look for signs where you should seek facts. Yes, you should have killed her; just accept that you made a mistake and move on,” he said with empathy. “You’re insecure because the generation of Forty-seven wanted a Bernoulli instead of you; there is nothing you can do to change that. You’ll always be judged against him.”

  There was a faint krinch of crushed glass. The First Apprentice spun around and knocked the shard out of the young man’s hand with a chop, then kicked him in the chest.

  “Uuggh!” the Second Apprentice gasped. He staggered toward the shattered column and would have tumbled into the pit had not the First Apprentice grabbed his collar.

  “And you would love to wear the red, boy, so you must just accept that you will have to wait your turn.”

  He was defiant. “We have enough problems in Europa without wasting more time on foolishness.”

  “Granted, the Captain was a weak vessel without talent, but don’t you find it odd that Bernoulli’s grandson turned against us there, of all places? You were right. I should have killed her while I had the chance.”

  “Our scouts say they went southeast. She could be in Oltremare for all we know.”

  “She’s a Scaligeri. She’ll return to Rasenna. We must finish her, and it, for good.”

  “But we’ve already set the target.”

  “There are other ways to deal with Ariminum. Are you blind? Something happened in Rasenna to turn Bernoulli’s own flesh against him—what other power could it be?”

  “Logic worthy of a Cardinal! We’re Philosophers. How do you know these are not just coincidences?”

  “Faith.” He smiled. “You’ll need to acquire some if you’re ever going to wear the red. Until then, your agreement will suffice. Do I have it?” He let the Apprentice’s collar slip a little in his grasp. A cold charnel wind came up from the darkness.

  The man in red showed his teeth. “Feel that, boy? Be assured that it feels you, and it smells your fear.”

  The Second Apprentice was pale but struggling to keep his composure. “I’m not going to bow to superstition, but there are perfectly valid strategic reasons to target Rasenna. It’s proved itself incapable of obedience once too often. We can’t let that stand.”

  “Good enough,” said the man in red with a laugh that was soft and without music as he pulled the Second Apprentice up. He walked to what was left of the doorway and looked beyond the snow falling on the dark white city.

  “Run to the world’s edge, Contessa. We’ll catch you.”

  CHAPTER 55

  She would never return to Rasenna, but it was instinctive to compare its rolling hills with the flat fields of the Ariminumese contato. The calm sea was as flat as the land, but she could sense its power; the salt-sharp coastal air was edged with it. The last time she had seen it, she had been peering through a cage. Now, looking at its world-spanning expanse without constraints, she swore that she’d never return to confinement, whether it was a cell’s walls or Rasenna’s towers. This was freedom—from strictures, from the burden of a name—and she would embrace it. She must.

  Levi studied the landscape for other reasons. Although they had crossed some land scarred by troop tracks, there was no evidence of outright pillaging.

  “This field is newly sowed,” said Levi.

  “So?”

  “Madonna, Rasenneisi are a slow breed. So the farmer expects to be around for the harvest. So the Company isn’t besieging Ariminum, it’s negotiating a Contract.”

  “The city is buying an army?”

  “The Hawk’s Company is not for sale,” Levi said proudly, and then coughed. “Besides, it’s a renting culture.”

  They rode until they spied the camp in a valley a few miles from the city walls. Even at a distance, Ariminum’s wealth was obvious. An extensive port dominated one half of the city, and the inland half had burst its limits, with new towers being built outside the walls, spurning their shelter.

  “Didn’t we promise the Virgin we’d live better lives if she helped us escape?”

  “Being a condottiere is the best life there is. Oh! It’ll be good to see some friendly faces again,” said Levi happily. “Hey, watch out!”

  An arrow landed a braccia away. The horse bucked, but Levi got it under control.

  “Dismount, Sofia. Make it slow.”<
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  “Your friends don’t seem too friendly.”

  Five heavily armored soldiers rode toward them. Another arrow landed beside the first.

  Sofia reached for her dagger.

  “Don’t . . .” said Levi.

  “Are we just going to let them ride us down? I’ll be damned if—”

  “Tranquillo! It’s too late to run. They fired to show us we’re covered.”

  The leader of the advance party rode forward and then stopped and lifted his visor. “Porca Madonna!” he said reverently. “It can’t be!” He pulled off his helmet altogether and laughed heartily.

  Sofia recognized his monkish hair and stiffened.

  “Scarpelli? I thought you were dead!” said Levi.

  “We thought you were dead!” exclaimed the broad-shouldered condottiere, leaping down. “Come here, you slippery dog!”

  They embraced like brothers. “Where have you been lying low? Salerno? Veii?”

  Levi cocked his head and said casually, “Concord.”

  “Tell me another one, Levi. They’re not in the hostage game anymore.”

  “I didn’t buy my way out. I broke out!”

  “You escaped from the belly of the Beast?” Scarpelli failed to conceal his skepticism. “That’s a first! And this pretty young lady?”

  “You remember Sofia?”

  “No, I don’t believe I’ve had the—Hold on, the Rasenneisi?”

  Scarpelli took a step back with a hand protectively to his neck and laughed nervously. “How could I forget Doctor Bardini’s prize student? You’re quite a fighter, Signorina.”

  “Thought we could use another one, so I took her along,” Levi said expansively.

  “Well, welcome both. It’s damn good timing—we’re about to begin negotiations with Ariminum.”

  “I figured. For a campaign?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it in camp. Let’s just say it’s been an uneasy courtship so far.”

  Levi and Sofia followed Scarpelli down into the valley. When he was out of earshot, Sofia slapped Levi on the head.