The Wind Dancer

One

March 3, 1503
Florence, Italy

Stop, thief! Stop her! I've been robbed!"

Sanchia tore across the Mercato Vecchio, raced past the church and on down the street, jumping over an emaciated brown-and-white mongrel that devoured garbage scattered over the flagstones. She ducked under the outstretched arm of a leather-aproned cobbler, but his large hand caught the coarse woolen shawl covering her head. She jerked it from his grasp and kept running.

The merchant chasing her was plump, but still he was closing the distance between them, and Sanchia's heart slammed against her ribcage in a delirium of panic.

She was going to be caught.

Her hands would be chopped off at the wrists.

She would be thrown in the Stinche to be eaten by the rats.

Hot, agonizing pain shot through her left side. A stitch. She had to keep running.

What would Piero do? she wondered wildly. The others were older; they would find a way to survive. But Piero was only six. So many things could happen to so young a child. . . .

"Grab her, you fools. The slut stole my purse!"

Dio, Sanchia thought, he sounded close. How could he run so fast with all those rolls of fat hanging around his middle? She dodged around a wheelbarrow filled with fish, turned the corner of the Canto di Vacchereccia, then bolted down an alley yawning between a goldsmith's shop and an apothecary.

Darkness. Twilight lay over the city but full darkness reined in the alley.

Bright eyes glittered in the deep shadows at the base of the small buildings.

Rats. Dozens of them!

She stopped short, involuntarily recoiling.

The stones beneath the thin soles of her shoes were greasy from the garbage thrown out there by shopkeepers. She need have no fear of the rats, though, while they were feasting on the garbage.

The smell of rotting food in the closeness of the alley was overpowering. She swallowed, trying to fight down the nausea caused as much from terror as the stench.

"Which way did she go?"

The merchant's voice was wheezing and sounded a little farther away. Had she lost him when she darted into the alley? She shrank back into the densely clotted shadows of the goldsmith's shop, her palms pressed flat against the stone wall. Her breath was coming in harsh, painful gasps. Could he hear her? She tried to hold her breath, but there was no breath to hold. Cristo, what if he had heard her?

The cold, wet slime-covered wall chilled her back as it penetrated the wool of her gown. Her muscles felt leaden, the blood frozen in her veins. She was suddenly acutely conscious of the sharp, rough texture of the stone wall against her palms, but the sensation was almost pleasurable. Touch. What would she do without her hands? How could she live? How would all of them live?

"This way, you stupid blunderer."

She stiffened. The voice was not that of the fat merchant but one with which she was bitterly familiar. Her heart gave a wild leap of hope. The alley door of the apothecary shop had opened, and even in the darkness she recognized Caprino's slight, foppishly dressed silhouette.

She darted the few yards separating them and almost fell through the doorway into the shop. Her gaze flew to the front of the store, but the apprentice behind the small counter was scrupulously avoiding looking in her direction.

"He's safe," Caprino said. "He does work for me."

Poison, Sanchia thought with a shiver, or perhaps the strange white powders Caprino gave his whores.

Caprino slammed the door and held out his hand. "The purse."

She fumbled beneath her shawl for the soft leather pouch and then dropped it into his palm. She leaned back against the door, her knees shaking so badly she could barely stand upright.

"You were clumsy," Caprino said harshly. "I should have let that fat fool catch you. Next time I will."

She had to wait until she could speak without panting. "There won't be a next time. I'm never going to do it again."

"You will," Caprino said coolly. "You're frightened now, but it will pass. You'll never forget the fear and remember only the money that buys bread. You're not usually this clumsy. You may not come this close to being caught for the next ten lifts."

"I'll find another way." Sanchia's hands clenched at her sides. "There has to be another way."

"You didn't think so when you came to me." Caprino opened the door. "I have no more time for you. I have important business at Giulia's. Stay here for another few minutes before you go back to Giovanni's." The door swung shut behind him.

He hadn't given Sanchia her share of the purse, she realized dully. Trust Caprino to try to steal even the smallest purse, if given the opportunity. She would have to seek him out tomorrow and demand her portion. She had mouths to feed and Caprino was right about hunger being a sharp dagger that might goad even a saint into thieving.

But was hunger worth the risk of having her hands chopped off?

Fresh panic clutched at her as a chilling memory returned. Two months before she had seen a thief thrown out of Stinche Prison into the streets, his arms ending in bleeding stumps. Since then the fear of that punishment had lived with her during the day and invaded her dreams at night, She had tried and tried to think of another way to earn money to feed them, all the while fearing her frantic scheming would come to nought. There was no other way.

As there would be no other way the next time or the time after that. She would have to steal again just as Caprino had predicted. But he was wrong about the terror holding her in helpless thrall; it wasn't a thing of the moment.

She knew the fear would never go away again.



"Good evening, noble messeres, I have the honor to present to you my greetings. I am Guido Caprino." Caprino stood in the doorway and smiled ingratiatingly at the two men sitting at the polished table across the chamber. "The enchanting Madonna Giulia assured me I could be of some slight service to you."

He carefully kept a bland expression on his face as he appraised the two men. The older had to be Lorenzo Vasaro, he decided. His high cheekbones and deepset eyes matched the description Giulia had given him of the man--and besides, Caprino's own instincts responded to the shadowy aura of menace surrounding him. The man was lean, faultlessly elegant in his fashionably slashed black doublet, and clearly more dangerous than his companion. He gazed at the other man and felt a ripple of distaste. He was so male. Lionello Andreas might stand well over six feet, Caprino surmised, and he was too big-boned to lay claim to elegance no matter how richly he was garbed. Now, dressed only in gray hose and a loose white shirt, he appeared to be exactly what Caprino had expected: a barbarian warrior with more brawn than brains, he was not wearing a weapon, not even a dagger. Andreas might be the lord of Mandara, but Caprino would wager it was Vasaro who was the shrewd power behind the scenes there.

"Come in, Messer Caprino." Andreas picked up the silver goblet on the table in front of him and waved it at a cushioned chair beside the window before raising it to his lips. "Be seated."

The arrogant bastard hadn't bothered to stand up to greet him properly, Caprino thought as he smiled politely and crossed the room to take the seat indicated. No doubt Andreas did not think him worthy of respect. He would soon learn differently.

Lorenzo Vasaro rose and moved with silent grace to lean against the wall to the left of the window. He folded his arms across his chest and gazed blandly at Caprino.

A good move. Caprino's respect for Vasaro rose even higher. His action had placed Caprino between Vasaro and Andreas. Caprino was tempted to address Vasaro as the worthier of the two but turned instead to Andreas. "I am always overjoyed to accommodate any friends of Madonna Giulia. What is your pleasure?"

"I need a thief." Andreas leaned back in his chair and studied Caprino with narrowed eyes.

Caprino met his eyes and continued to smile politely. "It will be my pleasure to provide you with the finest thief in all of Florence, Your Magnificence. Only a thief, or must he possess other talents? An assassin, perhaps? I have a few associates who have talents in that direction, but no one with the extraordinary skills of Messer Vasaro."

Andreas stiffened. "You know of Vasaro?"

"How could I not?" Caprino remained sitting forward in his chair, one graceful hand resting with seeming casualness on the jeweled hilt of his dagger. "He shines in the firmament like a bright star, dazzling all who see him. Is it any wonder I should recognize him?"

"Not at all." Andreas cast an amused glance at Vasaro, who was still gazing at Caprino with no expression. "Do you hear that, Lorenzo? A star, by all that's holy. Aren't you going to thank the kind gentleman?"

Lorenzo inclined his head in acknowledgment.