In the water everything tumbled, buio and people together. In Tower Scaligeri, the old Count floats away from his desk; in the liquid space around him, the ink spreads and steals out of the window like a fragment of night escaping dawn. Above the sunken tower, a man comes down from a liquid sky. The buio rush for the invader, but he swims on toward them, his face becoming finally clear.
She tried warning Giovanni but found she had no voice to scream, no air to breathe. She was drowning.
The glass shattered on the floor. The old woman had dropped it.
“Hey, my water!” Sofia cried.
“
My
water! I told you it was your reward for contemplation, and instead you took a nap—so no water for you!” The nun sprang to her feet. “The Doctor thinks you’re guarding the bridge? Then go. There’s trouble.”
Sofia had to physically untie her legs. “How do you know?”
“You slept. I contemplated water.
Go!
”
The keystone was ready at last. The massive piece was bound with thick ropes and restrained by wooden stays as Pedro chiseled the date.
“Rings like a bell,” he commented, standing back to examine his work, his foot resting on the rope. Suddenly a heavy chain crashed against the stays. As it swung back, he ducked and shouted, “Shut it off!” at the crane operator.
“What? Speak up!” Hog shouted back.
The keystone hit the river with a splash heard by everyone on the site. Whipping after it, the rope tightened around Pedro’s leg.
Giovanni was conferring with the masons on the platform below the central arch. He turned in time to see Pedro flying past. He ripped an egg from the water and climbed the rope ladder.
Everyone was frozen, watching Vettori grappling with Hog in the crane’s cockpit. Giovanni pulled Vettori away.
“He’s a traitor!” Vettori cried.
“
Madonna
, forgive me,” Hog wailed.
“Hog, I know you didn’t mean to hurt Pedro.” Giovanni looped his safety harness around the crane. “Help me now.”
“What can I do?”
Giovanni unscrewed the buoyant half of the egg. “After I dive, count three, then release the chain as far as it’ll go. Then start retracting it, half speed. Understand?”
Hog nodded. “What if you can’t find him?”
“I’ll find him.”
When Sofia arrived, she saw her decina keeping out of the way. They were better at causing havoc than dealing with it. She pushed into the center of the crowd to see Vettori kneeling and staring with terrible intensity at the water.
“The Captain dived in,” said someone.
“Killed rescuing a corpse,” another tutted. “Stupid.”
Sofia felt a dark pit open at her feet. He couldn’t have—and yet she
knew
it was true; she’d already
seen
him diving in her dream in the Baptistery.
The rope shuddered. A hand broke the surface.
“Giovanni!” she cried.
“Vettori, he’s got him!” said Fabbro.
Giovanni said, “Take him first.”
The lifeless boy was lifted from hand to hand up to the light. Giovanni shouted, “He needs the Doctor!”
Sofia threw down her flag. “No time. He’s breathed water; lay him down.” She brought her hands together like a club on his chest, once, twice . . .
The crew waited, Hog weeping. Vettori prayed. Sofia listened and then thumped again, once—
—and Pedro convulsed in a coughing fit. Sofia helped him turn over and patted him on the back, helping him spit out the water.
“Stand back. Give him air!” someone shouted.
Vettori smacked Hog to the ground and stood over him, brandishing the chisel.
Fabbro restrained Vettori. “He was trying to hurt the bridge, not Pedro.”
“But why?” Giovanni demanded, climbing the ladder.
“He said he’d take my hands!” Hog was shattered, tears and drool mixing with blood pouring from his nose. “He showed me his stump and said he’d leave me with two. What could I do? Who’d feed my boys?”
“You’d kill my child to save yours?” Vettori raised the chisel.
“I swear, Vanzetti, on Herod’s Sword, I would never—” Hog caught sight of Pedro, white and trembling on the deck, and pulled his shirt open. “Oh, kill me now!”
“Fabbro, let Vettori go,” said Sofia. “This is Rasenna. It’s his right.”
Giovanni looked around and saw she was right. Every one of them knew how this would end.
“So do it, Vanzetti,” said Sophia. It’s exactly what they want.’
“Who?” sobbed Vettori.
“The Signoria. Don’t you know how scared they are of this? These men aren’t southsiders and northsiders anymore. They’re Rasenneisi.”
“What do you care? You’re Bardini.”
“My name is
Scaligeri
. I want a town worth inheriting. The Bardini and Morello feud is theirs. This bridge is yours. They can’t have it unless you give it to them.”
Giovanni said, “Make a choice.”
Hog flinched and closed his eyes. When he heard the chisel drop, he opened them to see Vettori cradling Pedro.
Giovanni looked for Sofia to thank her, but she had already gone to visit her cousins, and she had taken her flag.
Quintus’s sons ate in silence, disturbed only by Donna Morello’s snoring in her stew, which was always served lukewarm because of her impromptu siestas.
There was a clamor outside, and an unconscious guard came through the door, closely followed by Sofia, choke-holding another. She kicked the door shut and slammed the guard against it.
“You dirty son of a bitch.”
“Pay no heed, Mother. Cousin Scaligeri is upset,” said Valentino. “Correct me if I’m mistaken, but isn’t there a truce in effect?”
Sofia kicked his chair out. His chin slammed on the table, and he fell to the ground, moaning. “Mow! My tonugu! Gaetamo!”
Gaetano finished cutting his steak before looking up. “This should be entertaining.”
She stood over him. “Your ‘accident’ nearly killed Vanzetti’s boy.”
Valentino touched his bloodstained lip. “So?”
“A
child
! A southsider!”
Valentino remained impassive as he slowly reached for the nearest weapon to hand. “If he’s on the bridge, he’s one of yours.”
“The engineer almost died too! Do you even
care
about the consequences?”
“What shall I say, better luck next time?”
“There’s not going to be a next time,” she said, grabbing Valentino’s wrist and making him release the fork.
Gaetano’s knife flew by Sofia’s face, landing between the shrewd eyes of the Dragon in the family crest. “Sofia, I’d happily let you carve him up, but Father would be put out.”
“Relax, Tano. Me and Tino are just talking.”
She suddenly stuck the fork in his hand, pinning it to the crest.
“AhHHHH ahah oww!”
“Something to remember next time you feel like burning a tower.”
Gaetano had raised his flag. “Contessa, I warned you.”
“No,
I
warn
you
: keep this dog on a leash or I’ll put him down.”
“Sofia!” Gaetano called, but she was gone. He sat down again pensively.
“Oooohhhhohahaha.”
Valentino’s moan became a laugh. “You think she’ll pop around often once the bridge’s finished? I must say, her manners are rather—”
“Father obviously didn’t order Marcus killed. Did you?” Gaetano asked.
“No. Did you?”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“It’s the truth. Perhaps Mother found him in the wine cellar. Um, I seem to have run out of hands. Little help here?”
Gaetano went on eating.
“She accused me of tower burning,” Valentino said, “but I’ve never gone raiding in my life.” He smiled when Gaetano shot him an aggressive look.
“She doesn’t really
know
you, does she?”
“The Doctor hides Family business from her.”
“Silly of him. I daresay she’s almost as good a fighter as you.”
“Better,” Gaetano said with a small smile.
“You still
like
her, don’t you?” Valentino laughed. “You think she likes you? I see: forbidden fruit and all that.”
Gaetano took Valentino’s plate and tipped the contents onto his own. “You’re finished with this steak, right?”
Perhaps the rosy clouds behind Tower Bardini augured better weather to come. When the day’s work was finished and northsiders wished southsiders good evening, Giovanni knew that something had changed. Vettori had passed up his right to revenge, unthinkably, and that single act had bound the crew tighter than any symbol could.
The Contessa herself said it was
their
bridge, silencing the cynics who presumed her coronation would be simply an exchange of yokes. The notion of a Contessa who stood up for them was profoundly strange, profoundly inspiring.
He was watching the southsiders spilling into Piazza Luna when he saw her—coming from Palazzo Morello—flushed but happy.
He waited till she was in earshot. “Not a diplomatic mission, I presume.”
“No, but it made me feel better.”
“Thanks for speaking to Vettori,” he said.
“Doc won’t be happy. A southsider publicly killing another southsider? He would have loved that.”
“You said you only disagreed with his tactics.”
“
Madonna,
I did, didn’t I? I’ve been asking myself recently what kind of leader I’ll be.” She blushed slightly, laughing to cover her embarrassment. “Don’t get a big head, but it’s partially because of you.”
“Me!”
“They told you to build a bridge. No one told you to worry what we madmen do afterward. You worry anyway.”
“I have my reasons.”
He was uneasy, and she guessed where he was going. “Look—I know you’ve been posted to other towns. War is war.”
“Sofia, you said that certain people are born with a higher destiny. Do you still believe that?”
She shrugged. “It suited me once to think of Rasenna as my divine right. I’m Contessa, but maybe that’s just luck. Maybe nothing’s
meant
to be. The Sisterhood said that Rasenna would defeat Concord, just like the Prophets said a virgin’s son would save the world. Rasenna was flooded, and Christ was murdered in his crib. Bad average if you believe in destiny. Prophecies are just dreams people want to happen. I bet buio have prophecies too. It doesn’t make them real.”
“Just because something hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it can’t. Don’t laugh, but I thought I was sent here to make up for things I’ve done. I thought the bridge was the answer. It is, partially, but there’s something else.”
“Sounds like you swallowed too much water, Captain.”
Giovanni watched her go, troubled. He tried to concentrate on the work ahead, but it was impossible—as impossible as what had happened down there.
It was like a half-remembered dream.
He found Pedro tethered to the stone. The swarming buio pulled back as he swam closer, but while untying Pedro he dropped the transmitter. Instead of attacking, the buio floated there. He
heard
them in his mind, speaking a strange language. He remembered only one word:
Iscanno
.
At the other end of the bridge, the foremen made use of the evening lull to take stock.
Fabbro caught the direction of Vettori’s glance. “He’s not like any Concordian I’ve ever met either.”
“Or any Rasenneisi. He’s not afraid of buio.”
“That’s the courage of youth. Speaking of which, how’s Pedro?”
“Shaken up, naturally. But good. And no, I didn’t fire Hog.”
Fabbro became suddenly interested in the hem of his jacket. “What do you make of this?”
“You don’t have to change the subject, Fabbro. I know I nearly lost control. I’m not proud of it.”
“No, really, I want your professional opinion.”
Vettori took the proffered material. “It’s good, but that stitching . . .” He shrugged, a doctor with a bleak diagnosis.
“I got it through an agent from Burgundy. You could do better?”
“Fabbro, don’t take offense!”
“None taken. Could you?”
“Yes,” Vettori said cautiously.
“That’s what I thought. Last night we smuggled in a shipment of wool.”
Vettori hurriedly looked around to see no one was within earshot. “You’re crazy!”
“Well, they can’t come over land! Borders mean bribes, and too many borders means no profit. I turned on the eggs to keep away buio while my sons unloaded.”
“So that’s what you’ve been up to—
Madonna
, if the Concordians catch you trading with Europans, they’ll hang you! That or the Signoria will kill you with taxes.”
“Bah! They’re all too busy fighting to worry about my business. The wool comes from a monastery on the Anglish Isles, and bad stitching or no, it sells for a good price.”
“Congratulations,” Vettori said awkwardly. He was happy for Fabbro, but he had trouble making ends meet.
“I’m not bragging, Vettori! I’m saying I’d double profits if I could bypass Burgundy. It’s cheaper to order raw wool instead of finished goods. I know you could get weavers, but what about carders and dyers?”
“Hang on. I didn’t agree to anything.”
Fabbro went back to examining his jacket.
“I could organize it,” said Vettori slowly.
“Good! And since I’m taking the most risk, we’ll divide the profits sixty-forty.”
“Say fifty-fifty, since I’m doing most of the work, and you’ve got a deal.” Vettori turned back to his stock list nonchalantly.
Fabbro was amused at his efforts to be casual. “Deal.”
“Sofia Scaligeri invaded my home?”
Gaetano kept eating while Valentino glared at him. He had finally managed to pull himself free.
“Yes, Father, your
Contessa-to-be
. Like she owned the place. Suppose she does, in one sense.”
Quintus pulled the knife from the crest. “Well, Gaetano? A Bardini bandieratoro walks into my palazzo and not one of your bandieratori tries to stop her?”
“She’s the Contessa!”
“Think, Father,” said Valentino. “If it’s like this now, how’ll it be when the bridge is finished?”
“We won’t let that happen,” Quintus said haughtily.
“Cretino!”
Valentino slammed his fist on the table, then winced at the pain. “It’s come too far for that.”
Quintus slumped. “What can we do?”
“Face facts first. The bridge is coming, and when that bitch becomes Contessa, we won’t be the highest-ranking family in Rasenna anymore. We need to try a new flag while we still can.”
“Tell me—I’ll do it,” Quintus pleaded.
Valentino recognized that Quintus was finally desperate enough to listen to him. He glanced at Gaetano, then said, “Write to the Doctor. Tell him we don’t want the bridge to bring civil war, and therefore we propose a settlement. Say you’ll support Sofia Scaligeri as Contessa and, as a measure of your sincerity, you propose a union to consecrate the peace, that she marry your eldest son—”
Gaetano stood. “Shut your poisonous mouth—”
Quintus remained slumped. “What will that get us?”
“Father! For once, please listen to me,” said Gaetano. “Sofia—the Contessa—should choose her own husband.”
“The Doctor would allow that?” said Valentino. “
Please.
Father, he sent her here to show you he can spit in your face with impunity.”
“That’s not true!”
Valentino whirled on Quintus, crying, “Father, you
know
it makes sense. Bardini’s promised to shoulder responsibility for the dead Concordian. He’s lying, but this obliges him to mean it. What’s more, it’s statesmanlike. Think! You’ll be Rasenna’s peacemaker.”
“Will he agree?”
“Whatever else, the Doctor’s practical. For Rasenna to accept his ward, she needs to
appear
impartial, at least to begin with.”
Quintus struggled to keep up. “You believe peace is possible, Valentino?”
Valentino’s body began to tremble, then rock; his mouth opened, but nothing came out: he was laughing, though he didn’t make a sound. He shut his mouth with a snap. “No,” he said after a moment, “there must be war! But without the Doctor, Sofia Scaligeri is just a girl, and without her, the Bardini are pretentious upstarts we’ll slap down, then cut down.”
“I won’t be party to this.”
“If Gaetano’s not interested, you can put me forward,” said Valentino diffidently.
Gaetano pushed his chair back with blazing eyes. “No!”
“Then you’ll—?”
“If I have to, yes, I’ll do it, but—”
“I shall draft a letter this very night!” Elated at the prospect of finally besting the Doctor, Quintus skipped all the way upstairs.
Valentino watched him go with a derisive smile.
“Valentino,” Gaetano said quietly, “please, don’t do this.”
“If I can keep him resolute, it’s done. Remember what we used to dream of when we were growing up, Tano? You’d be workshop maestro like Uncle and I’d be gonfaloniere like Father. Becoming ambassador to Concord was the first step. Remember? You’re the one who convinced Father to send me.”
“I thought it was the first step—you wanted it!”
“And thanks to you, I got it. Now you’ll get what you’ve always wanted. See how you like it.”