Just Think
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Stravaganza
Copyright: Mary Hoffman
Enrico Poggi trailed his hand along the walls to keep his balance, feeling the cobblestones of the Padavian street sway sickeningly beneath him like a ship on the high seas. He knew he presented a prime target for robbers, but couldn't bring himself to care; after all, what did he have to steal, beyond the ragged, filthy clothes on his back? And if they knocked him out, why, that would actually be quite convenient. He didn't think he could stay conscious for long anyway.
"Are you watching this, Giuliana?" he croaked, blinking up at the blurry stars above him. "Are you worried, eh? Or d'you think it serves me right?"
Back when she was alive, his fiancée would have been right there with him, laughing and making silly jokes; he would have stopped before the danger point in order to support her unsteady steps, to walk her home in spite of her father's disapproving glare. Enrico valued his sharp mind and was not in the habit of sabotaging it with too much alcohol – except when he really, really wanted to forget something.
And damn it if the method hadn't backfired. He remembered perfectly.
Enrico had no morals. He couldn't afford them, frankly. Street smarts and a knack for sniffing out secrets had gotten him a lot further than he had expected; as a former starving street urchin, he knew how it felt to be in little Sandro's shoes. Look out for number one had been his motto all his life; he found it distinctly unfair that the one time he had broken that rule should trip him up so badly. Giuliana was the only person he'd ever loved more than himself...and she was dead.
Oh sure, blame the Goddess. Well, it wasn't her who rolled the bomb under that chair.
He remembered feeling nervous that day – not because he was about to do wrong, but in case he was found out. His heart had been pounding like a drum at the sight of her – the Duchessa, as he had thought – beautiful and icily remote, like a jewel behind glass. He had been faintly annoyed with her for being so dolled up when some of her subjects went in rags, and trying very hard to concentrate on Rinaldo di Chimici's upcoming reward instead of the fact that he was taking a life.
How was he to know it was the life of his Giuliana, acting as the Duchessa's double?
Di Chimici. How Enrico hated him and his entire scheming family! Pushing people around like pawns on a game board, hiding their bloody hands with perfume and powder...Enrico, at least, admitted to being a scoundrel and didn't pretend to anything better. He'd taken his revenge, oh yes, a very elegant one with a poisoned foil, but none of that could bring Giuliana back.
"That boy's trouble," he'd once overheard her parents warning her. If they knew how right they were! Giuliana had always been too good for him – a respectable citizen with a conscience as clear as her skin, honest as an open book. He smiled bitterly; if it hadn't been for her utter inability to keep a secret, and her innocent, misplaced trust in the man she loved, she might still be alive.
She should never have gotten mixed up in the deadly game that was Talian politics, but the lure of silver had dazzled them both and led them to ruin – the bottom of a bottle in his case and a magnificent marble tomb in hers. Giuliana, the perfect double, had maintained her cover even beyond death.
Remembering something he had said to her once, Enrico let out a harsh bark of laughter which frightened away a flock of crows on the rooftops.
"Just think," he shouted into the empty street, "My own darling in that mausoleum! All the people of Bellezza crying for my Giuliana without knowing!"
Nobody heard him.