"Okay. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea."
The Voice had led her to a pub. The White Heart Inn. An ironic name for an establishment whose patrons appeared to be more of the dark hearted kind. Jessica huddled close to the alley wall across the way, watching the yellow candlelight within throw dark shadows across the windows. Shady looking characters with lowered heads and shifty eyes shuffled quickly through the arched doorway, the moonlight glinting on the cold steel at their hips. A cold wind blew, raising goosebumps on her arms.
She had never been to this part of the city before. In fact, she had absolutely no idea where this part of the city was. The streets were filthy with dirt and excrement, and broken crates were piled high in the corners where trees and gardens had once stood. The alley behind her reeked of urine, and the high-pitched screeching of rats reached her ears from every direction. She couldn't decide whether it was worse to breathe through her nose to fully inhaling each repugnant scent, or to breathe through her mouth and taste them.
Gazing at the White Heart Inn, it seemed the last place she would ever willingly walk into alone. Her entire being screamed warning and her mind could barely believe that she was even considering such a stupid move. But she considered what the Voice had done for her. Aside from finally seeming willing to answer some of her many questions about her purpose in this place, it was the only one who knew more about what was going on in her life than she did. It knew what she thought and how she was feeling. It even appeared to understand, though to what extent and sincerity she didn't know. It had also stopped her from helping Federico in the fight outside Monteriggioni, and it had helped her fight off the thief by the Arno, effectively saving her life in both instances.
However, she wondered at the extent of its goodwill; it appeared to be living within her mind, like a symbiotic organism and as such it was reasonable that by keeping her alive, it was simply ensuring its own survival. She was almost certain that wherever it would lead her, it didn't intend for her to get hurt along the way. Besides, she couldn't go home when she knew very well that potentially dangerous people were following her. She had fled Florence once before in order to keep Leonardo safe, but in this case, she had nowhere else to go and thus, she would much prefer it if she needn't leave at all. Which only left the option of confronting the man who was having her followed.
The thought of leaving a note or a message for Leonardo tickled her mind, but again that would involve the returning to his workshop. There was the notion to leave something on the street but it would surely be taken by another, perhaps even her stalkers themselves. In any case, Leo would not come looking for her in this part of the city, where it was so far from their home and where she had never been before.
And where she wished she had never come.
A heavy sigh rolled from deep within her chest and escaped her lips in a gust of exasperated exhaustion. Ever since she had woken up on that bench, her life had gone from bad to worse. Now she felt as if she were willingly jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. What more could life throw at her?
As she watched, the door to the inn was thrown open and a large form stumbled out into the streets. Golden hair shone like a halo in the pale moonlight as the man leaned heavily against the wall of the inn, raising the bottle in his hand to his lips. The yellow candlelight from the window to his left illuminated only half of his face, which was upturned to the starry sky, his eyes drinking in the view more deeply than his mouth ever could.
A sudden warmth on her foot sent her lurching from the alleyway with a horrified shriek as the large black rodent screeched at her through sharp teeth and flaming red eyes before it turned its fleshy tail, releasing her boot and streaking off into the darkness from whence it came. Shuddering in revulsion, she shook her skirts and stepped further away from the rat-infested alley.
"Hello there, sweetheart."
Terror clutched at her throat as grey eyes filled her vision and she scrambled away as a hand reached for her. To her surprise, it immediately recoiled and was raised in surrender.
"Whoa. Whoa, it's alright. I'm no' gonna hurt ye. Don't worry."
Jessica blinked and the grey eyes were suddenly blue. She gazed at the raised hands and noticed that one was holding a green bottle filled with a dark liquid. Her heart pounded in her chest as she fought to lengthen her panting breaths. Her green eyes inspected the man before her, who waited patiently as she composed herself. A simple white shirt and brown pants, sturdy boots and a brown belt holding several small pouches were all that covered him. What was of interest was his shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes, features which were incredibly familiar to her, and yet entirely out of place in this country.
"Sorry," she apologized shortly.
As his hands lowered and his face broke into a good-natured smile, the most interesting thing happened. His dark blonde eyebrows, which had been low over his eyes, shot half-way up his forehead and stayed there.
"It's my fault for startlin' you. I understand why ye would be wary of a man in such a part of town as this."
As he spoke, she watched those two furry lines bend and curl as they rose and fell dramatically as each emotion crossed his face. They had to be, by far the most expressive eyebrows she had ever seen in her life.
"Speaking of which, ye really don't look like you belong. Are ye lost?"
"Yes. I mean, no. Um." She cleared her throat as he waited. "I'm looking for someone."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I was told he might be in there." She nodded toward the White Heart Inn where her obvious hesitance was emphasized by a male shout and a loud crash.
The blonde caterpillars crawled toward his hairline. "In there? I do no' think that is a good idea for you to be walkin' around by yourself in there."
Jessica chuckled darkly, "Yeah, well, why do you suppose I haven't gone in yet?"
Silence fell over them as he tipped back the bottle and took several long gulps. "Perhaps I could be of assistance, m'lady." The sleeve of his white shirt wiped across his mouth as he let out a breath of alcohol which made her feel slightly nauseous. "Who is it you're looking for?"
"Someone called La Volpe."
Blue eyes widened, a hand wrapped around her upper arm and before she knew it, she was being pulled firmly through the arched doorway of the White Heart was too surprised to struggle as she was dragged through the crowded tables of men, who let off a stench far worse than the street outside. The fingers on her arm were firm but gentle as the fair-haired man led her to a small table to the side of the pub, the nearest to the fire and the furthest from the bar. Here he released her and sat, motioning for her to do so also. She was shaken, but her left hand did not burn and the man didn't look at her with anything but wide-eyed concern.
Her legs lowered her carefully onto the seat across from him and her green eyes stared steadily until he raised his from the bottle he was twirling nervously in his hands. With a silent patience, she waited for his explanation.
"Ye can't just be sayin' that name so loud."
"Why not? Who are you?"
"My name is Elmo. And ye shouldn't say his name. He's got eyes everywhere."
"I know, I just met one. Do you know where he is?"
"Me?" he chortled. "No, I've never met the man. 'Course, I'm no thief. You'll be wantin' to ask one of them if ye want to find him. There's no guarantee they'll tell ye, though. Likely they'd sooner put a sword through your guts."
A darkly amused breath escaped her parted lips, "Lovely."
Those expressive eyebrows rose as he shrugged helplessly and took another drink. Her head turned to subtly let her eyes explore her surroundings. There were dozens of men and women, either sitting or standing in any clear space available. Some tables were covered with boards, onto which men threw money and dice and cheered or booed loudly at seemingly random intervals. To the right of the bar was a cordoned area where large, thick men were fighting for florins, their battered flesh black, yellow and red as the onlookers who gambled on them screamed for blood to be spilled. Jessica watched in distaste as bar wenches with low dresses served alcohol and food, smiling at well-mannered men and screeching at the groping hands of the others. In the far corner, a bard strummed his lute and sang, though his voice was drowned by the cacophony of the others in the room. The smell of men, meat and alcohol was ripe in the hot air, as the fire roared in the enormous fireplace on the wall behind Elmo.
She couldn't even think of his name without a smile tugging at her lips but the reminder that she couldn't share her amusement with anyone who would understand soured the thought.
"So he's a thief?"
"Nay. He's the thief." Elmo leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "He once robbed the Papal carriage, without a single guard noticing, while the Pope was in it."
"Huh."
He nodded and turned to shout at a bar wench, who sauntered over and placed two bottles before them before winking at Elmo and moving onto the next table. He finished his first bottle then picked up the fresh one, taking a mouthful then leaning close to her once again.
"They say he has eyes of violet, which allow him to see through walls. He can run across the rooftops with incredible speed, unmatched by any man. His skin is as thick as leather and no sword can touch him, and even if it did, he can no' die."
Her fingers wrapped around the cool glass of the bottle and brought it to her nose for a gentle sniff. She recoiled, her face scrunching in disgust. It was alcohol alright, though what, she couldn't say.
"He's immortal, is he?" Jessica drawled, with blatant skepticism.
Elmo leaned back, nodding severely as he caressed his drink, bringing it to his lips frequently. After some hesitation, she steeled herself and brought her own bottle to her mouth. The taste was foul, so she placed it on the table and didn't touch it again.
"One night, not so many years ago, he was spotted on the rooftops of the Palazzo della Signoria, the Palazzo Medici, and the Basilica di Santa Croce... at the same time."
If he had expected her to gasp in astonishment, he would be disappointed. It sounded like absolute bull.
"Well, whoever he is and whatever he can do, I need to find him. Somehow."
Elmo sighed deeply and fixed her with a deep blue stare, one that was not unkind. "I suppose I could help ye, though it will no' be an easy task. We'll have to ask around, carefully, mind you. And not here."
After a beat, she smiled. "I'd appreciate that."
Red rose on his cheeks and she was pleased to note that he had freckles, but he looked away from her with a shrug. "Ah, ye seem like a good lass. And what sort of man would I be if I let ye wander about and get yourself killed? Just tell me, why are ye lookin' for the Fox, anyhow?"
She hesitated, and he saw it.
You can trust this man.
I thought you said I shouldn't trust anyone.
Exactly.
Now that that was cleared up, Jessica sighed, reaching into her skirts and withdrawing the letter she had found. Caution clear in her eyes and a calm reassurance in his own, she passed it to him and watched in silence as he read it.
"Well, well. Ye are in a tad of trouble, aren't ye?" To her surprise, he laughed as he returned the letter. "Do ye have any idea why he's ordered ye followed, then?"
She rolled and pocketed the parchment, shaking her head. "Not a clue."
"I don't suppose this Adolfo you got the letter from just handed it over, did he?" The question was asked with a chuckle, but the emotion it evoked within her was one far from amused. Her tongue forced down the bile which flooded into mouth as her stomach turned and she felt the blood drain from her face. Her hands trembled violently in her lap as she forced herself to keep eye contact, even as Elmo's blue eyes became grey.
Jessica wavered in her seat, grabbing the edge of the table in an attempt to remain upright as her mind rebelled against her, throwing horrific images to the front of her mind.
Dark, icy waters. Arms waving for balance. A familiar hand placed on a man's back. A push.
At once, her arm shot out to take a hold of the green bottle, bringing it to her lips and letting the cool, bitter liquid burn down her throat. As she drank, her eyes closed and she repressed it all.
It didn't happen. It never happened. It wasn't her.
The memories of the encounter with the thief who had attacked her resisted as her mental hands bent and twisted them, cutting them into bits and discarding the darkest pieces into a small box which was forced to the back of her mind. What was left was a distorted and hazy memory, but one she could recount as her truth.
By the time the bottle had left her lips and her eyes had opened once more, she was calm, and Elmo's eyes were blue, and she was herself again. Nothing had happened.
"No. He dropped it."
It was clear in his eyes that he knew that there was more to her tale, but he decided not to question it. "It doesn't sound like yer in any danger by his hand. It's almost as if he's got his people lookin' after ye."
"That's the good thing, I suppose. I just want to know why he's got people looking after me."
"Fair enough. Yer name is Marietta, is it?"
She flushed immediately, ashamed that she had forgotten to introduce herself. "Yeah, sorry. I'm Marietta Sanfilippo." The name had come to feel familiar to her, and though she was no closer to finding out who the real Marietta was, and why she was mistaken for her, she no longer had any qualms about adopting it as her own. She liked it better than plain old Jessica Raso, in any case.
"Pleasure to meet ye, Marietta," Elmo grinned, his cheeks glowing with the heat from the fire and the buzz of his drink. She had to admit, he was a handsome man, though his breath stank and his nose seemed almost too big for his face. It was his eyes which gave her cause to like him, however. Through them she could see his quick mind, his laid-back nature and his sincere interest in her plight. In all, she could almost imagine him as a native from her own country, if not for his accent.
"You're not Italian, are you?"
His animated eyebrows did the sighing for him, obviously very accustomed to this inquiry. "Half. My da was Italian but my maw's a full blooded Scot."
She smiled, nodding, "I thought so."
"Met many Scots?"
"You're the first."
"'Tis an honour."
"Indeed."
He chuckled and called the bar wench over, having finished his drink. As they waited, she took another gulp of her own, wincing as it scorched and her stomach churned in protest. "So, tell me about yourself, Marietta Sanfilippo. Ye must be a woman of great importance to have a man like La Volpe on your tail."
"Actually, there's not all that much to tell. I come from a family of five," she replied honestly, not seeing any reason to lie, "consisting of my parents, my older sister and my younger brother. We had a cat, and we lived in a house."
"'Lived'? Ye moved out of home, then. Wed yourself to a strapping young lad, eh?"
She smiled at his energetic tone and the way he appeared to hang onto each word she spoke. He was a good listener, a people person. But the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Not exactly."
He waited patiently for her to continue. Though she disliked alcohol and everything which resulted from the drink, she found herself taking another gulp. Cradling the bottle in her hand and staring into the dark liquid within, her mind sought for an explanation to give her new friend, though it had no explanation itself.
"Something happened, and we were... separated. I was separated. Now I have no idea how to get back to them. Or if I even can."
"I'm sorry to hear that. You live alone then?"
"No, I am Leonardo da Vinci's assistant."
"I've seen his work. He has a skilled hand."
"He is a skilled man."
"And a great one, I'm sure."
She nodded, happy at the thought of her friend. "He took me in when I had nothing. Clothed me, fed me and put me to work. He's absolutely incredible."
"It's good ye have someone like that in your life. The work, however, surprises me. What does da Vinci have ye do?"
"Anything he needs done. Talking with customers, taking orders, delivering works, cleaning up the workshop, researching things for his inventions, sometimes modelling..."
Elmo whistled, "Well, he certainly keeps ye busy."
"It's good. Helps me keep my mind off things."
He gazed at her then, with eyes that were at once supportive and empathetic and she knew it in her heart that she had nothing to fear from this man. "Ye are too young to have to keep your mind off things, lass."
Her eyes gleamed as her mouth twisted into a wry smile, "No one is too young to know grief, Elmo. Not in this world. Nor any other."
They held each other's eyes as he raised his bottle high, "To surviving that grief and hoping for a brighter future."
As he had managed so many times that night, he made her smile, and Jessica lifted her bottle to tap his, the sound of colliding glass ringing in her ears above the enthusiastic cacophony which filled the room.
"To hope."