La Ventunesima Storia:Tutto Fa Brodo
"Signore D'Este!" Slender, dark-eyed Maria rushed forward to greet him, nearly at the point of running. She dropped a low, but hurried curtsy, worry painting her lovely face. And Valentin D'Este could see why, considering the lateness of his visit.
"Take me to His Serenity at once, Maria," Valentin said, handing the young woman his cane and gloves. He smoothed his hands across the velvet of his black and burgundy robes.
"But, Signore!" the girl protested. She followed after him as he walked into the foyer.
"I said, at once, girl." Valentin raised an eyebrow. His Serenity always had a generous hand with his servants, but the girl must surely realize she spoke out of turn.
"But think of the hour, Signore. His Serenity needs his rest, beg pardon," she pleaded.
"I'll hear no excuses, Maria. I will have an audience with His Serenity," Valentin insisted. The maid was certainly aware of his position, having received him many a time over the months since her hire, but it was evident that his position did not account for much when compared to the Doge's rest.
"Si, Signore. This way." With a sullen sigh, the young woman bobbed a curtsy, just the barest curtsy to be appropriate, and turned to lead him through the darkened villa. Valentin followed her down the labyrinthine hallways to the Doge's private quarters. Maria rapped gently at a tall, white door, briefly disappearing behind it.
She returned and ushered him into the room with a disapproving murmur, "His Serenity will see you now."
The sitting room was decorated in elaborately carved red mahogany, inlaid in ivory and chased with gold filigree. The polished surface of the coffee table shimmered in the dim candle light. Double doors led into the Doge's bed chamber, closed now.
"Your Serenity," Valentin intoned, bending at the waist in a formal bow. This was not, after all, a social visit.
"Ah, Valentin, I expected to see you soon. I hope Maria did not give you much trouble." The Doge rose from a sofa upholstered in rich imported silks. His smile was welcoming, at odd with the shrewdness of his anatomy.
"Some small amount, but I am not here to discuss your serving maids, Your Serenity."
"I should think not," the Doge said, chuckling softly. "You were ever one to get straight to business, Valentin."
"Indeed, Your Serenity. I do not wish to seem as if I question you…" Valentin trailed off. It was not as if questioning the Doge was forbidden. Not precisely but it was an unpopular choice. Valentin grimaced. His duty to the city of Venice was more important than his popularity.
"Then do not seem so. Pray speak, and whatever your question, I may have an answer," the Doge replied. He knew well the risk Valentin posed just by his visit. What was whispered about could ruin a man's fragile position in the quagmire that was Venetian politics.
"Can you trust him?" Valentin asked pointedly. There was no need to specify the man. The city was already alive with whispers of the young Frenchman's arrival.
"Signore Du Lain? I should think not," the Doge said, again chuckling.
"Then what of the honors you bestowed him? Why grant such high a command to a man of suspected character?" Valentin demanded. His Serenity was not known for taking foolish risks, but putting a man like Julien Du Lain in command of Venetian resources surely qualified. And in time of war, no less!
"You mistake me, Valentin. The post was not meant for him," the Doge replied, spreading his hands.
"Then who?" Valentine asked.
"A man of a more singular ambition. A singular man for a singular purpose. No more trustworthy, perhaps, but certainly a more predictable sort."
"How much longer, Noblesse? I grow tired of this place. The women here bore me, and the wine, I believe, is dredged from the canal," Lucentio groused. His complaints, however emphatic, did not stop him from draining his goblet.
"Bore you, signore? Surely, you know…" The chit at his side nattered on in mock outrage. Above her petulant mouth was a predatory gleam in her large blue eyes. She could be considered beautiful, but Noblesse rarely allowed himself to even see the women that attended to his captain's baser needs. He did not see them in the same way one does not see a lampshade. It was there, but simply rated below his notice.
"Shut your mouth, whore! There is only one noise you should be making with that pretty mouth of yours, and that should be the sound you make when I…" Lucentio rounded on the woman and her protests devolved into shrill peals of giggling. Noblesse watched them blandly.
"Not long yet, Captain. We should hear back from the Doge by morning, I should guess." And not a moment too soon. With my commendations, I should never have to see your face again, Noblesse thought triumphantly. Victory bloomed in his chest. He would finally be free. He did not care that Lucentio had not even acknowledged him. Better the fool attend to his wine and women while he had them.
A soft rap at the door cut the raucous banter off, and Lucentio stared towards the sound with rapt attention. Noblesse smiled to himself, and opened the door. The mantis-shaped innkeeper stood in the hallway, stooped as if perpetually in the midst of bowing. He rubbed his hands together, and nodded obsequiously several times, glancing a furtive appraisal at his two patrons.
"My lord. Ahem, my lords," he greeted, anxiously. "Signore D'Este has come to call… On the both of you."
Noblesse clenched his teeth to stop the grin he felt spreading across his face. "Please, take us to him, my good man."
"Finally," Lucentio scoffed, rising from the sofa.
The innkeeper led them down to the inn's library, although the room barely constituted as one. The only books it contained sat in a bookcase of three shelves that were only half filled with the rough bound volumes. A fire was laid in the hearth, slender flames licked at the fresh logs. All of this paled in comparison to the man, nearing his later years, who stood in the center of the room, his back turned to gaze into the fire.
"Good evening, Signore. I am Julien Du Lain, and this is my captain, called simply, Lucentio," Noblesse murmured. He swept into a bow elegant enough for the King of France.
The man turned and nodded politely. "Your welcome warms my spirit, Signore Du Lain. Signore Lucentio, my thanks for receiving me at such a late hour and without the appropriate courtesies. We have much business to discuss, and I am sure you are eager as I am to begin. So, please, be seated."
Noblesse moved to take the one of two chairs situated close to the fire, but was halted by the patrician's gesture. "My apologies, Signore Du Lain, but my business here is with your captain. For now. Please wait outside for the time being. I will endeavor to keep this brief. You and I have much to discuss."
Noblesse nodded stiffly. The patrician smiled congenially, sweeping him out of the room with a wide gesture of his flowing velvet robes. Noblesse strained to see beyond the man's grandfatherly demeanor, hoping for hint of anything that lay behind it. He found nothing, and stalked out of the room. Warning bells sounded in his mind, but he shoved them aside forcefully. Today was the day he would be free of that snake, Lucentio. Today he would be named commodore.
Liberta paced the docks. His thoughts drummed in time the with the rhythmic thump of his boots on the aged wood. A cool sea breeze ruffled the sails of the many tall ships that sat in the full harbor. Over the past weeks, Amica's allies arrived at Fortuna in droves. What was once a flood of new ships had slowly ebbed to a trickle. And in recent days, they had stopped entirely. Now, there was hardly a mooring left vacant on the entire island. Liberta paused to listen to the seabirds croon mournfully as they careened overhead. At this early hour of dawn, all of Fortuna was still, a caricature of an idyllic harbor. There was no apparent cause to the sure agitation that gripped him. The tow-headed young man unclenched his fist that held the crumpled brown parchment, the last missive Dante had received from Debito. Just two weeks gone, followed by an ominous silence. He didn't need to read it. He had already memorized the cryptic words.
The dealer stands on a soft 17, but the deck is stacked.
"Your staring won't bring them in any sooner," Dante spoke gently behind him.
Liberta did not turn to meet the larger man. His gaze remained fixed on the dusky horizon.
"What else am I supposed to do?" he growled, stuffing Debito's message into his pant's pocket.
"Well, nothing can quite pass the day like a bit of fishing, am I right?" Liberta's shoulder was swallowed in Dante's congenial grip. The man lifted a tin bucket and fishing rods in front of Liberta's face. Liberta's nose wrinkled with the faint smell of fish wafting towards him.
"We aren't going to catch much here," Liberta said. This close to the shore, they would be lucky to catch a few stunted bream.
"I think you mistake my purpose, Liberta," Dante said, laughing. "First one to catch a fish buys lunch. I'm feeling like… chicken florentine today, I think." He sat down on the edge of the dock with a hearty thump, and in moments cast a few short feet from the dock. The other rod sat beside the imposing, bald man in an open invitation.
"What other purpose is there to fishing except to catch fish?" Liberta grumbled. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and took his place at Dante's left.
At first, they passed their time in silence. Liberta alternated between casting and reeling in the predicted catch, a hand-sized, grayish-yellow fish with a blunt shaped head. Liberta twisted the hook free of the fish's mouth and with a sigh, tossed it back into the clear water below. He watched it wriggle against the current until it slipped out of sight.
"I thought you had your eye set on the Ojou-sama?" Dante said. He grunted in surprise as the tip of his fishing rod bobbed frantically. He turned the reel slowly, as if uncertain of what he should do. For as much as the man fished, Liberta thought he should really be a better fisherman than he was.
Liberta swallowed thickly. Why on earth was Dante bringing this up now? "Yes, well things seem to be going pretty well with her and Nova… So…" He trailed off.
"So you decided to chase after Amica del Diavolo? That's... an interesting choice," Dante said slowly.
"It's not like that!" Liberta protested. His insides churned at feeling color rising in his face.
"It's not?" Incredulity lifted his superior's brow. "Then what exactly is it? You've never been so eager to do your job before."
"I… I don't know what it is, ok? I mean, sure, I care about her. I might even l-li…" Liberta sighed heavily. That such a simple word could be so difficult to say. "I… I like her. She's strong and brave. Gentle. Beautiful. Is that what you want me to say?"
"I think you forgot homicidally insane, but yeah, I guess that is what I wanted to hear. You're going to have to take on Papa if you plan on keeping your girlfriend alive. So, I needed to make sure your heart is in the right place," Dante said.
"She's not my girlfriend," Liberta protested faintly. He had not given much thought over to what would happen after this. But it didn't really change anything. In for a dime, in for a dollar, Debito would say.
"I think you're missing the point again, Liberta," Dante laughed. "Are you going to reel that fish in? Or are you going to let it get away? Looks like a big one."
Liberta shook himself and looked at the fishing rod in his hands. The tip of rod bowed sharply, nearly to point of snapping in two. The tow-headed young man bound to his feet, reeling and pulling against the fierce resistance in the line. The fight felt like it went on for hours, and Liberta gulped air as he hauled the two foot long tuna on to the dock. Despite his exhaustion, he wouldn't have been able to talk from shock. There was no way a fish this large would have ventured in this close to land. He glanced up at the sea, reappraising his odds, and caught the blurred image of black sails cresting the horizon. He hurriedly dragged the fish towards the middle of the mooring dock and rooted his telescope from his belt. He could see it more clearly now. The grotesque skeletal figurehead on the Il Diavolo del Mare's prow crashed through the sea spray. The black sailed man-o-war was far enough out to sea that he could not get a good view of who steered at the helm, but the ship was unmistakable. He crowed triumphantly, hefting the rod in the air. He had only a few helpless moments to watch as it fell into the harbor with a splash, and afterwards, a few helpless seconds more as he followed in after.
"Going for a swim, then?" Dante's thumbs hung from the pockets of his duster, innocently. His hearty laugh, however, wasn't very innocent at all. "While you're in there, make sure you grab my fishing rod!"
Amica rested her hand on the railing of the quarter deck for stability, watching the black spec on the crisp, blue horizon coalesce into the shape of Fortuna. She hated to admit it, but since awakening, being shipboard was difficult for her. She felt like a girl who had still not yet found her sea legs. The pain in her side flared with every wave that crashed on Il Diavolo's prow.
The rhythmic sway of the man-o-war only grew more pronounced as the ship slowed to approach the westernmost harbor. Azaf called sharply to the crew to draw in Il Diavolo's glossy, black sails. A part of her hated how they jumped with alacrity to obey his command. It was her ship. Amica knew the feeling for jealousy, envy that it was not she who thundered out orders with the expectations that they would be fulfilled. She huffed irritably, not knowing if it were more for the servile scuttling of the crew or the shame of having been jealous at all. Two weeks was entirely too long a time to sit idle.
The harbor grew larger now as they coasted into the calm waters of the bay. The docks were filled to bursting, nearly every mooring tied down a tall ship ,from schooner to frigate. More than a few Amica could name on sight, but just as many more she did not recognize flew the goat skulled sigil of Il Diavolo on their masts. Saragosa's Tres Hermanas were there. Amica was more than surprised to see her flag flying limply on their masts. The man had always been a staunch supporter of her father, Santiago, but had not been easily disabused of his dislike for answering to a woman.
'Word is spreading of your brothers actions, Captain," Azaf murmured darkly. His eyes glittered with fury, and Amica noticed his white knuckled grip on the helm.
"It does seem that way. I did not think to see Saragosa here," Amica replied, nodding slowly. It seemed that to some of the captains in her armada's loose confederacy, Lucentio's betrayal was a bridge too far.
Mooring ties and the crews' hails were thrown down to the dock workers who fitted the arm thick ropes over the tie downs. Amica carefully picked her way down the gangplank as soon as Crewman Dannel fixed it in place. With her feet finally on solid land, she sighed and let her eyes drift up. The large wooden cubes of warehouses gave way to townhouses and farther up the hill were the colonnaded terraces of palatial estates. Each of those buildings represented people, families of people, who put their faith in her to see them through the coming war. A sudden chill ran through her despite the late summer's heat. And a none too small of a voice asked if those people had placed their trust wisely in her. What had felt like a victory in seeing Saragossa's ships in the harbor, no longer did now that the stakes were there in front of her eyes.
"Will it be enough?" Amica muttered aloud, shaking her head.
"It will have to be," Debito answered, moving to stand at her shoulder. Amica saw that, he too, looked over the city with the same grim appraisal she was sure her eyes also held.
AN: This arc is finally winding its way to a conclusion. It took a lot of careful direction to get everyone to where I wanted them, and we are very quite nearly there.
As always, I appreciate those of you who are reading this today. If possible, I would ask that you weigh in on who you would like to see Amica end up with. I'm interested to hear what you have to say. Personally, I'm of mixed opinion.
Translations:
Tres Hermanas - ( Spanish literal.) Three Sisters
Tutto fa brodo- (Italian literal.) Everything makes soup. (figurative) Every little bit helps.