Race of Scorpions Read Free Page B

but was vouchsafed no comment. Thomas was tired of the inn, and of Master Nicholas vander Poele, the youngest banker in Venice.
    They themselves were bound south, on a detour to the medical baths of Porretta. Sante, the ailing lord of Bologna, wished to discuss a matter of silk. He might expect to place further commissions, which Nicholas would have to refuse since, of course, he was no longer working from Trebizond. Thomas spoke, still peering out at the snow. ‘There. The monk’s waving. You’d think thathe knows you.’ He spoke in soldier’s Flemish, with a gross English accent.
    Nicholas said, ‘Maybe it’s the lord of Bologna come to hunt for his late household cavalry. I hope not. The captain’s still sleeping.’
    He didn’t listen. That was what irked Thomas mostly. He said, ‘I said a friar. A Franciscan friar built like a barn, with an old goathair cloak and his habit hitched up to his knees. He’s coming in.’
    Nicholas flung down the dice. The door burst open. A bulky man stood on the threshold in a pool of fresh snow and strode forward, striking his cloak from his shoulders. His bare feet, encased in wet sandals, had tufts of black pelt on each toe. He said, ‘Messer Niccolò vander Poele. Remember me, boy?’
    Nicholas heaved a great sigh and rose slowly. He said, ‘I could never forget you. Thomas. Fra Ludovico da Bologna, the man who means to drive the Turks out of Europe. Did you collect the money you needed?’
    ‘Have your joke,’ said the monk, undisturbed. He hitched up a stool with the sole of his sandal and sat himself down with a clang of his crucifix. ‘You look as if you could do with one. That the Bentivoglio cavalry?’
    He gazed across the room at the soldiers. Their livery was easy enough to identify. So was their high degree of intoxication. Nicholas sat and said, ‘Yes. On their way to Porretta to collect a guest of their lord. The snow and the wine delayed them.’
    ‘And I’ll wager,’ said the friar, ‘that you know the name of the guest of Bentivoglio. Met her in Venice, am I right? Refused what she offered you, am I right? And you’re hanging about here trying not to meet her again, am I right? Of course I am. You didn’t tell Thomas here, but I know your games.’ A serving-girl came across and he said, ‘Well, my girl. Said your prayers this morning?’
    ‘Yes, brother,’ she said, retiring circumspectly and stopping, since Brother Ludovico had retained her crucifix in his grasp like a halter.
    ‘I doubt it,’ he said. ‘Kneel there, and hold that. That’s what it’s meant for.’
    She clasped her cross obediently under her chin, then shut her eyes as he raised his voice over her. In two minutes he had ended, blessed her and given her a poke in the ribs, which made her drop her hands and open her eyes. ‘That’ll protect you from here to the kitchen,’ said Fra Ludovico da Bologna. ‘Now I’ll have a jug of well-water. And tell your owner there’s a humble friar here ready to call down God’s grace on his house for any morsels his table can spare.’ He turned. ‘Well, Messer Niccolò, I have news for you. The lady from Porretta is coming here. If her escort didn’t arrive, she planned to set off with her household without it. She should pass the door any time.’
    ‘So long as she passes it,’ Nicholas said. He watched the girl run away.
    The friar contemplated him. His hair was so black and so plentiful that even when shaved, his crown and his jowls were as blue as fish-hide. He said, ‘Well, you’re giving thought, I can see, to your fellows in trouble. You would let the lady ride without extra help to Bologna, while these fellows risk the wrath of their lord, sleeping here while she went by unknowing?’
    ‘I probably should,’ Nicholas said. ‘But it’s going to be all right, because you’ll tell the captain.’
    ‘Well, the lieutenant,’ said the friar. ‘The captain is not wholly in touch with his intelligence.’ He was watching