The Wind Dancer (5 page)

Elizabet, somewhere beyond the giant's broad shoulders, gasped. Sanchia was too
frightened to gasp, too frightened to speak, to frightened to do anything but stare at him.

He frowned. "Answer me."

"I don't... " She stopped and swallowed hard. "Are you going to imprison me?"

"Isn't that what should happen to thieves?"

Elizabet sobbed brokenly. "Sanchia, I told him not to come in. I told him... "

The man was ignoring Elizabet, his gaze fixed intently on Sanchia's face. "Isn't the
Stinche where you belong?" he repeated.

"Yes, that's where thieves belong." She forced herself to meet his gaze. "But I no longer
have your purse, and if you imprison me, you'll never get your gold back. They'll just cut
off my hands and--" She had to stop as terror dried her throat. The bloody vision danced
before her eyes and it was a moment before she could continue, "If you let me go free, I'll
find a way to pay you back. I promise, my lord."

"The promise of a thief."

"I keep my word."

"A thief but not a liar?"

"I do lie," she said honestly. "Well... only when I must. Sometimes it's better to lie than
have bad things happen to people. But I don't break my promises."

"Don't hurt her," Elizabet sobbed. "Please don't hurt her."

"Stop weeping," he said impatiently over his shoulder. "She's the one who should be
crying."

"Sanchia never cries," Elizabet said.

"Sanchia what?" He turned back to Sanchia. "What's your full name?"

"Just Sanchia." She moistened her lips with her tongue. "I have no other."

He bowed mockingly. "Lionello Andreas, my illustrious lady thief. I think we're destined
to become very well acquainted. Stand up and let me look at you."

She scrambled to her feet, hugging her shawl close to her body to try to stop the shivering
that attacked every limb.

"Come here."

She took one hesitant step toward him, then another.

"Stop." He held up his hand and grimaced distastefully. "Do you never bathe?"

"I bathe, my lord." Her eyes were enormous in her thin face as she gazed up at him.
"Please, my lord, trust me. I'll return the money."

"I trust only a very few people in this world and none of them is a thief." His gaze ran
over her. He scowled. "
Dio
, you're scrawny as a starved cat. Does Ballano never feed
you?"

She stiffened. "You know Giovanni?"

"I haven't as yet had that pleasure. Where is he?"

"He'll be back soon," Elizabet wailed. "Couldn't you go before he returns?"

"Elizabet... " Sanchia drew a deep breath and tried to subdue her impatience. "Why don't
you stand by the door and watch for Giovanni while I talk to his excellency?"

"Yes, Sanchia." Elizabet gave Andreas an uncertain glance and hurried from the room.

"She has the brain of a chicken," Lion said bluntly. "God, how I hate a whining woman."

"She's only fourteen," Sanchia said defensively. "And she's not stupid. You frighten her."

Lion's gaze narrowed on her face. "But not you?"

She nodded. "Me, too." She swallowed. "But being afraid won't save me. As you
indicated, weeping and wailing only make men angry."

"Has that been your experience?" he asked, his expression intent.

"Men don't like tears. It makes them impatient, just as it did you, my lord." She stood
very straight, gazing at him. "What can I do to keep you from taking me to prison?"

"What would you do?" he asked curiously.

"Anything," she whispered. "I can't leave them. They have no one but me."

"Who are 'they'?" His words were abstracted as his gaze ran over her. By the saints, the
woman truly looked the scrawny feline he had named her, he thought with a flash of
unreasonable irritation. Sanchia appeared to be little older than the sobbing child across
the room; she was as tiny and fine-boned as a kitten. Her triangular face was oddly
catlike, too, with its high cheekbones, olive skin, and slightly slanted eyes. Those eyes
were strange--gold-amber in color and utterly appealing, even filled with terror as they
were now. Her chestnut-colored hair looked as if it had been carelessly chopped and
hacked until it was even shorter than his page Nicolo's. Now it was so rain dampened it
clung in sodden curls about her thin face. "Who are you so concerned about?"

"Piero and Bartolomeo and Eliza--"

"He's coming," Elizabet cried frantically. "Sanchia, do something."

Sanchia paled. "Please go away. I beg you, my lord."

"You're afraid of this Giovanni?"

"Not for myself. He needs me, so he'll probably only beat me. But if he becomes very
angry, he may decide to send them all away and he mustn't do that. I couldn't--"

"A thousand apologies for keeping you waiting, my lord." It was Giovanni's voice
booming from the doorway. "How may I serve you?"

Sanchia held her breath, her gaze clinging to Lion's in desperation. She could detect no
softening of his expression, only that strange, searching appraisal.

Then Andreas abruptly turned away from her to face Giovanni. "Signor Ballano, I am
Lionello Andreas, and I've come to make you an offer."

"A commission?" Giovanni brushed by Elizabet and entered the shop. "I copy by hand or
print. My work is known throughout Florence." Giovanni waved a hand at the printing
press across the room. "It's the best machine in all Italy and I--"

"I want nothing copied," Lion interrupted. "I need a servant, and I heard you have a slave
that may meet my requirements." He stepped aside and indicated Sanchia standing in
shocked immobility behind him. "I'll give you twenty-five ducats for her."

"Sanchia?" Giovanni's bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. "You want to buy Sanchia?"

"Why not? She's young and appears strong and healthy. She has many years of service
left in her. That's why I'm willing to make so generous an offer. You should be able to
replace her with no trouble."

"Twenty-five ducats," Giovanni repeated. He shook his head, trying to comprehend. "For
Sanchia?"

"Is it a bargain?" Lion asked. "Do you have her papers?"

"In my chest in the other room. A bill of sale for the mother and her." Suddenly
Giovanni's bewildered expression was replaced by craftiness. "It's not enough. How
would I conduct my business? I've spent many years teaching her the skills of copying
and running the press. Now you think to take her away from me for a mere twenty-five
ducats?"

Cristo, the man was as greedy as Caprino, Lion thought in disgust. "Twenty-five ducats is
more than fair."

"For an ordinary slave, perhaps, but Sanchia is not only skilled, she has a talent."
Giovanni paused impressively. "She remembers everything. She has only to look at a leaf
of script and she can recite it back to you."

"A pretty trick but of no value to me," Lion said impatiently. "Will you sell her or not?"

Giovanni was thinking quickly. "She's young enough to bear you children. That should
be worth something."

"I'm not buying her to occupy my bed. She's hardly appetizing enough to interest me in
that fashion."

Giovanni looked at Sanchia and reluctantly agreed. "True, but a woman is a woman when
a man's blood runs hot. Perhaps you could--"

"I'm weary of this haggling." Lion reached in his belt and drew out his purse. "Fifty
ducats. No more. Agreed?"

Giovanni's gaze fastened hungrily on the purse. "It's still too little. She works hard and..."
He stopped as his glance met Lion's and took an involuntary step back. "Agreed, my
lord."

"No!" Sanchia had been enveloped in a nightmare of shock and bewilderment, unable to
believe this was happening until Giovanni's final words of assent jarred her from her
stupor. She rushed toward Giovanni. "You can't do this. I can't go--"

"Quiet! Do you know how long it would take me to earn fifty ducats?"

"I won't leave them." She clutched at his arm. "You can't do this. How will they--"

She broke off as Giovanni's hand cracked against her cheek and sent her reeling away
from him.

"Sanchia." Elizabet started toward her, tears running down her cheeks. "Oh, Sanchia."

Giovanni turned swiftly back to Lion. "She's not usually so unruly. A good beating now
and then keeps her in order."

Lion's face hardened as he gazed at the livid mark appearing on Sanchia's cheek. "Don't
touch her again. She's mine now and I'll discipline her as I see fit."

"I
won't
go with him." Sanchia's eyes were suddenly blazing. "This is wrong. I've served
you well, you stupid fool."

Giovanni took three steps toward her. "Be silent or I'll--"

"Don't touch her." Lion's voice held steely menace. "Or by the saints, you'll regret it,
Ballano."

Giovanni stopped and took a deep breath. "She'll be more obedient when she's away from
those three strays. I should never have let her persuade me to take them in."

"They cost you nothing." Sanchia's voice was fierce. "I saw that they were fed. I took
care of them."

"Sanchia, don't," Elizabet whispered.

"Why not?" Sanchia's eyes glittered with a recklessness born of desperation. "What can
he do to me that he hasn't already done? He's a greedy fool who cares for nothing but his
vino."

"Her papers and a bill of sale," Lion said quickly. The terrified kitten had suddenly
grown claws, he noticed with exasperation. In another minute she would have Ballano so
enraged he would refuse to sell her just to have the pleasure of beating her senseless. "I
have no more time."

Giovanni cast a furious glance at Sanchia, then strode over to the scribe table and
scrawled a few lines on the parchment lying on it. "There's your bill of sale. She's yours
now." He turned and strode to the door leading to his quarters. "I'll get her papers from
my chest."

Elizabet was weeping softly, and Sanchia instinctively turned to comfort her. "It will be
all right. I'll find a way to take care of you."

"But Sanchia, what can you do?"

Lion studied Sanchia. The fury illuminating Sanchia's face was suddenly gone, and it
gave him food for thought. If he had allowed her defiance of Ballano to continue, the sale
might well have fallen through. Had the girl's anger only been a pretense directed toward
that aim? "Yes, Sanchia, what can you do?" he ask silkily. "I'm beginning to wonder who
was the slave all these years you've been with Ballano."

She turned to look at him. "There was no question who was the slave," she said bitterly.

"But you don't deny you were pretending anger just now to get what you wanted."

She shook her head. "No pretense. I was angry, but I wouldn't have let it run free if I
hadn't thought it might keep Giovanni from selling me."

"A dangerous device. He might have hurt you badly."

"I would have healed. He wouldn't have killed me while I still have value to him. He's a
fool, not a madman."

"You appear to know him well. But you don't know me at all. I'm not a fool, Sanchia."

Sanchia shivered. "I did not think you a fool. I wouldn't make that mistake."

"Here it is." Giovanni hurried toward them, a frayed leather folder in his hands. He
handed the folder to Lion and received the purse of ducats in return. "I bought them both
from a Spaniard who assured me they came of good strong stock. You've made a fine
purchase."

"An interesting one at any rate." Lion was abruptly filled with disgust and an
overwhelming urgency to be done with the man. "Go get your things, Sanchia. We're
leaving this place."

Giovanni said quickly, "There's nothing for her to get. Slaves don't have possessions, my
lord."

Sanchia lifted shaking fingers to her throbbing temple, trying to think. "I can't leave yet.
There's Elizabet."

Giovanni's gaze shifted to Elizabet. "Elizabet is no longer your concern. However, I may
be able to use her. She keeps the shop clean and I'll need someone to--"

"No," Sanchia said flatly. "She isn't going to stay here."

"And where else would she go?" Giovanni asked. "I'll give her a roof over her head and
food for her belly. She can't expect more. I may take Bartolomeo, too, but Piero will have
to go. He's too young to be of any help."

"You'll not keep any of them." Sanchia turned to Elizabet. "Go find Bartolomeo and
Piero and meet me in the piazza."

Elizabet gazed at her in confusion.

"Hurry!" Sanchia gave her a little push. "All will be well."

"Stay," Giovanni ordered. "Obey me, Elizabet."

Elizabet gave him a frightened glance and fled from the shop.

Giovanni began to curse vehemently and obscenely as he turned to Sanchia. "They'll
starve in the streets. You'll see, you arrogant bitch."

"No, they won't. I'll not let them starve." She gave him a level look over her shoulder as
she moved toward the door. "And I'll not let them be used by you either. I know what
you'd do to them if I weren't here. Bartolomeo would soon be as much a slave to you as I
was and Elizabet would become your whore. I'll see you burn in hell before I let that
happen." She turned to Lion. "We can go now."

"Thank you." Heavy irony laced Lion's tone. "May I remind you that it's you who
belongs to me and not I to you?" He followed her from the shop into the street.

"No reminder is necessary." She drew her shawl closer to ward off the chill that came as
much from the emotions storming through her as the coolness following the rain. She had
to plan, she thought dully, but she was so exhausted and dazed it was difficult to think.
"Why did you buy me?"

"Because it suited me, a whim perhaps."

She shook her head. "You're not an impulsive man. I don't think you'd do anything
without a reason."

"You find me so easy to read?" Lion asked softly. "You'd be more clever to hide that
ability."

"I
have
to understand you." She turned to look at him, desperation threading her voice. "I
have to try to see what you are and what you want so that I can give it to you. So that I
can find a way... " She stopped and drew a shaky breath. "Are you angry with me for
stealing from you? Did you buy me so that you could torture me at your leisure?"