Read Online Irenicon by Aidan Harte - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Aidan Harte
Tags: Fiction
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fighting all the time?”
“Nothing, but it makes us dangerous folk to cross.”
Fabbro saw finally the line he had crossed. His hands dropped impotently, and his chin sank toward his chest. “I understand. My money’s good. My name is the problem.”
“No, no!” The Doctor grabbed the man’s arms, embraced and kissed him. “The point is you have me! I will be your champion.”
As Fabbro left, he saw the Doctor return to Guercho Vaccarelli with a warm smile. The deference was especially galling because he knew Vaccarelli was broke. He himself had given the old man loans he would never see paid back. But that didn’t matter, because Vaccarelli was noble. It didn’t matter how rich you became if you were unlucky enough to be born one of the Small People. At times like this, Fabbro understood why his old friend Vettori had given up a long time ago. Doc Bardini was not the one pushing against the current.
CHAPTER 11
An hour later the Doctor led his allies south. An uneasy peace held among the heads of the northside towers, but these old fighters all recognized Bardini authority. Young Valerius insisted on coming along—the truce observed while the Signoria sat was a great chance to see Rasenna’s other half. The Concordian had recovered from yesterday enough to begin bragging of the adventure, much to Sofia’s annoyance. It was downhill all the way, but Signore Vaccarelli set the group’s pace, so it was late afternoon by the time they reached the river and found Giovanni’s rope bridge in place.
“Where is he?” said Valerius, impatient to see his newly arrived countryman.
Sofia shot him a disdainful look, wondering the same thing. She saw him then—on the other bank, talking with the southside boy—and at almost the same moment, Giovanni waved. He boundedonto the bridge (it was just three taut ropes, one to walk across, the others for balance) and made his way across.
When he came within earshot, Sofia called, “You said you’d be waiting.”
“Sorry. Pedro kept me,” he said, leaping down.
“Pedro? You made a new friend.”
Hearing the playfulness in her voice, Valerius frowned, regarding Giovanni with hostility and a sense of familiarity that was odd because Concordian nobles and engineers rarely mixed.
“He had many questions,” said Giovanni.
“He’s not the only one. Captain, my guardian.”
Giovanni bowed. “Pleased to meet you, Doctor Bardini. General Luparelli sends his regards.”
“Ah! Nice to be remembered by an old student. This is the general’s son, Valerius.”
“Did Father have any word for me?”
Giovanni began awkwardly, “I’m afraid he didn’t mention—”
“No matter,” Valerius said blithely. “This bridge doesn’t look much, Captain. How do we know we won’t end sleeping with the buio?”
“It’s temporary but sound. Care to try it?”
The Doctor climbed up without hesitation and shouted to the others, “What are you waiting for?”
The northsiders had assurance of safe passage, but nothing could make them feel safe south of the Irenicon. When they reached land, flags went up and they traversed the empty expanse of Piazza Luna like explorers in a hostile land where every looming tower held enemies, not countrymen.
Only the Doctor was unperturbed, walking as if he had merely chosen an unusual route for his evening passeggiata. Adopting the role of host, he led Giovanni toward an antique templelike palazzo sitting precariously on the piazza’s crumbling edge. The building he grandly described as the Rasenneisi Senate was supported laboriously by an uneven row of stone pillars of pale green, like sodden old bread sticks.
The Palazzo della Signoria’s remoteness from the center of old Rasenna showed how little the Scaligeri had paid attention to the collective voice of other towers; it was also the reason it had survived the Wave—survived, though not escaped: to reach the Speakers’ Chamber, the men had to wade through a braccia of
“Nothing, but it makes us dangerous folk to cross.”
Fabbro saw finally the line he had crossed. His hands dropped impotently, and his chin sank toward his chest. “I understand. My money’s good. My name is the problem.”
“No, no!” The Doctor grabbed the man’s arms, embraced and kissed him. “The point is you have me! I will be your champion.”
As Fabbro left, he saw the Doctor return to Guercho Vaccarelli with a warm smile. The deference was especially galling because he knew Vaccarelli was broke. He himself had given the old man loans he would never see paid back. But that didn’t matter, because Vaccarelli was noble. It didn’t matter how rich you became if you were unlucky enough to be born one of the Small People. At times like this, Fabbro understood why his old friend Vettori had given up a long time ago. Doc Bardini was not the one pushing against the current.
CHAPTER 11
An hour later the Doctor led his allies south. An uneasy peace held among the heads of the northside towers, but these old fighters all recognized Bardini authority. Young Valerius insisted on coming along—the truce observed while the Signoria sat was a great chance to see Rasenna’s other half. The Concordian had recovered from yesterday enough to begin bragging of the adventure, much to Sofia’s annoyance. It was downhill all the way, but Signore Vaccarelli set the group’s pace, so it was late afternoon by the time they reached the river and found Giovanni’s rope bridge in place.
“Where is he?” said Valerius, impatient to see his newly arrived countryman.
Sofia shot him a disdainful look, wondering the same thing. She saw him then—on the other bank, talking with the southside boy—and at almost the same moment, Giovanni waved. He boundedonto the bridge (it was just three taut ropes, one to walk across, the others for balance) and made his way across.
When he came within earshot, Sofia called, “You said you’d be waiting.”
“Sorry. Pedro kept me,” he said, leaping down.
“Pedro? You made a new friend.”
Hearing the playfulness in her voice, Valerius frowned, regarding Giovanni with hostility and a sense of familiarity that was odd because Concordian nobles and engineers rarely mixed.
“He had many questions,” said Giovanni.
“He’s not the only one. Captain, my guardian.”
Giovanni bowed. “Pleased to meet you, Doctor Bardini. General Luparelli sends his regards.”
“Ah! Nice to be remembered by an old student. This is the general’s son, Valerius.”
“Did Father have any word for me?”
Giovanni began awkwardly, “I’m afraid he didn’t mention—”
“No matter,” Valerius said blithely. “This bridge doesn’t look much, Captain. How do we know we won’t end sleeping with the buio?”
“It’s temporary but sound. Care to try it?”
The Doctor climbed up without hesitation and shouted to the others, “What are you waiting for?”
The northsiders had assurance of safe passage, but nothing could make them feel safe south of the Irenicon. When they reached land, flags went up and they traversed the empty expanse of Piazza Luna like explorers in a hostile land where every looming tower held enemies, not countrymen.
Only the Doctor was unperturbed, walking as if he had merely chosen an unusual route for his evening passeggiata. Adopting the role of host, he led Giovanni toward an antique templelike palazzo sitting precariously on the piazza’s crumbling edge. The building he grandly described as the Rasenneisi Senate was supported laboriously by an uneven row of stone pillars of pale green, like sodden old bread sticks.
The Palazzo della Signoria’s remoteness from the center of old Rasenna showed how little the Scaligeri had paid attention to the collective voice of other towers; it was also the reason it had survived the Wave—survived, though not escaped: to reach the Speakers’ Chamber, the men had to wade through a braccia of
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