Read Online The Wager by Donna Jo Napoli - Free Book Online Page B

dish.”
    The purse swelled. Heavy.
    Was he losing his mind? Could this really be?
    He pressed the purse to his cheek.
    If he left the stable, someone might see him go. They’d secure the doors behind him. And he’d get yelled at. Maybe have things thrown at him. Rocks. Garbage. Yesterday he’d made noise purposely, pretending to try to get into a stable he knew was well locked, just to have that garbage hurled out the window at him. Gnawing at a bone soothed his empty gut.
    A dinner at the inn would soothe better.
    Who was he kidding? That wasn’t the devil. Yes, he spoke as though he understood Don Giovanni’s thoughts. Don Giovanni hadn’t failed to notice that. But the real devil, not this phony version his demented mind had conjured up, would neverbother with someone who looked like him. Like a pathetic beggar.
    But then, if the Lord’s eye was on every creature, no matter how small, how insignificant, why couldn’t the devil’s be?
    It was possible. Logical. Inevitable.
    His fingers fought with the knot on the purse. He opened it. Metal disks. He couldn’t see them in the dark, which had become pitch black. But he felt indentations. Arab inscriptions? The Norman royalty in Palermo put Arab inscriptions on their coins.
    He closed the purse, tucked it inside his smock, and wrapped his cape tight. He opened the stable door the minimum necessary and edged his way out.
    â€œThief!”
    Thief? No! He clutched the purse through his smock and ran.
    Footsteps gained on him from behind. Something grabbed his cape. It ripped.
    Don Giovanni sprawled headlong in the alley.
    â€œWhat were you doing in that stable?”
    â€œSleeping,” said Don Giovanni in his beggar’s voice, not moving from the ground. The purse formed a hard lump against his liver.
    â€œIt’s the middle of the night. If you entered just to sleep, why did you leave now? Eh?” A boot kicked him in the rib. “Turn over.”
    Don Giovanni turned onto his back. Did the bulge of the purse show? This was his old bad-luck streak coming back in full force. To lose the purse before he’d even used it was a cockroach’s luck. A virgin martyr’s luck.
    The man who stood over him held a long wooden cudgel pointed at Don Giovanni’s chest. “I asked you a question.”
    â€œI woke.”
    â€œWhat woke you?”
    â€œHunger.”
    The man moved the cudgel so it pointed at Don Giovanni’s throat. “We’re all hungry after a day’s fast.”
    â€œIt’s been longer for me,” said Don Giovanni.
    â€œDid you take anything from my master’s stable?”
    â€œWhat would I take? There was nothing to eat in there. And I’ve got nowhere to hide a horse blanket.”
    â€œThat’s true enough.” The man rested the cudgel on Don Giovanni’s Adam’s apple. It hurt. “You’re lucky it’s All Saints’ and All Souls’ Day. Mercy rules today. Get out of here. Don’t come back. Mercy doesn’t rule tomorrow.”
    Don Giovanni scootched away. The alley was getting him dirty. Dirty already. But as long as he had the purse, he could survive. He got up slowly, hunching over to hide his middle.
    â€œGet out of here!”
    Don Giovanni ran.
    He went straight to the inn. Closed, naturally. No sane traveler would arrive in the middle of the night.
    He filled his hand with pebbles, dirty from volcano soot, and threw them at the front shutters one flight up.
    The shutters opened. A lit candle appeared. A face.
    Don Giovanni waved to the man. “Hello . . .”
    The light went out instantly. The shutters closed.
    Don Giovanni scooped up another handful of pebbles. He threw them again.
    The shutters opened. “What do you want?”
    â€œA room.”
    â€œHave you got money?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’m not coming down in this chill for no reason, am I?”
    â€œIt’s your