But the answer was still the same. There was no other.
The night had never seemed so dark. . . .
Then, the shadow of a wing brushed him, and a quiet filled him. He made his mind very still, then, and waited.
There is no other, my child, said a voice as deep as the seas, as vast as the night sky. But I will be with you. Your soul will survive.
His soul . . . not his body, perhaps, but his soul.
It was enough; enough for him to find a small scrap of courage left, to drag together the rags of his sense of self, and to find a little more courage, a little more heart. And finally, what was left of his dignity.
He dismissed his protections with a word, and walked back to what had been his home, and would not be for much longer. Sophia looked up as he rejoined her on their combined rafts. Her eyes widened a little, as if he somehow looked different, now.
Perhaps he did.
For a moment he gazed out over the water towards the city, towards his fate.
'It's time, Sophia,' he said at last. 'It's time to go back.'
Sophia smiled at him, shifting the wrinkles. And shook her head. 'It's time you went back, Chiano. But this is my place, now,' she said with finality.
Chapter 42 ==========
After he lowered his pack onto the cot which would henceforth serve him as a bed, Eneko Lopez heaved a sigh of relief. 'Thank God,' he murmured, as his eyes made a quick survey of his new living quarters. The survey was very brief, for the simple reason that there was very little to survey in the first place. The room was tiny, as small as any cell he had inhabited in his years as a monk. Except for the cot and a small chest at the foot of it which would serve to store his few belongings, the only other item of furniture was a writing table in front of the room's one small window and a chair. Other than that, the room was bare except for a crucifix hanging on the wall above the cot.
'I'll miss the library,' he murmured. 'But nothing else.'
His two companions smiled. Diego motioned with his head toward the open window. 'The smell from the canals is bad at times, here in the Ghetto.'
'Not half as bad as the stench in Casa Brunelli,' growled Pierre. 'What did you give as your reason for changing quarters?'
'I simply told Ricardo Brunelli that my work in the Ghetto had progressed to the point where I needed to live there. Which is true enough, as far as it goes.'
'You should have--'
'Oh, Pierre--do stop!' snapped Eneko. 'We have enough problems on our hands without offending the Brunellis unnecessarily. Any more than I have already by spurning that infernal Lucrezia's constant advances.'
Pierre, as usual, was stubborn. ' 'Infernal' is right,' he growled.
'Pierre . . . please. You admit yourself that you've never been able to detect any sense of a witch about her.'
'You're making too much of that,' retorted Pierre. 'My talent has definite limits, Eneko. What I said was that I could not detect any demonic possession in the woman. That's what a 'witch' is, after all. That does not mean she can't be as vile as any of Satan's minions.'
'That the woman is evil I don't doubt for an instant,' replied Eneko, shrugging. 'But we have not a shred of evidence to think she is in any way connected to the events in Venice which brought us here. And, given the position of the Brunellis, I can see no logical reason why she would be.'
'You yourself have said 'evil needs no reason,' ' pointed out Pierre.
Eneko sighed. 'Savoy mule! Let there be an end to it, Pierre, at least for now. We must concentrate on the matter at hand.'
'On that,' interjected Diego, 'there is news. Perhaps, I should say.'
