around!' Somewhat to Marco's surprise, he was talking just like the canalers, chameleonlike acquiring the coloration of his surroundings.
Marco began to make out some of the lyrics. Benito had the right of it. The song skirted just the high side of treason--but oddly enough, he couldn't identify what faction the song was in favor of.
'Valentina and Claudia and they ain't on anybody's side.' Benito elbowed his way in through front door, with Marco trailing warily behind. 'They just like to rile people up, I guess.'
The tavern room was hot and redolent with the bouquet of food, drink and humanity; crammed full, every table and chair occupied and people jammed in against the walls. The objects of their attention were perched on the bar, grinning insolently and singing for all they were worth. Their voices were amazingly strong and clear; Marco could hear them long before he could see them.
Benito finally wormed a place for them in beside the bar, and Marco managed to get a good view under someone's elbow. They were something to stare at, were Valentina and Claudia, though which was which he couldn't guess. One was playing a lute, her hands moving on the strings so fast Marco could hardly credit his eyes. She seemed the older of the two by five, maybe ten years. The other was setting up a complicated pattern on a couple of hand drums, but Marco could see a mandola leaning up against the bar next to her. Both had dark, nearly black, straight hair, tied around with red scarves. The older one wore hers long, past her shoulders, the younger, shorter than Benito's. Both had sharp features and ironic grins. Both were wearing flounced red-patterned skirts. Both had pale, pale skin--as if they didn't see the sun much.
And both of them were wearing at least three knives that Marco could see.
'Hope they get the crowd calmed down before they finish up,' Benito muttered, 'or with this lot, half-drunk as they are, no tellin' what they might do.'
To Marco's relief they did just that, finishing up at last with something melancholy enough that one or two of the more sodden customers began sniffling into their wine. Then, ignoring demands for more, they picked up their instruments and hopped off the bar. Benito waved at them. The older one spotted him and motioned him over. Seeing that he'd been summoned by one of their darlings, the crowd parted politely so that the two boys could make their way to the singers' tiny table, crowded into a cramped nook to one side of the bar itself. There was barely room for both women, the boys and the instruments.
The older one reached over the table and tweaked Benito's nose. 'Where've y' been, cull? Y' haven't been here since the Feast started--we was beginnin' t' think y' didn't love us no more.'
'Out an' about, earnin' a wedge or two. You tryin' t' get yourselves invited down to the Doge's torture chambers? What'f there'd been Schiopettieri around?'
'Huh, Schiopettieri are all dead drunk by now. Besides there's a crow on the door. That's the latest ballad out of Syracuse.'
'With additions by you, Valentina, I got no doubt,' Benito snorted. 'The Servants don't hold with Moorish music, y'know, and they say the Doge is favoring 'em these days. God rot th' senile old fool. Ye're gonna find yourself at nubbing cheat, an' not because of what y' do outside the walls.'
'Listen to the kitten, telling the old cats how to prowl!' the younger woman crowed. 'Who taught you, hmm? Ins and outs, ups and downs--'
Benito cleared his throat with a sideways glance toward Marco--and only then did the women seem to see him.
'Well! Who's this? Can't be related to you, kid--he's too pretty.'
Marco felt his ears burning.
'This, Valentina, is my brother . . . Marco. You know.'
'Oh-ho. Brought him out of hiding, hmm? And y' need something, I don't doubt. Make him someone's cousin?' Claudia--the older woman--caught Marco's chin in one long, sharp-nailed hand, and turned his face from side to side, examining it closely. 'Just feeding him'd do. I'd think a little flesh on him, and no one'd tumble to 'im.'
Benito shook his head. 'No go. He needs more; needs protection, needs somebody with weight backing 'im. So I'm askin'--you seen that pretty blond--the one that ain't from these parts--in here lately?'
Claudia shook her head, letting go of Marco's chin. 'Not me. Valentina-love?'
She too shook her head. 'No. Know who would, though--that canal-rat that used't work for Antonio. Maria Garavelli. She's living with him, people say.'
'Oh, no--' It was Benito's turn to shake his head. 'Ain't messin' with that one. That Maria keeps an eye on 'im; push him, she'll know--I damn sure don't want her knowin' I'm trying to touch her man. She's got a nasty way with folks as bothers 'im.'
'Point,' Valentina agreed. 'All right. Best I can say is try that runner-girl of yours, Lola. She's been doin' runs
