Marco stared at it as though it was alive, not taking it.
'Go on, eat.' Aldanto pried one of Marco's hands off the glass and pressed the spoon into it. 'Marco--'
God and Saints, they were saved. Marco's head spun--this time with relief.
'About the Ventuccio--'
Marco took the bread which Benito had now brought. He dipped it into the soup and took a tiny bite. He swallowed around a lump in his throat, and began.
* * *
When Marco had finished telling Aldanto all he knew and most of what he guessed, and when his knees could hold him upright again, Aldanto considered them both carefully for several long moments. Marco took advantage of his preoccupation to finish every drop of soup and every crumb of bread.
'Something must be done with you two,' Aldanto said at last. 'The safest you can be is in plain sight. And Ventuccio can do that better than anyone.'
Marco didn't argue with him--after all, he'd just proved how poor his own judgment was. Aldanto pondered something silently for a very long time, while a young riot of shouting youths passed by outside and moved on.
'I think it's not too late to get speech of Ventuccio,' Aldanto said abruptly. 'It's Solstice, after all. Come along.'
Before Marco could protest, before Benito could do anything more than look stunned, Aldanto had chivvied them out of the door and onto the walkway. Benito, for once, looked appropriately apprehensive, but that could easily have been because he'd run errands for Ventuccio and reckoned on being recognized there.
Aldanto had not been speaking rhetorically, for a brisk walk brought them straight to Casa Ventuccio proper.
At least he didn't take them to the main door of the great house. Instead, he led them down to a water-door, where he tapped out a sequence of knocks, and was answered.
The man who opened the door frowned ferociously when he saw who it was, but at least he listened to Aldanto's whispered words and, after a moment, nodded.
'I'll see about it,' the man growled, and allowed them, grudgingly, past the door to stand waiting in the damp entry while he went away somewhere. Presently, he came back, still looking displeased, but jerked his head as a sign that they should follow. He led them down long, unlit halls of wood and stone, and finally into a room piled with ledgers that was so brightly lit Marco was blinking tears back.
Now they fronted a man Aldanto called by name, and that man was coldly angry. 'You have a lot of balls, coming here, Caesare,' the man spat. 'And for calling me away from my guests on a night of the Feast--'
'Granted,' Aldanto said coldly. 'However, I think you happen to take your honor and your pledged word fairly seriously, and I have just learned that you happen to have an unpaid debt and a broken promise you might want to discharge. These boys are Valdosta. Marco and Benito Valdosta.'
Marco had rarely seen words act so powerfully on someone. The man's anger faded into guilt.
'I've brought them here,' Aldanto continued deliberately, 'so that we can even some scales. You made a promise to Duke Dell'este, and didn't keep it. I--lost you some people. Both these kids are useful.'
Now the man looked skeptical, as if he doubted Aldanto's ability to judge much of anything.
'Milord,' Benito piped up, 'you've used me, I know. Ask your people. I'm a messenger--a good one. I don't take bribes, I'm fast--'
'You could take him on as a staff runner and train him for bargework as he grows into it. And the older boy clerks,' Aldanto continued.
'You don't expect me to take that on faith!'
Marco took a deep breath and interrupted. 'Set me a problem, milord. Nothing easy. You'll see.'
The man sniffed derisively, then rattled off something fast; a complicated calculation involving glass bottles--cost, expected breakage, transportation and storage, ending with the question of how much to ask for each in order to receive a twenty-percent profit margin.
