The Wager (10 page)

On the way back, he met the innkeeper coming out of his room.

“What were you doing in there?”

“Straightening things, Your Excellency.”

“The maidservant straightens things.”

The innkeeper pursed his lips. “This is my inn. It's my responsibility to check the rooms.”

He was a good enough liar in voice and words, but Don Giovanni saw the shiftiness in his eyes. The innkeeper had done something secret in Don Giovanni's room. Sneaky.

His purse!

Don Giovanni quickly pushed past the innkeeper into the room. The purse lay on the bed. The smock and cape were where he'd left them. But everything was slightly different. Telltale details. A fold in the cape, but he'd smoothed it flat with
both hands. The smock a bit to the right, but he'd spread it precisely over the center of the stool. And the purse open, but he'd drawn the strings.

“Everything's in order, as you can see,” said the innkeeper behind him.

“Yes.”

“And, oh, would you mind paying for the next two weeks now?”

“Paying ahead? Why?”

“That way I won't need to disturb you so often, seeing how much you value your privacy.”

“I'll pay by the day,” said Don Giovanni, “like all your other guests.”

The innkeeper put out his hand. “I think it would be best.” His eyes gave him away again. Despite his courteous voice, this was a challenge.

He'd searched the room. He'd found no money.

And Don Giovanni stood before him in simple trousers with no pockets. No place to have stashed money on his person.

Curiosity must be driving the man to distraction.

“All right,” said Don Giovanni. “But I'll pay after the midday meal.”

The innkeeper nodded and left.

Don Giovanni paced. Then he dressed and went out into the street.

Lord, it was cold. He pulled his cape tight.

The innkeeper had talked of two other inns in town. Where? In all his months here, he'd never had occasion to search for an inn. He had known of this one only because it was so close to the stable he liked to sneak into.

He turned to retrace his steps and faced a girl, not fifty paces away, whose mouth formed a dismayed O. He knew her; she was the maidservant who brought his meals to his room. She spun on her heel and walked away quickly.

Don Giovanni ran to catch up.

The maidservant looked over her shoulder in fright. She ran, as well.

A short, wide fellow stepped out of nowhere into Don Giovanni's path. “Are you bothering that young woman?”

“Get out of my way,” said Don Giovanni. He had to catch the girl.

“I'm not moving for no beggar.” The man put his fists on his hips. Then he squinted up into Don Giovanni's face. “I know you. You mucked out my master's stables last spring. You look different without that red ring around your eyes—you'd been a snow gatherer before you mucked out manure, right? Eyes tearing all day from Etna's fumes. The worst jobs in the world, they were yours. So who do you think you are, talking stuck-up like that, telling me what to do? You mess with that young woman and I'll beat you senseless.”

Don Giovanni drew back in alarm. He was stronger than
this man, no doubt about it. But he wouldn't do anything that would get his clothes dirty.

Besides, he didn't want to chase the girl anymore. What was the point in catching her and telling her not to follow him? The innkeeper would just send someone else to do it. That man was determined to find out where Don Giovanni got his money from.

It was time to leave Randazzo.

IT WAS MORNING. HIS BELLY WAS FULL. AND THOUGH THE AIR
was cold, the sky was clear. If Don Giovanni had to leave the city, these were as good a set of conditions as any.

So long as he had the magic purse, he'd be all right. And a birthday was an auspicious day to make a journey. Twenty years old. He could take on the world.

He stood on the road outside the town walls. To the east, the only cities of enough size to have inns were Catania and Messina. But Catania was under constant threat from Etna, and Don Giovanni had had it with the Mountain.

Messina was an even worse choice. No matter how careful Don Giovanni was, his clothes and body were bound to get dirty and dirtier. He didn't want anyone who knew him from before to see that. Especially since he planned to return there
when the game was up and buy back his castle and refurbish it more extravagantly than ever.

He set out westward in long strides. There was no point in being sluggish about it. Besides, vigorous motion would raise his body temperature.

Within a few kilometers he was surprised to find that the land on both sides of the road was relatively free of snow. The explanation came almost immediately, in a fierce wind that swept dead leaves and twigs and dirt in his face. He put up his hood, wrapped his cape tighter, and forged ahead, bent into the wind. But the chill made him need to urinate. Though there was no one in sight, these roads were curvy, and travelers could appear out of the blue. So he couldn't relieve himself in the open.

Well, he'd be quick about it. He dashed off the road toward a stand of trees and within a few steps he sank deep. He knew immediately what it was—not a snow pocket but a gully of soft ashes. It was impossibly stupid of him not to have been on the alert for it. The texture of ashes was recognizable to anyone who'd lived here even a month. And the wind had brushed the snow so thin on this slope that ash gray showed through, dull stains in the middle of the shiny white of snow dust and the black glitter of frozen dirt. Ash absorbed the sunlight like cloth soaking up water. Anyone should have seen it. What a dunce he was.

He walked back to solid ground. Soot covered his shoes and clung to his trousers up to mid-calf. Stupid stupid stupid him.

He returned to the road and stamped his feet, lifting his
knees high, trying to shake off as much as he could. Then he urinated right there in the middle of the road.

A man leading a donkey came up a side path at that very moment. He didn't bother to look away. Rather, he stared. Maybe he'd seen Don Giovanni jumping around. Maybe he'd even seen him sink into the ashes. Now an idiotic grin filled his face.

Embarrassment made Don Giovanni mean. “Are you as dumb as you look?”

The man laughed. “Are you?” His laugh was actually good-natured.

He passed. On the donkey's back was a pile of stools tied together by a thick rope. It seemed a haphazard mess, some upside down, some sideways, though Don Giovanni knew the arrangement was a careful balance. Why, there might have been ten or more stools there. The comical burden was higher than his head. That little donkey was strong.

“Wait,” called Don Giovanni.

The man didn't slow down.

Don Giovanni hurried back to him. “How much do you want for that donkey?”

The man grinned again. “What are you, a comedian?”

“How much? I've got money.”

The man gave a hoot. “Not enough.”

At the sound of the man's laughter, the donkey turned his head. But the pile of stools stuck out on both sides and blocked
his view. So he turned around, looked the two men in the face, and swiveled his oversize ears toward his master. He was a smart animal, Don Giovanni could tell.

The man continued along the road, leading the donkey behind him again.

Don Giovanni let them get far enough away that he was sure they wouldn't hear. He turned his back and whispered into his smock, “Dear one, give me money. Give me the wildest sum this man could possibly want for his donkey.” The purse filled to an amount that was pathetically small. How poor was this man, anyway?

Don Giovanni closed the coins in one hand. He ran after the man. “Name your sum.”

“I've got to deliver these stools to Randazzo this morning. Don't slow me down.”

“Think of the wildest sum you could possibly want for your donkey. Hold out your hand.”

The man smirked, but he held out his hand.

Don Giovanni filled it.

The man stopped. He counted the coins. He counted again. Then he frowned and gave the money back to Don Giovanni.

“Isn't it enough?”

“I can't deliver the furniture without my donkey.”

“Then deliver it. I'll wait here and take the donkey when you get back. And you can bring me something to eat for midday, too.”

“I have only enough food for myself.”

“I'll give you money to buy food. Enough for you and me both.”

“More money, eh? You've got more money than that?”

“Not much,” said Don Giovanni. The man didn't look shrewd enough to try to rob him, but appearances could deceive. “Just enough for the donkey and a meal.”

“I need my donkey,” said the man.

“You can get two for that price,” said Don Giovanni. He watched the man's face and knew; he added, “You could get three.”

“This is a good donkey,” said the man. “He never gets sick. He never balks. The next one could be different. Then where would I be?”

Was everyone in this part of the world greedy? The innkeeper wanted triple pay. And now this donkey owner wanted to fleece Don Giovanni, too. It didn't matter that he had an infinite source of money. It was the principle of the thing. It galled him to be cheated.

On the other hand, who knew how long it would take him to get to another town of decent size going west? He didn't want to dirty himself any more than he already had. And maybe the man was right; this donkey did seem special. Don Giovanni would have this donkey, whatever it took.

“How much do you want?”

“How much have you got?”

“This is absurd,” said Don Giovanni. He put the coins back in the man's hand. “Return with the donkey and food, and I'll pay you a fair price.”

“A fair price beyond this?”

“Yes.”

“And I get to name it?”

“Within reason, yes.”

The man put the money in a bag around the donkey's neck and left.

Don Giovanni stood watching them go. They were remarkably slow. Still, he knew donkeys could keep up a trot for long periods. If he rode, he'd not only stay clean, he could travel much faster than walking.

He looked around for a spot to wait. A large rock sat off to the side. He picked his way carefully through the dry rubble of dead weeds only to find that the rock was covered with a layer of ash.

He really was sick of Etna. Fire and snow: no worse combination was imaginable.

He wouldn't try to venture around the ash pit again. And the next closest stand of trees was a fair distance from the road, uphill all the way. But he had time.

He climbed to a pine, broke off a low bough, and went back to the rock. He brushed it clean, every nook and cranny. Then he sat down.

The winds grew sharper, coming from two directions now.
Maybe a storm was on the way. He put up his hood again and nestled down inside the cape, cursing its thinness.

How long had the donkey man been gone? The sooner Don Giovanni got that animal, the sooner he could start his journey. Trot, trot. A donkey trot was fast. He just had to remember that; he had to keep telling himself. A donkey trot was fast.

But not fast enough.

All right. When he passed someone on horseback, he'd trade in the donkey for a horse. That would be easy enough. With a horse, he could go all the way to Palermo in a matter of days.

In fact, it was ridiculous to sit here waiting for the donkey man. He should go back to Randazzo and buy a horse immediately. Who cared about the money he'd already given the donkey man? He had to start thinking differently. The purse made everything different.

Don Giovanni walked toward Randazzo fast.

Two men came along the road. They were talking loudly to each other. They hushed when they saw Don Giovanni. They drew closer to each other.

Don Giovanni nodded greeting.

“That's the one, isn't he?” said one man to the other.

“I'm pretty sure.”

The men blocked Don Giovanni's path.

“Give us your money,” said one. He was missing so many teeth, the words came out with a whistle.

Don Giovanni's heart sank. There was no way he could produce a coin without giving away the secret of the purse. “I don't have any.”

“Sure you do,” said the whistle man. “The money for the donkey.”

Don Giovanni kept a blank face. “What donkey?”

“We heard him describing you,” said the whistle man. “In the tavern, eating a meal he says you paid for. Singing and drinking. He bought everyone a round. You're the one, all right.”

“I don't have money.”

The other man pulled a knife from under his cloak. He held it high in his left hand, like a torch.

Don Giovanni took off his cape. He shook it out in front of their faces. He folded it and set it on the ground. The new wind whipped through his smock, as though it were made of spider gauze. He clenched his teeth and pulled the smock over his head and shook it out so they could see. He folded it and set it on top of the cape. His chest was goosebumps. He took the purse from its spot inside his waistband and opened the drawstrings. He shook it, turned it inside out, then laid it on the pile of clothes. “Nothing. You can see.”