Turning the Storm (11 page)

“No,” Ulisse said, in perfectly even tones. “Of course I don't believe them; of course none of us believe them. So, Daniele. You were going to tell us what
you
know.”

“Some time back the Circle sent soldiers to keep the displaced farmers in the wasteland from migrating north,” I said. This was common knowledge in Verdia, but Valentino looked surprised.

“Are you sure that was why they were sent?” Valentino asked. “Maybe there was another threat from Vesuvia …”

Ulisse snorted. “Vesuvia is in no position to threaten us anymore—if they ever were.”

I wondered if he knew something about conditions in Vesuvia that I didn't. “What are you saying?”

Ulisse shrugged. “I'm just saying that maybe the war wasn't fought for the reasons we're all supposed to believe.” I knew that was true; Lucia had told me that the war was fought over a perfume ingredient, and they'd told us otherwise at the time. “Anyway, Daniele, go on. The Circle sent soldiers.”

“Right. We actually knew it couldn't be for a new war, because there were no mages with them; they couldn't have been planning to challenge the Vesuviano Circle. Refugees who tried to go north past the soldiers—well, some were killed. Others were rounded up and taken somewhere, no one was quite sure where. According to what I've heard, they were taken to camps near the border with Vesuvia and enslaved.”

“That's illegal,” Valentino said. “Who was enslaving them?”

“The soldiers,” I said, “on the orders of the Circle. The Circle wanted the prisoners to build a wall along the entire border with Vesuvia, since the border can't be defended magically anymore. You know—and this is something I've heard on very good authority— magery doesn't work in the wasteland.”

“We'd heard that,” Ulisse said, “though the Fedeli still deny it.”

“Well, it's true.” I paused for a moment, then went on. “That's where the uprising started, those camps. And that's what the Lupi did for most of the summer— they freed the camps. Then just as the summer was ending, we heard they were heading north. Then almost immediately after that, we heard that mages had destroyed their army and they'd retreated to the wasteland. Then I came north; that's all I know.”

“Well, it sounds like we don't have anything to
worry about, in any case,” Valentino said. “It made me
more
nervous that no one was talking about it, you know? Like, there must be something we
should
be worrying about.”

“Worry about Sura,” Quirino said. “Or Signora Clara.”

“Do you know any more of those songs?” Ulisse said.

“I know them all,” I said. “If you want to know the truth, I kind of liked them.”

Ulisse hummed the tunes quietly, and it turned out he knew them all, as well. He even had them memorized. I was impressed, as he wasn't a musician. “Ulisse's got a crush,” Quirino explained.

Ulisse turned bright red. “That's not true.”

“Oh really? When was the last time you flirted with a lady and
didn't
compare her to the mythical Eliana? Could it be, say, a couple of months ago? Maybe before you ever
heard
the songs? Give it
up
, Ulisse; she's probably dead.”

“No,” I said. “She's alive—or so the rumors said.” I glanced at Ulisse and bit my lip to conceal my amusement. “I don't think you'd like her, though. You know, she used to be a musician, at the Verdiano rural conservatory.”

“That's
right
,” Ulisse said. “Did you ever meet her?”

“No,” I said, “but I met somebody who knew her, and trust me, she's not what you're picturing.”

We finished our drinks not long after that and headed back toward the enclave. Valentino, flushed with wine and irritated with Quirino for harping on Sura, started in on Silvia, some ex-lover of Quirino's.

“Why shouldn't I sleep with a mage?” Quirino said.
“Maybe if you slept with mages you'd get into less trouble.”

“Excuse me,” Valentino said, “but maybe
I'd
like to have children someday.”

“I'd like to have children someday, too,” Quirino said. “Just not nine months from when I was sleeping with Silvia.”

“You had a mage as a lover?” I asked, trying to clarify the situation. “What was
that
like?”

Quirino snorted, looking me over—probably wondering if I'd slept with any of the girls back at the conservatory. I blushed, against my will, and he relented. “About like any other girl, I guess. Silvia's very beautiful.”

“So what happened? You decided you wanted to have children?”

Quirino shook his head. “You know how they take mages young, even younger than musicians? They teach them to think a certain way, you know, and if you don't go along with them, they make you sorry. Silvia used to talk about that, a bit.” He paused.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“Well, one of the things they teach mages to think is that they're better than anyone else. And
that
lesson she'd learned.” Quirino gave me a rueful smile. “But,” and he turned back to Valentino, “she was
not
someone who was going to get me into trouble.”

Once we were back at the enclave, Valentino wandered off—to look for Sura, no doubt—and Quirino drew me into one of the smaller gardens. “I don't trust Valentino to keep his mouth shut,” he said, “and I don't trust Ulisse not to share things with Valentino. But you can trust me, and the fountain should cover
our conversation.” We sat down on the marble edge. “You know a lot about the rebels,” he said, “and a lot about their leader. Have you met them? Her?”

“No.”

“You can trust me,” Quirino said. “I don't know how to convince you, but—I want to know more. Anything you can tell me.”

Well, I couldn't play it safe forever.

“Not their leader,” I said, “but a party of scouts—at least, that's what I thought they were.” I'd thought this story out, on my trip up the river. “The roads in Verdia are dangerous right now. I was traveling alone, which was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking except that when I first started at the conservatory, before the war with Vesuvia, it would have been safe. I was set upon by bandits, and a group of four men and one woman came to my rescue.”

“Lupi,” Quirino said.

I nodded. “I thought so, though I'm not absolutely sure. It wasn't like they had writing on their foreheads saying ‘hey there, folks, we're rebel soldiers,’ or anything.”

Quirino laughed hesitantly. “No sashes?”

“No, of course not. This was just a handful—but they carried crossbows, and they looked like they'd been armed from the bodies of fallen soldiers …”

“They must have been Lupi,” Quirino said. “What did you think of them?”

“They were courteous,” I said. “They took care of me until I could join a larger group to travel with. When they realized I was a musician, of course, they taught me all those songs; that's why I knew them.”

Quirino nodded. “Do you know any of the other, you know, secret music?”

“Old Way music?” I whispered, despite the cover of the fountain. “Don't all musicians?” I smiled at him wryly. “I knew without being told not to play those here.”

Quirino shook his head. “It wasn't always such a serious crime. Is it true that the Lupi are also Redentori?”

“Most of them.”

“The Fedeli—well, it's not like they were ever very happy about Old Way superstition, but since the trouble in Verdia started—” He shook his head. “Maybe we can take a trip sometime, out of Cuore, and you can teach me a few of those songs, you know?”

“I'd trade,” I said. “But I gather I shouldn't teach Valentino?”

Quirino looked exasperated. “Valentino thinks that his naïveté will protect him. So he's friends with Ulisse, and he thinks Sura is cute. Why should this be a problem?”

“Why should it? I still don't understand. You said you'd explain the factions to me—”

“—later, I know. I'm sorry to keep putting you off, but my ensemble's performing soon and I need to get back to my room to get my clarinet. I'll explain later, I promise.”

Quirino headed off, turning back to make a final request—“Find Valentino! Get him away from Sura. This is ridiculous—he really is going to get into trouble.”

∗    ∗    ∗

I went out to meet Michel that evening, at another smoky tavern near the university. I was afraid Ulisse would spot me and demand to know why I was there, but this crowd seemed to be older. Michel joined me at my table a few minutes after I arrived.

“Was that you I saw today?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said with a broad grin. “I did a good job at looking like I didn't know you, didn't I?”

“You did fine,” I said. “Do you have any messages for me? I don't have anything to report yet.”

Michel sighed. “I met with the guy who runs stuff, Placido.”

“And?”

“Placido wants to know why
Eliana
didn't come up to meet with them, or Giovanni. I told him that we've got a spy at court—not who, of course—and he wants to meet you.”

“Out of the question,” I said.

“That's what I said. He didn't like that answer. They're putting me up and giving me cover, but they're not letting me into their counsels. I'm not
noble
enough for them.” Michel glared at his wine cup.

“Tell them I'm not up to their standards, either.”

“I don't think it matters. I think they just want to prove that we're at
their
beck and call, and not the other way around.”

“Well,” I said. “We're not. Michel, stand straight and look them in the eye! You're better than they are. You've led soldiers in battle, you've faced the Circle, while they've slunk around Cuore holding meetings and appointing generali.” I punched his arm gently. “But don't worry about it too much. All we really needed from them was a way for you to stay safely in Cuore, so that you could carry messages if needed. They're giving us that, right?”

Michel nodded.

“So, if Placido takes his head out of his asshole, great. If not, he's the one who has to live with the smell.”

Michel laughed, and poured me more wine. “You're right.”

Neither of us had anything else to report, so I bid Michel good-bye and got up to leave. As I slipped through the door, I came face-to-face with a tall young man with beady eyes and a round, piglike face. Pig-boy gave me a poisonous glare, then shouldered me out of the way to enter the inn. He was greeted by several people who raised their wine cups enthusiastically and shouted, “Placido!” I turned around briefly to take a better look, but he'd already turned his back on me, moving into the tavern with a bright smile and a handclasp for all. If pig-boy was the leader of the university reformers, I decided, I was glad that Giovanni was the worst I ever had to deal with.

A
page wearing the Emperor's sigil delivered a small scroll to my room the next morning. I took it to breakfast to show Valentino and Quirino. “Is this for real?” I asked them.

“Oh, the banquet?” Valentino peered at the scroll briefly. “Yeah, everyone gets invited to one of those when they first arrive. Don't get
too
impressed. It's nothing all that special.”

“But with the Emperor—”

“Hey, what do you suppose he does all day? He goes to banquets.” Valentino winked, then shrugged. “He might be there, he might not. At my banquet, he showed up long enough for us to raise our wineglasses and toast his health, and then he left.”

“So how many people will be there? Are they all musicians?”

“Hundreds,” Quirino said, “and no, they won't all be musicians. These banquets get held every week or two, and all the new arrivals with some status are invited— musicians, counselors, petty aristocrats, scholars, priests, Circle apprentices. It's quite a mix. You could end up sitting next to some noble from the northern border, or a fresh-from-university physician, or anything.”

“I sat next to a young lady from Marino,” Valentino said. “Lovely girl.”

Quirino snorted. “Didn't she slap you?”

“No, of course not,” Valentino said. “Or—wait, no, maybe she did. I forget. It was either her or that flute player I tried to get to know my first week.”

“In any case,” Quirino said, “you're expected to go, but fortunately there's a decent chance it will be entertaining. When is it?”

I checked my scroll. “Tomorrow afternoon. Do I—” I hesitated; would a boy ask his friends what to wear? I decided I'd better risk it, and hunted for a boylike phrasing. “Do I have to dress up for it?”

Quirino looked me over. “What you have on should be fine. You're
supposed
to look like a musician. Don't bring your violin, though, or someone might make you play and you'll never get to eat your dinner.”

The morning rehearsal went well; after the noon meal, I walked back to Valentino's room so that he could put away his violin and get his cloak. It was draped over a chair, on top of several sets of hose and what looked like a Midwinter mask; he picked up the cloak, then froze.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It's not mine,” Valentino said. “I swear by the Lady! It's not mine! I don't know how it got here!”

I strode over to the chair and looked. Under the
cloak, someone had tucked a simple wooden cross on a green ribbon. Valentino threw his cloak down over it and backed away.

Quirino appeared in the doorway, his own cloak draped over one arm. “What's wrong?” I gestured toward the chair; Quirino closed the door behind him and came over to look. He grabbed up the cross in one hand and turned in fury on Valentino. “This is Clara's doing,” he said. “I
told
you Sura was trouble!”

“It's not Sura's fault,” Valentino said. “She wouldn't do anything to hurt me.”

“Maybe Sura wouldn't, but Clara would,” Quirino said. “
Now
will you believe me?
Now
will you stay away from her? This is just a
warning
, you idiot; she left this where you would find it. Do you have any
idea
what the Fedeli would—”