Iris Johansen - The Wind Dancer

The Wind Dancer

Iris Johansen

The Wind Dancer was born of a white-hot bolt of lightning.

So legend has it.

The Wind Dancer's worth was beyond price; its beauty beyond belief.

So legend has it.

The Wind Dancer could punish the evil, could reward the good.

So legend has it.

The Wind Dancer wielded the power to alter the destinies of men and nations.

So legend has it.

But legend, like history, can be distorted by time, robbed of truth by cynicism--yet begifted with splendor by imagination.

March 3, 1503

Florence, Italy

Stop, thief! Stop her! I've been robbed!"

Sanchia tore across the Mercato Vecchio, raced past the church and on down the street,jumping over an emaciated brown-and-white mongrel that devoured garbage scatteredover the flagstones. She ducked under the outstretched arm of a leather-aproned cobbler,but his large hand caught the coarse woolen shawl covering her head. She jerked it fromhis grasp and kept running.

The merchant chasing her was plump, but still he was closing the distance between them,and Sanchia's heart slammed against her ribcage in a delirium of panic.

She was going to be caught.

Her hands would be chopped off at the wrists.

She would be thrown in the Stinche to be eaten by the rats.

Hot, agonizing pain shot through her left side. A stitch. She had to keep running.

What would Piero do? she wondered wildly. The others were older; they would find away to survive. But Piero was only six. So many things could happen to so young achild...

"Grab her, you fools. The slut stole my purse!"

Dio, Sanchia thought, he sounded close. How could he run so fast with all those rolls offat hanging around his middle? She dodged around a wheelbarrow filled with fish, turnedthe corner of the Canto di Vacchereccia, then bolted down an alley yawning between agoldsmith's shop and an apothecary.

Darkness. Twilight lay over the city but full darkness reined in the alley.

Bright eyes glittered in the deep shadows at the base of the small buildings.

Rats. Dozens of them!

She stopped short, involuntarily recoiling.

The stones beneath the thin soles of her shoes were greasy from the garbage thrown outthere by shopkeepers. She need have no fear of the rats, though, while they were feastingon the garbage.

The smell of rotting food in the closeness of the alley was overpowering. She swallowed,trying to fight down the nausea caused as much from terror as the stench.

"Which way did she go?"

The merchant's voice was wheezing and sounded a little farther away. Had she lost himwhen she darted into the alley? She shrank back into the densely clotted shadows of thegoldsmith's shop, her palms pressed flat against the stone wall. Her breath was coming inharsh, painful gasps. Could he hear her? She tried to hold her breath, but there was nobreath to hold. Cristo, what if he had heard her?

The cold, wet slime-covered wall chilled her back as it penetrated the wool of her gown.Her muscles felt leaden, the blood frozen in her veins. She was suddenly acutelyconscious of the sharp, rough texture of the stone wall against her palms, but thesensation was almost pleasurable. Touch. What would she do without her hands? Howcould she live? How would all of them live?

"This way, you stupid blunderer."

She stiffened. The voice was not that of the fat merchant but one with which she wasbitterly familiar. Her heart gave a wild leap of hope. The alley door of the apothecaryshop had opened, and even in the darkness she recognized Caprino's slight, foppishlydressed silhouette.

She darted the few yards separating them and almost fell through the doorway into theshop. Her gaze flew to the front of the store, but the apprentice behind the small counterwas scrupulously avoiding looking in her direction.

"He's safe," Caprino said. "He does work for me."

Poison, Sanchia thought with a shiver, or perhaps the strange white powders Caprinogave his whores.

Caprino slammed the door and held out his hand. "The purse."

She fumbled beneath her shawl for the soft leather pouch and then dropped it into hispalm. She leaned back against the door, her knees shaking so badly she could barelystand upright.

"You were clumsy," Caprino said harshly. "I should have let that fat fool catch you. Nexttime I will."

She had to wait until she could speak without panting. "There won't be a next time. I'mnever going to do it again."

"You will," Caprino said coolly. "You're frightened now, but it will pass. You'll forgetthe fear and remember only the money that buys bread. You're not usually this clumsy.You may not come this close to being caught for the next ten lifts."

"I'll find another way." Sanchia's hands clenched at her sides. "There has to be anotherway."

"You didn't think so when you came to me." Caprino opened the door. "I have no moretime for you. I have important business at Giulia's. Stay here for another few minutesbefore you go back to Giovanni's." The door swung shut behind him.

He hadn't given Sanchia her share of the purse, she realized dully. Trust Caprino to try tosteal even the smallest purse, if given the opportunity. She would have to seek him outtomorrow and demand her portion. She had mouths to feed and Caprino was right abouthunger being a sharp dagger that might goad even a saint into thieving.

But was hunger worth the risk of having her hands chopped off?

Fresh panic clutched at her as a chilling memory returned. Two months before she hadseen a thief thrown out of Stinche Prison into the streets, his arms ending in bleedingstumps. Since then the fear of that punishment had lived with her during the day andinvaded her dreams at night, She had tried and tried to think of another way to earnmoney to feed them, all the while fearing her frantic scheming would come to nought.There was no other way.

As there would be no other way the next time or the time after that. She would have tosteal again just as Caprino had predicted. But he was wrong about the terror holding herin helpless thrall; it wasn't a thing of the moment.

She knew the fear would never go away again.

"Good evening, noble messeres, I have the honor to present to you my greetings. I amGuido Caprino." Caprino stood in the doorway and smiled ingratiatingly at the two mensitting at the polished table across the chamber. "The enchanting Madonna Giulia assuredme I could be of some slight service to you."

He carefully kept a bland expression on his face as he appraised the two men. The olderhad to be Lorenzo Vasaro, he decided. His high cheekbones and deepset eyes matchedthe description Giulia had given him of the man--and besides, Caprino's own instinctsresponded to the shadowy aura of menace surrounding him. The man was lean,faultlessly elegant in his fashionably slashed black doublet, and clearly more dangerousthan his companion. He gazed at the other man and felt a ripple of distaste. He was somale. Lionello Andreas might stand well over six feet, Caprino surmised, and he was toobig-boned to lay claim to elegance no matter how richly he was garbed. Now, dressedonly in gray hose and a loose white shirt, he appeared to be exactly what Caprino hadexpected: a barbarian warrior with more brawn than brains, he was not wearing aweapon, not even a dagger. Andreas might be the lord of Mandara, but Caprino wouldwager it was Vasaro who was the shrewd power behind the scenes there.

"Come in, Messer Caprino." Andreas picked up the silver goblet on the table in front ofhim and waved it at a cushioned chair beside the window before raising it to his lips. "Beseated."

The arrogant bastard hadn't bothered to stand up to greet him properly, Caprino thoughtas he smiled politely and crossed the room to take the seat indicated. No doubt Andreasdid not think him worthy of respect. He would soon learn differently.