“Kay, I don’t believe it.”Munch said, being excitable more than hip, which put Kay's guard up. Kay Howard sat, steeling herself for a shock.
“Really? How bad? Money? Sex? Ecstasy? Sexual slavery?"
“No, Kay. I actually talked to a happily married person. Somebody who enjoyed his wife. I’d heard it could happen, but I thought it was a myth like nirvana. Or perfect democracy. The vaginal orgasm, even.”
“OK, I get it. Unbelievable. Is that it?”
“You’re testy today.” When she didn’t answer, his expression softened. “Tough one. Am I right? And though it does my twisted spirit some good to have met a unicorn among men, your clearance rate will not be helped by the news that Nic Grabien would not murder his wife.”
“John, I don’t care about my clearance rate, ok?”
“Who are you and what have you done with Kay Howard?”
“Ok, I care, but it’s not the most important, huh? This is giving me Chilton flashbacks. Too close for comfort. What about the lunatics in the asylum?”
“One of them told me I made her “wibble”. What’s a ‘wibble’ Kay?”
“I think...this is embarrassing, but she could be hot for you. That’s mostly what this stuff means. Except for AIFG.”
“And that is?”
“Fucking great.”
“I didn’t ask for an editorial...”
“No, genius. ‘I’m working a redball right now, and it’s fucking great. Except it sucks.” Kay clicked through the FAQ. “She invented “foamy’....these people talk about sex more than you.”
“Maybe I need to rethink this internet thing.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Guess you had to be there.”
“ But no, no Buffista grudges. And the tip about the plural marriage...some gag. The wives are scattered all over.”
“She’s a writer. Maybe she made an enemy.”
“Finally, she sees reason...did I not tell you?” Munch paced the hotel room.
Another chunk of Italy.
The Crusader's Kiss was an old inn which still had its attached stables, despite the value of land inside Roma and the scarcity of horses on the crowded streets. When the Scourge of Europe was looking for a Roman headquarters, lodging for their horses had been the first consideration. Any moral objections the landlord may have had to becoming permanent host to a gang of soldiers was quickly resolved by the glitter of gold, and he and Captain Angel quickly came to a mutually beneficial arrangement. A wooden mace carved above the front doorway served as the sign. Passers-by still occasionally came in for drinks and to listen to the tales of warfare, but the primary business was the care and comfort of the mercenaries who currently called the inn home.
"Gianni!" Angelo called as he pulled Guglielmo after him into the inn. "Wine for my besotted friend, here!"
The plump man behind the counter waved. "At once, Captain Angelo."
Angelo dropped Guglielmo into his chair at the long table in the back of the room, then took his own ornately-carved seat at the head. Across from Guglielmo sat a tall, thin, dour man in dark clothes. He was writing in a large book and counting various piles of coins.
"Is it settled?" he asked, not looking up from his work.
"Aye, Thomas, all's well." Angel accepted a large goblet of wine from Gianni, who placed one in front of Guglielmo.
Thomas Wyndham turned to another section of his ledger. "How much was the fine?"
"No fine. The Captain of the Guard was happy to let the matter go."
"No fine." Thomas considered first Guglielmo, then Angelo. "How many bodies did you two leave behind you?"
"It is not true that we kill somone every time we go out!"
"No, of course not."
"Everything was settled quite diplomatically and at no cost to ourselves." Angelo reached out for the nearest pile of coins.
A dagger appeared from inside Thomas' sleeve, then stabbed into the table between the stack of coins and Angelo's fingers. Thomas jotted a notation in his book. Guglielmo surreptitiously used a convenient cloth to wipe up the wine he'd spilled while fighting back laughter.
"Thomas," Angelo said carefully, "you do remember whose money that is, don't you?"
"Certainly, captain. And I'm sure you remember who manages the money and keeps your accounts straight." He reached to his left to a larger pile of coins, picked up several and handed them to Angelo.
"But it's all the same money."
"No, it is not." Thomas pointed to the pile Angelo had reached for. "This is the rent. That is the men's pay." He pointed to his left. "And that is the quarterly pay from our patron that I am still divvying up between the bills. You'll get your share when I'm done."
Angelo glared at Thomas, who ignored him, then at Guglielmo, who raised his hands. "That's why you hired him, Angelo. Plus he knows all the best weapons smiths."
Angel muttered a few moments more, then signaled Gianni for more wine as he watched Thomas count coins. "So what are we paying for rent these days?" he finally asked.
Thomas glanced at Guglielmo and winked very briefly. Every quarter it was like this: Angelo would bluster and complain, then he'd get interested in the minutiae of the business. Guglielmo picked up his wine goblet and headed upstairs. On the upper balcony he met Isabetta, Angelo's mistress. She was a tiny blonde who knew more dirty tricks with a dagger than Thomas did.
"If you're here, then Angelo's here," she said when she saw Guglielmo. "Are either of you hurt?"
Guglielmo sighed rather than protesting. "We're fine. He's downstairs watching Thomas count money."
Isabetta grinned. "Ooh, the money. I need a new skirt." She bounced down the stairs and over to Angelo's lap.
Guglielmo tried not to listen to the shrieking giggles when Angelo found her ticklish spot. Perhaps he ought to send a note to Nicoletta, see if she was available. Maybe she could bring some friends.
He froze just before he reached his own room. The shadows at the end of the corridor were moving, then they coalesced into the figure of a hooded woman stepping into view.
"Roxilana, you're not supposed to be here," he said. "You know how Angelo feels about gypsies."
Black hair, black eyes, lithe figure, but he'd as soon lay hand on her as declare the Blessed Virgin a strumpet at high noon in St. Peter's Square. Roxilana raised a graceful finger to her lips. "Our brave captain mislikes mysteries," she whispered. "He distrusts anything he cannot kill. But you love the things that lie behind the images, handsome Guillermo. You want to know why."
He was used to her cryptic words. She had been appearing in his life intermittently for the last seven years, ever since that night in Aragon when he'd let a running girl hide behind a wagon and he'd told the pursuing Spanish Inquisitors that he'd seen a Gypsy girl duck into an alleyway a hundred yards further on. He'd expected the usual tokens of gratitude. Instead of offering herself for his pleasure, though, she'd placed a fingertip on his forehead, smiled, and told him to beware of stone fences before vanishing into the shadows. Two weeks later, in a desperate battle with French forces, he and Angelo had been retreating down a village street. A stone fence had appeared, and Angelo suggested jumping it and circling around to come at the French from behind. At the last minute Guglielmo remembered the girl's warning and pulled Angelo further down the road. Within moments, French reinforcements appeared at that fence. Guglielmo credited better hearing for their escape.
"Why are you here, Roxilana?" he asked calmly. Sometimes she warned him about an upcoming battle, sometimes she only spoke of the commonplace.
Her smile was sly. "Isabetta wanted a love charm. I told
Her smile was sly. "Isabetta wanted a love charm. I told her she didn't need one, that her captain was loyal, if not completely faithful."
"I didn't know you knew Isabetta. Angelo won't like that."
"Does Angelo need to know?" Roxilana drifted past him, trailing a hand along his arm. She hesitated, then stared into his eyes. "Poor Guillermo. You are too generous with your heart. He will break it, the lovely boy."
Guglielmo resisted his first reaction. "You'd best go, before anyone else sees you." He nearly snarled at the look of sympathy she gave him before she disappeared.
I'm absolutely rolling with A Very Buffista Redball chortles, guffaws, and giggles.
It's very undignified. Hee.
