Free Ilario, the Stone Golem by Mary Gentle

of words, I could say nothing else.
    Neferet, or Jahar, gave me a look with humour in the depths of it, and
    murmured, ‘Think of it as a wedding gift . . . ’
    I stumbled though Leon’s formal farewells, and watched as Rekhmire’
    limped forward on his crutch to give last departing words to both
    apparent men, all the while my thumb caressing the braided bracelet,
    and the damp fog pearling on my velvet over-gown.
    I turned and went back into the embassy.
    A few moments later, Rekhmire’ stamped back inside – as well as a
    man walking with a crutch may stamp – blowing on his fingers against
    the damp cold, and swearing.
    ‘What?’ I asked.
    ‘—Holy dung that hatched the cosmos-egg!’ he concluded. ‘Damn
    that woman!’
    42

    Having seen the boat depart, and Rekhmire’’s salute to it, I’d thought
    all well.
    ‘She still won’t tell me where Herr Mainz is!’ He made a fist, his face
    scarlet. ‘Nor will Master Alberti. And they wait until now to tell me this!’
    ‘Why won’t they?’
    ‘Some nonsense that the Florentine Duke will demand Herr Mainz, if
    he appears openly in Venice, and that at the moment, La Serenissima
    would probably keep Florence quiet by handing the man over. If they
    don’t imprison him on their own behalf, and try to beat the secret of this
    printing- machina out of him!’
    I shrugged, following the Egyptian towards the kitchens. ‘If I were
    Herr Mainz, I’d certainly want to stay out of sight.’
    ‘Sacred Eight, I want to help the man!’ The padded end of the crutch
    thwacked the short, wide floorboards. ‘Ty-ameny needs him; I want to
    invite him to Alexandria—’
    ‘—Which, until the weather’s better, is inaccessible by road, and no
    ship will risk these seas. So he can’t leave Venice.’
    ‘Sun god’s egg !’
    ‘You would have said precisely the same thing, if you were in Neferet’s
    place.’
    While true, it was not tactful; I was not in the least surprised when he
    stomped away towards the stairs, muttering under his breath. ‘I could
    have hidden him here ! Sent him to Edirne with the Turk! Something! ’
    I heard him calling for fresh ink as he vanished into his room, and
    guessed he intended a ciphered message to follow Neferet, and say this
    and more.
    I reflected: If I were her, I’d make sure to drop the paper in a canal –
    or in the Arno, if it reaches her in Florence.
    Florence , I belated realised.
    My wife and my husband will end up living within the walls of the
    same city.
    The man-at-arms Berenguer grinned at me, the following morning.
    ‘Get your cloak, Mistress Ilario. You’re being abducted.’
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    7
    It said something for the state of mind to which constant threat had
    reduced me that I wore a dagger on my belt about the house – though the
    dress’s hanging sleeves might have made drawing it quickly impractical.
    One look at Berenguer convinced me I had no need.
    ‘Abducted?’
    ‘Sold,’ he corrected himself, picking my winter cloak up from where it
    lay across the back of the wooden settle. He held it up, as a gentleman does for a lady. ‘Betrayed by the faithless mercenaries employed by the
    foreign captain Lord Honorius . . . ’
    Berenguer might not have liked a hermaphrodite when he met me in
    Rome. He might from time to time still give me wary looks when the two
    of us chanced to be in a room alone together, as if I might leap on him,
    and seduce and rape him simultaneously. But as for not trusting him to be faithful to my father . . .
    I walked across the room to stand with my back to the black-haired
    man-at-arms, letting him settle the woollen cloak around my shoulders.
    ‘Who’s buying me?’ I inquired.
    Berenguer somewhat automatically tied my cloak-ties for me and then
    stood back a little awkwardly and permitted me to raise the silk-lined and
    fur-trimmed hood myself. His sharp glance assessed me.
    ‘The weasel-lord,’ he announced. ‘What’s-name? The one with the
    horse-faced