The Mosaic

Chapter 26

Alessandro had told -- meaning paid -- one of the barmaids to make sure Lorenzo would wake up neither robbed nor kidnapped. It was the least he could do for him. Lorenzo had been nothing but cheerful and kind and far too trusting. Alessandro looked over his shoulder several times when they left the tavern. Not only abandoning someone helpless, but poisoning him for their interests... What was he thinking?

Giacinto had shot him something between a pitying and a condescending look.

Fine, chilly strands of rain had greeted them, a cold gust of air spraying it right into their faces. Giacinto had cursed like a sailor, wrestled with his long black coat flapping in the wind and sprinted across the yard to the stables.

Laelia had laughed, spread out her arms and danced in the rain. She was still laughing when they raced through the moorland, bent flat over their horses, cloaks flying.

Giacinto lead the way. The moon hid somewhere in the pitchblack sky from the hammering rain. Alessandro could barely keep his eyes open in the aussalt of icy drops. Yet the Greek, at breakneck speed, never even slowed down to orientate or look for landmarks.

Several times Alessandro had seen torches in the night, glowing eyes watching them from far away. They had flown past too fast to make out whether the torches came towards them or not. Every time, Alessandro tensed, preparing for a mad escape. Even in this weather, the guards must long be out for them ...

Hours of wind whipping their faces and the cold rain seeping through even their thick cloaks, they suddenly thundred into a village ducked between the rolling hills. The houses lined the streets, low and seemingly thrown together from bricks, plaster and awry wooden beams. All shutters tightly closed, the buildings unwelcoming and fast asleep. Only the few taverns they whisked past lit up the streets with drunken laughter and light streaming outside. Gaicinto didn't stop.

Mud flew up when they raced over the market place. The houses were in better shape here, the plaster mostly still on the walls, the lines a bit straighter and the doors more than boards nailed together. A ghostly peal of bells sounded over the place when they slid to a sudden halt, Alessandro almost barrelling right into Giacinto with his horse. The Greek pointed to one of the buildings. An inn. His horse reared and he shot back off into the dark streets, the hammer of hooves slowly fading as well.

It didn't take long until Alessandro and Laelia stumbled into their room, drenched and tired and aching. The owner, ripped from sleep by them ringing the bell in the dead of the night hadn't even let Laelia recite their cover story. He had mustered them for one second, snatched the money, thrust a key into their hand and shuffled back away.

The room was smaller than the broom closet in Alessandro's family's palace. The floorboards were bumpy and creaked with every step and the hesitant flames of the three candles in the candleholder couldn't even reach the corners. But it was warm and dry and there was a bed.

They peeled themselves out of the stiff and clam clothes stuck to their skin -- Alessandro having turnt away before Laelia could even open her mouth and Laelia blinking a few times too often at the wet shirt clinging to his chest.

Giacinto appeared at the wrong time. There would never be a time in Alessandro's life that would be right for the Greek. So Giacinto appeared at the worst time.

Laelia whined about not being able to dish out the 'merchant husband and wife' story. She had practiced! Alessandro muttered it might have been better that way. She hadn't even managed to hide anything from Lorenzo.

Laelia pouted and threw a pillow at him. "Pillow fight!" She lunged for Alessandro, hitting him with a giggle. "Have a little," she attacked Alessandro with wild tickles, "fun!"