It only took three cups of wine to find a caique heading up the coast in the morning as far as Livorno. And another cup and five ducats had him installed in a cabin on her. It wasn't a big cabin, but it had a hammock and a small window.
Benito was resting in the hammock, enjoying having his new boots off, with the spicy warm evening breeze blowing off the straits and in through the window. He was slept-out, so he passed the time sharpening the Shetland knife and despairing of getting a good edge on the rapier. It wasn't a bad weapon, really. It just wasn't Ferrara steel. He examined the edge in the candlelight.
Suddenly, the door to the cabin was opened so violently it was nearly thrown off its hinges. In came the cadaverous Di Scala and his two thugs. There was very little doubt they'd come with murder in mind.
Benito rolled out of the hammock, landing on his feet, catlike, with the rapier in his right and the Shetland knife in his left. The cabin was narrow and quite full of hammock. This did mean that the three were in each other's way.
"You thought you'd got away with it, didn't you, you little pizza da merde!" hissed the fence, closing the door behind him. "Nobody does that to me! I'm going to make an example of you. Cut your cazzo off and shove it down your throat, spill your guts and leave you to die slowly. Take him, boys."
Benito grabbed the hammock with a forefinger and slashed the hanging rope with the Shetland knife. The rope raveled, parted, as Di Scala's two pieces of muscle pushed their way forward, slightly cautious. They'd plainly expected him to have a knife at best, and to be the cringing little thief they'd bullied. The rapier was unexpected.
But they weren't going to let it stop them. They were professionals, after all.
Benito flung the hammock at them. It was spread by two hardwood batons and therefore the net stayed open. The two thugs both had the same hand-and-a-half guardless knives that the rascally oil merchant had had. Perhaps they were popular here in the south. The hammock tangled one of them, so Benito neatly dealt with the other.
Terminally. There was no space for a swing here, but a rapier lunge was quite as effective. The extra reach made the thug's knife an ineffectual defense.
The other freed himself of the hammock, and pulled the spreader-baton from it. It still wasn't rapier-long, but it gave him something to fend off rapier cuts and thrusts with. Benito balanced on the balls of his feet, aware that Di Scala was fumblingly trying to prime a wheel-lock pistol.
Lunge. Twist. A slash of the main gauche.
The remaining thug's hand-and-a-half blade skittered across the floor. Blood pulsed from the man's wrist.
Benito kicked the knife into the corner behind him, nicking his toes. The thug, his eyes huge in the candlelight, dodged back, crashing into his master.
"Testa di cazzo!" snarled the fence, nearly dropping the gun. He pushed the man roughly away, back toward Benito.
The wolf was at the surface now. Both of them were going to die.
And then Benito paused. The medallion he'd been given was hot against his flesh . . .
He settled for neatly flicking the baton out of the hand of the surviving tough and kicking his legs out from under him. Di Scala was trying to aim the pistol, his hands now shaking so badly he could barely hold the weapon. Benito looked scornfully at him. Here was one who hired his dirty work done. Even the dead thug was worth two of him.
He jumped forward, planting both feet in the fallen thug's solar plexus. The man struggled weakly for breath.
The fence pressed against the door he'd closed, pointing the quivering pistol at Benito.
"I can put this knife through your eye," said Benito coldly. "You, on the other hand, haven't primed that thing properly. You'll be lucky if it goes off at all. It's rusty, too, so it's as likely to kill you as me. Besides, you couldn't hit a barn door from inside shaking like that."
Now the boot was truly on the other foot, and the fence knew it. "Just let me go! Please. I'll give you money."
"I've every intention of letting you go. You and your carrion. You're taking both the living and the dead one with you. But first I need to tell you something."
With a bare foot, he prodded the thug who was struggling to sit up. "This idiot, too. You may decide that being dead is easier. First, I returned those stolen Hypatian medals you had to the Church and I told them exactly where, and from whom, I got them. They want your guts for garters."
The thug looked accusingly at his master. His face was an unhealthy white and he was still struggling for breath, but he managed to gasp: "You bought 'ose?" His tone was one of unadulterated shock.
"They're just gold, you superstitious fool," snarled the fence.
The moment the fence looked at the thug, Benito stepped forward and knocked the pistol out of his hand. He used the flat of the rapier, but a couple of Di Scala's fingers were probably broken. Di Scala shrieked.
Benito held the rapier ready for the thrust. "I imagine you made sure we wouldn't be interrupted. You'd better hope we aren't, because if we are I'll kill you. Now, the other reason I wanted to speak to you was to advise a pilgrimage. Because the only place you might be safe is kneeling in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, praying for forgiveness. I've already sent word, and his pilgrim's medal, to Carlo Sforza. I should imagine that he is going to send agents looking for you. You really don't want them to find you anywhere else, because compared to Sforza, I'm a gentle and kindly man."
"Sforza?" The fence stared at him as if he was mad.
"One of those medals that you bought for their gold value was stolen from the Wolf of the North." Benito grinned mirthlessly at the way all of the blood drained from the fence's face. The scum might not be afraid of the Church, but he was properly terrified now. "I think I'll leave you with the thought that gold is really worth far less than other things. Now, you'll take this dead man between you, and precede me onto the deck. I've foregone killing you, but I'm going to enjoy kicking you off this boat. I hope you can swim."
He marched them up on deck, dragging the corpse between them. "Drop that over the side."
They did. Benito's keen eyes noticed movement among the boxes and barrels on the quay-side. It could be helpers, or, more likely it could be those who'd been told to get out or get hurt. He'd give them a show, whoever it was.
He remembered what the Sibling had said, and decided, maliciously, to make life as difficult as possible for the fence from this moment on. He'd studied drama enough with Valentina to know how to declaim at volume. He filled his lungs, and began an oration for the benefit of the hidden audience.
"DI SCALA, YOU CUR! You came here to KILL ME, but I have defeated you WITH GOD'S HELP! And you and I know that you also bought golden medallions STOLEN FROM THE CHURCH! Stolen from the Hypatian Siblings who would have used the money raised to care for the poor, to do Christ's work! See what sort of ILL-FORTUNE follows SUCH WICKEDNESS!"
Not bad, he though. Benito flicked his rapier forward, cutting the fence's pouch free. He stabbed it as it fell. And then, using thumb and forefinger from his rapier hand, he held it, ripped it open, and showered coin into the dark water.
"My money!" squalled the fence.
Benito clucked his tongue. "Sinner. Some things are worth much more than money."
With that, he applied his foot to the skinny fence's little pot-belly, sending him over the stern-rail. The thug didn't wait. He jumped.
Benito watched them flounder to the shore. No one came out of the darkness to help them scramble, dripping, up the rocks of the quay. No one followed them as they left.
Benito looked out at the quay for a while. Then he sheathed his sword and the Shetland knife. "All right," he said, "you can come out now."
Shamefacedly, the seven-man crew came out from behind the stacked cargo where they'd been hiding, led by their captain. Benito noticed another couple of people sneaking away. It would be all over the tavernas by morning, thought Benito, knowing how these things worked.
So much for keeping his passage quiet. Still, with any luck he hadn't betrayed who he was or where he was from—or even where he was headed.
"Well, how much did he pay you?" Benito said grimly to the captain. "I should have smelled a rat. It was too easy. You weren't planning on going to Livorno, were you?"
The captain shook his head. "We only go to Naples, signor. Never been further. But word was out to agree to take you wherever you wanted to go."
Benito smiled wryly. "I'm getting old and getting soft. Well, Captain. Just how soon do we sail? Because these parts are going to be very unhealthy for a while. You might be wanted for questioning, about why you allowed a man with the Church's blessing on him to be attacked on your ship."
The captain looked about nervously. "We're not supposed to sail at night."
Benito just looked at him. Then looked at the water. You couldn't actually see a corpse there.
"However there's a good breeze," said the captain hastily. "Stilo. Cast us off, boy!"
"But, Captain . . ."
"Don't argue, Stilo."
The seaman did as he was told. When he jumped back on board he asked Benito: "Is it true about the medals?"
Benito nodded. "The Siblings were going over this afternoon to fetch home the rest."
The seaman took a deep breath. "Di Scala is a big man, and he's got connections. But this time he's gone too far. You don't mess around with the Hypatians here. The people, especially the women, won't stand for it. He'd know that, if he could get a woman without paying double for her." Then he snickered. "Actually, after this, he couldn't get the worst puttana in town for the price of a prince's courtesan."
Benito pulled a face. "Besides, no matter how big a man you are . . . someone else is always bigger. There were some Jerusalem pilgrim medals, too. One of them belonged to a fellow with a reputation big enough to make even princes nervous. And when he finds out . . ."
He sighed. Having Carlo Sforza for a father had been the kind of thing that had made a boy wonder about himself, sometimes. He was finding that to be just as true, now that he was a young man.
"I think, Captain, you'd be very wise to stay away a long time. At least as long as the trip to Livorno is going to take you."