The Wolf Esprit: Lykanos Chronicles 3
Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Capalbio,” he said when we were inside its walls, the town’s name taken from a guard’s mind.

The man, puzzled to see us heading inside, had asked why we weren’t in the field. Duccio didn’t offer the guard an answer but manipulated his mind somehow, and he dropped the inquiry altogether to let us pass.

“You’ve been here before?” I asked.

“No, but it makes sense the Romans are here. This was the southernmost outpost of Tuscany, a stronghold of the Medicis.’ I heard Malaria seized it—more than half its population cut down. It explains why Roman wolves are here. They no doubt intend to expand their territory, with the Tuscan lycan now gathered in Florence. From what we saw last night, the Romans have marked Capalbio as their new northern border.”

“You’re not concerned?”

Again, Duccio slipped me a patient side-eye before turning onto Via San Giovanni. He stopped and looked around; from his mind, I sensed he was searching. Not to replace a specific place but to hear if lycan were present in the small building before us. When satisfied, Duccio reached for the door to enter.

Just inside stood a tall, imposing but well-dressed man. He became incensed by the sight of us. From his dark look at our peasant clothes, this was not a place we were welcome. But as with the city guard, he soon relaxed, giving our entry a welcoming nod as we passed.

At the far counter, an older man stood beside two bright oil lanterns. By their light, I also saw the tension in his eyes settle into a warm greeting.

“Bongiorno, signori. How may I be of service?”

“Salve, gestore,” Duccio returned amicably. “I wish to transfer funds to Rome. Do you have a branch there?”

The banker paused at the question.

“This is my cousin, who just arrived from Paris. He wishes to tour La Città Eterna. Neither of us has ever been. How do you recommend we travel?”

“Yes, of course, signore,” the man said hesitantly. “I’ve traveled there many times. How do you wish… How long do you intend to stay?”

I realized I could hear the banker’s thoughts through Duccio’s mind. I’d experienced something of this before—Duccio’s men at the dock in Genoa. The guard at the Capalbio gate had a simple thought of unease, but nothing like this. Through Duccio, I could see this man’s thoughts almost as clearly as I heard the minds of other lycan. He was confused, unable to place Duccio’s face. The names of major account holders in this bank ran through his mind, each passing in different sizes of importance until the largest rose to the front of—

“Gallozzi, signore,” Duccio said, spelling it out as if to help the banker search through his ledger book. “A month should be enough, don’t you think?

The banker released a grateful sigh and nodded his head in agreement.

“Yes, Signore Gallozzi. A month would be perfect.”

“And you’ll arrange all that for us? You’re able to exchange Tuscan lire for the Papal coin?”

“Secudi romani,” he said. “Yes, of course, I can do that. It’s only a small fee for the exchange.”

“How soon could we depart?”

“I’ll make arrangements at once. Tomorrow morning, perhaps? Let me see what’s possible, and I’ll send word to your house when I know the details better.”

“To the inn up the road, if you please. La signora doesn’t want us in the house making a mess. Young men and all. You know how wives are about the tidiness of their homes?”

The man continued to nod his agreement, though I could tell he was too flummoxed to process the statement. Images of credit notes, a long-distance carriage, and letters of introduction to his Roman colleagues flew through his mind at lightning speed—all the things he’d need to accomplish today.

“Before you begin, I’d better make a small withdrawal,” Duccio said. “For the inn and better travel clothes.”

“Of course, Signore Gallozzi. Ten lire?”

“Better make it twenty. For the girls on Via Magenta.” Duccio gave a wink to the man, having drawn the vice from his mind.

This banker knew more than one girl on that street, and he let out a nervous chortle in agreement.

“In a small purse, if you will,” Duccio added. “In my excitement, I left mine at home.”

It was a strange request, but though the banker hesitated, he soon procured one from a back room that I guessed was his own.

With the money in hand, Duccio thanked the man and returned to the street to lead us up to the town’s inn.

“Is it really all so simple for you?” I asked him as we rounded the bend.

“Our real foe is time,” he said. “Every minute that passes promises change. What if the real Signore Gallozzi decides to visit his bank today? What if Signore Vitti, that banker, discovers a challenge with the account or cannot replace us proper transport for a few days? What if the owner of the inn ahead is an elder lycan and cannot be persuaded to see these rags as gentlemen’s attire like I made Signore Vitti and his guard believe? This is a small town, and there are no other lodgings. Will we be forced to seize a private home, as we did at the farm this morning? Will the lycan I sense living in that castle tower above our heads notice the tremors of my manipulation?”

I looked up at the castle he spoke of, with its square tower rising six stories. It must have a view of the whole town and the Mediterranean in the far distance. It was an obvious place for lycan to hold up in, reminding me of the Forteresse de Roussade, fringed by turrets for marksmen to defend her with flaming arrows.

“Life is a constant gamble, Esprit. See it any differently—fail to respect it as such—and you’re bound to lose more than you win.”

We arrived at the inn door and entered. Unlike the tavern in Saulieu, with its entry taken by a sizable dining hall and the upstairs only a few lodgings, this place was much more subdued—a genuine establishment for travelers. The small dining room was off in the back and empty but for a young family. Here, the rooms for rent included an option of two beds for larger families instead of a French prostitute to relax with.

The innkeeper, a heavy-set man with a thick beard and smooth bald head, gave us a stern expression when he caught sight of us approaching his desk. But as with the banker, his disagreement smoothed at once into a delighted smile.

“Welcome to l’Unsignolo, gentlemen. Are you checking in?”

“Bon giorno, signore,” Duccio returned the man’s warmth. “We need lodgings for the night, possibly longer. We’re headed to Rome and await our travel arrangements to materialize. Do you know Signore Vitti?”

“With the Bank of Monte Dei Paschi? Yes, he’s a family friend.”

“Wonderful. He’s working on the arrangements at this very moment and expects our coach to be ready tomorrow morning. My cousin just arrived from Paris to visit the capitol,” Duccio said, with a slight nod toward me, “and I’ll escort him the rest of the way. I’ll take the best accommodations you have for him.”

“Very good, signore. We’d be happy to have him. If you’ll please sign the register?”

“Of course,” Duccio obliged. “What is your name, signore?”

“Notarfanso, signore.”

“A pleasure to meet you.”

With a cheerful nod, Nortarfanso turned the register back and squinted at Duccio’s writing with confusion.

“Signore… Gallozzi?”

“Yes,” Duccio nodded.

“You’re related to Vincenzo Gallozzi, who resides in the villa on Via di Circonvallazione?

“Ah, you know him? He’s my uncle. I’ve been staying with him for several months. My parents reside in Florence.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize that,” Notarfanso said. “Such a large home—I’m surprised to see you here.”

“My aunt can’t stand the noise. She prefers the house to sound like a nunnery. And Esprit and I get up to such ruckus—young men and all. Fear not, signore, we’ll constrain our exorbitance to Via Magenta.”

Notarfanso’s face faltered. “If you would, please. This is a decent establishment, and we have families staying here.”

“You have my word, signore. You’ll hardly notice us.”

With another nod, the innkeeper collected a key from a drawer and bid us to follow him to our room.

“My cousin is famished after his journey,” Duccio remarked in the narrow stairwell as we climbed to the third floor. “Would you please send up breakfast for us both?”

“Right away, signore.”

Opening the door to our room, Nortarfanso bid us to enter. The room’s enormous size surprised me—a corner apartment with two beds, a dining table, and several windows that opened to a view of the main square and the Church of San Nicola.

“This will suit us,” Duccio said.

“Very good, signore.”

Duccio reached for his coin purse and withdrew several lire.

“That’s unnecessary, signore. You may settle the bill tomorrow upon your cousin’s departure.”

Duccio took the man’s hand, and his confusion subsided. He became slack-eyed, just as the farmers had.

“I am Signore Vincenzo Gallozzi,” Duccio said. “You don’t know me, nor where I live. You know only that I’m passing through with my Parisian cousin, and that we are young men of means.”

I witnessed Duccio pulling at the man’s mind as if it were woven fabric, cutting through individual threads and tieing them to others until his words rang as the truth. Notarfanso soon came around, his eyes reanimating in moments.

“Of course, signore. This is for you,” Duccio said with a smile. “For your welcome and help. Besides the breakfast, would you please send for someone to come measure us for traveling clothes?”

Notarfanso blinked several times and then looked down at the coins in his hand, staring as if his own hand were alien.

“Very good, signore,” he said at last. With a nod to me also, he let himself out of the room and closed the door behind him.

“What did you do?” I asked Duccio, unable to hide my anxiety.

Without answering, Duccio took me in his arms and kissed me.