1635 The Papal Stakes Read Online Free Page A

upper half of his face. His clothes were simple, but made for travel; they might be well-worn, but they were not worn out. There was no sign of a weapon on his belt or in the loose folds of his cloak, but his flowing attire would make it entirely possible to carry a large dagger completely undetected. The proprietor came rushing out: the Babelesque debate in the kitchen flooded briefly into the room before he shut the door. “ Signor — mangi ? Food?”
    The newcomer nodded, murmured a request, and took a seat at one of the two remaining tables, the one closest to the group. He turned his hunched back toward the up-timers in an apparent effort to afford both parties some modicum of privacy.
    It was, even to Tom’s untrained eye, all an act. Judging from the long, significant looks he got from both James and Melissa, he was not alone in his assessment. Well, we never planned on this, at least not so quickly after meeting the cardinal. Whoever this guy is, he must have been right on the little friar’s tail. Which means Melissa was probably right: someone dropped a dime on our rendezvous with His Eminence. And with this new guy’s big ears only a few feet away, we don’t have any way to come up with a plan on the sly. He probably speaks the whole gamut of local languages: Italian, Lombard, Savoyard, German, Romansch, maybe Romlisch. And since he obviously knows that we’re the folks he’s looking for— James’ dark black skin was, to put it lightly, distinctive in Alpine Italy —this guy was probably chosen, in part, because he speaks English, as well. So how do we—?
    But James was smiling. “ooD-ay oo-yay eak-spay ig-pay atin-lay?”
    Damn, but Doc was smart . “I an-cay.”
    Arco, for the first time in Tom’s acquaintance of him, looked utterly flummoxed.
    Melissa looked like she was swallowing lye with every word she uttered. “Oo-yay av-hay an an-play?”
    James nodded. “Tom, ell-tay Arco out-abay oor-yay ick-say other-May.”
    Wha—? Oh, I get it. Tom rose, head hung a little. The crotto ’s newest patron shifted slightly, probably trying to use his ears to gauge what the movement behind him was and it if represented potential danger. Tom drew out the chair at the end of the table next to Arco, who had recovered enough to feign understanding of the pig-latin gibberish flying past him. “Arco—” said Tom with feeling.
    Rita’s foot tapped against Tom’s ankle. Okay, I guess I was going over the top, already. Hell, my idea of method acting is Arnold Schwarzenegger. Whom he almost resembled, physically. “Arco, did I tell you how sick my mother is?”
    One microsecond of confusion flitted across the young Venetian’s face, which then became a study in heartfelt compassion. “Tom, I am so sorry. I had heard she was doing poorly, but I had no idea—”
    Under which James muttered. “Ore-may of em-thay in the eet-stray.”
    Melissa nodded tightly. “No oubt-day.”
    Tom hung his head as the proprietor brought his newest patron a bowl of the same black-cherry-and-game soup. “She’s so sick,” Tom sighed mightily. “I should return home at once, but—leaving here is so hard. How can I possibly go?”
    That line—consistent with the “sick-mother” act, but also a pertinent question about the tactics of exiting the crotto —earned a broad smile from Melissa.
    “Om-tay oes-gay irst-fay. I’ll et-gay the oor-day. James ext-nay. We eer-clay the eet-stray and un-ray. Okay?”
    Tom nodded at Melissa’s plan, but made the nod also look like he was simply harmonizing with Arco’s consoling pat on the back. “So, how do we start you on your way home, Tom?” Arco asked. But as he spoke, he leaned in James’ direction.
    James said, “Arco, I believe that fellow behind you just insulted Tom’s mother.”
    Arco’s head snapped up straight, as though startled, but his eyes were bright with shrewd amusement. He turned, shocked, in the direction of the apparent patron behind them. “How dare