The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [11]
In the center of the piato, a stern-eyed statue of Saint Netuno wrestled two sea serpents, which twined about his body and spewed jets of water into a marble basin. A group of richly dressed young men lounged at the edge of the fountain, fondling their sword hilts and whistling at girls in gaudy dresses.
She found Austra near the edge of the square, almost on the steps of the temple, sitting next to her bucket and scrub brush.
Austra watched her approach and smiled. “Finished already?” Austra was fifteen, a year younger than Anne, and like Anne she wore a faded dress and a scarf to cover her hair. Most Vitellians were dark, with black hair, and the two girls stood out enough without advertising their gold and copper tresses. Fortunately, most women in Vitellio kept their heads covered in public.
“In a manner of speaking,” Anne said.
“Oh, I see. Again?”
Anne sighed and sat down. “I try, truthfully I do. But it’s so difficult. I thought the coven had prepared me for anything, but—”
“You shouldn’t have to do these things,” Austra said. “Let me work. You stay in the room.”
“But if I don’t work, it will take us that much longer to earn our passage. It will give the men who are hunting us that much more time to find us.”
“Maybe we should take our chances on the road.”
“Cazio and z’Acatto say the roads are much too closely watched. Even the road officers are offering reward for me now.”
Austra looked skeptical. “That doesn’t make sense. The men who tried to kill you at the coven were Hansan knights. What do they have to do with Vitellian road officers?”
“I don’t know, and neither does Cazio.”
“If that’s the case, won’t they be watching the ships, as well?”
“Yes, but Cazio says he can find a captain who won’t ask questions or tell tales—if we have the silver to pay him off.” She sighed. “But that’s not yet, and we have to eat, too. Worse, I was paid nothing today. What am I going to do tomorrow?”
Austra patted her shoulder. “I got paid. We’ll stop at the fish market and the carenso and buy our supper.”
The fishmarket was located at the edge of Perto Nevo, where the tall-masted ships brought their cargoes of timber and iron, and took in return casks of wine, olive oil, wheat, and silk. Smaller boats crowded the southern jetties, for the Vitellian waters teemed with shrimp, mussels, oysters, sardines, and a hundred other sorts of fish Anne had never heard of. The market itself was a maze of crates and barrels heaped with gleaming sea prizes. Anne looked longingly at the giant prawns and black crabs—which were still kicking and writhing in tuns of brine—and at the heaps of sleek mackerel and silver tuna. They couldn’t afford any of that and had to push deeper and farther, to where sardines lay sprinkled in salt and whiting was stacked in piles that had begun to smell.
The whiting was only two minsers per coinix, and it was there the girls stopped, noses wrinkled, to choose their evening meal.
“Z’Acatto said to look at the eyes,” Austra said. “If they’re cloudy or cross-eyed, they’re no good.”
“This whole bunch is bad, then,” Anne said.
“It’s the only thing we can afford,” Austra replied. “There must be one or two good ones in the pile. We just have to look.”
“What about salt cod?”
“That has to soak for a day. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry now.”
A low feminine voice chuckled over their shoulders. “No, sweets, don’t buy any of that. You’ll be sick for a nineday.”
The woman speaking to them was familiar—Anne had seen her often on their street, but had never spoken to her. She dressed scandalously and wore a great deal of rouge and makeup. She’d once heard z’Acatto say he “couldn’t afford that one,” so Anne figured she knew the woman’s profession.
“Thanks,” Anne said, “but we’ll find a good one.”
The woman looked dubious. She had a strong, lean face and eyes of jet. Her hair was put up in a net that sparkled with glass jewels, and she