The Empire of Glass - Andy Lane [29]
Three alleys led off in different directions, vanishing into shadows after a few feet. The rest of the buildings were tall, anonymous houses built in red stone. There was nothing to distinguish the square from the hundreds of others he had walked through since he had arrived. Apart possibly from the colour of the cats.
He sighed, and rested his head in his hands. All he wanted to do at that moment was to sleep until the Doctor decided it was time to leave.
"A close shave, my friend."
He groaned softly. Would he never be left in peace with his aching head? Glancing up, he winced as a sharp pain arrowed through his skull. The man who had distracted his attackers in the tavern was standing in front of him, one leg up on the pedestal surrounding the well. The sun was behind him, silhouetting his grey mane of hair and his bulky leather jerkin.
"I suppose I should thank you," Steven said grudgingly.
"That depends what value you put on your life," the man rejoined.
"But how could I stand idle whilst a beautiful lad such as yourself put himself in the way of a sword's point?"
"I didn't do it deliberately," Steven explained. "They thought I was someone else."
"Mistaken identity may be the very life-blood of drama, but it makes for poor reality. Whatever end a man should have, it should be dignified, and to die in error for an Italian teacher and occasional heretic is certainly undignified. Far be that fate from us."
"You know Galileo, then?" Steven asked.
"I know of him. We have moved in the same circles, although we have never met." A cloud covered the face of the sun, and Steven found himself staring into a pair of granite-coloured eyes set in a face that looked like fine-grained leather. The scar running down one side was a few years old, and twisted one corner of the man's mouth up into a cynical smile. "My name," he added, "is Giovanni Zarattino Chigi. And yours is...?"
"Taylor. Steven Taylor."
"A fine English name," Chigi said, extending a hand. Steven took it, and found himself hauled to his feet. "Or perhaps I should say a fine British name. I hear things have changed since I left our fine country." He held on to Steven's hand, smiling warmly as he squeezed.
"So I hear," Steven said carefully, untangling his hand from Chigi's grasp. "I"ve been away too." He was surprised at Chigi's height: the man was so broad-shouldered that he seemed smaller, more in proportion.
"And are you a diplomat, an adventurer, or a seeker after trade?"
Chigi was still smiling, but Steven reminded himself that the scar would make him smile no matter what mood he was in.
"I'm... accident-prone," Steven said eventually.
Chigi laughed. "Very cautious, and very wise. You have the look of a military man. I will assume, for the sake of conversation, that you are a buccaneer. I have a flair for the dramatic: please don't disappoint me by letting me find out that you are a trader in horseflesh."
"I promise," Steven laughed.
"And are you here with the other Englishmen?" Chigi asked.
"What other Englishmen?"
"Venice is, at the moment, playing host to many countrymen of ours," Chigi said. Steven wondered about the 'ours' - Chigi sounded like an Italian name to him. "They are easily spotted, as they wear clothes of a design that was out of fashion when I left England, and that was sixteen years ago."
"Nothing to do with me, I'm afraid," Steven said, reflecting ruefully that those words seemed destined to become his epitaph.
Chigi looked away, across the square. "A shame," he said. "They interest me strangely. As do you."
Steven smiled. Despite himself, he was beginning to like the man.
"You may not want my thanks for saving my life, but I have precious little else to offer, I'm afraid."
"Perhaps I could buy you a drink?" Chigi looked nonchalantly across the square.
Steven let his gaze wander down that scar, across