after all those who have died—your friend, mine, after all the leagues we have traveled and all the puzzles we have solved, don’t you want to stop Lorenzo and his allies?”
I thought of my mother. “Yes.”
“Then we don’t have much time.” He drained his wine.
I nodded. “The end is near,” I said soberly.
“Nigh.”
“What?”
“Nigh. The end is nigh.”
“I can’t believe you’re still correcting me when we’re in this much trouble.”
“It may be my last chance.”
I did not question him but felt a cold wave of foreboding flow into my chestspoon. I drained my own cup to ebb the feeling away.
We paid for the smith from my money belt and set off down the pass to the walled city in the distance. I looked back once and thought my eyes deceived me, for I seemed to see a tall figure in leper’s robes, standing in the dead center of the town square. Looking after us with eyes like two silver coins.
“Faster,” I urged.
This last part of the journey seemed to take the longest time of all. By some trickery the city seemed to get farther and farther from us as we crossed the sea plains, like a faraway mountain long sought but never reached. Yet, at last, we were at the gates. As we joined the general throng of visitors and trades-men gathering to gain entrance to the city, Brother Guido turned in his saddle. “As I told you,” he whispered, “they are no friends to Pisans or Venetians here, so we must keep our provenance and families secret. But there is a standing treaty between Genoa and Milan, so I will use the Sforza seal once again to gain entry. I am a Milanese soldier and you are my doxy; I have a letter for the doge.”
“The doge?” I said with a jolt. How could my father have beaten us here?
“Calm yourself. The ruler of Genoa is also called the doge. There are great similarities between Genoa and Venice—for both cities, the sea is the lifeblood. Both cities vie for maritime dominance of the east-west trade routes. Both have a saint that they revere above any other—you have Saint Mark; they have John the Baptist. In fact, Giovanni Battista is said to be buried here, and they show the platter that held his severed head. The doge himself bears the name of Giovanni Battista. You see? Similarity is often at the heart of rivalry.”
The gates of Genoa were twin towers, dark and high and topped with battlements like two ebony crowns. We were given pass at the gates by two scruffy guards who seemed half asleep; they barely glanced at the Sforza seal as they waved us through. If they were an example of the military might of Genoa, I didn’t think they would offer much to the Seven’s alliance. These gatekeepers offered a stark contrast to Brother Guido, who was tall and strong as an elm, in his new uniform and armor, which was still shining after a week on the road.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked as soon as the gate house was behind us. “Confront the doge of this place with what we know?”
Brother Guido gave a short bark of laughter. “No. We would be inviting imprisonment or worse. We must cross the border and warn Monaco, and that quickly too.”
My heart sank at the thought of more riding, and I pitied the valiant black horse who had brought us thus far. “So what are we doing here then?” I asked.
“First we must be sure of our story. We must know that this mark—this star upon our map—is Monaco; without that certain knowledge our theories are mere conjecture.”
“And how, exactly, may we be sure?”
“This is a maritime city. There must be many accomplished mapmakers and mapreaders here. We must petition for help from one such.”
A flash of inspiration was borne in upon me. “A map shop!”
“Well, that would certainly be a start—”
I flapped my hands to shut him up. “Signor Cristoforo!” My mother’s words came back to me: we have sent your friend back to Genoa unharmed . . .
I explained. “I know a fellow, a friend, from Venice—he has a map shop here in Genoa, in the old port, with his brother. He may not be here—he was raising money for an overseas voyage, so he may have already sailed. But his brother may still be here!”
My companion wasted no time. “Let’s go.”
We wound through the maze of streets, so dark even in daylight that we could