Meekly, Benito trotted over to the staircase indicated?even that damned finger looks like it could break bones?and came down the stairs.
"Yes, sir! I'm coming!"
When he arrived before the very large knight, it seemed as if everyone was glaring at him. Most of the knights with reproof, the Schiopettieri with anger, Petro Dorma with the stern face of official Venice.
Well… everyone except the blond knight and the big one. The blond was still holding Angelo Dandelo down. He just glanced at Benito and shook his head, the way a man will when confronted with the crazy act of a crazy kid.
The big knight's heavy and square face was half hidden behind the nose guard of his helmet. But Benito saw it very clearly when he… winked at him.
"Who are you?" demanded Petro Dorma. "And what are you doing here?"
For some reason, the large knight's wink returned all of Benito's usual self-confidence. Although he did manage to restrain his usual swagger.
"I'm Benito Oro," he announced. Then, angrily: "It was my friend Maria the bastards grabbed! That's why I'm here!" The angry tone faded into something more sullen. "I just… wanted to make sure, that's all."
Dorma sighed. Then, exchanged glances with the blond knight.
Benito heard the blond knight mutter something to Dorma. He wasn't sure, but he thought it was "From the mouths of babes."
Dorma's mouth quirked into a little smile. "And why not? All right, young Benito. Since you're here anyway, you can be my?ah, let's call it witness for the canalers. How's that?"
Benito nodded his head, eagerly.
The eagerness faded, when he felt a very large hand close on his shoulder. The hand squeezed a bit. Just a bit. Benito felt like he was caught in a vise.
"I'll look after the kid, Lord Dorma," rumbled the voice. "Have no fear."
Dorma's quirky smile turned into something a lot broader. "Oh, I don't." He gave Benito a genuine official stare.
"I don't believe there's any reason to fear. Is there, boy?"
The very large hand squeezed a bit more. Benito's head-nodding became very eager.
The next two hours were sheer joy. Benito accompanied Lord Dorma and his entourage as they went through every room?every closet?of Casa Dandelo. Those locks on slave pens for which Angelo had keys in his possession were unlocked. Those which he didn't, were smashed open.
Every slave was inspected. Then, records demanded.
Every slave for whom Dandelo had no records was immediately freed and escorted away by Schiopettieri. Then, Lord Dorma made a notation of the fine. In every instance, he fined Casa Dandelo the maximum permitted by Venetian law.
Every slave for whom Dandelo had inadequate records was also freed?with the same maximum fine.
Lord Dorma's concept of "adequate records" was… strict.
Manfred's was… Teutonic. Erik's was… Viking.
"The ink is smudged here," announced Dorma. "Can't be read at all," snorted Manfred. "I say she's a free woman," growled Erik.
Dorma hesitated a moment, then nodded. Scribble, scribble. Maximum fine.
"He doesn't quite resemble the description," mused Dorma. "To say the least!" boomed Manfred. "An inch too short," sneered Erik. "No resemblance at all. He's a free man."
Scribble, scribble. Maximum fine.
"Does that hair look black to you, Ritters?" queried Dorma. Half a dozen helmeted heads shook back and forth in firm disavowal. "Brown," stated Manfred firmly. "Practically blond!" barked Erik.
Dorma nodded again. "He's free, then." Scribble, scribble. Maximum fine.
Angelo Dandelo stopped even trying to protest, halfway through the process. Partly because of the split lip he had from his first?and very profane?protest. The blond knight had been no more gentle with his (armored) backhand than he'd been earlier with his boot. You'll show respect for the Lord of the Nightwatch, damn you. Next time you'll spit teeth. The time after that you'll spit guts. Try me, you fucking slaver bastard.
But, mostly, because Dandelo was not a fool. Protest was pointless. The Dandelos had misgauged the political situation, and misgauged it badly. Lord Dorma's place in it, most of all. And they were now going to pay the heavy price which Venice's often ruthless politics exacted from losers. Dorma would leave them just enough slaves?the ones who were incontrovertibly legal?to keep them from outright bankruptcy. But by the end of day, Casa Dandelo would be almost penniless and politically humbled.
It was late afternoon before Benito emerged from Casa Dandelo. He came out at the very end, with Lord Dorma and the knights. The very large one's hand was still on his shoulder, but it had long since stopped squeezing.
By now it seemed that half of Venice must have gathered to watch. Quite a bit more than half, probably, of the canalers and Arsenalotti. The roar of the mob was almost deafening. No one had any doubts any longer?not after seeing the procession of freed slaves who had emerged from Casa Dandelo for the past hour or so, and been escorted by the Schiopettieri into the waiting empty barges.
Dorma led the way onto the last barge. Unsure what to do now, Benito let the large knight propel him into the barge also.
"Better come with us, Knight-Squire Crazykid," he said. "You don't want to be left alone on Casa Dandelo's wharf tonight."
"My name's Benito."
The very large knight grinned. The square blocky teeth were visible even under the helmet. "Benito, then. It was still a crazy thing to do."
"You should talk, Manfred," chuckled the blond knight standing next to them. He removed the helmet and shook his long, very pale blond hair in the breeze. "God, I hate helmets." Then, smiling at Benito: "I'm Erik Hakkonsen, by the way. And you are insane."
But the words were spoken in a very friendly tone, and Benito found himself meeting the smile with a grin.
"I just couldn't help it, that's all. And I wouldn't have missed that for anything."
The very large knight?Manfred, he was apparently named?now removed his helmet also. Benito was almost shocked when he saw how young he was. He's not much older than me. Can't be more than eighteen.
The barge pulled away from the wharf and began heading across the canal. The mob on the other side was packed like sardines, all of them waving and shouting.
"LORD DORMA! LORD DORMA!" And more than a few: "Doge Dorma!"
The knight named Erik stared, apparently taken aback by the crowd's frenzied applause. Oddly, the young knight named Manfred didn't seem surprised at all.
"Just like Francesca predicted," he mused. "I do believe Venetian politics just went through an earthquake."
"I'm letting you off here," Petro Dorma said to Benito, as the barge was almost across the canal.
At that moment, a young woman suddenly pushed her way to the forefront of the mob. Her eyes seemed a little wild. As soon as she caught sight of Benito, her square jaw tightened like a clamp. Then…
"That's an incredible command of profanity, she's got," said Manfred cheerily. "And the way your girlfriend's shaking her fist at you doesn't bode well for your future."
"She's not my girlfriend," growled Benito.
Manfred's already huge grin got bigger. "Could have fooled me!" He eyed the shrieking young woman. "In my experience?okay, it's limited, I admit?but still…" The grin faded a little, and the next words came softly. "Young Benito, I think only a woman in love gets that angry at a man."
"You're crazy!" snapped Benito.
They were almost at the edge of the canal. With as little effort as if he were picking up a toddler, Manfred hoisted Benito by the armpits and began to deposit him off the barge.
"Maybe so," he whispered. "But if she isn't, you're the one who's crazy, not me. Damn, but she's gorgeous."
Benito stared at the furious eyes that Manfred's huge hands were depositing him before, to meet his punishment. The square jaw, the red face, the thick hair swinging wildly?almost as wildly as the fist?the broad shoulders.
Damn. She is gorgeous.
The thought vanished as soon as Maria's hand cracked his face. And it stayed away while she shook him by the shoulders?slapped him again; not as hard, but twice?and finished cursing him. But it returned, in a flood, when she seized him and hugged him close, sobbing softly in his hair and kissing his cheek.
"God damn you, Benito, don't ever scare me like that again."
"I'm sorry, Maria," he mumbled. "But…"
He didn't know how to respond. He was too confused. Damn, but you're gorgeous seemed… crazy. But he couldn't think of anything else to say. Not a damn thing that didn't seem… crazier.