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"They killed him. Jesu. They killed him, Ash. They..."

The Sea Wolf took his sobbing, mud streaked twin sister into his arms. Her ample body shook. The Sea Wolf signaled with his eyes and the servants closed the door upon the tender scene. A disreputable looking peasant with a long and filthy mustache sulked in the yard and shrieked for pay.

"Drove her up from docks, I did. Took her here straight from docks. Where is my coin?"

The butler was about to speak, but stopped, for a shadow fell upon the yard.

"Hey, I said, where is my...?"

"Who are you?" asked a copper haired woman in men's clothes the peasant had not seen before. She wore two pistols at her belt, a sword, a dagger and her boots had steel toes. The first comment died on the peasant's blister covered lips, as did the second, for both contained an ill remark aimed at some woman who would presume to question him, the male of species. The third remark was more considered and contained just truth, devoid of nearly all commentary:

"That there woman who done walked inside, she come off the boat, that is a ship, well, a fishing trawler, that done come up from down the coast, I thinks. She come up and says to take her to the place where the Sea Wolf lives. Says she is his twin sister, she does. And has no coin, but promises me..."

"Did Agostino of Australia take this woman inside?"

"Yes, Lady Olympia," said the butler.

"Pay this man," she said and off she went.

"You're not from here are you, stranger?" asked the butler.

"What? No. I means, I came down from a place up North. People said there be jobs here, now that the Sea Wolf lives here. So ins I came and..."

"Take the coin and leave."


Olympia resisted the strong urge to burst inside and talk to the Sea Wolf, under some false pretense. She did not want him to be left all alone, with any man, and especially a woman. That the woman was his twin sister did more to inflame her jealousy, not less, for her opinion of Ashley was quite low and she knew from practice that the Sea Wolf's kindness could be much abused by those who drew upon his previous relation. She had already had to send away a merchant who recalled how he was the one who transported the twins down to Pisa from Marseille and wanted a small loan, very small, per him, to help him expand his newfound venture. Then there was a woman, well, a girl, who appeared one day, claiming to have known the Sea Wolf intimately in Siena, before he came to live in Florence. The girl came up to ask for a bit of coin as well in remembrance of passion past. Olympia still did not know whether she told truth or lies, but still had the girl killed regardless.

At last the doors of inner chamber were opened and the Sea Wolf emerged. He looked to be in a dark mood, and best avoided, but Olympia took a risk, for she had to know what had transpired between him and his twin sister.

"My wolf?"

"Ashley was nearly massacred by Mansi bandits, when the Franciotti plans fell apart."

"I see."

"Her, uh, companion was killed and she was nearly, uh, assaulted."

"I see."

"Do you? My sister, my twin sister, my only living relative, uh, by blood. And she was nearly raped and killed as a, uh, um, afterthought in a fool scheme gone wrong drawn up by, uh, idiots whom I ignored for being, uh, idiots. Jesu! I nearly lost my twin! All because I was too busy scheming, uh, things of... The Devil take the...!"

"Beloved. Servants can hear us."

"Do I look like I give a shit?"

"No, but I do. Permit us to talk more in your bed chamber."

"No, Ashley sleeps there."

"I see. Let us talk in my chamber then."


As so they did. Where the Sea Wolf retold the story his twin shared. His face turned vermillion at several turns of tale and Olympia intervened here and then to steady her companion's mind with a warm application of a palm upon the back of his quite nervous hand.

"My wolf, she is safe. That is the only things matters now."

"Yes, yes, you're right. Though I feel quite shattered by this turn. She could have been killed not as a target, but as mere... nothing. She almost died for nothing. To think."

"Best not to dwell on that. For if we think on such things... recall the poor captain of the 'Fortune' who survived all upheavals of our great adventure only to die from a badly cooked meal so near home."

"Yes, yes, you are right. Life is so precious we must... Life is precious."

"Aye, it is. Too precious to be left to chance. So we must plan. Such as this conclave?"

"Yes, yes, you're right. Have the cardinals responded?"

"Those of the Spanish party signal their delight. The French ones..."

"Do what must be done. You are the master here, and I but a novice."

"We must of the same mind here, my wolf. Let me share some thoughts." And share she did, and the Sea Wolf listened and made suggestions where he could and it pleased Olympia to see he heard all she had said, and could be made to disregard the misadventure of his twin sister.

***


In Rome, Cardinal Antonio Barberini was in a rather laconic mood, and swayed a nearly empty goblet in his hand, when Cardinal Guido Bentivoglio d'Aragona came calling.

"Well then, my good lord d'Aragona, it appears you still hold Rome, but no longer hold a grip upon the Triple Crown?"

"Could you not crow about it least?"

"I am not crowing, but merely pointing out that we did all you asked, and now... Now...!"

"The situation is not as difficult as you make it seem."

"We are to go to Genoa to choose the Pope! Genoa - the Spain's bordello!"

"The cause of France is not yet lost. Nor that of your own family."

"I see. You just neatly divorced the two."

"What?"

"You. You just hacked off my interests from that of your beloved France."

"Do not read too much into my words, good Antonio. I merely meant we can still prevail."

"By going into a lion's mouth?"

"It worked out for the Christians did it not?"

"Christian. Singular, not plural. It worked for one man, and he was a saint. I do not think we qualify."

"Mayhap when we should speak when you are of a more sober mind."

"Oh that could be a problem, given I have taken to drinking as Lord Bacchus cavorting the satyrs and the nymphs. Look here. If we go up there, we shall elect a Spanish pope. To tell yourself otherwise is to invite ridicule."

"The Spanish party is not well led. There is much confusion among their number."

"Ah, I see. So it is a question then of which bastard shall sit upon my uncle's chair. Perhaps we shall all get lucky and it won't be an utter bastard!"

"Really, I should like to speak with you when you have drank some water with that wine."

"Oh go to Devil. We are doomed."

"We are not. But you are certainly finished if you do go up there with a sound plan and a clear mind."

"What part of 'go to Devil?' do you find difficult to follow? Shall I say it in French, mon ami?"

"You are no friend of mine, but we were once allies and could be again. When you are sober."

***


"Gian Carlo, we must of one mind before I go to Genoa."

"Dearest Leopoldo, you mean we have not been thus far?"

"No, we have not. I, prompted by a baser urge, have seized power that was not mine to take and installed myself in Florence as if a sultan, while you sulked here and nursed a grievance that may taint our cause and only seeks to delight our many foes."

His Highness Gian Carlo Medici blinked in lieu of gaping. As for his Excellency Cardinal Leopoldo Medici, he drew forth a chalice, got some wine and drank it all.

"I sometimes wonder if we poor Medici get sick when telling too much truth, thus we must practice lies to breathe."

Gian Carlo laughed, oh how he laughed, and it was as if a boulder fell from shoulder. The ill feeling for his brother which had reached tide highs suddenly fell well below all markers at the docks of his mind. He felt his chest expand now much more freely.

"Jesu, but the truth can help at times."

"Aye, Gian Carlo. That it can. I took power in Florence because I did not think you ready, and thereby wounded you. I must admit I took the throne with pleasure and enjoyed it. Enjoyed it much too much to turn it over to you when I should have. But all that ends. Florence is yours. You must take my place. You are the rightful heir, and you must see our family prosper."

"Are you...? Do you have a malady?"

"Do I sound as if I am a sick man?"

"No, but you sound as if you are prepared to die."

"I am off to go to conclave which makes the mines tended by Barbary captured slaves seem like a paradise. It is... You have no idea what it does. I have no idea either. Well, not entirely at least. I have some notion of what it shall be from past accounts of our family, and thus I must unburden myself to you. I must cleanse myself with truth and settle my affairs here, for the next days shall be filled with such lies. By Jesu, but I tremble."

"How do you rate our chances?"

"Rather well. We are not bootlicks of French ambition as were Barberini in these last decade. The Spaniards have no cause to hate us, and make no mistake it shall be Spaniards who shall hold the trumps."

"Who do you think shall become Pope?"

"Pamphili, unless the French party is prepared to fight to death. And it may come to that."

"What does it do for us?"

"Nothing bad, but nothing good, unless I can wring something out of him or that Agostino of Australia."

"Can you?"

"I do not know. But I know that regardless of the outcome, Florence will have a hard road to become what it once was. If we do not make trade flow and the price of wool recovers not... It shall be lean years and we will be forced to walk and talk small."

"You now have me feeling ill again, brother, after feeling well when you spoke truth."

"Truth has that effect as well, at times. Now then, let us speak of the economies of Florence and my dealing with the guilds. We must also speak of various plots our foes conceived in our fair city."

***


Mazarini had his things all but nearly packed when a nervous lackey brought a velvet glove by way of summons. Mazarini dismissed the man and walked up a steep spiral staircase to find Anne of Austria, Queen Regent of the Kingdom of France, standing in a small chamber, looking pale and nervous.

"My Queen."

"Jules, what if they...? Suppose the Malcontents attempt to end your life?"

"Oh they would not dare. Not in Genoa, my Queen. If anything, I am safer there than in Rome. In Rome, the populace would be seething and with the guards of town being French, my assassination would be blamed upon the irregularity of the French mercenaries, with none to take blame. Genoa, now Genoa is known as a Spanish haunt, though that'd be far from truth, for Genoa remembers it is part of the Spanish Empire only when it finds for that to be convenient. If a cardinal well known for being a friend to France were to fall in Genoa to an assassin's knife or poison, too many fingers would be too quick to point at Spain and their cat's paws. And in the middle of a conclave such an outrage would backfire immensely. It is a lion's den, make no mistake, my Queen. But it is no death sentence."

The Queen breathed some relief, though not much. And, overcome with feeling, the august body moved towards that of Mazarini, but stopped well short. So it was upon Mazarini to close the distance and to take the trembling royalty in hand, press tight and kiss her on the mouth with passion.

***


The peasant with the filthy mustache sat by his coach and day dreamed. Locals had deprived him from the best fares and all the fair spots from which to spot the coves in need of transport. This he understood and did not argue against. They were locals, and he was stranger. With time, they would think of him as local too, or he might be knifed, or he might have to knife another. Such was life. And sometimes fates were kind, such as when none wanted to ferry the hysteric woman come off the ship and it turned out to be twin sister to the Sea Wolf himself. And he had coin to prove his tale and already he had told it more than once, and some had gave him almost decent wine to hear him tell the tale. The adventure eased some of the troubles with the locals. Some, mind. But his knife was sharp and nearby, and he held no illusions, just some day dreams.

"How much to be taken to the St. Catherine of Genoa church by the northwest wall?"

The peasant puzzled, for that was near the old Jew quarter and no decent man wanted to go there upon arrival. Granted the Jews were all expelled an ancient time ago, but the prejudice remained, and no true Christian would wish to live there if he could help it. The peasant then turned to say as much to the man asking him, but did not speak his mind, for the fellow before him looked ill and pock marked and had a dark hint of bloody violence about him that the peasant saw in men come back from wars.

"St. Catherine's out by the walls, you says?" he asked instead.

The pock marked fellow gave nod.