The Wind Dancer Read Online Free PDF Page A

He disappeared into
the room where the four of them slept.
    A moment later Sanchia heard the grumbling protests of a very sleepy Bartolomeo and
then Piero's determined voice. "No, I won't let you go back to sleep. Sanchia needs us."
    Sanchia smiled. Young as he was, Piero could never be deterred once he had decided
something must be done. Her smile faded when she remembered it was only his
stubbornness that had kept him alive when his mother had abandoned him to the streets
and gone into one of Caprino's brothels. Piero had been like a fierce young animal for
weeks after Sanchia had found him in an alley off the Piazza della Signoria two years
before.
    Bartolomeo was yawning as he appeared in the doorway. "Sanchia, I don't--" He
stopped, suddenly awake, and shouted, "Dio!Can you save anything?"
    Sanchia shook her head. "They'll both have to be recopied."
    Bartolomeo glowered at the door leading to the room where Giovanni lay snoring. "It's
the third time this month. Soon no one will come to him. Messer Arcolo does much
better work and doesn't drink like a swilling pig." His gaze went with possessive pride to
the printing press crouching like a giant wooden grasshopper across the room. "Giovanni
doesn't deserve such a fine instrument. It's wasted on him."
    "But not on you," Sanchia said affectionately. "I don't know if you are mother to that
press or it is mother to you."
    Piero was tugging at Bartolomeo's wool shirt. "Set the type."
    "Dio, give me a minute." Bartolomeo frowned down at Piero. "Will you at least let me
wash the sleep from my eyes?"
    Piero shook his head. "Sanchia needs you. She's tired and wants to go to bed."
    Sanchia made a face. "There'll be no sleep for me tonight." She handed Bartolomeo the
leaf that could still be read. "If you can get this now, I'll try to have the other leaf
recopied by morning."
    Bartolomeo nodded briskly as he glanced down at the page. His drowsiness had
completely vanished, and Sanchia could see the familiar eagerness light his face as he
imagined changing the elegant script to his beloved block print. "I can do it." His tone
was already abstracted as he crossed the room. "It will only take... " He trailed off as his
fingers began sorting through the letter blocks.
    Piero finished cleaning off the table and then began moving about the room putting
things in order.
    Sanchia went to the cabinet, drew out a leaf of Giovanni's finest parchment, crossed back
to the scribe table, and seated herself. She glanced at the ruined document and quickly set
it aside. No help there; the letters had run together until they were completely
indistinguishable. Thank the saints she had read the entire work earlier in the week, as
she almost always did when Giovanni received a new commission. It was the third
Convivio
the print shop had copied this year, but there were several tiny differences she
had noted in this version. Rudolfo's folio had been obtained from the monks of a
Franciscan monastery, and the holy man who had copied Dante's work had arrogantly
deleted a number of sentences and added others. It would be futile to hope that a scholar
like Messer Rudolfo had not pored over these leaves until he had memorized them to the
last stroke of the pen.
    Piero dropped onto the floor beside her chair and leaned his head against her knee. She
absently stroked his fair hair as she tried to clear her mind of weariness.
    She felt a sudden rush of panic. What if she couldn't do it this time? What if she couldn't
remember? She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. There was no reason why
she shouldn't remember. Since she was a small child she had been able to remember
everything she had seen down to the tiniest detail. Surely she hadn't lost the ability now
that she needed it so desperately. God was not always kind, but he couldn't be so cruel as
to take away this gift.
    She closed her eyes and tried to relax, willing memory to return to her.
    And it did!
    The leaf was suddenly before her with all its