The Wind Dancer Read Online Free PDF

willful inaccuracies. Sweet Mary be praised,
Sanchia thought with relief.
    Her lids flicked open and she quickly reached for the quill.
     

Chapter Two.
    You're late." Caprino jerked Sanchia into the shadows of the arcade surrounding the
piazza. "I told you two o'clock."
    "It couldn't be helped," Sanchia said breathlessly. "There was an accident... and we didn't
get finished until an hour... ago... and then I had to wait until Giovanni left to take the--"
    Caprino silenced the flow of words with an impatient motion of his hand. "There he is."
He nodded across the crowded piazza. "The big man in the wine-colored velvet cape
listening to the storyteller."
    Sanchia's gaze followed Caprino's to the man standing in front of the platform. He was
more than big, he was a giant, she thought gloomily. The careless arrogance in the man's
stance bespoke perfect confidence in his ability to deal with any circumstances and, if he
caught her, he'd probably use his strong hands to crush her head like a walnut. Well, she
was too tired to worry about that right now. It had been over thirty hours since she had
slept. Perhaps it was just as well she was almost too exhausted to care what happened to
her. Fear must not make her as clumsy as she had been yesterday. She was at least glad
the giant appeared able to afford to lose a few ducats. The richness of his clothing
indicated he must either be a great lord or a prosperous merchant.
    "Go." Caprino gave her a little push out onto the piazza. "Now."
    She pulled her shawl over her head to shadow her face and hurried toward the platform
where Luca Brezal was telling his story, accompanying himself on the lyre. She had
heard Luca many times before and didn't consider him overly talented. She wished the
storyteller were Pico Fallone. Pico could hold an audience spellbound and would have
made it much easier for her to ease close enough to snatch the giant's purse.
    A drop of rain struck her face, and she glanced up at the suddenly dark skies. Not yet, she
thought with exasperation. If it started to rain in earnest the people crowding the piazza
would run for shelter and she would have to follow the velvet-clad giant until he put
himself into a situation that allowed her to make the snatch.
    Another drop splashed her hand, and her anxious gaze flew to the giant. His attention was
still fixed on the storyteller, but only the saints knew how long he would remain. Her
pace quickened as she flowed like a shadow into the crowd surrounding the platform.
    Garlic, Lion thought, as the odor assaulted his nostrils. Garlic, spoiled fish, and some
other stench that smelled even fouler. He glanced around the crowd trying to identify the
source of the smell. The people surrounding the platform were the same ones he had
studied moments before, trying to search out Caprino's thief. The only new arrival was a
thin woman dressed in a shabby gray gown, an equally ragged woolen shawl covering
her head. She moved away from the edge of the crowd and started to hurry across the
piazza. The stench faded with her departure and Lion drew a deep breath. Dio, luck was
with him in this, at least. He was not at all pleased at being forced to stand in the rain
waiting for Caprino to produce his master thief.
    "It's done," Lorenzo muttered, suddenly at Lion's side. He had been watching from the far
side of the crowd. Now he said more loudly, "As sweet a snatch as I've ever seen."
    "What?" Frowning, Lion gazed at him. "There was no--" He broke off as he glanced
down at his belt. The pouch was gone; only the severed cords remained in his belt.
"Sweet Jesus." His gaze flew around the piazza. "Who?"
    "The sweet madonna who looked like a beggar-maid and smelled like a decaying
corpse." Lorenzo nodded toward the arched arcade. "She disappeared behind that
column, and I'll wager you'll find Caprino lurking there with her, counting your ducats."
    Lion started toward the column. "A woman," he murmured. "I didn't expect a woman.
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