Chương 19: Merely a Legal Dispute

The next morning, we walked from the bakehouse down to the river, Corso humming all the way. Second bell had rung not long ago, and if all had gone to plan, our claim to the chamber and relics should now be filed with the city registry. All we could do was trust that our advocate could make his argument carry: that the ruling in Maffei v. Orsini, twenty-one years ago, regarding a privy in a cellar would be the key that unlocked our ownership. For now, we had our part to do.

We soon approached the bridge, and it struck me how different it looked by day. The shops were opening around us. Shutters rose. Apprentices swept yesterday's dust into the river. Goldsmiths lit their furnaces and merchants and craftsmen were already haggling over prices.

"Third time," Corso said as we made our way over to the other end of the bridge, weaving through the growing crowds.

"What is that?"

"It's the third time we've been here in four days. First with a bottle of wine. Then we went treasure hunting. And now this. Three times. It's becoming a habit, Vale." I nodded, but he was in front of me and couldn't see.

"It's strange," I said eventually, "not heading to the Misericordia in the morning." He grunted assent, then stopped.

"What about this one?" I looked at the shop where he had stopped. A sign outside proclaimed the proprietor to be a licensed relic assessor.

"Why not?" I shrugged, and we made our way into the shop. Inside, one wall was taken up by a large, low table, another was decorated with a variety of bronze and silver objects, and the last held a workbench where a tall, thin old man was hunched over a felt-lined box with an object inside. Behind the man was a sign with prices, which also described the shop's promise of discretion and lawful weights. Next to that was a framed sheet holding an official relic assessor's certificate.

"Good morning, gentlemen," the assessor said and removed a strange set of glasses from his head. Instead of the normal arrangement of two lenses, one for each eye, this one blocked the light for one eye and offered an array of lens options for the remaining eye. He closed the box on his desk and rose to shake our hands.

"I am Maestro Bravio," he said.

"I am Marek Vale," I said.

"And this is Corso. We were hoping you might assist us."

"With what?"

"We have some items we believe… We think they are relics. Could you confirm that for us, and perhaps provide a valuation?"

"Certainly," the man said.

"Prices are there." He gestured behind to the sign, but helpfully added, "A florin apiece for my unofficial thoughts. If you want a formal assessment, signed and stamped, that is one percent of the value of my assessment. In that case I take payment either after the items have been sold, or the fee is owed within one month, whichever comes first." He paused and looked at us.

"Is that acceptable?" Not knowing any better, I nodded.

"All right, yes, that is acceptable." He walked around the desk and led us to the low table.

"Place the items here, then," he said. Carefully, I lifted the buckle, the clasp, and the two bronze rings out from my satchel and placed them on the table. Corso unwrapped the sword and placed it next to them. From the corner of my eye, I saw Bravio tense as he took a sharp breath.

"Where did you acquire these?" he asked.

"We found them," I said.

"I see," he said. He walked closer and peered down at the items on the table. Then he walked to the door and pulled on a rope hanging down from the ceiling before returning to us.

"What was that?" Corso said.

"Just…" he said.

"Just some additional security. We can never be too careful these days." He bent back down over our items, and ran a finger along the blade of the sword. Then he lifted the other items and felt their weight.

"So?" I asked. He was still inspecting the items, now back to the sword. He lifted it up and studied its hilt and its blade.

"No maker's mark," he muttered.

"And this metal is… It is very old."

"So, are they relics?" I said, just as Corso said, "How much?"

"It depends." He straightened up and looked at us.

"On what?"

"First of all, provenance." We heard footsteps outside.

"Someone broke through a wall beneath this bridge the night before last," he continued.

"The Bellandi watch found the opening after dawn. Men are saying there is an old burial room below the bridge." He looked at the sword again.

"Three hundred florins for the sword," he said quietly.

"I need more time to assess the other items. Much more if the chamber proves what these are." Corso's mouth opened. For once, nothing came out. Neither of us answered, and now the door to the shop opened. Maestro Bravio took a step back, before speaking to the four guardsmen who had suddenly joined us in the small room.

"It's them," he said.

"The ones who broke into the burial chamber. Their loot is there." He gestured to the table, just as rough hands grabbed me.

"What is this?" Corso shouted. One man had grabbed me, bending an arm behind my back. Two had grabbed Corso.

"I think you know," the Maestro said.

"Somebody broke into the cellars below the goldsmiths the night before last, and stole relics. The audacity of returning here to have me assess them…" He gave a short, humourless laugh.

"And to think I would deal in stolen items."

"Fuck that!" Corso exclaimed, still struggling against the men holding him.

"There was no cellar, we—""Corso!" I shouted to get his attention, then continued more quietly.

"Easy. Calm down. We will get this sorted out." Then, to the man holding me, "Let go. We will come willingly." He did not let go.

"Once again, Ser," I said.

"Let. Go." When nothing changed, I decided to test out what Might Eight might mean, and flexed the arm he was holding, straightening it and bringing it down along my side. Throughout, I took care to do it slowly and without threatening him, and although I could feel resistance, that resistance was futile. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"There," I said. The man was still holding on, but now it looked more like we were just holding hands, and he looked to his sergeant, who gave him a curt nod. He let go.

"And him." I gestured slowly towards Corso. Another exchange of looks and nods followed, and they let go of Corso, who started rubbing his arms and muttering.

"Sers," the sergeant said.

"May I ask you to follow us?"

Our items, our relics, were left behind in the assessor's shop. I considered asking about them, but decided against it. They would likely be kept safe for now, and although Dast had warned us against giving them up, I had no belief that physical conflict was the way through this situation. There was a reason why we had engaged an advocate. For one disquieting moment, I wanted to turn around, walk back into Bravio's shop, and take our relics. I knew now that the men around me could not stop me.

The knowledge felt good—and that frightened me more than the arrest. So I kept pace with the guards. We had hired an advocate because strength could not prove ownership. The guards kept their distance after that. I watched the spaces they left around me. My mind was racing as I considered our next steps. I expected them to take us to some kind of gaol, perhaps interrogate us, but I had trust in Dast.

We had been seized by Bellandi men, and they brought us to the district guardhouse at the eastern end of the bridge, where the squat building overlooked the entire goldsmiths' quarter. They searched our pockets and took our overcoats, leaving us in shoes, trousers, and shirts before taking us into the basement. Our cell was one of three lining a narrow corridor. It held a bench and a bucket, and a floor that did not look like it had been cleaned for at least two generations.

Corso inspected the bucket, then moved to the opposite wall and lowered himself onto the floor.

"How soon until Verin finds us?" he asked, and I knew that Corso had reasoned much as I had. Better to let this play out as we had planned than to stir up a kind of trouble we didn't know how to end.

"The good news," I said, "is that they were Bellandi men who brought us to a Bellandi gaol." He nodded in understanding. Dast was clever. I sat down on the bench and leaned against the wall.

"So, Bianca?" I asked.

"Tonight," he grinned.

"If we get out of here, that is." I nodded.

"Tell me about her."

"Tall, blonde… I would say wiry, but that doesn't sound good to describe a woman. And witty. You should have heard her joking about—" A surprising length of time later, we heard feet coming down the stairs, and shortly thereafter a guard struck the bars with a short wooden club.

"Wake up, ladies!" he shouted and unlocked our cell.

"Up!" he shouted next, when we did not immediately rise. I rose from the bench, marvelling again at the changes to my body. Where before I would have supported the action with my arms, and it would have brought a sharp pain to my back and perhaps a small groan, I stood straight up, my legs lifting me with no issue. The guard's posture shifted slightly as he set his legs and squared his shoulders before stepping back from the cell door. I stepped out, Corso following, and we went up the stairs.

"Where to?"

"Er, straight ahead, Ser. Room at the end of the corridor." A Bellandi clerk sat beside the sergeant from earlier, with a book open before him.

"Sit down," the clerk said, not even looking at us, in a voice that was carefully modulated into bored control. I did not immediately obey, and stood still, observing the man. A small man, and relatively young. What little hair he had was combed across to hide a bald pate that still reflected the sunlight coming through the window. Something about him made me pause. He is a classer, I concluded after a moment. I could not have told you how I knew. Perhaps it took a class to recognise a classer.

But there was an energy to him, a power. Which likely makes him a member of the main Bellandi family. Not a branch. Corso had followed my example, and I could see we were testing the man's patience. I decided to test it further.

"I think not," I said.

"We were about to leave, so we will remain standing. First I wanted to hear what this was about."

"Sers," the man said, and I heard a little of the control breaking.

"Sit down. You have been apprehended by—""Unlawfully so, but that is a matter for the city magistrate to sort out. As I said, I want to know before we leave what this is about." The man breathed in carefully, before throwing a look at the sergeant. Apparently they had worked together for long enough that looks could replace words, and the sergeant left the room. Getting more guards then, I thought, deciding to stay on our plan. We keep this legal, not physical.

"Your name?" I asked as I sat down in one of two chairs in front of the man's desk, indicating to Corso with a tilt of my head for him to do the same.

"You would be Marek Vale?" he said. I nodded.

"Which makes you Corso. I am Cesare Vieri, retained advocate to the Bellandi family." So, not a family member. An advocate. With a class. I said nothing. The game now was to give Dast time to arrive. Vieri sighed, then opened a drawer in his desk. One by one, he brought out the buckle, the clasp and the two rings and placed them on the desk. The sword followed a moment later.

"These are the items you brought to the assessor?"

"Those are our items, yes."

"Yours?" He picked up one of the rings and studied it.

"So, where did you happen to come across a bronze ring that our assessor has identified as a relic?" So it is a relic! I thought. Vieri caught my reaction.

"Oh yes. This is a true relic. It may just be simple bronze, but Bravio is willing to certify it as just over twelve hundred years old." Twelve hundred— My mouth fell open, and from next to me I heard Corso's chair shifting abruptly on the stone floor. I knew the Bellandi advocate was telling us this intentionally, to get a reaction.

"Twelve hundred…" Corso muttered.

"I did not even know Varenza was that old." It isn't, I knew, but I said nothing. At that point the door behind us opened, and I turned to see a hallway full of guardsmen, the sergeant in front. He must have received another signal from Vieri, and he turned back out and closed the door. A moment later, the advocate continued.

"So, if this ancient ring is yours. How did it come to be in your possession? And how about this?" He held up the other ring.

"Same age, almost to the year. Same with these two." He gestured to the buckle and the clasp.

"The sword is a few years older." Which means, I thought. The burial chamber must be the same age. That man was buried twelve centuries ago beneath Varenza. Before there was a Varenza.

"I ask again, Sers," he said.

"How did two former Misericordia workers, with a combined annual wage of… What—four hundred or five hundred florins—visit an assessor with items that would fetch nearly as much in auction?"

"Are the certificates written out?" I asked. He pursed his lips, obviously not liking me not answering.

"What certificates?"

"For the assessment. We would be willing to purchase them when you return our relics, so we don't need to go to another assessor." I think he must have realised now that he would have to take this in another direction, and instead of asking more questions he simply summarised.

"Somebody broke into Bellandi property the night before last. They broke through a wall, then they went down into a chamber below the bridge, still on Bellandi lands. When we found the chamber, only two silver coins were left, the rest of the gravesite obviously disturbed." He sighed, and looked at Corso then at me.

"Then, today, the two of you appear. You visit Maestro Bravio, who is perfectly capable of adding two and two together. And here we are. What happened is obvious. I am called out, and fortunately for the two of you, I am in an excellent mood. So…" He reached out to a corner of the desk, and picked up a document and his glasses, which he put on.

"I have already written this out. It records your unauthorised entry, your removal of the objects, and your surrender of any claim to them. Sign it, and you may leave without the Bellandi asking the magistrate to pursue criminal charges."

"What about our items? They—" He took the glasses off and looked back at us as he interrupted Corso.

"The alternative, gentlemen, is that you wait here. We provide you with a place to stay, while we call for the magistrate to send out city watchmen to collect you. I know that you do not want that, and—" It was at that point that we heard a commotion outside the door. Stomping feet and raised voices, one of which I recognised. I smiled, and rose.

"One moment, Advocate Vieri," I said, and before he had a chance to object I went over to the door.

"Ser Dast," I grinned at him.

"How nice of you to join us." Verin Dast stood there, his hair out of place, one stocking spattered to the knee and a folded document in one hand. Still, he entered the office with the poise and posture of one addressing the Signoria.

"Ser Vieri," he said, nodding to the Bellandi advocate as he placed the document down on his desk.

"Here you go," he continued.

"Here is notice of first entry, discovery and finding. Registered at first bell, as you will see from the date." He helpfully opened the folded document and pointed to a line. Next he gestured to the items on the table.

"Do you have Ser Vale's satchel, so we can easily carry his items?"

"Dast," Vieri said, his first words since our advocate arrived.

"You misunderstand the situation. Vale and Corso were apprehended with stolen property. Taken from Bellandi lands."

"Stolen, you say." Verin Dast leaned closer.

"I say otherwise." He tapped the document.

"The Bellandi concession predates your claim by approximately seven decades," Vieri said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You are, as always, slightly too late, Advocate Dast." Verin's expression brightened.

"Excellent. You do understand the dispute. I have taken the liberty of also organising a hearing with the magistrate. A purely civil dispute, you understand. I think…" He tilted his head as bells could be heard.

"That if we all make our way there now, we will not delay the court."