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serene beauty of Elizabet's face as she met Sanchia at the door. "Giovanni isn't back
yet." She pulled Sanchia into the shop. "You're soaked. You're sure to catch a chill. Come
and have some wine to warm you."
    Sanchia shook her head. "Not now. I have to sleep." She moved heavily across the shop
to the storage room and sank to her knees on her pallet. Sighing with weariness, she
stretched out and pulled the worn quilt up to cover her chin. "Wake me when Giovanni
comes back. Where are Piero and Bartolomeo?"
    "Giovanni sent them to the wine shop to get a fresh jug for him." Elizabet leaned down to
tuck the quilt more closely around Sanchia's thin body. "Sleep. I'll try to keep Giovanni
from waking you."
    Sanchia's lids felt as if they were weighted, and she could hold them open no longer. She
had to sleep, if only for a little while. It probably would be for a mere few precious
moments. She knew Elizabet would try to protect her, but the girl was too gentle-natured
and free from guile to keep Giovanni from doing anything he wanted to do. If Messer
Rudolfo was pleased with their work, Giovanni would quite likely bring back another
commission and want them to start on it at once.
    And Messer Rudolfo would be pleased, she thought with a glimmer of pride. She and
Bartolomeo had done excellent work on the Convivio. Really excellent work...
    "No, you can't wake her! What do you want with Sanchia?" The note of panic in
Elizabet's voice pierced the heavy clouds of sleep beginning to surround Sanchia.
Something was wrong, she thought drowsily. She had to force her eyes open. No, it was
too difficult. Finally, she managed to awaken herself enough to stare sleepily at the man
standing in the doorway.
    Brilliant dark eyes looked at her from a face as stone hard as the statue of Lorenzo
de'Medici in the piazza. Piazza! Shock cleared the last vestiges of sleep from her mind.
This was the man in the piazza!
    She sat bolt upright, her heart pounding wildly as she gazed up at him. The giant's
massive body completely filled the doorway, and the tiny storeroom seemed to grow
smaller by the second as if he were draining it of dimension in some magical way. Like
Zeus drawing power from the heavens to loose his thunderbolts, she thought dazedly.
    He smiled grimly. "I see you recognize me. It seems the theft of my purse didn't weigh
on your conscience. You were sleeping as soundly as an infant in its mother's arms. Do
you always nap after your thefts?"
    Elizabet, somewhere beyond the giant's broad shoulders, gasped. Sanchia was too
frightened to gasp, too frightened to speak, to frightened to do anything but stare at him.
    He frowned. "Answer me."
    "I don't... " She stopped and swallowed hard. "Are you going to imprison me?"
    "Isn't that what should happen to thieves?"
    Elizabet sobbed brokenly. "Sanchia, I told him not to come in. I told him... "
    The man was ignoring Elizabet, his gaze fixed intently on Sanchia's face. "Isn't the
Stinche where you belong?" he repeated.
    "Yes, that's where thieves belong." She forced herself to meet his gaze. "But I no longer
have your purse, and if you imprison me, you'll never get your gold back. They'll just cut
off my hands and--" She had to stop as terror dried her throat. The bloody vision danced
before her eyes and it was a moment before she could continue, "If you let me go free, I'll
find a way to pay you back. I promise, my lord."
    "The promise of a thief."
    "I keep my word."
    "A thief but not a liar?"
    "I do lie," she said honestly. "Well... only when I must. Sometimes it's better to lie than
have bad things happen to people. But I don't break my promises."
    "Don't hurt her," Elizabet sobbed. "Please don't hurt her."
    "Stop weeping," he said impatiently over his shoulder. "She's the one who should be
crying."
    "Sanchia never cries," Elizabet said.
    "Sanchia what?" He turned back to Sanchia. "What's your full name?"
    "Just Sanchia." She moistened her lips with her tongue. "I have no other."
    He bowed