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mockingly. "Lionello Andreas, my illustrious lady thief. I think we're destined
to become very well acquainted. Stand up and let me look at you."
    She scrambled to her feet, hugging her shawl close to her body to try to stop the shivering
that attacked every limb.
    "Come here."
    She took one hesitant step toward him, then another.
    "Stop." He held up his hand and grimaced distastefully. "Do you never bathe?"
    "I bathe, my lord." Her eyes were enormous in her thin face as she gazed up at him.
"Please, my lord, trust me. I'll return the money."
    "I trust only a very few people in this world and none of them is a thief." His gaze ran
over her. He scowled. "
Dio
, you're scrawny as a starved cat. Does Ballano never feed
you?"
    She stiffened. "You know Giovanni?"
    "I haven't as yet had that pleasure. Where is he?"
    "He'll be back soon," Elizabet wailed. "Couldn't you go before he returns?"
    "Elizabet... " Sanchia drew a deep breath and tried to subdue her impatience. "Why don't
you stand by the door and watch for Giovanni while I talk to his excellency?"
    "Yes, Sanchia." Elizabet gave Andreas an uncertain glance and hurried from the room.
    "She has the brain of a chicken," Lion said bluntly. "God, how I hate a whining woman."
    "She's only fourteen," Sanchia said defensively. "And she's not stupid. You frighten her."
    Lion's gaze narrowed on her face. "But not you?"
    She nodded. "Me, too." She swallowed. "But being afraid won't save me. As you
indicated, weeping and wailing only make men angry."
    "Has that been your experience?" he asked, his expression intent.
    "Men don't like tears. It makes them impatient, just as it did you, my lord." She stood
very straight, gazing at him. "What can I do to keep you from taking me to prison?"
    "What would you do?" he asked curiously.
    "Anything," she whispered. "I can't leave them. They have no one but me."
    "Who are 'they'?" His words were abstracted as his gaze ran over her. By the saints, the
woman truly looked the scrawny feline he had named her, he thought with a flash of
unreasonable irritation. Sanchia appeared to be little older than the sobbing child across
the room; she was as tiny and fine-boned as a kitten. Her triangular face was oddly
catlike, too, with its high cheekbones, olive skin, and slightly slanted eyes. Those eyes
were strange--gold-amber in color and utterly appealing, even filled with terror as they
were now. Her chestnut-colored hair looked as if it had been carelessly chopped and
hacked until it was even shorter than his page Nicolo's. Now it was so rain dampened it
clung in sodden curls about her thin face. "Who are you so concerned about?"
    "Piero and Bartolomeo and Eliza--"
    "He's coming," Elizabet cried frantically. "Sanchia, do something."
    Sanchia paled. "Please go away. I beg you, my lord."
    "You're afraid of this Giovanni?"
    "Not for myself. He needs me, so he'll probably only beat me. But if he becomes very
angry, he may decide to send them all away and he mustn't do that. I couldn't--"
    "A thousand apologies for keeping you waiting, my lord." It was Giovanni's voice
booming from the doorway. "How may I serve you?"
    Sanchia held her breath, her gaze clinging to Lion's in desperation. She could detect no
softening of his expression, only that strange, searching appraisal.
    Then Andreas abruptly turned away from her to face Giovanni. "Signor Ballano, I am
Lionello Andreas, and I've come to make you an offer."
    "A commission?" Giovanni brushed by Elizabet and entered the shop. "I copy by hand or
print. My work is known throughout Florence." Giovanni waved a hand at the printing
press across the room. "It's the best machine in all Italy and I--"
    "I want nothing copied," Lion interrupted. "I need a servant, and I heard you have a slave
that may meet my requirements." He stepped aside and indicated Sanchia standing in
shocked immobility behind him. "I'll give you twenty-five ducats for her."
    "Sanchia?" Giovanni's bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. "You want to