Page 96

Ginevra shook her head “no” and chewed at the leather. It was getting softer and her mouth was filled with the bitter taste of it.

“She threatened me, stole my medical books,” said the apothecary, leaning into his role, “sneezed and a befuddling potion flew from her nostrils and onto my face.” The audience was in his grip until Becchino’s voice sang out from the same corner as before:

Grave Robber, Grave Robber

He breaks the fingers off the dead

Pulls the hair out of their heads

Ties them up with silken bow

And calls it San Sebastian-o

The crowd hissed, fingers formed horned gestures and pointed into the earth, and hands made crosses in the air. They did not question the allegations against the greasy apothecary—if anybody knew the truth about grave robbers, it was a becchino. A few who’d acquired relics from the man in the past removed the pouches from their necks and crushed them under their feet. The bishop yelled at his mercenaries to shut up Becchino once and for all. One of them finally complied and chased him off with a stick. The apothecary, feeling the horns pointed toward him, jumped off the side of the platform, bumping into the bishop in his haste. The bishop stumbled and Ginevra saw something fall forward in front of his robe—a black cord strung with an ancient coral figa. Her ancient coral figa was tied around his neck. She could not help but laugh anew at his hypocrisy.

“QUIET,” said the bishop, against the grumbling and shouts that kept rising with the temperature. The buzzing of voices was lessened only slightly by his admonishment. This was all proving too exciting: sorcery, grave robbers, an inquisitor who made love to both a heretic AND a donkey!

The bishop pressed forward. This was already taking too long. He needed to get to his point, to his miracle. He stepped to the front of the platform and thought of how soon he would be cardinal, rich once more, and never have to do anything this annoying ever again. He looked out into the crowd, held out his hands, and began to pray to Our Lady of Requisiti.

Oh, Blessed Virgin, who helps us in our hour of need

“Here,” whispered Lucia, who had been waiting and watching for him to stand exposed at the front of the platform. She grabbed Giancarlo and maneuvered her way to the front of the crowd, putting the jettatore in a direct line of sight with the bishop.

We have allowed the wicked to walk among us and rape our city

The devil has infiltrated the holy office of the inquisitor

The devil has disguised himself as a base woman

We have been punished but remain faithful

Have mercy on us and let our suffering end

People were listening to him now. They began to weep and pray; they knelt down in the square.

God wants us to rid our city of sinners

“Yes!” cried the people.

And we have found the two wickedest among us

“We have found them for you, Madonna!” cried the people.

Lucia squeezed her jettatore’s arm.

“Now?” he whispered.

“Now,” she said.

She adjusted his hood to create a tunnel of vision directed toward the bishop.

“Alright,” she said, “go ahead.”

Giancarlo pulled the linen from his eyes and stared hard at the bishop who was speaking, eyes to the sky.

On the platform, Ginevra, who had not taken her own eyes off her stolen amulet, saw the coral begin to glow on the bishop’s neck. She ground her teeth into the gag.

Give us a sign, Madonna. Give us a sign that I have done right