The Fallen Blade: Act One of the Assassini by Jon Courtenay Grimwood

Author:Jon Courtenay Grimwood [Grimwood, Jon Courtenay]
Language: rus
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-01-29T21:00:00+00:00

37

There were a dozen pig shambles in Venice. The one Tycho was delivered to by Amelia on a hot summer night was on the city’s northern edge; ten minutes west of della Misericordia and almost opposite the island of San Michele. Like all slaughterhouses it was as far away from human habitation as possible. Which translated as far away as possible from anyone rich.

So it stood on the lagoon’s edge, with a gently sloping floor that let the bricks be sluiced and the filth be washed into the sea. Although little was left after butchering. Outside, in a stinking pen, pigs milled and snuffled and slopped up to their knees in their own dirt, or the dirt of meat before them. They were jointed according to Guild rules; not to be sold within twenty-four hours of slaughter or longer than ten days after. Their blood, guts and viscera made sausages. The skin became leather, and the hooves and long bones, once split for their marrow, boiled down to glue.

Even individual vertebra provided soup. The method used by Master Robusta involving two cuts, one either side of the backbone, instead of the more common single cut that split the spine down the middle.

Most of the pork was salted and sold to ships moored in the Bacino di San Marco, since they needed to revictua for their journeys south. The better cuts ended up on stalls in the Rialto market, and pork sausages fed the poor across the city. Master Robusta’s place stank. It was a shambles after all. But it stank no worse than other slaughterhouses and smelt far better than the tanneries. And, unlike the iron foundries to the west, it was unlikely to kill you with air poison while you slept.

“What brings you back here…?”

Amelia jerked her thumb at Tycho, scowling as Master Robusta grinned at his silvery braids and white skin. “Don’t say it.”

“You have a letter?”

She gave him Atilo’s note, waiting while he broke its seal, read the contents and held the single sheet of paper over a flame, letting it burn to his fingers before letting go and watching embers dance away.

“Every month?”

Amelia shrugged. “I don’t read. Anyway, it wasn’t shown me.” Glancing at Master Robusta, she added, “I’ll be accompanying him.” Her tone said how much she liked that idea.

“We kill, gut and joint every minute of every day, except those forbidden by the Church. These days we use cleavers. Your master has asked you be taught the old ways first.” Walking to the back, Master Robusta chose a knife from a rack. “Use this,” he said. “It’s too old to damage.”

It might be old but it was sharp. The edge so honed it curved like a sickle moon. That upset the balance.

“Good enough for you?” Master Roberto and Amelia were watching him. The butcher’s look was half amused. Amelia’s harder to read.

“May I?” Tycho nodded to a sharpening wheel.

“It’s sharp already.”

That was when Tycho knew he was expected. The business with the sealed letter was play-acting.

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