I didn’t even know how long I had been held here, wherever here was. A few days? Maybe I’d be saved until after the Pope died, whenever that was. Rome always erupts into violence when a pope dies—what better way to keep the mob calm than to give them a dwarf’s bloody execution?

Perhaps I had another week. Or perhaps only a few days. However long poor old Innocent could hang on.

I almost wished he’d hurry up and die. There were only so many hours I could pass massaging the cruel aches of my shackled legs and running mental odds on my method of execution. My battered deck of cards and the worn volume of Cicero’s letters had been taken from my doublet when the guards searched me. Providing the boredom didn’t kill me first, I’d soon be marched out through a jeering crowd, up a crude flight of steps to a gallows, and feel a rope snugged about my neck. Or perhaps I’d be lucky. Perhaps they’d let me go after lopping off my hands, or my nose, or my ears. Cut out my viper tongue; gouge out my eyes. Then let me go, as an example of Christian mercy.

Dio. Sometimes I wish I were a stupider man. A clever imagination is no blessing in a cell.

So I was almost glad when a guard with the Borgia bull on his chest came and took me away.

I could barely walk after being kept shackled so long. The third time I tripped, doubled over with knifelike pains down my exercise-starved legs, the guardsman simply hauled me up by one elbow and dragged me along so my toes trailed the floor. I was content to be dragged, bumping up a series of stone staircases, through a long passage and then a richer series of anterooms. Elaborate carpets, gorgeously dyed tapestries, gold and silver plate proudly displayed to gleam on an intricately carved credenza . . . Where was I?

“Your Excellency,” the guard grunted as I was hauled through yet another set of wide doors. “The dwarf you wanted to see.”

“Put him down, Michelotto.”

I was dumped onto another very fine carpet and had to bite back a scream as my legs protested. The guardsman faded back against the wall, and I gave him a cordial nod before turning my attention to the figure slouching behind the desk. “You will pardon me, Your Excellency,” I managed to say politely. “I fear I must remain seated for a moment, or else fall over when I try to rise.”