I cared not two scudi who would wear the papal tiara after poor wheezing Pope Innocent breathed his last, but I oiled up to a good many Borgia guardsmen at the Inn of the Fig in the days following. “Give us a hint, you must know who the Cardinal will vote for, a big man like you working in his household!” And out the cards would come, and the coins, and the questions.

In three weeks, I had him. A big fellow with a cheerful ugly face, shirt half unlaced against the raging heat that refused to cool even in the night, sweat beading on his temples. I’d been steadily losing to him all night, enough that he looked at me with a benevolent gleam of friendliness, and when yet another round went against me, he shook his head and offered to buy me a tankard of wine.

“I always thought little men like you would be luckier than the rest of us,” he said, waving the maidservant over. “A full-size man’s supply of luck for a dwarf; that should make you a natural at primiera.”

I shook my head ruefully, sweeping away my winning hand that would have taken the pot had I bothered to play it correctly. “I’ve never been lucky, my friend.”

“Niccolo,” he said. “I’ve taken enough out of your purse, you might as well have my name in return. And a drink.”

An irritable-looking tavern maid slapped down my tankard, scowling as I blew her a kiss in thanks. “There’s a face that would sour vinegar,” I whistled as she turned away. “There was another one last night, dark-haired, pretty as a new day. I’d hoped to see her tonight.” Dropping a wink. “She liked me.”

“Good thing she isn’t here then, my friend.” Niccolo the guardsman leaned back in his chair, giving a proud slap to the Borgia bull on his doublet. “Every girl likes a man in a uniform best.”

“Don’t underestimate a woman’s curiosity.” I made a gesture from my prominent forehead to my broad chest to my short legs that didn’t reach the floor. “A girl sees this, and she wants to see more. You know how many I’ve had that way? I could cross Rome without putting foot to floor, hopping between the beds I’ve visited.”

“Get on with you,” Niccolo scoffed, but he looked interested. Most men are—base curiosity isn’t just a female vice. Men look at me and wonder secretly how a man of my size can perform a man’s most basic function. In the lowest quarters of Rome you can find shows where dwarves tup each other before an audience that has paid good coin to watch.

“Of course, when a woman’s had a dwarf, there’s no telling what else she wants.” I took another swallow of wine, letting it slosh on the table. “There was one woman . . .”