Chương 4: Chapter 4
Niccolo sat out on the ledge facing another day. His lute lay across his lap. The sound of waves crashing enveloped the area. He was deep in thought, something he fruitlessly tried to avoid. What was he going to do, anyway? Tyndaris was not his home. Even if he could meet her, and even if he meant something to her, he would still be leaving. He lived the life of a wanderer. It wasn't the best way of life, but he could see himself in no other. Besides, his life was not his own. The empire would decide where, and how, he should live. That was the agreement, and up until this point, it had worked well for both parties. Now, he couldn't resist moving in closer to her. He'd hoped that with every glimpse, every word she spoke, something would cause him to change his mind. Niccolo yearned to find something, upon deep inspection, that he would regard as too great a flaw to overlook. In this, he was disappointed. He saw the best in her in every light, and further magnified her perfection in his mind. Generations would come and go before anyone like Ellisa could be found again. He was sure of it. And every other woman seemed to him a crude imitation of this original, who was not more than a mile's walk from where he looked out over the world, and saw nothing of any great value compared to her.
As if to signal a decision, he leapt to his feet and took to the road. Before long, Angelo's shop could be seen among the rows of buildings in the middle of the city. Niccolo tenderly held his lute as he walked. Reaching the open door, he waited a few seconds before pushing himself forward. Inside he was greeted with old and new instruments, furnishings, paintings, statues, stones, and weapons. A cithara was perched over the counter. Angelo awaited. He was never on the losing end of a bargain, and Niccolo knew it.
Niccolo barely raised his eyes to the cithara. "Sell it to me."
"What do you want with this cithara? I will give it to you for one hundred soldi."
"I'm not paying one hundred soldi."
"Go on, take it. I promise you it's perfect."
"You're lying by the throat."
"I don't have one for less."
"I don't have a hundred soldi."
"If you don't buy it, someone else will. These days everyone wants antiques."
"For a hundred soldi? Are you hoping to have a life of leisure? In this world hopes are fleeting."
"A terrible thing is rent. Look at the delicate strings, the handiwork. Only a genius could have made it."
"Merchants are the ruin of our island."
"Eighty soldi."
"After praising it to the skies you sell for eighty!"
"I'll be kind since you are a street poet and because of our lasting friendship. Fifty soldi. If it were anyone else I'd ask the full hundred, maybe two."
Niccolo removed his hat and his ring, and hopelessly set them on the counter. He lifted his lute and offered it next.
"Your cloak as well."
Niccolo shed the cloak, letting it fall onto the floor. Angelo, the gold-toothed thief, couldn't be more pleased. Niccolo swept up the cithara. Carrying it outside the shop, he pulled the strings, forming a simple melody. He deviated from the melody to hear the instrument's range. He tried to rush ahead into a song, but soon lost control of the notes. He sighed. The sun beat down on Niccolo's freshly exposed face as he grappled with this new burden, the cithara.
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