Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Two burly figures rushed at them from a shadowy side street.
Malice. Excitement. Mel had almost missed it.
One went after Daniel and the other sliced at her backpack with a knife.
Her turn had thrown off his aim and the knife caught and hung in the stainless-steel mesh that lined her pack.
Frustrated, the attacker tugged at the knife, yanking Mel off her feet.
Mel landed on her backside on the pavestones. The man wrestled to get his knife loose from her pack, hauling her on to her knees as she pulled back against him.
As she struggled to keep from being dragged down the sidewalk, Daniel spun around in the grasp of the other mugger and did something with his feet and hands that looked like a dance.
The next thing she knew, Daniel’s attacker was on the ground, stunned, and Daniel was coming to help her.
The man assaulting her managed to get his knife free and swung at Daniel.
Mel screamed as the blade flashed in the man’s hand.
She used the nearby stucco wall to get to her feet, trying desperately to focus her talento at the same time, but Daniel turned the flailing knife aside.
The two seemed frozen for a moment as they grappled for it, then Daniel kicked the man in the knee.
The guy went down hard, and the knife skittered across the sidewalk.
Daniel positioned himself in front of Mel just as the first attacker got to his feet and stumbled toward them.
With one look at Daniel, he dragged his partner into a limping run down another side street.
Only then did Mel hear the growing noise behind them.
Scattered screams and shouts, then the sound of running feet as a uniformed officer sprinted past, chasing after the men.
She took deep breaths, one after another, trying to slow her racing heart.
Daniel went to one knee in front of her, a hand on the pavement, the other covering his face.
Then they were surrounded by curious locals and tourists, all chattering at once in a high-pitched babble.
Mel tried to focus, to project calm, but there was too much noise inside and outside of her head. She could only be thankful that, for the moment, no one was trying to touch her.
“Daniel?”
He gave no response. He was so rigid that she feared the knife-wielder might have stabbed him.
She tried to read his emotions, but she couldn’t sort him out from everyone else.
Panic. Excitement. Curiosity. Concern. The jumble made her head throb, but she grasped his shoulder. His face was pale and his jaw clenched.
“Daniel?”
Frustration. Anger. Avarice. Wait, these weren’t his emotions. They didn’t feel like Daniel. They felt slimy and loathsome. Mel had the urge to pull her hand away, but she didn’t.
She grabbed her pendant, breathing hard, and tried to deal with the emotions battering her from all sides when a voice yelled, “Vai via, tutti voi!” and ordered everyone to give them room to breathe.
The crowd scattered as a woman in an apron, waving a spoon dripping with tomato sauce, came into view.
It was like something out of a movie as the woman, apparently the owner and cook in the nearby café, and a young man, also in an apron, got the crowd to back off. Mel didn’t have the strength at the moment to cope with any more emotion. She needed space. They needed space.
“Are you hurt?” the young man asked in very good English.
“Only bruised a bit,” she answered. “But I think my friend needs help.”
Daniel raised his head, blinking, then shut his eyes. He was in pain, but it wasn’t from an injury. “No, I…” he started to protest, then changed his mind. “Yeah, maybe.”
“If we could just sit somewhere for a minute.” Mel grasped Daniel’s arm to help him up.
“Si, si,” the woman insisted. “My ristorante. You come and sit.” She spun on the remaining onlookers, spoon raised. “Via via!”
The young man grasped Daniel’s other arm and they got him to his feet.
“Grazie. Grazie mille.” There was a smattering of applause from a few onlookers as Daniel waved the young man off and paused for a moment to get his bearings.
“Venite. Venite,” the woman demanded and led them to her café.
It was an odd little parade. First came the café owner like some drum major waving her sauce-covered spoon.
Then Mel, who had looped her arm through Daniel’s to help guide him.
The young man trotted behind, asking repeatedly if he could carry her backpack.
Mel shook her head, focused on keeping Daniel steady as he negotiated the pavestones with some difficulty.
The woman beckoned them to follow her between the sidewalk tables, where the customers regarded them with interest, all the way into the kitchen and what was probably the family table, then ordered them to sit.
Daniel motioned to Mel to sit first, even as he squinted at the chair in front of him. She unhooked her pack and sat it next to her chair, watching him lower himself carefully into a seat.
“You all right?” Daniel asked, his voice hoarse. He seemed to be at least as incapacitated as he had been at the hotel.
“I think so.” Her black pants were torn on one knee and the skin had been scrubbed raw beneath, but at least her favorite jacket was in one piece.
She had landed hard enough on her backside to rattle her teeth.
Likely that part of her, and some other parts, were going to be black and blue.
And her brand-new backpack had a hole in it.
Then she remembered the flashing knife and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Daniel covered his face with his hands. She wondered if it was pain or something else.
A plate full of crostini appeared on the table, along with a bottle and two glasses. “Mama makes some brodo for you. It will return the energy, she says,” the young man explained.
“Grazie mille,” Mel said. “Come si chiama?”
Switching to Italian with a wide smile, the young man told her his name was Gino and this was his family’s restaurant.
His mama was Rosetta and the family surname was Pagola.
Gino explained that his mama was making them some brodo, a rich beef broth, and then perhaps they could try her pollo alla fiorentina.
She insisted, and Mama Rosetta always got her way.
Mel protested that they wouldn’t be staying, but Daniel waved his hand at her, apparently working out the gist of what had been said.
“I… It’ll be a while,” he said.
She wondered if the headache was even worse this time, and she imagined he had substantial bruises himself. She could still feel someone else’s strong and rather sickening emotions clinging to him. This was completely beyond her experience.
She agreed to whatever Mama Rosetta wanted to do and sent Gino on his way. She looked at the bottle that had been left behind.
“Prosecco. Oh, Mama Rosetta, I love you.” She poured herself a glass and pushed the plate of crostini toward Daniel. “What does alcohol do to migraines? Help? Hurt?”
“I don’t know about other people, but it helps mine. Definitely.”
She poured him a glass and set it next to the plate. He tried to find it without opening his eyes, and nearly upended the glass in the process. The candle on the table was clearly bothering him. She cupped her hand over it and blew it out.
“Thanks.” He took a huge gulp of the fizzing beverage, then another. She didn’t tell him to slow down and instead took a much-needed drink herself. Only the knowledge that she had to drive them to Bologna kept her from downing her entire glass.
She pushed the crostini even closer. “Eat. You look green, and Mama Rosetta would not take kindly to you throwing up in her kitchen.”
Mel smiled when the corner of his mouth quirked. He removed his gloves and snagged one of the crostini.
There was some activity outside, and the man who had chased after the thugs strode through the restaurant to where they were sitting, a bit out of breath. Mel could see from his uniform that he was only a security guard, probably from one of the nearby hotels or stores.
“I am sorry. I could not catch them. Must I call the police? Or the ambulanza?”
“No, grazie. Grazie mille,” Mel reached to get some euros out of her money belt, but the man waved her off.
“No, no. These men give Firenze a bad name.” He peered at Daniel. “Your husband. Does he need ospedale? Pronto succorso?”
“No, no,” Daniel protested. “No hospital. Or whatever else you said. No, grazie.”
“Emergency room,” Mel explained, watching him. She knew, as with most migraines, there was nothing to do but wait. But it still made her nervous that he was having so many. She wished he had his medicine, whatever it was. “No, grazie, we just need to rest for a minute.”
The man turned to Daniel. “That was very good, what you did. Like Bruce Lee!”
Daniel lifted his glass to the guard. “Grazie.”
“These type grab and run most times. To stay and fight like that?” He shook his head in disgust and touched his hat. “I am sorry.”
“Grazie ancora,” Mel said as the guard departed.
Gino returned and set two shallow bowls of a wonderfully fragrant soup in front of them. “He is right. Your friend is like Bruce Lee. Very impressionante?” He looked to Mel for a translation.
“Impressive,” she said, smiling.
“Impressive!” Gino repeated. “The customers here say it is like movie in street!”
Daniel mustered a nod.
“Grazie, Gino,” said Mel.
Gino waved off her thanks and went to hover around his mother. A moment later, Mama herself was giving them both a measuring glance, checking to see if they were eating. Mel smiled and nodded and made sure Mama could tell she was.
“Mangia!” The woman shouted to Daniel.
“Eat.” Mel nudged the spoon until it touched Daniel’s fingers, but he ignored it.
“There was a sword,” he said.
“No sword, Daniel. A knife. But it was rather large,” Mel said. “Eat something or Mama will be over here to yell at you even louder.”