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“The moldy hay is good enough.”
“The moldy hay is moldy.” Alfredo didn’t want to argue. The two men had never exchanged more than twenty words, so there was no reason for any to be cross. “This time, the good hay. The usual amount. Ten bales.”
Pietro Hay shrugged, then walked to the good hay and began to pull down bales. He carried them back one by one, and Alfredo loaded them onto his cart, making sure each was without mold. By the time the job was finished, both men were sweating.
“Here we go.” Alfredo dug in his pocket, pulled out the ducats, and handed them over, savoring the moment.
“I might try some of your cheese.” Pietro Hay dropped the coins into his pocket. “My wife heard about it, and her friends say it’s very good.”
“It is.Very.” Alfredo was trying to be a better salesman. He had been practicing.
“Maybe you could bring some next time you come. My wife heard itgrew hair on a bald man.” Pietro Hay leaned over and waved Alfredo nearer. “She’s losing her hair. To restore hair, should she eat the cheese or rub it on her head?”
“Neither. It doesn’t grow hair.”
“Next time, I’ll give you a bale of hay for a packet of cheese. Is that a fair deal?”
“Not for you.” Alfredo wasn’t about to cheat him. “The hay costs more. It’s not one-for-one.”
“We’ll call it even, since it’s hair-growing cheese.”
“But it’s not.” Alfredo wondered about people. Truly, animals were more sensible.
“You want the good hay, next time, too? If you do, I won’t put out the moldy. Now I have to put it back.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll help you.”
“No need.” Pietro Hay eyed him, hands on hips. “What about next week? You want the good?”
“No. I sold out this time, but I might not next.”
“That’s wise.” Pietro Hay nodded. “Always expect the worst.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A few meals later, the rats had done their job, and Dante’s rope lay on the floor in two pieces. One was attached to the wall, and the other to his ankle, so he wasn’t tied up anymore.
He crouched in the corner closest to the door. He was supposed to put his dinner plate back through the slot, but he didn’t.
He reminded himself to be as fierce as Count Rolandandas wise as Oliver.
He was going to escape.
Boom!Renzo pounded on thedoor. “Boy, where’s your plate? If I don’t get that plate, you don’t get dinner!”
Dante didn’t answer. He stayed in his corner by the door.
“Boy, wake up! Wake up!”
Dante didn’t reply.
“Prince Pinocchio!” Renzo pounded on the door. “I can’t see you, it’s too dark!” Then his voice switched to a sinister whisper. “Are you dead, boy? Did you save me the trouble?”
Dante heard the jingling of keys. He got ready, crouching.
“Don’t make me come in there!”
Dante heard the key going into the lock, then being twisted.
