Weeks later, Captain diUmbria sat in a tavern in Ragusa, his charts laid out on the table before him. A meal of rum and boullabaisse sat half gone to one side, and a squat lantern cast softly flickering illumination. For a long while he had sat there, resting his bones. His bones were weary …
Their captain was known as diUmbria, it wasn’t his name, but he was from Assisi. He had come down from the ancient hilltop town to the coast and bought himself a ship. Now he plied the Adriatic and beyond, hawking wares in every port from Venice to Ragusa, Zadar to Naples. Now he was fairly …
