Gioncavallo - By the Hand of the Devil and Some Witches Too: GIONCAVALLO, #2

By Pier Maria Colombo

Our favorite blacksmith, Gioncavallo, has so far managed to survive a series of challenges which include demonic attacks and an infested village. However, he now has to face his hardest challenge yet; not falling in love with the pretty witch Viviana that accompanies him in his travels. Working for the genius but crazy inventor Sir Pasquale Coppo da Casa Irta means running his errands, so Gioncavallo has to do things like buying metal, leather, and dealing with an anguished ghost while navigating the confusing corridors of his dream visions.

But the future looks grim as dark powers move in the shadows. Will the plans laid by his demonic enemies come to fruition? And how will the resentful Lord Emanuele manipulate his pawns against the blacksmith? This second installment of Gioncavallo's adventures promises to deliver more of his exploits, while the malevolent forces around him stir and prepare to strike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seagull Editions
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223778462

Book preview

The line between madness and genius

Birds flew off as the mass of man and wood broke through the tree branches. Gioncavallo rushed through the forest, heading for the crash site, Viviana following him a step behind. Even if the birds weren’t enough of an indication for where the wooden contraption had landed, groans and giggles led them true enough.

When they finally arrived at the source of the commotion, Gioncavallo paused. He tried to understand what he was seeing. Beams of worked wood laid broken on the ground and between the branches. Pieces of tanned leather and cloth were torn and strewn everywhere, a mess of fabric, straps, and skins. And a man was in the middle of it all, laughing and grunting as he fought with it.

Rope and leather strings were tied all around the mysterious man, though half of it looked intentional. He was strapped on a wooden brace, thick belts of leather and rope holding him inside his... contraption. But now, with his wooden artifice broken and ruined, his straps were a hindrance.

Gioncavallo was dazed by what laid in front of him. The apparatus of wood, rope, and leather was destroyed, but he had caught sight of it for half a second, earlier, as it had flown over him. Was it the work of angels, of spirits, or of demons? How could a wooden thing larger than a cart fly like a bird? It made no sense, and he felt his mind getting derailed the more he looked at it.

The giggling man was wearing a leather helmet and he hadn’t seen Gioncavallo and Viviana. In the moments during which Gioncavallo had been staring at the wondrous artifice, the man had abandoned his attempts at untying the knots and buckles that held him. Instead, he was trying to reach for a knife that was now lying on a branch.

Gioncavallo, still mute, watched him as he reached as far as he could, only for his fingers to barely brush against the sheath of the knife. As he touched it lightly, though, he disturbed its balance, and it fell, tumbling over the other side of the branch. The man cursed enough to make a sailor blush, speaking expletives about the knife’s mother, father, its whole family really, and then resumed fighting against his binds.

Viviana lightly touched Gioncavallo’s arm. He turned to look at her and saw her eyebrows drawn together in discomfort, her eyes wide with puzzlement. God, was her face pretty. And her eyes. And her ears, and hair, and—Gioncavallo mentally pulled himself away from that train of thought. Viviana looked like she wanted to help, so Gioncavallo looked back towards the man.

The man was older than Gioncavallo, probably well in his forties. He looked well built, though thinner than Gioncavallo—though few men were built like him, since working as a blacksmith for most of his life meant that his arms were thick and his chest wide. Gioncavallo decided that if it came down to defending himself against the stranger, he would probably come out the victor. No harm in helping him, then.

Ho there, Gioncavallo shouted. The man stopped struggling and grabbed his helmet as Gioncavallo approached. With a strong tug, the man pulled it off, revealing a lined face with long, tangled hair the color of ash.

You, the man shouted. Boy. Help me down.

Boy? Gioncavallo wondered. He didn’t look that young. Dismissing the thought, he approached him carefully.

Have your demons gone? Gioncavallo asked.

Which demons? the man asked, eyebrows shooting up—though the direction was down, relative to Gioncavallo.

Those that were holding you up just now, Gioncavallo replied.

What demons—boy, are you an imbecile? the man shouted, spittle sprouting from his mouth. It was the very air that held me up, the winds! Demons have nothing to do with my art!

Gioncavallo was still uncertain about the explanations behind the man’s apparent ability to fly, but he deiced to put it aside for the moment. He climbed the thick tree with a few quick steps, removed his knife from its sheath, and used it to cut the bundle of ropes that were holding the man captive. As the ropes fell away, the man sagged against the leather belts, but his lower body was free to move.

Here, cut here, the man pointed, and Gioncavallo cut the belt strap that was tied around the man’s chest. The man wiggled his feet and with an abrupt movement, brought his body almost horizontally against a branch. With Gioncavallo’s help, and under the shouted directions of the stranger, they were soon both on the ground, and on their feet.

As soon as he was walking again, the man dashed about, examining the state of his contraption. He was mumbling to himself about air resistance and structural integrity as he picked up the wooden pieces scattered on the forest floor.

Gioncavallo exchanged a look with Viviana. If he was honest with himself, this man looked rather mad. He thought that the demons that had been helping him fly were probably the very same as those that had driven him mad. There was no cure for demon-induced madness as far as Gioncavallo knew, so it would probably be best to leave him to his devices.

Viviana looked back at him, then gestured at the forest with her head. Let’s go, she seemed to say. Gioncavallo had no problem with that. He turned back to the gibbering madman to announce his departure, but the man spoke before he could.

Boy, I’ll give you a silver grosso if you help me haul the wreckage back to my workshop, the man said without turning back.

A silver grosso. Money sounded good, as his pouch was rather light at the moment. Viviana’s eyes shone with warning, though she didn’t seem too opposed to it. They locked eyes for a long moment, Gioncavallo fighting to keep his heart still, before the woman nodded imperceptibly.

We’ll help you for a golden florin, Gioncavallo shot back.

A golden florin? Are you mad? And who’s we— the man said, then turned abruptly around. Oh, I didn’t seen you there, lass. Why am I a boy but she’s a lass? Gioncavallo thought. We look almost the same age. How’s your back? You think you can lift a beam or three?

I grew up in a farm, stranger, Viviana countered. I dare say, I can lift more than you. The man let out a booming laughter, then turned back to the ruins of his contraption.

I’ll give you three grossi if you help me. My workshop’s just a couple of hills away, I think it’s worth your time. He grabbed a rope that was dangling from a branch and pulled at it, trying to dislodge a large piece of wood. Come on, don’t waste daylight. We need to get back before dark.

Alright, we’ll help you. Why before dark, though? Gioncavallo asked as he approached the debris-bearing trees. Does the area have wolves?

While it certainly does, it’s because I need to attend to another experiment, the man said, grunting as he released another piece of his broken device. It’ll set fire to the workshop if I’m too late.

Why did you leave something that dangerous without supervision? Gioncavallo asked, removing a wooden beam from the tree branches along with Viviana.

I was planning on returning by air, the man said, face impassive. But alas, it worked only on the way down.

Gioncavallo couldn’t even begin to guess how the man had expected to fly back to his workshop. Just moments ago, he had been falling like a duck with an arrow through its neck, seemingly in an uncontrolled descent. If he had been flying instead of falling, why was the contraption in ruins?

What even is this thing? Gioncavallo asked, half to himself. He removed what had to be a mile of rope from the trees. Of course, he was exaggerating—but if not a mile, then at least a thousand feet. Or a hundred. Anyway, it was too much rope, and too much of a mess.

This, my boy, is a bird machine, the man said proudly as he braced a foot against the tree trunk, ready to pull a knot of ropes. I studied birds for months and I’ve replicated their wing structure. This is the brilliant result of more than a year of work. A masterpiece if I say so myself.

But birds are small and light, Gioncavallo muttered. This is way too heavy.

With enough force— the man said, but his voice was cut short as the mass of ropes finally broke free. He fell on his back, with a jumble of leather, cloth, and rope falling on him. He pushed it away and stood, straightening his tunic. With enough force, he resumed, anything can fly. It’s all a matter of pushing the air enough to climb it.

It can’t be that simple, Gioncavallo said, his eyebrows shooting up with disbelief. If that were true, even a metal contraption could fly.

Don’t be ridiculous, the man said. Metal likes the earth too much. That’s why it’s inside it, and that’s why it’s so heavy. He shook his head to himself as if speaking with Gioncavallo had exhausted him.