Chapter III

In which Samuel and Machiavelli finally begin their adventures and Samuel objects.

“So” said Samuel delicately. “How exactly are we to travel?”

Machiavelli looked slightly embarrassed.

“Well” he said. “It would be fastest if I were to fly.”

“Fly?!”

“Si, si!” answered Machiavelli, with typically Italianate over-gesticulation. “Volare.”

“But” clarified Samuel “I cannot fly.”

Machiavelli looked slightly embarrassed again. “I will carry you.”

Samuel made an indescribable face. “I see.”

Machiavelli shrugged. “It really is the best way.”

Samuel set his jaw and looked resolutely forward. “Very well” he said.

“Molto bene!” beamed Machiavelli.

Samuel stepped carefully towards him. “How...?”

“Take hold of my shoulders” Machiavelli instructed. “Like...ehm...children?...a pig?”

“Piggy-back?” inquired Samuel.

Machiavelli nodded enthusiastically. “Si, certamente!” and offered his back.

Samuel hesitated for more than a minute.

“Well, I suppose there's really no help for it.” he said.

“I do not think so, Samuel.”

Samuel wished very much that Machiavelli had not chosen that precise moment to call him by his chosen name. But there really was no help for it. Taking another sip from the precious bottle, Samuel unceremoniously leaped onto Machiavelli's back.

Machiavelli nearly fell over.

Samuel, who had been worried already, felt his anxieties jump skyward yet again.

“How,” he asked, “are you going to manage this, if I nearly just knocked you over?!”

“Calma, calma.” soothed Machiavelli. “You startled me. I did not expect you to jump with such force, Samuel!”

Samuel reflected on what a good thing it was that the Italian couldn't see his face and its new and colourful hue.

And then Machiavelli himself jumped skyward, and suddenly the whole world was a blur.

“I do not need to breathe, Samuel” said Machiavelli, “But if you were to loosen your choke-hold, I feel this would be far more pleasant for both of us. I will not let you fall.”

Samuel obligingly loosened his hold has much as he dared.

“Grazie.”

“Where are go-” Samuel started to ask, before the sight of the ground flying by beneath them froze the words in his throat.

“London. And you may wish to close your eyes, Samuel. I would not wish you to be sick upon my robe.”

Quite sensibly, Samuel took his advice.