The ship was not large by naval standards. The hull was suspended from an enormous ovoid bladder. The fittings throughout the ship, brass and wood planks all were exquisitely polished.

A large mainsail and jib hung below the bladder horizontally off the one mast, providing the means of locomotion.

Some of the crew looked to be Osmanli, wearing brightly colored turbans and wickedly curved knives at their belts.

The ship climbed rapidly, one of the mohammadans pulling a cord on a brass bucket that caused a flame to flare up, filling the bladder with heated air. Soon the flooded Arno glittered below them. The view was stunning, but Anso’s anger bubbled to the surface. He glared at the girl before him.

Her hair fell in perfect black ringlets to her bare shoulders, pale against the dark velvet dress covered in silver brocade. She couldn’t have been more than 17.

“Who are you?” Anso narrowed his eyes at his captor.

She smiled prettily, “My name is Lucrezia, but you will address me as Mistress Borgia.”