FOR THE PAST MONTH DIARRHEA HAD ravaged Don Giovanni. And he knew the cause. He’d seen it in his stools. Worms. Somehow worms had infested his body and settled into his gut. Cani had them, too. Which one had given them to the other, Don Giovanni didn’t know. Or maybe they’d both gotten them from the same place. His foot had healed, though. And, really, trading that pain for worms was a good deal. Worms didn’t hurt. They were an annoyance more than a danger. If he hadn’t had enough to eat, it would have been different. But these days he had plenty to eat. Anytime he wanted. He’d go have a meal right now, in fact. He got three metal coins from his purse and tucked it back away. Then he stretched and came out of the stable. Zizu ran up. “Don Giovanni, you’re awake.” The boy danced around him. Cani joined in the play. “Ready to eat?” asked the boy. Don Giovanni gave Zizu the coins. “Something hardy.” The boy ran off. Don Giovanni went down the narrow alley and relieved himself in the open sewer.
