She stepped from behind the tree, into the light of the lantern. “Stop.” It was a whisper. She tried again. “Stop!”
As one, the two men sprang around, Didoni’s hand going to the knife at his belt. There was an instant of frozen silence. Then Didoni dropped his hand and smiled an ugly smile.
“Well, well. Your doxy’s early, Manno.”
“Giulia.” Ormanno moved toward her. “Why are you here? I told you one o’clock.”
“Yes, because you wanted to be sure you’d be gone before I arrived.” Giulia was shocked, and she was terrified. But she was also angry—a high clear rage that built in her as she spoke.
“No. No, I was going to take you with me. I am going to take you with me.”
“Oh, really? And I was never to know that you’re a liar? That you never stopped being a thief? That you used me to get inside Santa Marta so you could steal my Maestra’s secrets? So you could break into her workshop and take her book?”
“Giulia, I swear I was going to tell you. Just later on, when we were away from here.”
“When it was too late for me to do anything about it, you mean. This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? This was why you came up to the balcony that day. This was why you climbed over the wall all those nights. Oh, you were so clever, getting me to tell you so many things, and I was such a fool. I believed everything you said.”
“Giulia…” There was something like distress in Ormanno’s face, but she knew it was false, like everything else about him.
“The joke’s on you, Ormanno. Passion blue is in cipher.”
“What?”
“That’s right. All the important recipes are. Only the Maestra can read them. You took the book for nothing.”
“Manno.” Didoni set down the lantern and the sack. “What’s she saying?”
“It’s a lie. She’s lying.”
“I’m not. It’s the truth.”
“Speak to me, Manno.” Didoni stepped forward, laid a heavy hand on Ormanno’s shoulder. “Is she lying or not?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Ormanno shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. As long as Passion blue is in the book, the client gets what he wants. It’s not our fault if he can’t read it.”
“He’ll say we cheated him. Maybe cut our fee.”
“How is it a cheat? He wanted the book, we got him the book. Yes. This can still work. We won’t wait—we’ll go to him now. We’ll give him the book. We’ll say nothing about a cipher. We’ll get our money and be out of Padua before dawn.”
“You can’t do this,” Giulia said, in a voice she hardly recognized as her own. “I won’t let you.”
Didoni laughed. “And how do you plan to stop us, little girl?”
Giulia charged at Ormanno. He staggered, surprised, and lost his grip on the box. It fell, the broken lid spinning off, the book flying out. Giulia threw herself after it, scrabbling for it. Her hands closed on its heavy leather. Then she was up, clutching the book to her chest, tripping over the hem of her gown, staggering toward the trees, one step, another step, another—
Hands seized the long braid of her hair, yanking her backward. Her head snapped on her neck and she fell hard on the ground. Didoni kicked her onto her back, then stooped and tore the book—which despite everything she had not dropped—from her arms.
“You bastard,” Ormanno said. “You’ve no call to be so rough.”
“Should I have stood there and let her get away? By the saints, Manno—”
“All right, all right. Come, Giulia.” Ormanno knelt beside her. “No more of this. We have to leave.”
He tried to slip his arms around her, to pull her up, but she hit him with her fists, shoved herself away across the wet grass.
“Get away from me.” Her scalp burned; the muscles of her neck sang with pain. “Don’t touch me.”
“Giulia—”
“Get away, you liar, you thief! How could you think I’d go anywhere with you?”
“Enough.” Didoni tossed the book aside. He caught hold of Giulia and wrenched her upright. She tried to struggle, but he clamped one arm across her breasts and one across her throat and lifted her off her feet, squeezing her so tight she could barely breathe.
“Your bitch is a problem, Manno. She knows everything and she can’t be left here to blab. Either she comes with us right now, or she goes nowhere ever again, and I don’t care which. Your choice.”
“Put her down. Christ’s wounds, Didoni! Let her go so I can talk to her!”
A pause. Then Didoni dropped her. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Blue sparks danced at the edges of her vision.
“Giulia, listen to me.” Ormanno crouched beside her. “I want you to come with me. That has nothing to do with this. But Didoni’s right. You know who we are, you know what we’ve done, and we can’t leave you here. I’d rather you come willingly, but you are coming, one way or another, and I’ll tie you up if I have to. Do you understand me?”
She looked at him, at his face shadowed in the lantern light—his pale eyes, his mobile mouth, his long light hair. It seemed she should see him differently, for this was not the Ormanno she knew, or thought she had known. This was the real Ormanno, Ormanno the thief. He had always been there, behind the mask he’d worn. The mask she herself, mistaking him for her heart’s desire, had given him.
It’s all my fault. This is all my fault.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Will you be sensible, then, and come quietly?”
“Yes,” she whispered again.
“Never known you to want an unwilling woman, Manno,” said Didoni from above. “You must really like this one.”
“She’ll come round, once I’ve had a chance to explain properly.”
“It’s your funeral.”
Ormanno rose. From the wallet at his shoulder he pulled a wad of cloth, which he tossed at Giulia. “Here’s a gown for you to wear. Leave your novice habit on the grass. Didoni, go over the wall now. Give her some privacy.”
Didoni laughed, not pleasantly, but did as Ormanno said, slinging the sack of silver over first.
“Turn your back,” Giulia said.
“You know I can’t do that.”
So she turned hers, and dragged the coarse gray habit over her head, wincing at the soreness of her neck. She was aware of Ormanno’s eyes on her; a week ago, she would have felt a mixture of embarrassment and excitement to have him looking at her so, but now she just felt revulsion.
The gown was of some heavy fabric that showed red when the lantern light caught it. She pulled it on over her chemise; the laces at the back hung loose, as did the sleeve-ties at the shoulders, but it fit her well enough. Its bodice was cut low. She was glad for once of the chemise’s high neck.
“I had it made for you specially,” Ormanno said, when she turned to face him. “Do you like it?”
She stared at him, silent. He shrugged.
There was nothing left for her to do but hike up her skirts and climb over the wall. Didoni, standing on the ledge that ran at its base on the canal side, offered his hand to help her, but she ignored it. Ormanno followed, with the pieces of the broken box and the lantern. He had stuffed Humilità’s book into his wallet.
They arranged themselves on the boat’s wood plank seats, Giulia and Ormanno together in the prow, Didoni at the stern with the oars, the sack of silver and the lantern between them in the inch or two of filthy canal water that sloshed at the bottom. The boat rocked as Didoni pushed off. The wall of Santa Marta receded. The canal was narrower than Giulia had imagined, closed in by other walls and the backs of buildings. If she shouted for help, would anyone wake? The moon shone through gaps in the clouds, making a path on the water, and the only sound was the dip and splash of the oars—the same sound Giulia had heard from the wall’s other side as she waited for Ormanno to arrive or listened to him leave.
Her anger and defiance were gone. She was cold, trembling with shock. But what filled her mind, what made h
er bite her lips in order not to scream, was not Ormanno’s betrayal or her own folly or even the danger she was in, but the other horoscope—the one she had cast in July, the one that said she would soon escape from Santa Marta. Since she’d decided not to leave, she’d assumed she must have misinterpreted it. And she had, just as she’d misinterpreted everything else.
Yet it had told the truth after all.
CHAPTER 22
The Master Thief
They pulled in at a narrow dock built out from the canal side. Bells tolled one o’clock as Didoni stowed the oars. Giulia could hardly believe so little time had passed. It felt like an eternity since she had left her bed.
Ormanno handed the sack and the lantern up to Didoni, then pushed Giulia onto the dock and into Didoni’s hands. The big man held her roughly as Ormanno tossed the box and its broken lid into the water and watched them sink.
They climbed a narrow flight of stairs to the rain-wet street. Ormanno led the way, holding Giulia tight against him. To the casual glance, they would seem a pair of affectionate lovers, his left arm around her waist, his right hand gripping hers—but there was no one to see them, for the streets were empty. The heavy skirts of the red dress were too long; the hem was soon soaked, and Giulia stumbled as it tangled around her legs.
She did her best to memorize their route. She had no plan except to hope for some chance she could exploit. All her attention, all her concentration, was focused on that. She was truly alone now; Anasurymboriel, clearly, had deserted her—if indeed the little spirit had ever protected her at all. It seemed entirely possible that all those nights when she thought she felt its magic had been nothing more than her imagination, fueled by her belief in Ormanno’s lies.
They turned at last into an avenue that seemed familiar, though it was only when they stopped that Giulia realized where they were.
“What’s this?” Didoni demanded in a whisper. “I thought we were going to the client, not to your home.”
“The client is here.”
Giulia could not help herself; she gasped.
“Yes,” said Ormanno. “I knew you’d figure it out.”
“Oho!” Didoni laughed. “So your master hired you to steal his own daughter’s secrets? Now there’s a neat betrayal.”
It made perfect, horrible sense. Who else wanted Passion blue so much? Giulia thought of Matteo Moretti, sitting across the table on the day she and Humilità had visited. The plan had already been in motion then. Even as he spoke with Humilità about her work, even as he pressed her about Passion blue, he had been preparing to rob her of her secrets.
He was the one who said I should sit on the balcony. Where Ormanno could find me alone.
She had not thought things could get worse.
Ormanno produced a key. He let them into the house, then locked the door behind them and urged Giulia along the hallway. The kitchen was pitch black, the windows shuttered and the stove fires banked for the night. Didoni held up the lantern while Ormanno unbarred the door. Then they were in the courtyard, the rain-damp flagstones gleaming under the moon. The workshop was dark. No light showed in any of the house’s windows.
“I’ll go up,” Ormanno whispered. “You stay with her.”
“Oh no.” Didoni was smiling his unpleasant smile. “You won’t do this without me.”
“I’m not going to betray you, you fool!”
“I’m not a gambler, Manno. Never have been.”
“I don’t want you with me. He doesn’t…he thinks I did this on my own.”
“That’s not my problem. I’m going with you, and she’ll have to come too. Got to take precautions, though.”
Didoni set his sack on the cobbles and untied a rag from around his neck. Quickly, before Giulia could react, he forced the rag between her teeth and knotted it behind her head. It tasted foul.
“Do you have to do that?” Ormanno asked.
“If you want her to keep quiet.”
“Christ’s wounds.” Ormanno turned away. “This isn’t how I planned things. Come on, then.”
He led them up the stairs to the second floor. Here at last was light—a line of it under Matteo Moretti’s study door.
Ormanno knocked. A pause, then footsteps, then the sound of the lock. The door opened. Matteo stood backlit against the candles burning on the table behind him. He wore a nightshirt, and over it a wide-sleeved brocade robe. The candlelight made a halo of his mane of gray curls.
“You’re early,” he said. He looked past Ormanno to Didoni, his brows drawing down. “Who’s this? Why are you not alone?” His eyes came to rest on Giulia. “And what in the name of all the saints is she doing here?”
“She’s coming away with me,” Ormanno said. “When I go.”
“Have you lost your mind, boy? A kidnapped novice—my daughter’s prize pupil—there will be a hue and cry! I told you to beguile her, not to elope with her! How could you be so stupid?”
“Not so stupid.” Giulia heard the tightness in Ormanno’s voice. “Since I had her drop her novice clothes on the ground beside the wall. They’ll think she was the one who stole the book.”
“Well, perhaps. But did you have to bring her here? How much does she know?”
“What difference does it make? I told you, I’m taking her with me. You won’t hear from either of us again after tonight.”
“It looks to me as if she may not be entirely willing.”
“That’s my business.”
Matteo regarded Giulia with the dark eyes that were so much like his daughter’s. “Well. The thing is done now. Where’s the book?”
Ormanno pulled it from his wallet and placed it in his master’s hands. Matteo stepped back, gesturing them into the room. They crowded inside, Didoni shoving Giulia forward with a hand at the small of her back.
Matteo closed the door and locked it, then brought the book close to the candles. He ran his hand over the leather of the cover, caressingly, like a man smoothing a lover’s cheek. His face in the candlelight was controlled, but Giulia could read his eagerness in the tension of his stance. Drawing in a breath—she saw the deep rise of his chest—he opened the cover. He turned a page, then another, his fingers lingering on the paper, his eyes moving on what was written there.
“It’s what I asked for.”
“Of course it is,” Ormanno said. “We’re quits now, you and I. Pay us and we’ll be on our way.”
Matteo turned to face them, where they stood in the shadows. “I will pay you.” He nodded toward Didoni. “You’ll have to settle up with your accomplice.”
“It’s all arranged.”
“And we are not quits yet. Not until I’m sure the recipe I want is here.”
“Our agreement was for the book, not what’s in it.”
Standing just behind Ormanno, Giulia could not see his face, but the tautness of his body spoke his strain. Matteo’s eyes narrowed.
“Is there something you are not telling me, boy?”
“You wanted the book. I got you the book. Now I want to be gone. We must leave the city before dawn. Before the hue and cry.”
“I wanted the book so long as the recipe was in it. It’s useless to me otherwise.” Matteo stepped forward. Giulia had forgotten how big he was: more than a head taller than Ormanno and nearly twice as wide. The candles were behind him again; his face was like a thunder-cloud, broad and shadowed, rimmed in light. “Is that what you are trying to hide? That the recipe is not in the book?” His voice dropped. His black eyes glinted. “Don’t think to cheat me. Don’t think it, Ormanno.”
Ormanno let out his breath, surrendering. “Passion blue is in the book. But it may be in cipher.”
“May be?”
“Giulia says it is.”
“Get that gag off her.” Matteo pointed at Didoni. “You. Do it.”
Such was the power of his command that Didoni obeyed at once.
“Tell me, girl.” Matteo’s harsh gaze was trained on Giulia now. “Is it so? Passion blue is in c
ipher?”
“My Maestra—” Giulia’s mouth was dry as dust. She coughed, cleared her throat. “My Maestra puts all her most precious recipes in cipher.”
“Including Passion blue?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.” When Giulia did not move, he seized her and dragged her over to the table. “Show me.”
Giulia turned the pages. It felt like a betrayal of Humilità—but he would find it anyway, so what was the difference?
“There,” she said. Matteo pushed her aside and bent over the page. The candles were enough to read by, but by no means bright; even so, the little square of Passion blue glowed with color, like the flash at the heart of a sapphire.
“Ah, Violetta, Violetta,” he said softly. “Ever you defy me.”
He straightened. His eyes were like two stones. “What do you know about this cipher, girl?”
“Nothing.” Giulia spoke with a defiance she did not feel.
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. None of us do.”
“The recipe, then. You are her prize pupil, her favorite. You must have seen her make it.”
“Never. And I wouldn’t tell you if I had.”
It was a mistake. She knew it as soon as the words were out, by the small smile that raised the corners of his mouth.
“You want to protect your teacher. As any pupil should. I understand that.”
“I swear I don’t know anything!”
He ignored her. “Ormanno, I fear you will have to delay your departure. I’m not convinced this young lady is telling the truth, so I will keep her with me for a while. If I am able to unlock the cipher, you’ll get your money and the girl. If I cannot solve it, you may have the girl, but I will not pay you.”
“That wasn’t our agreement.” The tremor in Ormanno’s voice belied his defiant words. “You’ve no right to change the terms.”
“And yet I am changing them. You are free to leave this moment if you don’t like it.”
“Haven’t I served you well over the years?” Ormanno’s body was rigid, his fists clenched. “I don’t deserve this.”
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