One Way to Venice

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  “Yes.” Dominic, rigid with cold, had done his best to help her get him into his clothes, but it had been a struggle, just the same, in the now dwindling light of the fire.

  “Then let’s go. Julia, I think you’d better sit in the back with Lucia.” Standing between the two women, he quietly passed her the penknife. “Dominic and I will drive.” He helped Julia and Lucia on board. Then, “Can I have the key, Dominic?”

  “The key?” A shiver ran through Dominic’s words. “But I left it in the lock.”

  “It’s not there now.” His voice hardened. “Hand it over, Lucia.”

  “But I haven’t got it.” Horribly, her voice carried conviction.

  “What did you do with it? Hush, Dominic, it wasn’t your fault. What did you do with it, Lucia?”

  “Nothing. Perhaps I knocked it as I got out. Have you looked on the floor?”

  “Of course I have.” And then, head up, listening. “Too late anyway. Here they come. On shore, quick. We’re sitting ducks here. Round to the back of the fire. Julia, you look after Lucia. Dom, give me a hand with the boat. I want to shove her off so she blocks the passage.” And then, in quite a different tone. “Don’t, Dom. You did splendidly. How were you to know she was one of them?”

  “I should have.” His voice was a child’s now, desolate, but he worked with a will to help his father push the boat off from the landing stage.

  “Don’t.” Julia slipped the penknife into the side-seam pocket of her skirt and caught Lucia’s arm as she saw her move to intervene. How much of the judo training Sir Charles had made her take did she remember? “I hope I don’t kill you,” she said between her teeth, twisted, threw, and had the amazed Lucia’s arms locked behind her. “Dominic!” She saw that the boat was well out in the channel by now, with Breckon using the one-tined pitchfork to guide it towards the water gate. “Come and give me a hand, would you? I need something to tie her up with.”

  “What?” Dominic’s voice was still trembling with the shock of Lucia’s treachery.

  “The bits of my skirt. Do you remember? I brought them over, earlier, before we lit the fire. They’re this side of it somewhere.”

  “I said they’d come in handy.” It did Dominic good to be doing something. “Mother, what a fool…I never thought—”

  “Don’t, darling. We’ve all been fools—all the way, it seems to me. Thanks!” She took the scraps of material from him and knotted them tight around Lucia’s slim wrists.

  “You’re wasting your time.” Lucia, speaking coarse, peasant Italian, sounded a different creature. “He’s too many for you all the way. Do you think you have a chance now? If you hurt me, he’ll kill you.”

  “Oh?” Breckon had got the boat where he wanted it and came over to join them, his face dimly illuminated by the fire. “It’s like that, is it?” The sound of the approaching boat was louder now, but he took no notice. “Tell me, Lucia, if I’d taken you to bed when you offered, would you be on my side now?”

  “Never!” She spat at him. “He’s worth a hundred of you. He’s . . . he’s a king.”

  “And here he comes. Hang on to her, Julia, while I put some more wood on the fire—and do exactly what I tell you. Exactly, understand. Dominic, here by me, and the same goes for you. I’ve got to be boss.”

  “Of course you have,” said Dominic.

  “Do you want me to gag her?” asked Julia.

  “I don’t think so. We may need her voice. Listen!” The sound of the approaching engine had dwindled. The driver must have seen that the water gate was open. “No lights,” said Breckon. “Your friends are cautious, Lucia.”

  “Not friends,” she said. “Friend. The others don’t count.”

  “So friendly that he left you helpless on the island next door.” And then, leaving it to sink in, “Here they come. Quiet!” The lightless boat was nosing its way very cautiously through the open gate. The fire had blazed up enough so that they could see three people on board. Four of them and three of us, thought Julia. But they would be armed. She tightened her grip on Lucia’s helpless hands, and, for good measure, put her other hand over her mouth. No gag, but no words, yet.

  “Lucia!” Tarn’s voice, raised in fury. He must have seen the boat that lay between him and the dock. “What’s going on here? Why the hell did you come over?”

  Lucia bit Julia’s hand, and got a savage twist at her own for her pains. Nobody spoke. Tarn and his companions were working in angry silence, pushing the loose boat out of the way and finally edging in to the dock. “Anyone moves, I’ll shoot.” Tarn jumped ashore first. His voice, edgy with uncertainty, told Julia that Breckon had been right in not launching an attack at once. Tarn’s elaborate plans had gone badly wrong. He would not like that—and might miscalculate. “Lucia,” he said again, “where the hell are you? What is all this?”

  Both Julia and Dominic turned to look at Breckon, camouflaged like them from the arriving party by the dark bushes behind and the light of the fire in front. He put his finger on his lips. Lucia bit Julia’s hand again, drew blood, and managed a kind of grunt in the process.

  “There’s someone there all right,” said Tarn. “Behind the fire. Spread out. They can’t be armed. Flashlights.”

  “Just a moment.” Breckon spoke at last. “Cousin Tarn, I take it. You know my voice?”

  “I should say so! But how the hell?” He turned angrily to one of his companions. “I thought you said you’d knocked him out for keeps.”

  “I was sure I had.” A woman’s voice. One of the Miss Browns?

  “I’ve got a hard head,” said Breckon. “So—I can make you an offer, Cousin. We’ve a hostage here, your girlfriend, Lucia. Let us go, and she goes free. Attack us, and we kill her.”

  “What with?” Tarn’s voice intended scorn but showed a trace of doubt.

  “A knife. Show her, Julia, and let her speak.” Could he mean it? But, even as a bluff, it was worth trying. Or—was it? Julia had a horrible feeling she knew Tarn too well. Better than Breckon did. But she had promised to obey him implicitly. Holding Lucia’s hands ruthlessly in her left one, she used her right to press the catch of the switch-blade and shove its sharp point, hard, under Lucia’s left ribs.

  Her mouth free, Lucia screamed. “Tarn! They’re killing me! They mean it.”

  “Good riddance,” said Tarn. “Saves me a chore, doesn’t it? Told you to stay on the island, didn’t I?”

  “But the little bastard was starting the boat I thought—”

  “I didn’t hire you to think. Get on with it, Cousin, she’s all yours.”

  Lucia swore in gutter Italian. And then, “Dear God, what have I done?”

  “Been fooled like the rest of us,” said Breckon. “Let her go, Julia. She’s on our side now, aren’t you Lucia?” He raised his voice as the three flashlight bearers began a slow encircling movement round the fire. “Very well, Cousin, since we know where we stand, here’s another offer for you. Half shares. I’d have done it anyway, if I’d only known you existed.”

  “Thanks! I’ll have it all, and no questions asked.” He and his companions were level with the fire now, and Julia, looking up from untying Lucia’s hands, decided that the other two were indeed the Miss Browns, looking surprisingly young and tough in jeans. But still it shifted the odds ever so little. Specially with Dominic as the unknown factor. “It’s all a bloody bore.” Tarn stopped beside the fire, which cast strange lights on his handsome, furious face. How had she ever thought it like Breckon’s? “I don’t want to shoot you, Cousin,” he went on now. “It wouldn’t suit my plans at all. Maybe you’re right. Fifty-fifty it is. Come out of those bushes and shake hands on it.”

  “Just a moment. We’ll have to talk terms a little.” From Breckon’s voice, he had, in fact, moved farther into the bushes, and, as Julia realised this, Dominic crept up beside her and caught her hand. “Father says, into the tunnel,” he whispered. “Hands and knees. This way.”

  It made horrible sense. In a narrow tunnel,
a metal bar was as powerful a weapon as a gun. Falling to her hands and knees, and noticing that Lucia did the same without comment, she heard Breckon talking steadily on, listing his proposals for a division of the estate. It sounded so convincing that for a horrible moment she wondered if he could be mad enough to mean it, and paused in her tracks, but an impatient twitch from Dominic in front made her hurry on. They were at the gap in the bushes now. “That way.” Whispering, Dominic let go her hand and drew a little aside. “Father says I’m to come last. You know the way. Just keep to the path.”

  Here among the bushes it was possible to rise to an awkward stoop, and the path, too, was surprisingly well beaten. They soon reached what Julia’s hands told her was a brick-arched opening in the hillside. “This way.” She pulled Lucia after her into the tunnel entrance. Her questing hands found hinges at one side, and what must be an open door. No time to think of being shut in here. Breckon’s orders. The tunnel was narrow, but high, and she felt her way along until a sudden feeling of space told her they had reached the main chamber, which was remarkably airy, if you discounted the smell of bats.

  “I don’t like it,” whispered Lucia, gripping Julia’s hand. “He’ll kill us all. He’s bound to.”

  “I do hope not.” Julia managed to sound more cheerful than she felt. “Dominic—”

  Silence answered her. And then, “Didn’t you notice? He didn’t come,” said Lucia.

  “Oh, my God!” Dominic was out there in danger, while she huddled here in comparative safety. On his own initiative, or on Breckon’s orders? No way of telling, and nothing to do, herself, but go on obeying orders. A sound at the mouth of the tunnel sent her swiftly beside its entrance, switchblade in hand. But it was Breckon’s voice that came, an unmistakable thread of whisper, out of the darkness. “Hang on, love. Don’t clobber me.”

  “Breckon!” It was a breathless sigh of relief. “Thank God. But where’s Dominic?”

  “Having a go at starting their boat, while they’re busy with us. You never know your luck. I bet Cousin Tarn has something very fancy in the automatic line. Just Dom’s cup of tea.”

  “But he’ll have taken the key from the ignition.”

  “Probably. But with time, and a hairpin, Dom or I could cope with that. So—we’re going to play for time.”

  “A hairpin?”

  “Dom always carries a hairpin. Just in case.”

  It was true. She remembered, now, that magpie collection in the windbreaker pocket. “Oh, Breckon, if he just gets away…”

  “If he gets way,” said Breckon, “we three are safe. He’d make a damned good witness, our Dominic.”

  “Yes.” The tears were dangerously near again at that use of the word “our.” “Breckon, if we get out of here…”

  He reached out in the dark and found her hand. “When we get out of here,” he said, “we’re getting married—quick, before anything else happens.”

  There was a soft laugh from the far end of the tunnel. “Think of that,” said Tarn Menzies. “They still don’t know. Couple of babes in the woods, aren’t you! God—of all the untidy—If it hadn’t been for that, I reckon I’d have waited. But—nothing to wait for. Fine divorce you two got. In London. Right? Wife in England: English. Nobody thought to tell you an Englishwoman’s domicile’s her husband’s. Doesn’t matter where she is. Husband in Italy, she’s in Italy, for all legal purposes. Ditto U.S. Were you still there, Cousin Breckon? Damned if I remember. Doesn’t matter. Either way, no domicile, no divorce. I don’t think you can have got the best lawyers, Cousin Julia. Thought you American, I suppose. Caught the accent. Funny, really. It’s going to be the death of you, though. You’re no more divorced than your dear Queen. And your little bastard, Dominic, is true blue legitimate.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” said Breckon.

  “Yes, and very soon,” breathed the voice from the other end of the tunnel. “Walked straight into my trap, didn’t you? Of course, it’s going to take a bit of explaining, darling Julia being in there, too. Maybe, with luck, there will be enough bits of her left around so we can dump them outside. Trying to run away…too short a fuse…just like a woman. Well, we’ll see. Any last words before I light the fuse?”

  “Fuse?” Breckon’s voice sounded high with shock. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’ve gone to ground in a world war ammunition dump, and, funny thing, by some accident, enough ammo got left in there to blow up a regiment. Or, at least, it’s there now. The police will have to decide, won’t they, whether darling Julia did it on purpose, for revenge, which would be like her, or by accident, like a fool, which would be more like her still. Either way, we’ll be miles away.” He laughed. “We are right now, the Miss Browns and I, back in my bedroom at the hotel, playing poker with a couple of friends. Anything else to say, Cousin, before I set light to the slow match and blow you all to hell?”

  “Yes.” Breckon sounded desperate now. “I’ll give you three-quarters.”

  “Fancy that.” Mockingly “Generous, ain’t you? But, thanks just the same, I think I’ll have it all.”

  “Tarn!” Lucia suddenly spoke up, from her position across the tunnel entrance from Julia and Breckon. “You don’t understand. Dominic’s not here.”

  “God, I could kill you,” said Breckon.

  And, “Thanks, love. That settles it,” said Tarn. “Here goes the match to your slow fuse. Don’t worry, any of you. We’ll round up young Dominic in time to arrange an accident for him, too.”

  They heard the sputter as he lit a match, then: “Come on, Meg, Fran. Leave them to fry while we find the kid. He’ll be at the boat, natch. Good-bye, Julia darling, Lucia love.” A slam was the shutting of the door. Then, his voice muffled through it. “Damnation. Where’s the padlock?”

  “In my pocket!” shouted Breckon. “Come and get it, Cousin.”

  Julia had been straining her ears for any sound of a boat starting, but now the silence was absolute, except for a frantic scrabbling at the other side of the door, where she could hear Tarn exhorting the Miss Browns to find him something—anything—that he could use to wedge the hasp. “They’re bound to find something,” she whispered, hanging on to Breckon’s hand as if for dear life—or, she thought, dear death.

  “Yes. But it will take time. Give Dom a chance. As for you—” In the stifling darkness, Julia felt him let go of her clinging hand. She heard a scuffle, the sound of a blow, and then a soft thud. “That will keep her out of mischief for a while,” said Breckon, regaining possession of Julia’s hand. “A traitor, right now, is what we can do without.”

  “Breckon, how long do you think?”

  “Shh…” Gently, firmly, as if for all time, he pulled her to him and kissed her. Then, just as she was beginning to forget everything, even death, even Dominic, in the magic of it, he let her go. “Hush, my love,” he said again. “Quiet, and don’t fret. I’m off to see how they’re getting on with the door.”

  “But, Breckon! Shouldn’t we be looking for the fuse?”

  “Sweet idiot.” His voice was only a thread of sound, close to her ear. “You’ve forgotten—what they don’t know—that I’ve got matches. I cut it the first time I came down. When I took the padlock.”

  “I’m a fool.”

  “I love you. Keep an eye on Miss Double-Cross there. I want to keep them occupied right here as long as they dare stay. That’s what we don’t know.”

  Alone with the knowledge that she was not, at least, going to die in the next few moments, Julia felt her way over to where Lucia lay in a heap, breathing stertorously. Not much she could do for her in this solid darkness. Not much she could do for herself. Her legs suddenly gave way underneath her, and she sat down, heavily, on the ground beside Lucia.

  Breckon had reached the end of the tunnel. She heard him lunge against the door, and a soft laugh from Tarn outside. “Want out, do you? Too bad.” The door must have a grating of some kind in it, she thought. For ventilation, no doubt. It was a comforting
thought. They might not be going to be blown to pieces, but they were still prisoners, Would one rather die of suffocation, or of hunger and thirst?

  Still no sound of a boat. What had happened to Dominic? She would not let herself think about him. But how could she stop? Suddenly, there was a confusion of voices from outside. Both Miss Browns were talking at once. Tarn was answering, quickly, angrily. Impossible to make out what was going on. Now, Tarn was giving orders, sharp, furious.

  “Julia?” Breckon was back, finding her hand in the blackness.

  “Yes.” Like him, she kept her voice to a shadow of a whisper.

  “They missed Dom at the boat. He got away. But not in her; he hadn’t got her started. God knows where he is. But at least they haven’t got him. They’re panicking now. They think this hill’s going up any moment. They’ve got the door wedged tight, I’m afraid. They’re spreading out to look for Dom. They won’t find him. Not if I know Dom.”

  “Not in the dark.” They both knew that, come daylight, he would not stand a chance on this small island with its dearth of cover. “How long do you think it will be before they begin to realise?”

  “That this isn’t going up? Hard to tell. It’s unpredictable stuff, I believe, slow match. And goodness knows what kind of an expert Cousin Tarn is. One thing—I bet they’ll play safe. After all, they’ve got all night.”

  “Unless the fire brings someone. They must have thought of that.”

  “Yes. They’re bound to have doused it, but it’s helping panic them, thank God. That, and not being able to find Dom.”

  And, as if in answer, Tarn’s voice from outside: “Can you hear me, Cousin Breckon?”

  “Yes.” Breckon moved cautiously forward, a little way down the tunnel, and Julia followed him.

  “We’ve got the kid. Little one-hand in person. Say hello to your father, Cousin Dominic. You don’t want to? Then we’ll have to make you, won’t we?”

  “Hush.” Breckon’s hand was steadying on Julia’s. They could both hear what sounded like a scuffle outside, then a voice said, “Hello, Father.”