Good Thief's Guide to Venice

by Ewan, Chris

  I rubbed my fingers beneath my nose. Disinfectant. The scent was unmistakable, conjuring memories of playground accidents. I sniffed some more, and discovered that the skin on my face and arms was coated in the stuff, like an unwanted cologne. Raising my forearms, I considered the network of fine cuts and abrasions I found there, each of them weeping as I flexed my skin.

  ‘Do you think you might stay conscious this time?’

  I recognised Victoria’s voice before I saw her. She was sitting in the chair in the corner of my room, huddled up inside her dressing gown, reading my manuscript in the light from a standing lamp with a fringed shade. I squinted against the pain the light was causing me. Squinting didn’t help – it just seemed to increase the pressure in my head and make my ears pop and crackle in a most disturbing manner.

  ‘I used the first-aid kit in your bathroom,’ she told me. ‘Dressed your wounds as best I could.’

  ‘I’m naked,’ I croaked, and the sound of my own voice was like fingernails running down a blackboard inside my head. ‘Completely . . . naked.’

  She lowered my manuscript. ‘Staggering, isn’t it?’

  I cradled my forehead and braced myself to speak again. ‘Where are my clothes?’ I asked, and while I did so, I tried very hard to recall climbing out of them.

  ‘In the washing machine. I didn’t think you’d thank me for putting you to bed sopping wet.’

  Oh, boy.

  ‘You put me to bed?’

  ‘I’m afraid you were in no fit state to do it yourself. But don’t worry, I didn’t spend my time feasting my eyes on your body – what’s left of it, that is. Are you going to tell me what on earth happened to you?’

  ‘Maybe once Radio Italia stops broadcasting from inside my skull.’

  Very carefully, I propped myself up on my elbows until my back was resting against the headboard. I pulled the blankets over my chest. It wasn’t simply out of modesty – I was still chilled to the core by my unexpected dip in the Grand Canal. Lord Byron would have been hugely disappointed in me – he’d viewed swimming in the lagoon as a major test of one’s manhood.

  Speaking of manhood, I really would have preferred it if Victoria hadn’t seen me in the nude when I’d been flirting with the prospect of hypothermia. True enough, it was only a minor quibble in the context of the near-death experience I’d recently endured, but it was a concern all the same.

  ‘You’ll be glad to hear I didn’t call the police or an ambulance,’ she said, interrupting my thoughts. ‘God only knows why I listened to you. You were practically raving when you got back here, shouting at the top of your voice. For the past hour, you’ve been looking worse than a corpse.’

  ‘Charming.’

  ‘Want to know why I didn’t call anyone?’

  I didn’t say anything to that. I couldn’t imagine there was anything fruitful to be said.

  ‘It’s because I’m assuming you’ve been up to no good. The balaclava and burglary tools I found in your coat gave it away somewhat.’

  I didn’t say anything to that, either. I’m not quite as stupid as I might seem, and I was aware that our conversation had the potential to be almost as dangerous as the bomb blast I’d inadvertently triggered.

  ‘Look, you must realise that you’re going to have to offer me some kind of explanation, at least.’

  I squirmed beneath my sheets. ‘It’s complicated, Vic.’

  ‘I had a feeling it might be.’

  ‘Maybe it’s best left until morning.’

  ‘It practically is morning. And knowing my luck, you’ll be unconscious again soon. Come on, spill.’

  ‘You really want me to?’

  ‘Oh, like you wouldn’t believe.’

  And so I told Victoria everything. Well, not absolutely everything – I skipped over the details of my torrid, erotic dream, for instance – but other than that I was completely honest. I spoke in a halting, breathless voice for close to thirty minutes, without interruption, without questioning. If only I’d been in a church, it could have passed for a confession. Maybe it was, of sorts – a confession as to exactly how brainless I’d been.

  And what happened? Well, Victoria walked straight out of my room. She did it without speaking and without even looking at me. I called after her, but to be perfectly frank, I couldn’t give it the gusto it deserved. I tried, naturally, but my throat wasn’t up to it yet – it still felt like it was lined with the dry ingredients for a cement mix.

  Sliding down beneath my bedcovers, groaning pitifully to myself, I listened, where I could, to the sounds of Victoria moving about in her room. They weren’t the most encouraging noises imaginable. There was a lot of pacing, and a good deal of huffing, and the unmistakable sound of a suitcase zipper. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that she was packing her things – even I was capable of it.

  ‘Victoria,’ I called, my voice sounding faint and hopeless. ‘Don’t go. Stay with me. I’m sorry.’ I didn’t think she could hear me – I could barely hear myself. ‘Please don’t go,’ I added, but I might as well have tried communicating through the wall in sign language.

  What on earth would I do if she did leave? I had no idea how long I’d be suffering from the after-effects of the explosion, and I really didn’t like the idea of being on my own. At the moment, a simple trip to the bathroom would mean crawling on my hands and knees, and the only thing I was capable of rustling up in the kitchen was a dramatic faint. More to the point, I was vulnerable.

  The way I saw things, Graziella had been telling the truth – she really could tell if I opened the briefcase. Hell, come to mention it, most of Venice could tell. If she returned to the palazzo with Count Borelli, the gaping, smoking hole in the front of the building would give the game away somewhat, but even if she didn’t, the explosion would soon be the talk of the city. I supposed there was a chance that she might assume I’d been killed – which was a fate I couldn’t quite believe I’d avoided – but it wouldn’t take long until the witnesses who’d seen me tumble into the canal spoke to the press. And all right, I’d managed to swim to an unlit area and haul myself out of the freezing waters without being spotted (or so I hoped), but I really couldn’t imagine Graziella taking a chance on my having drowned.

  Yes, there was a possibility that the police might interpret the bomb as a warning of some sort, or perhaps even a random act of terrorism. But I knew better. The idea must have been for the Count to find the case and open it. I’d been lucky, but I doubted he’d have been as fortunate. So I thought it fair to assume that there’d been a somewhat backward plot to kill the man – and at the very least, I could offer a good description of the woman behind it.

  Three things struck me about all this:

  1. Graziella knew where I lived.

  2. She was capable of getting in without being heard.

  3. I was incapable of defending myself.

  Hardly a reassuring combination.

  Then there was the fact I’d lied to Victoria. I didn’t relish thinking about how badly I’d let her down. She meant more to me than I could begin to express, though now seemed like a good time to try.

  And so, with a reluctant grunt, I swung my legs out over the edge of the bed, clinched a sheet around my waist and dropped to my knees, then shuffled towards the doorway to my room in a most undignified manner.

  The door seemed to tilt and pivot to the right. I leaned my head in the opposite direction but all I succeeded in doing was upsetting my balance. I fell onto my side with a thud, aggravating the cuts on my arm, and my yelp was enough to bring Victoria back to check on me.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ she demanded.

  ‘I was coming to see you,’ I said, cradling my forearm. ‘To apologise. I’m sorry, Vic. For everything. I’ve been an idiot and I want to make it up to you. Please don’t leave.’

  I pursed my lips and tried my best to look endearing. Judging by Victoria’s reaction, it had the opposite effect.

  ‘Leave? I’m not leavin
g.’ She planted her hands on her hips. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  She looked genuinely cross with me. I felt genuinely bemused.

  ‘But I could hear you packing your things,’ I said.

  She clucked her tongue and hooked a hand under my armpit, hoisting me upright like a nurse who’d been trained by the army – the enemy army. ‘No, Charlie, you could hear me unpacking.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘you didn’t think I’d come unprepared, did you?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Charlie, I’ve spent time with you in two cities now, and each time you’ve involved me in mayhem and murder. So let’s just say that while I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed by your behaviour, I’m not entirely surprised by it, either. In fact, I’m really rather pleased that I anticipated that something like this might happen.’

  ‘You anticipated that I’d become involved in a bomb plot?’

  She sighed and shepherded me back to my bed, pushing me firmly down onto the mattress with her hands on my shoulders.

  ‘Wait here,’ she said.

  ‘Where else am I going to go?’

  She made for the door, then glanced backwards over her shoulder. ‘Oh, and do cover yourself up. I can see far more than either of us would prefer.’

  Ah, hell. I rearranged the covers and did my best not to blush while I waited for her return. I didn’t succeed. My cheeks were flushed by the time she came back to my room with a pigskin document wallet in her hand. She fixed me in the eye and flipped the wallet open.

  ‘What the bloody hell is that?’ I asked.

  Victoria grinned. ‘Thought you’d be impressed.’

  FOURTEEN

  ‘It’s a little something I picked up back home,’ Victoria told me, walking her fingers over the contents of the document wallet. ‘There’s this wonderful boutique near London Bridge. They deal in all kinds of spy gear, and they also do a nifty line in self-defence. The gentleman in the shop told me it’s called “weaponising oneself”.’

  She wasn’t kidding. The range of equipment strapped into the case was quite astonishing. A folding knife, a telescopic baton, a snub-nosed gun with the word Taser along the barrel, a collection of cuffs for hands and ankles and thumbs, plus much more besides. Each tool had its own particular nook in the case, and each was neatly strapped into position – like an executive washbag gone rogue.

  ‘Christ, Vic, you’ve got yourself a mini bloody armoury. How on earth did you get it through airport security?’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ She held up a finger. ‘I had to pay a little extra, but the shopkeeper was able to use a local contact as a courier. This was waiting for me at Marco Polo when I arrived.’

  ‘I was waiting for you when you arrived.’

  She tapped her nose. ‘But I went to powder this, remember?’

  I did remember, now that she mentioned it. I’d been a tad irritated at the time, not least because she’d insisted on wheeling her suitcase into the ladies’ washroom with her – almost as if I couldn’t be trusted with her bag.

  ‘I can see it rings a bell,’ she said, smiling at my expression. ‘It just so happens that a young woman approached me in one of the cubicles. All most clandestine.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Must have cost you a fortune.’

  ‘Quite. But it struck me as a sound investment. And I was right, wouldn’t you say?’

  I would say. Victoria’s ordnance cache was enough to give Batman weapon envy.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, pointing at a rectangular slab of matt-black plastic.

  ‘Stun gun.’

  ‘Huh,’ I said. ‘Quick question for you. What’s the difference between a stun gun and a Taser?’

  Her mouth twitched into a crooked grin. ‘Want me to show you?’

  No, I didn’t think that’d be strictly necessary. ‘Why don’t you tell me about the lipstick instead?’

  ‘Ah, one of my favourites.’ She set the document wallet down on my bed and freed the lipstick from its Velcro fastening, then yanked off the top to reveal what looked like a mini aerosol. ‘Pepper spray.’

  ‘Ingenious.’

  ‘I think so. And the lid conceals a tiny listening device.’ She tapped it with her nail, as if she was aiming to deafen a team of MI6 spooks in a safe house across the street. ‘It transmits wirelessly to this digital data recorder,’ she told me, pointing to a small chrome object that had the appearance of a miniature Dictaphone. ‘The signal’s good for a distance of 500 metres.’

  ‘And the thing that looks like a pen?’

  ‘It’s just a pen.’

  I felt my eyebrows knit together as I gave her my best don’t-mess-me-around look.

  ‘Oh all right,’ she said, with a wave of her hand. ‘The nib contains a powerful sedative.’

  ‘Holy crap. And the cigarettes?’

  There were three of them, strapped into position in a perfect line. The filters were pale-white in colour, ringed with two gold bands, but in all other respects they looked remarkably normal.

  Victoria winced. ‘Would you believe me if I told you I really don’t know what they do?’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes, though I wouldn’t recommend that you smoke them. They were my one extravagance. I just saw them in the display case and felt like I had to have them.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask?’

  ‘By that stage I was like a kid in a sweet shop. Point and grab.’

  ‘Christ, the owner must have loved you.’

  ‘I suppose he did do rather well.’ She shrugged. ‘But then, so have you, wouldn’t you agree?’

  I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘How do you mean?’

  Victoria replaced the lid of the lipstick and set about returning it to its little sculpted hollow in the wallet. ‘Well come now, don’t tell me you haven’t given some thought to the predicament you’re in. This Graziella character, the cat burglar – if we believe that’s all she is – she’ll know you opened the briefcase.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘No possibly about it. Of course she’ll know – a bloody big bomb went off. And she also knows where you live.’

  I gulped. Thinking the same thoughts myself had been troubling enough, but having Victoria voice them aloud was even more disturbing.

  ‘It seems to me quite obvious,’ Victoria went on, ‘that she may come looking for you. And that this time, she could do something much worse than steal a book.’

  ‘You think she may threaten me?’

  ‘I think she may kill you.’

  I felt myself blanch. I supposed it made a change from blushing.

  ‘Well, attempt to, anyway,’ Victoria said, patting my knee through the bedcovers. ‘But thanks to me, you have the means to protect yourself. Here.’ She removed the stun gun from her arsenal. It was no bigger than an electric razor, with a lid that flipped back to reveal a pair of metal prongs. ‘Click this switch,’ she said, meanwhile sliding a locking device to one side with her thumb, ‘and then depress this button. And Hey Presto!’ Blue sparks arced between the red-hot prongs at the head of the device. Victoria grinned toothily in the glow. ‘Fifty thousand volts. Quite disabling. Like to try for yourself?’

  ‘Not just now, thanks,’ I said, raising my hand. ‘And stop waving the damn thing about, will you?’

  ‘Killjoy.’ She released her finger and the current fizzed away to nothing, leaving a smell of burned carbon in the room. She threw the contraption at me. ‘You can keep it under your pillow.’

  The plastic casing was toasty-warm, and I wasn’t all that happy to conceal it close to where I planned to lay my head, but Victoria clearly wasn’t in a mood to take no for an answer. She watched me until the device was safely stowed, then nodded as if it was perfectly conventional behaviour.

  ‘There’s more,’ she told me.

  ‘I feared there might be.’

  ‘Nonsense. I expect you’ll recognise this little fellow.’

  She was right a
bout that – I did have more than a passing familiarity with the piece of equipment in the vacuum-packed case she removed from the pocket of her dressing gown. It was a small, battery-operated sensor alarm, a very basic model, capable of casting an infrared beam into a room and sounding an alarm if anything happened to disrupt it. I didn’t mean to dent Victoria’s enthusiasm, but I couldn’t see it helping us a great deal.

  ‘Listen, Vic, I think I can see where you’re going with this, but if Graziella is even half as good as I believe she is, she’ll be able to disarm it no problem.’

  ‘Ah, but you’re forgetting the element of surprise. Last time she broke in there were no alarms. Why would she think you’d have one now?’

  Hmm, I supposed there could be something to her theory, and perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to rig the thing up. Not that I was the man for the task – I could hardly keep my head straight on my shoulders. I yawned, then wriggled down between my sheets, cringing at the stab of pain in my inner ear.

  ‘You’re not getting up?’ Victoria asked me.

  ‘I can’t,’ I groaned. ‘It’s a wonder I’m still conscious.’

  Victoria tucked the intruder alarm back inside her pocket, then ran the zip around her modified document wallet. She smoothed her hand lovingly over the pigskin, and I got the impression she was every bit as pleased with the case as she was with its contents. Standing there in her pyjamas and dressing gown, a contented smile on her lips, she looked like a child who’d just received the perfect birthday gift.

  ‘By the way, I read some more of your manuscript,’ she told me, clutching the case to her bosom. ‘It’s beginning to grow on me.’

  ‘Like a fungus?’

  ‘No, in a good way.’ She hitched her shoulders. ‘I can see the potential now, but I do think it needs toning down. There’s too much action, too many explosions and gun fights and chase scenes.’

  ‘Really?’

  A line of furrows appeared on her forehead. ‘Of course. And you’ve gone rather overboard with the new complications you introduce for poor Faulks at the end of each chapter. Once or twice, maybe, but not all the time. It’s too much.’