The hunched shoulders relaxed a bit; she favored him with a ghost of a smile. "Knew you wasn't all bad," she said, grabbing the railing and pulling herself to her feet.
* * *
Benito wasn't all fool, either; he knew where his primary loyalty lay—with the man he'd privately chosen as his model and mentor, Caesare Aldanto. When Benito had arrived at Caesare's Castello apartment—which they all called "home" now—that afternoon, he'd first checked to make sure that Marco and Maria weren't home. Caesare was sitting reading. Benito felt no qualms about disturbing him with a terse report of Maria's attempt to recruit him.
The warm, comfortable sitting room seemed to turn cold as Aldanto's expression chilled. Aldanto's hands tightened a little on the sheaf of papers he was holding; his blue eyes went cloudy. Benito knew him now, too—knew by those slight signs that Aldanto was not happy with this little piece of news.
Benito clasped his hands in front of him and tried to look older than his fifteen years—older, and capable; capable enough to run with Maria. Maybe even to ride herd a little on Maria.
"Caesare—" he offered, then before Aldanto could speak to forbid him to help, "you know I'm not bad at roof-walking. You've seen me; you've set me jobs yourself. You know if I tell her 'no' she's just going to go it alone. Let me help, huh? Happens I can keep her out of real bad trouble. Happens if she's got me along, she maybe won't go looking for bad trouble so damn hard, figuring she's got to keep me out of it."
A good hit, that last; Maria was likely to feel at least a little bit responsible for Benito, if only because she was maybe two years older than him. That was the line Valentina had taken when he was along on one of her jobs, and she was one of the least responsible people Benito knew. Aldanto tilted his head to the side and looked thoughtful when Benito had finished, then put the papers down on the couch to one side of him, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his lips with one long, aristocratic finger. "How about if I tell you to keep her out of trouble?" he asked finally.
Benito winced. That was nothing less than an impossibility, as Aldanto should very well know. "Ask me to fly. I've got a better chance."
Aldanto managed a quirk of the right corner of his mouth. "I'm afraid you're probably right. I should know better than to ask you to do something no one else can." He stared at Benito, then stared though him; thinking, and thinking hard. "All right; go ahead and give her a hand. See if you can't keep her from being totally suicidal."
Benito grinned and shrugged; so far as he could see, both he and Maria had won. He'd told Caesare—and he hadn't been forbidden to help or ordered to hinder. What little conscience he had was clear, and he was free to indulge in the kind of hell-raising he adored with Aldanto's tacit approval—
He prepared to turn and scoot down the hall to vanish into the downstairs bedroom he shared with Marco, when Aldanto stopped him with a lifted finger.
"But—" he said, with the tone that told Benito that disobedience would cost more than Benito would ever want to pay, "I expect you to keep me informed. Completely informed. Chapter and verse on what she's doing, and when, and how. And I want it in advance; and well in advance."
Benito stifled a sigh of disappointment.
"Si, milord," he agreed, hoping his reluctance didn't show too much. Because he knew what that meant. Maybe he wasn't going to have to try to stop Maria—but now he was honor-bound to keep her from trying to do the kind of things he'd like to pull. And what that meant, mostly, was keeping things quiet. Damn. "Quiet" wasn't half the fun.
* * *
Hey, this one didn't work out too bad, Benito thought, inching along the rough beam to the opposite corner of the grille and ignoring the splinter he got in a palm. Pain was for later. He attacked the next bolt.
Quiet—and nothing to connect me or Maria to the mess when all hell breaks loose. Caesare was happy enough about that. We're here earlier than planned but I told him every detail. And we've been doing well tonight; this is two more windows than I'd figured likely to cut when we planned this.
He had gotten this bolt nearly sawed through when a feral cat yowled from the invisible canal below him. She did a good cat-yowl. . . . It was somewhere to his right, which meant upstream.
Maria had spotted possible trouble.
Benito coiled up the cable saw and stowed it safely away in the buttoned pocket of his breeches, making damn sure the button was fastened and the saw in there. Then he inched, still hanging upside-down, back along the support beam until he met the cross-brace. He switched to it, using both hands and legs, taking it slowly and carefully to avoid making the wood creak, until he reached the end that met the roof, where the gutter was. The drainpipes and gutterwork on Casa Dandelo Isle were sound, even if most of the rest of the building wasn't; Dandelo got most of its potable water from rain.
Might ask Marco if there's something we could drop into the roof-tank, give them all the heaves and trots. Benito grinned again in the darkness—he had a fair notion Maria would like that idea real well. It was another quiet one—which would please Caesare. And it was an idea that would cost the Dandelo's money, real hard-cash money—cash for the doctors, for clean water when they figured out what the cause was, and for somebody to come clean and purge the system. That pleased Benito—and there was always a chance that the fear of plague or sickness in Casa Dandelo would flush some of the Montagnard agents out of their safe-house and maybe into the hands of the Schiopettieri. Hmm—another thought; if they had any human cargo in there, they might have to find another place for the captives. And that would give the slaves a chance to escape. That pleased Benito even more; he didn't have much in the way of moral scruples, but he was flat against slaving.
He continued to think about this new plan as he grabbed the edge of the gutter and hauled himself up onto the roof with its aid. The metal groaned a little, and he froze, but nothing further untoward happened. He continued easing himself up over the edge. He crawled from that point along the roof-edge, feeling his way and moving slowly to avoid any more noise, until he found the outside corner of the roof and the place where the gutter met the drainpipe. He stopped, taking stock with his ears, and nodded after a bit. The echoes from the water lapping against the building were right for where he thought he was; and he thought he could make out the sable pit of the Grand Canal, a blacker blot in the night-shadows ahead of him. He should be right on the point of Casa Dandelo where the building fronted Rio della Crea—and Maria should be right below him, holding her gondola steady against the pull of the current.
"Woo ooo," he called softly, and was rewarded with a yowl almost directly below. He eased himself over the edge of the roof, dangling blindly for a little until he got his legs around the pipe, then shinnied silently down the drainpipe. It went in through the wall to a tank within, but in a full stretch he could reach the narrow ledge that ran around the edge of the islet.
"Woo ooo," he chirped, struggling to hold his balance on the cold, slippery, slimy ledge, as he positioned himself with his back to the wall. Come high tide, this would be underwater, and it tended to collect unsavory stuff. He was having to hold to the drainpipe above him with both hands; the ledge was barely two inches wide.
Meeeow, came the answer, and the soft bump of a boat-nose against the ledge beside him, black blot against the reflective water. Benito squirmed about like a real cat, grabbed the gondola's nose with both hands and leapfrogged aboard her before Maria had a chance to say a word.
He felt his way down off the nose, worked his way past the barrels occupying the slats of the bottom, and sat down on the worn boards of foredeck, knowing she knew he'd gotten aboard safely by the gondola's movement. He heard and felt her heave with the oar, moving the gondola into the current of the Grand Canal. There was a tense moment as they passed the bulk of the residential side of Casa Dandelo, but it stayed quiet, with hardly a light showing anywhere in the building. Then they were past, down into Cannaregio, where Maria had legitimate—well, sort of—business. A
barrel delivery from Giaccomo, and not all the barrels were empty. This wasn't the first night she'd had him along on the skip to help—nor would it be the last, hoped Benito. Maria's company grew on you, away from Caesare.
Make it look like business as usual, and that's what everybody is going to figure, was another of Valentina's maxims.
When they finished this delivery, they'd head home by way of Barducci's. Benito would pass Valentina her little tool under cover of buying her a drink, and that would be her signal to spread the word tonight along certain channels that Casa Dandelo was no longer as impregnable as the Dandelos thought.
Benito grinned yet again as he picked the splinter from his climb out of his palm with his teeth. Figure as many as two of the slaves hit them—and they'll fall out. With a small pry bar, anyone could pry them loose. Lord and Saints—I damn sure wouldn't want to be the fellow responsible for those grilles! he thought, smugly.
He heard Maria start to whistle through her teeth, and guessed she was thinking the same thing.
Well, that was a little more off the tot-board for what he and Marco owed to Maria and Caesare. A good night's work, profitable for everybody—except Casa Dandelo.
Chapter 59
"Message for you, Maria," said Jeppo laconically, as they unloaded the barrels at Giaccomo's. "That Spook came here for you. The boss don't like her here. Giaccomo's real nervous about that 'magic' crowd. She ain't a good contact to do business with."
"I owe her," said Maria shortly, pushing her hair back from a sweaty brow. "Ain't business. But I got stuff to give back to her. What's the message?"
"Said she'd be over at Zianetti's tonight."
"Uh huh." Maria sighed. "All the way over to Accademia tonight."
Jeppo grinned. Twitched a thumb at Benito. "You better teach the apprentice to row."
* * *
Zianetti's was never as noisy as Barducci's. There'd been trouble years ago about a tavern in the middle of the Accademia area disturbing students—who were of course the ones who made the disturbance, and not the ones who complained. So Zianetti's wasn't a music place. The food was good and relatively cheap. The drink slightly more expensive than elsewhere. This simple recipe kept those intent on serious drinking going elsewhere, while making sure there were always customers. The big common room had been split up into a succession of smaller rooms, so rowdy argument—about everything from politics to paints—was limited to the crew who could fit in the smaller salons. Benito found it too quiet for his taste.
He and Maria looked into several rooms before finding Kat in one of the smaller back ones.
With Marco.
Oh, great. One man's trouble is another man's delight. It made sense now. And by the way Marco looked at that snappy-mouthed smuggler-girl, this was real trouble. What on earth did Marco see in her, besides someone shrewish enough to give Maria words? He had to grant—now that he could see her coppery curly hair—that she was prettier than he remembered. And sort of aglow. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling.
Wonder if she's stuck on Marco too? he thought. That'd be a change! Normally the girls who want Marco don't even get noticed by him, and he's all eyes for the ones who don't know he's alive.
"Hey, ciao, Kat," said Maria cheerfully, leaning over their table. "What brings you to a dump like this? Got no music. And the wine is expensive."
Benito flopped down next to them. Maria was pleased to see Kat. That was obvious. Great. Now he had a brother and Maria to get away from trouble. Caesare didn't know how right he'd been in telling Benito to be her minder.
Kat dimpled. "The company is good though. Listen—a word of warning. There's going to be a Schiopettieri sweep through the town tonight."
Benito shivered. If they hadn't gone early they'd have been caught up in it.
Maria sat down abruptly, scowling. "Bastardos! They're just trying to intimidate anyone from hitting the Dandelos." She stared at Kat, the scowl turning into a crease of puzzlement. "How do you know this stuff, Kat?"
Kat's face took on a guarded look. "Business. Let's just leave it out of this."
Benito got to his feet. "I'd better go over to Claudia and Valentina. I've got something to give back—uh, to deliver to them."
Maria nodded. "Si. I'll take you. Quicker. Look Kat, I've got a bundle I need to get to you."
"I'll be here on Thursday." She glanced shyly across at Marco.
He nodded.
Like that was it? thought Benito grimly. Have to break this up. "You'd better come with us, Marco. Hear Claudia's got some . . . doctor who wants to talk to you."
Marco stood up, reluctantly. "I suppose so." He smiled at Kat. "Thursday then."
She drained her wine, and stood up. "I might as well go too. Time I got home."
They walked out. As they got to the door there was something of a press of older men. Benito realized he recognized one of them. It was the short, red-haired man with the single line of dark eyebrow . . . who had seen them that first early morning outside the Imperial embassy—and then again when they'd recovered Kat's parcel. He was the Spaniard who had been staying with Ricardo Brunelli.
The redhead looked across the crowd . . . his eagle eyes taking them all in. The eyes narrowed and he began to push towards them.
"I've got to get out of here," said Kat, genuine fear in her voice.
But there was a real crowd at the door. A masque must have finished across at La Fenice, and this was the drink-after-the-show bunch. "Follow me." Benito dropped to his knees and began squirming between legs. He collected a few slaps on the rump, and by the squawks behind him, so did a few of the others. But they were out in a minute, all of them.
"It'll take more than a crowd to stop that man," said Marco. Sure enough the redhead was outside the inn, peering into the night. And, as luck would have it, he'd come out closer to the canal.
Benito didn't know this area as well as he did some the richer areas he'd cased along the Grand Canal. But knew it well enough. "We can just nip up that alley. If the tide is out enough we can walk along the ledge around to where the gondolas are moored."
The alley a few yards from the corner of Zianetti's stank just like what it was often used for. They moved down the dark curve of it quietly. And then, Maria—who happened to be in the lead—stopped them. Outlined by lights on the far side of the canal, at the mouth of the alley, were two people . . . kissing passionately.
"Merda," whispered Maria. "Him!"
Benito recognized the man too. It was that Milanese trade mission fellow he'd taken the message to at the German Hotel. The one he'd seen Caesare in the alley with afterward. The fellow had a very recognizable profile, even in bad light.
"There are some stairs back there," whispered Kat.
Benito thought he was good at managing without light, but she was obviously as good as a real cat. They went back a few yards and up the little walled staircase. There they crouched and waited. Sure enough, someone came past beneath them.
The person stopped a few yards further on. And then turned and walked far more quietly back.
"That's the figlio di una puttana who questioned me in the Casa Dandelo," hissed Maria.
"Who? Senor Lopez?" whispered Kat. "The man who saw us at Zianetti's and chased us? You mean it was you he was after?"
"No." whispered Maria. "I'm talking about the man kissing the woman. I've never seen that Lopez fellow in my life before. Who is he, anyway?"
Benito heard Kat take a deep breath, and whisper nervously. "He pretends he's just a visitor to Venice. But I think he's a witch-finder from the Grand Metropolitan in Rome, hunting Strega."
"I thought the Petrines believed in tolerance of other religions?" whispered Marco.
Kat snorted quietly. "Did he look tolerant?"
Benito had to agree. He didn't. Determined; powerful, yes. Tolerant, no.
"You don't know the other man? The one at the end of the alley? Or the woman?" Whispered Maria, before they got bogged down in theology.
Benito actually bit his tongue to stop himself from saying "Francesco Aleri." He must talk to Caesare. He didn't have a clue who the woman was.
* * *
Kat bit her tongue. She had no idea who the man was. But the silhouette of Lucrezia Brunelli's hairdo was unmistakable.
And from the foot of the stairs someone rasped. "All right, Lorendana's kids. Aleri and the other guy have gone. You can go home."
Kat hadn't realized she'd been holding Marco's hand. She felt him relax. Whoever this was, he wasn't bad. "Thanks, Harrow," said Marco.
The relieving party said nothing, just walked away up the alley. So they all got up and left too. Two minutes later she was out on the Grand Canal. Why was Lopez after her? The thought was scary. She'd better prompt Giuseppe to not have her at home to any visiting Spaniards. And she'd take the long way home to avoid the sweep.
The Shadow of the Lion Page 61