Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

Marco bobbed his head awkwardly and scooted back to the room he shared with Benito. The kid wasn't back from his mysterious errand with Maria?but Marco wasn't overly worried about him. This wasn't the first time he'd been out on a night-run with Maria. It was no doubt dangerous?but less so than roof-walking with his old mentor Claudia, the singer-thief. And possibly even less dangerous than what Marco was going to attempt.

So Marco undressed and climbed into bed?and for the first time in months, the dreams he dreamed were bright.

He thought out a plan of action the next morning on the way to work, grateful beyond words for the presence of Harrow on his backtrail so that he was able to spare a bit of his mind to make plans. The very first thing to do was to try to find out if this was an overall scam, or limited to one particular ship?which was what he thought likeliest, given the frequency.

He waved to Tonio on the canal below, who waved back; the man was much friendlier now that Marco was accepting "payment" for his doctoring. There was, thank God, less of that, now that the killing season of cold was over. Marco hadn't needed his cotte for weeks; the only bad part about the weather warming was that the canals were beginning to smell. Then would come summer; plague-time.

Well?that was to come; now was for bare feet on the walkways, and heads bared to the spring breeze, and a general feeling of cheer all around that another winter had been lived through. And the laxness that came with spring-born laziness just might make it possible for Marco to find out his information undetected.

He was early to work; scooting in through the peeling wooden doorway literally as soon as Niccolo Ventuccio unlocked it. The early morning sun wasn't yet high enough to penetrate into the lower levels, so he had to trot around the dusty, cluttered outer office, lighting all the clerk's lamps. That was usually Niccolo's job?but the Ventuccio cousin didn't look at all displeased at the junior clerk's enthusiasm. He gave Marco an approving nod and left the outer office, to take up his position at the runner's desk in the next office over.

Marco had reason for being so early; he was early enough to make an undisturbed, though hasty, check through the import lists by ship. He soon discovered that only one, the caique Jaila, a regular on the Black Sea run, ever carried the spice shipments that had the discrepancies. And only one captain, Alessandro Montello, had been at her helm since the discrepancies started.

This was quickly and quietly done. By the time anyone else came in, Marco was at his desk, copying the inventories from the galliot Albiona into the appropriate books. One or two of his fellow clerks jibed at him for working so hard; Marco looked up from his copying and grinned slightly. "What do you expect," he countered, "when a fellow is so ugly no girl will look at him? A fellow's got to do something to take his mind off?what he ain't getting."

Matteo Feruzzi rolled his dark eyes expressively as he settled onto his tall stool behind his slanted desk. "Father and Saints, Marco?if you ain't getting nothing it's because you ain't looking! Half them canaler girls is makin' big eyes at you?and the only reason the rest of them ain't is because their fathers would beat them black and blue if they did." Matteo snorted, scratching his curly head. "Ugly! Hell, I wisht I was as 'ugly' as you! Maybe Rosa wouldn't be giving me such a hard time!"

Marco blushed and ducked his head. He knew why the canaler girls were giving him the eye?not because he was desirable; because he was notorious. The boat-folk had been alerted when he'd gone "missing"?and all of them knew the outcome. He was just grateful that his fellow-workers didn't; they were landers, and canalers didn't spill canal-gossip to landers. And it seemed Marco was semi-adopted now?because the boat-folk hadn't told the landers about what a fool he'd been.

And for all of that, he still hadn't seen THE GIRL since that awful day. He'd looked?oh, how he'd looked!?but he'd not seen her once. His only possible aid, Maria, had been unable?or unwilling?to identify her. Marco sighed, recollecting the peculiar jolting his heart had taken when he'd seen her?she'd shaken Angelina Dorma clean out of his head, and herself in.

Well, he couldn't think about her now; he had a ticklish job ahead of him.

Matteo chuckled at Marco's blush, not knowing what had caused it. He was about to toss another jibe in his direction when Christophoro Ventuccio stalked through the outer office on the way to his inner sanctum, and all four clerkly heads bent quickly over their assignments.

For the next bit of information, Marco had to wait until the appropriate book came into his hands legitimately?though he'd agreed to take on the lengthy Albiona inventory with the notion of getting at that book in mind. This East-run round ship had sprung a leak in her hold and had as a consequence sustained a bit of spoilage to chalk off on the loss sheets. And that was the book Marco wanted in his hands; the "Spoilage, Refund, and Salvage" book?because if he was the captain covering tracks, that's where he'd have hidden those little spice casks.

And sure enough?there they were; and no one else ever seemed to have quite as much spoilage in such a specific area as Captain Alessandro Montello of the Jaila.

It looked legitimate; all properly logged, and with no loss on the Ventuccio ledgers. The only thing that the captain had forgotten?were the casks themselves.

The miniature barrels that spices were shipped in were unlike any other such containers in that they were not tarred to make them waterproof. Tar ruined the delicate flavor of the spices. They were very carefully waxed instead; caulked with hemp and coated with beeswax, inside and out.

This made them very valuable, no matter that they were so small. Cooks liked them to hold flour and sugar and salt. For that matter?a good many used the casks, with the wax coating burnished into their wood until it glowed, as workbaskets, and for a dozen other semi-ornamental purposes.

So even if the spice inside had somehow spoiled, through leakage, or rot, or insect contamination, the cask had a resale value. Yet none of those casks from the Jaila's inventory ever appeared on the "Salvage" side of the blotter.

And no one seemed to be interested in claiming back part of the value from the company that imported the spice for them. And that was very odd indeed.

And it was in the "Spoilage, Refund, and Salvage" book that Marco found out who had ordered and paid for the "spoiled" spices?and who had apparently been so careless, or generous, as to absorb the entire loss.

Casa Badoero. Spice merchants on Murano.

The next day, and the next, Marco kept strictly to legitimate business, waiting for an opportunity for him to get at the packets of tax-stamps.

The Venetian tax-stamps, placed on an article that had had its duty paid in full, were distributed by a small army of officials, Capi di Contrada, who had to report to the Doge and the Council of Ten. The stamps themselves were green paper seals, signed by the officiating capi, and each was wax-sealed and stamped twice with a unique number. They were intended to be split into two parts, each half bearing the same number. The first part was sealed with lead and wire to the taxed goods. The second part was torn off and returned, after counting at the Doge's palace, to the appropriate importer as evidence that he had paid his tax-duties to both the Republic of Venice and the Doge. The stamps came in from the Doge's palace in bundles and were kept in the cubbyholes of the tax desk, one hole for each day of the month. At the end of the month some luckless clerk got to check them against the warehousing inventory and file them away. Marco was too junior to be entrusted with such a task?but Matteo Feruzzi wasn't.