Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

Two sturdy-looking Schiopettieri took up the corners of the blanket and lifted Lord Calenti. He whimpered faintly. One of the worried looking Venetian noblemen cleared his throat. "May we talk to you about it?"

Manfred looked at Erik. The Icelander showed no signs of following the procession. "What do you say, Erik? A glass of wine would be nice."

Erik swayed slightly. "Some of that grappa might be even better."

Two of the Venetians looked a trifle taken aback. The third, a shorter balding man who was considerably younger than the others, smiled. "Why not? Lord Calenti is in good hands. There does not appear to be anything further to do here. Let us go and sit these good knights down, give them a well-earned glass and see what they have to say."

An alarm bell rang in Erik's head. Nothing more to do here? He looked hastily around the salon. Someone had righted the desk and taken away the smashed chair. They'd also taken away the laboriously gathered partially burned bills of lading and accounts from the bankers. Only two or three badly burned fragments, which must have been within the circle, still lay on the floor.

"Do you know what happened to the bills that were here? A whole stack of them? In that corner?"

The three shook their heads. "They will doubtless have been taken somewhere for safekeeping," said one, as Manfred gathered up the three remaining fragments.

"Not just thrown away?"

The balding, slightly plump man laughed. "In Venice! Never. We are a republic of traders. And that means records. Half the reason we make a profit out of you northerners is poor bookkeeping on your part. Come. There is a tavern just around the corner. Zianetti's. I remember it well!"

They walked to the tavern past knots of worried, peering students. In silence, except for the bald-headed nobleman quietly informing Erik and Manfred that he was Petro Dorma. He did not mention the names of the other two Venetian lords.

Inside Zianetti's, Dorma secured a room at the back. Once everyone was seated, he poured the strong Italian brandy which was already on the table.

"Now," said oldest of the three. "Tell us what happened."

Erik shrugged. "The doorman at the Imperial embassy received a note from a runner. The note was sealed with Lord Calenti's official seal. It was addressed to us, by name, but it was taken to Abbot Sachs who was meeting with the knight-proctors. They called us in."

"I expected them to haul us over the coals, like we were bad children," said Manfred with a grin.

"The abbot told me to open the letter and read it to the assembled proctors," said Erik, managing not to smile at Manfred's accurate assessment. "Lord Calenti asked us, and only the two of us, to please come to his rooms here before Sext. He said it was of greatest importance. Since it was then well past Terce, we left immediately, on the abbot's instruction. A party of knights followed some ways behind us, so as not to frighten anyone who might be attempting an ambush."

Manfred shrugged. "It looks as if someone tried to kill him before he spoke to the Knights."

"All he did manage to say to us was that he'd uncovered treason that almost had the Knights?and himself?as unwitting dupes. And that accounts are a more powerful tool than all the spies in the world. Then he started to say something about the incident at the House of the Red Cat, but the attack came before he got out more than a few words."

The three looked startled, obviously recognizing the name of the bordello. So Erik had to recount that episode. He edited it, cutting Francesca's part out entirely. He could still feel his face glowing despite that.

"Well, we can find out where those orders came from," said the eldest. He was plainly familiar with the near-dockyard bordello, which led Erik to suspect that he was?or had been?an officer of the Venetian fleet. Probably an admiral, judging from the man's easy assumption of authority. The main clientele of the House of the Red Cat were naval officers; common seamen frequented less expensive brothels.

"And I'll talk to Doge Foscari," said the second nobleman. "At least we know the Knights are not part of this conspiracy."

"I'm going to try to track down these accounts," announced the bald-headed Dorma. "Any idea what they're about?"

Erik shook his head. "I only saw one. A bill of lading. A cargo of various spices, and the damages."

"And there are these pieces," Manfred handed over the pitiful scraps of burned parchment. "I can't make anything of them."

Dorma examined them. "It's a tally of punched ducats being released to merchants in payment for goods. Probably a copy. I'll try to track down the original, but there are thousands of pages to go through. Unless I know where to start…"

The second one was a list of punched ducats exchanged for the whole ducats used in the city. Had been a list, at any rate. What was left of it contained only the names of two merchant houses, with no amounts surviving, and a third amount?with the name itself no longer readable.

The third scrap was simply a Capi di Contrada seal on a piece of paper.

The three signori thanked Manfred and Erik and left them to finish their drinks. Manfred chugged his and called for a second. Erik sat sipping. "Well. I owe you an apology. I heard the bells this time. Not very musical, are they?"

Manfred scowled. "You said it was inside my head after I was flung away onto that flimsy chair. You know they complained to me about breaking that chair? Ha. And I could have saved that whiny old Servant of the Trinity as well. Only that force seemed much stronger."

Erik smiled. "There were two of us this time. Come on. Drink up. Time we got back."

Manfred shrugged. "They'll never notice if we don't. Erik, I've a need to accumulate a few sins to confess."

Erik shook his head, hiding a reluctant smile behind his hand. "Get up, before I turf you off the bench."

They were crossing the campo, under the eyes of the bunches of students still buzzing with hushed talk, when a woman came running up to them.

People, Erik had noticed?particularly the Venetians?tended to avoid the Knights. That was hardly surprising. The likes of Von Stublau were likely to knock anyone who got in their way into the nearest canal. So a young woman running up to them was something of a surprise. To judge by Manfred's expression?even if by her dress she was a serving-maid?it was a welcome change. She was pretty enough.

She curtseyed hastily, nearly dropping the bundle she bore. "Pardon your honors, the students says you are the ones who saved M'lord Calenti?"

Manfred bowed. "We are, signorina."

"Ooh! From demons seventeen feet tall with horns and lots of teeth! And dancing naked witches with six breasts?like dogs. And I heard the whole building was destroyed and Legions of Cherubim, not that I understand why fat baby angels can fight well, but Father Pietro always tells us they do. Then there were those with trumpets and the whole city shook. And the winged lion itself stirred in the piazza. And there was a rain of blood?" Her eyes sparkled, as she tilted her head, quizzical for more juicy details.

Even Manfred was gobstopped. "Er. No… It wasn't quite like that…"

Well, if they weren't going to oblige, she'd help out. "And poor Lord Calenti, him so handsome and all, he fought like a tiger before he got so burned by the devils. They burned the clothes right off his back, with their pitchforks and I don't know why they say that because surely it must have got the clothes in the front, but that would have got his privates, or at least showed his smalls and he has such elegant knitted smalls." She giggled coyly. "Not that a girl like me would know anything about that."

"Er," Erik began.

That was quite enough interruption. "So when Signora Elena said she needed someone to take m'lord his best nightshirt, because he was too sick to move, and Silvia and Maria were both too scared to come for fear of demons, and all the boys at the Accademia ogling them, and I don't know why because Maria's been walking out with that rough Samarro boy?and what's a few noble students compared to that??I said I would take it. Only then Signora couldn't find it and I've had to bring him his second best and it hasn't got nearly such nice embroidery, and now I don't know where to find him, and none of these students want to tell me."