Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

Circles within circles. Coincidences that shouldn't happen. The Lion casting its shadow… He was certain of it now. The knowledge brought courage with it.

He was standing looking at the scene, his attention absorbed, when someone spoke to him. Snarled at him, rather. He turned to see yet another familiar face. One much less welcome than Marco's. Especially now that he was a bishop.

Recognition was plainly mutual. "Are you deaf?" demanded Pietro Capuletti. "I asked you what you're doing here?"

Luciano smiled wryly. "Admiring the campo. It's a more attractive view than a fat fellow in red."

Capuletti's face hardened. "Your tongue will get you into a great deal of trouble with the Church. We want to know what you are doing back in Venice."

Luciano wondered who the "we" was. Luciano distrusted Pietro Capuletti. He'd been a sneaky boy and Luciano Marina would bet he was an even more devious man.

He also wondered if Pietro was still puppy-dogging after Lucrezia Brunelli. He was a fool, and always had been. There had never been any chance Lucrezia would have married him, even after he became a bishop. No Capuletti was ever going to be important enough to marry a Brunelli. Run errands for them, yes. Get fat on the crumbs from their table, yes. But curti like the Brunelli would never settle for lesser curti.

"As I've told you before, I've been on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and now that I've returned I intend to re-establish myself here at the Accademia." He smiled urbanely. "Don't try to threaten me, Pietro. I have many friends in the Church. More than ever, after Jerusalem." Let Capuletti sweat that one. Many pilgrims took vows of anonymity. A trip to Jerusalem, instead of wandering mindless in the Jesolo marshes, would have certainly given him some church contacts?perhaps of great importance.

"Ha." The bishop left without a further word, his anger proclaimed in his flaming cheeks and pursed little mouth.

The rain was hissing down on the water. At a time when all sensible canal people?anyone with any sense at all?were indoors in front of a fire, maybe with a nice hot glass of mulled wine, Maria was out in the wet. But… things were rather tense between her and Caesare, right now. And he'd asked her to do this especially. And she really wanted to show him that she did love him. The last two weeks had been horrible. Left her sick to her stomach with a mixed mess of emotions.

He'd been so hurt when she had accused him. That hair might have blown in the window or something. Didn't she trust him? And, then, he'd been loving and attentive once he'd gotten over being distant and hurt.

She was still suspicious. But… she loved him. How could she let him go? So here she was getting soaked to the skin. She must be the only person on the water right now.

But, no. There was another gondola on the canal. As it went by without so much as a greeting from the other paddler, Maria realized that she knew her. That wasn't really surprising?she knew most of the boat people. And if anyone would be out in the half dark and rain, it would be "the Spook."

Maria was grateful, at least, that her destination wasn't all the way out to Guidecca to drop letters with Captain Della Tomasso this time. Tonight her rendezvous was comparatively close. Too close to the Casa Dandelo and the reek of its warehouses for comfort. You could smell the slaves even in the clean rain-washed air.

She pulled into the little landing. Good. There was no one around yet. She must be early. She shivered. She moved down off the stern to the duck-boards and sat down, huddled against the gunwale.

Someone loomed suddenly through the rainy darkness.

"Well, let's have it," grumbled Maria. "I'm wet and cold and I want to get home."

And then someone else jumped onto the stern behind her.

Maria stood up hastily, reaching for her knife. "Hey! Figlio…" Bright lights and stars exploded in her skull. But not before she'd seen that it had been Luciano Matteoni jumping onto the stern of the boat.

When she awoke it was to the betraying stench of the Casa Dandelo. But all she wanted to do was to be sick and pray the pain in her head stopped. Once she'd cast up everything that was inside her onto the rotten straw, blessed oblivion came again.

When she gradually awoke again… naked, cold, still sore, lying on the filthy straw a scant few inches from her own vomit… she was leg-shackled too. It was then that the true horror of situation dawned on her.

Casa Dandelo.

Slave traders.

Officially, they were not permitted to touch hide nor hair of Venetian citizens. Officially, their "cargo" was checked. The poor of Venice knew the truth: the Doge and the Case Vecchie turned a blind eye. The Dandelos took what they could and if the slave might complain to the Capi di Contrada signing the cargo outbound on ship… they took out the tongue that might wag. Or beat the victim senseless. Either way, the Dandelos never released any of those who found their way into their clutches. They brought a lot of money into Venice, and Venice looked the other way. After all, it was only the poor and unwanted who ended up in their clutches. The Dandelos didn't want a fuss. As far as the officials of Venice were concerned, their depredations were nearly the equivalent of "human garbage" collection. So long as it stayed that way, the Council of Ten and the Signori di Notte left them to it.

So: who would notice if she was gone? Well, Caesare would be waiting for his message. He'd panic.

A short, dark-visaged, thick-bodied man looked in at her. Instinct made her cover her nakedness. But this man wasn't interested. You could see it in his look. Merchandise. She was no more appealing to him than a bale of cotton would be. Calm now. Try to talk your way out. "Let me out. I've got friends with contacts. Ricardo Brunelli…"

The slaver grave a sardonic snort. "You wouldn't believe how many cousins of the Doge go through here. Anyway, the party wanted to know when you were awake." He turned and walked off.

"Can I have some water?" Maria called after him.

"If the man says so."

She was left to her fears. The minutes passed slowly.

The man who now entered walked like a cat. He was very like Caesare in that way. "I've got some questions for you about Caesare Aldanto. I will get answers. If I get good enough answers you'll go free."

And Caesare would die. "You can burn in hell, figlio di una puttana."

His hand twitched. "You are lucky there are bars between us woman," he snarled. "Any more lip from you and I'll see that you end up as a whore in Aleppo, servicing a hundred fresh-from-the-desert rancid camel drivers a night. You think you're tough. You might last a year."

She spat at him.

He wiped the spittle away from his face. "It seems you need to think about it. Let's see how well you spit after a day of being dry."

Tonio's whistle woke Marco. Sick child. Must be very sick to call Marco out of bed. Marco seemed to be suffering from a lack of sleep these days. He'd been to see Rafael the night before. He'd been for another private meeting with Milord Petro Dorma last night. He liked the balding, chubby, perpetually worried-looking Petro. He also got the feeling that, although Dorma would be funding his studies at the Accademia, Petro was using him as a window into the world of the tradesmen and canalers.

Again, Tonio whistled. Louder. Eyes bleary, Marco fumbled about, dragging on clothes. By the lack of light coming in through the shutter crack it was very early.

Tonio whistled again; louder still. He'd have the whole neighborhood awake in a minute. Benito thrust open the shutters. "He's coming," he said crossly to the boatman below on the dark water.