Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

"I'll probably have my shadow, anyway."

"That you will," said Caesare grimly. "I don't want anyone on my back trail on this venture. You go out first."

They went their various ways. By the late afternoon, it seemed as if half of Venice was looking for Maria.

Maria was sitting in the one place that no one could go looking. And she didn't know for sure that anyone was looking for her.

"Are you ready to talk yet, sweetie?" asked her persecutor from the night before. The light was better now and she could see him clearly. She took in the details of his heavy-set face and his dress. He wore well-to-do merchant clothes. And, unlike the slave-warder's disinterest, his eyes roamed her naked body with an unpleasant eagerness.

He turned to the warder. "Take her out of there. Give her a smock and put her in the 'interview' room. We'll have some wine and some food."

Maria behaved herself when the slave-warder let her out. She was quiet and submissive, putting on the slave-smock when she was told to. She knew that this wasn't the time to try anything. She hobbled her shackled way along to a room off the passage.

The room was bare. Except for two chairs and a small table. "Sit." There was a mug of wine and a plate of pasta on the table.

She sat. He sat down across from her.

"Taste your wine."

The devil will let me have a sip and then take it away from me, she thought. She took the mug and drained it. It was cheap raw strong red wine. And there was a lot of it.

"That was stupid, but predictable," said her interrogator, with a horrible smugness. "That was a lot of wine on an empty stomach. Which is what I wanted you to have, but I thought I'd have to persuade you. Now, I want answers. You might as well give them to me. Even if I have to take them out of you with pain, I'm going to get them. If I get them… I'll have them let you go."

The wine burned in her stomach. It might have been his intent to get her drunk, but it did lend her some courage. And heaven knew she needed it right now. Somehow his calmness was more unnerving than shouted threats. "How about some more of that wine?" she said with an assumption of casualness.

Without any warning he hit her. Hard. A stinging openhanded slap that rocked her head back. Maria tasted blood. Put her hand to her cheek. The speed and sheer violence of it left her huddling back in her seat with a little whimper of pain.

"Don't play games with me, bitch," he hissed. "You'll lose."

Marco loitered around the edge of the Campo San Felice. This was stupid. How was he supposed to recognize this "Kat"? He'd been here ten minutes now, and had seen two old men manhandling a barge, and a solitary gondola going past without stopping. It wasn't much of a description to go on. A shabby gondola and a woman wearing a hooded cloak. This was a depressing waste of time.

Kat was depressed. It had been just over two weeks since she'd run into that woman who said she'd pass a message on to Benito. Huh. Imagine thinking Benito was her lover! She'd been at the Campo San Felice dead on time every night, except last Wednesday. Finally, two days ago, she'd ventured into Giaccomo's. He wasn't there. And one of Giaccomo's flunkies had quietly asked her to leave.

It had been a quiet request. But it was backed up with a potential threat. Clearly enough, some people had grown suspicious of the cargoes carried by "the Spook," and Giaccomo didn't feel he needed the possible complications of having her on the premises.

She'd tried Barducci's also. Those two singers had simply given her the wall-eye when she'd asked after Benito. She'd left a message with them, but she was willing to bet he'd never get that message. The only option that was left now was to go into Ventuccio's and ask to speak to Marco Felluci…

She'd give it a few more days, but she was certain that Benito wasn't going to be there. She'd seen that canaler-woman last night, her head bent against the rain. But, in that downpour, Kat couldn't really have asked if she'd seen Benito lately. Not really the right time for a chat?nor the right area for it, either. You seldom found anyone hanging around Casa Dandelo. Not that you weren't safe enough on the water, but still…

She sculled towards the Campo San Felice. She couldn't see anyone. But then last time she hadn't seen Benito either.

The sky held the last translucent skeins of vermilion cloud. The sun was gone and that first whisper of the night-breeze brought the sound of distant laughter with it. The zephyr had picked up the scent of the sea from over the barrier lidi. For a moment, it carried Marco away. Back to the time centuries ago when the first refugees from barbarian invaders had smelled that same breeze, and had seen, perhaps for the first time, the swampy Rialto islands not just as refuge but also as a place of beauty. Venice had been loved, was loved. As much as a place of bricks, mortar and marble facing, the city of the winged lion was a great ancient repository of hopes and dreams. A place the barbarians had never managed to conquer. A city of love and lovers.

Then, cutting through the rippled, reflected last splendors of the day, came a gondola. Moving silently along the canal between the gothic-fronted buildings, sliding across the water, the dip and sway of the gondolier was as easy and graceful as a dancer's movements.

Marco looked across the water into the eyes of his kindred spirit.

The grace, romance, and beauty of the moment ended in a splash. His dream girl, her eyes locked on his, hit a mooring pole, dropped her oar, lost her balance and fell?fortunately?down onto her own duckboards.

The gondola was close to shore and Marco managed the jump without even thinking about it.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.

"Fine." said Kat, sitting up, her face blazing. "Er. See if you can grab my oar."

He leaned over the side and pulled it inboard.

Kat seized the moment to pull herself together. What an absolute idiot he must think her. What a complete fool! And what a way to meet him! She'd have wanted to put on some better clothes. Maybe some belladonna to widen her eyes… She must talk to Francesca about it.

One minute ago, she'd been sculling easily, putting minimal effort into it. The next she'd lost her concentration; lost her balance; lost her dignity; lost her oar… what should she say? Reality was with her, now. He might turn out to be a lot less likable than her imagination had painted him.

He pulled the oar onto the gondola; then, offered her a hand. "I'm sorry," he said smiling. "Maria says it's really bad manners to board a boat without permission. But I thought you might be hurt."

Whoever "Maria" is, she's going to have to go.

Now that he was up close, Kat found herself tongue-tied for the first time in her life. She settled for smiling at him. God, he was handsome. No. That was the wrong word. He wasn't ruggedly handsome. He was beautiful. No wonder this Maria was chasing him.

"You've hurt your hand!" he exclaimed.

There was indeed a thin trickle of blood running down her hand and onto her cuff. Kat looked at it and looked away. She really didn't like blood. "Oh, it's nothing," she said hastily.

"Here." He held out a tentative hand. "Let me see to it… Signorina. I'm hoping to be a doctor one day."

"It's fine. Really."

He smiled. "I won't hurt you. I promise."

God in heaven, he could cut the hand right off if he wanted to. Well, if he wanted her as a practice patient she could have lots of injuries. Lots. If he wanted to lie her down on the duckboards?

Her mind shied away from that line of thought. She held out the hand.