Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

Benito heaved a little sigh of relief. Then pointed to Zianetti's, which was not twenty yards distant.

"That tavern's the place to settle this, not here on the street. Milord Dorma and Marco can join us there." He gave Lopez a polite little bow. "That's Marco Valdosta, I'm referring to."

Lopez nodded. "Valdosta, yes. There are portents attached to that name."

For the first time since Kat had ever seen the fierce-looking Basque, standing on Brunelli's balcony the year before, his intense face suddenly burst into an expression of pure good will. She was almost stunned by the sheer charisma the man seemed to exude.

"A tavern it is, then! Now, if you will allow me to introduce my companions?" He gestured to the two men standing behind him. "Father Pierre, from the Savoy; and Father Diego. Diego, like myself, is from Spain?although, poor soul, not blessed with being a Basque. On the other hand?also like me?he has the pleasure of being able to claim some Jewish ancestry."

The last statement was made in such an offhand manner that the import of it did not register immediately on Kat. When it did, she relaxed still further. The Paulines, especially the more fanatical ones, tended toward religious intolerance. No Pauline zealot, for a certainty, would so casually announce that he had some Jewish blood running in his veins. Kat realized that Lopez had made the statement deliberately. The Basque, clearly enough, was a skilled diplomat, whatever might be the ferocity with which he seemed to act otherwise.

"Father Pierre, as you will see for yourself the moment he opens his mouth," continued Lopez cheerily, "is blessed with the usual Savoyard skill for mangling civilized tongues. But he is quite accomplished in other ways. The detection of black magic, for one."

"Welcome to Venice," said Benito, with a laugh. "Let us buy you a glass of wine at Zianetti's!"

Zianetti's tavern was relatively deserted. The Accademia was emptying fast, and they got a small private room.

"Time for straight talk," said Benito.

"Yes," said Lopez firmly. "The fate of Venice is at stake."

Benito shrugged uncomfortably. "I dunno about the destiny of Venice. But you kept me free and alive, true enough." Benito saw the puzzled looks around the table. "Look, never mind. It's a long story. I got into stupid trouble and he helped me out. He was very truthful?and very rude."

Father Diego laughed. "Ah, yes. The true Eneko! Don't feel bad. He's rude to everyone."

Lopez allowed himself a brief smile. "It has been on my conscience. But I have told you…"

The other priest, the Savoyard, said something. He pointed at Luciano.

Lopez looked carefully at him. "He says you are a mage. He says… there is a stink of blackness."

Luciano nodded, tiredly. "He's right. But the stink isn't coming from me, it's?like a man who's been in smoke and still smells of it. I have just been performing a rite, one which you Christians would term 'black.' On the other hand I did it?at the peril of my soul?to try to save this city and my co-religionists. I have been practicing necromancy on an agent of those who serve Chernobog."

There was a silence. And then Lopez said: "You are Dottore Marina, of course. A Grimas, indeed. I don't really approve of necromancy, of course. But… there are worse things. What did you discover, Dottore Marina? And did you allow him to confess and be received back into the arms of God?"

Luciano shook his head warily. "Chernobog snatched him back from me. I was nearly drawn in myself. But we know now that this is his conspiracy, and that the nun who is with the Servants?"

"Sister Ursula," said Lopez. "Renowned to be one of the greatest practitioners of Christian magic in the Northeastern Frontier."

Luciano snorted. "She may once have been. But she's nothing more than a vessel for Chernobog now."

"But she is a nun!" protested Diego. "She bears the crucifix!"

Luciano pulled a wry face. "You will find that it is broken. Or bathed in the blood of unbaptized infants, or desecrated in some other terrible way. Or not even there at all. Chernobog's acolytes are masters of illusion. Masters of corruption."

Kat leaned forward. "What I want to know is why Lucrezia Brunelli should want Marco Valdosta dead. And why you, Lopez, stayed at the Casa Brunelli."

Lopez shrugged. "I stayed at the Casa Brunelli when I first arrived because the lodgings were offered to me, by a man well known in Venice and in good repute with the Grand Metropolitan. As for Lucrezia…"

Lopez seemed to shudder a bit, for just a moment, as if a sudden unpleasant memory had come to him. "I'm afraid I was perhaps oblivious to the woman's other vices, since I was so preoccupied with avoiding a particular one." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "As to why she might want Marco Valdosta dead, I cannot think of a reason offhand. Except… She seems to have an insatiable appetite for men. Perhaps he turned her down too brusquely." His lips thinned. "The woman is, ah, quite taken by her own beauty."

"She's in this up to her elegant neck," said Kat savagely. "Deceive yourself if you like, Senor Lopez. I know for a fact she has ordered magical materials from the East. I've delivered them to her. But she's no Strega."

Lopez rubbed his face. "The worst I know of her is that she passed on a message from Capuletti that he would meet me at midnight at the San Trovaso Chapel, instead of in the morning. I had tracked this dealing in that vile black lotos to him, somewhat by accident, while dealing with a Signor Tassole. I confronted the bishop about it and the peril to his immortal soul. He denied it, but wrote to me later to say it was true and that my words had troubled him. He said he wanted to fast and pray for the night but had things on his conscience that he wished to confess. It was the letter of a deeply troubled man."

"I'll bet she was in that up to her neck, too," snarled Kat. "She probably dictated the second letter herself, and then killed him."

Marco and Petro Dorma came in looking for them. Petro seemed to accept Lopez and his companions as perfectly logical people to be there. "Still no sign of the Schiopettieri," said Petro, sitting down. "I've left a message over at Marco's old apartment for them to come here. Bribed several of the locals to wait for them. Still, if they're not here in ten minutes, I must go and rouse the Council of Ten myself. I wonder why they haven't arrived?"

Marco had been drowning in Kat's eyes, paying almost no attention to the conversation. It took a few moments for Petro's words to drum through.

"I wonder why they haven't arrived?"

That, and Aleri's last word?which he and Petro had agreed did sound as if Aleri might have been starting to say "Caesare"?finally registered. Marco's immediate reaction had been: that can't be true. But walking across the darkened campo the thought had come to him… What allegiance did Caesare Aldanto owe to Venice? He was for sale to the highest bidder, after all. He'd always seemed good to Marco… but the way he had cheated Maria…

"Um… Would your Schiopettieri messenger have gone to Caesare Aldanto?"

Petro turned on him, pursing his lips. "It was his name! It was that name that the Chernobog destroyed Aleri rather than let us discover! Oh, Jesus. I've given the city defenses into the hands of a traitor."

"He's a traitor and a murderer all right," grated Lodovico.

Petro took a deep breath. "He could wreak more havoc than all the Montagnard firebombs put together. I can't take the chance, even if I've guessed wrong and he's innocent. What the hell am I going to do?"

Maria stood up. "What you should have done in the first place, Dorma. Call out the Arsenalotti. They haven't joined your stupid militia because they are insulted by it. The defense of the Republic has always been their responsibility."