Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

Dorma nodded. "Get me paper and sealing wax," he commanded Rafael. He turned back to Maria. "You obviously know the Arsenal, woman."

"My cousins are caulkers," said Maria stiffly. "My father was a caulker."

"Would they rally to the Republic, if you were to tell them that the defense of the Arsenal and the Doge's palace are in their hands, that they must deal with any rogue militia?"

Maria snorted. "You're so stuck up, Dorma, that you have no idea. Of course they would! And most of the boat-people too. Send Marco to rally them. They saw him with the Doge. And he has a reputation five times as good as yours. They trust him."

Petro stood up. "Good. Because I have work, tonight, for every one of you. You too, Lodovico Montescue."

"I am at the service of the Republic," said the old man stiffly. "But I hope that that work includes arresting Caesare Aldanto."

"That's dangerous work," said Petro mildly. "But I have another task for you. I want to know which of the Trieste-coasters is running messages to Trieste. You have the contacts. Get onto them. If need be, arrest them. I want to know to whom these messages are going. And I want to alter a message."

Kat and Lodovico gaped at Petro. "How?"

Petro smiled sardonically. "You can thank the Doge. I would have closed you down. He said the gray trade would exist anyway, and he would rather it was in the hands of someone we knew and who was loyal to Venice. Someone that we could use if need be. Besides, the Doge felt the Jews and the Strega did a great deal for Venice's wealth and well-being. He thought your trade supported them. Just because he has that childish devotion to clockwork devices doesn't make him a fool, you know."

Kat recovered her wits first. "Captain Della Tomasso. He is carrying messages for the Sots. And if anyone knows of any other secret messages being carried, it'll be him. His ship leaves on the full tide at about two o'clock this morning."

"I'll see to him," said Lodovico. "But who gets to arrest Aldanto? I can provide a charge."

"And I have evidence," said Benito, "in the shape of a bound and locked-up hired murderer lying in our apartment. Giovanni Matteoni."

Marco gaped at his younger brother.

Petro took a deep breath. "I will. My sister is going to be angry." He sighed. "And I must try to do something about Lucrezia, while my messengers rouse the Council."

"I've heard Ricardo Brunelli has sent Lucrezia away to safety," announced Lopez.

"Ah. Then, with you, Lopez, and the Doge's Swiss Guards, and what other force I can muster, we will go to the Imperial embassy and confront the Knights."

He turned on Luciano. "The attack is at least in part magical. The Strega must contest that. Can you damp fires?"

"Rafael will go to see that that is in hand. I must go to the Marciana library. There is a guardian… if I can arouse it, it will do more than any fire-damping."

"Very well. Marco. You will go with this lady," Petro pointed to Maria. "I will give you a signed order for Admiral Marchese. Ring the Marangona. Rouse the Arsenalotti. Send any men who can be spared to Piazza San Marco. And I want squads of men to proceed to as many of these addresses as they can. Take no chances. Douse any gunpowder they find, or toss it into the canal. And then proceed to rouse any of your canaler friends you can find. Send them to San Marco."

Marco looked alarmed. But nodded.

"Benito. Your task is the Casa Dandelo."

Benito smiled savagely. "Yes. Although I'll arrest Caesare first for you if you like."

Marco gaped at his brother again.

Petro looked calculatingly at him. "No. I'll do that. You deal with the Casa Dandelo. Neutralize it. Destroy it." He sighed. "I go beyond my authority here. To act against foreigners is easy, but a Venetian Casa… Even to order a search will take time and manpower I don't have."

"The place is like a fort," mused Benito, considering the problem. In that moment, he seemed much older than he was.

"I know. Do it."

Benito grinned. "Si. How much gold do you all have? I'm going to need a fair bit. And Maria?you going to come and help when you've finished talking to the Arsenalotti? I'll need a couple of your cousins. Good honest boatmen. I'll see you at Giaccomo's. We're going into the barrel delivery business. And the Signori di Notte and the Schiopettieri are turning a blind eye."

Maria nodded. "Come and choose them."

"Si. I'll need some gunpowder from the Arsenal anyway."

Petro looked rather warily at the imp he'd just set loose. But he dug into his pockets.

"I guess that leaves me," said Kat. "I'd better go with my grandfather to Della Tomasso."

Petro took a deep breath. "No. Lodovico Montescue is old enough not to need his hand held. You go with Marco. We may all be dead soon. You may as well?" He waved a little feebly. "Be together."

Lodovico looked at Marco Valdosta. Shrugged. "My house is in ruins anyway. Be happy at least, cara mia."

Marco faced a crowd, a sea of faces. The torches made the planes of the faces stand out. Showed the lines of hard work and poor food, particularly in the clustered caulkers. Hard times and hard faces. Mouths set in a grim line. His stomach turned itself inside out. He looked at Maria. There was the same grimness, the same determination in that square jaw, as there was on the faces in the crowd. And Maria said that he, not she, must tell the Arsenalotti what Petro had said.

He looked at Kat. She reached out and squeezed his hand, and he realized just how right Petro had been. He still did need someone to hold his hand. "Introduce me," he said to Maria.

She stood up onto the marble step. "Arsenalotti!"

There were a few cheers. A number of smiles. A good many waves. Everyone here knew Maria Garavelli. Honest as the day was long, even if she had a temper on her that you could boil a kettle on. "What are you doing up there, Maria?"

"This is Marco Valdosta. He needs to talk to you. He's Case Vecchie, but he has doctored some of your kids. He's a good man and he's got a message for you from the Council of Ten."

Marco got up onto the step. "Thank you, Maria."

There were a few people clapping. He heard his name repeated. He cleared his throat and looked at Kat. She smiled.

"Who has always defended the Doge, the piazza? On whom has the last defense of Venice always rested?" His voice cut through the silence.

No one answered. Then someone in the back of the crowd said "Not Petro Dorma's damned 'militia,' Valdosta!"

"Right," said Marco. "Not the militia. The Arsenalotti. That is the way it has always been. And that is the way it must stay."

The crowd cheered.

Marco knew in his bones that he was doing the right thing. He had them. He held up a parchment. "Dorma made a mistake. He's man enough to admit that. I, Marco Valdosta, have his writ here. The Council calls the Arsenalotti to the Defense of the Republic." A strange power infused his voice. "In the name of the Winged Lion of Saint Mark, you are called to Arms! Will you answer?"

The assent itself was a roar. And to Marco's shock, he realized that they were chanting "VAL?DOS-TA! VAL?DOS-TA!"

He stilled them with a gesture. "This is my brother, Benito. He's the one who is good at organizing and plans. He'll tell you what the Council wants."

Benito, wide-eyed, was pushed to his feet to face the cheering crowd. "I'll get even with you for this, Marco," he said quietly.

"Face it, Benito," said Marco. "You tell people what to do far better than I do."

And Benito went on to prove him dead right.

Erik stared at the desecrated Lady chapel. Grim. Silent. Pellmann had not run away after all, as his remains testified. But it was the bells that were the most offensive. Made from infant skulls, with a small thighbone for a clapper. The cross was broken. The walls were scrawled with strange and unpleasant symbols… scrawled in what could only be blood and excrement. Rusty stains marred the once white altar cloth. Pieces of clothing… A cotte. A knitted cap. A richly embroidered nightshirt… lay on the floor.