Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

Besides, if Marco was really in trouble, Benito could likely help him better than some Milan-born foreigner or even a canaler like Maria could; he knew the town, and knew most of the dark ways. And there was always Valentina and Claudia to call on if he had to.

They were out on the balcony now, Benito playing docile, and Aldanto loosed his grip just enough.

Benito whipped around, putting all his weight behind a wicked blow with his elbow, and he'd aimed a bit lower than Aldanto's midsection?aimed at something more personal.

Hit it, too; dead on target.

Caesare was wide-open and completely taken by surprise.

He doubled over with a painful wheeze, and loosened his grip on Benito's arm.

Benito lit out like a scalded cat, heading around the balcony and straight for the bridge.

Aldanto started yelling?recovering faster than Benito had figured he would, and began running after him. But Benito had gotten a good twenty feet worth of a head start, and that was all he needed. He made the bridge supports and jumped for the crossbeams, swarming up into the scaffolding like one of Venice's feral cats. From there he made it to the rooftops and, as he knew from long experience, there was no way an adult was going to be able to follow him up there?not unless the adult was another roof-walking thief like Valentina.

It was cold up there, and doubly dangerous with the wind so strong and unexpected patches of wet everywhere, and smoke blowing into his face when he least expected it. Benito didn't stop for breath, though, not until he'd gotten halfway across Castello. Then he slumped in a warm spot between two chimneys for a bit of a rest and a bit of a think.

Marco was in trouble?that much was certain. Either with Aldanto or on his own. And Benito was going to have to see what he could do about it?if he could find out what the trouble was.

The last person Marco had talked to?that he knew of?was Rafael de Tomaso. Benito reckoned he'd better pay that fellow a little visit.

So best to lie low for a bit, then get across the Grand Canal to Dorsoduro. He'd been to Rafael's room once; and Benito figured he knew of a way in that wasn't by the door.

Katerina looked out of the high window of one of towers of Casa Montescue at the gathering dusk. It was a slaty, gray evening. The lagoon was gray too, chopped and flecked with white. It was going to be bitter out there tonight. Still, she had no choice.

Well… she could become a courtesan. Francesca had managed to make that?occupation?seem even less attractive than Kat had thought possible. And she hadn't thought it was in the least bit attractive to begin with.

Still?at least she'd get to spend miserable evenings indoors. And it wasn't as if she'd ever met any one man she felt she'd like to be tied to. But it would kill her grandfather. Kat Montescue was a realist, though: one day she might just have no choices. And at least a courtesan had some choices and more independence than most wives could dream of. And unlike many Case Vecchie, she did have one of the essential requirements for being a courtesan and not just a whore. She was literate. Still, the idea of multiple lovers… many of them old and corpulent, was repugnant, to say the least. Francesca could put a bold face on it, but the idea still frightened Kat. When she'd been a girl, she'd always thought that she'd marry a young and handsome man. The trouble was, in Venice, most of the young and handsome Case Vecchie were off in various trading colonies of the Venetian Republic. Of course some of the older men?like Lord Calenti?were still attractive, at least in their own opinion.

She pulled a wry face. This was all foolishness! She might have the education and literacy, but that was hardly sufficient. She didn't have the lush beauty of someone like Francesca; not even close. So… it would be out in the dark on a nasty night again, and there was an end to it.

Lodovico came in, rubbing his hands and looking worried. "What did you think of Lord Calenti's visit, cara mia?"

Kat bit her lip. She could hardly tell her grandfather that she thought the man had too high an opinion of himself, and that she'd always thought there was something vaguely slimy about Calenti. Although she allowed that, other than being so obviously vain, he had been pleasant enough. A surprising visitor, but pleasant withal. Alessandra had been in an absolute fury when she'd discovered that one of Venice's most eligible bachelors had come on a private call on Milord Montescue?and not one involving her.

"I don't understand why he came, Grandpapa." Calenti had been perfunctorily polite to Kat, nothing more. So he certainly hadn't come to see about her.

Or had he?

Kat hadn't considered that possibility, she suddenly realized. Casa Calenti had plenty of money, but they were not really Case Vecchie. For them, a dowry would not be as important as the social advancement involved in marrying a girl from what was still, despite their current misfortune, one of Venice's handful of most prestigious families.

Lodovico pulled a face. "I don't know how to tell you this…"

Kat waited, blood draining to the pit of her stomach.

Lodovico continued. "He wanted a small parcel of documents transported to Constantinople."

Kat, her hasty assumptions knocked asunder, could only manage to shake her head. "Him?"

Lodovico Montescue nodded. "He offered me a great deal of money for it."

Kat sighed. "I wish you hadn't, Grandpapa."

Her grandfather hugged her, smiling. "Katerina. I didn't accept it. In fact, I rather indignantly refused. Does the man think me a fool? It's either spying, treason, or a trap."

Kat's eyes narrowed. "A trap."

Lodovico chuckled. "The Council of Ten will assume we are clean as driven snow." He scowled fiercely. "And I told him not to offer my granddaughter his slip-slop compliments either."

Katerina went down to her room to change into her warmest clothes in a far more cheerful frame of mind. Yes. Lord Calenti would be just the man to set such a trap.

The cheerfulness lasted until she was out on the dark water, battling the wind and the waves. Deliveries, she'd shifted to the daytime. But collections from Captain Della Tomasso were always at night, always before moonrise, and always off Guidecca. Della Tomasso was definitely a fence, definitely a messenger for spies, a smuggler… and their lifeline. He was a careful, taciturn man. And they owned his ship.

She hit a wave amidships, and it splashed and slopped over the gunwale. It was a good idea keeping the relationship between the illegal cargoes that Captain Della Tomasso carried and the Casa Montescue as far apart as possible. The old devil would load a legal cargo of salt, beeswax, and hides at the Montescue warehouse not seventy-five yards from Kat's bedroom tomorrow morning. Of course his coaster would be clean as a whistle while the Capi di Contrada were about at the warehouse. Of course they couldn't chance passing incriminating parcels to-and-fro there. But Kat wished to hell?by her half-frozen hands?that she could meet him somewhere closer to the Casa.

Old habits woke Marco with the first hint of dawn?he'd been so exhausted otherwise that he'd have managed to sleep through to the afternoon. He'd spent a good part of the night with his teeth chattering hard enough to splinter, until exhaustion put him to sleep for another hour or so. He stuck his head out from under the hideout, still shivering, and peered around in the gray light. No fog this morning, though the sky was going to be overcast. He pulled his head back in, and checked his clothes where he'd put them under his bottom blanket. As he'd hoped, they were reasonably dry, water driven out by the heat of his body. He beat the worst of the dried mud out of them, and pulled them on, wrapped a blanket around himself, pulled his cotte on over it all, and crawled back out into the day.