Julian Stockwin - Mutiny

'No.' Renzi's eyes were stony and fixed on the opposite side of the Grand Canal.

'I'd take it kindly should ye tell me more o' this grand place, m' friend.'

There was no response from Renzi. Then his eyes flicked to Kydd and away again. 'Later,' he muttered.

Kydd brooded. Something was seriously troubling his friend. They should be in no real danger — the French wouldn't dare to interfere in such a noble city so all they had to do was leave. But they would run from Venice and return to Gibraltar without the glory of a daring rescue . . . He tried to bring to mind Emily's face, but it was shadowed, overlain by the incredible events and sights he'd so recently witnessed. His wandering thoughts were interrupted — a piece of paper had been passed to Renzi.

'This is from L'tenant Griffith. We are to report to this warehouse at once.' He led the way towards the waterfront. Just before they emerged on to the quay area they stopped. Renzi stepped forward and banged on the decrepit door of a small warehouse. It opened cautiously and they were pulled inside.

As their eyes grew used to the dark, they saw Dandolo, pacing nervously up and down. There were two others, sitting on the floor, heads down, exhausted. Kydd's nose tickled at the pungent scent of the warehouse, which lay heavy on the air — ginger, spices, tobacco.

'Where iss your officer?' Dandolo pressed. As if in answer, there was a rattling at the door and Griffith stepped in, breathless.

'Sir Alastair?'

'The same,' whispered one of the men on the floor. 'Good God! Sir, you must be — but we have you in time.'

Dandolo intervened. 'We agreed . .. ?'

'Indeed.' Griffith fumbled in his coat, and withdrew a cloth-wrapped cylinder. He handed it to Dandolo. It was broken open expertly and a spill of dull gold coins filled Dandolo's hand. He grinned with satisfaction. 'We are leaving Venice. Do you wish to claim the protection of His Majesty also?'

Dandolo's eyes creased. 'No. I have my plans.'

'Is there a way to inform Mr Amati where we are?' Griffith asked.

Dandolo paused. 'If that iss what you wan'.'

Griffith crossed to Leith. 'Sir, Lieutenant Griffith, third of Bacchante frigate, and three seamen. We are sent to remove you from Venice.'

'Thank you,' Leith said equably, 'and this is my man. He has stayed with me since the other side of the Alps.

What is the situation, if you please?' Before Griffith could answer, Leith added, 'Be aware that the French are advancing with celerity and all the determination of a strong sea tide. There is no time to be lost, sir.'

'Our evacuation is in hand as we speak, sir. Our agent is procuring passage for us by any means, and I expect him back by the hour.'

'Very good. I will not speak of food and drink - these can wait until we are on board. Now, if you please, be so good as to allow us a period of sleep. We are sorely tried.'

'Sir.'

There was nothing to do except wait for Amati in decorous silence. Renzi lay on a sack and closed his eyes, but Kydd could not rest. It was expecting a lot of the agent to delay his own hopes of safety for their sake, however high his expected reward. Perhaps he had already slipped away, leaving them to wait in vain for their passage out.

It seemed hours, but Amati returned. Kydd felt for the little man as he slipped in noiselessly. 'I can no' find a passage,' he said defiantly.

'What?' Griffith jumped to his feet.

'My dear sir, the man returned, did he not?' Leith said wearily. 'Pray tell us, what is the difficulty?' he asked Amati.

'The French, they take Chioggia, Malamocco. Now they ha' control all gate to th' lagoon. No ship can lif. None.' He looked up wearily. 'No one wan' to try.'

Griffith stared at Amati. 'So, we have a problem.'

No one spoke.

Renzi's expression eased to a half-smile, and in the breathless hush he said, 'Sir, you are mindful that we are English —

'Of course I do — you try my patience, Renzi!'

'- and therefore we shall probably be yielded up by the Venetians as a placating move to the French—'

'Enough! Hold your tongue, you impertinent rascal!'

'—who will without doubt understand us to be here as spies, to be executed perhaps?'

At his words there was only a grim silence. It was broken by a dry chuckle from Leith. 'Just so. Nothing less than the truth, I would have thought.' He glanced keenly at Renzi. 'Please go on.'

'Sir. Our logical course is to hide among the people but, sadly, I fear we would make poor Italians. Disguise is impossible — we would be discovered out of hand. I feel we must find another solution.'

'They gotta catch us fust. Let 'em come!' Larsson challenged.

'With no weapons of any kind?' Everyone present knew that an armed party discovered ashore in Venice would have been an intolerable provocation to the Serene Republic. 'No. I fancy we are at hazard to a degree.'

A rattling started at the door. Kydd and Larsson hastily took position at each side, ready for the final act. The door opened, but instead of soldiers there was a small figure, fetchingly arrayed in a Columbine costume, her face hidden by a white mask.

'What in heaven—' spluttered Griffith.

'You fools!' Lucrezia said, dropping her mask and sparing Renzi a withering look. 'Why you still 'ere?'

Leith picked up on the look. 'Your acquaintance, Mr Renzi?'

.Renzi ignored the expression of sudden realisation on Kydd's face. 'Signora Lucrezia Carradini, Sir Alastair Leith.'

She acknowledged him warily, sizing up the littie party. Her eyes rested on Amati. "Oo is zis?' she demanded. Renzi began to explain, but Amati's muttered Italian seemed to satisfy her.

She looked away for a moment. 'To hide all you, zis will be deeficult. It may be long time, the French will no' go away soon.' It seemed natural that she was taking charge of their fate: her strong features and resolute bearing made it so.

The men waited. She looked once towards the door then spoke decisively. 'Here I say I store my cargo, a ver' valuable load, to wait the ship. I send men to guard it, no one interfere wi' you now.'

Her mask went up as she prepared to leave. 'I will fin' you a ship, jus' be patient. And never show yourselfs.' She turned to Renzi. 'You are ze compradore, you worry of its safety, you come back an' check on it many times. But now you mus' come wi' me.'

The spicy rankness of the warehouse bore on the spirit but, sailor-fashion, the men turned to, making the best of it. Hammocks were fashioned, screens were rigged and a 'mess area' squared away as clean as possible. They tried to ignore the sounds from outside, the chains drawn across the door, the unknown muffled words.

Renzi returned at nightfall with food and drink concealed in a chest, as if an addition to the cargo. He did not volunteer conversation, and the others did not press him. He left quickly.

Leith spent his time with the naval officer, leaving the two sailors to themselves. There was not much conversation in Larsson, and Kydd found himself on edge.

After a restless night and a quick dawn visit from Renzi they had no choice other than to resign themselves to another day of tedium. It was well into the morning when Kydd's senses pricked an alert. 'There's somethin' amiss,' he said. 'Listen .. .'

'I hear nothing,' said Griffith irritably.

'That is m' point, sir. There's nothin' going on - everythin's stopped.'

'He's right,' said Leith.

The troubling stillness continued into the afternoon.

'One o' their papist festivals cleared 'em from their duties,' was Griffith's opinion.

Drily, Leith disagreed. 'I rather fancy they'd make more noise, more bells and crowds.'

'Then maybe the French have entered?'

'Without protest, cannon fire? Their soldiers would certainly have let the world know if they had, I can assure you.' Leith stood up and paced about, the first sign of unease Kydd had seen him display. 'I don't like this - at all.'