demand.'
'Let's just go on down to the Casa Dandelo. Please,' pleaded Benito. 'See if any of Marco's patients are about. Or you could go back--I'll go on. Case the joint.'
So, little Benito did care about someone. He'd talked about a brother once. But obviously this Maria was important to him. It was odd to realize that she'd met this Caesare Aldanto too. He'd been at a rather raffish ridotto she'd found reason to leave early. His partner, with whom he'd been flirting outrageously, was definitely Case Vecchie. A masked blond. Not his Maria--who, to judge by their one meeting--was canaler through and through. 'I'll give you a lift down. Quicker than walking. And safer, too.'
Benito laughed. 'Not many would want to mix it with Caesare, Kat.'
There was admiration in that voice. He needs to be more selective about his role models, thought Kat. But what would a wharf-and-canal brat know of such things? Well, enough to choose one good loyal friend at least, it seemed.
Marco was all agreement about going back down to the Rio della Crea outside the Casa Dandelo. However, Caesare put his foot down firmly. 'You leave the Dandelos alone. Come. We'll go back to the house. Get some food. You two will stay there. I'm going to see the Capuletti.'
'I'll take you,' offered Kat. At least that way she'd be able to find out where he lived. But she still worried about their loyalty to this Caesare. Obviously what he said went.
* * *
'Your loyalty is misplaced,' said Maria's questioner. 'How do you think we knew exactly where to find you? He wanted to be rid of you so he made a deal with us. He's the pig who betrayed you. What do you owe someone like that?'
Maria's head was spinning a little. She'd had a lot of strong unwatered wine on an empty stomach. The blows hadn't helped either. 'Can't tell you what I don't know,' she said sullenly. 'Caesare kept his business private.' He was lying. They weren't going to let her go. No matter what she told them.
Her questioner sat back. 'It's going to be a long night. But you are going to tell me everything you do know.' He leaned forward. His hands shot out and he grabbed her by the throat. The strength in those hands was terrifying. And she'd learned by now that resistance only made him worse. 'Understa--'
Someone started screaming. A terrible, awful scream, even by slave-trader standards. At least her tormenter let go of her.
By the sounds of it, pandemonium was breaking loose. Yelling and panic around the screams.
The slaver who had brought her in here said: 'Ask questions later, signor. She goes back to the cell! There's trouble out there.' He pulled her to her feet and thrust her, stumbling in her hobbling leg-irons, out of the door. It was here that the wine came to her rescue. She tripped and fell against the wall, into a little alcove, intended by some long ago builder for a saint's shrine. Maybe the place was still blessed.
The stampede of panicked prisoners and warders thus missed her. But her warder and her questioner were swept off with the mob. The screaming had turned to a terrible laughter. Looking over her shoulder, she could see her interrogator glaring back at her. He was shouting something, but the words couldn't be made out over the general din. A moment later, the stampeding crowd had taken him out of sight.
Hurriedly, Maria got to her feet and went the other away, moving toward the horrible sound, half-laughter, half-screaming. The sound made her scalp crawl, but that was the only direction in which she might escape. Fortunately, before too long she found an unlocked door and pushed her way in.
She was apparently inside Casa Dandelo's warehouse area. She made sure the door was shut behind her and then plunged into the cluttered, cavernous interior. Maria wasn't moving very fast. Leg-irons didn't help. Neither did being a little drunk and completely lost in a strange building. She wanted down, but the only staircase she found went up. Not having any choice, she climbed the stairs, struggling with the leg-irons.
The staircase led to a heavy, iron-reinforced door--which obviously was normally bolted and locked from the outside. But now it was ajar. Maria stepped through and out of one world and into another. This place was soft with carpets and rich hangings. This was the living quarters of the slavers.
For a moment she hesitated. Then, hearing voices behind her, she stepped into the first room and held the door handle up. It was dark in here.
She heard the bolts being shot. She--and the other slaves--were being safely locked in. Only . . . she was already on this side of the door. It had been panic and drunken luck that had gotten her this far. But one thing she was determined on--she wasn't going back. She'd kill anyone who tried to take her. She felt about the darkened room for a weapon. She decided the shutter-bar would do as well as anything else. She shuffled--so as not to clank her leg-irons--over to the crack of light and lifted the bar. The shutters swung open. Moonlight touched the canal below.
To young Benito the climb down would have been a joke. To her . . . with leg-irons and a bit dizzy with wine, hunger and fear . . . it seemed impossible.
