For the first time in nearly two months, the caique Margerita had met a galliot that had made it through the blockade. Kat had a parcel from Ascalon to collect. Delivery to run. She had it easier than the galliot captain, however. He would turn in a fat profit, true--but he was also having to face an interview with the Council of Ten tonight . . . and the address to the Grand Council tomorrow. All Venice wanted to know what was happening. It was a hard summer for trade for most people.
Captain Della Tomasso had news that he couldn't pass on to most folk. And for once he was dying to talk. 'The Dalmatian pirates, a fleet from Ancona, and Genoan fleet are in the gulf. No sign of the galleys from the Golden Horn or the western fleet.'
Three years ago, Papa had parted with the western fleet at Bruges. Even hearing it mentioned brought a pang to Kat. 'The city's not safe at night. Keep your crew aboard if you can. There was another magical murder yesterday and the factions are blaming each other. There'll be knife-fights tonight.'
Della Tomasso was a bad man, who ran a smelly evil-crewed little ship. Kat met him on dark nights off Guidecca. He never showed the slightest concern for anything except money. She realized he was tense too, with the first inquiry he'd ever made--in two years of collections. 'You going to be all right, Kat?'
'Yeah. I'll be fine,' she said. 'I'll stay on the lagoon, not go through town, and deliver in the early morning. When do you sail?'
'I'm running some messages. As soon as they arrive . . .' He snorted. 'For the churchmen, would you believe it?'
Kat chuckled. 'Doubtless the Metropolitan came to you personally.'
'Nah. This German bunch. There's a lot more of them sitting in Trieste.' Della Tomasso looked vaguely alarmed. 'I never said that.'
'Who am I going to tell, Captain?' asked Kat dryly. 'Anyway, the wind's getting up. I'd better go.'
Della Tomasso nodded. 'Stiff land breeze coming. Maybe a storm, later.'
The row up the Guidecca canal against the wind was a stiff one. After a while, Kat decided that even the risks of rowing quietly through town were worth it. It would cut her distance in half and avoid rowing against the wind. There was definitely a storm coming.
* * *
Benito walked out of Barducci's. The place had been thin on company, and full of uneasy knots of people. Even the music that Valentina and Claudia chose tonight had been careful. Things were just too explosive in town. Rumors were circulating that a small galliot had arrived from down-gulf, bringing news of the blockading fleets. Rumor had everyone from the King of Sicily to the Ilkhan intervening.
'We should side with Milan.' 'We must call on Rome.' 'A pact with Emeric of Hungary.' Ha. According to what Benito had been able to pick up at Casa Dorma, the Case Vecchie were in the same confused state. And the Doge wasn't doing a coherent job of leading.
Benito shimmied up an ornamental pillar, grabbed a cornice and headed for the rooftops. The streets weren't safe tonight; and why take a gondola, when he was short of exercise and liked the view from up here anyway? Mind you, it wouldn't be pleasant up here for too long. The wind was starting to blow.
He came down to canal level to cross a bridge over the Rio di Muti when he noticed a familiar gondola tied up there. A lousy mooring--a rotten old pole, half under the bridge shadows.
Maria? What was she doing here? This was way off her usual routes.
There was something in the bottom of the boat. Very cautiously, Benito pulled the mooring. The something in the bottom of the boat sat up, a bright sliver of steel in her hand.
'Maria Garavelli?' said Benito incredulously. 'What are you doing here?'
''Nito? Are . . . are you looking for me?' There was a curious pitiful hopefulness in her voice.
'No . . . I was just going past.' Benito took a liberty. He climbed into Maria's boat. You didn't do that without permission. Benito knew then that something was seriously wrong. She didn't react. 'What's up? What are you doing here, Maria?'
Scudding clouds cleared the moon-crescent, shining down on Maria's face. Those were tear tracks. Benito ignored the knife still in her hand, moved uneasily down the rocking boat and hugged her. She clung to him. This wasn't like Maria. He'd never seen her like this. She was always so tough. Even when she'd gotten away from the Dandelos . . .
'What are you doing out here, Maria?' he asked for the third time, gently.
