Oh, yes. She remembered now. One of hers she'd not wanted to leave with that Strega . . . actually non- Strega she thought, remembering that knife. 'It's one of mine.'
'Ha! The day you have hair that color--'
She snatched it from Alessandra's hand. True. In daylight, Katerina could see it was thicker and more curled and it certainly didn't match hers.
So--she must have picked up a hair from the woman herself, not one of her own. In the poor light she hadn't realized.
She shrugged. 'I was snuggling up to Lucrezia Brunelli last night. In my sleep. Now go away before I throw this ewer at you.'
Alessandra turned. 'I'm going to tell Grandpapa if you don't tell me,' she threatened.
Kat reached for the ewer. Alessandra showed a remarkable turn of speed leaving the room, quite out of keeping with her normal languid progress.
Kat lay back again. But like Alessandra, sleep had left the room.
There was a greater risk of being recognized, but she was going to have to start doing more deliveries in daytime.
Chapter 16 ==========
Marco was out on his feet by the time he got to Caesare Aldanto's apartment near the Campo San Polo. Even if he could have found a gondolier at this hour, he had nothing to pay with--all his money and Maria's had gone into trade goods for Sophia. He had stopped at his apartment long enough to drink some watered wine and get into dry if dirty clothing; figuring that a half-hour more or less would make little difference in Aldanto's condition. Once dry and warm, he slipped on a waterproof cloak--the rain had begun again--cast a longing look at his bed, and went out again into the night.
He was ready to drop and staggering like a drunk by the time he got to Aldanto's door. It was a process that was not aided by the fact that he had had to walk a few miles through the winding dark alleys, because he didn't have a single lira for the canal traghetto. He'd had to go the long way over bridges walking, then wet footed along the tile rail to the water-door, before actually reaching it. But there was no other choice for him to make; he was not up to an argument with the guard on the gated street doorway. The stair seemed to go on forever, and the door looked like the portal to Heaven when he finally reached it. He leaned wearily against the lintel and let his fist fall on it.
The door opened the barest crack. 'Who's out there?' said a muffled voice.
' 'S me, Maria, Marco. Lemme in before I fall down.'
The door opened so quickly he almost did fall in. 'Ye get th' stuff?'
'Uh huh. How is he?'
'Sleepin'. Don't seem no worse, but I had to pour a helluva lotta brandy in him t' get 'im t' sleep. Got him upstairs.'
Marco slogged the few steps into the sitting room, let his pack fall to the floor, peeled his cloak over his head and dropped it beside the pack. 'Where's Benito?'
'Sleeping too, upstairs. I figured if I needed him I could wake him up. And it's not a bad idea having him bedded down across the door up there, no? The least, somebody forces it, he c'n scream his lungs out. May kill a boarding party by scarin' 'em to death!'
Marco made his way lead-footed to Aldanto's bedside--you don't try to walk silently around an ex- assassin!--and stood in the dark listening to the sound of his breathing. A little wheezy, a little hot, but not bad. He'd gotten back well in time. There would be no need for a 'real' doctor.
Satisfied, he dragged himself back out. 'Boil me some water, would you, Maria? I got to get this stuff measured right--'
As she trotted back to the kitchen, he sat down on the soft warm carpet beside the pack and began taking out parcels of herbs wrapped in rags, identifying them by smell, eye, and sometimes taste. Sophia had literally given him her entire stock. The artemisia could be tricky to use--too much and you got even more horrible side effects.
'Maria,' he called softly, 'think you can find me a couple of big jars or bowls or something? I need something to put this stuff in besides a rag.'
'Lemme look.' She clattered down the stairs and returned a moment later. 'These do?' She brought him a pair
