heard his Zia cry, ‘Dante?’
Confused and heartsore, he stumbled through the calle, crossed so many bridges, darted through so many sottoporteghi, he lost count. This time, when he entered a taverna, he tossed back the drinks offered to him, running out into the night when payment was sought, shouts of abuse all that followed him.
Just before dawn, he started to feel sick. Staggering outside yet another taverna, he tried to work out where he was. He sank back against a building, squatting on the fondamenta, staring out over the water that had turned a dirty grey. Snow began to fall, its soft flakes melting against his hot face.
Then, it happened. Through the veil of white a woman emerged out of a low door on the other side of the canal dressed in a long black cape that fell open as she moved. He noticed her gown. Golden, it sparkled even in the half-light. There was something about her that made him frown then straighten. Something plucked at his heart, pulled him to his feet. His head spun. His mouth was dry.
He crept to the edge of the water, peering through a curtain of snowflakes. She didn’t see him; she was too busy searching the canal. He took in her dress, the mask that hid her eyes but exposed a full, pink mouth and the creamiest complexion. Ah. He leered, squinting to bring her into focus as his mind registered who it was he was seeing. It was the famous Signorina Dorata. He relaxed. Alone, unescorted, a sight for him to enjoy. He quietly snorted, his cooling body warming again as he tried to imagine what she looked like beneath that dress, behind the thick black cape that she now wrapped closely around her as if aware of the way in which his eyes were roaming her body. Signorina Dorata, he thought while his heart continued to pound and a tremble beset his body. He glanced at the casa behind her. Grand indeed. Are you worth it? He was about to call out something crude when she took off her mask.
Dante gasped and almost fell to his knees. The woman swung towards the sound and frowned into the thickening snow. ‘Who’s there?’ Her voice carried over the water that separated them. ‘Show yourself.’
Before she even spoke, he knew. His eyes and his hammering, full heart told him. It was Tallow.
Unable to move or speak, he saw her try to penetrate the obscuring snow, work out who it was that stood there, a dark and silent shadow. He waited for her to sense him, to use those great gifts he knew she possessed. To call him, find him, hold him, know him. All she did was stare. Time froze. What was mere seconds seemed like hours.
Just as he was about to do something risky, something foolish, a sleek black gondola glided between them, breaking the moment and carrying her away from him. Startled into action, he followed the craft, running along the fondamenta, diving across bridges, making sure the gondolier didn’t see him. When it turned down a narrow waterway that he couldn’t reach, he’d waited at the corner. By now, the sun was rising above the snow clouds and its washy light filtered across the city. Standing atop the bridge that joined the two sides of the fondamenta and under which Tallow’s gondola had floated, Dante tried to see which casa her craft entered, but it was hard to tell. He couldn’t be sure.
He rested his arms against the wooden balustrade of the bridge, lowered his burning head onto his hands and sighed deeply. At least he’d found her. His heart, his Bond had told him true. She was here. Lightness filled his being; the dull ache in his head gradually lifted. Then a hand fell on his shoulder.
‘It’s the umber one with the nasty little gargoyles over the water-gate,’ slurred a voice. Dante spun and the hand slid away. A man with half-closed eyes swayed before him. He smelled the fumes of vino on his breath.
‘Scusi?’ said Dante, one hand on the pommel of his sword, the other across his nose.
‘You’re looking for Signorina Dorata, sì? Many do.’ The man pointed a gnarled finger down the canal. ‘She lives there. I see them, day after day, the servants coming and going, bringing gifts, invitations. It never stops.’ He smirked, showing a mouth full of rotten stumps. ‘Good for business.’ It was then Dante noticed the rickety cart he was pushing.