‘That’s not what I mean and you know it.’ Giaconda studied her father in the mirror. ‘Papa, don’t pretend you do not understand. She’s becoming dangerous. I feel we’re losing her somehow. Oh yes, she makes the candles, she visits who we tell her, says what she’s meant to say, acts appropriately at all times, but I don’t know. There’s something happening …’ Her voice trailed and she stared into the distance, her forehead drawn.
Ezzelino waited.
‘And now there’s this whole plan of Waterford’s to consider. Do we tell him the truth, Papa?’ Through the mirror Giaconda and Ezzelino exchanged a look.
‘The truth? Of course not – don’t be silly. Not yet, anyhow,’ said Ezzelino. ‘We wait for him to tell us what he knows and then we strike a bargain. Not before then. And we do not admit to a thing. Capisce?’
‘Capisco, Papa. I am relieved to hear you say that. Nonetheless, what he’s offered is very interesting, is it not? If all else fails, his plan could work. It certainly gives us options.’
‘Sì, it does. It would mean we would have the support of possibly the greatest ally Serenissima has ever known – and at a time when we need her most.’
Giaconda put down the brush and looked at her father over her shoulder. ‘Do you mean “we” as in the Maleovellis or Serenissima?’
Ezzelino regarded her for a long moment.
‘I mean both.’
Satisfied, she turned back to the mirror and began to plait her hair.
‘As for Tarlo, do not worry, Gia. We still have one more card to play with her and, when we do, she’ll come to heel like a puppy, no matter how independent or inventive she has become. Of that I am certain.’
Giaconda rose and kissed her father lightly on the forehead. ‘You once told me that only those with nothing to lose are dangerous.’
‘Essato. Tarlo doesn’t know it yet, but she stands to lose something very dear to her if she doesn’t behave. Very dear to her indeed.’
They both stared at each other for a moment then, with a joy that comes of mutual admiration and assurance, burst out laughing.
‘HE’S OBSESSED WITH HER, I tell you,’ hissed Santo, staring at Stefano though bloodshot eyes. ‘Follows her everywhere. One minute he’s on Nobiles’ Rise, the next he’s darting over to the traders district, or into the Chandlers Quartiere, wherever the harlot does her business. But I’ve not seen anything of the Estrattore. He’s forgotten about her, if you ask me.’ He reached for his wooden mug.
Stefano’s hand shot out and he grabbed Santo’s, preventing him from having his drink. ‘You’ve had enough vino.’ He lifted the mug out of reach, and studied his partner. Instead of searching for the Estrattore, or keeping an eye on Dante, Santo had been spending his waking hours in this small taverna in the Stonemasons Quartiere, drinking the Elders’ soldi. He was a mess. Everything Stefano feared had eventuated; all Santo’s promises, had been broken.
‘What’d you do tha’ for?’ Santo scratched his head, his arm flopping onto the table with a bang.
‘Look at you!’ snapped Stefano. ‘I haven’t heard from you in months and at great risk to myself, my life-force, I cross.’ He leant over. ‘I come here,’ he said, jabbing the table fiercely. ‘And what do I find? You, drunk and babbling about a courtesan. Look at the state of you. When was the last time you had a wash? You stink, Santo, worse than horse shit.’
Santo screwed up his face then his eyes sidled towards the mug Stefano had pushed out of reach. ‘Give me a drink and I’ll tell you.’ He began to laugh, looking around to see if any of the other patrons shared his joke, but they were too busy with their own conversations and paid no attention to the drunk in the corner, the man they’d become used to seeing day after day, propped against the wall.
Stefano clicked his tongue in disgust. He looked at Santo, the red eyes, the dirty hair and nails. His shirt was filthy, stained with dregs of vino and food, the collar and wrists soiled with sweat. He tried to control the anger he felt building inside him. Left alone, Santo had gone back to his old ways, the ways he’d always told Stefano he’d come into the Limen to escape.
Stefano drank the last of what was left in Santo’s mug and tried to think. If what Santo said was true, it didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t understand what