stop their combined might, and that’s before we consider the cursed Ottomans.’
Baroque chewed his lip. He was right.
‘But Beolin says that once we hand over Tarlo, all hostilities will cease.’
‘You really believe that, cara?’
‘I …’ Baroque could imagine her lovely face creased in thought. ‘I don’t know. No,’ she sighed. ‘It would not make sense. Not once the fury of our enemies is unleashed upon us. Why let us have the Dogeship when they can watch others destroy us and then take it for themselves?’
‘Esatto. With war, there is everything to gain – for the victors.’ Signor Maleovelli’s voice sounded distant, strained. ‘No, we cannot let these people take Tarlo. If they do, we win nothing. But for now we will let them believe they can have her.’
‘What do you intend to do?’
‘Once she has killed the Doge and I am in power, it will be time for Tarlo Maleovelli, the great Signorina Dorata, to disappear.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning she will meet an unfortunate end, won’t she, Jacopo?’
‘Sì, zio. Very unfortunate,’ agreed Jacopo.
‘Once Tarlo is out of the way, then we will expose Farrowfare for the traitor she is.’
Baroque’s breath caught in his chest. He reeled and rested his head against the wall, his hand over his heart. He could hear them talking, going over their plans, what they would say, how they would manage Waterford and Farrowfare, but he no longer listened. Instead he thought about Tallow and the great betrayal the Maleovellis intended.
He had to do something. He had to help her. But how?
He needed to think, and fast. An image of Katina flew into his mind. She had asked him to search for Tallow and he had broken his part of the bargain, justifying it by telling himself that Tallow no longer existed. Well, perhaps it was time to honour what he said he’d do. The Bond Rider had saved his life. If anyone could help, it would be her. Putting his thoughts in order, he planned his next course of action. He would go to his room, get some money, his cloak and his shoes and go to the Tailors Quartiere. This time, he would demand to see Katina and not leave until someone told him where she was, how he could contact her.
It was the least he could do. After all, he was responsible for what was happening to Tallow as well and, while he had been coerced and manipulated, he’d been prepared to sacrifice the Estrattore’s life so as to have his returned. But that hadn’t happened either. Like the promises they’d made to Tallow, the colleganza they’d signed, the Maleovellis betrayed everyone and everything they came into contact with. No more. This would stop now. He would play no further part in their machinations.
He began to crawl away from the door, backwards, when the soles of his feet connected with something. He twisted his head to look over his shoulder and found himself staring into a pair of huge dark eyes. It was Hafeza.
She bent down and pressed her fingers against his lips. With a nervous smile, she beckoned for him to follow. Rising to his feet as smoothly as he could, he tiptoed after her, all the time wondering where this sudden recklessness would lead him.
‘I NEED TO SEE HER, I TELL YOU,’ demanded Baroque, his face red, his voice rising.
Signor Zano Vestire ignored the urgency in Baroque’s tone and continued to wipe down the counter. ‘I tell you, Signor Scarpoli,’ he said firmly, ‘she’s not here. Repeating myself will not make her materialise. So hound me all you want, but Signorina Katina left here months ago.’
‘But when she left here, she went somewhere,’ insisted Baroque. ‘I need to know where. I need to speak with her. If it’s the Limen, then I need to know how to get a message to her. Signor, it is very important that I do this.’
He glanced over his shoulder, but only a couple of old men, sad regulars, occupied seats. It was still early. ‘I have even taken the risk of giving you my real name. Katina knows me. Please, you must help me. I must know where she is or how to contact her. A long time ago she told me that, if ever I needed to, you would know how.’
Signor Vestire stopped mid-swipe. He sighed and for the first time really looked at the man behind the cloak. Dishevelled and out of breath, Baroque, he could tell, was also anxious. Unlike the last time this man