to this moment. Releasing Baroque was nothing compared to what she was about to do. Was she sure? Was it the right thing?
Just as she knew freeing the spy was correct, she knew that her next action was imperative. Everything she did, she did for the Bond Riders – and for Tallow.
Plunging back into the forest, Katina ducked and weaved between the trees, her eyes accustomed to the dimness but her pace slowing as exhaustion took hold of her. She’d been lying to Debora and Alessandro when she said the blood wasn’t hers. Some of it was, and the loss was affecting her now. She pulled at her gloves. The blood was drying, making the leather stick to her skin.
A gentle snickering interrupted her thoughts. Picking up her pace, she reached her horse in a few strides. ‘Hello, boy. You miss me?’ She ran her hands along Birrichino’s smooth neck, patting his flanks, relieved to see the sweat she’d raised with their earlier dash out of Serenissima had all but disappeared.
‘Good boy.’ His life-force felt strong, despite today’s exertions. She hoped it was enough to get them through the Limen. She hoped she could summon the strength to breach it once more.
She quickly checked the huge bundle she’d strapped to Birrichino’s saddle. The reason she was late. The reason she’d returned to Serenissima alone.
Just as her intuition had told her to release Baroque Scarpoli unharmed, so too it had told her to retrieve what should not be left behind.
First tightening the straps that held the roll in place, she undid Birrichino’s tether and hooked it across the pommel before throwing herself into the saddle.
‘You ready, boy?’ she asked. ‘Time to go home.’ She urged him forward, wondering what price she would pay for her decisions today.
Cold, or a prescient awareness, caused a shudder to wrack her body. She gripped Birrichino more tightly, his warmth offering reassurance. Still, as she passed through the trees, she sent fervent prayers to the gods, for if they did not stand by her now, then nothing on Vista Mare or in the Limen could.
‘HEY, VINCENZO! IT’S BEEN A WHILE, amico mio, has it not?’
Vincenzo di Torello, owner of the taverna in the main campo of the Candlemakers Quartiere in the canal-city of Serenissima, spun round at the sound of the voice. His eyes widened and the rag he was using to polish the table slipped from his fingers.
‘Signor Barbacan, Barold!’ he exclaimed. ‘Non è possible! I don’t believe it.’
Baroque Scarpoli closed the door behind him, ducking his head to hide the grin the use of his nom de plume caused. His eyes scanned the bar, checking it really was empty. Waiting over the other side of the campo until he was sure everyone had left, he’d stuck to the shadows before coming to the entrance. He didn’t want to be seen returning to the taverna that had been his home for many weeks. The place that held his most important possessions. The door clicked and he turned and smiled at Vincenzo, who was manoeuvring his girth through the tables, holding out his arms in greeting. They embraced warmly.
‘Sì. It’s been too long,’ said Baroque as Vincenzo reached behind him and checked the door was locked. Satisifed, he slapped Baroque on the back and beckoned him towards the bar. ‘How are you?’ he asked over his shoulder.
Falling back into his alter identity of a businessman searching for a shop to buy, Baroque slumped, stuck out his stomach and smoothed back his hair. The foreign accent was easy to maintain – he’d spent a lot of time in Jinoa. He slid onto a stool and leant on the counter, grateful that, while the fire still threw out some heat, only a few candles were burning. Shadows were an unexpected boon tonight – for all sorts of reasons.
‘Better than you, by the looks of it.’ Vincenzo tried to examine his face, but gave up and went behind the bar and poured Baroque a mug of vino. He slid it in front of him. ‘Della casa,’ he said. ‘On the house. Drink.’ He nodded towards it.
‘Grazie,’ said Baroque. He took a deep swig, swallowed noisily and sighed in pleasure.
‘What happened to you, amico mio? Are you injured?’
Baroque shrugged. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks. Common thugs, that’s all. After my purse. They left me unconscious in a calle. It took me till today to remember who I was.’ Baroque took another drink. ‘Now all I want to do