swiftness, reached out and grabbed his wrist.
‘I heard that this boy, this Estrattore, wasn’t evil at all. On the contrary, he brought happiness and health in his wake. He lived among us, not in some trumped-up casa they pretend is a religious house with servants and comforts of which we can only dream, or a treasure-filled church – he lived like us as well. Just like the Estrattore of old. Despite what the Church and its padres preach, what they’ll have us believe …’
‘He saved dozens from the Morto Assiderato,’ agreed Cucito. They all crossed themselves. Baroque forced his hands to stay still. Wouldn’t do to let them know he was eavesdropping. ‘How can that be evil?’
‘It isn’t.’ The taverna owner tried to wrestle from Pugliesi’s grip, but the old man wouldn’t let him go. ‘But that doesn’t mean this type of talk isn’t dangerous.’
‘I heard there are those prepared to die rather than let the Cardinale get his hands on the Estrattore. That there are some –’ he dropped his voice even lower; Baroque strained to hear ‘– that are even calling for the old ways to come back.’
‘Enough!’ said Signor Vestire, finally twisting his arm free. ‘Pugliesi, you’re as stupid as you are blind. I will not have this talk in here, do you understand?’
‘Stupid? Do you really think so? Or am I merely saying what everyone else is thinking? Allora, in which case, we’re all stupid, hey?’ Signor Vestire hovered for a moment before throwing his hands up in the air and, with an exclamation of annoyance, strode to the bar. ‘What can I do for you, Signori?’ he asked the new patrons with false bonhomie and began pouring drinks from a large bladder.
Pugliesi chuckled. It was a dark sound. ‘Interesting days, mi amici,’ he muttered. ‘Interesting days.’
‘What about the candlemaker? Has anyone heard what happened to him?’ asked Cucito. ‘The one who kept the boy. The master who disguised him as an apprentice. I imagine he’ll be in for some trouble.’
‘They say he’s disappeared off the face of Vista Mare,’ said another old man with a hunchback. He was familiar to Baroque. Another tailor who paid physically for his trade. ‘He’s missing. No-one has seen him since the boy jumped in the canal. He’s gone from his casa –’
‘– and straight into the torture chamber of the Cardinale,’ chuckled Pugliesi.
‘Sì, sì,’ agreed the men. ‘Or the Doge’s dungeons.’
‘All the same isn’t it?’ Signor Cucito shook his head sorrowfully.
‘He’ll not see the light of day again until it’s his last one on Vista Mare.’
Their conversation then turned to the resumption of trade now that the quarantine on the city had been lifted. Baroque ceased to listen and lost himself in his own thoughts.
What these men were muttering, heresy by any other name, was echoed in other parts of the Dorsoduro and Barnabotti sestieri. Ever since he’d left the Maleovellis, he’d heard similar sentiments. Treasonous sentiments. Whispered on the calles, in the shops, around campi and in homes. Not even the threat of the Cardinale and the Signori di Notte had cowed the popolani. Interesting times indeed.
This time Baroque did drink from his goblet, finishing what had been sitting there for a couple of hours. He’d done what he’d set out to do and could return to the Maleovellis triumphant. He had a great deal to share with his new employers and some that he would keep to himself.
But where was Katina? She’d released him and he was keeping his end of the bargain by waiting for her. Or was he? He still hadn’t made up his mind whether to tell her about the Estrattore. He wanted to sound Katina out, find out more about what the Bond Riders were up to, how desperate their need. Desperate people were prepared to pay a great deal more, as he’d discovered with the Maleovellis.
No. Best to keep information about Tallow to himself and protect the Maleovellis as well. At least until he figured out how he could best profit from everything. Anyhow, he reassured himself, his conscience was clear. He’d been told Tallow was a girl only after he’d promised to work for the Bond Riders. As far as he was concerned, he was under no obligation to report to Katina about anything other than a boy named Tallow. That he knew about an Estrattore named Tarlo – well, he’d have to think more deeply about when and to whom he revealed that – if at all.
Teaching the Estrattore was