tossed them into the purse Katina had given him.
He threw the empty tin into the bar. It struck Vincenzo’s lifeless legs. With a lump of sadness in his throat, Baroque sneaked out the back door, leaving it open, and made his way to the main canal.
In a dark corner, tied loosely to a paline near a set of disused water-stairs, bobbed an old gondola. Baroque quickly checked that no-one was about before easing back the cover, leaping into the craft and untying it. He was about to guide it into the current when he saw another gondola approaching.
Cursing, he quickly retied his craft and lowered himself into the bottom. Peering over the edge, he tried to make out who approached.
Standing in the centre of the gondola, his dark cape billowing behind him like a black sail, was the Cardinale Rafaelo Martino.
Baroque clutched his chest as panic seized his body. Taking deep breaths, he pulled the rotting cover he had partly peeled back over his head and sank to the bottom of his boat, all the time praying he hadn’t been seen.
‘DO YOU SENSE ANYTHING, your grace?’
Cardinale Martino, the recently appointed leader of the Church in Serenissima, broke away from his close scrutiny of the bridge and stared at Captain Orlando Sansono. The flickering light of the lamps made the handsome Cardinale resemble a reptile, swathed as he was in a cloak, his skin stretched across impossibly high cheekbones and his hazel eyes flashing beneath his red cap.
‘Indeed, I do,’ said the Cardinale. He rose smoothly from the cobbles, flicking the servants who held the lanterns aloft out of the way. He joined the Captain by the side of the bridge. They both leant against the stone parapet and gazed across the inky waters. The distance separating the men was minimal – words carried across water and Captain Sansono knew that whatever the Cardinale had to say would be for his ears alone.
He waited patiently for the Cardinale to speak, studying the nobile out of the corner of his eye. Captain Sansono could sense the tension in his superior’s body.
The only sound was the creak of the lanterns behind them and the lapping of the waters against the fondamenta and the old gondola below. Behind them, Sansono’s men, the Signori di Notte, the Lords of the Night or secret police, blended into what to them was their natural element. Sansono knew their uncanny silence belied a fearsome preparedness. The Cardinale was not the only person longing to prove his worth, eager to hunt and destroy the Estrattore – the latest and greatest threat to the faith, to Serenissima.
Finally, Cardinale Martino struck the stone railing with his fist and gave a victorious smile. ‘You did well to bring me here.’ His voice was soft, melodic. ‘An Estrattore has walked this bridge, has used his Godforsaken powers right here, this very day. Of that I am in no doubt.’
The Cardinale inhaled deeply, relishing the night air, shutting his eyes in appreciation, ignoring the taint of putrescence that seemed to coat everything. He exhaled slowly and, opening his eyes, gave a soft laugh. ‘Just when there were those in the Church, bishops here in Serenissima, who were insisting they were extinct, an Estrattore rears his heretical little head – just high enough for it to be lopped. And in my lifetime.’ He chuckled. ‘Thank God the Great Patriarch understood that it was God’s will I come here.’ He lifted the heavy crucifix he wore around his neck and kissed it passionately, holding it tightly for a moment before releasing it to fall against his chest. ‘It’s been a long time, such a long, long time.’ He turned to face the captain. ‘So, Sansono, tell me again what you know. What happened here this afternoon. I can see some blood – the rain has washed away a great deal – but I understand it’s both human and animal. Explain to me again; do not leave out any details, no matter how insignificant they may seem to you.’
The captain spoke quickly and concisely. The Cardinale listened, his head tilted slightly, his body still. ‘There was a chase. From the Chandlers Quartiere. The popolani pursued the one called Tallow. It all ended on this bridge when a Bond Rider appeared. A chandler, Dante Macelleria, was killed. So was a dog that he brought with him but which, I am told, belonged to Tallow. There was another man involved as well. A candlemaker named Pillar Pelleta. It’s said,