The Exiled Blade (The Assassini) - By Jon Courtenay Grimwood Page 0,30

it would make him famous in years to come. The man who crossed the Venetian lagoon by carriage in the middle of the worst weather the world had ever known. Assuming the priests and doomsayers weren’t right, and this wasn’t the end of the world. “Do you think it is?” Giulietta asked, settling herself between her aunt and cousin. “The end of the world, I mean?”

Alexa considered the question carefully, but it was Marco who answered it as they were riding beneath Ponte Maggiore, the huge wooden bridge that linked the banks of the Grand Canal, their wheels squealing and grinding on the ice. The bridge was heaving with sightseers and both embankments were thick with crowds. Since no one but the court yet knew of Frederick’s planned arrival, and Giulietta didn’t yet know how her aunt knew about that, the carriage on the Canalasso was obviously enough to bring out the crowds. A fair number cheered, their breath rising like smoke in the freezing air. It had been a long time since anyone in Venice cheered her aunt. Now simply showing herself in public seemed enough.

“They’re scared,” Marco said. “And n-no, this isn’t the end of the w-world. At least not yet and p-probably n-never.” Even Alexa turned to hear this. “Think about it,” he said, with barely a stutter. “Think about what would h-have to change for the w-world to end . . .” He grinned. “You can’t g-guess?”

“I’m not good at guessing games.” Aunt Alexa smiled and Giulietta wondered what was funny.

“Yes, you are,” Marco said. “You just d-don’t like g-giving answers in case they’re w-wrong. Go on, tell me why the world’s not r-ready to end.”

She tried, she really tried. Perhaps it was the drugs, perhaps she simply wasn’t as clever as Marco. That was more likely. Giulietta was coming to realise there were few people as clever as Marco. He was so clever most people thought him a fool. “I give up,” she said.

“One of the kitchen maids is pregnant.”

Alexa went still, and then let the breath from her body when her son shook his head, slightly mockingly. His smile said he’d shown little interest in women so far, surely she didn’t expect him to change now? The disappointment showed on Alexa’s face and Giulietta felt sorry for her.

“How do you know she’s pregnant?”

“I asked.”

This left unanswered what Marco was doing talking to kitchen maids, but since he was duke, and Alonzo was gone, there was little to stop him from wandering where he liked and talking to whom he liked. Besides, the kitchens were warm, so spending time there probably counted as sensible.

“So is Antonio’s wife,” Marco added.

“Who’s Antonio?”

“The young guard on the Council stairs, the one with the fair hair.”

Lady Giulietta had barely registered that there was a new guard, never mind learnt his name, noticed his hair or discovered his wife was pregnant. She imagined there was a purpose to Marco’s words and he’d reach it soon.

“Think about it,” Marco said impatiently. “Are there midwives in heaven? Will some women in heaven be pregnant for eternity? Are there going to be births, and babies and breast-feeding and nappies? We’ll know the world’s going to end when women stop getting pregnant.”

“Who told you that?” Alexa demanded.

“Worked it out for myself.” Marco rewarded himself by raising the leather flap over the side window and sticking his head into the wind like a dog on a barge. The crowds on both banks erupted with excitement and Alexa stopped trying to pull him back inside again.

“He’s changing,” Giulietta risked saying.

“You’ve noticed it too?” The duchess’s gaze sharpened.

Giulietta wondered what Aunt Alexa would do if she discovered her son’s idiocy was a disguise adopted in childhood to protect him from Alonzo, her brother-in-law. Would she blame Uncle Alonzo? Would she decide it was her own fault? Or would she take it out on those who already knew this? Lady Giulietta had no intention of being the one to find out. Only, the question she did ask earned her such a glare she might as well have talked about Marco anyway. All she did was wonder aloud how her aunt knew about Prince Frederick’s arrival.

“Which one is he?” Lady Giulietta demanded.

Aunt Alexa looked at her.

“We’ve never met. Remember?” Giulietta didn’t want to revisit the night her lady-in-waiting was killed by an arrow meant for this boy, the night Marco revealed to her that he wasn’t the idiot prince his subjects thought. She scanned Germans and saw a large,