“Speaking of the job I have to do in Venice, Frank, the day after tomorrow there’s a formal reception for us at the Palazzo Ducale. I was going to suggest to your father that you and your brothers come along. Would you be interested in that? I don’t want to drag you along for something you don’t want to go to, but you might find it interesting, and certainly educational, to see high Venetian society in action. The palazzo is a sight to see, as well, and going to an event like this is about the only way you’ll see it, since they don’t do public tours yet.”
Suddenly Frank was presented with something he understood with perfect clarity. Before his eyes flashed a clear and perfect vision of him escorting Giovanna into a roomful of nobility, of her turning to him and expressing her admiration for how suave and debonair he was, and the rarified circles he moved in, and—
“Can I bring a date?” he blurted out.
Mazzare burst out laughing. “By all means, Frank. When you said you didn’t have girl troubles, you weren’t kidding, were you? How long have we been in this town? Three days?” He shook his head. “Seriously, Frank, check with your father first. And, I know this is a cliché, but whoever she is, don’t do anything I wouldn’t approve of, all right?”
Frank nodded, dumbstruck for a moment. He hadn’t meant to check with a Catholic priest if it was okay to advance his love life—what had he been thinking of? Still, Father Mazzare seemed to be okay with it.
Mazzare went on: “And keep in mind that you can have worse troubles—a lot worse—than gaining my disapproval. In this day and age they don’t just get annoyed about teenage tomfoolery. If she’s got brothers or a father, they might actually come and kill you. Or hire it done, if they’re rich. In fact, you make sure you check with her father first, all right? I don’t want to have to get you on a fast horse out of town.”
“Uh. Okay,” said Frank. That actually made sense, now he thought about it. “I’ll, uh, go find my dad, and, uh, make arrangements. Thanks for the, uh, you know.”
“It was my pleasure, Frank.” Mazzare smiled.
Frank left before he embarrassed himself any further.
* * *
Some hours later, Frank stepped out of the Casa Marcoli into the watery sunlight of a Venetian spring evening and heaved a sigh of relief. Discovering that he was shaking, he leaned against a pillar and tried hard not to throw up.
And then he remembered what he had just done, and whooped for joy. “Yes! He shoots, he scooooores!” he yelled, punching the air and drawing slightly alarmed stares from people in passing boats.
“I gather it went well, then?” Ron called up from the gondola they’d hired to get over. Frank had brought Ron for moral support. He’d not brought Gerry, on account of Gerry being more than likely to try something to spoil his chances. A kick me sign on his back would be the least of it, with Gerry.
“Oh, I reckon so,” said Frank. He swaggered down the steps to the water.
“You actually got a date, then?” Ron helped Frank into the boat. “I admit, I’m impressed.”
Frank grinned. “She said yes! And her daddy said yes, too!” He punched the air again, and drummed his heels on the bottom of the boat in delight.
“You got to bring a chaperone?”
“Nope, Messer Marcoli says he trusts me. Fellow revolutionist, and all. He also thinks it’s a great idea I should take his daughter into a reception full of nobs and such because it strikes a blow against medieval privilege.”
Ron laughed aloud as the gondolier poled them into the stream of traffic. “He actually said all that? How big a pack of lies did you tell him anyway?”
“Enough, Elrond,” Frank said. “I assured him my intentions were entirely honorable. Um. Which they are, actually, and not just because the assorted Marcoli brothers and cousins have me outnumbered and her father’s downright scary. I promised I’d bring her straight home.”