Francesca walked directly toward the young woman, making certain to catch and hold her eye the next time the girl’s surreptitious glance swept searchingly over the crowd. Relief suffused the woman’s shadowed features, and she stepped forward to meet Francesca halfway.
“I’m Kat. Are you Donatella’s friend?”
“Yes I am. I’m Francesca.” She paused for a moment. “I’m temporarily at the House of the Red Cat. . . .”
She waited to see what Kat’s reaction would be, but there was none—or at least, there wasn’t one visible, which was all that mattered. Again, that fit Francesca’s assessment that the girl or her family was in narrow financial straits. Presumably money was needed badly enough that the source didn’t matter. Which also, of course, explained why the girl would be running cargo for the Strega—who were hardly in good odor with the authorities, especially these days.
“I haven’t eaten yet—” Francesca began. She wasn’t really that hungry, but the girl was so obviously tense that Francesca thought it would be wise to allow her time to settle down. And retreat to a less visible location.
Sure enough: “I have, so why don’t you go get something and meet me at my boat? We can talk there while you eat.” Kat softened this slightly brusque response with a smile. “I’d . . . rather not stay out in the open. And your time is probably short anyway.”
Francesca nodded and made her way to the stall to purchase the pastry while the girl retreated to her boat.
When Francesca was seated in the gondola, Kat waited politely while she took the edge from her hunger. “I understand there are some things you need?” Kat asked. Hurriedly: “But I have to tell you in advance that I only handle high-priced items. High-priced and low volume. I’m sorry if that’s not what you’re looking for—Donatella was not clear about it—but that’s all I can handle. I need—”
She fell silent, apparently unwilling to elaborate. In her own mind, Francesca filled in the rest: I need to generate a lot of money quickly, with only my own labor and this little gondola. Francesca had to force herself not to show any signs of glee. Perfect! The girl was from the Venetian elite. Probably, in fact, nothing less than Case Vecchie.
“I’m not really looking to buy, Kat,” she said easily. “Although there are some items I could use. Mainly, I want to set up a conduit through which I can sell information—”
She hurried on, seeing the frown already gathering on Kat’s face. “—not for cash, but for . . . ah, some assistance in a delicate matter of my own advancement.”
The fact that Francesca wasn’t asking for cash—which Kat was obviously in desperate shortage of herself—caused a momentary fading of the frown. But, soon enough, it returned.
“What kind of information? And I’m not sure how I might be able to help your ‘advancement.’ ” A bit mulishly: “I don’t have any cash to spend.”
Francesca understood that she had to edge away from triggering the girl’s uneasiness on the subject of her own identity. The easiest way to do that, of course, was to focus Kat’s attention on Francesca’s. So, bluntly and briefly, Francesca explained the exact nature of her profession—and, most important, her plans for professional advancement.
When she was done, she waited for Kat’s reaction. Driving both her fears and her hopes under, and sternly. The girl would do whatever she would do. Whatever else Francesca had learned in her life, a stoic outlook was central to all of it.
For a time, Kat was silent. Her hooded eyes left Francesca and simply stared out over the waters of the canal. Then, to Francesca’s relief, the girl’s shoulders moved in a little shrugging gesture and she turned back to face her. Francesca was a bit surprised to see that the expression on Kat’s face was one of disguised interest—almost fascination—rather than disguised revulsion. For the first time, she felt herself start warming to the girl. Whatever great house she belonged to, it was clear enough that Kat did not possess the typical noblewoman’s haughtiness toward her social inferiors. Most girls from Venice’s elite—especially from the Case Vecchie, which Francesca was now almost certain was true of Kat—would have been sneering at her. Indeed, would already be ordering her to depart their presence.