Hurriedly, Maria got to her feet and went the other away, moving toward the horrible sound, half-laughter, half-screaming. The sound made her scalp crawl, but that was the only direction in which she might escape. Fortunately, before too long she found an unlocked door and pushed her way in.
She was apparently inside Casa Dandelo’s warehouse area. She made sure the door was shut behind her and then plunged into the cluttered, cavernous interior. Maria wasn’t moving very fast. Leg-irons didn’t help. Neither did being a little drunk and completely lost in a strange building. She wanted down, but the only staircase she found went up. Not having any choice, she climbed the stairs, struggling with the leg-irons.
The staircase led to a heavy, iron-reinforced door—which obviously was normally bolted and locked from the outside. But now it was ajar. Maria stepped through and out of one world and into another. This place was soft with carpets and rich hangings. This was the living quarters of the slavers.
For a moment she hesitated. Then, hearing voices behind her, she stepped into the first room and held the door handle up. It was dark in here.
She heard the bolts being shot. She—and the other slaves—were being safely locked in. Only . . . she was already on this side of the door. It had been panic and drunken luck that had gotten her this far. But one thing she was determined on—she wasn’t going back. She’d kill anyone who tried to take her. She felt about the darkened room for a weapon. She decided the shutter-bar would do as well as anything else. She shuffled—so as not to clank her leg-irons—over to the crack of light and lifted the bar. The shutters swung open. Moonlight touched the canal below.
To young Benito the climb down would have been a joke. To her . . . with leg-irons and a bit dizzy with wine, hunger and fear . . . it seemed impossible.
She heard voices, and her determination returned. She could just jump, taking the shutter-bar with her. Whatever else, at least she’d be outside and with a weapon.
Taking a deep breath, she struggled up onto the sill and jumped.
Moments later, she realized she should have thought about swimming in leg-irons first.
It took all her strength to haul herself out of the canal on the far side, and onto the walkway. Then spotting a nearby alley, she crawled toward it, too exhausted to walk. She could only hope that all their attention was distracted by the riot going on in the building. She could only bless whatever had caused the commotion in the first place.
Maria crawled on, into the alley and then down it, keeping to the shadows. If somebody found her now, in this part of town, she’d be dead meat. Or—worse—returned to the Casa Dandelo. At length the alley ended next to a canal.
She was so tired and turned around. This could be Canale di Cannaregio. Oh, God. She was such a long, long way from home. If only she could spot a boatman she could trust. But the barge moving slowly along the water was not familiar.
Then a gondola came into view . . . a bit scruffy . . . It was that Kat! A moment of indecision, mostly due to sheer exhaustion, and Maria called out.
By the startled look on her face, Kat was not used to being greeted or summoned. But she peered; and as soon as she saw who it was she came in, pulled up and hauled the manacled Maria into her boat. Maria was so exhausted she simply tumbled onto the duck boards. Kat pushed off hastily. “Marco, Benito, and your Caesare have been looking for you. Let’s get away from here, before someone else finds you.”
Maria groaned. “Ow. Yes. The farther from the Dandelos the better.”
Kat looked down at her. “I told them that’s where you’d be. You’re in a bad way. Do you know if the Dandelos are looking for you?”
Maria shook her head. “Dunno. Probably. But they may not have figured out that I got out of the building already.”