“It still ought to be stopped,” grumbled Giuseppe, going on sawing.
Madelena said nothing. She just snorted. But Maria noticed that she was more gentle about the cleaning. Maria sipped at the wine and tried to work out just how Kat was planning to get her home. The wine too was fine. A vintage red. Unless she was completely turned around this was one of the old great houses that looked onto the lagoon, towards the mainland. That was a long way from home, if the Dandelos were out looking for her. And they would be, for a certainty. They wouldn’t want a citizen well known to canalers and Arsenalotti to escape their clutches and tell her story. That could cause them a lot of trouble.
* * *
Getting Maria home if the Dandelos were combing the canals could be tricky, thought Kat. But from the moment she dropped the dress over Maria’s head, Kat realized that this was, potentially, a very beautiful woman. True, her jaw was very square and firm. But it simply enhanced the strength of those dark features. The dress suited Maria far better than it had her. Out of her baggy canaler’s clothing, which was all that Kat had ever seen Maria wearing, it was obvious that the canaler girl’s figure was . . . female. Decidedly so, in fact.
Giuseppe had cut his way through the chains for the second time and left to return the tools. Maria now had two heavy iron anklets. But, if need be, she could run. And she could walk normally. “Madelena, we need to dress her hair up. Do you think you could steal one of those Spanish combs from Alessandra’s dressing room?”
The old woman smiled evilly. Madelena loathed Alessandra. The feeling was mutual. Alessandra detested a servant she could not dismiss. At least once a week, Alessandra accused Madelena of anything from theft to poisoning. Perhaps once—long ago—the war between them had sparked out of jealousy of a new wife for an old nurse. But especially after the death of Alessandra’s baby, it had degenerated into simple warfare. “I’ll bring some of her makeup too, Katerina.” She got up and went out.
Kat surveyed Maria, weighing up the possibilities. “Shoes will be a problem. But the rest will be easy.” She grinned at Maria. “Let me do that lacing on your bodice. No Case Vecchie is going to be at a party unlaced. Or at least they’d get someone to lace them again afterwards. If you keep your feet tucked under you and don’t talk, we can do a remarkably fine pair of ladies going home for the night after a party.”
Maria took an embarrassed look at her feet. “They’re too big,” she said wretchedly. She began to cry.
Kat hugged her. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”
Maria gave a determined sniff. “I don’t cry. I’m a canaler. I don’t cry. I get even,” she said gruffly. Then she sobbed. “But I’ve got very big feet. Canaler feet. And he’s so fine.”
* * *
No one could possibly have recognized Maria Garavelli the canaler and “Spook” the night-cargo runner, in the two finely arrayed and made-up Venetian Case Vecchie ladies who made their way through the maze of passages to the front of the house. Giuseppe bowed. “The gondola will be here in a few moments, signorinas.”
Maria felt . . . odd. She could hardly recognize the elegant woman in the mirror in the hall. Her hair was dressed up onto an ornate comb, her face heavily made up, her cheeks and lips red, her eyes widened with belladona. In one hand was a fan of lacquered sticks and silk. In the other a little reticule . . . in which rested the comforting solid bulk of a pistol. It was a small and very finely made wheel-lock, the kind of weapon which only extremely wealthy people could afford. Kat had one identical to it in her own somewhat larger purse. Maria hoped that Kat knew how to use hers; she had only the sketchiest notion herself.
“If you see anyone,” said Kat, “flirt with the fan—like this—over your mouth and nose. It makes it very hard to recognize you.”