* * *
Here, in between the books, he felt safe. Walking out to see Rafael, Marco had felt naked . . . as if they might be the next victims. Because he was utterly certain Maria hadn’t disappeared by accident.
Still, he’d nearly fallen over his own jaw when Rafael brought them face-to-face with Chiano. Chiano wearing a fine cloak, and now calling himself Dottore Luciano Marina—but still unmistakably Chiano.
“Hello, Marco,” his Jesolo guardian said with a smile.
It was Rafael’s turn to look dumbfounded. “You know each other?”
For an answer, Marco embraced Luciano. “Better than you could dream, Rafael. And Sophia?” he asked. Seeing Luciano brought it back to him. He’d been forgetting a debt. He longed to see her, especially right now.
“She’s still in the marshes, boy. Won’t leave. Says it it’s where she belongs, now. I went to see her a few days back. Misses you. You were always better with her medicines and potions than I was. So—what brings you here? I am delighted to see you, of course, but you came looking for me.”
They explained.
Luciano looked grim. “The town is awash with trouble. Give me that scarf.” He stretched both hands out, palms up.
Benito laid the scarf across them.
They waited.
Luciano shuddered briefly.
Took a deep breath.
“She is alive,” he said slowly. “Hush. This is a library!”
“Sorry. We’re just relieved.”
“Don’t be,” said Luciano grimly. “All I can tell further is that she is a prisoner, and surrounded by water.”
Benito took a deep breath himself. “Right! Well, we’ll get a search organized. I’ll get back to Caesare and have a word with all the runners. Marco, you could maybe get hold of Tonio. Get the canalers to look for anything.”
Rafael smiled. “Your little brother’s quite an organizer, Marco.”
Marco took Luciano’s hands. “Thank you, old friend. We’ll find her. And even if she is in danger—we have friends.” Turning to Rafael he smiled. “You don’t want to try living with Benito, Rafael. He organizes himself out of all the bad chores. But Maria’s important to him. She’s important to me too, but Benito thinks the world of her, though he won’t admit it. Anyway, I must go. Thank you both from the bottom of my heart.”
* * *
Maria knew every detail of her cell by now. There wasn’t much to learn. Three cubits by six, rusty iron bar-gate, and stone floor and walls. On the floor, moldy straw. On the walls, prayers and curses written in what could only be excrement. This was just one of some ten cells on this level. Solitary confinement for troublemakers and “specials,” according to her neighbor. He claimed to be a wealthy cargo-master from Sicily, who had missed his ship and got himself into one bar brawl too many. He’d been mugged, robbed of everything but his breeches—and now these porco cane had taken even those.
There was no water. No place or container to relieve herself in. And a jailor who threatened to beat the pair of them if she spoke to her neighbor again. It wasn’t worth it.
God, she was thirsty. And . . . eventually she had to use one of the corners of the cell. No wonder this place stank.
* * *
“How sure can you be of this, Marco?” asked Caesare. “I mean, as I said to Benito, these charlatans prey on the fact that it’s hard to accept that someone you love is dead.”
“He’s no charlatan,” said Marco, quietly. “He’s the man who kept me alive in the marshes. I know you don’t want to start hoping, Caesare. But he’s a real magician. If he says she’s alive, then she is.”
Caesare stood up. “Then we’d better look for her. I’ll get word out to some of my contacts. I’d better see Giaccomo. She did a lot of work for him.”
Benito could be heard panting up the stairs. He was hot, tired, and enthusiastic. “I got her cousin Luigi and Fredrico. The Arsenalotti will be looking for her too. And I stopped by and woke up Claudia and Valentina. Once they’d gotten over it, they started to look too. We’ll have everybody but the Schiopettieri out looking for her.”