He and Maria looked into several rooms before finding Kat in one of the smaller back ones.
With Marco.
Oh, great. One man’s trouble is another man’s delight. It made sense now. And by the way Marco looked at that snappy-mouthed smuggler-girl, this was real trouble. What on earth did Marco see in her, besides someone shrewish enough to give Maria words? He had to grant—now that he could see her coppery curly hair—that she was prettier than he remembered. And sort of aglow. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling.
Wonder if she’s stuck on Marco too? he thought. That’d be a change! Normally the girls who want Marco don’t even get noticed by him, and he’s all eyes for the ones who don’t know he’s alive.
“Hey, ciao, Kat,” said Maria cheerfully, leaning over their table. “What brings you to a dump like this? Got no music. And the wine is expensive.”
Benito flopped down next to them. Maria was pleased to see Kat. That was obvious. Great. Now he had a brother and Maria to get away from trouble. Caesare didn’t know how right he’d been in telling Benito to be her minder.
Kat dimpled. “The company is good though. Listen—a word of warning. There’s going to be a Schiopettieri sweep through the town tonight.”
Benito shivered. If they hadn’t gone early they’d have been caught up in it.
Maria sat down abruptly, scowling. “Bastardos! They’re just trying to intimidate anyone from hitting the Dandelos.” She stared at Kat, the scowl turning into a crease of puzzlement. “How do you know this stuff, Kat?”
Kat’s face took on a guarded look. “Business. Let’s just leave it out of this.”
Benito got to his feet. “I’d better go over to Claudia and Valentina. I’ve got something to give back—uh, to deliver to them.”
Maria nodded. “Si. I’ll take you. Quicker. Look Kat, I’ve got a bundle I need to get to you.”
“I’ll be here on Thursday.” She glanced shyly across at Marco.
He nodded.
Like that was it? thought Benito grimly. Have to break this up. “You’d better come with us, Marco. Hear Claudia’s got some . . . doctor who wants to talk to you.”
Marco stood up, reluctantly. “I suppose so.” He smiled at Kat. “Thursday then.”
She drained her wine, and stood up. “I might as well go too. Time I got home.”
They walked out. As they got to the door there was something of a press of older men. Benito realized he recognized one of them. It was the short, red-haired man with the single line of dark eyebrow . . . who had seen them that first early morning outside the Imperial embassy—and then again when they’d recovered Kat’s parcel. He was the Spaniard who had been staying with Ricardo Brunelli.
The redhead looked across the crowd . . . his eagle eyes taking them all in. The eyes narrowed and he began to push towards them.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” said Kat, genuine fear in her voice.
But there was a real crowd at the door. A masque must have finished across at La Fenice, and this was the drink-after-the-show bunch. “Follow me.” Benito dropped to his knees and began squirming between legs. He collected a few slaps on the rump, and by the squawks behind him, so did a few of the others. But they were out in a minute, all of them.
“It’ll take more than a crowd to stop that man,” said Marco. Sure enough the redhead was outside the inn, peering into the night. And, as luck would have it, he’d come out closer to the canal.
Benito didn’t know this area as well as he did some the richer areas he’d cased along the Grand Canal. But knew it well enough. “We can just nip up that alley. If the tide is out enough we can walk along the ledge around to where the gondolas are moored.”
The alley a few yards from the corner of Zianetti’s stank just like what it was often used for. They moved down the dark curve of it quietly. And then, Maria—who happened to be in the lead—stopped them. Outlined by lights on the far side of the canal, at the mouth of the alley, were two people . . . kissing passionately.