“Merda,” whispered Maria. “Him!”
Benito recognized the man too. It was that Milanese trade mission fellow he’d taken the message to at the German Hotel. The one he’d seen Caesare in the alley with afterward. The fellow had a very recognizable profile, even in bad light.
“There are some stairs back there,” whispered Kat.
Benito thought he was good at managing without light, but she was obviously as good as a real cat. They went back a few yards and up the little walled staircase. There they crouched and waited. Sure enough, someone came past beneath them.
The person stopped a few yards further on. And then turned and walked far more quietly back.
“That’s the figlio di una puttana who questioned me in the Casa Dandelo,” hissed Maria.
“Who? Senor Lopez?” whispered Kat. “The man who saw us at Zianetti’s and chased us? You mean it was you he was after?”
“No.” whispered Maria. “I’m talking about the man kissing the woman. I’ve never seen that Lopez fellow in my life before. Who is he, anyway?”
Benito heard Kat take a deep breath, and whisper nervously. “He pretends he’s just a visitor to Venice. But I think he’s a witch-finder from the Grand Metropolitan in Rome, hunting Strega.”
“I thought the Petrines believed in tolerance of other religions?” whispered Marco.
Kat snorted quietly. “Did he look tolerant?”
Benito had to agree. He didn’t. Determined; powerful, yes. Tolerant, no.
“You don’t know the other man? The one at the end of the alley? Or the woman?” Whispered Maria, before they got bogged down in theology.
“No,” said Kat.
Benito actually bit his tongue to stop himself from saying “Francesco Aleri.” He must talk to Caesare. He didn’t have a clue who the woman was.
* * *
Kat bit her tongue. She had no idea who the man was. But the silhouette of Lucrezia Brunelli’s hairdo was unmistakable.
And from the foot of the stairs someone rasped. “All right, Lorendana’s kids. Aleri and the other guy have gone. You can go home.”
Kat hadn’t realized she’d been holding Marco’s hand. She felt him relax. Whoever this was, he wasn’t bad. “Thanks, Harrow,” said Marco.
The relieving party said nothing, just walked away up the alley. So they all got up and left too. Two minutes later she was out on the Grand Canal. Why was Lopez after her? The thought was scary. She’d better prompt Giuseppe to not have her at home to any visiting Spaniards. And she’d take the long way home to avoid the sweep.
* * *
Maria worked her oar in silence for a while. Then she said “Marco, what did your Spook say?”
“Kat? She’s not ‘mine.’ ” Marco sounded almost wistful about it. “She’s a wonderful girl, isn’t she? And you heard what she said . . .”
Maria clicked her tongue in irritation. “Tch. Lord and Saints, Marco. Not Kat. That burned-face troll that follows you around! Ugliest guardian angel in the universe.”
“Oh. Harrow.” Marco shrugged. “He’s just somebody who—knew our mother.”
“And the other name?” asked Maria, intently. “Aleri?”
“Well,” said Marco thoughtfully. “There was a high-up Montagnard in mother’s time by that name. Francesco Aleri.”
Benito wished like hell Marco’s memory was less good. He really had to talk to Caesare about this before Maria went in like a bull in a china shop. Aleri would have to die. But Maria must be kept well clear. Best to change the subject before Marco remembered something else inconvenient. “So now you’re crazy about Kat, Marco. What happened to the dream girl in the boat?”
Marco laughed happily. “Kat is the dream girl in the boat, Benito.”
There was a long moment of silence from both Maria and Benito. Benito wound his jaw back up. Bossy-boots Kat, with too big a mouth, and a tongue that could scour brass?
“What!?” he croaked—in unison with Maria.
* * *
Late that night, there came a knock on Eneko’s door. When the priest opened it onto the dimly lit Ghetto alley, a burly man with a badly scarred and burned face seized the Basque by the lapel of his cassock and forced his way inside. Then kicked the door shut behind him.