Chapter 58
It was dark, and it was dangerous, and Benito was so happy he could hardly stand himself. If it hadn’t been too risky to chance any sound, he’d have been singing. Or humming, anyway.
He was upside-down, hanging by his knees from one of the dozens of timbers supporting Casa Dandelo’s leaky, half-rotten roof—the kind of position he’d held so many times in the past that he was almost as comfortable upside-down as he was on his feet. Hidden by the darkness, three stories beneath him the canal-water lapped quietly against the foundations of Casa Dandelo, but there was not much else in the way of sound. There wasn’t even so much as a breeze to make the timbers of the building sway and creak, which made it all the more imperative that he keep silent.
He was sawing most of the way through the bolts that held the metal grilles and bars protecting the slave-quarters’ upper-story windows. Most of the way, not all; just enough so that someone who was determined on a breakout had only to give a good hard pull to break the grilles free—but from inside or outside, to everything but a close inspection, all was secure. To really hurt the slavers you had to hit them where it counted most—the pocket. That meant slave breakouts . . . for which Benito was now cheerfully preparing the way.
He grinned to himself, working the cable saw carefully, slowly, back and forth on the bolt currently under his fingers. Valentina had threatened his life if he lost that very expensive saw—but had been quite willing to lend Benito the tiny thief’s tool when she heard whose place it was going to be used on. Little more than a bit of wire with two handles, it would cut through damn near any metal, and was making short work of Casa Dandelo’s soft iron bolts.
It was as black as the inside of a cat tonight, no moon, nary a star showing through the clouds of a warm, overcast spring night. No matter. Benito hadn’t ever needed to see, to know what he was about. Valentina and Claudia had taught him to work blind. It was best working blind in some ways: the darkest nights were a thief’s best friends.
One: case the place till you know it like the inside of your mouth. Two: take it slow. Three: go by feel and know by feel.
Those were Claudia’s rules for nightwork. She might have added the one Benito was abiding by tonight.
Four: have you a lookout.
And Lord and Saints—what a lookout!
Down there somewhere on the canal below him, hidden in the darkest shadows and straining eyes and ears against the thick blackness, was no less a personage than Maria Garavelli—and a more unlikely banditry pairing than himself and Maria was hard to imagine.
* * *
The greater wonder was that Maria had come to him to ask for his help.
Runners had lunch after the rest of Venice; not the least because runners were often sent to fetch lunches and drink for their employers. It made for a long morning and a rumbling stomach, but Benito had gotten used to it. Besides, it meant that the rest of the afternoon until knock-off time was that much shorter.
And you could pick up some nice stuff at half-price from vendors anxious to unload what was left, now that the noontime crowd was fed. So this afternoon Benito had been pleasing his palate with several slabs of castagnaccio that were only slightly old. He was pleasing his hide with warm spring sunshine, and his mind was at ease with the fact that his behind was firmly planted on the upper steps of the Casa Ventuccio. He had a good view of the canal from there, and no one hassled a kid in Ventuccio-livery there—so long as he kept his butt near enough to the edge of the steps that he didn’t impede traffic.
He had been dangling his feet over the edge, and had both arms draped over the lower bar of the guard rail, watching the traffic pass in the half-light below him. He was rather pleased that he knew a good many of those passing by name—even if those good folk would hardly appreciate the “honor.” He watched, feeling his back and shoulders ache in sympathy, as Gianni and Tomaso labored against the current, poling what looked to be a nice little cargo of barrels of some kind up the canal. He noted one of the younger Baldasini boys go by, riding in one of the family boats, and old man Mario in a hire-boat going in the opposite direction. And he saw a double handful of canalers he recognized besides Gianni, and rather wished he had his brother’s incredible memory. There might be valuable information there if he only could remember who he saw going where. The one real pity about having his lunch break late, was that he and Marco couldn’t sit together.