“Treachery,” she said in a hollow voice. “The inner council is betrayed. It is fogged from within. Go, Luciano. The lion’s cub is in need.”
Luciano’s faced grew pale. “Betrayed?” he whispered. “No wonder the scrying circles have failed.” He rubbed his face, looking now like a very old man. “I have been a fool.”
He dropped his hand. “How could I have been so complacent? Of course the enemy would fight us magically as well. I should have foreseen it.”
“Who could do this?” demanded Claudia. “Who knows enough—” She broke off suddenly, her eyes widening.
“Lucrezia Brunelli, who else?” replied Dottore Marina wearily. “She advanced far enough to learn most of our secrets, before we cast her out.”
He turned his head, staring to the northeast. “She is working for Grand Duke Jagiellon now, be sure of it. A second string to his bow, which I missed completely. In the end, the demon-nun Ursula and her cohorts in the Servants of the Holy Trinity are . . . not quite a diversion, but almost. A clear and obvious danger to the Strega—to all of Venice—which disguises the more subtle one. The naked dagger, distracting our eyes from the cup of poison.”
He shook his head vigorously, the way a man does to clear his mind. “No time to waste! The Basque priest was right. I finally understand the Evil One’s plan. And it is more horrid than I’d ever imagined.”
He began striding off, gesturing for the others to follow. “And he was right about having a second string for our own bow,” he murmured, too softly to be heard by anyone.
Luciano’s Strega moved more cautiously than their leader, if as fast as possible, because they did not want to encounter either Schiopettieri or the new militia. The staves were relatively innocuous-looking, true. But they didn’t need delays just because someone decided they looked threatening as a group. So they’d split into twos and threes, walking perhaps thirty seconds apart. Any troublesome Schiopettieri would soon find himself outnumbered. If there were too many Schiopettieri, the others would melt back and go another way.
* * *
Lodovico looked at the roughly bandaged Alessandra. The woman moaned weakly. “We need a doctor who can hold his tongue,” he said grimly.
“Marco,” said Maria immediately.
Kat looked at her sister-in-law and took a deep breath. “He’ll be at Dorma. It’s no use sending a messenger, even if we could find one tonight. Dorma won’t let him come out, not to something that could be a trap.”
Lodovico nodded. “Go. Bring the Valdosta boy here. Bring both of them if you can. It will give me a chance to make the apology I owe to both of them. And if she dies I want her sunk in a canal far away from here—and the younger boy has the practicality to do that. If she lives, she’ll testify to the Senate about this Caesare Aldanto. The devil take the shame to the house! I want him to meet the headsman’s axe. Both of you go, but take pistols, loaded and cocked. I’ll stay with the hell-bitch. If she should regain consciousness, I want to hear what else she has to reveal about her treachery to my Casa.”
Guiseppe went to get Lorenzo, he who had been their gondolier the night that Kat had smuggled Maria home. Maria found herself once again being hastily dressed from Kat’s wardrobe. “Ladies” were much less likely to be interfered with, and tonight there were certain to be a fair number of drunken roisterers about. The floor-length dress, bulked with petticoats, wasn’t going to show her feet. Ten minutes later they were headed for Marco at Casa Dorma.
* * *
Marco was packing up his books and medical gear rather more slowly than was strictly necessary. It seemed to him that Rafael was lingering similarly over his brushes and paints. Both of them were destined to join their Volunteer units in the morning. Both were headed for Fruili and would face some weeks of drilling and training before being flung into combat. Marco wanted to get back to see Benito before the boy went off with the galleys headed for Polestine. On the other hand, he didn’t want to leave this apartment. It represented fulfillment of one of his dreams.