“He’s maybe the one behind all the magical murders!” snapped Kat. “And he probably killed the bishop, too—that you nearly got executed for killing. He’s certainly the driving force behind Venice’s woes!” The lightning progression—maybe; probably; certainly—didn’t seem to perturb Kat in the least. The youthful inquisitor, in full fury.
Benito took a deep breath. “He’s also a Legate of the Grand Metropolitan in Rome. And—well, he’s helped me.”
Lopez bowed his head and smiled wryly. The fact that a cocked pistol was pressed into his midriff didn’t seem to worry the man in the least.
“Here at the request of Metropolitan Michael to investigate the activities of the Servants of the Holy Trinity,” he elaborated, in quite a calm tone of voice. “Particularly with reference to their persecution of magic-users. Since then I have been seconded to try to find out who was committing these magical murders, as well as how they were being achieved. And to determine—and thwart, it at all possible—the purpose behind them.”
Luciano growled. “Well, look no further than your precious Servants of the Holy Trinity then. They’re in league with Chernobog—be sure of it! And the woman you’re looking for is that so-called ‘nun’ of theirs.”
“Katerina,” puffed Lodovico, who had just hustled himself forward. “What is happening now? And why are you threatening this gentleman with that pistol? Be careful, for the sake of God! You’ve got it cocked!”
Kat frowned, uncertainly. But her weapons training had been rigorous. She removed the weapon from Lopez’s waistline; then, carefully and expertly, disengaged the lock. “I hope it may just be a misunderstanding, Grandpapa.”
Benito heaved a little sigh of relief. Then pointed to Zianetti’s, which was not twenty yards distant.
“That tavern’s the place to settle this, not here on the street. Milord Dorma and Marco can join us there.” He gave Lopez a polite little bow. “That’s Marco Valdosta, I’m referring to.”
Lopez nodded. “Valdosta, yes. There are portents attached to that name.”
For the first time since Kat had ever seen the fierce-looking Basque, standing on Brunelli’s balcony the year before, his intense face suddenly burst into an expression of pure good will. She was almost stunned by the sheer charisma the man seemed to exude.
“A tavern it is, then! Now, if you will allow me to introduce my companions—” He gestured to the two men standing behind him. “Father Pierre, from the Savoy; and Father Diego. Diego, like myself, is from Spain—although, poor soul, not blessed with being a Basque. On the other hand—also like me—he has the pleasure of being able to claim some Jewish ancestry.”
The last statement was made in such an offhand manner that the import of it did not register immediately on Kat. When it did, she relaxed still further. The Paulines, especially the more fanatical ones, tended toward religious intolerance. No Pauline zealot, for a certainty, would so casually announce that he had some Jewish blood running in his veins. Kat realized that Lopez had made the statement deliberately. The Basque, clearly enough, was a skilled diplomat, whatever might be the ferocity with which he seemed to act otherwise.
“Father Pierre, as you will see for yourself the moment he opens his mouth,” continued Lopez cheerily, “is blessed with the usual Savoyard skill for mangling civilized tongues. But he is quite accomplished in other ways. The detection of black magic, for one.”
“Welcome to Venice,” said Benito, with a laugh. “Let us buy you a glass of wine at Zianetti’s!”
* * *
Zianetti’s tavern was relatively deserted. The Accademia was emptying fast, and they got a small private room.
“Time for straight talk,” said Benito.
“Yes,” said Lopez firmly. “The fate of Venice is at stake.”
Benito shrugged uncomfortably. “I dunno about the destiny of Venice. But you kept me free and alive, true enough.” Benito saw the puzzled looks around the table. “Look, never mind. It’s a long story. I got into stupid trouble and he helped me out. He was very truthful—and very rude.”
Father Diego laughed. “Ah, yes. The true Eneko! Don’t feel bad. He’s rude to everyone.”
Lopez allowed himself a brief smile. “It has been on my conscience. But I have told you . . .”