* * *
Marco had been drowning in Kat’s eyes, paying almost no attention to the conversation. It took a few moments for Petro’s words to drum through.
“I wonder why they haven’t arrived?”
That, and Aleri’s last word—which he and Petro had agreed did sound as if Aleri might have been starting to say “Caesare”—finally registered. Marco’s immediate reaction had been: that can’t be true. But walking across the darkened campo the thought had come to him. . . . What allegiance did Caesare Aldanto owe to Venice? He was for sale to the highest bidder, after all. He’d always seemed good to Marco . . . but the way he had cheated Maria . . .
“Um . . . Would your Schiopettieri messenger have gone to Caesare Aldanto?”
Petro turned on him, pursing his lips. “It was his name! It was that name that the Chernobog destroyed Aleri rather than let us discover! Oh, Jesus. I’ve given the city defenses into the hands of a traitor.”
“He’s a traitor and a murderer all right,” grated Lodovico.
Petro took a deep breath. “He could wreak more havoc than all the Montagnard firebombs put together. I can’t take the chance, even if I’ve guessed wrong and he’s innocent. What the hell am I going to do?”
Maria stood up. “What you should have done in the first place, Dorma. Call out the Arsenalotti. They haven’t joined your stupid militia because they are insulted by it. The defense of the Republic has always been their responsibility.”
Dorma nodded. “Get me paper and sealing wax,” he commanded Rafael. He turned back to Maria. “You obviously know the Arsenal, woman.”
“My cousins are caulkers,” said Maria stiffly. “My father was a caulker.”
“Would they rally to the Republic, if you were to tell them that the defense of the Arsenal and the Doge’s palace are in their hands, that they must deal with any rogue militia?”
Maria snorted. “You’re so stuck up, Dorma, that you have no idea. Of course they would! And most of the boat-people too. Send Marco to rally them. They saw him with the Doge. And he has a reputation five times as good as yours. They trust him.”
Petro stood up. “Good. Because I have work, tonight, for every one of you. You too, Lodovico Montescue.”
“I am at the service of the Republic,” said the old man stiffly. “But I hope that that work includes arresting Caesare Aldanto.”
“That’s dangerous work,” said Petro mildly. “But I have another task for you. I want to know which of the Trieste-coasters is running messages to Trieste. You have the contacts. Get onto them. If need be, arrest them. I want to know to whom these messages are going. And I want to alter a message.”
Kat and Lodovico gaped at Petro. “How—”
Petro smiled sardonically. “You can thank the Doge. I would have closed you down. He said the gray trade would exist anyway, and he would rather it was in the hands of someone we knew and who was loyal to Venice. Someone that we could use if need be. Besides, the Doge felt the Jews and the Strega did a great deal for Venice’s wealth and well-being. He thought your trade supported them. Just because he has that childish devotion to clockwork devices doesn’t make him a fool, you know.”
Kat recovered her wits first. “Captain Della Tomasso. He is carrying messages for the Sots. And if anyone knows of any other secret messages being carried, it’ll be him. His ship leaves on the full tide at about two o’clock this morning.”
“I’ll see to him,” said Lodovico. “But who gets to arrest Aldanto? I can provide a charge.”
“And I have evidence,” said Benito, “in the shape of a bound and locked-up hired murderer lying in our apartment. Giovanni Matteoni.”
Marco gaped at his younger brother.
Petro took a deep breath. “I will. My sister is going to be angry.” He sighed. “And I must try to do something about Lucrezia, while my messengers rouse the Council.”
“I’ve heard Ricardo Brunelli has sent Lucrezia away to safety,” announced Lopez.
“Ah. Then, with you, Lopez, and the Doge’s Swiss Guards, and what other force I can muster, we will go to the Imperial embassy and confront the Knights.”