“I am all ears, Your Majesty.”
“Thought you would be. Have you ever given much thought to finance, Francesca de Chevreuse?” After a short pause: “Didn’t think so. Time you did. More than anything else, girl, wars are fought with money. Don’t let any one ever tell you different, especially generals. And—take it from an old emperor—organizing the finances of a major war is even more complex and difficult than organizing the supply train. Takes even longer to do it right, and it’s far more treacherous. To begin with—”
On they went. Across the Piave, now, heading west toward the city of the winged lion. The Emperor never stopped talking—
“—great financiers, especially with war looming, are always old men, you see. It occurs to me that a gorgeous young woman—especially one with a disreputable past and a flavor of scandal about her—especially a smart and witty one—”
—and Francesca was all ears.
VENICE
It was easier, Kat was learning, to triumph over evil than to explain it.
She and Marco, holding—no, clutching—hands openly, were spared having to repeat what had transpired in the magic chamber over and over again, only by the intercession of Petro Dorma. With an efficiency that was almost terrifying, he’d sent them straight to the Doge’s palace, where they’d been fed and allowed to rest—rest, not sleep, although both of them were swaying with exhaustion.
They hadn’t gotten much past the first few mouthfuls when Marco’s Strega friend Rafael joined them. He didn’t look any better than Marco. Both of them had huge, bruised-looking circles around their eyes, and both of them must have been existing on nervous energy alone. Heaven only knew she was, and she must look much the same. Here they were, three tattered and stained vagabonds in a room that usually entertained the most prominent folk in Venice—and often, in the world. The murals on the walls alone were stunning works of art worthy of the Grand Metropolitan’s palace in Rome, and the amount of gold leaf on the carved woodwork didn’t bear thinking about.
It could serve to repair Casa Montescue five times over.
“What are they going to do with us?” Rafael asked dully.
The answer came from an unexpected source; Petro Dorma himself, who entered the sumptuous dining room behind a servant bearing a gold pitcher.
“Ah, my weary young heroes,” Petro said, quite as if he was not as weary as any of them. “I want you to eat and drink while my messengers round up everyone who has any interest in what went on in that chamber where Dottore Marina’s body was found. Then I want you to tell your stories, answer questions for a reasonable length of time—which will probably be quite a bit shorter than usual, given that we are all rather the worse for wear. By that time, you won’t be able to walk three paces without staggering, so you will all be escorted to comfortable bedchambers here in the palace, where, I suspect, you will probably sleep until this time tomorrow.”
Unbelievably, terrifyingly, efficient. If Petro became the new Doge, which was the rumor Kat had been hearing, he was going to be something to be reckoned with.
Petro joined them, thus making a tableau of four tiny figures who were dwarfed by the chamber and humbled by the crimson-and-gold trappings. Mostly gold, Katerina couldn’t help but notice. She thought Casa Montescue’s desperate financial situation had probably been somewhat alleviated by the recent events. Surely the money-lenders won’t harass us for a few weeks. But, maybe not . . .
They ate slowly. Katerina concentrated on every bite, not least because the food was delicious—out of all expectations, considering the conditions of the last day and night. When did I eat last? she wondered. It seemed a year ago or more. Whenever it had been, she was as hungry as she was weary. But hunger, at least, could be easily remedied. They were only just finished and nibbling in a desultory manner at sweets, when a servant in Dorma livery arrived and Dorma rose.
“We seem to have collected everyone we’re going to find,” he said. “Come along; the sooner this is over, the sooner we can all sleep.” The three of them got slowly to their feet—Kat, at least, was aching in every limb—and Dorma escorted them all out.