She raised her eyes to heaven. “You’re a fool. Whoever killed him could have sunk him if they just wanted him dead. They didn’t even rob him. What does that mean?” she demanded.
Benito knew he was out of his league here. He was a good enough sneak thief. But this . . . “He was wounded but escaped, died and fell in the canal,” he ventured warily.
She shook her head. “You don’t know anything, do you, boy? If they left his body to float, they’re not scared of the Schiopettieri.”
Benito swallowed hard. The Schiopettieri were professional soldiers under the official command of Venice’s Signori di Notte . . . The Lords of the Nightwatch, answerable to the Senate of the Great Republic. In effect, they were the city’s police force. You didn’t mess with them.
“That spells someone with influence and power,” she continued. “Whoever killed him obviously doesn’t need money.” She pursed her lips. “There was a rumor about that he was more than what he seemed. A Strega Mage proper, not a charlatan. He was left to float either as message, or more likely, as bait.”
Bait. “Who did it?” he asked, huskily. This was deep, dark water.
The woman shrugged. “Maybe the Servants of the Holy Trinity. They’ve been pretty active lately. So have the agents of the Council of Ten. Maybe other Strega. But I don’t think so. They favor magic or poison. He’d been stabbed.”
“Bait . . .”
“They’ll take whoever comes to go on with their questioning. If it’s the Servants, you know how they question people. With knives. And fire. And prayers for your soul.” She raised an eyebrow and said sardonically, “You were thinking of sneaking back there, weren’t you?”
“I didn’t understand.” The boy answered humbly. “But Katerina . . .”
“Who told you my name?” she demanded fiercely.
“Captain Della Tomasso . . . Look!”
While they’d been talking, a flotilla of rowing boats had appeared and were coming along the Grand Canal. Rowing steadily in measured strokes. The leading ones were definitely Schiopettieri oarships.
“Merda!” Katerina spat. “It must be a sweep. We’ve got to get out of here.” She began to scull frantically, pushing the gondola towards the mouth of a narrow canal.
Benito got up hastily. He was getting off the unfamiliar water and onto the buildings. Quickly. “They’ll have blocked off the side canals, Kat.”
“Right.” She pushed the boat into a group of tied up gondolas and small craft moored to poles at the water-door of the marble-faced mansion. She dropped a loop over the bollard. “Lie down . . . little brother. We’re poor boatkids who’ve lost our parents and have to sleep on the water.”
Benito looked askance at her. But he lay down on the gondola ribs next to her. She pulled a grubby piece of sailcloth over them. She also tied a piece of cord to a knobbly yellow oilcloth parcel from the bow. She dropped the parcel gently over the side, down into the still water. Hastily she tied it off.
Benito wondered what the hell cadging a ride across from Guidecca had gotten him into. He liked a bit of excitement, but messing with people who knew people who were being killed by the Servants was too much.
* * *
It was too much, thought Katerina, lying on the ribs of the gondola. Here she was with a cargo that could get her burned at the stake. Even if they never picked it up . . . well, if it came to hard questioning they might get her name. Under that sort of questioning, especially if they used magic, they could find out everything. Unless, like Despini, you had defenses that would kill first. Holy Mother. She must not be caught. The dishonor to the family if she were! It would kill the old man. Every time she’d gone out she’d known it was a risk. But they could simply not afford to lose another cargo. And who else could they trust? Somehow the Casa Montescue, secure for all these years, had been infiltrated. There was no other explanation.
She looked up. They were tied up beside the Imperial embassy. Across the canal was the pretentious Casa Brunelli. Pah. Nouveau riche. Curti. They had glass windows instead of the varnished silk that real Longi Case Vecchie used. The kind of neighborhood that the Schiopettieri would not take kindly to finding loiterers in, even if they didn’t pick up the parcel dangling from the bow.