A querulous, elderly whiny voice sounded across the canal. It rose above the soft sonorous sound of the plainsong that the Servants of the Holy Trinity were beginning to chant. “My best cassock. I wanted to wear it for this occasion . . .” Someone hastily hushed the old monk as the boatloads of knights drew up to the quay.
A trumpet sounded, sharp and bright. Steel-clad figures disembarked from the boat and came up the steps. They were in military array, formed up around a palanquinlike structure which was borne by several of the hefty knights. It was plainly heavy, but too small to hold a person.
“What are they carrying?” whispered Benito.
“How in the names of all the Saints do you expect me to know?” Katerina hissed savagely. “Do you want me to go over and ask them?”
Benito sniffed. “There’s no need to bite my head off. It’s just that it looked like a chest. There were big locks. Maybe it is treasure.”
There was a thoughtfulness in that young voice that made Katerina catch her breath and shake her head. This boy was going to die young. “Are you crazy? Don’t even think of stealing from them. Don’t even think of it.”
Two figures now left the tail of the procession. One was a gray-cassocked and stooped monk. The other was a woman. True, she wore a nun’s habit. But she walked like a duchess. Her head held up with an arrogant tilt that revealed a silhouetted prow of an aristocratic nose.
“Sister Humility,” whispered the incorrigible canal-brat next to her.
Katerina had to bite back a snort of laughter. Then, when she realized what the reflected-in-glass figures were doing, it made her forget all about laughing. They were getting into a small gondola with a single arquebus-armed Schiopettieri. A knight carried a small brazier over to the vessel. Another brought a box from their ship. Katerina knew enough of magical practice to guess that they were about to conduct a rite of enclosure. They could hardly fail to pass her gondola. Heaven alone knew what was inside the parcel from Ascalon that she was supposed to deliver. But having it inside a magical circle of enclosure was not a good idea. She pulled the cord, and the slipknotted parcel went down to the mud.
Benito had plainly also seen what was happening. “Over the side. Quick!”
Katerina shook her head. “I can’t swim.”
“You don’t have to,” Benito snapped impatiently. “You can hold on to the boat. Come on. Be quick and quiet about it. They’ll be here any minute.” He slipped over the side and into the water between the boats like an oiled rat.
Nervously, hastily, Katerina followed. Icy cold canal water slid up her legs, soaking into her petticoats. Her heavy twilled bombazine dress was more resistant to water. It bulged up around her like some clumsy bubble. She clung to the gunwale.
“Here,” he whispered hoarsely, pulling her hand. “Take the bow-rope.”
She had to give up her precious hold on the gondola and flounder. Her head went under but she managed to grab the rope. The bow came forward, cracking into her head, nearly stunning her.
“Quiet!”
They waited in the water. Through the narrow gap between the canalboats she could see the windows of the Casa Brunelli. They still provided a mirror-view. The two watchers in the water could see the gondola with the monk, nun and a slowly rowing Schiopettieri come down the side canal. The nun was chanting prayers, waving the censer. The monk had a pole with something on the end which he ran along the wall. If it made a line, it didn’t show up in reflections.
Benito pressed his mouth against her ear. “When they get to the edge of the boats, you take a deep breath and hold it. I’ll take you under. Start breathing deeply now.”
When he did pull her under it was all she could do not to struggle frantically for the surface. And they seemed to stay down forever. Then she felt Benito tug—upwards. She bumped her head against the gondola again.
“What was that sound?” The voice was male, but high and cool. The diction was faintly stilted, as if this was a second language.