"It still ought to be stopped," grumbled Giuseppe, going on sawing.
Madelena said nothing. She just snorted. But Maria noticed that she was more gentle about the cleaning. Maria sipped at the wine and tried to work out just how Kat was planning to get her home. The wine too was fine. A vintage red. Unless she was completely turned around this was one of the old great houses that looked onto the lagoon, towards the mainland. That was a long way from home, if the Dandelos were out looking for her. And they would be, for a certainty. They wouldn't want a citizen well known to canalers and Arsenalotti to escape their clutches and tell her story. That could cause them a lot of trouble.
* * *
Getting Maria home if the Dandelos were combing the canals could be tricky, thought Kat. But from the moment she dropped the dress over Maria's head, Kat realized that this was, potentially, a very beautiful woman. True, her jaw was very square and firm. But it simply enhanced the strength of those dark features. The dress suited Maria far better than it had her. Out of her baggy canaler's clothing, which was all that Kat had ever seen Maria wearing, it was obvious that the canaler girl's figure was . . . female. Decidedly so, in fact.
Giuseppe had cut his way through the chains for the second time and left to return the tools. Maria now had two heavy iron anklets. But, if need be, she could run. And she could walk normally. "Madelena, we need to dress her hair up. Do you think you could steal one of those Spanish combs from Alessandra's dressing room?"
The old woman smiled evilly. Madelena loathed Alessandra. The feeling was mutual. Alessandra detested a servant she could not dismiss. At least once a week, Alessandra accused Madelena of anything from theft to poisoning. Perhaps once--long ago--the war between them had sparked out of jealousy of a new wife for an old nurse. But especially after the death of Alessandra's baby, it had degenerated into simple warfare. "I'll bring some of her makeup too, Katerina." She got up and went out.
Kat surveyed Maria, weighing up the possibilities. "Shoes will be a problem. But the rest will be easy." She grinned at Maria. "Let me do that lacing on your bodice. No Case Vecchie is going to be at a party unlaced. Or at least they'd get someone to lace them again afterwards. If you keep your feet tucked under you and don't talk, we can do a remarkably fine pair of ladies going home for the night after a party."
Maria took an embarrassed look at her feet. "They're too big," she said wretchedly. She began to cry.
Kat hugged her. "It's all right. It's all right."
Maria gave a determined sniff. "I don't cry. I'm a canaler. I don't cry. I get even," she said gruffly. Then she sobbed. "But I've got very big feet. Canaler feet. And he's so fine."
* * *
No one could possibly have recognized Maria Garavelli the canaler and "Spook" the night-cargo runner, in the two finely arrayed and made-up Venetian Case Vecchie ladies who made their way through the maze of passages to the front of the house. Giuseppe bowed. "The gondola will be here in a few moments, signorinas."
Maria felt . . . odd. She could hardly recognize the elegant woman in the mirror in the hall. Her hair was dressed up onto an ornate comb, her face heavily made up, her cheeks and lips red, her eyes widened with belladona. In one hand was a fan of lacquered sticks and silk. In the other a little reticule . . . in which rested the comforting solid bulk of a pistol. It was a small and very finely made wheel-lock, the kind of weapon which only extremely wealthy people could afford. Kat had one identical to it in her own somewhat larger purse. Maria hoped that Kat knew how to use hers; she had only the sketchiest notion herself.
"If you see anyone," said Kat, "flirt with the fan--like this--over your mouth and nose. It makes it very hard to recognize you."
Maria tried it, looking at the stranger with the fan in the mirror.
"You're a natural," said Kat with a grin. Maria was quite relieved to see that expression. It was the only familiar thing about her rescuer: that wide-mouthed grin. Kat didn't smile that often. But it transformed her face when she did. Maria saw the smile change to a frown.
"And where are you going?" demanded the cause of the frown. The willowy-figured woman who had come into the hall looked every inch a wealthy Case Vecchie. Maria guessed her at mid to late twenties. Her complexion was as flawless as a master of the paintbrush and rouge pot could make it, except that she had a little mole on her cheek, just above the rosebud mouth. It seemed to accentuate the perfection. Her hair too was a lustrous black, dressed into a perfect frame for her face. She looked as sour as vinegar, despite her beauty.
"Out, Alessandra." Kat's face had closed down. There was now no expression on it at all. "Family business."
Alessandra looked as if she'd just swallowed a cup of gall. "What nonsense!" she snapped. "This trollop is no family of ours. And why is she wearing your best gown?"
"My mother's family. And Maria spilt wine on her gown. It's in that bag." Kat pointed to the bag at their feet. It actually contained a hooded cloak.
Alessandra sniffed. "Oh. I didn't know we had anything to do with them." Her expression said she didn't want to know either. She let them leave and get into the waiting gondola--which was not shabby--without a word.
Only when they were well away down the canal did Kat give way to helpless laughter. "Oh, she is such a snob! If she'd noticed the comb in your hair, we'd have been for it."
"Or my feet," said Maria, tucking them under the folds of the dress. "Who is she?"
"My dear sister-in-law," answered Kat. "And my mother's family were just merchants. Not even curti. She pretends they don't exist."
Maria sat back tiredly against the squabs. "Who are you, Kat?"
Kat shook her head. "Best if I don't say. Not that I don't trust you, but, well, what you don't know can't slip out even by accident. And remember: you promised."
Maria nodded. It felt odd with all her hair piled up. "Even wild horses wouldn't drag it out of me. But I owe you."
Kat shrugged. "I promised I'd help."
* * *
They waited next to Alberto's barge. "He's trustworthy?" Kat asked for the third time.
"He's fine." Maria soothed. "He's Tonio's brother and a sort of cousin of mine." Here, out of her place, Kat was as uneasy as Maria has been in Kat's home. "They could be watching the building, as they know who Caesare is. I'm sorry I lost the water-door key when they took my clothes, because we could row up safely enough. But two ladies walking down our calle at this time of night would be in danger--even if the Dandelos aren't watching. So--best if Alberto fetches them. Can your gondolier be trusted to get you back?"
Kat nodded. "They do work for the family. And old Giuseppe knows who took us. Pietro would be insane to come back without me. Besides I have my little friend in here." She patted the reticule. "I can shoot. Quite well."
There was the sound of running footsteps. They both hastily reached for their reticules. Maria was still struggling with the fussy little catch when she heard Benito's voice. "Maria! Maria!"
He bounced over the barge and looked down at the two of them, and their patient gondolier. Benito was obviously a little startled to find himself staring into the muzzle of Kat's hand-cannon, but he didn't let it stop him. "Maria?" he asked incredulously.
"Who else, Benito?" said Maria tiredly. "Where's Caesare?"
Benito swung down onto the deck. He grabbed Maria and did a fierce little jig. Then he hugged her. Benito never even touched her, normally. Not that she had encouraged it, but . . .
"He's seeing the Capuletti. In case the Dandelos had you. Marco is off with Rafael over around Accademia looking for you. They were going to some Marina guy, the one who told us you were alive but a prisoner, to see if he could tell them anything else. They left me alone here to hold the fort. I reckon they both knew that way I wouldn't go back to the Casa Dandelo. That Kat said to Marco they must have you. And here you turn up looking like the queen of Sheba! Where have you been? We've been worried sick!"
For an answer Maria lifted her dress to reveal her bare feet
and the iron anklets. " 'That Kat' was right. Casa Dandelo. I escaped. And Kat saved my bacon. I owe her, so you treat her with respect, see."
"Oh she's not so bad," said Benito with a grin. "Got a snappy tongue when she's cross though. She brought us back here, but Rafael was waiting, so Marco went off with him, and she left. So who's the friend with the cannon?"
Maria realized that Kat was hiding behind her fan. "Just a friend, little sneaker. Leave her alone. Katerina--I'll get these clothes back to you. And . . . thank you. Thank you a million times. You ever need to find me, you leave a message with Giaccomo. I'll tell him. I owe you. Go carefully, huh?"
Kat nodded, without taking the fan from her face. And--with her other hand, still holding the pistol--pointed to the bag on the duckboards.
"Good idea," said Maria. "You take care now, see." She took out the hooded cloak and pulled it over her borrowed finery.
The gondolier had pulled the boat next to the walkway and the two of them alighted. The gondola pulled away.
Maria waved. Kat, having returned the pistol to the reticule, waved back.
"Mighty silent friend, that," said Benito curiously.
Maria yawned. "Be a good thing if you buttoned your lip sometimes, Benito. Let's get home. I can't wait to bathe myself." She could hardly believe that he hadn't recognized Kat. But then, looking in a mirror, she'd hardly recognized herself in these clothes.
"She reminded me of someone," said Benito. "But I can't think who. I don't know any posh women like that. But I hardly even recognized you in those clothes." He hesitated. Then, speaking much less brashly than usual, almost shyly: "You're real pretty when you dress up nice, Maria Garavelli. Real pretty."
Maria swatted his ear. Gently, though. She was quite sorry Caesare hadn't seen her in Kat's best gown. She was tempted to hang on to it for long enough to model it for him, but on reflection that wasn't a good idea. For Kat's safety, it would be best if she revealed as little about her part in this as possible.
Chapter 57 ==========
When Father Mascoli saw the three figures entering his little chapel in the Cannaregio, he sighed. "Come into the back," he said. "I don't want to discuss the matter out here."
He led them through the door behind the statue of Saint Raphaella and into his private quarters. Then, seeing them pause, he waved his hand. "Further in the back," he muttered. "We need someplace that I'm certain is safe."
He opened the water-door at the rear of his cell and led them into the small water-chapel beyond. There was just enough room for four men to stand there.
The three other priests examined the chapel with interest. Their interest was aroused further when the heads of two undines broke the water and gazed at them. The undines' eyes seemed wary--or perhaps simply watchful. Both of them were female.
"It's all right," said Mascoli. "These are . . . friends." There was just a slight hesitation before the last word.
The undines studied the three strange priests, their eyes spending most of their time examining the shortest one. "I hope so," hissed one of them. Pointing at the short priest: "That one could be dangerous. Very powerful."
The priest in question pulled a wry face. The solid eyebrow line twisted into an S-shape. "First time I've ever been called that. Even before my leg got mangled."
"She's not speaking of your physical strength, Father Lopez," replied Mascoli, almost snapping. "As you well know."
"He likes to practice modesty," said one of the other priests, his Savoyard accent very pronounced. "Good thing, too. He'd be insufferable otherwise. I'm Pierre, by the way. The other one is Diego."
Despite the tension of the moment, Mascoli chuckled. "Well said. All right, then. I assume you've come because you heard the news about Dottore Marina. Reappearing in Venice--out of nowhere, it seems--after all these years."
Lopez nodded. "We need to speak with him. But it would be dangerous--very dangerous--to do so openly. We thought . . ."
"I can place you in touch with him," agreed Mascoli. "But for the moment, at least, I think you should have no direct contact at all. I doubt if Marina would agree, in any event. He is very frightened by the state of things in Venice." Mascoli nodded toward the undines. "The dottore has a special relationship with them. They can serve as the messengers."
"Difficult," hissed one of the undines. The tone of her voice was distinctly unhappy. "The stupid dottore has gone too far from the water."
"Not safe," hissed the other.
Diego eyed them curiously. "From the rumors which have been swirling through the city for months, the water is the most dangerous place to be. Because of the so-called 'canal monster.' "
The undines gaped shark-toothed grins. "Dangerous for most. Dangerous for us, even. Not dangerous for the dottore." One of the undines sank below the surface for a moment, then came up gushing water out of her mouth in an undine version of laughter. "The dottore eat that one easily."
"That makes sense," murmured Eneko. "A Grimas would be vulnerable to steel-clad enemies. Another great sorcerer; the most powerful of demons. And not much else."
Mascoli cocked his head in a quizzical gesture. As close as he was to the undines, he had no doubt at all that the rumors of a "canal monster" were quite accurate. "And what makes you think this thing is not a most powerful demon."
"Doesn't make sense," replied Lopez. "The thing--whatever it is--is a servant of Chernobog. I'm quite sure of it, now. Chernobog would have lamed it in some manner. Broken it to his service."
Mascoli ran his hand across his bald pate, grimacing ruefully. "You move in a strange world, Father Lopez. That thing is quite too powerful for my taste, thank you."
Lopez shrugged. "I did not say it wasn't dangerous. I am simply pointing out that it is, in the end, nothing more than a tool in the hands of another. It is that other that I am truly concerned about."
He looked down at the undines, moving slowly in the waters of the chapel. "Very well. Would you take this message to Dottore Marina: Tell him to concentrate all his efforts on finding the Lion. We will see to the rest."
The undine's mouth gaped wide. "And who is 'we'?" demanded one.
"He's a special envoy from the Grand Metropolitan of Rome," explained Diego.
The undine's mouth gaped wide again. "That means precious little to her," murmured Mascoli. The bald priest squatted by the edge of the water. "Just tell him that they are friends of mine. And I trust them."
A moment later, in a little swirl, one of the undines was gone. The other remained, swimming slowly through the water-chapel.
Father Mascoli stood up. "I hope Sister Evangelina is not mistaken." He gave Eneko a hard look.
The Basque priest smiled and spread his hands. "I could give you assurances of my own, Father Mascoli. But would they really mean very much? In the end, you must make your own decision."
"I already have. Doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm just a simple priest, Father Lopez." Mascoli pointed a finger at the still-swirling surface of the water-chapel. "These waters here are quite deep enough for me. "I tend to my flock--in whatever form they appear. I'm Hypatian--"
He gave the Basque another hard look, as if saying: as you are supposed to be. "I don't make judgments. Let God judge. That's His business, not mine. God has given me the gift to make it so that evil can't freely enter here, so anything that enters freely deserves my help."
Pierre had opened his mouth when Mascoli proclaimed his unwillingness to make judgments as if to protest, but closed it after that last sentence, looking far more satisfied.
Mascoli led the way out of the water-chapel. Once in his cell, with the water-door closed, he paused at the entrance to the main chapel. "There are still other waters too deep for me," he added, facing Lopez. "The Marco boy you asked about."
"Valdosta."
Mascoli winced. "That secret is getting too frayed, I fear."
"What 'secret'?" demanded Pierre. "Dell'este sent word to Casa Dorma. From there, it is spreading like fire."
&n
bsp; "Not quite that," demurred Diego. "But it is spreading. I fear Petro Dorma has spies in his household."
Mascoli looked even more unhappy than ever. "The boy is--has the potential, I should say--to be a powerful user of magic in his own right, Father Lopez. Especially healing magic. I will not be able to train him properly much longer. I am reaching the limits of my own talent and knowledge."
Eneko nodded. "Consider the bargain made, Father Mascoli. But . . ." He hesitated. The Basque priest seemed to be experiencing one of his few moment of uncertainty. "In truth, I am not well versed in the healing arts myself." After another pause, grudgingly: "Nor, I confess, is that a branch of magic in which my own talents are particularly, ah--"
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