It took some five minutes for Vincent and Signor Zancani to reappear at the far end of the colonnade. They had their heads close together as they walked, and were deep in conversation. At first, Jane caught only scattered words: “… need more than…” and “… you certain?”
As they reached the booth, Zancani nodded. “Of course.” He pulled aside the brightly striped fabric of the back and motioned them inside. “It is not as elegant as your method of hiding, but the screen offers a good view of the street.”
Jane followed Vincent into the little booth. It was dimmer than the exterior, though not so dark as she had expected. The gaily painted scenery had been done on a piece of thick netting. From the front, it showed a painting of a street in Venice, but they could see through it with perfect ease.
A trunk stood under one wall with a small sewing kit and a puppet upon it. The devil from the show lay with its wooden head tilted to the side so that a burn on the cloth body was visible. “Flash-paper accident,” Zancani said, and scooped up the puppet and the kit and tucked them inside the trunk. He gestured to it. “Please, Signora.”
“Thank you.”
“And you, Vincent.” The puppet player pointed to the trunk. “I know I said that you would make more money if you fainted, but I meant for an audience.”
Vincent chuckled and seated himself beside Jane. “Zancani has agreed to help us.”
“Help us do what?”
Vincent looked confused for a moment. “Regain our possessions, of course.”
“Have you a proposal for how to do that?”
Her husband nodded, a slow light building in his gaze. “I have been thinking … They obviously do not have the wrong glass spheres. I think the Verre Obscurci will not work because of the rain.”
“Ah.” Of course. It had taken Jane and Vincent some time to discover that the Verre required full daylight to work. It was only chance, really, that led to their first trial being outside on a sunny day, in such a way that made their use clear. If Sanut—if Spada had watched their experiments with the glass sphere at Ca’ Sanuto and not understood that they required sun, then of course she could well imagine how it might seem that the glass had broken in transit. “How were you thinking to use this information? Shall we tell the capo di polizia or write to Mr. Hobhouse? We have names for them now, at least: Coppa, Bastone, Spada, and—”
“Denaro?” The puppet player shook his head. “Those aren’t names. Those are the suits in the tarot deck.”
“The what?”
Signor Zancani crouched by a small bag resting against the wall of the booth and pulled out a rectangular bundle wrapped in cloth. Unfolding the cloth, he exposed an elegant deck of cards. “I’m not above doing some fortune-telling from time to time, if that is what the audience wants. Here.” He went through the cards and pulled out four. “Wands, Swords, Coins, and Cups.”
Snorting, Vincent shook his head. “They are titles. Wands, or Bastone … for Biasio, who is clearly their glamourist.”
“The pirate captain … Coppa, Cups.” Jane leaned her head back, remembering the little clerk in the port office. “Coins. Denaro is the clerk.”
“And Sanuto, their leader … Spada, Swords. That puts his sword cane in a new light, eh?” Vincent ran his hand through his hair. “Well … in any event, I have in mind something more personal than that.”
The rain dripping on the street gave a false sense of tranquillity inside the close confines of the puppet booth. Jane tapped her finger against her knee, considering Vincent’s words. “You are thinking to beat Spada at his own game.”
“Muse. For the past three months, I have thought of nothing else.”
Jane slipped her hand into his. The prospect of regaining their possessions, of beating Spada, was deeply appealing, but the memory of how easily they had been fooled stayed with her. More precisely, the part that she had played in delivering them to him by being so trusting and not looking beyond the surface of any action. “As have I, but he is well funded and we are without resources. Then, too, he has a polizia in his employ. Clearly, he is prepared for us—look at the way in which Gallo behaved. The discovery might be something he had planned. I cannot help but think of how easy it was to spy on them and wonder if we are somehow playing into their hands again.”
Vincent drew his head back and opened his mouth as though to retort. Then he closed it and shook his head, glancing toward Zancani. “You understand.”
The puppet player raised his hands and took a step backwards. “Do not ask me to intervene. I will be outside.” He ducked under the curtain before either could say anything. Jane was just as glad to see him go, though she knew he could hear them well enough. She paused and let her vision expand to her second sight, looking for any sign that someone was listening with less worldly means, but she saw no threads of glamour.
Running his hand through his hair, Vincent wet his lips. “Jane … We have an advantage, in that they cannot make the spheres work.”
“So we overheard.”
“But what reason would they have had to return to Murano? If their plan is to coax me into helping them resolve this, then they need me because the spheres do not work. If the spheres do work, then why would they need me?”
“Why did the pirates need to attack our ship? We did not understand the real reasons for that at the time, either.”
He waved that aside. “It is not the same.”
“We do not know that. All we know for certain is that Spada and his men are here. And how do we know that? Because you just happened to see one of them go to Querini’s. Might that not have been their plan?”
“If he had passed through the square where I perform, yes. Absolutely, yes.” Vincent’s excitement drove him to stand, but there was nowhere for him to pace in the small booth. “But I was shopping—shopping at a grocer’s. How could they possibly have expected me to be doing that?”
“A child watching the door of our apartment could easily report where you were going. Or perhaps the bait was intended for me.”
Vincent shook his head firmly. “At a time when you are always at the convent? No. Look at the palazzo. I think they have been here for some days already. And who knows how long they will remain? We must act, and act quickly.”
Jane crossed her arms, but the source of her discomfort was uncertain. Was it that she thought Vincent was mistaken and that they would be drawn even deeper into Spada’s schemes, or was it that he was correct and she was simply afraid? Was her distress over their circumstances causing her to quiz every situation in which she found herself?
Jane did not want to live in a world where she could trust no one. Caution, yes, caution she had learned, but she hoped it would not dip into paranoia. She nodded slowly. “What did you have in mind?”
“I want to steal back the glass that Spada took and replace them with flawed spheres.”
“Why bother replacing them? Why not just take them?”
“Because if we did, they would know that the Verres are gone, and that may drive them to try to re-create the technique. If they continue to think that it simply does not work, then it will go no further.”
“They already think that they have the wrong spheres, and that is not dissuading them.”
“But they do not have the wrong spheres. They will eventually understand the relation sunshine has to their performance.”
Jane could see his point, but another obstacle occurred to her. “Where will we get flawed spheres? None of the glassmakers would work with us when we had funds. Why would they now?”
“They would not work with us because we wanted to watch. Now, we only need some balls of glass. We can hire an apprentice to make those.”
Chewing the inside of her lip, Jane considered. She had seen marbles in glass shops, and they were inexpensive. The sort of thing they required had no design in it, and though larger by several fold, still might cost very little. That could work. “They still have the journal. We will have to steal or replace tha
t as well.”
Vincent did not quite mask his glee when she said “we.” A grin spread over his face. “Agreed. But we can make changes to it, so that if they try to re-create the technique, it will fail. The question is, how do we make a copy?”
“The scriptorium … They could duplicate it. But someone will have to go in to see what papers they have.” She shook her head, not quite believing that they were seriously contemplating any of this. “This is madness, you know.”
“It is. I am counting on that fact.”
There was the gleam of excitement that she had been missing these past few months. That flare of inspiration was at the heart of her husband. Whatever the means, she was grateful to see the man she married coming back into his own. Even sitting in a puppet booth, she could see his mind working and putting together pieces of a plan, as surely as if he were plotting a glamural.
Her only concern—one that she would not voice to Vincent—was that they might not succeed. After watching him turn inward with despair over the past months, what would happen to her husband if they failed at swindling the swindler?
Seventeen
Lion in the Air
Jane sat in the window of the room they had secured across the street from the palazzo. They had used a little of the funds left from pawning her ring to rent the room, which Jane thought was rather a telling measure of Vincent’s state of mind. Even with her heavy wool shawl wrapped around her, the want of the hearth was apparent. She had thought that their apartment was cold, but she had overrated its degree of discomfort. This room was little more than a closet and only the people crowded into it gave it any warmth.
Vincent leaned against the wall next to her, sketching a lion in the air in front of him. On the floor, Signor Zancani carved a puppet head. Each stroke of his chisel released a sweet resinous fragrance. Sister Maria Agnes sat with her rosary by the door, counting through the beads while she stared at the wall opposite.
On the other side of the canal, which Jane could not see from there, another room held Sister Aquinata and one of the other nuns, who were watching the palazzo’s water entrance. For the past two days, all they had done was watch and discuss options. After talking over the possibilities for how to approach Spada, they realized that they needed more information. This had led to them watching the palazzo for two full days, in spite of Vincent’s urgency, to see if there were any patterns that they might exploit.
Aware that they must also be under surveillance, Jane and Vincent returned to their small room each day at their usual time and tried to continue on as if the conversation with Gallo at the polizia station had truly confounded them. Vincent continued to check in at the station, but was denied every request to speak to the capo di polizia. He was uncertain if that refusal came from the capo or from Gallo.
Footsteps on the stairs caused them all to stop their activities. Vincent released the threads holding the lion. Zancani brushed the wood shavings to the side, and Sister Maria Agnes tucked her rosary away. Jane stayed seated, hardly daring to move.
The Abbess let herself into the room. The deep frown on her face told Jane everything she needed to know. She turned her face back to the street to continue her watch.
“He would not see me.” Her words broke the silence that had held the room for the past hour.
Jane sighed, her breath fogging the window. She had so hoped that the capo di polizia was not involved, but if he would not speak to the Abbess, then that hope seemed in vain.
“Are you certain he knew you were there?” Vincent pushed away from the wall and drew out one of the room’s chairs for the Abbess.
“Absolutely. His door was open, and I could see him clearly. Gallo went in to tell him. I could not hear them, but the capo looked up, made eye contact with me, and frowned.” She shook her head. “I do not know what to think.”
“It was worth a try.” Jane had very much hoped that if the nun spoke to the capo, he could take care of the swindlers, but her last chance to keep Vincent from doing something imprudent had just evaporated. Jane had grown increasingly apprehensive about Vincent’s state. While she understood his desire to best Spada and found it perfectly natural, the passion with which he threw himself into planning bordered on an obsession.
“So we will have to move ahead on our own.” Far from being distressed, Vincent seemed almost excited by this news.
“I still do not see how we are going to gain access to the interior.” From Jane’s position, it looked as though their entrance was barred by the wall surrounding the building.
“I could make an attempt,” Signor Zancani said.
Jane shook her head, but Vincent spoke the objection. “It must be either Jane or myself, in order to identify the papers and the Verres.”
Turning her attention back to the window, Jane said, “The difficulty is that at least one member of the band is always at home. They keep inconstant hours and use both entrances indiscriminately.”
“The servants are all local,” Vincent said. “Might we do something with that?”
It was a small crack, but the only one that they might use to gain access. “Perhaps one of them could draw us a map of the interior? With that, we could at least narrow our search to the likeliest rooms.”
The Abbess nodded. “I would be cautious about any who work there presently, but I can speak to the priest in this parish to see if there is anyone who has been released from service.”
“There must be another way to enter.” Vincent came to stand by Jane and stared across at the other building.
The Abbess joined them. “Perhaps it is time for us to ask them for a little charity?”
“Thank you, but no.” Jane shook her head. “It is good of you to offer, but this is undoubtedly a precarious venture, and you have already done so much.”
Her nostrils flared, and she lifted her chin. “They used my church. I do not take kindly to that.”
“But they must also know that I am associated with you,” Jane said, “and your visit to the capo di polizia will draw attention to that. Were you to call on them, even in the name of charity, it would be immediately suspect.”
Some of the fight drifted out of the nun. She sighed. “I suppose you have a point. Well. Anything that does not harm my sisters or our charges is yours, should you need it. I will get a map for you, but I have no idea how you will get inside.”
Vincent, who had been staring at the window, pointed to a grocer’s boy who was trundling a barrow down the street. “Perhaps I could make a delivery?”
“We lived at Ca’ Sanuto with Spada for weeks. They will surely recognise you.”
Signor Zancani lifted his hand. “I can help with that.”
As intent as Jane was on trying to stop Vincent from charging into danger, she found herself curious as to what the puppet player had in mind. “How?”
“Theatrical cosmetics.” He grinned and lifted the puppet head. “Glamourists aren’t the only ones who can create illusions.”
* * *
While Signor Zancani was quite correct, there were tasks for which glamour was the best candidate. As a result, Jane now sat in what appeared to be Spada’s library with the Abbess and Sister Maria Agnes, waiting for Vincent to return with Signor Zancani. Their footsteps echoed on the hollow wooden floor that lay under the glamour they had erected in the warehouse owned by the convent, which was used to give the girls a place for recess during rainy days. The glamural they had created would fool no one, but the hastily rendered structure gave them a better idea of what they would face when Jane went into the palazzo.
“You were right.” Vincent walked through the wall, as if he were a ghost. The puppet player was close behind.
Jane jumped in her seat, in spite of knowing that it was a glamural. “I think you take a certain delight in that.”
“You are adorable when you squeak.”
“I did not squeak.”
“Squeal?”
She humphed at him and looked to Sister Maria A
gnes for support, but the little German nun was studiously going over her notes. “So we laid this out wrong when we created it?” The room was a reconstruction based on the map and what they could see through the window.
Vincent shook his head and settled into one of the camp chairs they had disguised with glamour to represent the furniture in the library. His fatigue showed in the way he eased himself into the chair. The glamural was rough, but it was still extremely large. Jane felt it herself, and Vincent had worked even harder than she. “The hall upstairs matches the measurements. But it is not the same length.”
Signor Zancani nodded. “It is a full ten feet shorter.”
Sister Maria Agnes clapped her hands together and looked around the library, as if it could offer her some clue that they had not placed there. “Do you think there is a secret room, or is it simply a mistake?”
“Likely a mistake, given that our informant was not the most literate of maids,” the Abbess said.
“I do not feel so certain.” To Jane, it seemed more certain that Spada would have a hidden room in his palazzo for storing the spheres and other valuables. “It would make sense for Spada to install a strong room in the palazzo, and we know he has a glamourist on his team.”
Vincent made a noise of agreement, continuing to examine the map as though he had not stayed up the past several nights studying them. “You will have to be prepared for both, I suppose.” He scowled. “I do not like you going in alone.”
“We have talked about this, love. You are impossible to disguise.” Vincent had been forced to acknowledge that his height would be difficult to conceal. They also needed him outside for his ability to work glamour at a distance.
“With cosmetics, yes, but with glamour—”
Valour and Vanity Page 20
