Heart of Glass (23 page)

The executioner, a giant of a man, already wears his canvas hood and cloak. He sits on a stool and has a whetstone braced between his feet, against which he sharpens the blade of his ax. It’s all a performance, designed to get
the crowd in the mood. The ax glistens. Carina will be disappointed today. Not a blunt blade in sight.

Emilia leads me through the gathering crowds towards the front of the stage. Today, I don’t care that a noblewoman should not be amid the throng. Now that I no longer wear the disguise of a servant, people recognize me as Roberto’s betrothed and step away, lowering their eyes in respect. Justice is about to be done; no one need hate me anymore. Soldiers line the front of the stage, wearing cloaks and carrying leather shields. Executions can become animated, and these men will stop the baying crowds from climbing the stage and attacking the prisoner. They’ll also stop the condemned from escaping their fate, I think bitterly. I haven’t eaten in who knows how long and feel light-headed. But I must stay strong. I won’t let him down.

A drumroll sounds from a young drummer at the side of the stage. The executioner takes his place beside the block, and a herald steps forward. “Bring forth the prisoner!” he shouts. At my side, I hear Emilia’s breath catch.

The drummer takes up a slow rhythm. I close my eyes for an instant, but when I open them again the boy is looking uncertainly at the herald. He gives the drummer a quick nod, and the drumroll continues as the older man darts from the stage. Murmurs pass through the crowd.

“What’s happening?” Emilia whispers. I shake my head; I have no idea.

After slow, agonizing seconds, the herald appears back on the stage, his face flushed. He goes to talk to the commanding officer of the soldiers. Beside him I notice for the first time the Doge, cloaked in black robes, sitting in a low chair at the side of the stage. The Duchess Besina is absent,
presumably unable to bear the agony of watching her son die. Guards stand on either side of the Doge. He needs their protection more than ever, with the vultures circling. He looks pale and old. People are pushing forward now, and the row of uniformed men raises their shields, leaning their weight back into the crowd and looking over to their leader for instruction. Even the executioner looks impatient as he shifts his ax in his hand.

Something is wrong. I begin to move through the crowd, trying to get closer to the stage, Emilia’s hand grasping my arm.

“Back, you!” a soldier orders and shoves me away. The Doge’s eyes meet mine and widen in recognition. He gets to his feet, leaning heavily on the arm of his chair.

“Bring her to me!” he calls over. Now the murmurs and whispers that surround me become audible voices.

“It’s the murderer’s girl,” says one woman.

“Have some manners!” I hear Emilia tell her.

My cheeks burn with humiliation. A soldier helps me onto the stage, taking my hand to pull me up. My wrists are still sore from Carina’s bindings, but I brace my feet against the edge of the stage and lever myself up.

“Thank you,” I say. I glance down at Emilia who watches me, wide-eyed. Then I brush down my skirts and approach the Doge. Despite his rich cloak and peaked cap, he looks frailer than I’ve ever seen him, and I can see that the fits have drained his strength.

“Come,” he says as soon as I’ve drawn close. “We must visit the jail. I’ve heard … Well, come, let us go.” He grasps my arm, and pulls me after him. As we vacate the stage, the crowd begins booing and jeering. They’ve been robbed of
their morning’s entertainment—for now. I can only hope that Emilia will get home safely.

“What’s happening?” I ask as we hurry through the corridors of the palace, heading towards the secret passage. At last, we climb the wooden stairs that lead to the hidden entrance to the Piombi, the rings on the Doge’s fingers now cutting into my skin. I pull my arm free, and he looks round at me, his face wretched.

“I don’t know what we’ll find,” he admits. “But it sounds bad.”

Horrible thoughts assail me. Has Roberto killed himself, finding suicide less humiliating than being executed as a criminal? I follow the Doge down the narrow corridor towards the cell where I last saw him, crumpled on the floor like a pile of rags. A group of men stand at the open door, their faces grim. Sweat streaks their shirts. The heat is still overwhelming up here, even at this time of day.

We come to stand before the cell and see a covered body being lifted off the stained floor by four men. The Doge lets out a cry of pain and reaches for me. I put an arm around his frail shoulders, feeling my own body drain of energy. My heart flutters in my chest.

“It can’t be,” I mutter.

The Doge stumbles forward and pulls away the bloody sheet. A gray face. Unseeing eyes. Smears of blood. Thick eyebrows and a smattering of warts.

It’s the jailer who took me to visit Roberto.

“Where’s my son?” asks the Doge. I look into the empty cell and then at Roberto’s father.

“He’s escaped!” I gasp. A flicker of joy passes across the Doge’s face; then he quickly hides it from the men who
watch us. His hands tremble as he reaches out to cover the dead man’s face again.

“Tell the executioner he can go home,” the Doge says. “There’ll be no more death today.”

“What happened here?” I ask the men. They share doubtful glances, their faces flushing.

“Tell us!” the Doge orders. I catch a glimpse of the man he was until recently—powerful, assured, ruthless.

“I’m not sure, I wasn’t here when—” one guard begins.

“Well, bring us whoever was here!” The Doge’s face is red with fury. The guard looks over his shoulder and motions to someone standing in the shadows. Another guard steps forward, his brow heavily bruised. He stands looking at his feet.

“Tell the Doge what happened,” the first guard demands. He looks relieved that the attention is on someone else now.

“The prisoner escaped,” the man mumbles.

“How?” I ask. Though already I think I know. The Segreta’s vote, despite my worst fears, must have turned in Roberto’s favor. But would they have killed a man?

The man shrugs. Behind him, other guards hurtle down the stairs and call out Roberto’s name to each other, throwing doors open and kicking buckets out of the way. The guard we are questioning licks his lips nervously.

The Doge’s face darkens. “If you don’t tell us everything you know, you’ll be in a cell yourself.”

The heat makes my skin prickle. Now the corpse is being carried down the narrow stairs, men grunting with the exertion. One of them stumbles, and the body slips from their arms, its feet knocking against a wall. Hastily, they
recover it and resume their descent. When they’re out of earshot, the guard starts talking again.

“I was on duty, when an armed band broke into the prison during the night. I’ve no idea how. This palace is so full of secret corridors.… They killed the jailer and overwhelmed the others.” His words come out in a rush now, as though he wants to be rid of them. “Then they freed Roberto and locked us up. It wasn’t until the new guard arrived this morning that we were freed. We didn’t have time to tell anyone!” His voice has turned pleading.

The Doge shakes his head. “Get out of my sight!” The two men clatter down the wooden stairs, and finally silence descends. Roberto’s father casts me a glance.

“This is bad,” he says. “Justice must be seen to be done. Especially as things stand. The power balance in Venice is … precarious.” But he cannot hide the glint in his eyes. Neither of us says it out loud, but I know we are both thinking the same thing.

Roberto is free. He lives another day.

32

The Doge invites me to his private rooms for refreshment. Beyond the walls, we can hear the crowds calling angrily. A servant hastily goes to shut the window.

A marble table laden with fruit and jugs of water and wine stands at the far end of the room, and paintings line the wood-paneled walls. A couch upholstered in mulberry satin sits in the center of the room, beneath a chandelier, and the Doge indicates that I should sit. He nods curtly to a servant, who hastens over to the table and fills a plate, bringing it to us.

I reach out for a slice of melon, but as I lift it to my lips, nausea squirms in my stomach. Carefully, I place the fruit back on its plate.

“You must eat,” the Doge tells me, smiling kindly. He’s lost one son to death and now another has disappeared into the streets of Venice, yet he’s concerned about my welfare. There is more to this man than power alone.

As I try to eat again, the Doge clears his throat.

“It is important you know the truth,” he says, rubbing his brow. “I had nothing to do with Roberto’s disappearance.”

I’m sure he can’t read my own dark suspicions about the Segreta’s involvement. “But where could he be?”

There’s a noise from the doorway, and a servant is standing there.

“You have a visitor,” he announces, looking awkward. “Prince Halim requests an audience.”

“Then you must show him in,” the Doge says. I catch the merest tremble in his hand as he adjusts his doublet.

A moment later, Halim strides the room, his eyes sparking. Palace soldiers accompany him and station themselves around the room. The prince’s own men follow him, empty scabbards at their sides, as they’ve had to relinquish their weapons. Halim’s steps falter for a moment when he sees me, but he focuses on the Doge. “Justice has deserted Venice,” he says.

The Doge gestures to the table. “Help yourself to refreshments.”

Halim’s eyes narrow. “I was promised that my sister’s killer would meet his end today.” The prince doesn’t even look at me. “Roberto should have lost his head by now. Instead, I hear rumors of escape. It seems … convenient.”

The Doge shakes his head. “Come. Sit down. No one here had anything to do with Roberto’s disappearance. I’m as surprised as you are.”

Halim begins pacing the room, turning in slow circles. Faruk has sidled into the room also, watching the Doge with a smirk of disdain. “You expect us to believe that the
most powerful man in Venice doesn’t know how his prisoner escaped?” he says. “His son?”

Halim reaches down towards his boot and pulls out a knife. The soldiers in the corners of the room lurch to attention, but Halim picks a peach from a tray and begins to cut it into slices, allowing the juice to drip over the Doge’s rugs.

“You should know,” he says, all his attention on the fruit, “that fifty of my finest ships are stationed along the coast.” He smiles coldly at the Doge, who listens, his face strained. Halim enunciates his next words carefully, as if placing chess pieces on a board. “If Roberto is not found and delivered to me within ten days, I will sail on Venice as an enemy.” His voice turns as cold as the grave. “I will tear this city apart.”

My gasp is the loudest sound in the room, and Halim’s attention shifts. He sends me an almost imperceptible shake of the head, as if to say,
My vengeance is not meant for you
. Then he drops the remains of the fruit back onto the platter and walks out of the room, his men following.

When I look back at the Doge, he sinks down onto the bench, dropping his head in his hands. His voice comes out muffled. “Call an emergency council.” The servants rush to do his bidding and the two of us are left alone, for a few moments at least.

“What can be done?” I ask.

The Doge looks up at me, a defeated old man. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

Over the following hour, as the Doge’s servants spread across the city, members of the Grand Council gather at the
palace. I don’t know what I should do, or where I should be, so I remain where I am. As the old men, my father included, fill the room, I notice they huddle roughly into two groups.

“She shouldn’t be here,” says one man, pointing at me.

“Let her stay,” the Doge retorts. “There’s nothing she doesn’t already know, and she understands Roberto better than any of us.”

I’m not sure the Doge is right. Over the past days, I’ve started to wonder if I know Roberto at all. So many are convinced of his guilt. And then there is the letter Halim produced, the secret escape.… It’s like watching the actions of a stranger. But I’m glad I have the privilege of attending this meeting. If nothing else, I will be able to report back to the Segreta when the time is right.

The Doge quickly outlines Halim’s threats. When he’s finished, a Councilor speaks.

“We must find your son, at once. Guards must scour the city.”

“And if we cannot find him?” says the Doge.

“We must ready ourselves for war, then.”

“No,” the Doge says. “On principle, I will not go to war over a prince’s fury at not getting his own way. Venice is better than that!”

“Damn your principles!” the man argues. “We don’t have time for them. Things are already out of control. I insist we take practical action, not sit around hoping that Roberto turns up.”

The Doge sends him a smile that could cut through glass. “It is not for you or anyone else to insist on anything. I am still your leader.”

The Councilor flushes. He darts a glance at the other men, and they in turn adjust their bodies until they all face one man standing just inside the door. I hadn’t even spotted him before—the Admiral, the Bear.