Heart of Glass (29 page)

I ignore the ship’s crew and disembark with quick, sure steps.

My mind is swirling. A street entertainer wearing a harlequin’s outfit prances before me, hoping to earn a few coins. I shake my head and storm past him, nearly oblivious to the low curses he sends after me.

I find myself in a small piazza and sit on a fountain ledge to think. I imagine that Allegreza is by my side, probing me with questions to tease out the truth and its significance.

Perhaps he was mistaken?

But no. I remember the sight of my own poor sister in her coffin. Despite the ravages of death, I still knew her face. There’s no way Halim could have made such an error. He was so sure. And why did he ask to see the body in the first place, unless he already had an idea about what he would find? How is it that no one wondered about this before? The implications are almost too horrifying to contemplate. It would mean that all he’s said is part of a ruse.
He’s not declaring war on Venice in the name of Aysim’s honor—he’s doing it to suit his own ends. He’s trying to sow discord among his enemy by blaming an innocent man. When I think how carefully the Doge has tried to placate him, how the whole of Venice has been besmirched by his claims that we are a heartless nation, how Roberto has fled and politicians have flourished. How I … how I allowed myself … And Massimo and the rebels are playing into his hands—

“Laura!”

I swivel round and see Paulina. She’s much changed since our encounter in the church. She’s freshened herself up and tidied her hair and it looks as though she has managed to eat something, judging by the color in her cheeks. I’m glad—but confused to see her here. As we sat in the chapel, she seemed terrified of all that was afoot in Venice and keen to hide away, even to cut herself free of the Segreta.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well,” I tell her.

“Did I see you coming from Halim’s ship?” she asks.

I nod. “I was hoping to dissuade him from his plans.” Guiltily, I rearrange the ribbons on my dress, covering myself up. But Paulina doesn’t seem to notice. She shakes her head bitterly.

“Sometimes I think Venice deserves to suffer for all its pride.”

Her words startle me. Partly because they could be construed as treasonous in these times, but also …

“I have to be going,” she says. “My mother is expecting me at home. Take care of yourself, Laura.”

As I watch her leave, stepping out of the square, her words still echo within me. I realize why they’ve left me ice-cold.

I’ve heard them before.

That, and her polished appearance, are making my pulse quicken. And why is she heading the wrong way? Her mother’s home is in the northwest of the city, while she took the eastern path.

In an instant, I decide to follow her.

Yes, those words—Venice and her pride. Carina said something similar—months ago—just before she tried to kill me on the boat.

It could be a coincidence, but it could be something far worse.…

A traitor in the Segreta
.

Paulina picks up her pace as she winds through the streets and alleys, and I move after her, pausing at turnings to give her space. This is definitely not the direction of Paulina’s home. As we travel farther from the harbor, the cobbles become loose, and paint peels at the shuttered windows. Rats chase each other down the open drains. We’re entering the poorer part of the city—a place where young noblewomen are advised not to travel alone. I can’t think what business my friend might have here. This does not strike me as the behavior of the fearful woman I met a few days ago, driven to distraction after delivering a blackmail letter to Massimo.

The blackmail letter …

Waves of fear wash over me. I see Allegreza again in her cell. Her strange tone when I tell her who it was that delivered the letter.

Paulina? She is an odd choice for such a mission
.

Did she too suspect? Has she always? She wouldn’t let Paulina go to Murano—why?

Paulina pauses to pull a threadbare shawl out of an embroidered bag at her wrist. She wraps the shawl tightly around her shoulders, transforming herself into a peasant woman. She looks over her shoulder, and I duck behind a crumbling wall just in time. I wait, pressing my body against the bricks, until I judge it’s safe to peer around the corner. She’s walking away again. I’ve no time to buy a simple shawl of my own. We move deeper into the slums of the city.

She arrives at a tall building with a series of arched windows. Several of the panes of glass are broken. The gates are rusty and hanging from their hinges, and there are chips in the fleur-de-lis that decorate the grids over some of the windows. This is a beautiful building, left to rot.

Paulina slips through the open doorway, stepping over discarded bundles of rags. I wait a moment, then follow. As soon as I step inside, the smell of damp and decay hits me. I hear the creak and groan of floorboards above my head, and, peering through the slits, I see a shadow pass overhead. Paulina must already be on the floor above. I climb the stairs after her, testing each one before placing my full weight on it. It’s still impossible to climb without making a noise, and I’m glad that, farther ahead, Paulina has disturbed a flock of pigeons that take to the air, screeching.

I walk down a corridor lined with hanging rags. Was this once a cloth-dyer’s? A larger rag hangs over a doorway to form a curtain, kept in place by a nail in each corner.
Beyond it, I hear voices and can just make out the shadows of two people moving about a room. I creep closer until I can hear what they’re saying, pressing my body against the wall. A mouse scuttles over my slippers, but I keep my nerve.

“I’ve done everything you asked.” Paulina sounds frightened.

“Stop whimpering!” replies another voice. Carina. “You chose to follow this path with me. Allegreza is dead, thanks to you!” She laughs.

I can hear the quiet sound of Paulina’s desperate sobbing. Any anger I have quickly vanishes. She’s in over her head, fit to drown.

“I just want to go now,” she says. “Please let me go!”

There’s the sudden sound of their footsteps beyond the curtain, and I slip behind one of the rags hanging from a line near the ceiling. Fortunately, it’s so crumpled with age that I can hide in its folds. I watch their feet walk past me along the corridor. A stride or two to the left, and they would brush my skirts. I’m about to breathe out with relief when Paulina stops.

“What about him?” she asks.

“I haven’t decided yet. I may let the rats have him.”

Him?
I wait until the creaks of the stairs have died away before coming out of my hiding place, brushing the cobwebs from my skirts.
Him?
Oh, God, how my heart is beating. I creep on light feet to the room they’ve left, parting the curtain.

It’s small and dark inside. Unlit candles are ranged across the fireplace, leaning in pools of melted wax. A
single chair sits in the center of the room, and tied to it is Roberto.

He strains against the ropes, his eyes bulging as he sees me. Muffled sounds emerge from behind the filthy rag tied over his mouth. He is bare-chested, his skin slick with sweat. I throw myself towards him, grappling at the ropes, and all my doubts take flight.

41

I fall to my knees and cover his face with kisses.

“My darling,” I whisper. I don’t care if he’s streaked with dirt and sweat; he has never been dearer to me. I crane around the back of the chair and untie the knots in the rope. His wrists are bloody and the skin chafed from where he has strained to free himself. As the ropes fall into a pile around the feet of the chair, Roberto’s body slumps forward, and I have to push him back to prevent him from collapsing on the floor. His eyes roll back in his head as unconsciousness threatens to overcome him.

“Laura … Laura.” He says my name over and over again. I hook an arm around his waist and help him to his feet. “I thought you were … She told me …” His knees buckle beneath his weight.

“You must try to walk,” I say gently. He nods in understanding and licks his cracked lips. He takes a tentative step forward, and another, while I support him. So, we make our way slowly out of the abandoned building. I pause near
the doorway, just in case Carina and Paulina are waiting, but no one is there.

We take a different route back to the shoreline. After a few turns, Roberto spots a brimming water butt beneath a broken drainpipe. He staggers towards it and leans over the edge, submerging his arms up to his shoulders. He cups great handfuls of rainwater and brings them up to his mouth. He plunges his head in the water and flings it back again so that sparkling droplets arc through the air. I wait as he drinks more and more, rivulets of water running down his chest, his body slumped against the butt. Finally, he braces himself against the side and rolls his body around so that he’s facing me. He grins with pure joy and I laugh with relief, running to him.

A sodden arm falls around my shoulders but I don’t pull away. He can ruin my dress. I care for nothing but him.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he says, his voice croaky. He drags me to him and kisses me passionately. “Carina told me you were dead. She even brought a lock of your hair and held it beneath my nose.”

“It’s a long story,” I tell him. “Stay here.”

From a stall near the harbor I buy a pot of pickled fish and a twist of sweetened bread. From another I find a simple hooded cloak. We make an odd couple. Me with my yellow silk dress, Roberto looking like a vagrant, cloaked on a warm day. Luckily, people are used to eccentrics in this part of the city.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier than I do now, feasting my eyes upon this filthy man cramming food into his mouth. “You saved my life,” he says.

“How did you escape from the jail?” I ask.

“I didn’t. A group of men attacked the guards and kidnapped me. They dragged me to that building and delivered me to Carina. I was just left to starve, with no food or water. From time to time she’d come to me. She’d taunt me. She said she had cut your throat. I thought I’d go mad—or die. Death seemed a better option.”

I feel the flush of guilt. I had let myself believe the worst, that he’d abandoned Venice and myself. And all that time he was suffering alone.

“But where did she find the men?” I ask.

“Ruffians can be bought, can’t they?”

“But these men must have been trained,” I insist. “They overpowered the guards.”

Roberto shrugs. “I couldn’t believe Carina was alive,” he goes on. “For a moment or two, I even felt sorry for her.”

There’s no time to talk about Carina now. I tell Roberto what’s been happening with Halim and the fleet. About the deception that has brought Venice to the brink of war, about the missing girl who looks just like the portrait of Halim’s sister, who could be the key to exposing it. I tell him about Allegreza, and he pulls me to him.

“I know how much you admired her,” he says.

When I talk of Massimo, and the rebellion within the Council, his features darken. “What shall we do?” he asks.

“For now, we hide. We need to weigh our options.”

I hold my hand out to him and, gratefully, he takes it. Then I lead him to a canal, where we find a gondola, and the two of us climb aboard.

Roberto settles in beneath his hood as the boatman pushes off.

“Where are we going?” Roberto asks. His eyelids are already drooping with fatigue.

“Home,” I say.

Through the gate, I can see some of the servants on stepladders in the courtyard, painting a section of the wall. Faustina is snoozing in a chair by the kitchen steps. I lead Roberto through a side entrance, and then upstairs. He’s as weak as a kitten and I must be patient as he slowly climbs the steps to my room.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he protests. “We’re not yet married.”

“Wedding vows can wait,” I tell him.

Roberto smiles. “You never did like being told what to do.”

I lean past him to open my bedroom door and usher him inside. He sinks onto my sheets, and within moments he’s asleep.

I slip out of the bedroom and go to the kitchens for a pitcher of hot water.

Fresh sheets of pasta hang from a line above the counter and—there!—a copper urn of water is steaming on the stove. Bianca is leaning over the deep sink, up to her elbows in suds and steaming water.

“I’ll just help myself to some water,” I whisper, not wanting to disturb Faustina, whose chair is visible through the open door. But as I step towards the urn, I trip over a coal scuttle. Faustina stirs in her chair.

“Is everything all right?” she asks. Her eyes fall on my dress. “Oh, Laura, you’re filthy!”

“I tripped,” I say. “I’m going to bathe.”

Faustina bursts out laughing. “That’s right! A lady
drawing her own bath. As if Bianca or I would allow that! The household might survive many scandals, but not that!”

“Faustina, no, really …”

But it’s too late. She’s already cutting through the courtyard, into the main doorway and up the stairs.

“Stop!” I call after her. “Faustina, please …”

She bustles straight past the bathing chamber and turns the handle of my bedroom door. I rush in just as she shrieks, “Get out, get out, or have your filthy hands chopped off!” As she tries to run from the room, I seize her arm.