* * *
"It's done," said Saluzzo cheerfully, as he slipped through the back door of Bianca Casarini's house. "Within a fortnight, I'd say, maybe sooner. Hard to know, dealing with those idiot Greeks. But Fianelli tells me that Nachelli's cousin reported that the young Dentico handled Querini perfectly. He was there, watching, the fool. If it goes sour, the Greeks will finger him instead of us; through him, Nachelli—and me and Zanari will make sure that Nachelli can't finger anybody."
He laughed coarsely, pulling her to him and lifting her onto the table by the door. The Florentine's hands were already forcing up her skirt. "If it goes sour. It might very well not. Best thing the Venetians did, executing the old count. His son's smart enough to do the work right, and dumb enough to do it in the first place."
She responded to his lustful embrace with feigned enthusiasm. That was just a bit difficult, since Saluzzo was obviously in a rutting mood. He wouldn't, this night, give her the time to prepare the rituals that usually allowed her to leave him to his own fantasies.
So be it. It was a minor inconvenience, after all, and she could use the opportunity to advance another scheme. "That still leaves Fianelli himself," she gasped, spreading her legs. "I'd feel a lot better—oh, Paulo!"
* * *
The Emperor's hands shook as he held the parchment. He screwed up his eyes in effort, and then handed it to Baron Trolliger. "Read it for me, Hans. Damn this ailment. I want that boy safe, and I am too weak to see to it properly myself."
Trolliger read the agent's report aloud. The Emperor pursed his lips. They were slightly blue, Trolliger noted.
"Two things," said the Emperor, tiredly, but breathing slightly easier on the new medication. "One. I want an attack on Emeric's borders with the Empire. Give him a reason to come home. Second. Dispatch to Spain. If my commanders there can spare the Venetian Atlantic fleet as many extra men as the ships can carry. Rations too. These generals. So literal."
The Emperor closed his eyes. "I hope Francesca is all right. Sieges are hell on horses. And worse for women and children."
"Sieges are hell for everyone," said Trolliger quietly. He'd lost his younger brother, two sisters, his mother and his dog in a siege that had spawned disease. It had taken half his family, that plague. Except for the dog. They'd eaten that. The baron still gagged every time he thought of it.
* * *
"We've already got six light galleys ready for sea, Doge Dorma," said the Admiral of the Arsenal. "Mostly," he scowled at Benito, "because of that menace you have put in our midst."
Benito sipped his Soave, and smiled beatifically. "The admiral and I are the best of friends, really, Petro," he said innocently. "I've solved so many problems for him."
"Broken so many scuolo rules that the older masters want to murder him and the youngsters think it is a fine thing to do," growled the admiral. "I will say that this building program has been the better for it, though. Of course in the long term we'll regret it. You can't put the wine back into a grape when you want to."
Petro Dorma smiled and waved a hand pacifyingly. "Well, Admiral, how about if I took him off your hands? Of course, we'd want you to keep up the same rate of building, or we'll send him back."
The admiral scowled again. "We'll need an extra four laborers for the heavy lifting, but think of the tranquility! I don't think you'd need to send him back, Your Grace. The Arsenalotti are caught up in the patriotism of this young ward of yours now. I don't think I could slow them down. But what are you going to do with him? I can recommend a flea-ridden village a few miles from Eraclea. I have a grudge against the place."
"We want to send him back to Corfu, if we can. With three of those light galleys, some men, money and weapons."
Benito bounced to his feet, spilling wine. "I'm out of here! When do we sail, Petro?"
"Within the next two days. Your brother wants you to come and see him about 'special guidance,' Benito. As soon as possible. He said you could even walk, ride or come by gondola." The Doge raised his eyebrows. "I was not aware that you could get to him any other way."
Benito grinned. "You learn something new every day, Petro."
* * *
The blond-bearded triton Androcles was, as far as Benito was concerned, far less alarming than the undine had been. For starters, the look in those aquamarine eyes told Benito that the triton would probably delight in just the sort of practical joke that would appeal to Benito. And for a second thing, if the nonhuman's eyes looked into his inner being, Androcles wasn't as deeply interested in what he saw there.
"Whoever advised you, advised you well. There is indeed something out there. Something to be avoided. A monster of slime and teeth. A parasite that likes to eat its victims alive. And it is working with the ships above, sometimes."
"Can you help us avoid it?"
The triton grinned. "I can. But will I?"
Benito shook his head mournfully. "Questions, questions. That's a hard one . . . as the camerata singer said to the bishop."
Androcles' shoulders twitched. He smiled and nodded. "He'll do, Juliette. The Lion seems to think that your efforts might get rid of this menace. And the truth be told, we don't like the thing. It stinks and befouls water even worse than humans do."
"Two days' time?"
The triton nodded. "We'll go and range the deeps in the meanwhile. We can taste the creature from a good many miles off, now that we have learned what it is."
Chapter 73
Dragorvich had been prepared for Emeric's fury at the loss of his mines in the earthquake. So he'd been relieved to find his master taking it all in relatively good humor.
"They may be unnecessary after all, Dragorvich. My agent within the fortress has widened a good chink in the enemy's armor. In the meantime, see if you can make the north causeway at least passable by footmen, and light cavalry at a pinch."
Dragorvich nodded, too relieved to ask many questions. "I've had men on the dark nights sneaking as far as they can and then swimming across, to clear caltrops. A few have been shot, but they paint themselves with mud first. They're difficult to see. The shingle should be safe for cavalry from that point of view, anyway. The causeway . . . give me a week, Sire, two at the most. It'll be good enough. We can make a covered way with green cowhides on top and some sandbags. It won't stop all the fire but it should make it possible for us to push a number of men across."
"That sounds excellent, Dragorvich. Don't make your preparations too obvious."
"Very well, Sire." He hesitated a moment. "I have a request. I know the policy is to get these peasants back onto the land, but I am desperately short of labor. If there is any trouble, can I have some of the troublemakers? We'll put them in leg irons and use them up at the front. They're likely to die, but rather them than my sappers."