is just the place where he’d feel at home.”
“I can imagine that. A lot of people feel at home in Venice.”
“Well, not me. The whole time I was there I felt as if I were walking around a sugary pink ice cream that was melting. Now, you’re also the sort of man … so I think you would be just the person to track down his hiding place and discover where he’s off to next. You see, I’m not entirely happy about him. Anyone capable of undermining and destroying his own claim to the throne can also be expected to try and get it back by some underhand and unpredictable means. We have to keep him under steady surveillance. He was just the same as achild. If you let him out of your sight for five minutes you prepared for every sort of catastrophe. You must travel to Venice without delay. Venice isn’t as large as its reputation suggests. I think if you wander round for a few days with your eyes open, in the streets and on the Lido, you’re bound to find him. Anyway, that’s not my business. How you do it is up to you. All I’m interested in is that you give me a precise report on what he’s up to, who he is in contact with and what his plans are for the foreseeable future. Are you willing to do this?”
Sandoval didn’t have to think. Of course he was willing. He adored Venice, Alturia bored him, and right now this sort of irregular mission interested him much more than painting . Above all, he too was curious to know what the ex-King might be doing. Indeed, ever since that memorable evening when he realised that the King and the Nameless Captain of the conspirators were one and the same person, his imagination had steadily cast around for an explanation of the mystery. What could have brought the King to the point where—a thing without parallel even in Alturia’s history—he could conspire against himself ? Perhaps if he could find him in Venice, he would discover the key to the whole enigma.
“Talk the details over with my secretary, Baroness Fifaldo—including the financial details,” the Princess added. “And don’t say a word about this to anyone. Not even Delorme must know. Be as gentle as a lamb, and as wise as a serpent. This last point is the most important of all. And look to yourself , if you get involved with Oliver. Venice is not a nice place, whatever they say, and Oliver is bad company.”
Two days later Sandoval arrived in Venice. It was now high summer, with few people—in fact only the natives—outon the streets in the heat of the day, the foreigners tending to stay out on the Lido, where he too took a hotel. If the King were in Venice, that was where he would be lodging, Sandoval reckoned—at the Excelsior. But after a single day on the watch he was quite sure Oliver was not a guest in that particular establishment.
Over the next few days he made no attempt to look for the King, so full was he of the joys of being once again in Venice. He wandered down the narrow little streets, beside the dark green lagoons, through the shady underpassages, making his way at last to the Grand Canal, where every one of the old mansions spoke in its own distinctive way to his painter’s heart. He sought out the famous pictures in the Frari and the Accademia, travelled to Padua to pay a visit to Giotto, sat in the evening sipping iced coffee, and a little bored, listening to the music in St Mark’s Square, met some old acquaintances on the Lido, bathed, and felt very much at home.
But then his conscience began to stir, and he tried to devise a system to achieve his aim. Princess Clodia had been perfectly right: Venice is tiny and sooner or later people must bump into one another. After all, where does one go there, if not to the Lido or St Mark’s Square? Sandoval scoured these places systematically. He immersed himself in every square inch of the Lido, and stood staring with Argus eyes round the crowds of tourists in the little arcades around St Mark’s Square where, by now, the whole of
“I can imagine that. A lot of people feel at home in Venice.”
“Well, not me. The whole time I was there I felt as if I were walking around a sugary pink ice cream that was melting. Now, you’re also the sort of man … so I think you would be just the person to track down his hiding place and discover where he’s off to next. You see, I’m not entirely happy about him. Anyone capable of undermining and destroying his own claim to the throne can also be expected to try and get it back by some underhand and unpredictable means. We have to keep him under steady surveillance. He was just the same as achild. If you let him out of your sight for five minutes you prepared for every sort of catastrophe. You must travel to Venice without delay. Venice isn’t as large as its reputation suggests. I think if you wander round for a few days with your eyes open, in the streets and on the Lido, you’re bound to find him. Anyway, that’s not my business. How you do it is up to you. All I’m interested in is that you give me a precise report on what he’s up to, who he is in contact with and what his plans are for the foreseeable future. Are you willing to do this?”
Sandoval didn’t have to think. Of course he was willing. He adored Venice, Alturia bored him, and right now this sort of irregular mission interested him much more than painting . Above all, he too was curious to know what the ex-King might be doing. Indeed, ever since that memorable evening when he realised that the King and the Nameless Captain of the conspirators were one and the same person, his imagination had steadily cast around for an explanation of the mystery. What could have brought the King to the point where—a thing without parallel even in Alturia’s history—he could conspire against himself ? Perhaps if he could find him in Venice, he would discover the key to the whole enigma.
“Talk the details over with my secretary, Baroness Fifaldo—including the financial details,” the Princess added. “And don’t say a word about this to anyone. Not even Delorme must know. Be as gentle as a lamb, and as wise as a serpent. This last point is the most important of all. And look to yourself , if you get involved with Oliver. Venice is not a nice place, whatever they say, and Oliver is bad company.”
Two days later Sandoval arrived in Venice. It was now high summer, with few people—in fact only the natives—outon the streets in the heat of the day, the foreigners tending to stay out on the Lido, where he too took a hotel. If the King were in Venice, that was where he would be lodging, Sandoval reckoned—at the Excelsior. But after a single day on the watch he was quite sure Oliver was not a guest in that particular establishment.
Over the next few days he made no attempt to look for the King, so full was he of the joys of being once again in Venice. He wandered down the narrow little streets, beside the dark green lagoons, through the shady underpassages, making his way at last to the Grand Canal, where every one of the old mansions spoke in its own distinctive way to his painter’s heart. He sought out the famous pictures in the Frari and the Accademia, travelled to Padua to pay a visit to Giotto, sat in the evening sipping iced coffee, and a little bored, listening to the music in St Mark’s Square, met some old acquaintances on the Lido, bathed, and felt very much at home.
But then his conscience began to stir, and he tried to devise a system to achieve his aim. Princess Clodia had been perfectly right: Venice is tiny and sooner or later people must bump into one another. After all, where does one go there, if not to the Lido or St Mark’s Square? Sandoval scoured these places systematically. He immersed himself in every square inch of the Lido, and stood staring with Argus eyes round the crowds of tourists in the little arcades around St Mark’s Square where, by now, the whole of
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