Votive by Karen Brooks Page B

easy to demonise something that’s a part of history, of myth. But once a legend becomes a reality, undermining the propaganda, then there’s a problem that can only be solved by erasing it. If I were the Doge, I would be showing the Great Patriarch how loyal I am by removing the source of the tales and those who repeat them immediately. Making an example of those who persist in resisting the Church’s teachings.’
    ‘This is what the people fear.’
    ‘Then they are wise.’
    ‘Wise, yes. Prepared, no. Not even the events of yesterday can prepare them for what the Cardinale will unleash upon them.’
    They sat in silence for a moment.
    ‘Why did the Bond Riders let you go?’ asked Giaconda, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from her gown.
    ‘Signorina,’ said Baroque, his mind racing, ‘as I have already said, I’m as surprised as you. I felt sure they were going to kill me. You can see for yourself, they beat me to within an inch of my life.’ Baroque clumsily indicated his face and hands.
    ‘You told them nothing?’ Signor Maleovelli asked.
    ‘Nothing. Your plans are safe.’ Baroque shifted slightly, wincing as he stretched one of his legs, moving the jacket he’d taken from Signor di Torelli’s to one side. It was tight across the shoulders and refused to button over his stomach. He longed for his own clothes, his own rooms, as small as they were, hidden away above the rami of the Usurers Quartiere.
    ‘It was clear the Riders had their own sources of information,’ said Baroque cautiously. ‘They knew a great deal about the apprentice. They have been observing him for quite some time, longer than I did.’ He ceased fidgeting andmet Signor Maleovelli’s eyes once more. It was time to play his one and only card.
    ‘Signor, there’s something I learned from the Bond Riders, something very important. If the apprentice still lives, it will change everything.’
    ‘Really?’ Signor Maleovelli pushed more tobacco into his pipe. ‘Signor Scarpoli, I don’t think there’s any information you can give me that I don’t already know.’
    Baroque used another cough to disguise his laugh. ‘With all due respect, Signor, I don’t believe you could possibly know this.’
    ‘Why is it that whenever anyone begins a sentence with those words, “all due respect”, they always mean the opposite?’ asked Giaconda of no-one in particular.
    Baroque’s palms itched. He wanted to slap the smug look from her face. He thought of Katina, how negotiating with her was so very different from dealing with this woman who liked to pretend she was a nobile. ‘I do mean it respectfully, Signor, Signorina. This knowledge will help you find the Estrattore. But, in exchange, I would like the items you took from my room at the taverna back.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Giaconda. ‘You mean the dirty old shirt, brush and bag we found.’
    ‘Sì.’ He resisted the urge to look at the briefcase.
    ‘And why on earth would you want those back, Signor Scarpoli? I was only saying to Papa after you arrived last night that we should really replace them. And now that, with the advantage of daylight, I see what you have endured while in our employ –’ she signalled his bruises and cuts ‘– I feel it is the least we can do.’
    ‘Grazie, Signorina. But these items, they’re very dear to me just as they are. They contain fond memories, you might say.’
    ‘They are very dear to us too, Signor Scarpoli,’ Giacondaregarded him with defiance. ‘Your information would have to be very good indeed to make us part with something so … meaningful.’
    ‘I believe it is, Signorina.’
    ‘More valuable than the knowledge that the candlemaker’s apprentice is, in fact, a girl?’ added Signor Maleovelli.
    Seconds ticked away. Baroque gulped. He forced his hands to be still. His mind raced. How on Vista Mare could they possibly know? He’d spoken with the apprentice, watched her from afar for weeks and he never guessed. ‘I was not