CHAPTER XXI
Mal managed to deflect Ned's questions about his dealings with Olivia for two days, mostly by ensuring they were never alone together. He let Berowne take them on a tour of the city, including a visit to the basilica of St Mark's, which surpassed even Mal's expectations. The lower half of the building was splendid enough, with its fine marble paving and Herculean pillars, but when he looked up… Every inch of the ceiling was gilded, so that it gleamed in the candlelight like a treasure cave. Even the gilding itself was merely the backdrop to hundreds of mosaics depicting saints and Bible stories, their figures rendered in the flat Eastern style that betrayed the city's past connections with Constantinople.
"I used to think the preachers exaggerated," Ned muttered as they followed Berowne into yet another side chapel.
"Oh?"
"About the richness of the churches, before King Henry broke with Rome."
Mal smiled. "I doubt any English cathedral was ever a tenth as grand, even then."
Berowne launched into a description of the chapel ceiling, oblivious to the satiety of his companions.
"I suppose you're going to see her again tonight," Ned whispered.
"What of it?"
"We're supposed to be here on business, not pleasure."
"Can I not combine the two?"
"She has bewitched you, this guiser whore."
"Olivia is not a whore," Mal said, more loudly than he'd intended. An old woman who had been lighting a candle in the chapel glared at him and blew out her taper with a huff of disgust.
"So tell me what you've learned," Ned said, "and why this war has suddenly become a truce."
Mal sighed. "Very well. But not here. When we get back to the embassy, then I'll tell you."
"You swear."
"I swear. Now, look sharp. I think Berowne has found another interesting mosaic."
Ned rolled his eyes, and Mal chuckled in sympathy. This was going to be a long day.
Ned closed the attic door behind him.
"Well?"
Mal sat down on the end of the bed but immediately rose again, went to the window and closed the shutters against the noonday sun.
"Olivia's not our enemy," Mal said quietly. "In fact I think she may be our best ally in the city."
"What?"
"She has convinced me she has only good intentions–"
"Hah. And people say I'm the one who thinks with my prick."
"You think I trust her because I–"
"Because you're fucking her? Are you?"
Mal's expression was indistinct in the shadows, but the hunch of his shoulders implied guilt.
"I might have known," Ned muttered. When Mal made no reply, he added, "So, how is your new paramour going to help us?"
"She doesn't want the skraylings in Venice any more than England does. In fact she's terrified they're here to hunt her down. The only reason she trusts me is because… " He sighed. "I told her about Erishen."
"Sandy?"