"I am sure I can persuade his widow–"
"Oh no. We've had enough of your magic, thank you. Besides, it's not safe with this Olivia woman around."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"We'll find a way." She looked at the two other men. "Won't we?"
Ned and Gabriel made noises of agreement.
"Very well," Sandy said. "I shall leave it to you to arrange it. I am going down to the garden to read, it is too hot in here."
When he had gone, Ned groaned.
"What did you say that for? I've had enough of sneaking around this city, I'm not going to risk being arrested again."
"We could just ask his widow, couldn't we?" Gabriel said. "She might be willing to sell it."
Ned broke into a grin. "Hendricks can ask her, one woman to another."
"Me?" Why did all her adventures of late turn on her adopting female guise?
"If you prefer, I could dress up," Gabriel said. "A good shave and a layer of ceruse, and I am sure I could pass."
"Don't be ridiculous," Coby said.
"It's not ridiculous," Ned said. "Venetian women never go anywhere alone. Gabriel could pretend to be a courtesan, and you his – I mean her – maidservant."
"Why must I be the maidservant? I am an actual woman, after all."
Ned gave her an old-fashioned look. "You're also a blushing virgin, whereas Gabe here…"
Gabriel threw a wadded up sheet of paper at him. "Are you calling me a strumpet? You can throw stones, Ned Faulkner–"
"Enough!" Coby glared at both of them.
"Anyway it'll never work," Gabriel said at last. "Neither of us speaks more than a few words of Italian, for a start."
"So you're an English courtesan, here to learn from your Venetian sisters."
"I still think it's a stupid idea," Coby muttered. "Anyway, why would an English courtesan be visiting Bragadin's widow?"
"Simple," Ned said. "Everyone knows that Olivia was Bragadin's mistress. But she's in mourning now too. So, she's sent one of her courtesan friends to request the return of the necklace Bragadin was having valued for her."
"It'll never work."
"Of course it will work. Won't it, Gabe?"
"We will do our best," the actor replied. "It can do no harm, at any rate."
"Very well, since I cannot dissuade you," Coby said. "Heaven forbid that Ned would shave off his beard and try to pass as your maidservant."
The lovers exchanged knowing glances, and Coby rolled her eyes. If only Mal would return and take charge of his wayward friends. She got more respect from the skraylings.
"Only one problem," Ned said. "Where are you going to get clothes from? You both need to look the part."
"That's the easy bit," Coby said. "Raleigh told me we are all invited to the Doge's investiture tomorrow, and to make a good show for England we must wear the finest clothes the Mercerie can provide. But he never said we had to dress as men."
When Mal stepped ashore, he half expected to be arrested. After all, he'd spoken to a skrayling captain in public, in full sight of the Doge's Palace. Perhaps Surian's men were only watching the embassy, or perhaps the skraylings were not subject to the full force of Venetian law unless they came ashore. Still, best not to push his luck. He wanted this business with Hennaq concluded quickly and efficiently, with as little danger to his friends as possible, and to be sure of that he needed help.
The Mermaid was empty this early in the morning. A pale-faced girl was scrubbing the tables; she looked up as Mal entered and forced a smile that turned into a yawn.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"I think he's looking for me." Cinquedea stood in the doorway leading to the upper storey.
At a glance from Cinquedea, the girl threw her scrubbing brush in her bucket and fled the common room.
"So…" Cinquedea drew up a bench and perched on one end, avoiding the wet tabletop. "You are a bold one, signore, coming here after what happened in Rio Tera degli Assassini."
"That was none of my doing," Mal replied, leaning on a neighbouring table. "The ambassador's servant overheard your messenger boy, and merely did his civic duty."
"Still, careless of you to let him overhear."
"I had no idea who the message came from. Perhaps it is your boys who need training in discretion."
Cinquedea raised an eyebrow. "As I said, a bold one. So, you still want passage into… a certain building?"
"No, I have a more urgent need." Mal glanced towards the tavern door and lowered his voice. "I need you to help me abduct the honest courtesan, Olivia dalle Boccole."
Cinquedea stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"You think I am Cupid, to help you in your amorous adventures?" He got to his feet.
"Please." Mal stood, ready to block the other man's exit. "This is no lover's whim. She is a dangerous woman. If you wish to work unhindered in this city, you would do well to be rid of her."
Cinquedea shook his head. "Our arrangement concerns the sanuti, not our citizens."
"So does this."
"How so?"
Mal drew a deep breath. Best to keep this simple. "She is not who she seems. She is a New World witch, and the sanuti have agreed to take her home with them."
"Do not lie to me, signore. Olivia dalle Boccole was born in this city. My mother's cousin in Cannaregio knows her mother."
"Olivia has a mother?"
"We all have mothers," Cinquedea said with a smile. "And fathers too, though not all know them."
Mal ignored the slur.
"She didn't mention a mother," he muttered to himself. It had never occurred to him that this scheme might leave an old woman bereft.
"It is hardly a fit subject for pillow talk, eh?" Cinquedea paused in the doorway. "Forget this woman who has wronged you. There are plenty more such. Bring me good information, and you may have your pick of my girls."
"Thank you," Mal replied with as much grace as he could muster. "Good day to you, signore."
He left the taverna in a far less cheerful humour than he had arrived. Why had he let the others talk him into this? Never mind, he could manage without them. All he had to do was kill Hafiz, bind and gag Olivia and bundle her into a gondola. How hard could that be?
Coby's stomach churned as their gondolier rapped on the door-knocker of Palazzo Bragadin. This was never going to work. Not because Gabriel did not look the part; on the contrary, once he had donned gown and makeup and Ned had fastened ribbons in his long pale hair, he made a remarkably convincing woman. But surely a respectable widow like Signora Bragadin would never admit them to her home?
Palazzo Bragadin looked like a much grander version of Berowne's house. The walls were painted a soft terracotta colour that contrasted prettily with windows edged in white stonework, and just above their heads a little balcony jutted out over the water, held up by carved lions and decorated with tiny male busts at intervals along the balustrade. After a few moments the door opened and a servant asked their names.
"Lady Elizabeth Raleigh," Gabriel said in haughty tones.
Coby hid her gasp of surprise with a feigned cough. Well, it was one way to get them through the front door. The servant ushered them inside, and after a short wait they were shown up to the piano nobile.
Signora Bragadin rose to greet them. A thin, handsome woman of forty or so, she was dressed in widow's black that made her look fashionably pale without the need for ceruse.
"Lady Elisabetta!" She chattered away for some moments in Italian, much to Gabriel's bemusement.
"Excuse me," Coby said in French. "My lady does not speak your language."
Signora Bragadin summoned her own maid, and between the four of them they managed a stilted conversation. A manservant brought coffee for the ladies, rather to Coby's surprise; she had seen Mal and Captain Youssef drink it together occasionally, but had not realised it had become a Christian habit. The scent was very enticing but the one time she had tried it, she had pulled a face at its bitter flavour and it had taken all her self-control not to spit it out. Gabriel's reaction was not dissimilar; she spotted him hastily ladling in sugar when their hostess was not looking.
Gabriel tried to keep up the pretence of being Raleigh's wife, but after a while he ran out of plausible answers to Signora Bragadin's questions and fell back on their original story, that he was a friend of Olivia dalle Boccole. Their hostess's expression turned to stone.
"I should have known," she said, looking Gabriel up and down. "Please leave."
"I meant no disrespect," Gabriel said. "Indeed, La Margherita sent me so as not to cause embarrassment. She only wants her necklace back, the one she lent your husband to have valued."
"I know of no such necklace. Now, be gone."
Gabriel rose to his feet and curtsied, and Coby did likewise though, she feared, with far less grace. The maidservant showed them to the stairs and then fled back to her mistress.
"What do we do now?" Coby said, glancing about them. Dared they risk sneaking back to try and steal the necklace?
Gabriel just shook his head. "Next time, Sandy does his own dirty work. Though I must say I haven't enjoyed myself so much in months."
As they reached the atrium, the manservant stepped out of the shadows. He held out his hand.
"The necklace!" Gabriel exclaimed softly.
The man gabbled something in the Venetian dialect and pressed the double string of beads into the actor's hands.
"Why, thank you!"
Gabriel passed it to Coby, then leaned closer to the man and murmured something in his ear, simultaneously reaching down to caress his groin. The manservant's eyes widened, then he grinned lasciviously. Gabriel swept past him, and he hurried to hold the door open for them. Thankfully the gondolier was still waiting.
"What was all that about?" Coby hissed as the gondola drew away.
"Just a handy phrase that Valerio taught me. Seems it works whether one is a man or a woman."
"You're as bad as Ned," she muttered.
"I'll take that as a compliment." He waved out of the window at a group of passing bravos, who leered and catcalled as they passed. "So, why do you think the servant gave us the necklace?"
"I don't know," she replied. "Perhaps he thought it some kind of black magic that had brought them bad luck. He must have found it rather odd when his master took to sleeping in a string of old beads inscribed with foreignlooking symbols."
She took the necklace out of her pocket. Some of the jade beads did indeed look ancient, their carvings worn to illegibility. She wondered again just how old Erishen was, but decided she was probably better off not knowing.