CHAPTER XXX
Mal climbed out of the hired gondola and paid the man. After a moment's hesitation, he raised his hand to the door knocker, a polished sphere that sat in the centre of a brass oyster shell like a giant pearl. The sound of its impact echoed along the canal, and he had to fight the urge to look about him to see if he had drawn undue attention. The door was opened by the eunuch slave, Hafiz.
"Signore Catalin." He bowed, his features politely impassive. "Is my mistress expecting you?"
"No," Mal said. "I… I hoped to surprise her."
"I will see if she wishes to be surprised." A glimmer of a smile crossed the eunuch's lips and was gone.
Mal readied himself for a long wait. Perhaps she would refuse to see him. After all, she had told him not to come back until the skraylings had left. Should he lie and say they were gone? No, even if she did not find out the truth, she would want him to assist in her self-slaughter, and that would throw all their plans into disarray. There was only one reason she would believe he had gone back on his word. He would have play the lovelorn swain to the hilt, despite his vow to be faithful to Coby from now on. This was just business, after all.
When the eunuch did finally return, he ushered Mal up to Olivia's private apartments. The courtesan was seated on the daybed near the doors to the balcony, her dark skin thrown into greater contrast by the sunlit glass behind her. Mal paused on the threshold and swept a low bow.
"Signorina."
She beckoned for him to come closer.
"I did not expect to see you again so soon," she said. "Does all go to plan?"
"It progresses slowly. Rome was not built in a day."
"Nor Venice." She smiled. "Come, sit beside me. So, amayi'a, to what do I owe the honour of another visit so soon and unannounced?"
Ned strode across Saint Mark's Square, hands deep in pockets. The gilded angels on the fa?ade of the basilica caught the last of the setting sun; they looked as if they were about to depart the earth and fly up to heaven, away from the sordid doings of the mortals below. He didn't blame them. If only his own Angel would do the same, and take Ned with him. Except without the dying part, of course.
Reaching the Mermaid meant passing the Doge's palace, though Ned gave it a wide a berth, averting his eyes and swallowing past the bile in his throat. The quayside was as crowded as ever: newly arrived visitors stepping off boats, their mouths sagging open at the wonders before them; citizens weaving through the throng on some urgent business or other; and of course the usual swarms of beggars and pickpockets buzzing around anyone who looked as though they might have a fatter purse than was strictly necessary. Ned ignored them all and slipped past the front of the palace as fast as he could.
Just as he approached the tavern a trio of drunken sailors lurched out of the door, singing a bawdy ballad. The words, about a man with a long "thing", cheered him up somewhat and he found himself humming the tune as he stepped through the door of the tavern and looked around. There was no sign of his quarry. He went over to the tap-man.
"Seen Charles Catlyn lately?"
The man looked him up and down, his solid features creasing with glacial slowness.
"Here, didn't I see you chase Catlyn out of here the other day? You and that tall fellow."
"Uh, yes."