Heart of Glass

40





I ignore the ship’s crew and disembark with quick, sure steps.

My mind is swirling. A street entertainer wearing a harlequin’s outfit prances before me, hoping to earn a few coins. I shake my head and storm past him, nearly oblivious to the low curses he sends after me.

I find myself in a small piazza and sit on a fountain ledge to think. I imagine that Allegreza is by my side, probing me with questions to tease out the truth and its significance.

Perhaps he was mistaken?

But no. I remember the sight of my own poor sister in her coffin. Despite the ravages of death, I still knew her face. There’s no way Halim could have made such an error. He was so sure. And why did he ask to see the body in the first place, unless he already had an idea about what he would find? How is it that no one wondered about this before? The implications are almost too horrifying to contemplate. It would mean that all he’s said is part of a ruse. He’s not declaring war on Venice in the name of Aysim’s honor—he’s doing it to suit his own ends. He’s trying to sow discord among his enemy by blaming an innocent man. When I think how carefully the Doge has tried to placate him, how the whole of Venice has been besmirched by his claims that we are a heartless nation, how Roberto has fled and politicians have flourished. How I … how I allowed myself … And Massimo and the rebels are playing into his hands—

“Laura!”

I swivel round and see Paulina. She’s much changed since our encounter in the church. She’s freshened herself up and tidied her hair and it looks as though she has managed to eat something, judging by the color in her cheeks. I’m glad—but confused to see her here. As we sat in the chapel, she seemed terrified of all that was afoot in Venice and keen to hide away, even to cut herself free of the Segreta.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well,” I tell her.

“Did I see you coming from Halim’s ship?” she asks.

I nod. “I was hoping to dissuade him from his plans.” Guiltily, I rearrange the ribbons on my dress, covering myself up. But Paulina doesn’t seem to notice. She shakes her head bitterly.

“Sometimes I think Venice deserves to suffer for all its pride.”

Her words startle me. Partly because they could be construed as treasonous in these times, but also …

“I have to be going,” she says. “My mother is expecting me at home. Take care of yourself, Laura.”

As I watch her leave, stepping out of the square, her words still echo within me. I realize why they’ve left me ice-cold.

I’ve heard them before.

That, and her polished appearance, are making my pulse quicken. And why is she heading the wrong way? Her mother’s home is in the northwest of the city, while she took the eastern path.

In an instant, I decide to follow her.

Yes, those words—Venice and her pride. Carina said something similar—months ago—just before she tried to kill me on the boat.

It could be a coincidence, but it could be something far worse.…

A traitor in the Segreta.

Paulina picks up her pace as she winds through the streets and alleys, and I move after her, pausing at turnings to give her space. This is definitely not the direction of Paulina’s home. As we travel farther from the harbor, the cobbles become loose, and paint peels at the shuttered windows. Rats chase each other down the open drains. We’re entering the poorer part of the city—a place where young noblewomen are advised not to travel alone. I can’t think what business my friend might have here. This does not strike me as the behavior of the fearful woman I met a few days ago, driven to distraction after delivering a blackmail letter to Massimo.

The blackmail letter …

Waves of fear wash over me. I see Allegreza again in her cell. Her strange tone when I tell her who it was that delivered the letter.

Paulina? She is an odd choice for such a mission.

Did she too suspect? Has she always? She wouldn’t let Paulina go to Murano—why?

Paulina pauses to pull a threadbare shawl out of an embroidered bag at her wrist. She wraps the shawl tightly around her shoulders, transforming herself into a peasant woman. She looks over her shoulder, and I duck behind a crumbling wall just in time. I wait, pressing my body against the bricks, until I judge it’s safe to peer around the corner. She’s walking away again. I’ve no time to buy a simple shawl of my own. We move deeper into the slums of the city.

She arrives at a tall building with a series of arched windows. Several of the panes of glass are broken. The gates are rusty and hanging from their hinges, and there are chips in the fleur-de-lis that decorate the grids over some of the windows. This is a beautiful building, left to rot.

Paulina slips through the open doorway, stepping over discarded bundles of rags. I wait a moment, then follow. As soon as I step inside, the smell of damp and decay hits me. I hear the creak and groan of floorboards above my head, and, peering through the slits, I see a shadow pass overhead. Paulina must already be on the floor above. I climb the stairs after her, testing each one before placing my full weight on it. It’s still impossible to climb without making a noise, and I’m glad that, farther ahead, Paulina has disturbed a flock of pigeons that take to the air, screeching.

I walk down a corridor lined with hanging rags. Was this once a cloth-dyer’s? A larger rag hangs over a doorway to form a curtain, kept in place by a nail in each corner. Beyond it, I hear voices and can just make out the shadows of two people moving about a room. I creep closer until I can hear what they’re saying, pressing my body against the wall. A mouse scuttles over my slippers, but I keep my nerve.

“I’ve done everything you asked.” Paulina sounds frightened.

“Stop whimpering!” replies another voice. Carina. “You chose to follow this path with me. Allegreza is dead, thanks to you!” She laughs.

I can hear the quiet sound of Paulina’s desperate sobbing. Any anger I have quickly vanishes. She’s in over her head, fit to drown.

“I just want to go now,” she says. “Please let me go!”

There’s the sudden sound of their footsteps beyond the curtain, and I slip behind one of the rags hanging from a line near the ceiling. Fortunately, it’s so crumpled with age that I can hide in its folds. I watch their feet walk past me along the corridor. A stride or two to the left, and they would brush my skirts. I’m about to breathe out with relief when Paulina stops.

“What about him?” she asks.

“I haven’t decided yet. I may let the rats have him.”

Him? I wait until the creaks of the stairs have died away before coming out of my hiding place, brushing the cobwebs from my skirts. Him? Oh, God, how my heart is beating. I creep on light feet to the room they’ve left, parting the curtain.

It’s small and dark inside. Unlit candles are ranged across the fireplace, leaning in pools of melted wax. A single chair sits in the center of the room, and tied to it is Roberto.

He strains against the ropes, his eyes bulging as he sees me. Muffled sounds emerge from behind the filthy rag tied over his mouth. He is bare-chested, his skin slick with sweat. I throw myself towards him, grappling at the ropes, and all my doubts take flight.