Suppertime came. Not such nice food this time—Dr Leone had rather mischievously ordered what he said was a Venetian delicacy: fried frogs, sprinkled with cheese. But Ned was so worried about time ticking on towards the duel that he scarcely noticed what he was eating.
Time passed. The women left to go back to the Marinetti mansion. The Leone household prepared for bed. Alone in his small room, Ned was wakeful. He had to wait until everyone was asleep, then creep out of the house. Everything would be locked, but his room was
8 1
on the ground floor, and so it would be quite easy to climb out of the window. He would have to take care to dodge the Watch, or whoever it was kept order on the
streets of Venice by night. He could be mistaken for a
*
thief, or some other sort of malefactor. Or perhaps an English spy. And he’d heard Venetian prisons were hellholes and Venetian interrogators hard and cruel. Agh, he thought for the hundredth time that night, what sort of a thrice-cursed fool am I, to have let my reckless tongue run away with me and embroil me in this stupid , stupid thing!
Also for the hundredth time that night, he took his sword out of its scabbard and looked at it. It was a good, serviceable thing, but there was nothing fancy about it. Henri d’Arcy would likely have the latest in deadly weapons. And he had probably been taught fencing, properly, from a real master, not just a demobbed soldier; he probably knew all kinds of dangerous fancy moves.
At last, Ned thought he could not delay any longer. The moon was nearly full that night, and now that the rain had stopped, the night was very clear. He slipped out through the window, left the shutters slightly ajar behind him, and set off through the nighttime streets, back to Cannaregio.
He made good time and proceeded without incident, though once or twice he had to dodge into dark doorways and behind walls to avoid a Watch patrol.
-H- 8 2
Otherwise, apart from the odd cat slinking around, the streets were deserted.
The Bosco Alley was a narrow, dingy little cobbled passage that ran between two streets. A few tall, shuttered houses lined it, cutting off nearly all the light. It was quite deserted, the cobblestones still slick from the rain. Clearly, Henri had not yet arrived. Yet somehow Ned felt very exposed there, nervous. He didn’t want to wait in the open.
Just down from the corner was a deep doorway. He settled into the shadows to wait. And wait. After a while, he realized he had been so nervous that he must have arrived far too early. As the minutes crept by, the nervous tension he’d been under slowly started to relax. Tiredness crept over him. He had woken early that morning, and it was very late. His eyelids began to droop, though he tried hard to keep his eyes open. He must be ready for Henri.
Suddenly, he was jerked out of drowsiness by the creak of a door further down the alley. Then hurrying footsteps from the opposite direction. Ned’s heart thudded. This was it! He was just about to step out and show himself to Henri when the hurrying footsteps ceased suddenly and a voice said softly but clearly, ‘ Capitano?’
Ned was startled. That wasn’t Henri’s voice. It was Matthew Ashby’s! What on earth was he doing here? Has he followed me? thought Ned. But no, it's been at
8 3 ■>>*
least three-quarters of an hour since I got here . What's going on?
He peered briefly from his hiding place, taking care to keep in the shadow of the doorway. The moon had risen, and in its silver light he could see the two figures standing there, at either end of the alley. One was the unmistakeable, stout figure of Master Ashby. The other was tall, broad-shouldered, military-looking. But under his hat, he wore a half-face mask, so that Ned could see nothing of his features in the moonlight, except for a livid scar that bisected the lower part of his left cheek.
Ned’s mind whirled. Ashby had said ‘Capitano .’ That meant ‘Captain’ in Italian. Suddenly, he remembered his employer saying how his move would be to question the Ghetto guards. They were based not far away, near the canal. Yes. It made sense. This man had a military bearing. The scar on his cheek looked like an old sword-cut. He must be a captain of the guard, and Ashby must have arranged to meet him, in secret. That also explained the mask. The man didn’t want passersby to see who he was.
Well! The merchant was certainly keeping his cards close to his chest, thought Ned, rather disgruntled as he remembered the way his employer had made him promise not to go off on private investigations.
Master Ashby came further down the alley, towards the waiting captain. As he passed Ned’s hiding place, Ned kept very still. He didn’t want Ashby to see him.
-H- 8 4 ■>>•
He could surely imagine that Ned had followed him and get really angry.
As he reached the soldier, Ashby said something cheerfully in Italian. The other man said something rapid, in a harsh voice, and Ned heard Ashby say in astonishment, f ScusiV
All at once, the night seemed to erupt, as three, four, five black shapes poured from an opened window, right onto Master Ashby, who gave a little cry and went down with a thump. Without stopping to think, Ned sprang out of his hiding place, brandishing his sword. He threw himself on the back of one of the dark shapes, trying to bring him down. In the next instant he felt a ringing blow to the side of the head. In the flash of time before he crashed senseless to the ground, he saw Master Ashby struggling feebly as the dark figures tied his limbs, threw a cloth over him, and stooped rapidly to pick him up. Faintly, from far away, he heard a shout and running footsteps, then nothing.
The next thing he knew, sometime later, was the sight of a face bent over him. It was a familiar one. ‘Henri!’ he croaked. He tried to get up.
‘Don’t,’ said Henri. He was flushed, as if he’d been running. ‘You look terrible,’ he observed. ‘You’ve got a bruise the size of a pigeon’s egg on your head.’
‘Those men . . . Did you . . .’
-M- 8 5 ■>>
‘They ran off before I could get close to them,’ said Henri briefly. ‘They disappeared into that house over there. I did not fancy tackling them in there; there were rather too many of them. Besides, I didn’t know how many others might be with them.’ He looked at Ned. ‘What happened? Why did they attack you? They didn’t look like ordinary footpads.’
‘Not—not me,’ stammered Ned, struggling to sit up. His head swam and he saw stars. He groaned.
‘I told you, lie still for a moment,’ said Henri. ‘You cannot do anything right now, anyway. Now tell me, what happened? Why do you say “not me”? You were the only other person I saw here.’
‘The men—weren’t they carrying . . .’ Ned’s mouth felt dry.
‘I could not see clearly, but they did have a bundle wrapped in cloth, or something of the kind.’ Henri’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you mean to say, Ned, that you chanced upon some dark deed? Robbery? A murder?’
‘Dear God, I hope not!’ cried Ned, thinking of Sale- rio, the agent who’d been murdered by footpads. ‘But he was alive when they took him, I’m sure of that. Oh, Henri, it was Master Ashby—he’d come here to meet someone, but it was a trap. I tried to help. . . .’
‘And got knocked out for your pains,’ said Henri. He looked thoughtful. ‘They did not kill you, though they could easily have done,’ he remarked. ‘That’s interesting.’
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‘Interesting,’ groaned Ned, holding his sore head. ‘Very interesting indeed.’
‘I just mean they obviously were not intent on murder,’ said Henri coolly. ‘Not yours, so probably not the good Ashby’s either, or they’d not have left a breathing witness. So. It follows they were most likely not hired killers, but sent on a specific mission: to capture your employer. Now, who would want to do that? And why?’
‘Oh, Lord,’ said Ned faintly. ‘I suppose it’s because he was getting too close.’
‘To what?’ Henri folded his arms.
Ned hesitated.
‘It’s no use hedging with me, Ned. You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.’
‘But. . .’ Ned sat up very cautiously, with Henri helping him to lean against the wall. ‘You and I, we were supposed to . . .’
‘We can hardly fight a duel with you in that condition,’ said Henri drily. ‘For me, it would be too easy. Hardly honourable.’
Ned snapped, ‘I can still— Ouch!’ He broke off, wincing. ‘My head really hurts.’
‘We can always fight the duel some other time, if you really insist,’ said Henri lightly. ‘But for now we must try and help your employer. Do you agree?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Ned.
‘We must trust each other in this, at least,’ said Henri. ‘Do you agree?’
Ned searched the young Frenchman’s face. Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded.
‘Very well. Then you must tell me what happened,’ said Henri.
Ned said, ‘You must swear to keep it a secret. You must swear, on the thing most sacred to you.’
Henri’s dark eyes regarded him assessingly. ‘I swear on the Virgin Mary and the memory of my mother,’ he said softly. He held out a hand to Ned.
As they shook hands, the eyes of the two young men met and Ned knew, without a doubt, that he had grossly misjudged Henri d’Arcy in the past. The young Frenchman could have been a friend, if Ned himself had not been so aggressive and suspicious. He said quietly, ‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’ said Henri, raising an eyebrow.
‘For tonight. Coming to my aid.’
‘I didn’t think of it that way.’ Henri shrugged. ‘I was late for our meeting—my father’s dinner guests didn’t leave for hours, and I couldn’t slip out of the house, and I was hurrying. Then when I turned the corner into the alley and saw those black crows and you lying on the ground, why, I didn’t stop to think, I just ran! I’m just sorry I didn’t catch up to them before they got away.’
‘If only I’d been in a fit state,’ said Ned, ‘I could have
4
helped you chase them and we might—’
‘With mights and ifs, we could put all Paris in a bottle,’
observed Henri. ‘No. There were too many of them, even for both of us.’
‘We could have gone for help.’
‘From whom? Didn’t you notice—with all that commotion, not one window in this alley opened, not one door. The inhabitants must be used to keeping their ears and eyes shut. There would be no help from them.’ He smiled suddenly and the smile lightened up his whole face. ‘So, Ned Fletcher, we bury our quarrel, just for now, yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Ned. He added wonderingly, ‘It is a strange thing, though—if you and I had not decided to fight a duel this night, at this place, then I should never have seen what happened to Master Ashby. I would be asleep in my bed, not knowing anything till the morning.’
‘And there would have been no trail to follow, nothing,’ said Henri, smiling. ‘It is true, Ned. Fate works in strange ways, does it not?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Ned soberly, and then he began to tell Henri about what had happened, from events in London to that night. Henri listened without interruption or comment. When Ned had finished, the other said quietly, ‘There are two choices as to who kidnapped your master: the pirates or their paymasters, or the Montemoros.’
‘Yes,’ said Ned. ‘But of the two, I think the Montemoros are more likely. You see, I think the pirates would just have killed him, just like they killed Salerio. But the Montemoros would just want to know what he knows.
Whether he knows where Sarah is, for instance. And so they’d want to question him, not kill him.’
Henri nodded. ‘Yes. That seems fair enough. You think
\
Master Ashby came here to speak to the guards in secret?’
‘Yes.’
‘I do not think those black crows were guards,’ said Henri.
‘No,’ said Ned. ‘I think they must have been sent by the Countess. She must have heard about Master Ashby’s visit to the Ghetto. Maybe someone saw him and reported it to the Countess.’
‘Possibly,’ said Henri.
Ned got to his feet. His head was still throbbing, though not as badly as before. ‘We’ve got to rescue him.’
Henri shook his head decisively. ‘What, go to that house? We’d be captured too, if not killed.’
‘But he’s Celia’s father! And he’s at the mercy of those creatures. . . .’
‘I doubt they’ll harm him,’ said Henri firmly. ‘The Countess will want him in good health to answer questions. Besides, she must know who he is, or else how would he have been lured here? Then she’ll know he’s a subject of your Queen and that he has influential contacts here as well. It would not be wise of her to kill or injure him. She’s not like those pirates who killed Salerio. She is from a prominent family with a good deal to lose if she gets involved in the murder of a well-connected foreigner.’
‘Anyway,’ said Ned impatiently, ‘if we can’t go to that house, we must go and tell Dr Leone at once. He’s clever, and I know he’s got powerful friends. He said so. He’ll know what to do.’ He had never felt like this before, he thought, amazed at himself: strong, clear, decisive, and in control. It was a pleasant feeling, despite his anxiety about Master Ashby.