Read 5 - Her Deadly Mischief for Free Online Page A

he learned he’d been the butt of a wager?”
    The dwarf’s proud smile fell flat. “That’s it, don’t you see. Someone must have told him about the wager—perhaps that accounts for his secret meeting. Alessio would have been enraged to learn the truth. I can see him now, returning to the theater, furious, determined on revenge. When he saw me leave the box, he got me out of the way and went back to kill my mistress.”
    Messer Grande nodded slowly. He rose, snapped his fingers, and whispered a string of orders to a waiting constable. To us he announced in the tones of a Great Council orator, “Everything you heard here is to be kept quiet until I have a man in custody. Understood?”
    Solemn nods made the rounds. Unless Alessio Pino had boarded a boat for the mainland, the young glass prince would be in custody by tomorrow morning.
    ***
    Benito and I followed Torani from the theater at a little after two. The maestro’s usual gondolier was waiting on the steps at the water gate, shoulders wrapped in a blanket and tricorne tipped over his face. My boatman had not been so loyal. Though Benito swore he had told Luigi I would soon be coming, my man and his gondola had departed in search of a wench or a warm bed, or both. I would deal with him later.
    “You two come with me,” Torani offered. “I’ll see you home.”
    I shook my head. The old man was leaning on his stick and his bald head bobbed over the collars of his greatcoat like a cork floating on gentle waves. He looked so tired, a puff of wind could topple him into the canal. “Thank you, Maestro, but you live the opposite way. The night is cool, but fine. We don’t mind walking.”
    “Goodnight, then.”
    After watching Torani’s gondola slide down the misty canal, Benito and I turned in the direction of the Cannaregio. While a boat could take you anywhere in Venice, so could a maze of calli and bridges. We proceeded single file through one of the narrow passages that radiated from the theater. With my foot hobbling me but little, we navigated crooked alleys that almost seemed to double back on themselves and dipped through covered sortoportegi where velvety darkness was broken only by vigil candles twinkling in wall shrines. I hoped we might meet a Friulian with a lantern who could light us on our way, but all the lamp carriers for hire were doubtless waiting under the arcades of the Piazza where they could have their pick of patrons.
    Benito and I had one bad moment when we topped the peak of a narrow bridge to meet a pair of drunken sailors, Greek by the sound of their accents. As we turned sideways to squeeze past, I smelled tobacco, old sweat, and unnamable spices clinging to their heavy jackets and ragged beards. One was tall with a collection of gold rings pulling his earlobes low; the other had a flat nose and a white scar that crossed one cheek from ear to nose. They asked the way to a tavern I had never heard of. It was innocent enough, but I sensed the prospect of violence. The taller one was hiding something that bulged under his jacket, and he held his shoulder in a tense ball as if he meant to brandish a dagger or bludgeon.
    He wasn’t the only one with a weapon. Smiling and describing nearby taverns as if I were mightily pleased to direct good fellows to food and drink, I carefully removed my right hand from the warm fur of my muff and curled it around the hilt of the dagger in my waistcoat. Many years ago, my sailor brother, Alessandro, had furnished me with the weapon and instruction in its use. When the inevitable demand came, I was ready.
    With a wordless growl, the tall one raised a short, stout rod above his head. The other pushed his ugly face into mine. “Your purse and your watch,” he ordered on a puff of foul breath. “Make it quick. We’ve a powerful thirst.”
    The bridge railing pressed at my back. Using its support, I whipped out my dagger, canted back, and sliced my blade across the ruffian’s unscarred cheek. He