Read 5 - Her Deadly Mischief for Free Online Page B

clapped his hand to his face with a squeal of pain. Scarlet oozed between his fingers.
    At the same time, Benito uttered an impossibly high, unearthly shriek that froze the tall sailor’s bludgeon in mid-swing. Benito followed his yell with a springing jump that drew his legs up into a diamond and caused the sailor’s eyes to pop as if Hell had coughed up one of Satan’s imps. My manservant didn’t waste his opportunity. He slapped the rod from the fellow’s hand. It spun through the air and hit the water with a splash.
    Pulling hard on Benito’s sleeve, I pushed away from the railing and started down the arch of the bridge at a run. We leapt the last few steps and dove into an alley that was little more than a slit between high walls. The would-be robbers bellowed and gave chase, but I knew Venice better than they did. With my manservant on my heels, I turned right, left, and then right again. I kept to the dark places, ignoring wider passages that beckoned with lit lamps and unbarred doorways. By the time we reached the irregular expanse of the Campo Santi Apostoli, we had lost our pursuers.
    Benito fell in beside me, cheeks pink and chest heaving. I was breathing hard, as well, and my heart was hammering against my ribs. Limping a bit, I found my handkerchief and wiped damp sweat from my face and the back of my neck. For a few minutes, we trudged along in silence, our ragged breaths sounding harsh in the cool air.
    Finally Benito said, “That was a smart move, Master. Those Greeks thought we were easy prey.”
    “I could say the same of you. You must have brought that scream up from your toes.”
    He chuckled, nodding. “And you gave that little one a scar to match the one he already has.”
    That I had, but I wasn’t proud of it. Alessandro was the Amato brother who relished a good fight; I would rather outwit my opponent than draw blood.
    “Let’s speak of something else,” I said as we started up the Fondamenta della Misericordia that flanked one of the Cannaregio’s major waterways.
    My neighborhood was quiet and tranquil. The distant carnival revels centered on the Piazza San Marco at the opposite end of the island. Here, ashen light from a plump three-quarter moon fell on modest houses whose inhabitants had been in bed for hours. Most of them, anyway. From a high window, the strains of a woman singing a lullaby made a duet with a child’s keening whine. As we walked on, a lonely, almost magical gloom enveloped us, and I felt reassured despite the violence that had invaded my life twice that night.
    Benito cleared his throat. “What do you want to talk about, Master?”
    “Before the Greeks stopped us, I was stewing over something I noticed back at the theater.”
    “Something of consequence?”
    “I don’t know. Right now, it’s merely curious.”
    “What is?”
    “I’ve been asking myself…if Zulietta Giardino had a jewel box overflowing with diamonds, why was her most obvious adornment a simple blue ribbon tied round her throat?”
    “She wore no jewels?”
    “I’m quite sure she wore no rings, bracelets, or pins. Her hair had come down, so I couldn’t see if there were bobs in her ears or not.”
    “Perhaps Zulietta left her fingers and arms bare so she could bedeck herself with La Samsona’s rings and bracelets.”
    “I can’t imagine that she would march over to La Samsona’s box and demand her jewels on the spot.”
    “I suppose that would depend on how greedy she was.”
    I sent Benito an oblique glance. Even in the low moonlight, I saw his eyes gleaming. My manservant was as intrigued by tonight’s strange tragedy as I was.
    “What can you tell me about Zulietta Giardino?”
    “Hmm…” Benito drew out this thoughtful hum as our steps resounded in a comfortable cadence. Finally he said, “Have you never noticed the woman? She has a maid as black as any Ethiopian. You often see them on the Piazza. The maid holds a sunshade over her mistress while that little troll struts