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and began pumping. On occasions such as this when stealth was required, his bishop’s robes proved extremely useful garments.
    The clerical profession was not his first choice, but the family fortune had been lost some two decades ago and he’d been forced to make his way in life somehow. If he succeeded in snaring a protector such as Satyr, it would greatly enhance his standard of living.
    His hand pumped on, taking his mind far from the subject of phylloxera or the church. His hopes were in full blossom regarding the possibilities the night held and his lips were still and silent for once as he mentally rehearsed the persuasive words he would ply when he and Satyr were alone at last.

5
    M ore than an hour later, the crowd in the medical theater had finally exhausted their questions and departed. This left only a select group of five men, each of whom had paid Salerno a premium for a more private examination of her. Once they’d gathered onstage, Salerno swished the curtains closed, cutting off Jordan’s view of the now-empty seating area and creating a more intimate setting for the remaining group.
    Outside she heard the clock bell in the piazza strike seven. She wouldn’t be officially free to return home until midnight. Five hours to go.
    But no one here was in a hurry to end the evening except her. Wine and a tray of stemmed glasses were brought out, and the men prepared to idle the evening away in her company.
    Two of the guests were Venetian aristocracy, she quickly deduced. With nothing better to do and more money than they knew how to spend, they’d lingered here to relieve their boredom at her expense.
    A third one was more serious, an Englishman who nudged his glasses up and down his nose every so often. It was likely he at least had stayed for the purposes of true medical study.
    The fourth was a large, bearded Sicilian whose deep-set eyes studied every inch of her as thoroughly as the artist had. A back-row type, his interest was obviously selfish and prurient.
    The fifth man was a late arrival, one she’d seen before. It seemed the bishop who’d decried her earlier was back for another look. Unfortunately his tall friend was nowhere to be seen.
    “There’s nothing here to interest a man of the church,” Salerno said suspiciously, when the bishop tried to make his way backstage to join the others.
    “On the contrary,” the bishop returned. His eyes searched the interior of the stage beyond Salerno, lighting on Jordan. “I assure you that my purpose here is not on the church’s behalf. I come asking a favor. One that will benefit your purse.” He whispered something to Salerno that Jordan couldn’t hear.
    “La Maschera is not for hire,” Salerno told him, shaking his head.
    The bishop’s face mottled, his displeasure at being refused apparent. His tone turned louder and wheedling. “I will pay whatever you deem fair.”
    But Salerno still held him off. “La Maschera is mine for this day only. At midnight, it must be returned to its domicile. Now be off.” He tried to swish the curtain closed on the stout man.
    “Wait!” the bishop insisted, grabbing the edge of the velvet drape before it could shut him out. “Though the church is my calling, I assure you that I take a strong interest in numerous scientific matters.”
    “And in abominations as well?” Jordan asked, pitching her voice so he would hear.
    The bishop’s eyes impaled her, stopping the very breath in her throat.
    He pulled out some currency and made a show of stuffing it in Salerno’s hand. “When I accidentally bumbled into your theater earlier, I was told tickets were required for this event. You’ll take this I trust in lieu of the usual purchase price?”
    Salerno peered inside the bag of coins, jiggling it to test its weight. Grudgingly, he moved aside so the bishop could enter. “Very well. I’ll not argue further. In view of unforeseen developments, I’m anxious to get on with tonight’s examination.”
    The