Read The Rossetti Letter (v5) for Free Online Page B

tavern, he’d been a link boy, leading the lost and weary through Venice’s back streets and alleys. He could move along the fodere —the linings—as stealthily as the stray cats and scurrying rats that showed him their secret pathways.
    He carefully approached a small campo and watched as the men unlocked a fortified door and went inside a warehouse that opened onto the Rio di Cabriotti. He inched around the side of the building and dashed to the edge of the canal just as a gondola glided past and turned into the warehouse’s wide, arched canal door.
    Taddeo steadied himself against the wall as he carefully stepped sideways along a stone ledge that extended from the alley to the portal. He stooped as he entered, then fell to his hands and knees and crept along the warehouse’s back wall. In the dim, flickering torchlight, Taddeo saw that the large room was filled with wooden crates, barrels, and coils of thick rope. The air reeked of damp wood and rotting hemp.
    The two corsairs and the Spanish bravo stood in an open space at the center of the warehouse, watching as the gondolier secured the boat. The gondola’s lantern light reflected off the water and ribbons of yellow undulated on the walls and ceiling. Taddeo slipped down behind one of the crates as a man climbed out of the gondola. He was dressed in the Spanish fashion and very grand, his black velvet doublet embroidered with silver thread, a short fur-lined cape draped over one shoulder. Like the others, he wore both sword and dagger. A thick gold chain, ending in a large medallion, lay across his broad chest.
    The Spanish bravo bowed briefly. “Your Excellency.” He turned to the other two men. “It is my honor to introduce you to my lord, the marquis of Bedmar, Spanish ambassador to Venice.” He looked to his master. “May I present Captains Jacques Pierre and Nicholas Regnault.”
    “Your Excellency,” they said in unison, bowing low.
    The Spanish ambassador? Taddeo’s nose twitched and the tips of his ears tingled, as they always did when he felt excitement, apprehension, or fear. In the two years he had worked as the eyes and ears of the state, he had never spied on anyone other than a few lowly mercenaries, some local tradesmen, and the tavern whores, and for a moment Taddeo considered running away; he had a sudden premonition that something bad would come of this. Then he thought of Batù Vratsa and knew he had no choice but to stay.
    Friend to orphans and outcasts, Batù had said when he’d introduced himself, fixing Taddeo with his chilling reptilian gaze; but no one would claim friendship with Batù, you simply did what he asked. And Batù will ask about this. How will I look into those cold pale eyes and lie? Taddeo rubbed his quivering nose and trained his ears on the exchange.
    “Do you agree to our terms?” Bedmar asked. His trim, pointed beard had a few streaks of gray in it, but he possessed the vigor and confidence of a much younger man.
    The French corsairs exchanged a careful glance. Pierre spoke. “We will of course have to propose it to our men. As I told Monsieur Sanchez…”
    Pierre, Regnault, Sanchez, Taddeo memorized. Pierre was slight and dark, with a hawkish nose and nervous hands; Regnault was fair haired, ruddy faced, and beefy.
    “I’m sure that the entire crew of the Camarata will follow me, but we are less certain of the sentiments among Captain Regnault’s men,” Pierre finished.
    “We’re offering better pay than you receive from Venice.”
    “It isn’t just the money, Ambassador. They’ll want to know they’re not being led to a slaughter.”
    “This is a weak city, unaccustomed to battle,” Bedmar replied. “The Republic’s forces are heavily engaged elsewhere. Surely your men are not afraid of a few arsenalotti. ”
    Arsenalotti? The shipbuilders at Venice’s Arsenale did double duty as the Doge’s bodyguard in case of attack.
    “There will be spoils for those who are valiant,” the ambassador