Read Tom Swan and the Head of St George Part Three: Constantinople for Free Online Page A

lecher,’ said the woman, with a laugh.
    ‘You want it too, my darling. My pomegranate,’ the man cooed.
    ‘My pomegranates aren’t all they were, either,’ she said. ‘Why do I even listen to your nonsense?’
    ‘Because the night is warm and you are beautiful—’
    ‘Does this work on other women, lout?’
    ‘There are no other women, divine one.’
    She laughed. In Tom’s expert opinion, the whole thing was just a matter of time. He sat on his haunches in the shadow of the old horse yard.
    ‘Not here, lout!’
    ‘No one will come, Aphrodite.’
    ‘You are right that no one will come here – not me, and not you!’
    ‘I need you, navel of the world. Oh!’
    He had her kirtle open – she had to have co-operated in that part, and Swan gave him full points, whoever he was. He was trying to get farther aboard her in the doorway. Swan cursed his hurry.
    But she was of the same mind as Swan, and boxed the man’s ears.
    As it turned out, her notion of privacy was the stable, which suited Swan. They made their way across the yard, one amorous exchange per step. For two people who seemed to him too old to care, they protracted the trip across the yard with more moans and caresses than he felt were possible.
    But eventually, they vanished into the stables, and he ghosted across the inner yard, and in through the kitchen door.
    The great inn kitchen was empty.
    He stripped off his over-robe, threw it in the fire, climbed the steps with his bag on his shoulder and walked boldly to Alessandro’s room – he was now a Frank, exactly where he was supposed to be.
    Alessandro was alone.
    ‘By the Virgin!’ he said, when Swan came in.
    Swan grinned.
    ‘Alessandro,’ he said happily. ‘Listen, capitano . I have been to the cardinal’s house.’ He watched Alessandro’s face, but the Venetian gave nothing away.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I found a troupe of acrobats living there,’ he said.
    Alessandro raised an eyebrow. ‘Eh?’ he said.
    Either it was the finest performance Swan had ever seen, or Alessandro knew nothing.
    ‘They claim to be . . . spies – working for our cardinal.’ He shrugged. ‘They claim they have a message from the cardinal saying that someone would come and take them out of Constantinople.’
    Alessandro nodded and stroked his short beard. ‘I see,’ he said slowly.
    ‘It occurred to me that they might be lying,’ Swan said.
    Alessandro shrugged. ‘He has many . . . agents.’
    ‘So you weren’t told – perhaps when I was asleep – go and fetch the troupe of acrobats.’ Put that way, it sounded insane.
    Alessandro rubbed his chin again. ‘The cardinal is most scrupulous at keeping all of us apart. Especially those he calls “day workers” from those he calls “night workers”.’
    Swan nodded. ‘Did you get my note?’
    Alessandro nodded. ‘I didn’t have to do anything. The bishop has already sent for the ship. Ser Marco will take us off from the quay at evensong tomorrow. Everyone is packed.’
    Swan breathed a sigh. ‘Is the bishop ready? The word is he’s to be humiliated. That we will watch a procession of Christian slaves taken by Omar Reis, and see the Turkish army setting off to take the Morea.’
    ‘I know.’ Alessandro shrugged. ‘Truly, I fear tomorrow. The bishop is a small man, and may behave . . . badly.’
    ‘Am I with you tomorrow? Or not?’
    Alessandro scratched his ear. ‘I think I can use your wit.’
    ‘Are we going armed?’ Swan asked.
    ‘And armoured. We are the bodyguard he is allowed in his letters.’ He crossed his arms. ‘Best we get some sleep.’
    ‘Yes,’ Swan said.
    An hour later, he was making his way along the underground sewers, his oil lamp making a tiny glow in the immense darkness of the caverns under the silent city.
    Every step he took was foolish. He was afraid, and yet elated.
    And a fool.
    He had no need to try this. He was attempting to navigate the sewers at night, without anyone to help him. That was foolish. If he fell