The Water Mirror (13 page)

“How do you know it's this particular house?” Merle asked softly.

Serafin gestured to the roof. Merle had to admit that he had astonishingly good eyes: Something peeked over the edge of the roof, a stone paw, which scratched the tiles. It was impossible to see the lions from the street. Nevertheless, Merle did not doubt that watchful eyes were staring down out of the darkness.

“Let's try around back,” Serafin suggested softly.

“But the back side of the house is right on the canal!” Merle's sense of direction in the narrow alleyways was unbeatable. She knew exactly how it looked behind this row of houses. The walls there were smooth, and there was no walk along the edge of the canal.

“We'll manage anyhow,” said Serafin. “Trust me.”

“As friend or master thief?”

He stopped for a moment, tilted his head, and looked
at her in amazement. Then he stuck out his hand. “Friends?” he asked carefully.

She took his hand firmly in her own. “Friends.”

Serafin beamed. “Then I say to you as master thief that somehow we are going to get inside this house. And as friend—” He hesitated, then went on, “as friend I promise you that I will never let you down, no matter what happens tonight.”

He didn't wait for her reply but pulled her with him, back into the shadows of the alleyway out of which they had come. Unerringly they made their way through tunnels, across a back courtyard, and through empty houses.

It seemed almost no time until they were edging their way along a narrow ledge that ran along the back of a row of buildings. The pitch-dark water rocked below them. About twenty yards farther, vague in the faint moonlight, the curved outline of a bridge was discernible. And at its highest point stood a lion with an armed rider. If he were to turn around, he would surely be able to spot them in the darkness.

“I hope the lion doesn't sense us,” Merle whispered. Like Serafin, she was pressing herself flat against the wall. The ledge was just wide enough for her heels. She had trouble trying to keep her balance and at the same time keep her eye on the sentry on the bridge.

Serafin had less difficulty negotiating the ledge. He was accustomed to getting into strange houses in the most
unusual ways, first as a thief, then as Umberto's secret courier. Still, he didn't give Merle the feeling she was holding him back.

“Why doesn't he turn around?” he burst out through clenched teeth. “I don't like that.”

Since Merle was a little smaller than he was, she could see a little farther under the bridge. Now she saw that a boat was approaching from the opposite direction. She reported her discovery to Serafin in a whisper. “The guard doesn't seem bothered by it. It looks as though he's been waiting for the boat.”

“A secret meeting,” Serafin guessed. “I've seen those a few times—a councillor meeting one of his informants. They say the councillors have spies everywhere, in all sorts of people.”

Merle had other concerns at the moment. “How much farther is it?”

Serafin bent over a fraction of an inch. “About ten feet, then we're at the first window. If it's open, we can climb into the house.” He looked around at Merle. “Can you tell who's in the boat?”

She blinked hard, hoping to be able to see the figure in the bow more clearly. But, like both the oarsmen sitting farther behind him, he was wrapped in a dark hooded cloak. No wonder, considering the time and the cold, and yet Merle shivered at the look of him. Was she mistaken, or did the lion on the bridge paw the ground nervously?

Serafin reached the window. Now they were no more than ten yards away from the bridge. He looked carefully through the glass and nodded to Merle. “The room's empty. They must be waiting somewhere else in the house.”

“Can you get the window open?” Merle wasn't really subject to dizziness, but her back had begun to hurt and a tingling was creeping up her outspread legs.

Serafin pressed against the glass, first gently, then a little harder. A slight crack sounded. The right window swung inward on its hinges.

Merle sighed in relief. Thank goodness! She tried to keep her eye on the boat while Serafin climbed into the house. The dinghy had tied up on the other side of the bridge. The lion bore its rider to firm ground to receive the hooded and mantled figure.

Merle saw flying lions in the sky. At least three, perhaps more. If one of them should swoop down again and fly along the canal, it would discover her immediately.

But then Serafin reached his hand to her through the window and pulled her inside the house. She gasped as she felt wooden planks under her feet. She could have kissed the floor with relief. Or Serafin. Better not. She felt her cheeks flush red.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I was working hard,” she replied quickly and turned away. “What next?”

He took his time answering. At first she thought he was still staring at her; then she realized that he was listening, quite like the way Junipa had listened during their journey along the Canal of the Expelled—highly concentrated, so that not the slightest sound escaped him.

“They're farther front in the house,” he said at last. “At least two men, possibly even three.”

“With the soldiers that makes it roughly half a dozen.”

“Afraid?”

“Not a bit.”

He smiled. “
Who's
the boaster here?”

She couldn't help returning his smile. He could see through her, even in the dark. With anyone else that would have made her uncomfortable. “Trust me,” he'd said, and in fact, she did trust him. Everything had gone much too fast, but she had no time to worry about it.

Quiet as mice, they slipped out of the room and felt their way down a pitch-black hallway. At its end lay the front door. A shimmer of candlelight was falling through the first corridor on the right. On their left a flight of stairs led up to the second floor.

Serafin brought his lips very close to Merle's ear. “Wait here. I'm going to look around.”

She wanted to protest, but he quickly shook his head.

“Please,” he added.

With heavy heart she looked after him as he quickly tiptoed to the lighted hallway. At any moment the front
door could open and the man in the hooded cape come in, accompanied by the soldiers.

Serafin reached the doorway, looked carefully through it, waited a moment, then turned back to Merle. Silently he pointed to the stairs to the upper floor.

She followed his instruction noiselessly. He was the master thief, not she. Perhaps he knew best what to do, even if it was hard for her to admit it. She was usually unwilling to do what others told her to—whether or not it was in her own best interest.

The stairs were of solid stone. Merle went up and on the second floor made her way to the room that lay over the candlelit room on the ground floor. There she understood what had drawn Serafin upstairs.

A third of the floor had fallen in a long time ago. Wooden beams were scattered and splintered away from the edges, framing a wide opening in the center of the room. From below, candles sent a faint light. Low voices could be heard. Their tone sounded uncertain and apprehensive, even though Merle couldn't make out the exact words.

“Three men,” Serafin whispered in her ear. “All three city councillors. Big bosses.”

Merle peeked over the edge. She felt the warmth of the light rising to her face. Serafin was right. The three men standing next to one another down there in the light of the candles wore the long robes of Council members, golden and purple and scarlet.

In all of Venice there was no higher authority than the City Council. Since the invasion by the Empire and the loss of all contact with the mainland, they had jurisdiction over the affairs of the besieged city. They had all powers in their hands and they maintained the connection with the Flowing Queen—at least that's what they said. They posed to the public as men of the world and infallible. But among the people, there were guarded whispers of misuse of power, nepotism, and the decadence of the old noble families, to which most of the city councillors belonged. It was no secret that those who had money received preference, and anyone who bore an old family name counted more than ordinary folk.

One of the three men on the ground floor was holding a small wooden box in his hands. It looked like a jewel casket made of ebony.

“What're they doing here?” Merle mouthed silently.

Serafin shrugged his shoulders.

There was a grating sound down below. The front door was opened. There were footsteps, then the voice of a soldier.

“My lords councillor,” he announced respectfully, “the Egyptian envoy has arrived.”

“For heaven's sake, shut your mouth!” hissed the councillor in the purple robe. “Or do you want the entire district to hear of it?”

The soldier withdrew and left the house, and his
companion entered the room. It was the man from the boat, and even now he wore his hood drawn deep over his face. The candlelight wasn't enough to illuminate the shadows under it.

He dispensed with a greeting. “You have carried out what you promised?”

Merle had never heard an Egyptian speak. She was surprised that the man's words showed no accent. But she was too tense to evaluate the significance of the situation right away. Only gradually did its enormous import sink in: a secret meeting between City Council members and an envoy of the Egyptians! A spy, probably, who lived in the city undercover, or otherwise his Venetian dialect wouldn't have been so perfect.

Serafin was chalk white. Drops of sweat beaded his forehead. In shock he peered over the edge into the room below.

The councillor in gold bowed respectfully and the two others did the same after him. “We are glad that you have agreed to this meeting. And certainly, we have carried out what you requested.”

The councillor in scarlet nervously clasped his fingers. “The Pharaoh will show himself grateful, won't he?”

With a jerk, the black opening of the hood turned toward him. “God-Emperor Amenophis will learn of your request to join with us. What happens then lies in his divine hands alone.”

“Certainly, certainly,” the purple councillor hastened to appease him. He cast an angry look toward the man in the scarlet robe. “We do not intend to question any decision of His Divinity.”

“Where is it?”

The councillor in gold held the jewel casket out to the envoy. “With most humble greetings to Pharaoh Amenophis. From his loyal servants.”

Traitor,
thought Merle in utter contempt.
Traitor, traitor, traitor!
It made her really sick to hear the groveling tone of the three city councillors. Or was it just the fear that was turning her stomach?

The envoy took the jewel casket and opened the catch. The councillors exchanged uneasy looks.

Merle bent over farther to better see the contents of the box. Serafin, too, tried to see exactly what was in there.

The casket was lined with velvet, on which lay a little vial of crystal, no longer than a finger. The envoy carefully lifted it out, heedlessly letting the casket fall. It crashed on the floor with a bang. As one, the councillors jumped at the sound.

Between thumb and forefinger the man held the vial up to the opening of his hood, directly against the light of the candles.

“Finally, after all these years!” he murmured absently.

Merle looked at Serafin in amazement. What was so valuable in such a tiny vial?

The councillor in purple raised his hands in a solemn gesture. “It is she, truly. The essence of the Flowing Queen. The charm you placed at our disposal has worked a true wonder.”

Merle held her breath and exchanged alarmed looks with Serafin.

“The Pharaoh's alchemists have worked on it for twice ten years,” said the envoy coolly. “There was never any doubt that the charm would be effective.”

“Of course not, of course not.”

The councillor in scarlet, who'd already made himself unpleasantly conspicuous, was rocking excitedly from one foot to the other. “But all your magic wouldn't have helped you if we hadn't declared ourselves ready to perform it in the presence of the Flowing Queen. A servant of the Pharaoh would never have gotten so near her.”

The envoy's tone turned wary. “So, are you then
not
a servant of the Pharaoh, Councillor de Angeliis?”

The other's face went white. “Certainly I am, certainly, certainly.”

“You are nothing but a whining coward. And of those the worst kind: a traitor!”

The councillor wrinkled his nose defiantly. He shook off the hand that the councillor in purple tried to place soothingly on his arm. “Without us you'd never—”

“Councillor de Angeliis!” scolded the envoy, and now he sounded like an angry old woman. “You will receive
recompense for your service of friendship, if that is your concern. At the latest when the Pharaoh makes his entrance into the lagoon with his armies and confirms you as his representative in office. But now, in Amenophis's name, will you be quiet!”

“With your permission,” said the councillor in purple, paying no attention to the wretched-looking de Angeliis. “You should know that time is pressing. Recently a messenger from Hell has arrived to offer us a pact against the Empire. I don't know how long we can continue to resist that. Others on the City Council are more receptive to this messenger than we are. It won't be possible to hold them in check indefinitely. Especially as the messenger has said that next time he'll appear in public so that
all
the people will learn of his demands.”

The envoy expelled his breath in a wheeze. “That must not happen. The attack on the lagoon is imminent. A pact with Hell can bring it all to nothing.” He was silent a moment as he considered the situation. “If the messenger actually appears, make sure that he can't get to the people. Kill him.”