The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(124)

Mal cleared his throat, aware that he was in the presence of ruthless people who would cut him down in a heartbeat. The trick, as with a dangerous dog, was to show no fear. He forced himself to breathe slowly.

"You have heard about last night's trouble, after the Sensa?" he began.

"Of course." Cinquedea glanced at his grandmother. "Everyone is saying that the bronze lion of Saint Mark came to life and jumped down from its pillar, slaughtering sinners left and right."

"Not the saint's beast, but something worse," Mal replied. "Demonic creatures, loosed on the city by… by a witch."

Cinquedea crossed himself, and the old lady muttered something under her breath.

"The woman you tried to tell me about?" Cinquedea asked.

"The same."

"Then you have my apologies for not believing you. Still, what is that to do with us? Can these creatures swim?"

"I don't think so."

"The city is full of churches and priests," Signora Petronilla said. "Such evil cannot survive there long."

Cinquedea leaned over and muttered something in his grandmother's ear.

"Really? A bishop?" She shook her head and tutted. "Still, my men are not soldiers. Why should I throw their lives away?"

"I'm not asking for aid of that kind," Mal said. "I need knowledge. The creatures are most likely holed up somewhere, awaiting nightfall; my friends and I can lay siege to their lair and destroy any that emerge, but the city is too large to search before sunset. I need to know where to look."

"And that is all you need?"

"One more thing. We need as many clear glass flasks and bottles as you can lay your hands on."

"Then you have come to the right place. Marco, speak to your uncle about getting Signore Catalin the things he needs. You, my boy–" she beckoned to Mal "–sit down and tell me everything."

? ? ? ?
They returned to the embassy later that afternoon to find Coby and Parrish waiting for them in the storeroom. A couple of dozen squat terracotta jars waited by the gondola dock, their stoppers sealed with wax.

"Lightwater?" Mal asked.

Coby grinned. "Every last demijohn in the skraylings' possession, almost."

"Almost?"

"We let them keep a couple for their own defence."

"Do you know where the devourers are?" Parrish asked.

"I believe so. According to Signora Petronilla's informants, they were last seen at the eastern end of the Dorsoduro district, just before sunrise. Since there's no way to leave except to double back or take a boat, it seems likely that they found a bolt-hole in some untenanted building or perhaps even a church."

"Even so, how do we find them?" Coby said.

"Follow the trail of bodies," Ned said with a ghoulish grin.

Coby pulled a face.

"Ned has a point," Mal said. "These creatures may be cunning, but they have made no attempt to hide their trail. Perhaps they are unfamiliar with cities; their native land, if you can call it that, is open moor. That is likely why they survived so long in the Peaklands."

"When do we make our move?" Parrish asked. "We surely want to have them surrounded well before sunset."

"I have arranged to meet Cinquedea in Campo San Vio at 5 o'clock."

"Will that give us enough time?"

Mal looked round at their worried faces. "It has to."

The square was already emptying by the time they arrived. Open to the water on two sides, it felt exposed to view but nonetheless safer than the suffocating closeness of most Venetian streets. Coby, Ned and Gabriel waited in a nervous huddle whilst Mal spoke to Cinquedea. The Lacemaker's grandson had brought the promised glass bottles, most of which had been rigged up with string handles around the necks. A few passers-by paused to stare at them as they unloaded the crates onto the fondamenta, but most were too busy hurrying home before it got dark.
"I hope to God Mal knows what he's doing," Ned muttered. "You should have seen those scars on his brother's body. Looked like a lion had tried to tear him in two."

"You're not helping," Coby said. Her guts felt like they were trying to find a way out of her belly by themselves.

Gabriel put his arms round both their shoulders and kissed each of them on the temple.

"We survived everything the Huntsmen and their lackeys threw at us, we'll survive this," he said.

"Aye, and this time we're fighting on the Huntsmen's side," Mal said, striding over. "Come. One of Cinquedea's gang thinks he knows where the devourers are."

He led them eastwards, through a dog-leg alley and over a bridge into a little square hemmed in by a canal on the nearest side and buildings on the other three. Ahead and to the right, small houses stood close-shuttered and silent, crosses hastily daubed on their doors for protection. To the left, blocking the view of the Grand Canal, stood a palazzo about twice the size of Berowne's house, with a walled garden in front. A vine had grown up the palazzo fa?ade, reaching for the sunlight, and now half-covered the row of arched windows that marked the piano nobile.

"Ca' Dario," Mal said. "It used to be rented out to the Turkish ambassador, but it fell into disuse owing to the war between Venice and the Empire. No one's lived there in a generation."