The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(79)

"So they do. However, I would expect Bragadin to deal with this business through an intermediary, and whether here or elsewhere, that is best not done through the front door."

"He could conduct his negotiations through letters, and we'd be none the wiser."

Mal shook his head. "This is not the sort of matter one commits to paper, even enciphered. After all, a cipher common enough to be known by his clients would be as good as useless. So–" he glanced around, conscious of being overheard "–we watch the servants' entrance for any suspicious comings or goings."

"And how are we going to lie in wait? We should have disguised ourselves as beggars or something."

"No. The beggars are bound to know every one of their kind in the parish; our arrival on their territory would only spark trouble."

"So what do we do?"

Mal smiled. "The way has been prepared for us."

He paused at a door opposite the palazzo and knocked. After a few moments it opened and an old man squinted up at them, the lamplight gleaming on his bald pate.

"Signori?"

"We have come to visit our cousin," Mal said to him in Italian.

"Of course, sirs, come in."

They followed him inside, into a narrow passage smelling of mildew. Somewhere up above, a woman was singing, a repetitive song that sounded like a lullaby. The old man ushered them through a side door into a low-ceilinged room lit only by the faint glow of lanterns from the street. It appeared to be a disused storeroom, empty but for the remains of a wine barrel in one corner, rotting gently into the layer of must and slime that covered the tiled floor. Mal thanked the man, and he and Ned crossed carefully to the narrow barred window that looked out onto the street.

"Now we wait," Mal said softly. He peered through the grimy glass, resisting the temptation to clean it to get a better view. He wanted to leave no sign of their presence here, in case they had to return tomorrow night.

They did not have long to wait; before the bells had tolled the first hour after sunset, a small door just along the street opened, and a cloaked and hooded figure of Bragadin's height and build emerged. On such a mild night, there was only one reason to be going abroad so concealed. Mal led the way back to the front door of the house and opened it a crack. As soon as Bragadin turned into the square, Mal slipped out and beckoned for Ned to follow him. They padded to the end of the street and halted at the corner.

The square was still busy with men making their way home after work, so Mal stepped out and walked briskly in the same direction Bragadin was taking. Their quarry turned right and right again, then southwards towards St Mark's Square. Mal hunched his head as he walked, conscious that he was markedly taller than most Italians, though it did at least give him a good view over the crowds. Fortunate, since he almost missed Bragadin making a sharp right turn towards the Rialto Bridge.

"What… if we lose him?" Ned panted as they strode up the long low steps.

"Don't worry, I think I know where he might be going."

They followed Bragadin down the other side of the bridge and past the empty fish market, over a smaller bridge and left down a broad street, through a square and over another bridge, always heading north. For a moment Mal wondered if he was wrong and Bragadin was heading for the skraylings' palazzo, though he couldn't think of a reason why he should. So intent was he on this idea that he nearly lost Bragadin again as the man turned west instead of continuing north. At least, Mal thought it was west, judging by the last faint glow of the sky ahead of them. It was hard to be certain in this city.

The stink of dyers' vats announced their arrival in one of the poorer parts of the city, somewhere on the border between San Polo and Santa Croce but far from the English embassy. The sort of place a patrician like Bragadin would never frequent, and therefore the perfect place for Il Mercante to conduct his business.

A few minutes later they emerged into a large square in front of a church composed mainly of round towers like a castle's. Halfway across the square Bragadin turned left down a narrow street.

"Now we have him," Mal whispered, halting by the well.

"How so?"

"If I'm right, this is the same place he was supposed to meet those men I overheard at Olivia's. I scouted it out in daylight, and that street ends at a canal. I think he intends to meet someone who will arrive by gondola."

"And if he leaves with them?"

"Then we have a problem. But I do not think he is fool enough to put himself into the hands of the men he is selling secrets to. He takes risks enough, dealing with them himself."

"Odd, that," Ned said. "I'd use a go-between, for fear of being recognised. These men know him, right?"

"Yes. But conspiracy makes men mistrustful. He cheats Olivia, and therefore does not trust any man not to do the same to him."

"Hmm. Well, we'll have to get a bit closer than this if we want to find anything out. So far he's not doing anything out of the ordinary, is he?"

"No, he's not. And I'm sure he's chosen this spot because it's somewhere his dealings cannot easily be overheard."

"That's no help to us, then," Ned muttered.

"True. But his attention will be on the canal, not the street. He cannot be looking behind him at every sound without drawing attention to himself. So, we walk calmly down the street as if we were visiting someone, and hope to find a place to conceal ourselves in the shadows."