The Masked City (The Invisible Library #2)(52)
Irene supported Zayanna into the boat, and with a sigh of relief dropped her into the far end. Was it a gunwale? She should really do a remedial course on ‘parts of boats’ one of these days. It would have been very useful if she’d done one before coming here. With a bit of fumbling she detached the pouch from inside Zayanna’s cloak and opened it. Gold coins caught the light from the oil-lamps along the canalside. She counted a few into the gondolier’s hand, then paused when she saw his eyes widen in satisfaction.
‘Madam,’ the gondolier said in his most melting tone, ‘beautiful lady, no doubt you are new to the city and do not yet know the exchange rates, but you have not yet paid me my full fee.’
‘You get the rest of it on arrival,’ Irene said, snapping the purse shut and sitting down next to Zayanna.
The gondolier must have decided that he couldn’t milk any more from this tourist cash-cow for the moment. With a sigh he pushed away from the alley, sending the gondola out into the middle of the narrow canal. The houses on either side loomed above them, almost frightening in their height and mass, but also oddly reassuring in their slightly ramshackle nature. This part of the city was real. Human beings lived here.
Within a couple of minutes the gondola swung left and out into the middle of a larger canal, sliding along faster now. The mists cloaked the buildings on either side; they were dark masses, huge and semi-visible, with the blurred brightness of lamps or lit windows gleaming like occasional jewels. Zayanna nestled into Irene’s arm with a soft murmur, settling her head on Irene’s shoulder.
Irene tried to calm herself by mentally framing her eventual report, but it wasn’t working. She got as far as I was planning to seek out my Fae contact and shake some more information out of him, but thoughts of Kai were becoming increasingly urgent. She only had until midnight tomorrow. And exhaustion was starting to hit.
They passed under a wide stone bridge and for a moment the lights beyond, few as they were, vanished. Irene’s hand tightened on the side of the boat and she forced herself to relax.
It wasn’t the dark that bothered her - it was what might be hidden within it.
The gondolier hummed something that sounded vaguely operatic, and the gondola emerged on the other side. The mist was as thick as ever, but at least now Irene could see the lights in the distance. ‘Tell me,’ she began to frame a question to the gondolier, ‘is it always this foggy—’
Shadows descended from above, plummeting down in whirls of dark cloaks, landing on the gondola and setting it rocking violently. The gondolier swore, then crossed himself, and Irene sat up abruptly, letting Zayanna sag to one side. There were three of them: two in front of her, balanced on either side of the gondola, and one behind. She could see their boots and cloak out of the corner of her eye. ‘What is this?’ she demanded.
The gondolier crossed himself again, then frantically turned back to his oar, flinching away from the new arrivals. They might have been male or female. It was impossible to tell. They wore black: heavy black doublets and breeches, black scarves around their throats, black tricornes and plain black masks without any ornamentation at all.
Zayanna cuddled sleepily up against Irene’s side, dropping her head in Irene’s lap.
‘We are the black inquisitors,’ the one standing behind her whispered in Italian. The voice could have belonged to either gender. It carried the length of the gondola, before the fogs dampened the sound.
‘The lords of the night,’ the one on her right whispered.
‘The servants of the Council of Ten,’ the one on her left murmured.
‘We come by darkness to put you to the question,’ said the one behind her, with a terrifying lack of inflection in that voice. The boat creaked as he - or she - shifted his weight, bending down towards Irene in a ruffle of heavy cloak. ‘And nobody will ask where you have gone, because they know better than to ask.’
Irene swallowed down panic. Her first thought was, They’re just trying to frighten me - what’s the best way out of this? Her second thought was, There might not be a way out.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ she said, hastily, non-specifically and untruthfully.
The two dark figures in front of her folded their arms, dark statues at either side of the boat.
A small sound came from the one behind her. It might have been the noise of metal against leather, barely audible over the lapping of the canal. Imagination supplied the image of a knife being drawn. ‘Nevertheless, you will tell us everything you know - here or when we reach our destination.’
Do they know who I am? Or am I just the unlucky tenth tourist who gets threatened by masked secret police? ‘Please tell me what you want to know,’ Irene whispered. She let an artistic wobble come into her voice. ‘I don’t know this city, I only arrived today …’
‘Lord and Lady Guantes entered an establishment.’ A creak as the figure behind her shifted its weight again. The voice, she thought a male voice, seemed closer now. ‘A few minutes later, the two of you left by the back door. Why? We want answers. You’re going to give them to us.’
So these were either servants of the Guantes or somehow connected to the city authorities. But the gondolier’s reaction suggested the latter.
The canal seemed endless. The fog formed curtains on either side of the gondola, hiding drawn knives and muffling possible screams. They were in a little bubble of silence, in the centre of the canal, where nobody would see or hear what happened to them. Irene hadn’t thought it was possible to be so alone in a public place.