Chapter 2

Waiting in the darkness was the hardest part. It took practiced patience and willpower to remain motionless for hours on end, to stand so still that a mouse squeaked in surprise when it encountered a warm hand on the ledge that ran the length of the secret room. Dante did not flinch. He was long accustomed to being the thing that frightened others in the dark. The mouse scurried away as Dante tilted his head from one side to the other, stretching the cramped muscles of his neck and shoulders. There was no way of knowing how much longer he would have to wait. Time had lost its meaning hours ago.

A faint sound made him go still again. Eventually he recognized the sounds of footsteps in the hallway. He heard the door to the master bedchamber open, and then a narrow strip of light shined through the wall. He stepped forward to look through the opening.

Two servants entered the bedchamber. The first was a short, middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and shoulder-length gray hair that was in need of a comb. Still, the quality of his garments marked him a man of consequence in the household, likely the chamberlain. The flame of the oil lantern he held in one hand flickered as he walked into the room; he set aside the wooden bucket he carried in the other hand so he could cup the flame. Next he began to walk around the room to light oil lamps that hung from brackets set into the walls. The chamber grew brighter and brighter and soon the room was ablaze with light.

The second servant was a dark-haired boy of no more than eight or nine years of age. He carried a tray that looked far too big for his painfully thin size to handle and he walked with exaggerated care to keep everything balanced. The tray held a decanter of wine and two goblets, along with a large platter covered with a linen cloth. He tried to place the tray carefully on a table that stood in the center of the chamber but the tray banged against the edge. He managed to get the tray onto the table and proved surprisingly quick as he lurched forward, steadying the decanter of wine just before it would have overturned. The chamberlain gave the boy a casual cuff to the back of the head that nearly sent both the boy and the decanter flying.

"Clumsy beggar! That wine is worth more than you are. Have a care!" The chamberlain pointed to the wooden bucket. "Put the warmed bricks at the foot of the bed, then put a brick under the platter to keep the cicchetti warm."

Dante eased his way slowly toward the hidden door, then silently drew his dagger and sword from their scabbards. He knew there was nothing in the bedchamber to betray him, and everything in the secret room spoke of neglect and disuse when he had entered the chamber that morning. The section of paneling that hid the lever had a thick layer of beeswax in the grooves that looked undisturbed, and the hinges had creaked and protested when he slid aside the panel that was actually the hidden door. The hinges were now oiled and the door would once again move silently. He doubted the servants were even aware of its existence.

The long, narrow room behind the door was built generations ago by placing a false wall in front of the wall between the bedchamber and the solar, supposedly as a hiding place for the women and children of the family should the palace come under attack. Every generation since then had laughed at the possibility of any palace in Venice falling prey to invaders. Nations fell prey to Venice, not the other way around.

Although the room's original purpose had always been something of a jest, every member of the family solemnly swore they would never reveal its existence to any outsiders, not even the servants. Folly or not, everyone realized that secrecy made the room even more secure than the household treasury. At one time the shelves had held everything from rare jewels to the relics of saints, treasures collected by merchant princes over the course of more than three hundred years.

This morning Dante had found the room mostly empty, coated with dust, and the remaining contents just as he and his brother, Roberto, had left them more than ten years ago. Most were boxes made of rosewood, emptied of their contents then cast aside, deemed too bulky to carry away in the sacks they had stuffed with anything of value. A few of the larger pieces still remained, including a massive altarpiece made of solid gold, a prize from the long-ago war with Constantinople that depicted scenes of the Crucifixion. Dante figured the altarpiece along with a tempting number of jewel-encrusted plates and chalices would be gone by now if the room had been discovered since his last visit. Still, he had not lived this long by making foolish assumptions.

He stood near the door and kept a careful eye on the servants. The peephole was actually a long slit that ran the length of the wall, cleverly concealed as part of the paneling in the bedchamber. Each piece of trim was cut in half lengthwise to give the deliberate appearance of a gap between each section of paneling. Every piece of trim on the paneled wall was cut the same, but only the strip that ran at eye level concealed a peephole and he could see everything that took place in the bedchamber. Neither the boy nor the chamberlain so much as glanced his way.

The chamberlain finished his tasks by arranging the platter and cups just so, while the boy placed cloth-wrapped bricks beneath the covers at the foot of the bed. When the boy returned to stand next to the table, Dante noted a small metal cup and spoon that hung from a chain attached to an iron collar around the child's neck. The collar marked him a slave, while the cup and spoon meant he was also the family's taster.

"Go on then," the chamberlain said, as he lifted the linen cover from the platter.

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg reached Dante and he knew tonight's cicchetti included spice cakes. That type of food was useless for his purposes, but the wine held possibilities, especially wine that had already been tasted. He watched as the boy shoveled food into his mouth at an astonishing rate, although he had scarce eaten more than a few mouthfuls when the chamberlain cuffed him again to knock him away from the platter.

"Now the wine."

The boy gave the platter one last, covetous look until the food was once again covered, then he held up his cup while the steward poured from the decanter. The wine was gone in one quick gulp.

"Get to your place," the chamberlain ordered, one hand on the boy's shoulder to push him forward. "The master is in no mood for your whining tonight. One sound before dawn, and the next beating will be twice as bad as the last."

The two reached the door just as Dante realized the purpose for the chain he had found bolted to the wall outside the bedchamber. He also knew the reason why the boy was so thin.

Poison revealed itself more quickly in a child's body than in a man's; thus nobles in need of the services of a taster preferred children. Tatar and Circassian children were readily available from the slave ships, and both peoples were regarded as barbaric heathens by both Christians and Muslims, and therefore more expendable. Most were allowed no more food than the small portions they tasted from their master's table, and constant hunger meant they would perform their duty with enthusiasm. This household had found one more use for the unfortunate creature. The boy was kept chained like a dog to guard the door to the master's bedchamber at night. It was a complication Dante did not need, but one that was not insurmountable.

Once he was certain the bedchamber was empty, he slipped the sword and dagger back into their sheaths. He could hear the chamberlain talking to the boy in the hallway, but the servant might return at any moment to await his master's arrival. Dante reached for the handle and breathed a sigh of relief when the door slid open without a sound. A small glass vial was in his hand and uncorked by the time he reached the table, then the contents quickly dumped into the decanter. He swirled the decanter until he was sure the wine and poison were mixed. A moment later he was back in his hiding place.

As it turned out, there had been no need to rush. More than half an hour passed before the chamber door opened again. This time the chamberlain ushered in a middle-aged couple. Dante recognized them immediately as Lorenzo Mira and his longtime mistress, Donna Maria.

Dante realized with a sense of satisfaction that Lorenzo had not aged well. His hair had turned completely gray, there were dark circles around his eyes and many more lines on his face, and his odd, limping gait from a long-ago riding accident had become more pronounced. He looked almost haggard.

Donna Maria had changed as well, although she had made more obvious efforts to stem the tide of time. Her hair was blonder than it once was and the skin of her face looked taut and shiny, both changes the likely result of using lemons and other caustic acids to lighten her hair and peel away wrinkles. In his opinion, she had changed from a handsome woman to a well-preserved one.

"The boy has already tasted the cicchetti and wine," the chamberlain said, with forced cheerfulness and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Would you like me to pour the wine, my lord?"

Lorenzo merely waved one hand toward the door and the servant bowed his way out of the room. Both occupants watched the door for a few moments, obviously waiting until the chamberlain was well away from overhearing anything they might say.

Lorenzo finally broke the silence. "The Council meetings did not go in my favor. There is still a good possibility that I can sway more members before a vote is taken, but we must make plans in the event the Council accepts Chiavari's petitions. I will not stand trial like a common criminal."

Donna Maria made a sound of impatience. "I thought your friends on the Council said you had no reason for concern."

"I have no friends on the Council," he corrected, his voice clipped and precise. "They are men who owe me favors or fear the consequences of my displeasure, or both. All have sufficient motivation to reject the petitions out of hand, but Chiavari has involved not only the Pope in his cause, but England's sovereign as well. One or the other might be dismissed, but together their words are hard to set aside without raising more suspicion." He folded his arms across his chest and gave her a hard look. "My spies say Chiavari has at least one witness who will swear they have firsthand knowledge that I planned my brother-in-law's murder to gain his fortune, and then falsely accused his wife of the deed." He slanted Donna Maria a meaningful look. "There is only one person still alive who could give such testimony."

Her hand went to her throat. "You cannot believe I would do such a thing! Lorenzo, I could not survive without you. My loyalty is yours until I die! When have I ever—"

He held up one hand to silence her. "You know me too well to betray me. 'Twas only a thought." He gave a nod that seemed to confirm his belief in her innocence. "So it seems Chiavari intends to produce false witnesses, which means it will be possible to buy a different story from their lips, else silence them altogether."

"He cannot possibly produce anyone who would tell the truth," she assured him, looking slightly more relaxed.

He went to the table and filled two goblets with wine, then handed one to Donna Maria. "We must still make preparations to move the children and enough wealth out of the city to survive in comfort, should we need to flee. You have a keener eye than I for such things, and a rare talent for knowing the cost of anything that crosses your path. Tomorrow I want you to go through the palace and the treasury. Make lists of everything of value that can be moved. I will have a ship ready to sail within three days. The estate in Dalmatia should be remote enough."

Donna Maria sat down hard on one of the stools next to the table. "You actually think Chiavari might succeed?"

"I think he is more determined than I anticipated, and has thus far proved impossible to kill." Lorenzo took a deep drink of wine, and then rubbed his forehead. "I sent countless men after him over the years, but only a handful returned. Their reports say he works as an assassin for England's king."

"I told you those ‘harmless children' would one day prove troublesome."

Lorenzo held up his hands as if he had heard the complaint more often than he cared to. "There were enough questions about the deaths of their parents, and it wasn't as if we were murdering peasants. The Chiavari family is as old as Venice itself. Three more Chiavari murders within the city would have made it impossible for my ‘friends' on the Council to vote me innocent in the matter." He lifted one shoulder. "I paid a fortune to make certain the Chiavari siblings never reached England alive. How was I to know they were clever enough to pay an equal fortune to ensure their own safety on the voyage? Even so, the girl was never a real threat, only the two brothers. Then Dante disappeared soon after Roberto's death and I thought him dead as well until a few years ago."

Donna Maria shook her head, as if having trouble accepting the truth of their situation. "All these years he has been biding his time, waiting until he was certain he could ruin you. Ruin us both!"

"'Tis no certainty I am bound for the gallows," he said, before taking another drink. "There are still those on the Council who are loyal to my cause, who must remain loyal to make certain their own secrets remain safe. Many of those same men branded Dante Chiavari a bastard and his mother a murderess. None of them will be in a hurry to admit such a grievous mistake.

"For the Council members I do not control, they are no more than sheep to be herded. The Chiavaris' fates were sealed the day I married Gian Chiavari's sister, and everything worked out just as I said it would. Chiavari is dead. The Council believes his English wife admitted under torture to poisoning him, as well as to having a lover that fathered her three children. She died before she could be brought to trial, and the children were named foreign bastards and exiled. As the only remaining Chiavari, my wife inherited everything. As her husband, I own everything that belonged to my wife. The Council ruled all of this in my favor. Their rulings still stand. Dante is no longer a Chiavari or even a Venetian in the eyes of the law, but he has ample reason to manufacture the evidence he brought forward. Unfortunately, he also has ample wealth and influence, but I will prevail in the end. Have faith that the Council will once again believe what I wish them to believe."

He took a seat on the stool next to hers and reached out to pat her hand. "No one will take what I have made my own, and Dante Chiavari will die no more than a day after he sets foot in Venice to testify before the Council about these charges. Once he is dead, there will be none left to support his claims. All will return to normal."

Lorenzo finished what was left in his goblet and set it down on the tray while Donna Maria took a smaller sip of wine and appeared to contemplate his words.

"We must proceed with caution," she said at last. "If Chiavari is as clever as you say, he will—" Donna Maria tilted her head to one side. "What is wrong with you?"

She scarcely had time to stand up before Dante was through the door and standing right behind her. He put one arm around her waist, then reached over her shoulder and drew his blade across her throat in one smooth motion. His gaze never left Lorenzo's wide-eyed stare as he lowered her gently to the floor until she lay at his feet. He bent to wipe his dagger on Donna Maria's skirts, and then smoothly stepped over the body to take her place at the table.

Lorenzo was still seated, a look of shock frozen on his face. He was trying to stand up but his body wasn't cooperating. At last he slumped forward until the upper part of his body lay sprawled across the table. His arms were spread wide, and one side of his face lay pressed to the polished mahogany surface. Dante moved his stool closer to Lorenzo's, then leaned over to look him in the eye. "Did you really think I would show myself in Venice while you were still alive?"

The muscles in Lorenzo's arms jerked of their own accord and his mouth moved wordlessly, a landed fish that was losing its fight.

"I had hoped you would be the one to drink the most poison," Dante went on, unconcerned by his prey's lack of response. He glanced over his shoulder at Donna Maria. "The one who drank the least had to die quickly, but you both have Chiavari blood on your hands so in the end it doesn't really matter who died first. I just wanted to see your face when you saw mine. I am told that I look exactly like my father, the same dark hair and tall build, the same green eyes. 'Tis said we even sound alike. How does it feel to face a ghost from your past?"

A small movement on the floor drew his attention. Donna Maria's leg twitched again, an involuntary movement that he'd witnessed before from those in the throes of death. There was no longer anything to worry about from that quarter, so he turned again to look at Lorenzo. "Did you know that your whore made sure the three children you had with my aunt were smothered within days of their births? Donna Maria made certain you would have no legitimate heirs with your wife so you would adopt the bastards she gave you and make them your heirs. Many believe she also poisoned my aunt to make certain she died in childbirth that last time. If the pair of you had your way, the next generation of Chiavari would not have a drop of Chiavari blood. How could you think I would allow this to happen?"

Dante continued without pausing. It was pointless to wait for a response from Lorenzo that would never come. "I would have preferred the public trial you had so dreaded. I wanted you both tried and publicly executed for what you did to my family. However, I no longer trust that justice will be served through the usual channels. You taught me that lesson well, Uncle . Indeed, I learned long ago that an honorable man cannot best you, so I have molded myself into the same sort of fiend that destroyed my family. How does it feel to know you have forged your own killer?"

Dante propped his arms on the table and rested his chin atop his folded hands. Lorenzo's mouth had stopped working up and down, but he could still smell wine on the faint puffs of his breath. He would not leave until he was absolutely certain this man would breathe no more.

It was an interesting experience to finally say anything he wished to say to Lorenzo Mira's face, knowing his enemy was helpless to do anything but listen.

"I saw my mother before she died," he went on, in a voice no more emotional than if he were speaking of the weather. "No matter how much torture was inflicted upon her, she would not confess. She knew she would die either way, and suffering days of torture gave her children time to escape from Venice, time to escape from you. A child's last memory of his mother's face should not look like mine. For that, I swore I would make you suffer every pain I know how to inflict in the hours before your death, and I assure you, my knowledge is considerable. You might be paralyzed, but I know you can feel everything as you lie here, helpless to stop me."

He leaned back and drew another small, thin-edged dagger, and then he sank the tip of the blade into the tender part of Lorenzo's armpit before quickly removing it. "I can see by your tears that it hurt. Imagine the hours it could take to inflict hundreds of those knife pricks all over your body. Is your heart beating faster in fear?"

Dante watched a few silent tears spill onto the table. "The harder your heart beats, the faster the poison spreads." He slid the flat of the blade along Lorenzo's face, leaving a smear of blood on his cheek. He kept his voice low and soothing. "Now can you imagine the fear you instilled in my mother before she died?"

Lorenzo's gaze remained fixed; not a muscle in his body moved. He would be dead within a few more minutes. If the poison in the wine did not finish him, the poison on the dagger's blade would. It was over at last and time to make good his escape, yet he could not resist the urge to taunt the man one last time.

"Your foul deeds have come to naught, Lorenzo. This palace along with all of my family's wealth and holdings will be mine. The Chiavaris have their revenge. You die with nothing."

Dante pushed away from the table, but stared long and hard at his handiwork before he returned to the secret room to retrieve a coil of rope. He closed the hidden door and used the cuff of his sleeve to wipe away his handprints from the wood, his movements calm and methodical as he moved across the bedchamber to the doors that led to the balcony. Once outside he took several long, deep breaths of fresh air to clear his head. The bedchamber reeked with the scent of Donna Maria's blood and death itself.

He tried to remember the last time he had stood on what had once been his parents' balcony. Scores of palaces lined the canals of Venice, homes of the city's prosperous merchant princes, but the largest and most impressive palaces surrounded him on this bend of the Grand Canal. Beyond the neighboring rooftops was the dome of St. Mark's, easily visible in the moonlight from his vantage point three stories above the water, but the canal itself was cloaked in mists that had rolled in from the sea at dusk. Dante gave a short whistle that was echoed a moment later by someone far below him in the fog. He uncoiled the rope and tied one end to the railing, then sent it over the edge. The rope suddenly went taut and Dante gave two quick tugs to signal that all was well. He returned to the bedchamber and dispassionately studied his enemy.

Lorenzo's face was the color of wax and his nail beds had turned a dark shade of blue. The breaths that had fogged the polished surface of the table near his mouth had disappeared. Dante sat down again to wait, unwilling to leave the chamber until he was certain he had accomplished his goal. At last a long, shuddering breath left Lorenzo's body and then a milky film began to cloud his eyes.

Lorenzo Mira was dead.

Dante silently repeated the fact several times, but it still didn't seem to take hold in his head. Bringing this man to justice had been the entire focus of his life since he was a boy. Lorenzo had now paid for his crimes. He looked at Donna Maria's body and felt the same hollowness at his core. She had murdered his cousins and possibly his aunt, thus she, too, had paid for her crimes. He felt no remorse.

Mordecai had trained him to never let emotions become involved in any assassination, but he had thought these deaths would somehow be different, that he would feel some great sense of satisfaction or at least a sense of relief. He should be glad that he had finally managed to carry out the sentence that should have been imposed upon them years ago. Instead he felt…nothing. In the end, he was simply an executioner doing his job.

A familiar sound brought him out of his thoughts, a metallic clink that came from the direction of the door, the sound of a small metal cup knocking against a metal spoon. Dante felt a chill go through him.

The child might have rolled over in his sleep, but the odds were just as good that he was awake and had overheard Dante talking to Lorenzo. Perhaps these deaths had affected him more than he realized. This was the first time he had been so careless.

He moved silently to the door, his ears straining for any other sounds from the opposite side. There was only silence.

He should have taken care of the boy the moment he was done with Donna Maria. Instead, his decision to taunt a dying man could have easily resulted in his own death. It still might.

Now he had a different decision to make.

He could well imagine the child's fate when the bodies were discovered in the morning. Likely the boy would be beaten until he gave a false confession and admitted that he allowed someone past him without raising an alarm. The chances of him surviving such a beating were remote. The chances of Dante freeing the boy before he made some sound of alarm that would get them both killed were just as remote. The best he could do was provide a quick, painless death for the child. Although a part of him rebelled that Lorenzo's life should cost the life of yet another innocent, he drew his dagger and opened the door.

The light spilled out from the bedchamber and he found a small face staring up at him, the expression seeming more curious than startled. The boy sat cross-legged on an old wool blanket, a sunken look about his eyes. Dante's view from the secret room had not revealed the extent of the child's starvation. His body was almost skeletal, his arms and legs little more than flesh-covered bones. After a long, tense moment, the child leaned sideways to look past Dante into the chamber where the bodies of Lorenzo and Donna Maria were clearly visible. His gaze moved next to the dagger in Dante's hand and he gave a long, shuddering sigh. It was the look of resignation in his eyes that awoke something in Dante that he had thought long-dead.

There was no way he could take a half-starved urchin on the journey that lay ahead. It was crazed to even consider the notion. Still, the decision was made. "What is your name?"

The boy hesitated, and then whispered in the same low tones as Dante, "My name is Rami."

"Well, Rami, if you remain silent and do exactly as I say, you may yet live through this night. If we are alive on the morrow, I will make certain your life changes for the better. Agreed?"

Dante kept his dagger at the ready while the boy stared back at him. He was beginning to wonder if the child was fluent enough in Italian to understand his meaning when Rami's eyes began to take on a light of hope and he gave a slow, uncertain nod.

"The collar will have to stay for now, but I'm going to use my dagger to pick the lock attached to this chain on the wall. If you make a sound, we are both dead. Do you understand?"

This time there was no hesitation. Rami nodded even as he cradled the metal cup and spoon so they would remain silent.

Dante made short work of the chain, then picked Rami up and carried him to the balcony, amazed at the lightness of his burden. He pointed over the railing toward the rope that disappeared into the fog.

"There is a boat at the end of this rope where two of my men await me. Are you strong enough to climb down by yourself or do I need to tie the rope around your waist and lower you?"

"I am strong, master." Rami lifted his arm to flex a pathetic little muscle, then gave a fierce nod. He shouldn't trust the child's strength, but there was something in Rami's eyes that made his claim believable. Whatever his ancestry, it was obviously warrior stock.

"My men are named Oliver and Armand, but do not speak to them unless spoken to. They will not harm you." He pulled up a length of the rope and made sure Rami had a firm grip. "Be quick about it, boy. I will follow in a few minutes."

Rami climbed over the railing and Dante watched him until the child disappeared into the fog. There was no hesitation in Dante's steps as he returned to the bedchamber and checked the bodies again, just to make doubly certain his job was done. Next he went to the doorway and grabbed Rami's blanket. There was a growing pool of blood beneath Donna Maria's body, and he carefully blotted as much as he could onto the blanket without making its absence from the pool noticeable. The blanket was returned to Rami's place outside the door where he arranged it to look as if the boy had been killed there. With luck, they would think he had thrown the child's body into the canal.

He went again to the balcony and then he turned around for one long, last look at the carnage he had wrought, satisfied that justice at long last had been served. A moment later he disappeared over the railing.