Free States of Grace by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page A

“Camilio, you are a difficult fellow,” he exclaimed loudly enough to be heard in the tavern kitchen. “Let me buy you a drink. We’ll arrange things over some good wine.”
    “I haven’t time enough to waste the day with you.” He flung his hand toward the door of the ordinary-looking tavern. “I should be taking prandium with my uncle even now.”
    “Should you?” said Cuor. “That wasn’t what he told me, this morning at Santa Maria Formosa. I met with him after he completed his morning walk along La Merceria. He said nothing about dining with you. In fact, he applauded our meeting at this time, when most of Venezia is at table.”
    “Do you mean you report to him directly?” Leoncio was shocked, and this time he remembered to keep his voice down.
    “I do. Every ten days; oftener, if he sends for me.” The shine in his eyes was not from wine, but from malicious glee. “I gather he didn’t bother to tell you.”
    “No,” said Leoncio, a cold sensation beginning to form under his belt. “He didn’t.”
    “Well, now you know,” Cuor said with satisfaction, then whistled through his teeth. “Bellissima,” he called to the barmaid. “Two tankards of your best Sangue di Christi.” He held up three silver coins.
    From the protection of the counter, the barmaid signaled she would comply, and reached for the double-handled glass tankards that were the pride of Venezia; she reached behind her for the covered pitcher containing their wine.
    “Why should I drink with you?” Leoncio muttered.
    “Because we must talk, Camilio, and in a tavern, men who talk must also drink if they wish not to be noticed.” He paused and looked around at the table on the far side of the room where a group of sailors were devouring large plates of prawns and scallops, drinking as much as they ate; only two other tables were occupied, and the men at both of them were more interested in their food and wine than in any of the others in the tavern. “You and I have to work in concert, not in opposition.” He pointed to a table near the hearth. “That’s private enough without seeming so.”
    “More concern for appearances,” Leoncio said sullenly.
    “You would do well to keep such things in mind,” said Cuor as he took the seat with its back to the wall. “I can see everyone who enters, and they will notice you before me.” He cleared his throat and spat. “Your uncle tells me that at the end of summer, di Santo-Germano is going to Antwerp and Bruges, or so he has informed the Collegio. He has business there, which the Collegio already knew. He is traveling overland, rather than going in one of his ships; probably afraid of corsairs. He plans to be gone a year, and has appointed Gennaro Emerenzio as his deputy in his absence. He is going to keep his house open and maintain his staff during that time, as well as his press and his patronage of Pier-Ariana Salier. It is clear that he plans to return.”
    “He told the Collegio all this?” Leoncio asked.
    Nodding, Cuor said, “More to the point, his household and the men at his press have confirmed it. One of the Collegio’s clerks is going to call up Signorina Salier to find out what she knows of his continuing patronage.” He motioned for silence as the barmaid brought the glass tankards. “Mille grazie, madonna,” he said as he handed over the three silver coins.
    The coins vanished expertly. “My husband says that you’re not to cause any trouble.”
    “If we do, it won’t be my fault,” said Cuor. “And my companion is too well-mannered to misbehave.”
    “Da vero?” The barmaid gave a disbelieving snort and returned to the shield of the counter.
    Leoncio tasted the wine and found it fairly good. “For a canal-side tavern, this is quite good,” he allowed.
    “Keep your voice down, or Gezualdo will surely throw us out. He prides himself on his wines.”
    “Oh, very well,” said Leoncio sullenly.
    Cuor was not moved by Leoncio’s morose demeanor.