25

For the second time in days Giulietta felt smothered by the Persian rug in which she’d been rolled. She’d never felt so helpless. Not even when the abadessa held her wrists, Dr. Crow froze her tongue and Mistress Scarlett forced her knees apart…

Hot tears filled her throat. All that did was make it hard to breathe when her nose started running. And it was hard enough to breathe wrapped in a carpet anyway. She tried to concentrate on what was happening outside. She was in a boat of some kind. But whether it was a small boat or a large galley…

How would she know?

When she heard the keel grate on gravel she realised they’d reached land and she had her answer. A small boat and a short ride. Having been carried ashore, her smothering prison was tossed down and picked up just as quickly when someone hissed with anger. “It’s Persian. I’m not paying you to get shit on it.”

The men answering sounded Schiavoni.

Hoisting the carpet on to their shoulders, they began to carry her up a slight incline. While inside, now gagged, and with her hands trapped by the carpet’s tightness, Giulietta heard the curses of men struggling through mudflats. Her journeys had been so brief she suspected she was back where she had started. In Venice, or on the Venetian mainland. But not, it seemed, near the Riva degli Schiavoni.

Uncle Alonzo? Aunt Alexa? Patriarch Theodore?

Who would do this to her and why?

Were the men who stole her from the basilica the ones who delivered her to the little temple in the walled garden? If so, who were these? And why were they in league with krieghund?

Lady Giulietta had wanted excitement her entire life. She’d wanted it through Fra Diomedes’s lessons, Sunday services in San Marco, formal meals with her family. Something more real than ritual and gossip. Now that she had it, she wanted her own boring life back.

Somewhere behind her… In the ruined furniture of a little temple’s hallway, on a leather divan in the Sala de Tortura, on a stinking road through Cannaregio, in a throwaway comment that she’d kill her husband if not allowed to kill herself, were the pieces of her broken childhood.

Unable to help herself, Giulietta started sobbing.

The old man had died instantly. His throat torn out in a sweep of claws from the monster in the doorway. The krieghund’s second blow removed his head, the squelch of it landing still sounded in her ears. The old woman had clapped hand to her own mouth, looking hideously sick. Then turned abruptly to Lady Giulietta.

“Hide…” The word was silent. When she didn’t move, the old woman pushed Giulietta towards her bedroom.

You can survive rape.

You can’t survive what krieghund do to you.

The old man’s death, Atilo’s brutal words and her own terror made her scrabble as she grabbed the key from the lock, slammed her bedroom door behind her and locked and bolted it from inside. She dragged a chest in front of the door, then her bed in front of that. And, finally, she looked round her.

She had her bed, her blanket, her mattress. A bowl of water to wash her face, which would do for drinking. A bucket for pissing. And a thick door between her and the danger beyond. Nothing she could use as a weapon.

Hammering began at the door.

“Go away,” she shouted. “Go away…”

By then there was no one left to hear but the monster outside.

A night of sobbing, raging and promises to God on Lady Giulietta’s part gave way in the morning to surprise when, after an hour or so’s silence, someone knocked softly at her bedroom door. The voice accompanying the knock was also soft, and very human. The man on the other side offered her safety. All she had to do was turn the key and undo her bolts, lie face down on the floor and shut her eyes.

“What about the monster?”

The silence was eloquent, followed by a deep sigh. “What choice do you have?”

“And if I don’t trust you?”

“The monster will be back.”

He was right, of course. What choice did she have? What choice had she ever had? Lady Giulietta’s whole life was one of duty and demands. Why should today be any different? On the plus side, she was alive, which was surprising. And she wasn’t on her way to marry King Janus… Patriarch Theodore always said concentrate on life’s goodness. And being alive after being abducted was good, wasn’t it?

So Giulietta unblocked her door, half expecting the monster to burst in immediately. And then she lay face down and closed her eyes, keeping them tightly shut when the door began to open. The man who came in, gagged her, blindfolded her and used the rug from the sacristy to roll her tight.

And, following a short boat trip, she found herself here. Wherever that was. “My lord,” she heard a Schiavoni whisper.

“Not far now,” someone whispered in return. “Not far at all.