Masks

Chapter Forty

“Okay, this is not going to work.”

It was Bezio who said it, but it was what Mircea had been thinking. They’d eluded the guards at the pier, made a mad dash across the interior of the island, and finally arrived at the forested perimeter of the house. Only to discover that they might as well have stayed home.

Because things were even worse on this side.

The house was ringed by red-caped guards, the pier in front was lined by a double row of them, and parties of two were ranging across the grounds. All of whom were senior-level masters on high alert. Whereas his little group was powerless, weaponless, and, at least in Mircea’s case, clueless.

Because if there was a way in, he didn’t see it.

“Would you stop saying that!” Jerome snapped.

Mircea looked at him. “Stop saying what?”

“Not you, him.”

“Me?” Bezio asked.

“Do you see anyone else here?”

“What did I do?”

“You keep saying things like that—”

“Like what?”

“Like ‘this isn’t going to work; we’re not getting in there.’ You’ve been doing it all night!”

A bushy eyebrow raised. “And are we in there?”

“You said we wouldn’t get here, either—”

“By anything approaching sane means, we wouldn’t have. And I defy you to find me even an insane way in there,” he gestured at the brilliantly lit house.

It was easy enough to see because they were standing approximately where the assault had started the night before. Mircea knew why the leader had chosen it now: the place had a decent view of both house and dock, and enough thick cover to provide a retreat if it was needed. And it was starting to look like it might be, because he had no idea.

“What’s the plan when we do get in?” Jerome asked, ever the optimist.

“I talk to the senator,” Mircea said.

“And?”

“And I tell her what’s happening.”

Jerome frowned. “You’re going to tell her that someone’s been trying to poison her? How is that supposed to help?”

“Because someone might still be trying it!” And everyone at Martina’s was here tonight, and probably already inside.

How convenient.

“If someone wants her dead, seems to me all they have to do is wait around,” Bezio said.

“Maybe that’s the idea,” Mircea said grimly. “If she does survive, she’ll be weak, vulnerable. And in the confusion after the duel . . . well, it would be the perfect time to strike. To make sure that, even if she wins, she loses!”

“But what if she doesn’t believe you?” Jerome asked.

“She will.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“I’ll . . . come up with something.”

“You’ll come up with something?” Now Jerome was the one sounding skeptical. “Don’t you think—”

“I think we need to get in first, and then worry about it!”

“Yes, only we’re not going—” Bezio stopped at a vicious look from Jerome.

“There has to be a way,” Jerome said, studying the house.

“There is, but we can’t get to it,” Mircea told him.

“Can’t get to what?”

Mircea pointed out the trellis the leader had used the night before, which he’d seen in his vision, or whatever that had been. From this angle, the small, vine-draped framework was almost obscured by a clump of trees. But it was visible if you knew what you were looking for.

“He didn’t choose it by random,” Mircea said. “He obviously spent some time examining the house before the assault. And noticed that the poplar trees block the view of the trellis from this side, and that ridge in the masonry obscures it from the other. Unless you’re standing right in front of it, you simply don’t see it at all.”

“But I’m guessing there weren’t this many guards last night, either,” Jerome said, as several headed in their direction, then veered off to the right, to check a small garden surrounded by hedges.

“They’re on a patrol,” Mircea said. That was the second time they’d taken that same route.

“Are you sure?”

He watched them leave the garden a moment later, and take a walk along a reflecting pool to check a fountain near the back of the property. Also for the second time. “Pretty sure.”

“I don’t see how that helps us,” Bezio said.

“Thus speaks the voice of doom,” Jerome muttered.

“It’s doom I’m trying to avoid, actually. And there’s still too many damned guards.”

“He’s right,” Mircea said. “We’ll never make that trellis.”

“See there?”

“Unless we draw some of them off first.”

“Draw some of them—” Bezio stopped.

Jerome looked vaguely green. “You know,” he told him. “I think you can go ahead and be pessimistic now.”

“She said it should be right around here,” Jerome said, staring at the ground.

“Well, obviously, it isn’t,” Bezio told him.

“I’m just telling you what she said. Why would she say it was here if it wasn’t, in fact, here?”

“You know how masters are. She probably left it back home, but now she’s said it, so she’s committed.”

“No, we’re committed—to searching this whole damned field all night. And it’s going to rain again.” Jerome looked upward. “I can feel it.”

“Well, it’s not like we can get any wetter.”

“No, but I think my shoes are coming apart.”

They stopped to examine his shoes.

There were no less than twelve guards in view, most of whom couldn’t be bothered with the likes of them. And that included the patrol, but only because it was currently on its third trip to the fountain. But they’d be back in less than four minutes, if they stuck to form. And, as the roving guard, they would probably be expected to dispose of the riffraff.

Although hopefully not permanently.

Mircea scowled, dropped to his knees, and started digging around in the dirt.

For about ten seconds, until a pair of gleaming boots backed by a bright crimson cape stopped directly in front of his face. “What are you doing?”

He looked up, squinting, because the moon was right behind the golden helmet of an annoyed-looking master. “Wha?” he asked, and squinted some more.

“Oh, don’t bother,” Jerome told the guard, and kicked Mircea in the ribs. “Stop that. It’s not there.”

“And that’s another thing,” Bezio said. “Why is he even here? Biggest thing going, practically the biggest thing ever, and she brings the family idiot?”

“Masters,” Jerome said, and took off his shoe.

“You can’t be back here,” the guard told them. “Who is your master?”

“Lucilla,” Jerome said, frowning at his sole. And naming his lady friend from the previous evening.

“Senator Marcellus’ wife?” The guard looked doubtful.

It was understandable. Their hair was straggling around their faces, their clothes were damp, and their shoes were muddy. Or, in Jerome’s case, coming apart. Not to mention that, collectively, they probably had about as much power as the servant who had shined those glossy boots, which explained why the guard hadn’t even drawn a sword yet.

They weren’t worth the effort.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to get it dirty. Despite the unexpected downpour, the man was pristine. In addition to the boots, his armor shone, his cape looked freshly pressed, even his helmet feathers were perky.

How the hell did he do that, Mircea wondered, and resumed digging in the mud.

“Is there another?” Jerome asked, with a longsuffering sigh.

“Well, you still can’t be here,” the guard said, albeit with a slightly moderated tone.

“Friend, I don’t want to be here,” Jerome told him. “I was ordered to be here. The lady lost a ring—a very, very expensive pearl ring—”

“Or so she says,” Bezio commented.

“—at the regatta the other day. She took a turn in the gardens before the competition, and the next time she looked, the ring was gone.”

“But the next time she looked was at home,” Bezio pointed out, ranging farther afield. “I’m telling you, she probably lost it there.”

“I think she’d know where she lost her own ring,” Jerome said grumpily, and then jerked when Mircea suddenly grabbed his leg. “What are you—no, no, you idiot! That’s a rock! A filthy rock! And look what you just did to my hosen!”

Mircea flinched back, leaving a muddy handprint on said hosen. And put his hands protectively over his head, the truly filthy rock dripping mud onto the grass in front of him—and then flinging it in an arc when Jerome kicked him again. The guard jumped back, just missing having his outfit ruined, and shot Mircea a look of pure disgust.

“Stupid boy!” Bezio said angrily. “Go stand over by the house, where we can keep an eye on you!”

Mircea slunk off to the sounds of outrage from the shoeless and now muddy Jerome, the renewed objections of the guard, and Bezio’s low grumbles. And then his excited exclamations when he suddenly spotted something. “Hey, is that it?” Bezio asked, running through the sight line of several more guards, who were then forced to go after him.

Mircea stepped quietly back into the shadow of the poplars, swiftly checking in both directions. But the nearest guards were busy accosting Bezio, the rest were watching their areas, and the patrol wouldn’t be back for another minute. And that was more than enough.

In seconds, he was up the trellis, moving almost silently. Not that it mattered with outraged yelling from Jerome and Bezio helping to cover his ascent. As well as the sounds of the crowd above, which blotted out even his own hearing halfway up, with a murmur like the roar of the ocean.

He realized why a second later, when he hopped over the top.

And into a crowd of thousands.

The palazzo was creaking under the weight of a solid mass of people. It was literally shoulder-to-shoulder all over the vast expanse of roof. Where the cream of the vampire world were fighting and jostling and elbowing and generally acting in ways that a well-dressed throng shouldn’t.

Nobody cared. Not tonight. All that was on anyone’s mind was finding the best vantage point overlooking the garden, which explained why nobody standing nearby had noticed his less than normal entrance.

They were all facing the other way.

Mircea snagged a view for himself—briefly—by grabbing a tray of drinks off a passing servant. And then by climbing up the steps of a nearby covered platform, where the senators had their seats, well above the rudely shifting crowd. He didn’t get in, of course; a guard relieved him of the tray at the top. But he took his time coming down, trying to get his bearings.

He could see over the edge of the wall now, down into what had once been a beautiful garden. And which at present wasn’t much of anything. The stone pathways and grassy areas were still intact, more or less, along with the fountain. But most of the trees and bushes had been dug out and removed.

The garden now matched the rest of the house, which currently resembled a ruin, albeit an odd one. In addition to the group on the roof, vampires hung out of windows, crowded doorways and loggias, and even sat along the floor lines that had been revealed by missing chunks of wall. There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands, in Mircea’s line of sight.

But none of them was the one he needed to see.

And he was fast running out of time.

The consul was already in place, standing beside an official of some kind in the center of the enclosure. He was back to human form, a wizened little figure looking vaguely ridiculous in a rich aquamarine robe. But for some reason, Mircea didn’t feel much like laughing as he went back to searching the crowd, trying to find the senator.

And found Martina instead.

She was standing on the ground floor, inside a door to the right of the newly made arena. He couldn’t see her face, since the doorway shadowed it, but he recognized the flame-colored gown dotted with golden pomegranates, one of her favorites. It was unique; the material woven somewhere to the east and then smuggled into Venice, where it was illegal due to laws forbidding competition with the local silk industry.

As if Martina cared about the laws.

But there simply couldn’t be two of them.

A swift check of the other entrances to the arena turned up more and more familiar faces. Paulo was standing on a balcony above a door directly across from Martina. Zaneta was just inside another on the wall to the right of him. And then Mircea spied what looked like Danieli’s favorite yellow outfit on a loggia above the door to the far left. Mircea didn’t see anyone else, but he’d bet money they were here somewhere. Possibly loitering somewhere near the last door, just below him, where he couldn’t see what was happening.

Until the senator suddenly walked through it.