Starling (110 page)

and the coin vanished. Taking her arm, he escorted Cass out of Palazzo Dolce and out onto the busy street. Peasants and courtesans
strolled past, chattering and giggling, oblivious to the fugitive in their
midst. A few children huddled in a recessed doorway called out to
Maximus as he passed, begging for a trick. The conjurer slowed just
long enough to pull a silk scarf out of his black hat. When he tossed
the scarf in the direction of the doorway, it turned into a ribbon of
flower petals, which swirled in the air before fluttering to the damp
ground. Cass stared at the individual droplets of color against the
gray stone.
Maximus held her arm loosely, whistling to himself as he led her
toward the dock. She furrowed her brow as gondola after gondola
floated by. Finally, Maximus raised his hand toward a fisherman in
a small but agile sandolo. He helped Cass into the skiff and came to
sit beside her.
“Maximus. Where are we going and why did we not take a gondola?”
“This boat is better able to reach our destination,” he said.
Cass had no idea what that could mean. “Is this about the fire?
About the man imprisoned with me? Falco da Padova?”
Maximus lifted his hat for a moment, his fingers manipulating the
velvet brim. His black hair blew forward into his eyes. Replacing his
hat, he studied her without judgment. “Do you wish for it to be about
Falco da Padova?”
So complicated a question hiding beneath such simple words.
And as usual, Cass didn’t have an answer. “I don’t want Falco to be
dead,” she said finally. “I trust you heard about the workshop fire?”
Maximus nodded. “They found several bodies. I’m sorry. I do
not think anyone else made it out alive.”
Cass turned away from Maximus, unwilling to let him read her
emotions. She feigned interest in her surroundings. The sun was directly above her, warming the back of her neck and reflecting off the
surface of the water. The fisherman steered the boat through the
crowded canals, making his way around gondolas and other vendors
heading home from the market. Closing her eyes, Cass reclined
against the side of the boat, trying to ignore the stink of fish and the
feel of the rough wood digging into her back.
The warm air whipped her cloak back and forth like a sail. She
gathered the excess fabric in one hand, trying to block out the shouts
and laughter coming from the boats around her. A loud burst of clapping made her open her eyes. She and Maximus were heading south
toward the Rialto Bridge. A large circle of peasants had gathered at
the crest, pumping fists and clapping at something Cass couldn’t see.
“They’re wrestling,” Maximus explained, as the sandolo glided
beneath the crowd.
For a moment, Cass imagined the throng of people parting to
expose Luca and Falco sparring in the center of the circle. It was a
ridiculous notion—neither of them were fighters. The sandolo continued south, with no sign of slowing.
“Are you taking me back to Villa Querini?” Cass pressed.
Maximus smiled enigmatically. “You ask many questions, Signorina. Perhaps for once, you should simply relax and enjoy the feel of
the wind in your hair.”
Easier said than done. Ever since Cristian had started killing
women and Luca had returned to Venice, Cass’s life had been chaos.
Falco’s leaving. Luca’s imprisonment. The dog attack. Siena’s death.