But the bombard . . . hidden from sight . . .
And--the fact that there were Knights in the expedition. If Benito had lost his childhood enthusiasm for his mother's Montagnard cause, he still retained a certain romantic image of the Knights. The champions of Christendom; defenders of the right; bold and brave and true. If the image was tarnished--and had been tarnished even more by the general behavior of the Knights in Venice over the past year--it was still there, lurking in the corners of his mind.
Besides, not all of the Knights were simply lackeys for the Servants. Was there a canaler in Venice who hadn't heard the story, by now, of how some of the Knights--one in particular--had defied their abbot when he ordered a girl and some children hauled out of a church and put to the inquisition? Benito had heard that story several times over the past months, in several different places and from several different pairs of lips.
The stories varied in detail, of course, as city rumors will. Except on one point: all of them agreed that the knight who had first defied the abbot was a Nordic wolfman of some sort. A young blond maniac, who had been ready to carve his fellow knights into bloody pieces over an issue of law and principle.
The barge was closer now. If they hadn't been wearing helmets, Benito could have seen individual faces. Eagerly, he scrutinized what little he could see of the Knights past their helmets and nose guards. Which was not much, unfortunately.
Then Benito noticed that one of the knights--one of the three standing in the bow of the barge--was a very big man. And he remembered that, according to some of the stories he had heard, the blond one had been aided by a supposed giant.
I wonder if . . .
At that moment, one of the knights standing next to the very big one unclasped his helmet and removed it. Then, quickly wiped his forehead and brushed back his long hair; in the way that a warrior will just before battle, to make sure that his hair will not slide forward in the helmet and obscure his view.
His very long and very blond hair . . .
The knight glanced up at Benito as he did so. Then, after shaking his head in bemusement--crazy kid!--replaced the helmet. The whole thing had not taken more than a moment, but long enough for Benito to see the knight's face clearly.
A face that seemed a thing made entirely of angles and sharp planes, for all its obvious youth.
Yes! It's got to be him! I'm sure of it!
Benito's excitement was cresting. Suddenly, he was certain that this expedition was no thing of "show." Not in the least little bit.
I've got to see it!
He made up his mind right then. Curling quickly back into an upright position, he planted his feet firmly on the crossbeam of the roof. Then, looking across the canal to the rooftop across the way where Maria was perched, watching him, gave her a quick and cheerful wave. And a thumbs-up.
Moving quickly, before Maria could have time to start yelling orders at him to cease and desist, Benito took out the little prybar he had brought with him--just in case--and began working at the iron bars of the small window he was squatting beside. Those were some of the iron bars he had sawn through two nights earlier, and it was quick work to pry a couple of them loose. Benito glanced down to make sure no one would get hit, and pitched the bars into the waters of the canal below.
Then, he paused. Better wait until . . . He looked at the barge holding the knights. He could see Petro Dorma also. Benito recognized him from his many public appearances. The Lord of the Nightwatch was perched in the very tip of the bow, preparing to offload. The barge had almost reached the Casa Dandelo.
A moment later, the barge came alongside the wharf. Lord Dorma and the three knights in the bow hopped off and strode to the main door of Casa Dandelo. One of the knights--the big one--began pounding on the door. Lord Dorma was shouting something.
Benito couldn't make out the exact words. Mostly because he was doing his best to close his ears entirely, so he could claim later that he hadn't heard Maria's--now very loud and profane--shouted orders at him to stop what you're going, you crazy little bastard!
He grinned wryly. Well . . . he was pretty little, and he was certainly a bastard. "Crazy," on the other hand . . .
I prefer to think of it as "bold."
Maria's cursing could probably be heard in the Jesolo by now. Get away from that window, you blankety-blank stupid little blankety-blank . . . what do you think you're doing?!
Benito avoided looking at her--his eyes were fixed on the bombard, which several of the knights were wrestling onto the wharf--but he did give her an assuring little wave. Relax, Maria. I know what I'm doing.
A complete lie, of course. Even Benito thought what he was about to do was at least half insane. Voluntarily entering the lair of the Dandelos?
But . . . I have got to see this!
Lord Dorma shouted something which sounded very . . . final. Then he and the three knights at the front stepped back. The other knights, by now, had nestled the bombard against a heavy stone abutment on the wharf. One of them took out a smoking slow match--
They must have already loaded it.
--and the bombard went off with a BOOM. Even though Benito was expecting it, the noise startled him. So did the sound of the heavy front door of Casa Dandelo being turned into splinters. Not so much from the cannonball, which had simply shattered the lock, but from the weight and fury of half a dozen armored knights slamming into it.
Maria's shrieking orders and curses at Benito could be heard in the Alps, by now. He gave her a last little wave and plunged through the window, into the darkness of Casa Dandelo.
* * *
The room he found himself in was some kind of storage area. Everything was very dark, but he could see the dim outlines of a door on the opposite side. Stumbling over various carelessly stacked crates, holding God-knows-what, he scrambled to the door. Then, tested it cautiously. Despite the recklessness of his project, he hadn't lost the fine details of burglary work.
To his relief, the door wasn't locked or bolted on the other side. He opened it slowly, carefully, peeking out into the corridor beyond.
There was no one in the corridor. To his left, the corridor dead-ended a few yards away. Three other doors on that side seemed to be the same type as the door he was opening--old, decayed, apparently little used; the kind of doors which led to nothing beyond rooms for storing mostly unwanted items. By pure luck, he had chosen a perfect entry route into the Dandelo building.
To his right, the corridor angled almost immediately to the left. He couldn't see what lay beyond that bend. But he could hear a furious ruckus coming from somewhere below. The excitement he wanted to watch, obviously.
Hurriedly, not wanting to miss any of it, Benito almost lunged out of the storage room and scurried to the bend of the corridor. The lighting was so bad--just one sconce at the very end of the corridor--that he tripped over an unseen obstacle lying on the floor and wound up sprawling around the bend instead of creeping unnoticed.
Fortunately--