Their pursuer’s hood was still pulled over his face as he leaned over the railing and stared down at them like a hawk eyeing its prey. Magdalena had no time to get a closer look, though, for in the next instant he was clattering down the ladder. The last several yards he took in a single leap, spreading his cloak around him like wings. When he landed, he turned and started toward them quick as a shadow in the dark, a long, narrow rapier glinting in his hand.
Screaming, the hangman’s daughter jumped behind a stack of crates. From her hiding spot she watched in horror as Silvio drew his dagger and attacked the man. The stranger was poised for attack, his rapier in front of him, ready to lunge at any moment. Without the slightest sound, Silvio rushed forward, his dagger circling in the air, but the man skillfully sidestepped him, then thrust upward with his rapier, slicing the silk sleeve of Silvio’s coat clean off.
Magdalena was shocked to see blood dripping from the tear in Silvio’s jacket and noticed he was limping slightly. It couldn’t be long before the stranger attacked straight on and plunged his rapier into Silvio’s chest.
And I’ll be next…
Frantically, Magdalena looked all around until her gaze fell on a huge wine barrel, almost as big as a man. She ran toward it and shoved as hard as she could. It seemed empty. Groaning, she pushed against its damp staves with all her strength until it teetered a moment, then tipped over with an earsplitting crash. It rolled toward the stranger, gaining momentum, as he cursed and struggled to jump aside. But it was too late-the barrel bowled him over and burst against the opposite wall, sending splinters flying through the air.
The stranger remained motionless on the ground for a moment, then struggled to get up, groping for his rapier, which had landed nearby. Before he could pull himself together, however, Silvio had seized Magdalena by the arm, drawn her to the door of an adjacent house, pushed her inside, and slammed the bolt closed. When the stranger arrived at the door, he started banging furiously on the other side.
“Grazie!” the Venetian panted. “That was close. You were right; we really were being followed.”
They ran through the house and out the front door into the street, where the usual traffic-wagons, coaches, and pedestrians, all chattering and complaining-streamed by slowly. It was as if the pair had entered a wholly different world oblivious to the danger lurking just a few steps away. Most people didn’t even turn to glance at them.
At the next street corner Silvio stopped, leaning against the wall of a house to examine the rip in his jacket and the blood on his finger, which he eventually licked off.
“Santa Madonna!” he panted. “What in the world have you gotten yourselves into?”
The hangman’s daughter shrugged. “Unfortunately I don’t know that myself. I don’t know who this man is or why he’s following us. He may be the very same man who last night…” She hesitated.
“What do you mean, last night?”
Magdalena shook her head. She decided for the time being not to tell the Venetian anything about their break-in at the bathhouse. “Nothing. I’m probably just seeing ghosts.”
Silvio touched the bloody tear in his jacket again.
“Well, it certainly looks like I need a new jacket.” He grinned and pointed at Magdalena. “And so do you.”
The hangman’s daughter looked down at herself. She’d lost Silvio’s cloak in the scuffle. The coarse linen dress she wore underneath was tattered, and her bodice was splattered with red wine. She looked as if she’d just barely escaped a barroom brawl with a gang of prostitutes.
“You’re right,” she replied, embarrassed. “But I have no money to-”
“Money? What would you need money for?” Silvio interrupted. “We’ll find something nice for you at my house. After all, you can’t possibly come to my ball this evening dressed like that.”
Magdalena hesitated. “You… you really meant what you said before? You want me to come to this ball with you?”
“Mama mia! Why should I be joking? A beautiful woman such as yourself is an honor to any house!”
The hangman’s daughter had to laugh. Almost all the parties she’d ever been to were held in the market square or empty barns. There were sausages, sauerkraut, and beer, and maybe a few musicians to strike up a dance tune with a fiddle and castanets. The prospect of attending a ball was about as foreign to her as an invitation to paradise.
“I’m-I’m afraid I’ll make a terrible fool of myself,” she stammered. “I wouldn’t have the first clue what to say-or do…”
“Your smile says more than a thousand words. Now, say you’ll come!”
The chivalrous Venetian took Magdalena by the arm and led her through the streets of Regensburg as if she were the elegant wife of some wealthy patrician.
A few moments later the hangman’s daughter stood with Silvio before a massive building on the bustling cathedral square. Above an entrance as wide as a barn door two stories rose up, each with a row of shimmering glass windows. The bays, pointed arches, and dormer windows gave the building the appearance of a noble country estate, while its size almost reminded Magdalena of the Regensburg city hall.
“This mansion belongs to you?” Her jaw dropped.
“No, no!” Silvio demurred. “I only rent quarters here. A patrician was kind enough to make some rooms available to me. Come along. I’ll give you a tour. There’s a room in here I know is certain to be to your liking.”
The Venetian led Magdalena through the entryway into a shadowy courtyard. Fragrant flowers and plants sprouted from marble tubs and buckets along the gravel walkway, and wild ivy grew along the stone walls. Gaily colored birds chirped from a silver cage hanging from one of the rafters. Magdalena felt as if she had entered the Garden of Eden. She timidly fingered some kind of bright yellow fruit that dangled from the sun-dappled branches of a tiny tree in a corner.
“Those are lemons,” Silvio explained. “In my homeland they grow in every garden. I’m trying to grow them here, but the German winter will kill most of them.” He sighed. “When it’s cold, I grow especially homesick for my beloved Venice.”
“Do all the houses in Venice look like this?” Magdalena asked cautiously.
Silvio smiled. “I have friends there who decorate their villas in gold and travel in silver gondolas. I myself consider that pretentious, but if you live in the richest city in the world, it’s tempting to begin to think you’re better than others. Follow me, please.”
They ascended a broad staircase flanked by banisters and marble statues. In contrast with the stench of the city, the air here was redolent of fruit and mint and filled with the soothing sounds of a harp nearby. Curious, Magdalena stopped in front of a small sculpture of a handsome young man smiling down at a girl holding an apple out to him. Inside his marble back, rats, snakes, and toads scurried about.
“What is that?” she asked the Venetian.
Silvio shrugged. “A gruesome statue. I should have it removed-it doesn’t fit in very well among the beautiful figures here. But come now. I’ll take you to my dressing room. It would be preposterous if we couldn’t find something suitable there for la bella signorina.”
At that moment a maid approached them with a neat bundle of fresh laundry. She curtsied and lowered her gaze, and though Silvio seemed not to have even seen her, Magdalena could feel the maid assessing her out of the corner of her eye. Her mouth pinched, she turned up her nose in disgust. Apparently she considered Magdalena just another of the loose women whom the master of the house liked to bring up to his room-nothing more than a cheap streetwalker.
I can’t really blame her, Magdalena thought, hurrying past the girl as quickly as possible.