Starling (66 page)

she said. “I’m no longer welcome there. Please,” she added. “This
dagger is worth a hundred messages, but it is all I have for payment.”
“As you wish, signorina.” The boy took the dagger with a dubious
look and tucked the letter into his leather sack. He bowed slightly.
Cass let the crowd swallow her up. The messenger had given her
a good idea. She had several hours until sunset, and there was no
point in spending the whole day at the market, especially when she
couldn’t buy anything to eat. Although she could not safely deliver
her message to Palazzo Dubois, she could watch the building from a
distance. If she were right, and Dubois had the Book of the Eternal
Rose, then the more information she had about the comings and goings of the Palazzo Dubois staff, the better.
She found her way quickly along the Grand Canal, cringing at the
squelching sounds made by her soggy shoes. Dubois’s home was a
mix of white marble pillars and smooth gray stucco, with rows and
rows of arched windows and a balcony that led out from the piano
nobile. The sun was at its highest point shining down on the red clay
roof tiles and the private dock out front. A banner flapped in the
breeze—the Dubois crest. The word ‘victory’ was emblazoned in
French across the griffin’s sword.
Not if I have anything to do with it,
Cass vowed. Staying on the far side of the Grand Canal, she retreated
to the campo of a small church a block away from the water where she
could see Palazzo Dubois but its inhabitants could not see her.
An impossibly high number of servants returned throughout the
afternoon: men and women, old and young, with seemingly nothing
in common but their distinctive black-and-gold uniforms. One by
one, they crept into the passage between Palazzo Dubois and its
neighbor, heading for the servants’ entrance in the back.
Like spiders
returning to their nests,
Cass thought. She watched for Feliciana, but
didn’t see her.
As twilight began to paint the sky a mix of grays, Joseph Dubois
exited the front of the palazzo, flanked by a pair of men with clubs
dangling from their belts. Dubois looked unusually casual, his hat
and boots lacking the normal feathers and ribbons that the wealthy
wore to advertise their status. Cass was surprised to see that he didn’t
board the blue boat that she was familiar with from his visits to Villa
Querini. Instead, he stood outside his front door and his men walked
along the canal until a gondolier saw them gesturing and rowed toward them. Cass wished she could follow him, but the sun was rapidly sinking and she
needed
to meet up with Feliciana.
Reluctantly, Cass watched Joseph Dubois’s hired gondola float
away from her as she turned back toward the market. She arrived
there just as the activity was dying down. The last vendors were
packing up their remaining wares and heading for home. Waving a
hand in front of her face to dissipate the strong odors, Cass threaded
her way through the fish area, to the back where the fruits and vegetables were sold. There, leaning against the same stall where Cass
and Siena had once found her dressed as a beggar, was Feliciana.
Cass exhaled sharply, biting back tears at the sight of her former
handmaid. She hadn’t realized how nervous she had been that Feliciana wouldn’t come. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I didn’t know
where else to turn.”
“Are you all right?” Feliciana asked. “I wasn’t certain if the message was really from you, but who
else
would know about this spot?”
Cass nodded. “I’m fine now.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
A few tears escaped and Feliciana stepped forward to give her a