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She stared into her nearly empty cup, letting herself settle into the ebb and flow of Italian around her. It wasn’t one of her best languages, but full immersion was helping. She could already distinguish a discussion about the scandalous goings-on at a local convent, even if the precise meaning of certain nouns was a little vague.
Looking up, she surveyed the Biblioteca Marciana. It wasn’t as tall as some of the other buildings and she could count a ground floor, a first floor and a gently slanted roof that might hold a second floor, or at least an attic - all of it in smooth pink-and-white marble picked out with gilding. A pillared arcade surrounded the building and she could see a balcony featuring yet more pillars on the first floor, these connected by arches. Friezes were carved into the gleaming marble, showing heraldic beasts or heads with swags of foliage beneath them. Any attempt to get in through the windows or over the roof would be painfully obvious, which meant using the main door. But, given the crowds doing the same, she shouldn’t stand out. o;I don’t intend to stay,’ Irene said flatly. ‘This place may be your ideal holiday destination, sir, but it is hardly mine.’
Silver shook his head sadly. ‘Some day, my lady, some day.’ He gestured towards Johnson, who promptly filled Irene’s arms with a bundle of fabric. ‘Johnson, is that … ?’
‘The requested items, sir,’ Johnson said tonelessly. ‘And the most appropriate library for this person’s wishes will probably be the Biblioteca Marciana - that is, the Library of St Mark.’ He rattled off a list of directions, and Irene frowned as she committed them to memory. It was close - well, fairly close - to the Piazza San Marco, and if she remembered correctly, that was the main city square. This could be good or it could be bad. At least it should mean large crowds.
‘That will do,’ Silver said as Johnson fell silent. ‘My lady, kindly excuse me. I have a full morning ahead of me, and you have roused me early, so I may as well take advantage of it.’ His smile contained nothing specific to which she could take offence, but it managed to imply a dozen things, all of them sensual.
‘I’ll be on my way then,’ she said, as silence filled the room.
‘If you truly need me,’ Silver said, ‘I will be at the opera later today, at the performance that precedes the auction. Look for me there.’
‘Let’s hope I don’t have to,’ Irene said bluntly. She turned away from him, striding towards the door.
Johnson held it open for her. He leaned in towards her. ‘Get him in trouble,’ he hissed, his tone suddenly sharp, suddenly human, ‘and I’ll kill you.’
He slammed the door behind her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The first thing Irene did was get some food and a cup of coffee.
Well, that was her initial objective. First she had to pad her new shoes until they fitted, wrap her new shawl round her head and shoulders, hide her new knife (small but sharp) and her purse, then make her way to the Piazza San Marco. She’d find a hoard of cafes there, and she needed to scope out the area near the Biblioteca Marciana.
Her fingers brushed the jade pendant again. She only had until midnight. The sense of urgency that goaded her on made any wasted time feel criminal, even stopping for food. But, unlike the Fae, she was still human, and had human needs
The Piazza San Marco was only a few hundred yards from the Gritti Palace. Irene confirmed her status as a new arrival by standing still the moment she entered it, nearly being run over by the people behind her. It was … it was so full of light. The huge public square had what must be the Basilica at one end, topped with bulbous domes and covered with marbles and mosaics. It was imposing and glorious and, yes, utterly beautiful. The light flowed around it as if it had risen from the waves, and it blazed with gold and colour. To the right of and joined to the Basilica there was another huge building. It was rectangular, more prosaic, despite its pastel colouring. It was built from marble in shades of pink and white, which would have looked trite or washed-out under English sunlight - but in the Venetian morning light it glowed, triumphant and powerful. Other buildings lined the sides of the Piazza, and a high bell tower stood in the middle, constructed from fluted red brick, topped with marble and bronze. It was also at least a hundred yards tall. Well, it might have been a little shorter, but it looked at least a hundred yards tall. Last night it had felt as if she was drowning in the omnipresent water and mists. Today, in the sunlight, it felt as if she was floating on them - as if all Venice was floating.
The square was full of people. And with this many people, what were the odds on someone spotting her as an impostor? Too high for comfort, she thought.
Her destination was just off the main Piazza, with the Doge’s Palace on one side, and the building that should be the Biblioteca Marciana on the other side. There were also plenty of small cafes there, which gave her an excuse to sit down with a cup of coffee and a roll, and think.
Irene could see out onto the lagoon from her table: the wide space of open water bordered by Venice itself on one side, and the Lido islands on the other. The Train was a dark stationary streak in the distance, lying across the water on its impossible track, gleaming like a midnight-black centipede in the brilliant sunlight.
She watched the crowd, and the people using the Biblioteca Marciana. She listened to the conversations around her, planned and scoped out escape routes. She couldn’t expect anything more from Silver. But, with any luck, she wouldn’t need anything more from him. The Biblioteca Marciana should give her access to the Library. She then needed to find these Carceri where Kai was being held, then somehow get him out and make a run for it.
She stared into her nearly empty cup, letting herself settle into the ebb and flow of Italian around her. It wasn’t one of her best languages, but full immersion was helping. She could already distinguish a discussion about the scandalous goings-on at a local convent, even if the precise meaning of certain nouns was a little vague.
Looking up, she surveyed the Biblioteca Marciana. It wasn’t as tall as some of the other buildings and she could count a ground floor, a first floor and a gently slanted roof that might hold a second floor, or at least an attic - all of it in smooth pink-and-white marble picked out with gilding. A pillared arcade surrounded the building and she could see a balcony featuring yet more pillars on the first floor, these connected by arches. Friezes were carved into the gleaming marble, showing heraldic beasts or heads with swags of foliage beneath them. Any attempt to get in through the windows or over the roof would be painfully obvious, which meant using the main door. But, given the crowds doing the same, she shouldn’t stand out. As she walked towards the entrance she couldn’t banish the image of herself as a tiny beetle walking across a human’s exposed skin. Learning how far the Ten’s power extended throughout the city had given her an extra sense of paranoia. And indeed, as greater Fae, they might perceive her through the very pavements of the city. How sensitive are the Ten anyway, and can they sense me? Would they care about me, or am I instant anathema to them? Do I itch, and would they scratch?
Irene shuffled up a huge staircase of gilt and stucco, just behind a group of young scholars loudly discussing Petrarch. She walked past marble pillars and windows that looked out onto the Piazza below.
Here and there people sat at desks, carefully turning the pages of manuscripts, or unrolling scrolls and making notes. It comforted her. This is a place built to store books, by people who wanted to preserve books, and used by people who want to read those books. I am not alone.
She finally stepped out into a large reading room. The sudden sensation of space and emptiness made her pause, and she looked up to see the ceiling more than two floors above. On the two higher floors, open galleries surrounded the space, fronted with balustrades. But behind these she could see bookshelves and doors leading further into the depths of the building. That was what she wanted.
Fifteen minutes later she had finally managed to find a way up to a quiet section amongst those stacks. And to a storeroom. That would do nicely. This was a library, that was a door - all she needed, to open an entrance to the Library proper.
She took a relieved breath, forced herself to relax and focus and said in the Language, ‘Open to the Library.’
And nothing happened.
Her first reaction was the basic annoyance that accompanies something as simple as sauce not coming out of a bottle, or a website not loading on the first attempt.
‘Open to the Library,’ she said again, focusing on each individual word.
Her voice fell into nothingness. There was no feeling of change, of connection.
