Chapter 106: Blood, and What It’s Worth Now

Bepi took the boast seriously enough, which was all that was required, and had the fleet into its berths within the hour. He cursed every man who failed to move at the speed he thought reasonable, faster than any man had yet discovered how to move.

Lines flew over bollards polished round by centuries of rope, and La Contessa lay against the stone with a groan from her hull, as if she had complaints about hospitality already.

Every building stood on its forest of pilings, rising straight from the water, with neither yard nor garden between foundation and tide, while narrow calli ran back from the piers like veins, dark even at midday.

Little ferries slipped between the larger ships the way rats move through a granary, quick, confident, and entirely unconcerned with size.

Porters dragged sacks past notaries bent over open accounts books, scratching down figures that might make them rich or poor by supper. Nearby a fishwife was telling an entire street what she thought of the day’s catch.

Venezia had evidently been waiting for them in full voice.

A customs man came aboard, counted hulls against names and cargo, then moved on with dull patience. Then one harbor watchman lingered when the platoon came down the gangway as mail, banners, and the unmistakable look of soldiers made for trouble, until his eyes reached the Lion of St. Mark on Vito’s mantle.

Then he moved along.

There was no reason to trouble himself with soldiers who had the proper symbol attached to them.

Caterina was deep in the unloading, sending dockhands toward the wool before the wine.

A few strides away, Zaccaria and Domenego stood with a knot of soldiers, listening to complaints from rowers fresh off the benches, either about heat, the smell, or legs that hadn’t yet accepted the astonishing fact that ground was supposed to remain where it was put.

In this whole mess, Vito noticed a party coming through the crowd, and people moving aside for them.

Andrea Barozzi led the party. He was softer around the middle now, dressed in fine cloth.

Behind him came a steward, a clerk carrying a book under one arm, and two household guards who looked considerably more capable of using a blade than Andrea had ever looked capable of lifting one.

Whatever fortune remained in the family had apparently gone into clothing and servants.

That, at least, was plain enough.

"Vitale."

Andrea spread his arms as he came the last few steps, fake warmth in the gesture. "Cousin! Zio Marco, he has spoken of nothing else for weeks! Weeks! The man wakes up, he says Vitale, he eats his breakfast, he says Vitale, he goes to bed, and I swear to God he probably dreams Vitale. The whole family, we are all waiting to welcome you home! To celebrate what you have built for the family name!"

His eyes dropped to Caterina’s hand on Vito’s arm.

They lingered there half a breath, then returned to Vito’s face.

Vito let the silence sit for a moment. He watched Andrea’s smile remain in place, much as he wanted to hold a pose for a painter who has taken longer than expected. "Either Zio Marco himself wrote you this little speech, or he put the pretty words in your pocket and sent you down to the water with them. Which was it, cugino? Because I know that man’s voice, and yours is wearing it very badly."

Andrea’s smile tightened.

"I came because I wanted to, Vitale, with my own legs, my own good heart."

"Sì, sì, of course, naturally. You simply wake up one morning and think, ’Today I go visit my dear cousin,’ and then by some miracle a steward, a clerk, and two men with swords all happen to be waiting by the door. What a marvelous coincidence."

"Blood is blood, cugino! Whatever happened before, we are family. What is past is past."

Andrea’s voice rose, and the good humor he’d arrived with slipped further away.

"Surely, cugino, that must count for something, no?"

"Ah, funny you should mention it."

Vito’s grin sharpened. "Blood counted for nothing back then, cugino! I asked this family for the price of one bloody length of rope, and what did I get? Silence! Now the Rialto cannot speak of Crete without tripping over my name, and suddenly, ah! Blood remembers it is family after all."

He gave Andrea a thin smile. "I wager Zio Marco keeps a book for that too, Andrea. One column for affection, paid out whenever the numbers become fat enough to make him remember your name."

Caterina’s hand never left Vito’s arm, and Andrea’s eyes kept returning to it.

"Zio Marco only wants the family whole again, Vitale. That is all! Whatever happened, whatever changed, family is family!"

His gaze slipped toward Caterina for a third time.

"I confess, cugino, I did not know the venture came with so many... conveniences attached."

Caterina raised one eyebrow, slowly and without the least sign of concern.

"A convenience? Ah. How flattering."

Andrea ought to have stopped then.

He did not. "Some cadet makes himself a fortune, and suddenly every merchant’s daughter in the Republic, she finds him charming. Imagine that?"

His mouth twisted around charming as though the word itself had gone rotten. "I only wonder, Vitale, what won the Contarini girl over. Your face, perhaps? Or the success? I only ask because, cugino, I would hate to see you mistake interest in your fortune for interest in you. One ought to know the difference."

Two porters nearby slowed down.

They had cargo to carry, but apparently not so urgent that it could compete with a quarrel between rich men.

Vito’s grin disappeared.

"Easy, cugino. You are standing very close to the edge now."

His voice was flat now, without a trace of the cocky warmth it had a moment before.

"Take one more step, and you will learn how far I am willing to let you fall."

Andrea’s hand twitched toward nothing.

Then Vito’s grin returned, worse than the flat tone. "Hypocrisy, cugino. Zio Marco’s tutors never managed to put that word into either of our heads, so let me save you the trouble of learning it now. It means saying one thing with a straight face after doing the exact opposite with both hands."

His hand lay on the hilt of [Artiglio del Leone], almost casually.

He looked Andrea over.

"So tell me, cugino. Did my name grow heavier while I was away, or did my purse?"

He gave Andrea no chance to answer.

He smiled again. "Go home and tell Zio Marco that blood has finally found its price, Andrea. Tell him his mistake was waiting until I could afford to set my own."

Andrea’s mouth opened before pride could catch up with caution. "You insolent little...! You strut in here dressed like some bloody prince and think a purse full of silver makes you..."

Domenego stepped between them, taking the initiative from the household guards.

Every eye on the pier found him at once.

"Forgive the interruption."

He shot Andrea’s guards a deep bow, so deep and courteous that it made a mockery of every courtly bow he had ever meant sincerely.

"Domenego of the Compagnia del Leone Nero, third platoon, at your service. I confess I did not catch either of your names."

He straightened.

"No matter. I ask only one small courtesy before we all go our separate ways today."

The friendliness went out of his face with the bow. "The next gentleman among you who addresses Ser Barozzi’s lady in such a fashion will, I fear, be relieved of his tongue. Nothing personal, I assure you. A simple matter of etiquette."

He smiled pleasantly.

"I shall remove it myself, very carefully, and return it to him by hand."

His gaze moved between the two guards. "Then I shall make a beginning with the fingers. A man without a tongue must still have some means of apologizing in writing, must he not? And if his handwriting proves inadequate, well..."

He glanced down at the guards’ hands with mild professional interest.

"I am certain we can find other uses for them."

He smiled. "Sant’Antonio be my witness, gentlemen, I shall enjoy every moment of it. And I am quite certain the good saint will as well, once he has recovered from the surprise and considered the quality of the work."

Andrea’s guards had gone stiff. Their courage seemed to have found another place to spend the afternoon.

Vito let the silence sit for one beat, then ended the matter himself. "Tell Zio Marco I shall visit the estate when my business here is finished and when I damned well feel like it. Not one breath sooner, Andrea, and he may discover all the family warmth in the world between now and then, but he will have to keep it bottled until I arrive."

His grin became almost gentle, which made it considerably worse.

"Now off with you, cugino. Scurry home to Zio Marco like the well-dressed little rat you are."

Andrea brought his steward, his clerk, and his guards and left without another word.

The crowd on the pier parted open and closed again behind them.

Vito kept looking at the empty stretch of pier. Tension crossed his face out there, brief enough to vanish before anyone else could catch it.

Caterina did, though, as usual.

She found his hand and gently turned him back toward her.

"Don’t get comfortable."

Zaccaria’s voice came from a few strides away, dry and easy. "There’s another procession behind you, Barozzi, and that coat of arms isn’t yours."

Vito let out a short laugh.

The tiredness in it was real, and the good restlessness he had brought off the water was already turning sour.

"Ma va’. Already?"