Valour and Vanity (29 page)

Jane picked up the notebook and opened it to the first page. Leaning against the windowsill, she placed the page in the glamour and held it as steady as she could. On the other side of the street, Vincent would be running a
lointaine vision
through the end of the
bouclé torsadée
.

As Jane waited for him to signal that he was ready for the next page, her breathing slowed and her heart rate returned to normal. Glamour flashed in the window. She turned the page, then held the book as steady as she could.

It would be wonderful to use this method to communicate at long distances but—aside from the difficulty in maintaining such a long thread of glamour—the
bouclé torsadée
required a clear line of sight from one place to another. Anything solid that intersected the thread would interrupt the vision carried through it. In most instances, it would be more efficacious to simply call out. Would it be possible, she wondered, to create something like this in glass?

The idea was worth exploring, at any rate, if they ever had the freedom to do so again.

Another flash and another page turn. The time passed slowly in a haze of flashing glamour and turning pages. Jane felt a curious mix of ennui and anxiety. It was tedious work, but each moment increased the chances of someone returning to the palazzo, or of the clerk deciding that he wanted to visit the parlour. And yet the more of the book they captured, the better their chances of passing the duplicate off as the real thing. The flash came again. Jane turned the page.

The flash repeated, four times in rapid succession. Mechanically, Jane began to turn the page again, before understanding what the additional flashes meant.

Someone was returning to the palazzo.

Nineteen

An Alert

The second curse of the day escaped Jane. She slammed the journal closed and stepped back from the window. She could not see anyone approaching the house, which meant that they must be entering by the canal side and were possibly already inside the palazzo. She hurried to replace the journal in the writing desk. Forcing herself to slow down, she set the journal on top of the papers with care, so as not to disturb them. Hands sweating, she closed the top compartment on the journal, and then closed the entire writing desk.

Footsteps in the hall. Men’s voices. Jane sprang to the curtain to hide behind it, rejecting her instinct to reach for a
Sphère Obscurcie
. It was
almost
invisible to the second sight, but if Bastone was present, she did not want to chance him spying the weave, nor did she want to risk one of the men walking through the
Sphère
into her.

The moment she slid behind the curtain, she realized that it would not work. The paunch that Signor Zancani had given her belled the curtain out in front of it.

Jane stepped out again, looking for somewhere else to hide. Praying that they would continue on instead of entering the parlour, she made her way to the hearth. There was a chest near it that she might stand in the lee of, with a
Sphère
to assist her in hiding.

The door’s catch rattled.

Stifling her third curse, Jane stopped where she was and wove a
Sphère Obscurcie.

The door opened. “… most tedious opera I have ever seen.” The pirate, Coppa, entered the room, followed by the clerk, Denaro.

“If you had read the review, you would have known not to go.” Denaro headed for a side table close to the door that held crystal decanters and the accoutrements necessary for a gentleman’s libation.

Jane stood five feet from the wall. If either of them decided to go to the rightmost window, they would walk straight into her. She wove another sphere to mute the sound of her breathing, then twisted the weave so that she could still hear them.

“Ah, but there is the lovely Marianna to consider. I so wanted to see her again.” Coppa dropped into a chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Pour one for me, will you?”

Denaro poured another glass of brandy into one of the exquisite crystal tumblers. “She was not there, I take it?”

“No, alas. Her ‘flower’ kept her away.” He stretched and put his hands behind his head. “I do so enjoy a good seduction.”

“Yours or hers?” Denaro carried the tumblers across and gave one to Coppa.

He raised the glass in a salute. “Both, I hope. I can see why Byron was taken with her.”

Jane had to bite the inside of her lip to keep her dismay silent. She did not want them to mean that Byron was involved, and yet … he had been away for the entire time that she and Vincent had struggled. What could keep him
and
the English consul from Venice for so long? And to return just as they were making their plans seemed suddenly suspicious.

“The boss doesn’t like you flirting with her.”

“Please. I’m
supposed
to seduce her.” Coppa sipped his brandy and grimaced. “One of the more appealing ardours of the job.”

“But not be seduced by her.”

“What does it matter, if the result is the same? I have very much enjoyed occupying her time while he is out of town.”

Did that mean that Byron was
not
involved? She was unused to living without trust, but found that her mind was more ready to mistrust Lord Byron than to believe that a man as worldly as he had been deceived by Marianna. It was safer to trust no one. Except Vincent.

She looked to the window, wishing for some sign of him or some way to signal him. He must be frantic with worry. For that matter … how was she going to get out of the room now that Denaro and Coppa were here? They appeared to be well settled for the evening, lighting cigars and continuing their conversation of seduction. Jane learned more particulars about the ways in which a man enjoys a woman’s company than she had during three years of marriage. She came to a rapid understanding of what salty language truly consisted. It seemed impossible to be standing in the middle of the room and not have them know she was there when her blushes alone must give her away.

More pressing was the concern that the opera would eventually end, and then the other men would return to the palazzo. If Bastone entered the room, it was only a matter of time before Jane was discovered.

She turned her attention to how to exit.

Walking with a
Sphère Obscurcie
was difficult, but not impossible. She could manage a few feet with it before needing to stop. That would take her closer to the door, but … there was no way to open the door without its movement being apparent. Was there some way she could cause the men to open the door for her? What would make them leave?

The arrival of the other men, possibly. Or something related to their plot, which they were vexingly not discussing, could perhaps—Jane’s stomach dropped as she realized the likelihood of Vincent trying something foolish to draw them away. She looked again to the window, wishing that she could signal to him. In spite of the singular focus he could display while working, he was not gifted with a deep supply of patience. If he thought she was in danger—which, to be fair, she was—he would come for her. Whether it was a pirate’s stronghold or into a burning building, Vincent would—

She knew what to do.

Jane turned to the hearth. A burning building. If she masked the illusion within the
Sphère Obscurcie
while she was creating it, as Vincent had done with
The Broken Bridge,
she should be able to create a fairly convincing house fire. She just had to do it quickly. Then again … she did not need to create this illusion wholly with glamour.

Jane undid the
Sphère Obscurcie
enough to move it. By painful increments, she made her way to the fireplace, grateful for the rich Persian rug, which muffled her footsteps. There, she wove several clouds of smoke, which she pinned in place with a series of slip-knots. When she was ready, she could release them. They would fray and dissolve, leaving—she hoped—no sign of the glamour that created them.

Next Jane wove a small breeze, coming down the chimney, to fan the fire and push real smoke into the room. It was one of the few practical things glamour could do. As with all weaves, its effect on the corporeal world was faint, but enough for her purposes.

With those prepared, Jane undid the buttons on her shirt and pulled out the padding that made up the paunch of her costume. It was damp with her sweat. She pulled the wadding from inside her cheeks. The cotton had become soaked through with saliva. Wrinkling her nose, she put the wet cloth against her palm, then wrapped the padding from her paunch around her left hand.

Denaro and Coppa were still engaged in conversation, their backs to her, though their discussion had drifted to the racing gondolas kept by the owner of the palazzo and wagers about which one was fastest.

Jane wet her lips, sending up a prayer that this would all work. Then she plunged her left hand, swaddled in cloth, into the fire, and seized a small log. Even with the padding, the heat made her cringe. Moving as swiftly as she could, Jane set the rug afire. The cloth on her hand smouldered, and then its edge caught fire. Jane dropped the log and shook the cloth from her hand, adding it to the blaze on the floor.

Hidden by the sofa, neither man had yet noticed the additional fire in the room. Jane rose to her feet and walked with the
Sphère Obscurcie
so that it was as close to the door as possible.

From outside the palazzo, a great rumble of thunder sounded, loud enough to stop the men’s conversation. Lightning flashed outside the window. Denaro said, “They’ll have an unpleasant ride home.”

“Perhaps they will stay in Venice,” Coppa replied.

Jane could only hope that was the case. She edged closer to the door, pulling the slip-knots for the smoke with her. Before long she had to stop and bend over with her hands upon her knees to catch her breath before she could continue. Outside the thunder rumbled again, louder this time, and the flash of lightning came almost immediately. Jane straightened and wiped her face on the sleeve of her coat.

Her slow progress had taken her to within five feet of the door. She pulled the slip-knots, and the illusion of smoke added to the actual smoke in the room.

The men continued to drink and chat.

Truly … how long was it going to take them to notice that the rug was on fire?

Thunder rolled again, followed by an almost immediate flash of lightning. Jane turned to the window, only now noticing that the order was reversed. She should see lightning,
then
hear the thunder. It was Vincent—it had to be. But surely he was not throwing glamour that far into the air?

This time the lightning and thunderclap came simultaneously, terrifyingly loud and bright.

Denaro swore. “That sounded as though it were right on top of us.”

In the distance, someone yelled, “Fire!”

Jane grinned. Vincent had set the exterior of the building on fire—or created an illusion of the same. Even separated by distance, their thoughts ran in the same vein. The call of “Fire!” was repeated.

Denaro sat up. “Do you think that’s our—Fire!”

“Perhaps. Someone will come—”

“No, I mean there’s a fire! Here!” He cursed and stumbled to his feet. “The rug, man! An ember must’ve fallen out.”

Denaro leapt to his feet, spinning as though to make certain that he was not, himself, on fire. Denaro dashed to the side table and snatched a carafe of water off of it. He ran to the fire and tossed the water upon it. With a surge, the fire blazed higher.

“You fool! That’s gin!” Coppa danced back from the blaze.

Outside, the cries of “Fire!” grew more frequent and more panic-stricken. Jane could not help but note that there were no subsequent thunderclaps. Denaro raced to the door and flung it open. Finally! He ran into the hall, adding his voice to the clamour. “Fire! Alarm! Fire in the parlour!”

Jane kept her eye on Coppa. He stood transfixed by the fire, but there was no telling when he would move. Jane took three deep breaths, gripping the thread of the
Sphère Obscurcie
tightly. She ran for the door with her gaze fixed upon the hall beyond. Dark spots swam in front of her eyes, and her heart felt as though it would burst. As the grey fog grew denser over her sight, Jane collided with the wall. She twisted the glamour into a knot and slid, insensible, to the floor.

*   *   *

The smell of smoke
filled her nostrils. Footsteps ran past Jane. She held still for a moment, but the men who ran past did so without seeing her. Cautiously, she sat. The
Sphère Obscurcie
was still intact. She sighed with relief that her instincts had led her to tie it off as she fainted. Beneath her waistcoat, her heart still thudded, so she must not have been unconscious for long.

Smoke poured out of the parlour, and Jane began to wonder if their problem could be so simply solved. If the fire were not extinguished quickly, then perhaps the papers would burn up and the
Verres Obscurcis
crack.

Bracing herself against the wall, Jane rose to her feet. The hall pitched around her. She fixed her gaze upon a painting of a hunting scene on the opposite wall and waited for the dizziness to pass. She would not be able to make her way downstairs hidden by the
Sphère Obscurcie.

For the moment, the hall was empty. Biting her lip, Jane listened for footsteps, but the activity seemed confined to the parlour on this floor. In the distance … well, she would have to be alert. Once she was on the ground floor, her presence would be easier to explain.

Holding her breath, Jane untied the
Sphère
and let it dissolve. She crept down the hall, feeling terribly exposed. The sound of her own footsteps seemed to echo in the hall, even louder than the shouting and crackling of flames. After a moment, Jane realized that it was not her footsteps, but someone else coming up the stairs. She shrank against the wall and wove a
Sphère Obscurcie
around her.

A slender young man with shockingly red hair came up the stairs carrying two buckets. He walked more slowly than Jane would have expected of someone in an emergency. At the top of the stairs, he peered into the first room, away from where she stood. In a hoarse whisper, he said, “Lady Vincent?”