Valour and Vanity (36 page)

She waited until his footsteps faded down the hall and then counted to ten before stepping out of the
Sphère.
Vincent let his drop, appearing with an inaudible, but very visible, sigh of relief that Jane echoed, nodding. He flashed an infectious grin, seeming to find these moments of terror exhilarating. He pointed to the strong room and raised his brow in question. She nodded in reply: Yes, he should get the
Verres,
since he still had the faux
Verres
she had given him earlier.

As Vincent passed her, Jane took the journal, which she would need later. She turned through the pages to make certain it was the right one, then opened her bodice to force the journal into her stays. Pressed against her skin, the book should stay in place while they were making their exit.

Jane tied the laces of her habit loosely, so she could reach inside when it was time to hand off the book. She hurried back to her place by the strong room door. Once Vincent was out, they could set the next stage of their plan in motion.

He poked his head out of the wall again. “Did you see what else was in here?”

“The traps?”

He shook his head. “The gold.”

Twenty-four

The Subterraqueous Entrance

It took Jane and Vincent very little time to alter their plans to include the strong room. They had considered several different possibilities, depending on what happened in the palazzo. The simplest involved setting off the alarm deliberately and slipping out when Spada opened the door. The most complicated involved letting Spada think that their plan had gone horribly wrong, so that he would open the door. But everything began with the door opening.

They set about arranging the room to look as though Vincent had died and that Jane had lost her mind to hysterics. With short work, the glamour creating the illusion of Jane had been cleared away. Bastone, still out cold, had been laid on his side in an dishevelled fashion, with a bladder of fake blood—supplied by Signor Zancani—artfully dripping from his chest. The illusion of Vincent had been halted, so that it was no longer breathing. Jane shuddered just looking at it.

For her own part, Jane had the book ready and the bag of
Verres
slung under her habit. Vincent had dealt with the contents of the strong room. All that remained was to get into position and set off the alarm.

Jane leaned closer to Vincent and murmured, “Are we ready?”

He grimaced. “Yes, but I do not like it.”

“Well, you can hardly have the hysterics if you are supposed to be dead.”

“And I suppose you will only need to do it if more than one of them answers to the alarm, and probably not even then.”

With Coppa out of the palazzo in search of a surgeon, they should have only Spada and Denaro to face. To improve their chances, Signor Zancani had volunteered to play the role of the surgeon and detain Coppa. Even so, they had taken the trouble to plan three different escape routes, depending on what happened when they pulled the alarm. Vincent liked none of them, because at least two involved convincing one of the swindlers to chase Jane out of the palazzo.

Jane stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “As you so often reassure me, ‘Do not worry.’”

“I begin to see why you dislike the phrase.” But he handed her the handkerchief, which hid the sponge he had used to create his sweat-stained brow earlier. He hurried to his place by the door, drawing his sword as he went, then wrapped a
Sphère Obscurcie
around him to hide in as he waited.

Jane picked up a decanter from the side table and carried it to the strong room door, in case she needed something to throw in her “hysterics.” She stepped into her own
Sphère,
setting the decanter on the floor. Jane took a breath, and put her hand into the glamour covering the strong room door. She grabbed every piece of glamour she could and jerked them out.

Trumpets blared with a flash of light that left her feeling blind and deaf. Neither was the case. Her body and mind was answering the illusion, even though it could not do any actual damage. The trumpets continued, sounding an alarm, which that made it feel as though her ears were bleeding. Jane shut her eyes involuntarily to clear her sight, but spots still swam in it. Oh, whoever had created this was very good. She rather wished they were not. She could not hear anyone coming over the noise.

For a moment she considered stopping the sound, but she was not certain what she would have done if Vincent really
had
died. She suspected that she would still be frozen over his—corpse was such an ugly word. Rather than risk getting caught unawares in the middle of the room, Jane prepared herself where she stood and rubbed her eyes to redden them. Still watching the door, she wiped her face with the handkerchief, drenching the headband of her coif as though she had been sweating heavily. Jane pinched her cheeks to make them red.

The door flew open, making her jump.

“Bastone?” Spada stood in the doorway. “What is—?” He cursed, spying Bastone’s still figure.

Denaro shouldered past him and ran into the room. He dropped to his knees beside Bastone. “He is still breathing.”

“But where is Lady Vincent?” Spada’s gaze went to the writing desk, and his eyes narrowed.

Vincent had left it open after removing the journal. It should be shut, and Spada, seeing it and the papers on the table, could easily tell that it had been gone through. His gaze darted from there to the strong room, with the alarm blaring. Taking hold of his cane, Spada limped into the room.

He paused, taking a moment to look around him, but gave no sign of looking into the ether. After a moment, he reached back and shut the door to the hall. Wincing against the sound of the alarm, Jane bit her lip. So much for the hope that he would leave it open. Spada went to the writing desk and went through the papers there. He picked up the fake journal and his shoulders relaxed a little with relief. “She must still be in the room, or she would have taken this.”

“Where is that surgeon?” Denaro rose to his knees to snatch a pillow from the sofa. “The bleeding must be stopped.”

“Of course.” Spada tapped his cane in thought. “Coppa went to fetch him for Sir David.”

“Well, it’s too late for the glamourist. She must have gone insane to overpower Bastone.” He pressed the pillow to Bastone’s chest, which only caused more blood to pour out of the bladder. Bastone moaned and stirred.

This would be a very bad time for him to wake up.

“But where is she?” Spada stopped with a page open and lifted the book. “Oh no … no.” Leaning his cane against the table, he turned to another page, studying it intently. Then he grabbed a letter from the table and laid it on the book to compare the handwriting. Spada cursed. “That deuced woman.”

“What?” Denaro snapped.

“It is a fake.” Spada threw Sister Franceschina’s carefully crafted book back on the table. He glared at the strong room. “I wonder if she got in there, as well.”

“Leave it! Can you not see how badly Bastone is injured?”

“What do you expect me to do? Coppa is already fetching a surgeon. He will either arrive in time, or he will not.” He cursed again and spun on the heel of his good leg, scanning the room. Jane had no idea if he had the aptitude with glamour to see far enough into the ether to spot her
Sphère Obscurcie
, and she chose not to find out. She picked up the decanter.

This was why they had planned for the hysterics. She stepped out of her
Sphère
and did her best imitation of her mother. Wailing, Jane threw the decanter at him “You killed him!”

“
Jesu!
” Denaro fell back on his heels at her sudden appearance. The decanter shattered beside him, glass flying everywhere.

Jane rushed toward the door, trying to keep up her keening. Spada snatched up his cane and chased after her. “Lady Vincent! Please be calm.”

She grabbed a figurine and flung it at Spada, with an inarticulate scream. It was not far to the door. If she could get it open, then she and Vincent could both get out.

Denaro scrambled to his feet and ran after her. Jane evaded him, gripping her truncheon in her hand. Around it, she wove a sword like the one that Vincent wore. It would cut nothing and she could not carry it far, but it would suffice for threatening. Denaro danced back, his heel landing on a piece of the shattered glass. He slipped, falling hard.

Scowling, Spada twisted the head of his sword cane to draw it.

Vincent suddenly appeared, blade flashing toward Spada.

The swindler cursed and raised his cane. The sword was not yet fully drawn, so Vincent’s blow came down on the wooden shaft. Splinters flew. Spada stumbled back, pulling his sword free of the cane.

Denaro’s focus was split between the mad woman who was attacking him and the sudden appearance of a dead man. He scrambled back from the duel, putting the sofa between him and Jane. She let go of the glamour of the sword and made herself vanish.

“No, no, no!” Denaro scrambled to his feet. “Where did she go?”

Spada did not answer, being hard-pressed by Vincent.

Jane stepped three feet to the side, dragging the
Sphère
with her, then dropped it again, to run at Denaro. He threw a vase at her. Jane ducked, unnecessarily, as the vase went wide, and wrapped a
Sphère
around herself again. Denaro cursed, turning in a circle, as if she could have made her behind him.

Vincent lunged at Spada, who barely parried the attack. Jane then moved a few feet closer to Denaro, heart racing from nervous energy and effort, before she had to drop the
Sphère
. He was looking toward the swordsmen and did not see her reappear. Jane closed the last few feet, swinging her truncheon. The blow caught Denaro on the head, causing him to stagger. She hit him again, and he dropped.

Then the rhythm of the fight suddenly changed. Spada had parried Vincent’s last blow and, with a curse, had begun to attack instead of retreat. He advanced steadily, no longer limping.

His bad leg, which he had favoured the entire time, was utterly sound. Without the limp, he was an even match for Vincent. The swords rang, even over the trumpets. Jane shook her head. They had not planned for this. Denaro rose to his knees.

Vincent wet his lips and took a step back. “Jane, run.”

“I cannot—”

“Run!” He turned toward her, briefly, and the tip of Spada’s blade caught him across the left shoulder, opening a patch of arterial red.

“Vincent!”

He stepped back, parrying the next blow, but slower.

Jane pulled the book out of her bodice and waved it at Spada. “You wanted this?” Then she lied. “The code to understanding it is in the list of lambs.”

And then she ran, praying that greed would make him follow. Jane opened the door and fled toward the stairs. She paused at the top to make certain that Spada would leave Vincent. He had to follow her.

Spada burst out of the room. His sword dripped red on the marble floor. Jane gripped the book and ran down the stairs. Snarling, Spada chased her.

Straight into the arms of Coppa.

He appeared as startled as she was, and staggered at the impact. Jane twisted away from him, dodging past the other man, before recognising Signor Zancani who was dressed as a surgeon. Why were they here? The puppet player was supposed to detain Coppa.

Spada appeared at the top of the stairs, with Denaro behind him. “Grab her!”

Signor Zancani grabbed Coppa and swung at him. They tussled, weaving across the main entrance as though they were in a tavern brawl. The puppet player shouted. “Go, go, go!”

“Lady Vincent!” Lord Byron lifted himself out of the water into the nearest of the boats. For an absurd moment, all Jane could think was that she was glad he was fully clothed.

Which hardly mattered, when she had not been certain he would be there at all. Jane slipped past the fighting men and ran to the water entrance. Her skirts tangled around her legs, and she pulled them up, nearly losing her grip on the book. She flew down the stairs to the landing.

Behind her, Spada and Denaro wove past Zancani and Coppa’s fight, bounding down the stairs to the water entrance. Lord Byron held out a dripping hand to help her into the gondola.

As she took his hand, the book slipped from her grasp, hit the edge of the gondola, and bounced on to the floor of the palazzo. Jane lunged for it. They could not have this book. Not if she wanted them to follow her out of the palazzo.

She snatched it and fell back into the boat. Lord Byron cast off, pushing the gondola out into the canal.

Behind them, Spada and Denaro clambered into the remaining gondola. It was longer than hers and wanted the little cabin.

“Is that one of the racing gondolas?”

Lord Byron nodded, face tight with concentration as he worked the paddle in the back. His lips were turning blue with cold. “I only got two scuttled.” The boat slid through the water, houses flowing past. “How is Vincent?”

“Still in the palazzo.” Spada and Denaro were not yet in view, which worried her. But they
had
left Vincent behind to follow her. That was the important thing. She did not let herself think about what might have happened after she left the room. None of which Lord Byron knew about. It came to Jane that he still thought that Vincent had been taken with a seizure. “His collapse was not real.”

“The devil you say!”

“We knew Vincent would not be able to hold the glamour long enough, and also needed a reason for me to be inside as well. The Hysterical Wife seemed to be an appropriate scheme.” She looked toward the palazzo, tucking the book back into her bodice. “It was safer if no one knew.”

Behind them, the racing gondola edged out of the palazzo’s water entrance, turning in a wide arc to point down the canal. For a moment, it appeared to just sit in the water with the two men in it. Standing, they worked the long paddles back and forth, and then the gondola began to move.

It surged forward, a wake rippling back from it. The distance between them closed faster than Jane would have guessed. A boom echoed down the canal. Lord Byron ducked and swore. “Are they shooting at us?”