The Venice conspiracy

CAPITOLO XXXV

26 dicembre 1777 Ponte della Paglia, Venezia Amun Badawi spends the rest of the evening drinking and gambling. He's come to Venice to buy and sell a wide variety of goods, but mainly rugs from Turkey and carpets from Egypt.

He's feeling as unsteady as a cabin boy on a maiden voyage and that's before he even boards the boat that will take him to the secret party. Around the corner from the Ponte della Paglia, he leans against a wall and vomits.

He's still cleaning food from his coat when he spots Louisa on the pier. Her silver mask is illuminated by the moonlight, her breath freezing in the air as she speaks to a masked boatman at the water's edge.

Finally, she sees him and waves: 'Amun! Come on, make haste. We are late!'

'I'm coming!' A beery belch erupts from his mouth and he dry-chews an aftertaste of greasy lamb.

As he gets closer he sees a small but sturdy craft roped to a mooring pole. The boatman offers up a bony hand. 'Let me help you down, sir.'

'I can manage.' Amun brushes him off and all but falls into the vessel. It sways and splashes wildly. Rocks even more as he finds a seat. 'This had damned well better be worth it. Boats – on a freezing night like this! I would have been better paying for a proper courtesan, not some backstreet whore with a yearning for midnight swimming.'

Louisa delicately steps down into the craft. She places her gloved hands on Amun's shoulders and sits beside him. 'These inconveniences will soon be forgotten. Now keep me warm and feed your imagination with thoughts of the pleasures to come.'

The boatman casts off. A sharp wind cuts across the Canale di San Marco as they head south. 'You will find a flask of festive brandy and our visitor's hood in the bag beneath the seat,' he tells Louisa.

Amun has his hand on Louisa's thigh. Even though he's drunk he's still aroused by touching her. He presses his fingers hard between her legs. 'Fuck me. Here. Now. In this boat. Warm my cock with that eager mouth of yours.'

Louisa tries not to sound angry as she pulls his hand away. 'Not yet. The waters scare me.' She reaches into the bag. 'Here, let's have a drink.'

Amun takes a deep slug of brandy from the silver flask she offers him. 'Not much in it.' He shakes it disdainfully. 'You finish it,' says Louisa graciously.

Amun downs the rest of the fiery liquid. He turns to the boatman. 'You should sell this stuff. My workers would sell their souls for grog like this.'

The boatman smiles behind his long-nosed white mask.

Louisa holds out a soft woollen hood for her companion. 'You must put this on for the party.'

Amun snatches it. Fumbles. 'Which way round? I see no holes for my eyes or mouth.'

She takes it back, rolls it and begins to peel it down over his huge head. 'It has none.'

He raises his hands to remove it but she grabs his wrists. 'You must not see where we are taking you. The first rule of this party – like Carnevale – is anonymity. Without it, I am not allowed to bring you. Now, put it on or we turn back.'

Amun thinks about fighting, but actually the hood is warm and the brandy is doing its trick. He feels an excited contentment as Louisa moves over and guides his head down on to her lap. 'How long?' she calls to the boatman.

The sea is as black as coal, with only a thumbnail moon to light the sky. But the boatman could find his way across the world just by reading the stars. 'We are turning into the Canale della Grazie. Not much further. Not much longer.'

'Good.' Louisa shivers as she gently rocks the big head resting on her lap. 'Amun. Amun!'

He doesn't stir.

The drug has worked its magic.

He's unconscious.