"The powder magazine must have exploded," signor Alonzo said grimly. His shoulders were hunched, and his eyes were red-veined from lack of sleep and fatigue. "It happens. One spark is enough to destroy an entire ship."

It was getting dark. We were sitting in the same tavern with half the population of Picene. No one was having fun today, everyone was too depressed about what had happened. The sun was setting, and the dusty air in the room was slanted with reddish rays.

At dawn, the Venettian caracca the Domenico weighed its anchor with the morning tide, but before the ship was out of sight, there was an explosion. The Domenico burst into flames, the wisps of stinking black smoke rose over the bay. The sun, rising over the edge of the low hills, shone on the leaning masts and rearing prow of the unfortunate vessel.

"A devil’s weapon it is, that gunpowder of yours," muttered a fisherman, whose drooping moustache accentuated the mournful expression on his face. "It stinks of brimstone like hell! I was one of the first to row up in my longboat, and I’d be damned if the shipwreck didn’t stink of that evil!"

As soon as the plume of smoke rose above the sea, local fishermen rushed to the boats to try to save the drowning. Signor Alonzo and his men were also involved and quickly earned the respect of everyone. Despite my dislike, I had to admit that without signor Alonzo’s help there could have been many more victims. When something terrible happens, many people just get lost, rushing back and forth and wasting precious time.

So now the fishermen listened to his words really attentively.

"It is not so easy to transport gunpowder in a vessel made of tarred wood and canvas!"

"As I said, it’s a devilish potion!" the fisherman continued ardently. "It would be better to bury it away and forget where it is! Can’t expect any good from it!"

"Well, I wouldn’t say that," Alonzo looked as if the fisherman had struck a chord with him. "Do you think we could get our prosperity without gunpowder? The wealth of all cities − Fieska, Mediolanum, Venetta − is based on trade with distant lands. With Calicut, Madagha… And without gunpowder there is nothing to do. Signor Vasca di Atandi would never have been able to open trading posts in Calicut if he hadn’t spoken to their princelings in the language of cannons!"

I’d rather say, that was a monologue, not a conversation. No one asked the Kashmiris what they want. It was just that a man suddenly appeared from across the sea on a ship as high as a tower and turned their peaceful life into a fiery hell. I felt sick when I remembered the injured brought in from caracca in the morning. The gunpowder burns looked terrible. All the housewives in Picene rushed to fire the stoves and heat the water early in the morning, in case one of the unfortunate people was brought to their house. In our room there were three of them now (making Manriolo’s hopes to have a deep sleep disappear into thin air). That Venettian Captain, that strict elderly signor, was never found. He and six more people drowned in the sea’s dark, cold embrace…

"...People have been working for years to make gunpowder safer, " signor Alonzo continued. "I have read the young Biringuccio’s La pirotechnica tract, and other works of his. They say the Firenzians learned how to make granular powder. It is not so dangerous to transport and is more convenient for gunners."

"Well, you can expect anything from these bean-eaters!" the fisherman snorted. "They’re as sly and cunning as morays!"

The gloomy conversation about the disaster flowed smoothly into a cozy talking about the neighbours. Although most of the fishermen had never left their village, everyone had something to say about the eccentricities of Firenzians, Mediolans, or Etturians. Everyone agreed that, of course, you can sometimes meet a decent person in a foreign country, but the best people, the true salt of the earth, live only in the vicinity of Picene. People came to life a little. The morning’s tragedy seemed to have crushed everyone to the ground, but one couldn’t grieve forever. Swimming in the seas had always been considered dangerous. Today death came very close to Picene but did not touch any of the locals − and they felt relieved.

While signor Alonzo was arguing with someone about the advantages of cast cannonballs over stone ones, I silently got up, looked at Manriolo who was sleeping like a dog in the corner, and went outside. He was suffering from unbearable headache because of valluco. Startled by the explosion, Grigio made such a noise that he even woke me up. As for Manriolo, "his brains have almost rolled out of his ears like a pie stuffing."

I told you so! If you hadn’t been playing with valluco day and night, you wouldn’t have to suffer now! – I thought to myself, giving him a decoction and a cold wet towel to put over his head.

Dark leaden-grey waves shimmered softly under the reddish sunset sky. A golden glow flickered here and there. Only the two new graves in the local cemetery reminded of the explosion. Not a trace of the disaster remained on the smooth sandy shore. Some pieces of woodwork, rigging, scraps of rope brought out by the evening tide were taken by the thrifty residents of Picene. Everything will come in handy on the farm.

Suddenly a soft flapping of his wings came out of nowhere somewhere and Pulcino landed on the sand next to me. Just in time. His presence was really comforting.

"How’s your chatty captain going?" he asked ironically. I shrugged my shoulders and sighed thoughtfully.

"Maybe I shouldn’t have suspected him. Today he saved the lives of so many sailors... besides, he knows a lot about guns."

"Of course, he does!" Pulcino snorted. "Since he has six barrels of gunpowder hidden on his felucca!"

"Six barrels?!"

I almost cried it out loud. Six barrels of gunpowder?! But the felucca wasn’t even a warship! There wasn’t a single falconet on it!

"And how do you know?" I asked him with suspicion.

"A secret of mine!"

It was incredible how a gull managed to examine the entire boat from the hold to the tips of the masts and never get caught by the sailors. Apparently, our past adventures had taught Pulcino some caution.

"Does he want to sell gunpowder in Venetta?" my friend asked, showing a blatant incompetence in trading.

I chuckled.

"To take dates to Arabia? Venetta already has a lot of gunpowder, a whole warehouse in the Arsenal. It is unlikely that you can get good money for it... Not if you take it to the islands, Kerkyra or Kandy, for instance."

I thought that a commandant of some remote fortress would have paid in pure gold for these barrels, since the guns and ramparts were the only protection the colonists had from the Tarchies. Our signor Alonzo was very careless in his business...

"Well, why don’t you ask him yourself?"

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Me? No way!" I couldn’t even imagine such a conversation! What right had I to question him? But since that evening, I had made up my mind to keep a closer eye on our smiley captain.

***

The next day we left the hospitable Picene and headed to the north, to Venetta. Soon the sea changed its colour; dark blue turned murky green for many leagues around. The air was hazy, the sunlight softly outlined the familiar domes and roofs. The golden Venetta, shining in the sumptuous splendor of a summer morning, was gradually rising beyond the horizon. I recognized the huge inverted bowl of the Cathedral dome, the top of the Campanile sticking high into the sky, on which I could already make out the tiny figure of a griffin. Suddenly it seemed to me that the griffin moved, flapping its wing. I blinked, wiping away my tears. Was that a miracle?... No, I must have imagined it. It was just the air trembling over the water.

Everyone else around me was busy. Two sailors were lowering the lot, measuring the depth. Manriolo stood at the stern near the helmsman, taking over the duties of pilot. In summer, the lagoon was often shallow, and its muddy shallows were a dangerous trap for ships. A strange seaman, unfamiliar with the fairway, would never have been able to guide the felucca to the dock.

I still couldn’t get Pulcino’s words out of my head. Six barrels of gunpowder... I was tempted to go and see for myself. All hands are busy on deck, the captain had just come down to the cabin, so no one would stop me.

Sidling along the stern like a crab, I found myself near a dark narrow stairway leading to the felucca’s bilge. Just as I was about to go downstairs, the door to the captain’s cabin opened, and signor Alonzo himself floated out to meet me, smiling.

"Ah, senorita Francesca! I was just going to call for you. We really need to talk, if you don’t mind."

The door closed softly behind us. For some reason, I was as nervous as a mouse caught in a mousetrap, even though there was nothing intimidating inside. The captain’s cabin was a little lighter and bigger than the one we shared with Manriolo. In addition to the couch, there was a small table on which two dishes under shiny silver lids were carefully placed opposite each other.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" signor Alonzo asked. He took out a bottle and poured the wine into two crystal glasses.

"To the safe end of our journey!"

"I’d rather celebrate on the shore," I apologized, trying not to sound very rude.

Yet, the captain didn’t listen to my objections. Instead, he pulled out a massive stool for me and placed a glass of wine into my hand.

"It’s a good thing I met you."

On my plate I could see a huge red lobster cooked right in the shell. I sighed to myself. I’d never been able to handle such dishes gracefully. If the captain wanted to clean this lobster from the walls of his cozy cabin later, well, then he invited the right person.

"The thing is, I have a... delicate matter to discuss with you. Help yourself, my dear, don’t be shy!"

With a small knife, signor Alonzo deftly cut off one of the claws and opened it, trying the tender white meat with a great appetite. I shuddered.

"You’ve been away a long time, and you probably don’t know the latest news. It seems that our new Doge was remarkably short-sighted. He even allowed himself to form a secret alliance with the Sultan of the Tarchies."

"What did you say?"

The last thing I expected was that signor Alonzo would need me to talk about politics. The captain raised his hand to silence me. The lobster on his plate had already lost both of its claws. It looked terrible.

"Signor Terezzi, the captain of the Domenico, confirmed my suspicions. This is not the first time that ships loaded with gunpowder, wood and steel have sailed away from Dito. This cargo is supposed to go to the colonies, but in fact it goes straight to Rakodi, into the hands of the Tarchies and Jazir mercenaries! Don Sacketti must have a shipping document in a secret compartment in his office."

"But ... what’s it got to do with me?"

Alonzo looked at me as if assessing me.

"You see, I know a little about your adventures. I think that a girl who managed to sneak into the protected crypt of the Count’s house will also manage to get into the Doge’s Palace and seize the documents."

I really should have pinched Manriolo’s long tongue! I thought to myself. The situation was dangerous. But I wasn’t going to give up so easily.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Signor Alonzo’s gaze hardened.

"I’m talking about don Arsago’s death last spring, which was quite suspicious. This case aroused my curiosity for some reason. Something strange was found in the crypt. A broken bird cage, for example. And some other things..."

He took out a small velvet bag. A delicate gold dragonfly-shaped hairpin with rubies for eyes and a piece of rich lace fell on the tablecloth. It was the same kind of lace that had been used to trim the puffy cuffs of my silk shirt on the day my unfortunate accident had brought me to the crypt. Since then, when I had become the nondescript companion of a simple fisherman, I dressed much more modestly.

"This lace was found caught in the cage door," the captain’s voice said, as if from a distance.

I must have torn my shirt when I tried to knock down the lock, I thought. And the pin might have fallen out when the Count grabbed my hair.

It seemed as if I had been drawn back into the slippery darkness of the crypt. Pulcino and I escaped death back then only by a miracle. It took a lot of effort to banish all those terrible memories…

I shrugged and glared at signor Alonzo.

"What lovely little things. Do they belong to your fiancée?"

The captain wasn’t discouraged by my answer. He grinned, his eyes crinkling with mischief.

"Come on, Francesca! We got along so well... "

"And that’s why you decided to seal our friendship with a little blackmail?"

The rubies of the hair pin looked like drops of fresh blood on the white tablecloth.

"It was I who took these things away. You see, the case seemed too delicate to allow the judge’s trackers to rummage through it. Obviously, the Count was with a woman there. There were three guests at the Palazzo that day: Julia Granacci, the young Enrique’s fiancée, Bianca Sanudo, the estate manager’s daughter, and Ines Sacketti. Which of them went to the crypt? Why didn’t she tell about what happened there? Why hadn’t the chief of the guard noticed her when he came to the Count’s rescue? What was his name, again? Alessandro di Goro, right?"

Hearing his name from that vile man was unbearable.

"You never know who could drop a hairpin there. Don Arsago was killed by the hand... or rather, by the tentacles of the monster that he had summoned. It is unlikely that anyone will be interested in re-investigating this case!"

"Oh, no, my dear Francesca. Many will be interested!" the captain drawled. "If don Arsago hadn’t died, he would certainly have been elected the next Doge after Soranzo’s death. It turns out that his death was beneficial to don Sacketti. Who knows, maybe signorita Ines helped her father get rid of a rival? Or a close friend of hers? Believe me, there are always people in Venetta who are dissatisfied with the new Doge and his policies! If I don’t get other incriminating documents, I might be able to build a case against him with this evidence!"

Nonsense! After all this time, no one will remember what we were wearing! I thought to myself. He’s just trying to intimidate me!

Still, the thought of Ines and Julia being dragged to the Court for questioning... or Alessandro... or even worse, Bianca! Oh, Madonna! Bianca, with her razor-sharp mind −who knows what she’ll say during the interrogation!

"I can’t do it anyway!" I made my last attempt to escape. "It’s not that easy to get into the Golden Palace. And it is impossible to open a secret Cabinet at all! (It was true. The cabinet-maker who made cupboards with secret hiding places for Venettian nobility did his job with an honest effort).

"If you don’t have the key, the only thing you can do is steal the cabinet itself and throw it off the cliff!"

"And who says I don’t have the key?"

I stared at him open-mouthed when a small bronze key lay on the tablecloth next to the hairpin. I felt so helpless... Who the devil was that signor Alonzo? Definitely not a modest captain cruising along the coast in the hope of a small revenue, as he pretended to be. A secret agent of the League? A spy? How had he managed to get the key from the most terrifying study in Venetta, which no one dared to mention, even the noble patricians, as the Council of Ten had dozens of ears in the city and hundreds of fingers ready to denounce.

Enjoying my fright, signor Alonzo decided to change his stick for a carrot.

"My dear child, you look so depressed, as if I’m forcing you to go against the whole Republic! Don Sacketti has fallen into a pernicious error, but we still can get things to the way they were. Believe me, everyone in Venetta will sigh with relief if I have this document! Many old families should be on their knees thanking you!"

"I doubt it."

"Well, if it’s any consolation, your friend had already agreed to help us."

I looked up in silence, unable to say a word. Well, Manriolo had his own secrets too. Who knows which of them our captain found useful for himself.

Putting down his knife and fork, signor Alonzo carefully dabbed his lips with a napkin. Dinner was over. I gulped down the wine in my glass to banish the treacherous weakness in my legs. The boiled lobster’s eyes seemed to give me a reproachful look. I didn’t eat a single bit of it. And the pathetic bits and pieces on the captain’s plate looked like ripped out nails…