That night seemed endless. When the gray, dim sun finally rose over the lagoon, everyone could see the soot-black ruins of Olivolo. Alessandro and the guards were trying to put out the fire until the fire group arrived, then they stayed to cleare out the rubble.

The Arsenal building, with its vast warehouses and brick-red gate towers, now looked like the ruins of a captured fortress. Fortunately, Alessandro’s men knew what to do, and soon they were joined by the nobles and residents of the nearby houses. Alessandro’s clothes soon were soaked with sweat and soot, dust crunched on his teeth, and his hands were slightly shaking from dragging stones and logs. He only allowed himself to rest a little when the last group of men was sent to inspect a house. The whole place looked miserable. The broken stared blindly into the dawn, fragments of tile crunched underfoot like old bones. The wooden beams on the roof tilted like an old crow’s nest. A stretcher was carried past. A woman sat rocking in the dust, clutching a baby to her chest, and howled in a single note. Another woman ran up to her, hugged her, and gently led her to the church, which had survived only by a miracle and was used as a shelter for all the injured. As she went by, her dreary, hopeless cry made him feel the chill.

We need medics here. Alessandro thought to himself. Where the heck is Matteo?

He sent his young assistant to find and fetch an apothecary long ago. The boy was don Arsago’s servant too. He could have made a decent career by staying with the young count Enrique, but chose to go to sea with Alessandro instead. He was decent but as slow as a snail, which was his biggest weakness, especially now.

That boy should be more deft. Then, maybe, he’ll be really big. He may even become a captain!..

"Don Alessandro! Don Alessandro, wait!" came a distant voice. Speak of the devil.

Matteo ran up to him, out of breath. Alessandro looked at his assistant critically, his sweaty black curls plastered to his forehead, his face glowing with zeal. He wanted to reprimand the boy, but all the reproaches melted on his tongue when Matteo handed him a jug full of water. God bless this guy!

Alessandro took a sip of the icy water, which made his teeth ache, then wiped his face with a wet hand, smearing the soot and dirt. Life became much easier at once.

"Take it to the church," Alessandro said, handing the jug back to his assistant.

"I’ve found signor Faletrus, as you requested."

The doctor’s lanky figure loomed in the distance. Maître Falerus nodded his head, not daring to come closer. After the terrible events that had shaken Venetta the previous spring, he did his best to avoid Alessandro. Which was understandable, though. Except for signor di Goro, no one else knew about doctor’s attempt to poison don Arsago and take revenge. Alessandro didn’t inform the judges. Not because he was grateful to Faletrus who literally pieced his body together after that incident in the crypt… It was just that the new case wouldn’t help anyone, yet it would reveal the unsightly secrets of the two families, the Arsagos and the Granacci.

Alessandro stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow and reminded himself to visit donna Bianca, Ricardo’s wife. Three days ago, his friend had left for Mediolan, and Alessandro had promised to take care of Julia and Bianca in his absence.

I need to get myself in order, though, he thought to himself. I will frighten the poor girls to death with my look.

"It’s terrible," Faletrus sighed, finally coming closer. "How could this happen?"

"I have some suggestions, but things still need to be proved," Alessandro said vaguely.

They hadn’t even reached the Arsenal gates in the night when they were suddenly blinded by a flash and hurled against the rocks. There was a great commotion. However, his men were experienced guards and most of them had got through the fights. So they cordoned off the shipyards and tracked down three people making their way to the port. However, two of them managed to escape...

"We questioned him. That was Antonio Magnasco’s man, " said Guido Malipiero, the captain of the Venettian guard.

"Was? Did he die?"

Alessandro knew that serving in the guard included not only swaggering around with a pike and chasing night thieves, but also interrogations in torture chambers. Not the most pleasant part of the job, to put it mildly. However, Guido had never been overly violent before.

"He was wounded, and that’s why we were able to capture him. He died several hours later. In any case, he was just a sailor and knew very little. Yesterday don Magnasco came here disguised as a merchant ship. The guy said he had a meeting with someone at the Arsenal…"

"The port guard!" Alessandro figured out instantly. But Guido just waved his hand.

"We notified them at once, but it was too late. Magnasco disappeared with the dawn. Vanished like a ghost in the first light of dawn."

Such a daring raid, indeed. It really looked like Fieska’s sabotage as it’d always been at swords’ points with Venetta and recently joined the League. One thing was really strange, though…

"But how did they get through the lagoon? They’d need a person who knows all the shoals!"

"The sailor said they were helped by a guy from Ariminum who knows the city well," Guido spat angrily. "That’s all I’ve achieved. Damn hucksters! Ariminum bankers have always looked up to Fieska!"

Too bad, Alessandro thought, remembering Ricardo’s complaints about Julia’s hasty marriage to an Ariminan. The Arsenal disaster was overwhelming. Most of the fleet was lost, state archives destroyed… Frightening rumors were spreading around the city: the explosion was the work of royal emissaries, and League troops were already approaching Patawa… All these problems were coming at Venetta like a water wall during a flood.

We’ll deal with that later. People first.

"We need more shelters for the homeless and injured," Alessandro said. "The hospital in Cannaregio can’t handle such an influx of patients!"

Suddenly it occurred to him:

"Wait! What about the Palazzo Arsago? We can send all the injured there."

"You’re not serious, are you?" Faletrus shuddered and barely resisted to make the sign of the cross.

"The mansion is empty. It can accommodate dozens of people! Finally don Sacketti’s gift came in handy!"

"But…" the doctor hesitated. Judging by his deathly-pale face, he would rather spend the night in the open air than cross the threshold of that damned house. Alessandro took him firmly by the shoulder.

"It’s time to forget the past, don Faletrus. Forget the crypt, the old secrets. These thoughts are killing you, don’t you see? Is don Enrique to blame for his father’s misdeeds? Or is the house to blame for the crimes that were committed there? Now it’s just a roof over your head and a dry warm place for people who need it!"

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"I wish I could forget…" Faletrus started, but then Matteo’s high voice made them both wince.

"Don Alessandro! Look!"

Matteo bustled around a group of men carrying another wounded man out of the launch. The boy was trying to look over their shoulders and gesticulating.

"I know him!" he exclaimed. "That’s the sailor from Ariminum! Do you remember? Last spring, he won the race on gondolas! Don Arsago gave him a special prize!"

If Matteo had had a tail, he would probably have been wagging as hard as he could.

"Good job, boy."

"The guy was lucky that valluco brought him to a shore!" a fisherman chuckled. "Otherwise he’d be feeding morays in the Spinalonga Canal right now! See, what injures he has… No wonder he’s still unconscious …"

Alessandro felt a strange sense of foreboding. The same vague feeling had driven him to the Golden Palace in the night, even though it was no longer his job to check the guards. He remembered clearly how he had hurried to the sentry’s call, and suddenly felt Francesca’s presence at his side. It was like taking a sip of cold water on a hot day, or like stepping into the cool shade to escape the heat.

It’s just a delusion, he thought, trying to whisk that thought away, but the alarm did not go away. There was something unsettling in the vague stream of images, a venomous note of fear. What happened? Was Francesca in danger? During the night, he had a wild hope that if he sent the guards away and returned alone, she would come out from under the Palace arcade. Alessandro had really intended to return, but the fire in the Arsenal and other nightmares of the night had mixed all his cards.

They came closer and bent over the wounded man. It was a young guy, dark-haired, very tanned. Alessandro recognized him at once, although the man’s face was sallow now, and one of his cheeks was covered with dark dried blood. It was Luigi Manriolo, for sure – the Manriolo who was supposed to take care of Francesca a year ago.

In spite of the storm brewing in his head, Alessandro tried to keep his face as cool as possible. "An Ariminan, huh?" someone growled behind him. One of the guards swore, another offered to push the dirty traitor back into the canal.

"No!" Alessandro interrupted. "I need to question this person when he wakes up. Take him to the Palazzo Arsago. I’ll be back soon."

He ignored Faletrus’s murmur and rushed to the pier. A gondolier turned his boat towards the Granaccis’ house. To hell his improper dirty clothes, he had to hurry! If Manriolo was in Venetta, he must have brought Francesca with him…

***

After leaving the hastily convened Grand Council, don Sacketti went straight to his office. He needed a moment of silence to think of what had happened. He poured himself a glass of wine from a crystal jug that scattered colored sparks on the tablecloth, and sank wearily into an armchair.

How could this happen? Who beat him? The Duke Rovergio? The king Alfonso, maybe, with his fishy eyes and fox manners? The last time they had received him as a dear guest, but he had been looking eagerly around the dockyard, asking if a war galley could really be built in just one day.

The attack on the Arsenal meant not only destruction, death and grief of dozens of families. It was a blow to Venetta’s prestige, to its main force − the navy. This loss will not be restored soon. What if…

Sacketti froze at the thought that the conspirators’ plans might have extended even further. His hand trembled, and the rim of the goblet clattered painfully against his teeth. He hastily put the goblet back down.

Only yesterday they had loaded two thousand barrels of gunpowder on a barge and taken them to Dito, where a heavy ship was being loaded with cargo for the Venettian forts on the islands. All because of the insistence of that impudent di Goro! What if those barrels were still in the Arsenal?! Then the explosion would have been so strong that the shock wave would have reached the Palace, and don Sacketti would now be admiring his native city from some cozy cloud.

Picturing that lovely scene in his head, the Doge drank the wine in one gulp and sat with his hand over his face. Then he grinned. What an irony! He and Alessandro couldn’t stand each other, but it was thanks to him that Sacketti was still alive.

Perhaps he should wait to send assassins to the Palazzo Arsago…

His glance fell on a cabinet in the corner of the room. Before the secretary returned, it was time to burn some papers. All those risky trade unions could wait. People were superstitious. Perhaps they would see the destruction of the Arsenal as a manifestation of God’s wrath for the fact that their Doge shook hands with the pagans. How long would he stay in his Golden Palace after that?

Sacketti took out a small key and unlocked a secret drawer. He broke into a cold sweat at the sight of the rumpled papers. Someone must have been going through them! Dazed, he closed the drawer and ran his finger over a long, white scratch near the lock. He himself handled the precious cabinet with extreme care. But the thief seemed to be in a hurry. And someone provided him with a duplicate key…

With his hands trembling, Sacketti scooped up the document on the table. Carefully, he went through them several times, putting down each sheet of paper, one by one. Finally, he forced himself to admit the bitter truth: the bill of shipment was gone.

***

Alessandro really hoped to get a chance to speak to Julia alone. However, Bianca stepped in front of him and led him into the drawing-room, where some watered-down wine and snacks were immediately served.

"...I sent servants to help clear out the rubble. Our cook took a basket of groceries to the of San Giovanni church. Is there anything else we can do to help?"

Bianca Sanudo was one of the women who could not be broken down by any troubles. Anger only made her even more focused. Alessandro knew that a new and sturdy galley was being built in one of the Arsenal docks, owned by Ricardo and don Sanudo, Bianca’s fathe on equal footing. Last night, the beautiful ship was destroyed. If Ricardo knew about it, he would be cursing the whole world, kicking trunks and got drunk out of his mind. But Bianca only had a slight wrinkle on her forehead that betrayed her concern.

Alessandro thanked her for her help.

"It is very brave and noble of you, signora, to support those who need it most."

"This is terrible," a voice whispered from the doorstep. "So many people were left without shelter!"

Looking back, Alessandro saw Julia. Her face looked wax-pale against the scarlet velvet of her cloak. As much as Bianca was energetic, Julia seemed lost and tired.

He would never mistake her for Francesca now. Julia’s soft, rounded features had softened even more in recent months. Nothing to do with Francesca and her sharp, wounding beauty.

Bianca frowned at her sister-in-law.

"It’s not good for you to worry. You’d better go to your room and take a nap."

Julia shook her head stubbornly and sank into a chair, clearly intending to join their conversation. But when she happened to catch Alessandro’s eye, she blushed to the roots of her hair.

She definitely knows something, Sandro thought to himself. If only donna Bianca left us alone for a little while so we could talk!

He spoke to signora Sanudo again, to give Julia time to recover.

"We decided to set up a temporary hospital in the Palazzo Arsago. Dr. Faletrus have already gone there."

"Yes, I understand," she said. "You’ll need straw and mattresses for beds. Bandages. Water and wood for stoves. I’ll handle it."

He hoped that she would rush to give the servants some orders, yet in vain. Bianca sat like a watchman, covering Julia, who looked really pathetic with her big belly and red spots on her cheeks. Meanwhile, he time was running out. If Manriolo woke up and started talking…

Alessandro decided to ask point-blank.

"I was hoping you might be able to help with another case. In the morning near the Arsenal gate, we pulled out of the water a wounded man... an Ariminan, to be more exact. He used to be a servant of don Roberto d’Este, your husband, signora. His name is Manrioljo. I assume you know him."

Julia looked astonished. Too obvious, perhaps.

"Oh, is Manriolo here?! I... haven’t seen him since the wedding."

She is hiding something, Alessandro thought again, and continued:

"May I ask if he tried to contact you the day before?"

Bianca answered for Julia:

"Of course not! He wouldn’t dare to come to a noble house! This is not a military galley, signor di Goro, where you can ignore certain conventions!"

Alessandro was silent, his eyes fixed on Julia. The purple spots on her cheeks grew brighter. He tried to look into her eyes, but she pursed her lips and lowered her head. Never in his life had he felt so helpless. How, how on earth could he let her know that he wasn’t their enemy?

"No one tried to contact me," she whispered.

She was a lousy liar. Not nearly as good as Francesca, who was lying through her teeth! Sometimes his hands itched to grab Francesca by the shoulders and shake every little lie out of her.

Maybe he really should have done it at the time…

The air in the room seemed to thicken. Bianca, too, of course, sensed the growing tension. Her hard, strong-willed face took on an expression of mild irony.

"I bet there aren’t any secret agents in our house," she said coldly. "However, if you doubt my word, you can search everything yourself, from the attic to the basements!"

Julia jerked her head up like a hunted animal and suddenly clutched her stomach.

"Oh, my baby moved! I really think I should go to bed now!"

Unfortunately, her trick didn’t work this time.

"Sure, honey," Bianca said with her voice sweet as honey. "Lucia and I will put you to bed, and then," she gave Alessando an angry look. "I shall return and show signor di Goro the whole house, even the last storeroom."

"Are you going to search my bedroom, too?" Julia said, completely forgetting to groan this time. "No, I won’t let you!"

Bianca didn’t even flinch. Ignoring her sister-in-law, who was sniffing loudly like a hedgehog, she rang the bell to call the maid.

"Show signor di Goro the kitchen, the laundry room, and the courtyard. I’ll join you soon, too."