“Perhaps. That could be why they no longer use our services.” She wiggled the gift bag in her hand. “Let’s hope that this is still well-received anyway.”
They stood on a narrow street, one of many that laced through Venice, waiting for someone to answer the door. The bell had tolled deep within the house before falling silent. The Grand Canal was on the other side of the building, and Romola had told Gabe that the large entrances that many palazzos had on the water were seldom used now. These small lanes crossed a multitude of narrow canals, and the scent of brackish water and dampness drifted around them. They stood in deep shade, the bulk of the surrounding buildings blocking out the light. Somewhere around them, well out of sight, were Shadow, Niel, and Ash.
The palazzo, however, despite its neglect, was magnificent. A mix of Byzantine and Moorish design, with embellishments over windows and doors. Gabe doubted that the interior would be as well preserved as their apartment, if the exterior was anything to go by.
Just as Romola lifted her hand to call the bell again, the door swung open, and a thin, sharp-eyed woman answered the door. She looked at them suspiciously before launching rapidly into a conversation designed to send them away. Just as effusively, Romola introduced herself and argued her point, before lifting the gift bag. Like any Italian conversation, it was voluble and full of gesticulations.
The woman sniffed, and then grudgingly let them in with an instruction to wait. Romola took a deep breath, sighing out her next words. “Well, that was harder than I thought.”
“But we’re in.”
They stood in an imposing hall with a high ceiling. The plasterwork was detailed, and the paint was rich in colour. Deep reds on one wall contrasted with deep blue on another. But it was faded in places, and the glimpse offered through open doorways to either side showed that the rooms were devoid of furnishings. Still, it had a grand atmosphere that begged to be restored.
Romola explained, “The lower levels can flood, and were used for deliveries. They are hardly ever furnished. Everyone lives on the upper floors. Unless, of course, extensive work has been done. Flooding is an ever-present issue in Venice, as I’m sure you can imagine. St Mark’s Square floods constantly. Have you been there yet?”
“We walked through it last night.”
“You must visit St Mark’s Basilica. It’s magnificent.”
Gabe wasn’t sure he wanted to see such a monument to the old God he despised, despite its magnificent exterior that dominated the square, but he nodded anyway. Perhaps he should. Beautiful artwork and creation should always be appreciated. “Of course. We’ll go before we leave.”
He fell silent, both hoping and dreading that he should feel Belial’s presence, but he felt nothing. A sharp voice called them from above, and Gabe realised that the housekeeper, if that’s what she was, had summoned them. On reaching the next floor, everything changed. Opulent rugs covered sumptuously tiled floors, and oversized light fittings dangled from magnificently high ceilings. Furniture dressed in brocades, silks, and velvets was everywhere, as were the rich patinas of wood, Venetian mirrors, and huge oil paintings. Unfortunately, age tarnished everything, despite its cleanliness. There was visible wear and tear, and Gabe felt a pang of sadness for the house as it slid into decrepitude.
The housekeeper, however, was already leading the way down a long passage to a set of double doors, and with a peremptory knock, she threw one door open and ushered them inside. Gabe blinked in the bright light, taking a moment to focus after the dark corridor. Four tall windows overlooked the Grand Canal, and for a moment Gabe drank in the view before he turned and took in the rest of the space. This room was also richly decorated, the walls a beautiful, soft rose pink. For a moment, Gabe thought it was empty, and then he saw an old man seated by a blazing fire, a rug draped over his knees.
“Signor Lamberti,” the housekeeper announced, and literally pushed them to the chairs positioned next to him. “I will bring coffee.”
Romola hurried over, heels clicking on the tiled floors before sinking into the plush carpet. She kissed him on either cheek. “Signor Lamberti. Such an honour to meet you. This is my esteemed colleague, Gabreel Malouf.”
Gabe shook his hand, trying to hide his shock. Tomasso Lamberti was a sick man. He was thin, gaunt even, his skin clinging to his bones, his eyes large in such sunken features. Gabe could feel his fragile bones in his hands, and he immediately slackened his naturally strong grip. “An honour, sir.”
Lamberti nodded and wheezed, gesticulating to the chairs opposite. “Take a seat. Aria will be back soon with coffee.”
Romola took the lead as she sat elegantly. She wore a different suit this time; a skirt, jacket, and silk blouse, and her heeled ankle boots were of supple leather. She crossed her legs, but leaned forward attentively. “Thank you, Signor. I realise that this is an imposition to visit without an appointment. However, I was in Venice on business, and…”
He cut her off. “No doubt you are in Venice on business many times. If I remember The Orphic Guild correctly, you were always here, trading secrets and occult objects.” He nodded to the bag at her feet. “You want to trade secrets now, I warrant.”
Gabe couldn’t help smiling. The old man may be sick, but he was fully in control of his faculties.
Romola also smiled, barely missing a beat. “You know the game well. I should have come to see you before. Obviously, our business lost touch with your family when your father died. My condolences.”
He batted a hand as if brushing her words away. “That was years ago. His contact there came to see me months later. I sent him away. I had no use for your business then, and no need now.”
“And yet you let us in,” Romola pointed out.
He smiled, revealing yellow, uneven teeth. “I was curious as to what gift you had brought. Besides, Aria said you were beautiful. I have always appreciated that.”
Before Romola could answer, Aria bustled in with a tray of coffee and placed it on the small table next to Lamberti. She poured their drinks, slowly and deliberately, and Romola reached into her bag for the delicate biscuits she had bought. One of her many gifts. “To go with coffee,” she said, smiling.
Once Aria had gone, the pleasantries continued. Gabe was amused by it all, and he sat back, knowing the conversation would take its own course, and there was nothing he could do to rush it.
“I take it,” Lamberti said, “that there are more than just biscuits in that bag.”
“Of course, but let’s not rush,” Romola answered. “I must savour your delicious coffee first.” She glanced around the room. “I reviewed your father’s records. A few of the items we helped him find are in here. I saw some in the hall, too.”
Lamberti’s face twisted in displeasure. “Yes, he spent a lot of money on such things.”
“You don’t approve.”
“I like beautiful things, as you can see, but his obsession with religious trifles was annoying.”
Romola’s face fell. “Ah. In that case, you may not want what I have brought you. Nevertheless, it is a gift.”
“I shall hold my judgement until I see it. I have no objection to religion as such, we were brought up Catholic, but he was obsessed. It was unhealthy. When he died, I sought to distance myself from such things.” His eyes clouded over, and Gabe paid closer attention. ‘Unhealthy’ was interesting. Was this about the ring?
“But,” Romola continued, looking puzzled, “you still have some religious iconography here. If you wish to sell it, I can help.”
“Oh, I got rid of some. But tell me about The Guild. Are you still busy?”
For a while, Romola chatted easily about the market and the work they did. They talked of old names known to both of them, and Gabe realised that like in England, this world was tight knit, and old families all knew each other, despite Lamberti’s protestations that he had left it behind. Gabe remained silent, focussing on feeling for any signs of Belial. The Fallen Angel, though, was stubbornly quiet.
With a shock, Gabe realised Lamberti was addressing him. “You don’t look much like the office type.”
He smiled. “I’m a field worker. I have a specific interest in Venice.”
“Religious iconography, too?”
Gabe decided to cut to the chase. There had been a lot of endless chitchat. “Of a sort. Fallen Angels, actually.”
