The Empire of Glass - Andy Lane [14]
Within seconds a feeling of blessed relief spread through his body.
Something made a wet choking sound beneath the bridge. Zeno cursed to himself. Just his luck if a pair of lovers had parked their gondola beneath the bridge for privacy. "Your pardon!" he called out. "I didn't see you there!"
His hands fumbled with the laces of his breeches as he stumbled to the far side of the canal. He thought he could hear noises from the water line. Perhaps whoever had been on the receiving end of his emissions had taken offence, and wished to inflict punishment.
Turning, he saw a dark shape rising from the water and onto the side of the canal. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, extending his hands in supplication. "I didn't mean to give offence." His drink-befuddled brain wondered why the figure was so silent. And so thin. "Whatever is within my power to do to make amends, I will -"
The words died in his throat as the figure stepped forward into the pool of moonlight. As slender as a branch, its skin was blue and rough, and its head, no bigger than a knot of wood, tapered into a single horn that erupted from the centre of its forehead and swept up and back to a sharp point. It turned its knob-like head and gazed at Zeno from a tiny red eye.
"What manner of demon are you?' gasped Zeno. The demon said nothing. Zeno took a step backwards as its head lowered until the point of its horn was pointed directly at his chest. "Begone, spawn of the Devil!" he shouted, more in desperation than in hope, but the demon sprang forward. Zeno tried to dive to one side, but he was too slow. The demon's twig-like claws were grasping his shoulders, pushing him back against the brickwork of the nearest house.
There was a terrible grinding, tearing sensation in his chest, and he felt the jar as its horn ground against the brick behind him. He was still trying to work out what had happened, where his life had suddenly turned off the path he thought it had been following and into the shadows, when he felt a pressure on his shoulders as the demon's claws pressed him back. The thin horn, slicked red with his blood, pulled free from his flesh, and the pain was sudden and terrible.
He fell to his knees, his life-blood splattering and steaming on the cobbles in front of him. As he looked up imploringly at the demon that stood before him, it shimmered for a moment, as if he was seeing it in a puddle of water, and then he was looking at a man, an ordinary man, of medium height and unremarkable appearance.
And he died happy, knowing that his soul had not been taken by a demon, and that he had somehow mistaken an ordinary murderer for a monster.
CHAPTER THREE
"Well, I wish that we were always greeted like this," Steven said, gazing around the room at the ornate carpets, the life-sized frescoes of biblical scenes and the furniture with its carved legs and delicately embroidered upholstery.
Vicki dived onto a silk-cushioned sedan. "Isn't it wonderful!" she cried. "I could happily live on this thing forever."
"It's acceptable, I suppose," the Doctor sniffed. He crossed to a long wooden cabinet and opened a door at random. "But I've been to planets where furnishings this basic would be considered an insult." Reaching inside, he brought out a bottle of wine. "Then again, I suppose it does have its advantages."
"I'm not complaining," Steven said. He walked over to the window.
Beyond the leaded glass he could see the wooden jetty that they had landed beside, and the square across which they had been escorted. "What's this place called again, Doctor?"
"The city is called Venice, my boy, and this building is called the Doge's Palace. We have been mistaken for persons of high rank."
He reached into the cupboard again and retrieved a wine glass.
"So who is this Cardinal Bellarmine, then?"
Behind him, a soft snore could be heard. Steven and the Doctor both turned, to see Vicki curled