IGMS Issue 22 (4 page)

His caution was wise. In these times of looming war, spies like us had to take every precaution to know friend from foe.

"I'll need that mirror in the restello frame."

Luca allowed me to stand. I took the mirror and slid open a secret compartment along its top. Inside lay the handkerchief Mafeo had hidden there when I first taught him how to thieve. I felt the prickle of Lightning magic dancing within the silk threads. Mafeo, last to touch the kerchief decades ago, had left an impression of his younger self trapped in the silk like a fly in a spider's web.

I willed the Lightning to enter my flesh, letting the magic shape my body into the exact image of my apprentice as he had been in his prime. My brawny physique thinned and shortened, and my skin darkened to a sun-bronze. Pain blossomed in my left hand. Teethmarks from a mastiff's bite, still scabbing over, reminded me of our first burglary together as master and pupil.

Luca gasped at my transformation, but Mafeo managed a faint smile.

"Proof enough?" I asked with Mafeo's voice as it had been.

Luca sheathed his stiletto. "Forgive me, Master Flea. I had to be sure. Father prepared me for this moment with many tales of your magic, but I never believed him till now!"

"Tell me what happened."

"Two days ago, at the height of Carnivale, Father met with a Spaniard who claimed to know Álvaro de Bazán's plans for the Armada. I waited for him in a gondola, watching the costumed revelers go by. On his way back, a man in a white Volto mask pushed past him. In the space of a few steps Father had stumbled to the ground in a seizure. The masked man was long gone by the time Father's fits had calmed." He pulled up his father's sleeve and showed me a sickly red scratch.

I had seen poisonings like this before, administered by a needle hidden in a ring. "What of the Spaniard?"

Luca sighed. "I don't know how to find him. He would only meet with Father."

Mafeo wheezed, his breath stinking of rotten eggs.

"Rest, Mafeo. Your only task is to live." I held a cup of water to his lips. "I will find the antidote."

Mafeo closed his eyes.

"Come, let my sister tend to him," Luca whispered.

I hooded myself and donned my Harlequin mask as we left. Luca called to his sister and whispered instructions in her ear. Thereafter, we descended the stairs to the water door. I still wore Mafeo's face, and would for the remainder of the evening.

"Is there an antidote?" Luca asked.

"Your father's been given a concoction of many poisons tailored for a slow, agonizing death. One antidote is not enough."

"How do you know?"

I told him of the others who died in the same way. "I tried cure after cure, but unless all the poisons are countered, death comes within a day when the victim first coughs blood."

Luca paled. "What do we do?"

"The killer might carry the right antidotes or know the recipe for the poisons, but he will be hard to catch." I opened the water door and stepped into the moored gondola beyond. "But there is another way. The mithridate."

"What is it?" asked Luca, his voice regaining hope.

"Legend has it that King Mithridates the Sixth of Pontus so feared that he might be poisoned by his enemies, that he took small doses of many poisons to harden himself against them. He even made a special antidote that would protect him against all poisons, which came to bear his name."

Luca untied the rope and took hold of the oar. "But it's only a legend, isn't it?"

"They say the same of me. What has your father told you about me?"

"That you're a shapeshifter, centuries old. That you were once the outlaw Little John of the English ballads. That you now serve England's spymaster."

"Then believe me when I say that there are others far older than me, one of whom dwells in Venice and may keep the secret of the mithridate. Do you know
Ca' Clessidra
?"

"House Sandglass on Murano." Luca frowned. "Father said never to enter or steal from that place."

"An excellent and inviolable rule I taught him myself. Take me there."

As Luca ferried me across Laguna Veneta towards the isle of Murano, his silhouette against the setting sun reminded me much of his father. A gondolier by trade, Mafeo had given me my first tour of the city by canal thirty years ago. I had grown fond of the young Venetian during our explorations, even more so after he tried to cut the strings of my purse at the end of the day. Having centuries more experience at pickpocketing than he, he did not succeed, but I was so impressed by his audacity and potential that I took him as my apprentice. And now, the son followed in his father's footsteps.

By the light of dusk, I could see the palatial
Ca' Clessidra
on the approaching shore.

We were not the only ones heading there. The sound of music drew masked revelers through its doors like sand streaming into the bottom half of an hourglass.

"Wait here," I said.

"You might need me," Luca insisted. "Father's taught me everything he knows."

"He may be the best thief and spy in Venice, but even he would find great danger in this house."

"What makes it so dangerous?"

"Antlion," I replied, and said no more. "Besides, I may need a quick escape should things turn sour."

Luca nodded, but beneath his cloak he drummed his fingers on the hilt of his stiletto. I left him to brood while I hopped out of the gondola and followed a group of tittering masqueraders into House Sandglass, my Harlequin costume easily fitting in with the Columbines and Bautas.

Antlion, the master of
Ca' Clessidra
, was a legend whose genius shone through his names of old. Daedalus. Archimedes. Leonardo da Vinci. His mind conceived incredible things while his hands gave them shape, like the infamous Labyrinth at Knossos and fantastic machines of war. Indeed, his reputation had earned him much trust among our kind. Since ancient times, many of the Elect vested Antlion with the stewardship of their most prized possessions, trusting his traps and mazes to keep their treasures safe.

It was my hope that the mithridate was among those things.

Inside, masked guests mingled in the opulent hall. The décor illuminated Antlion's wealth, and the masterful paintings doubtlessly came from his own hand. Women behind feathered masks called to me to share wine with them, and had I not come to see Antlion on a singular mission, I might have sought their company.

The old shapeshifter proved easy to find. When a portly man with a handheld golden mask came into the grand hall, the musicians silenced their instruments and the dancers ceased their dance. Two guards accompanied him, one in a Sun mask and the other the Moon, each bearing a lit oil lamp resembling the symbols they wore. Antlion's own mask played upon his secret name, a gold-leafed lion with rows of ants in amber set into the mane.

A servant quickly brought Antlion a goblet of wine. He lowered his mask, revealing the face of a charismatic bearded man in his forties. He tasted the wine and smiled. "I approve. To a perfect night!"

The cheer echoed throughout House Sandglass, returning the celebration to its liveliness. Men flocked to Antlion's side to curry favour, while women gazed longingly at him. To them, he was Vincenzo Scamozzi, an architect of much renown in the Veneto region. But Antlion also ruled Venice from the shadows. Little happened in the city that he did not know or approve of. Even we Elect gave Antlion due respect, for he who ruled Venice also controlled the amber and silk trades in Europe. Since we depended on those commodities for our immortality, only the brave or the foolish dared risk Antlion's wrath.

I approached. "Signor Scamozzi, might I have a private word?"

Antlion's eyes met mine. "And you are?"

I bowed. "Filippo Gamba." I had used that alias in Florence in 1506 when I studied with him during his time as Leonardo da Vinci.

"Flea?" His mood darkened. "What have you come to steal this time?"

"Still haven't forgiven me for stealing that codex of yours, I see. I must say, those notes on shape-shifting were quite illuminating." The tricks of healing and organ-shifting in the book had saved my life on more than a few occasions.

Antlion scowled. "Then you also know how many ways I could kill you before your powers could save you."

"Listen to my plea, first. I suppose you know why I've come?"

"I've heard whispers of trouble for your network of spies."

"Someone's been poisoning them, letting them die slow deaths. I need your help to save them."

"Why should I help you, thief?"

"In exchange for the return of the Proteus Codex, I hope."

He stared at me. "You dare bargain with something that is rightfully mine?"

Despite his icy tone, I caught the faintest curl of a smile. He was tempted.

"That, and my incomparable skills for a theft of your choosing."

Antlion raised an eyebrow. "Anything, anytime?"

I nodded.

"Where is my notebook?"

"Safe and near. You have my word you'll get it back."

He gave it some thought. "Then let us continue this conversation in the
Sala di Enea
." He bade his admirers to enjoy the party and led me to the stairs, his protectors flanking me as I followed.

We entered a room with pale green walls and glass doors opening onto a portico. The Room of Aeneas must have been named for the magnificent tapestry that covered the north wall, showing a scene from the myth of the Trojan War.

"Take watch, men," Antlion said. The Sun-masked guard took his place in the hallway outside the room while the Moon stepped out onto the portico. Antlion said to me, "Your assassin kills for Bee."

I frowned. Bee claimed among her early shapes Medea, Delilah, Cleopatra, and Empress Messalina: poisoners and betrayers, all. A century ago she abandoned the guise of Lucrezia Borgia to become Catherine de Médicis, Queen Mother to Henry III of France.

"Why does she want my spies dead? Why aid Spain against England?"

"My sources tell me that she's turning her sights on the New World. She tires of her present form and eyes the throne of Spain. There are reports of untapped reserves of amber in New Spain, and the Spanish Conquest of the Yucatan has brought additional reports of different species of bees and honey. For her, it is a means to new powers and conquests."

We who steal faces were few, relying on two sources of Lightning to transform our bodies: amber for permanent changes, silk for fleeting disguises. Honey also held Lightning, but Bee alone knew how to free the magic from that sweetness, and had known that secret since her time as Medea.

"And England stands in her way."

Antlion nodded.

I now understood. To win the New World, Bee would have to blind England to Spain's strategies, and that meant killing my best spies. "Who's Drone this time?" She always named her favourite minion that.

"His face changes, of course, but his voice betrays him as a Frenchman."

"I must have the mithridate, Antlion," I said. "You boasted once that Bee entrusted its secret to you."

"I have guarded treasures and secrets for thousands of years, Flea, for pharaohs, kings, and Doges. What I keep in my Labyrinth vault stays protected until the owner demands it back. No man has ever bested the traps in my maze or breached the vault at its centre or ever will," he said.

"No maze is unsolvable. Where does your Labyrinth lie?"

He laughed. "If I tell you, you will certainly die mangled in one of my traps. A pleasant thought, that, but how would I get my Proteus Codex back?"

"Either you have your revenge on me or I make amends once I have the mithridate. You win either way."

"True. All the same, tell me now what tragic tale you wish told of your many lives, so I may engrave it upon your tombstone."

I shrugged. "I am only fit for an unmarked grave."

"So be it." With a flourish, Antlion gestured at the tapestry depicting the Trojan War. "Let
Il Dono di Ulisse
, the Gift of Ulysses, lead you to your doom."  

So, Antlion had hidden the path to his new Labyrinth in the imagery. He could never resist flaunting his brilliance, even when it could spell his own downfall. That was how King Minos lured him out when he was Daedalus in hiding: with a puzzle only he could solve.

Antlion called to his guards. "Sun, come with me. Moon, stay with our guest." He paused at the doorway but did not look back. "Make certain he steals nothing."

With that, he was gone.

Moon watched as I set aside my harlequin mask to better study the tapestry, a marvel of weaving with exquisite detail. I was familiar enough with Antlion's work to know he had a hand in its creation. The silk portrayed in painstaking detail the procession of the Trojan Horse. The wooden horse loomed tall over the dozen soldiers pulling it through the gates of Troy. Tricks of light and shadow suggested more Trojans were pushing the great beast on wheels from behind.

In the foreground, a wild-haired Cassandra in a crimson flowing robe beat at the soldiers with a branch. According to myth, she possessed the gift of prophecy, and foresaw how the horse would bring about the fall of the city. But the god Apollo had cursed her so that no one would ever believe her. A severed tongue upon the dirt at her feet symbolized her words falling on deaf ears.