The Council of Ten

Chapter 12 - When the Clock Strikes One (Marco D'Este)

Chapter Twelve – When the Clock Strikes One (Marco D’Este)

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‘Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain.’ ~ Thomas Otway

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It had been several days since Lena had helped me with my masks and I hadn’t mentioned the situation to my father. Fortunately, he hadn’t any new masks for me so I wasn’t put in the awkward situation of refusing. But it was only a matter of time.

Of days.

Hopefully in that time Lena would have managed to get me a charm of some sort, but we were having no such luck. I had dressed in simple clothes and a borrowed white mask so I’d fit in better. Lena had insisted upon it, she said nobody she knew would be willing to talk to us if I came looking like I usually did. Sometimes being rich has its downsides and those downsides don’t seem to go away. They don’t let me forget what a problem money can be.

I picked up my glass and swirled the last few drops of water round in the bottom, small fragments of ice still visible, barely lasting in the stifling heat. The cafe we were in really wasn’t the nicest of places. I could even go as far as saying it was run down.

But I loved it.

Although I spent most of my time teasing Lena about the places she went to, I loved them as much a she did. I just liked to see the frustration on her face when she thought I didn’t understand. The small, cheap cafes were so full of life. They seemed to smile in their own little way. Whereas restaurants my parents took me to, were dead. No amount of gold and sparkles would ever change that. There was just an atmosphere about the poorer places that couldn’t be recreated by the higher end of Venice.

“I have a few more places I want to go after this,” said Lena, prodding ice cubes in her drink with a straw “but I think we best leave it until tomorrow. With the weather like this, it’s going to be terrible to get anything done.” I didn’t say anything, just closed my eyes and listened to the chatter of people. A group burst out laughing and I caught the punch line of some terrible joke, it made me smile. I heard a deep cough and flicked open my eyes then turned my head, looking over to the counter where two men sat, one smoking a pipe. Smoke curled around his head, clouding his face.

I drained what water I had left and said “are you ready to go?”

Lena nodded and stood up “but first I just want to go and talk to someone. It shouldn’t take long.” As we queued at the counter, waiting for Lena’s friend to come and say whatever it is they had to say, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation of the two men I’d seen from our table.

The man with the pipe tilted his hat further over his eyes and said gruffly “you know there’s going to be a murder tonight.” His words were so quiet and so heavily accented, that I might have missed it. Most people probably did, too caught up in their conversations to notice. I shared a look with Lena before facing straight ahead, trying to look inconspicuous and as natural as possible. That probably resulted in quite a stiff stance, but I doubt anyone noticed. Why would they?

“Oh yeah?” Said the man next to him, “you got proof?”

“You know I don’t need any proof but I tell you, tonight at that fancy ball they’ve got going on, you know who and his mates said they were going to go and do one in.” The man’s eyes shifted under his hat, as if looking for people’s reactions. Obviously satisfied nobody was listening, he turned his gaze back to his friend “I still don’t know why they do it, they don’t tell me nothing. They just tell me to keep mum about the whole thing,” the man coughed again, strong tobacco affecting his lungs.