The Plague Doctor's Daughter

20. Nicco

Nicco stood in the ship's bow, looking across the lagoon. A thick fog hung low over the calm water as the moon struggled to peek through the dense cloud cover, making the already chilly night feel even colder. Drawing a small flask from his pocket, Nicco took a swig of its precious contents. This batch of the potent beverage—distilled with the leftover seeds, stems, and stalks of winemaking—came from a chemist in Padua who had made it for medicinal purposes. But if all went as planned, the first corporation to produce the exquisite drink for pantries instead of apothecaries would soon open in Venice. And naturally, it would bear the Grimani name.

Before stowing the flask, Nicco drank another mouthful of the acquavite. Water of life, indeed! He felt warmer already as the smooth liquid flowed down his throat, coating his belly as though he'd been burned from the inside out.

"Are you sure they will come?" asked the Turk from behind.

Nicco scowled into the darkness. The only thing he hated more than to be interrupted while enjoying one of his vices was for his word to be questioned. Taking a deep breath to calm his impending response, he squared his shoulders and put his hand on the hilt of his rapier.

"Venice is the leader of maritime trade not only in the Adriatic, but in the entire world," he said without even a glance back, feeling the usual pride when boasting about his home. "There are ships arriving at her docks daily. Patience. There will be one soon enough."

Having found the answer satisfactory, Hakan quietly joined Nicco on watch at the railing. They stood at anchorage under the still sails while peering into the darkness, but as younger men were wont to do, he couldn't stay silent for long.

"What if it is not one of your ships? Or if the captain objects—"

"Enough!" Nicco interrupted, turning abruptly toward his companion. "As I have said before, every vessel that enters the lagoon is my ship whether they know it or not. It is under the authority of my father's clerks that they are allowed to drop anchor, thereby I—as his direct representative—may do what I please regarding them."

As Hakan's expression changed from defiance to acceptance, Nicco smiled. The boy was often contrarian, and while he couldn't have been called clever, his adherence to duty was unparalleled. That was why it was so easy now to blackmail him. Losing access to the most strategically placed port between Europe and the major Mediterranean trading cities of Alexandria, Damascus, and Istanbul would have been far more dishonorable to him than reluctantly doing Nicco's dirty work.

His sister was another matter.

If Nicco fell into the lagoon, Hakan would offer him a hand to climb back on board. The girl, however, would undoubtedly throw him an anchor to hasten his way down.

Distinctly attractive like her sibling while exceeding him in her bravery, she had the gumption to actually tail Nicco as he had dragged his bride to Giudecca. Truth be told, he would have been disappointed if she hadn't. Because how true could the fire-haired vixen's illicit feelings toward Ottavia have been if she didn't attempt to save her from his grip? Why, even now she was somewhere nearby, likely sharpening her scimitar with thoughts of how she'd like to slit his throat would the opportunity arise.

Nicco's grin widened.

Thinking about the frustration he'd surely caused the amorous pair tempered some of his own rage at their unexpected unmasking. A weaker man would have perhaps also felt anxious, yet he had no worries about the Turkish girl rescuing Ottavia from the convent where he'd securely deposited her. No nun would risk his wrath in allowing the future mother of the doge's grandchildren to be stained before marriage. Unfortunately, this also meant that he himself would not have access to his bride until their wedding day, but that was a price he was willing to bear. It would make their eventual union that much sweeter . . ..

Nicco's thoughts returned to that clandestine moment in the back of the market stall as Ottavia's ruby lips met those of her lover. After closing his eyes, the vivid recollection caused the lacing on the front of his pantaloons to tighten, and he exhaled a quiet moan. In the surrounding company, he may have felt embarrassment at the brief display of carnal weakness had Hakan not exclaimed, "Ship ahead!"

As the half-dozen sailors on deck hopped to their feet while readying themselves for their tasks, Nicco held his hand out to the ship's captain. Hakan, in turn, silently handed over the spyglass he'd drawn from his waistband. Extending the banded device, the doge's son raised the narrow end to his right eye and peered through the glass lens. Sweeping his gaze due south to where the water met the night sky, Nicco quickly found what he was looking for.

Lit by lanterns on all sides, the three-masted carrack made no secret of her intention to enter Venetian waters. Darkness obscured her flag, but Nicco had no qualms regarding her captain's impending cooperation, whether she was a local vessel or one flying under another nation's colors.

Lowering the instrument, he turned to Hakan. "You know what to do?" he asked with a dubious cock of his eyebrow.

Hakan nodded. "Yes, Don Grimani. We are to transfer the cargo from the approaching ship onto this one and return to the Lazaretto. Once there, we unload everything into your personal warehouse."

"And your reply to the clerk of ports when he asks why you've returned so quickly?" he prompted.

"We were on our way to Istanbul, but began taking on water before we had even left the lagoon. This forced me to turn my ship around," Hakan said, confirming the agreed upon lie.

"Good. Good," Nicco replied, handing over the spyglass. "If the man gives you trouble, tell him who gave you these orders. That should remind him who puts extra coins in his pockets to look the other way."

Hakan nodded again as his men prepared the ruse.

Although circumventing the mandatory quarantine that arriving ships were bound to observe at Lazaretto Nuevo before releasing their cargo could bear strict penalties, maritime law also compelled a vessel to aid another in dire need. Nicco's plans hinged on this latter scenario.

With the Turk's tchektirme feigning immobility thanks to a purposefully loosened sail, the arriving ship had no choice, but to slow at its side. Once the other captain's attention had been gained, Hakan would produce a purse worth more than the merchandise on board. That—along with the opportunity to resume his voyage immediately rather than wait at least forty long days—would be enough for any sailor to make a quick deal. The crates and barrels of Eastern spices, textiles, and grains would then slip into Venice without being recorded in any official ledgers, bypassing not only the required waiting period, but also the republic's lofty taxes.

As usual, Nicco's plan was flawless.

Waiting on board just long enough to make sure that the carrack would indeed engage and the ploy was set in motion, Nicco took no time for farewells. Swinging his leg over the rail, he climbed down a hanging ladder to a waiting rowboat. He took a seat on a damp bench in the far end before the oarsman began to paddle. While he was sure that everything would proceed in order, he could not have his name or face associated with smuggling. In case anyone did need to hang for the illicit act, he had no qualms about the Turk meeting the looped end of a rope.

But tonight—with the rolling fog giving even more cover—felt auspicious. And as the rowboat neared the shores of Venice with the lantern lights of the campanile in the distance, Nicco was just able to catch a brief sight of the first wooden crate hoisted from one ship over to the other.