She had to make the choice.
Looking down past her skirt, which partially blocked her view, she focused on the window ledge below. It was no more than a man's height away in distance. The pointed arch at the top of the window was just out of reach; but by shifting lower on the rope and reaching out with one hand, she was able to grasp it and hold it to steady herself. Clamping her fingers over it, Victoria shifted her weight toward the building, half leaning on the arch, and let go of the rope.
She fell, using her grip on the slender arch to direct her fall, and she landed on the small edge of the window, barely wide enough for her feet. With nary a moment's thought, she vaulted over the same stone railing as on the fourth-floor window ledge, her skirts tangling and billowing, and dangled from the ledge for a moment before dropping, fortunately, next to a nettle bush on the ground.
She dashed toward the narrow entrance of the courtyard, frightening two cats that had been sunning themselves, and she heard the door slam open behind her and Sebastian calling for her. Rounding the corner, she found herself on a narrow street lined with the same kind of buildings she'd just escaped from. He was right behind her; she could hear his footfalls coming closer.
Victoria was not about to be caught now, when she'd come so far. She dashed across the street, down another alley, and ran and ran, around corners and up streets, past chair weavers and tailors and bakers, until the sound of footfalls were lost amid the noise of midday Rome.
The Quirinale clock tower bonged in the distance: two o'clock.
She had ten hours.
Chapter 22
In Which Mr. Starcasset Fills in a Number of Details
The ruins of the opera theater were still smoking when Victoria arrived at nearly half past three on November first, the day before the Day of the Dead, or All Souls' Day, as it was commonly called. The curious stood nearby and gawked. The busy strode past as if nothing had happened.The fire had destroyed only about one-third of the front of the building, but it was obviously unusable as it was. Victoria wondered how many people had died—either from the fire and smoke, or the fangs of the vampires.
Despite her conversation with Sebastian, she could not accept the idea that vampires were not all evil. It went against everything she'd been taught for the last year and a half, and her own interactions with the creatures.
Victoria pulled her cloak closely about her shoulders in an attempt to cover her unusual garb. She'd dressed to fight, to hide, to run and climb, in loose black trousers and a matching tunic. Her shoes were soled with leather, thick enough for protection and supple enough to allow the same ease of movement as slippers. Her long hair had been braided in one long plait, and stuffed down the back of her shirt so that the tail brushed the base of her back, under her garments. She had holy water, stakes, and a knife secreted in various locations under her clothing. Miro, the weapons master from the Consilium, had given her another weapon that would be of use in this particular situation: a small bow that would allow her to fire a specially carved wooden arrow—a stake—from a distance.
She already knew she would never get close enough to Nedas to stab him; so the bow and wooden arrow-stakes would be her only chance to succeed. She wasn't an expert archer, but she could hit her target. She had three stakes, and her plan was to kill him and then, in what she hoped would be ensuing chaos, steal Akvan's Obelisk. At the very least, assassinating Nedas would put a stop—albeit a temporary one—to the activation of the obelisk, giving the Venators more time if Victoria did not succeed.
Verbena had been more curious than worried when Victoria appeared at the villa; she'd known her mistress had gone off with Sebastian and had not been overly concerned when she did not return that evening. "After all, I seen the way ye two looked at each other—like ye coulden wait to get b'neath each other's clothes. Ye're young and ye've been mourn'n the marquess for more'n a year, so 'twas time to get ye'self a little slap an' tickle, if ye ask me."
What could Victoria say to that? Her maid's assessment had, as usual, been accurate; how would she have known that Sebastian had other plans besides seducing her?
It had not taken long for Verbena to dress her mistress and prepare her to go. Oliver had brought a message over to Aunt Eustacia's villa, to inform her that Victoria was back—of course, she didn't even know her niece had gone missing, since Verbena had not thought anything of it—and of her plans to go to the theater and try to stop Nedas.
Oliver had returned, but with the news that Aunt Eustacia had not been at home. He had left the message, of course, but Victoria could wait no longer; time was slipping away.
Now, at the theater, her biggest difficulty was to gain entrance to the destroyed building without being noticed by a bystander, or, worse, a member of the Tutela. Once she was inside, her plan was to find her way in and attack Nedas by stealth and from a distance.
Victoria waited until she rounded the backside of the theater, where there were fewer witnesses, and moved nonchalantly toward the building. She spied a small entrance, half-hidden by a hillock, likely for use by servants and merchants. As she came closer to the building, a faint coolness at the nape of her neck began to build.
She'd stepped three paces off the walkway toward the door, past a trio of trees, when she felt someone behind her. Before she could turn to see who'd stepped out from the shade of the oaks, something poked her in the side of her hip: round and hard. And small.
"So it is you, Victoria. I'd begun to wonder. No, don't stop, just keep moving nice and easily toward the door. I'd expected Pesaro to bring you himself, but this will work just as well." George Starcasset was prodding her along with a pistol to her kidney, low enough that it wouldn't be noticed by any passersby and would instead appear to be a solicitous arm about her waist.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about," Victoria replied calmly, despite the fact that she'd been caught unawares. At least they were going in the direction she wanted to go.
"We weren't certain about you; we had our suspicions, of course, which was why I invited you to come to Claythorne and made certain Vioget and Polidori were there to draw the vampires. You see, at the time, I did not know what good friends"—he poked her hard in the back—"you were. But since I didn't actually see you in action, or observe what occurred, I couldn't be certain. Come along this way, then." A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that he'd lost the smiling, boyish look he usually had, and it had been replaced by a more fanatic, disturbing expression, albeit in a youthful face.