Although it was already midnight, no one wanted to seemed to be leaving. I was not surprised when Ricardo, after a brief conversation with Fabrizio, suddenly steered our gondola away from the house.

"Where are we going?"

"Count Arsago has invited everyone to his house. He knows how to arrange parties! It'll be fun, you'll see.”

Oh, yes, don Arsago was a master of surprises. I hadn`t forgotten the last dinner at his house yet. And I had a strange feeling that tonight`s party was going to be really exciting as well.

"Call it a night already," Pulcino grumbled in the back of my mind. We had never been united for so long before; our connection was voluntary and we usually tried to give each other as much freedom as possible. But today I couldn't let him go. Without gull`s instincts I felt deaf and blind. I had the feeling that if I let go of the situation, something terrible would happen.

My anxiety was even greater when I noticed the striped jacket of today's regatta winner among the guests.

What was he doing here? He`d had enough tonight!

Grumbling under my breath, I struggled out of the gondola. The merry voices of the count's guests sounded like a mocking, the amber squares of the windows against the deep-blue velvet sky stung the eye. The lights of the torches reflected in the water turned into a long, tremulous flames.

It wasn`t easy to be a gull.

I tried to pull myself together. I`d definitely have a rest tomorrow. One shouldn`t use chiamata for such a long time or you could imagine yourself a seagull for real and step out of the window.

My brother finally noticed my strange behavior.

"What's the matter, Julie? Is something wrong with Luigi? You keep watching him like a hawk.”

Better say, like a seagull, I thought to myself. But the difference really doesn`t make sense.

“So, you already know his name?"

"Everyone does. Luigi Manriolo – a brave and lucky fellow, the best sailor in the whole city. Did you see him coming to the finish line, huh?! Oh, I must compete with him some day! Right from Tarcisio farmsteads to the Piazzetta, no less!”

Well, well. If you tame paurozo and use it as your trump card, only then you`ll win, maybe, I thought grimly.

Even the peculiar luxury of the Count's palace did not impress me much today – I just felt too nervous and repressed. We all seated in the salon filled with flavours of hot coffee and sweet wine. Silver trays were reflecting in crystal-clear carafe with cold water. Inez floated past, with her gaze cold as ice and her smile lemon-fresh. Her long blond hair was braided with pearls. An ice beauty. She paused when Enrique suddenly appeared beside her.

"My respects, signori,” he greeted us both.

His tone was somewhat cheeky and he looked like he was drunk. It hurt me a little, though I knew how hard it was for him. When he appeared, everyone pretended not to remember the humiliating scene on the canal, but the laughter broke out here and there behind his back. Damn that Manriolo, that was all his fault!

I found his striped jacket among the guests. Well, of course the winner was dangling around the Count, who was chatting with the stranger all evening but didn`t say a word to his son.

The conversation didn't go well. We exchanged polite phrases like players on a field, but the more carefree Enrique tried to seem, the worse he got. A signor in rich lace tactlessly clapped him on his shoulder. "Well, how do you feel, signor cavalier of a crooked oar?"

Someone burst out laughing. It was too much for Enrique. He blushed, and before I could stop him, he disappeared into the crowd, throwing the "lace churl” out of his way.

Ines gave him a long look. Then she turned to me, and I backed away from her angry face.

"Look, I've noticed from the very beginning that you don't like Enrique very much," she whispered passionately. "But you could have shown some sympathy, at least tonight! Not to stare at this stupid Manriolo like my mother!

Tears were running from her blue almond-shaped eyes. Quickly, Ines hid her face and came to her mother, as if she was afraid I might question or comfort her. I felt confused. She didn't look like an ice statue now. Her outer coldness and indifference – that was only the shell that hid the real Ines: flame and silk, desperate tenderness and bitter loneliness.

She's in love with Enrique, I realized. Goodness me… If only we could talk face to face about that…

Well, I didn`t have time to think about it now, anyway. So I swallowed that undeserved rebuke of hers and tried to listen to the conversation of the group of guests with don Arsago and Luigi's striped jacket by his side. It turned out that the lutenist really had business with the Count. And as far as I could judge by the snatches of the conversation, it was worth it.

There were some lists, drawings and maps on their table. A signor from Ariminum, who was Luig`s previous master, found a way to make Venetta a dominant city in the Middle sea − or improve its position at least. But as he had neither money nor influence, he asked for the support of our patricians.

Here I had to explain something first. The Venetian merchants had grudge against the salesmen of Lositania who discovered the sea route to Bharat around the Cape of Esperanza. As the new road was much more convenient, our trade with the East across the Middle sea came to nought. Now one ship could deliver the goods from the port of departure right to the destination point, and it was no longer necessary to overload the silks and spices at Suwais to transport them across the isthmus to the Eritrean sea. You no longer had to trust the slow and unreliable camel caravans that trudged through the Ortalyk deserts into the Sin Empire. So it was expected that the centre of trade shifted to Lositania while we found ourselves with nothing. In addition, the new route was cheaper, since it was no longer necessary to pay taxes to the numerous Eastern princes that owned the lands on the caravan roads. In other words, we were out of business overnight.

And now the unknown messire of Ariminum proposed to connect the Middle and Eritrean seas by a navigable channel. Our signors perked up.

"If we do that, Lositania will be a small village on the edge of the continent again, just as it used to be!"

"But don Soranzo will never aloow that," don Sacketti said with his usual ruthless frankness, pushing aside a pack of cards. “Our Doge is too old for such ambitious projects. The only thing that still bothers him – the flow of gold flowing into his own pockets!”

Everyone looked at each other. "But don Soranzo won`t last too long anyway," were written on their faces.

I looked at Alessandro. He was examining the maps with the other guests and his face showed the keenest interest. His thick black brows drew together slightly.

“It might work!" he said with enthusiasm. “Of course, you will need to get the approval of the firman from the Emir first, and that won`t be an easy one... but the idea itself is good. Very good, actually!”

His words were taken up by the approving cheers of the guests. Flushed from praising, Luigi Manriolo pulled a folded sheet out of his pocket.

“I have drawn this map for my own pleasure and I would like to present it to you, don Arsago, as a token of my gratitude for your hospitality the poor wanderer of Ariminum. It's a map of Venetta.”

The crowd around them drew closer, cheers turned to admiration. I was curious so I left the ladies' company and tried to get closer to the table. That wasn`t too difficult if you have a couple of charming smiles to spare.

When I looked at it, I could only gasp. That was Venetta, for sure. The lines formed a fish-like contour of the city. The broad ribbon of the Grand Canal looked like a giant letter “S”. An accurate rectangle of the Arsenal stood out in the districts situated at the "tail" of the city. On the top of the sheet there was a masterful depiction of Hersi, the air spirit, with his cheeks blown. Below, Helikon was pacifying the raging waves with his trident. But the main thing that struck me was the accuracy of the artist. How did he manage to grasp the perspective so clearly? And that whole network of canals? Only Pulcino could draw such a map if he was able to grasp a stylus…

Suddenly I felt dizzy and had to stagger back from the table. What kind of a man were you, Luigi Manriolo? And were you a man at all?

I glanced at him to realize that while I was admiring the map with the guests, he was examining my face. Like two predators were looking at each other before the deadly strike. For a moment there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes – and then Manriolo`s face took on a closed expression again, as if he a door of his soul.

I thought with irritation that I was beginning to share Alessandro's dislike of masks.

"That`s very, very interesting." doctor Faletrus said with his eyes shining with interest. “Usually map-makers count steps to draw city streets and strap buildings with measuring ropes. But for Venetta, these methods can`t be applied. How did you manage to draw such a miracle, then?”

"It was an inspiration, signor," Manriolo smiled.

Since maitre Faletrus insisted, Luigi started his long explanation, sometimes inserting tricky words like "trigonometric", "degrees", etc. The rest of the guests quickly lost the thread of conversation. Signor Faletrus, however, was all ears and even flushed with excitement a little bit, that made his forehead sweat. I thought it was bad for the old man to worry so much and don Arsago seemed to be of the same opinion.

"Now, now, my dear doctor, calm down.” He patted the astrologer on his shoulder. “Why don`t you pour yourself a glass of wine instead? And for me too, if you please. I remember that you have a thing for saonskoy`s wine. Signor Manriolo's maps are truly amazing. As for the canal project – well, it`s risky, of course. But if we`re lucky enough, Venetta can revive its splendor…”

Signor Faletrus obediently took up the tray, leaving Luigi Manriolo to bask in his glory. Everyone wanted to congratulate the new Count's favorite, so there was a merry pandemonium around the card table. The crowd parted slightly as the doctor appeared with two glasses. I glanced and thought that doctor Faletrus's weak hands were very weak already, for a little of the precious liquid had spilled on the tablecloth. It will be difficult to remove oily stains from the silk tablecloth, I said to myself. My eyes were still Pulcino's, and I could clearly see the glowing bluish outlines of oliy drops.

Then it flashed on me: the oily stains of wine?!

Don Arsago, his eyes blazing with pride, had already raised his goblet in greeting.

"Let us drink to our success and the new sea routes!"

Unable to say a word, I watched in a daze as he raised the goblet to his lips ... Suddenly another hand caught his wrist.

"Your grace, allow me first."

It was Alessandro. Everything went dark for a moment.

"No!” I heard someone shout. It turned out to be my own voice. Alessandro acted without delay, but I was quicker. The goblet that I had knocked of his hand rolled under the table, and the dark wine splattered on the floor. Still holding his wrist, I froze within an inch of his wide gray eyes and the terrible scar across his face.

"This wine is... it looks very strange," I said in the midst of a deafening silence. Everyone was staring at us. The Count forced himself to laugh.

"You see, Sandro, how contagious your suspicion is! It affects even the ladies.”

"Don't drink," I repeated firmly.

Don Arsago shrugged.

“I don't think there is a poisoner in the house. There are ways much easier, let Sandro tell when you have free time. But for your peace of mind…”

He glanced over his shoulder and grabbed the back of Joanna's dog, that was dozing peacefully on the cushion of the chair. The dog could only squeak when the Count put its nose in a deep-red puddle on the floor. None of us dared to protest, everyone stood as if transfixed. Doctor Faletrus froze with the cup in his hand. His face suddenly turned dark, with the wrinkles deepened and the blue circles under his eyes looked darker at once. Joanna's jewelled hand crept up nervously, crumpling the lace on her breast.

The dog licked spicy smelling liquid several times and then wriggled out of the Count`s hands to rush to the protection of its mistress. Suddenly it whimpered, its paws tangled, and the dog fell on its side. A whisper ran through the crowd like a gust of wind. The smell of fear filled the air. Donna Sacketti flung up her hands and rushed forward, but someone held her.

“It must have fallen asleep… It really did, am I right?" Joanna muttered.

Signor Faletrus threw his own cup away and sat down in front of a pitiful tiny body of the dog. I could see its side trembling with uneven breathing.

"Everybody out!" the Count ordered. – “Except you,” – he turned to Alessandro. "And the doctor."

I could barely stand when Ricardo took my arm. My head was spinning. I expected everything from tonight, but – poison?!

I really felt sorry for Picoletto − a little weak hairball, its death was so sudden and absurd. But a deaf misunderstanding, like a cotton blanket, dulled the senses. We fell out into the living room with the rest of frightened guests. The Count`s cupbearer and castellan passed us by and went quickly to the saloon. The short castellan, whispered something to his tall companion, making his face turn curd-pale. I guessed, he could already imagine the stocks and a torture chair prepared for him. The saloon door swung open in front of them just to spit out a chunk of angry phrase and then closed again.

"Pulcino, I need you badly!”

I sat down for a moment, leaning on the arm of the chair and lowering my head. Let everyone think that I didn`t feel well – just like the rest of the women in our room. At the same moment me-a gull, folded its wings to land on the window ledge. The windows of the saloon were open and the wind stirred the silk curtains. The silhouettes of people inside were moving as if it was a shadow play. I saw don Arsago pacing back and forth the room. Apparently, he was struggling to keep calm. Signor di Goro was leaning against the table beside the jugs. Maître Faletrus rose from the floor, holding some bottles.

"Well?" the Count asked.

"The wine was poisoned, for sure. That`s wolfsbane and something else, the juice of the poison ivy, maybe. Wolfsbane is easy to get, a plenty of it grows along the banks of the Brenta. They put the poison in one of the wine jars.”

"Damn it! Hey, Gino!” don Arsago snapped at servant so that I was blown off the window, and in the same second I found myself on my chair in the living room. It was pitch-black outside. The candle lights were trembling in glossy hollow eyes of the windows. Ricardo was sitting beside me, his fingers drumming on the table. I covered his hand with mine sympathetically. A night like that was perfect for gondola walks, whispering, drinking tart moon wine − better to share one glass to know each other's thoughts. Not for being locked here, in a stifling atmosphere, saturated with mutual suspicions.

Ricardo winced and shook his head.

"Nasty business.”

The faces of the other guests had the same expression. Anxious whispers were going from one corner of the room to another, like ripples on the water surface. Someone tried to comfort sobbing Joanna. Ines brought smelling salts and a glass of water, but Joanna pushed it away in terror. There was wine and cold lemonade on trays in the living room, but no one dared to touch them. Moreover, no one dared to leave, so that he was not accidentally accused of attempted poisoning. Or to seize the opportunity to blame their neighbor, I thought, gazing thoughtfully around the room. Something caught my eye. I looked at the guests once more and then turned to Ricardo.

“And where is signor Manriolo? Have you seen him?"

My brother`s eyebrows raised in surprise. He looked around and gave a long whistle. Luigi Manriolo wasn`t among the guests anymore. Our strange lutenist thought it best to disappear without saying goodbye.