He kept checking over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. Anything could be an ambush. Two men, arm in arm, were strolling along. As he watched them, they were greeted by friends coming out of a doorway. Not assassins, then. To his knowledge, when the Men in Black were sent on a mission they never gave up until it was accomplished. So, yes, they would return.

He took a gondola to well beyond the Rialto Bridge, and got off, walked down an alleyway, then doubled back, and, followed another alleyway — a calle — this one parallel to the Grand Canal — until he came to the mansion that was the home of the famous courtesan.

It was an old and distinguished-looking building. Candles burned in the windows. He turned into a side alley and walked down it until he came to a door. A single small lamp, a votive offering to the Virgin Mary, burned over the entrance. A tall broad-shouldered man stood next to the door. He looked Danilo up and down and nodded. Danilo entered and went up a narrow wooden staircase, and when he stepped through a door he found himself on a large landing with a marble balustrade, large windows overlooking the Grand Canal, tapestries, and marble flooring. Everything was sparkling and impeccable, as if the whole setting had been installed only that morning. Several fashionable Venetian youths were hanging about on the landing gossiping and laughing but they did not bother with him, only giving him a cursory glance and then returning to their skittish talk.

A very pretty, very young maidservant, in a tight bodice with a flared skirt, was coming up the stairs; she nodded at Danilo, held his gaze, and whispered, “Follow me, sir!” She led him further up the broad torch-lit staircase to the second floor.

When they entered the main salon, Danilo was dazzled by the sumptuous carpets, the tapestries, the paintings, the gold and silver, the opulent furniture, the gilded mirrors.

“Ah, here you are!” An elegant young woman turned away from the window and greeted him as if they were old friends. She was perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three. Her manners, self-assurance, and sophistication made her seem older; the freshness of her beauty made her seem younger. She was standing by a tall window that looked over the canal. Her red hair tumbled freely down her bare shoulders, her breasts barely concealed, her long robe open along one side, exposing a length of perfect leg, sparkling white, in silk. She looked at him with an amused, calculating expression.

“You are a handsome fellow, my friend. So, we are to work together.”

Danilo bowed. “Madam.”

“And gallant, too!” She favored him with the brightest of smiles. “I am indeed pleased. My name is Veronica Libero. My work is to give pleasure — sensual, sexual, intellectual, and cultural. The quality of the conversation is essential. People must relax. They must feel free to express themselves. My clientele is varied — but on the whole, it consists, with a few necessary and unfortunate exceptions, of the very best of society. Many of Venice’s leaders are my friends. I do use the word ‘friend’ with caution. But I think I can say that. So, among the clientele who frequent my little abode, there are also foreigners, German merchants, people who deal with Charles V, some ecclesiastical figures who visit Venice from time to time, several Frenchmen who are close to the Court of François I, and of course Turks and Persians and Arabs.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Now, some of these gentlemen speak languages I don’t understand; we would like very much to know what they are saying, what they are talking about. I understand you speak Turkish, Persian, and Arabic.”

“Yes, madam, I do.”

“Call me Veronica, please.” Her eyes sparkled in merriment. “And who shall you be? Let’s invent someone, shall we? You are … Daniel del Monte!” For her, Danilo realized, life was a game.

He bowed. Now he had three names: David, Daniel, and Danilo. He felt, somehow, that he should kiss her hand. She moved with the fluid ease, casualness, and feigned intimacy of royalty.

“In a few minutes, the visitors will arrive. I will entertain them — as will some of my friends and colleagues. But our guests often speak in their own languages among themselves.”

“I see.”

“And here, let me show you. I do apologize for the indignity of it, but you will be stowed away here, in this closed little alcove.” She pressed against a small decorative detail, and pulled it aside. A door — up to that point invisible — opened and Danilo saw what looked like a padded closet, or perhaps an invisible corridor running parallel to the wall of the salon. A whiff of stale air wafted out.

“I have put in a stool to make it more comfortable.” Veronica turned to him. “You have a good memory, I hope.”

“I believe it is fairly good — ah, Veronica.”

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“I shall abstain, thank you.”

“Very wise, Daniel, a clear head is essential in this business. Venice is like the Virgin Mary or, if you prefer classical allusions, she is like Aphrodite freshly risen from the sea. She is a gallant lady and she needs to be protected.”

“Venice has many enemies.”

“Yes, and many jealousies. Venice is rich and Venice is a republic, Venice is small, and she belongs to all of us. She has been around a long time — a thousand years at least — and so she deserves our care and solicitude.” She smiled. Her perfume — a heady mixture of jasmine and rose — made Danilo dizzy. The lamps sparkled off the gilt and silver and glass.

Veronica put her hand on Danilo’s shoulder, and gazed straight into his eyes. “I must warn you, my dear Daniel. One of our guests is of a particularly violent temperament. He’s quite brilliant — a Turkish gentleman, Signor Muharrem; he is excessively intelligent and cultured and charming — but he is known to have murdered many a man, and some women, too.”

Danilo held her gaze and nodded.

“He delights in strangling people with his bare hands, and he is adept with a dagger. He must not discover our little game. Even if there is trouble, you are not to intervene. Julian will take care of it.” She nodded towards a tall broad-shouldered man who had been standing against one wall. The man nodded at Danilo. Veronica smiled. “Silence is essential.”

“Certainly.”

“Here, now I shall lock you in. For a little while, my dear friend, you shall be my prisoner.”