The Masked City by Genevieve Cogman

Author:Genevieve Cogman [Cogman, Genevieve]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2015-12-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the end, sheer exhaustion forced Irene to spend what was left of the night in one of the Gritti Palace’s linen-cupboards. She’d had to curl up on a pile of blankets, in a stolen dress, smelling of canal water. It was not the most uncomfortable night she’d ever spent, but it was still far from being an ideal Venice vacation.

The sound of bells woke her. The noise came through the walls of the hotel, even penetrating into the tiny cupboard, and she woke up with a start, banging her head against the lowest shelf and blinking in the darkness. It took a moment for her to orient herself. And the bells were still ringing, settling into their own patterns of speed and tone, somehow harmonic in spite of their lack of unity. She tried to count the strokes, in the hope of guessing what time it was, but there was no way of telling how long she had till midnight and the auction.

By the time she and Zayanna had reached the Gritti Palace, after a couple of minor incidents involving the theft of a pair of dresses, she had been so exhausted that it was difficult not to collapse on the spot. The time had been two or three in the morning, but the hotel was still full of lights and people running to and fro down passages. It had only taken a few screams of ‘Dear God, my husband!’ and ‘Quick, hide behind the curtains!’ for Irene to recognize all the ingredients of bedroom farce. Possibly several bedroom farces, all going on simultaneously. She hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near Silver’s bedroom under those conditions.

She and Zayanna had separated, ostensibly to find their respective patrons. Irene suspected that Zayanna had been more interested in finding some more alcohol. She couldn’t blame her. She’d have been grateful for a glass or two of brandy herself.

Still. It was apparently morning. Time to sneak out of her little nest and find Silver, and hopefully get some more information out of him.

Once she was out of the linen-cupboard it became clear that, like most depraved aristocrats, these Fae did not rise early. And if there was a literary trope requiring an early start to fit in a full day’s worth of debauchery, Irene had yet to encounter it. The only people up so far were maids, manservants and lower grades of attendant, who were running around carrying trays of food and piles of clothing. This made it very easy for Irene to scoop up a pile of sheets, looking suitably urgent and harried. She blended right in. She felt harried. Her dress was dark and battered, someone’s Sunday second-best, and not even up to the standard of the hotel maids, but her bodice was laced neatly and her hair was finger-combed into a tight braid. She didn’t look anachronistic or otherworldly, and that was the most important thing.

The back-stairs were much the same as in any hotel. They were narrow, cramped and full of overburdened people running as fast as possible.

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