Adventure Magazine Cover — page 131: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

130 “Sir, I know you not, but you are good company and a man of rare discern- men 2 Clavijo fell silent and his mouth opened wide, while he did not raise his cup. Michael, glancing quickly over his shoulder, saw that two men in uniform had entered the alcove. They wore dark cloaks and carried only stilettos at their belts. Both wore black masks that concealed the whole of their faces with the exception of the eyes. “Madre de Dios!” swore Clavijo. The two masked servitors or officials— Michael could not decide which—advanced to the table. “Signorz,” said one, “which of-you is the renowned voyager from the Orient?” It}was politely said and Michael set down his cup reflectively, seeing that Clavijo’s eyes had widened at the words. Under the circumstances the newcomers might be seek- ing either the Spaniard or the Breton. Evi- dently, if they desired Clavijo, they had not been in the audience-chamber when the lat- ter was telling his tale. This inclined Michael to the belief that he was the man wanted. He wondered briefly if these were agents of Rudolfo, but remembered that the condotiiere would hardly resume his quarrel in the home of Clavijo, unless imperatively urged. It was hardly likely, furthermore, that Mocenigo would choose this way of punish- ing Michael for the scene at the door. Michael, unfamiliar with the customs of Venice, hazarded a guess that these were servants of Contarini sent to summon either him or Clavijo in this curious fashion. “T am from the East,” he responded, as the Spaniard was silent. “I am called Michael Bearn, of Brittany.” “Aye,” put in Clavijo promptly, glancing involuntarily toward the hall down which the two had come; “this is the gentleman you seek,” Plainly he did not desire to go with the masked men. They, however, looked at each other questioningly and asked Clavijo’s name, which was reluctantly given. ““Signori,” decided the one who had first spoken; ‘‘we were sent for the voyager from the Orient by one whom you both know. Since we can not be certain of your identity, will you both have the great kindness to come with us?” Clavijo looked as if he would have liked Adventure S to refuse, but the masked men ushered them down another hall and flight of steps. They _ passed out of the house into the darkness of an alley. The loom of the buildings against the stars, the smells and the distant echo of a flute assured Michael that they were now near the bridge where he had met Rudolfo. It was his turn to be reluctant, yet Michael strode ahead, whistling between his teeth. He felt morally certain that the two attendants had come for Clavijo and that Clavijo did not want to go with them. And Michael wanted very much to see where Clavijo was being taken—where the Span- iard did not want to go. A second stairway took them to a gondola, a torch at its bow. Michael recognized the Contarini crest on the gondola hood as he scrambled inside, followed by his compan- ion, breathing heavily. The two masked attendants took their stand fore and aft by the rowers. In the darkness of the small cabin Michael sat down on what he first thought to be a cush- ion and then made out to.be the form of a man. He said nothing, wondering if the man were dead, until a whisper came up to him: “Signor Michael, a service for a service given. Pietro Rudolfo plots against you. I heard it whispered as I fled the palace.” It was Bembo. A moment’s reflection showed that he must have hidden himself away in one of the Contarini gondolas, ex- pecting to leave the palace unseen in this way. Michael eased his weight off the other. . “Do not yield me up, signor,” went on the whisper. ‘Soon we shall be far off from the red-headed donna and the dogs and ser- vants.”’ “Faith, I will not, Bembo. Are these masks Rudolfo’s doing?” “Nay, generous sir. They are servants of —Contarini.”’ A slight hesitation before the name did not escape the Breton’s notice. ‘Whither are we bound? Have they business with me or Clavijo?”’ “Clavijo.” Bembo chose to answer the last question. “‘We—you and I—will be released at the Con—at. the gate we are coming to——” “‘Who in the fiend’s name are you talking - to?” demanded the Spaniard, who had been ~ unable to understand the low whispers. “A fiend—if it likes you, Messer EOMiGdoOo <Si (S@) > -