Gerhard Bach was downright avid.
* * *
Fortunately, the abbot was sequestered in private discussion with Sister Ursula when the Schiopettieri barge arrived at the embassy in mid-afternoon. Erik thought Sachs would probably have had a fit if he'd seen eight armored knights wrestling a bombard into the Venetian vessel. Even a small one.
The knight-proctor Von Stublau did pitch a fit. But with the official authority of Sachs on his side--as attested to vehemently by Manfred and Erik--Von Gherens simply ignored Von Stublau's protestations.
"Take it up with the abbot!" snapped Von Gherens. "Better make it quick, too. We're leaving."
Fuming angrily, the Prussian knight-proctor stormed back into the embassy. Von Gherens, grinning, turned to his knights and said: "Let's go. Just in case Von Stublau develops the nerve to interrupt Sachs and Sister Ursula."
"He'd better knock first," muttered Manfred, not quite under his breath. Two of the younger knights chuckled softly. Erik frowned.
"That's in very bad taste," he growled.
"Not as bad as Sister Ursula, I'll bet," responded Manfred cheerfully. The two young knights burst into outright laughter.
Erik sighed. Once again, reproving Manfred had proven to be as useful as pouring naphtha on a bonfire. . . .
* * *
The barge carrying Erik and Manfred met up with the rest of Dorma's flotilla not far from Casa Dandelo. It was quite an impressive show of force, even before the Knights and their bombard arrived: three barges packed with Schiopettieri, and another three coming behind. The last three, to Erik's surprise, were empty except for skeleton crews. He wondered as to their purpose.
As soon as Dorma's barge came alongside, Petro hopped into Erik's vessel. The easy and nimble way he moved reminded Erik how young Lord Dorma was--not yet forty, he'd heard--for a high Venetian notable. The man's bald head, pudgy build, and judicious manner normally made him seem older.
"I'll ride the rest of the way with you," Petro announced, smiling. "I believe I should, since I'm officially in charge of this--ah, I believe we're still calling it an 'investigation.' And you'll be spearheading the--ah, I believe I'll call it an 'entry.' "
He eyed the little bombard. "Can you fire that from the bow of the boat?"
Gerhard Bach looked indignant. "Are you cra--" He broke off, coughing, as if he'd just remembered he was addressing a high-ranking Venetian official rather than a young knight-squire. "Ah, no. Sir. That'd be a very bad idea. The recoil would probably hull the barge. It's not designed to be a gun platform."
Dorma frowned. "Then how--"
"I'll figure something out," replied Bach cheerily.
Dorma shrugged. "I leave the matter in your capable hands, then." He turned to Erik. "Any questions?"
Erik looked at him uncertainly. Yes. How in the hell did you ever get the Council of Ten to agree to this--much less the Doge? But he decided that question would be impolitic. If rumor was to be believed, Dorma himself was a member of that secretive body. As for the Doge . . .
Petro coughed. "I might mention that the Doge has given me his blessing. Well. In a manner of speaking."
Again, he eyed the bombard. "I told him we needed to test a new mechanism. He was quite engrossed in his clocks at the time. I took his wave as a gesture of assent. It seemed a reasonable interpretation."
Erik nodded solemnly. It seemed a reasonable response. And less likely to get him in trouble than any words he could think of.
Manfred, as usual, suffered no such inhibitions. "Foscari'll probably have a heart attack when he finds out. On the other hand--" the big young knight swept his arm in a half-circle "--I think you're about to become the most popular official in Venice."
Erik and Dorma turned their heads, following Manfred's gesture. Erik was startled to see the size of the crowd that had already formed alongside the canal, with more and more people pouring in from little side streets. And as the flotilla passed by a small side canal, he could see that it was full of gondolas. All of them were packed with onlookers, for all the world as if they were going on a family promenade. As soon as Lord Dorma's flotilla passed the mouth of the canal, the much larger flotilla of gondolas came following behind.