He was certain it was the devil with whom he warred, though anyone watching closely could easily misunderstand what drove him. They would see a beautiful woman and assume he was driven by his baser urges. But they would be wrong. He had simply devised an original strategy for fighting Satan. And since he was a man of few words, beholden to few, he set his plans in motion without the need to explain himself to others. He was God’s Dragon, a powerful, mythical thing driven by his need to serve God. There was no reason he could not do it all.
Prove himself.
Save the woman.
And defeat Satan. All at the same time.
His man, Icarus, knew some of his plans, out of necessity, but it was likely he had no notion as to his master’s reasons for them. The little man simply moved about Venice unnoticed,doing Gaspar’s bidding. If he wondered at his master’s motives, he would have his curiosity settled soon enough.
As God’s Dragon, Gaspar had acquired enough wealth over the past decade to rival the treasure of that legendary beast for which he was named. So it was not surprising when his preparations were completed in a matter of days instead of months.
The iron worker, Ferro, had been quick to do Gaspar’s bidding. He and his men had taken an elaborate rood screen commissioned for the new St. Mark’s church and with it, were able to fill Gaspar’s requirements immediately. The new church was still under construction and there was time enough for another screen to be forged. The second screen would still be an original, since the first would be changed to fit Gaspar’s requirements. Only the artwork would be similar. And few souls would ever lay eyes upon the first screen, let alone complain.
Oh, there would be complaining, but not about the design. He imagined a fiery-haired Scotswoman would have plenty to complain about the moment she laid eyes upon the work of art.
Gaspar finished his simple supper just as the famous iron worker knocked upon the door of hisstanza privata. Gaspar bid him enter, then gestured for the man to speak.
Ferro’s eyes were drawn to the white scar and froze there. “It is finished, Signore Dragotti.”
Gaspar nodded, but said nothing, for fear his excitement might reveal too much to the workman.
“So,” the man said, as if searching for a topic that might engage Gaspar in conversation. He forced himself to look away from the scar, but his attention quickly returned.
God’s Dragon frowned. “You have been paid.” It was not a question.
The man’s head bobbed.“Si, mio signore.”
“Paid enough to forget the screen ever existed.”
“Si, mio signore.”
“I suggest, Signore Ferro, you do not allow the devil to tempt you to remember.”
“Si! Si, mio signore!”
Gaspar turned his attention back to the parchment before him. After a moment, Ferro backed toward the door, though as far as the man knew, God’s Dragon had already forgotten he existed. And if he were waiting for praise, well… Gaspar was not foolish enough to examine the creation while standing beside a worker who might question its purpose.
Icarus shuffled into the room as soon as the first man had gone. Gaspar waved a hand for the servant to take his tray away. He’d been too distracted with his plans to eat, and yet he was not hungry. Another victory over the temptations of the flesh, he thought, without any effort at all.
“You remember your orders for tomorrow?” he asked the little man.
“Si, mio signore. I will have the second boat ready. Just where you said.”
“Fine, then. You may go.”
In his usual exercise in self-control, he waited one hour, then another, before he allowed himself to go inspect the work. First, he chose to prove to the devil—if he were watching—that Gaspar Dragotti was no slave to desire. Second, he would not give the iron workers the satisfaction of seeing the window light up at the top of the tower the moment their boat was away. If he showed any pleasure in their fabrication, they would no doubt tell others of their custom work for The Patriarch’s Investigator. And the last thing he wanted was for someone to come to his private island unannounced, expecting to have a good look at the work in question.
It would be best for everyone if the iron workers put this commission behind them and looked toward the next—a feat noartist could manage if they might find praise in a work already completed. Had he not seen the same in Michelangelo?
Another hour passed before Gaspar took a single candle up the tower steps. Each stair built the excitement in his breast until, when he reached the landing and opened the door, he thought his heart might burst.
He should have paid Ferro more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Isobelle sat abruptly in her bed.
Had someone knocked upon her door, or had it been a dream? Was it only an echo in her sleepy mind of the knocking two nights before?
