Read Online Black Bridge by Edward Sklepowich - Free Book Online Page A

you’re coming to closing night tomorrow. We’d miss you, wouldn’t we, Barbarina?” He smiled up at the Contessa. “I always have one special person in the audience to act for. Of course, it will be Barbara, but if you’re there, too, it will be an added inspiration.”
    â€œOf course he’ll come! And afterward we’ll have a nightcap at the Ca’ da Capo,” the Contessa said before going off to join Oriana and Flint, who were paging through a book on Venetian jewelry.
    Festa, who was standing close enough to the table to have heard this interchange, picked up the Baron Corvo’s Desire and Pursuit of the Whole , opened it at random, and started to read with furious attention. After assuring Bobo that he would try to make the closing performance, Urbino joined Festa.
    â€œImpossible book!” she said with more animosity for the eccentric novel of Venice than seemed warranted. “My English isn’t up to it—or my patience!”
    She slammed the book down.
    â€œA strange book, I admit,” Urbino said, wondering if it was in his power to calm the woman down before she turned over the whole display, “but I’ve grown to like it. He’s buried over on San Michele. His real name was Frederick Rolfe. He wasn’t a real baron, you know.”
    Involuntarily they looked at Bobo. Moss had taken advantage of Bobo’s momentary solitary state to have a few private words with him. Quimper stood alone against a bookshelf, watching Bobo and Moss with acute anxiety.
    â€œBobo’s a real barone, though,” Festa said. “For what that’s worth. Excuse me. I must go.”
    One of the owners of the bookshop came over to Urbino with copies of his books and asked him to inscribe them. They talked about Ruskin as Urbino guardedly watched Moss and the Barone. Moss was saying something to him. The Barone stiffened, looked intensely into Moss’s face, and said something in his turn. Moss answered back. Then they both looked at the Contessa. The Barone stood up abruptly as Moss walked toward her. Before he could reach her, however, Quimper grabbed his sleeve in passing and they retired against one of the bookshelves.
    Suddenly Oriana gave a little cry. She and Flint were looking at a sheet of paper in her hand. The Contessa snatched it away and stuck it into the book on jewelry and clapped the book shut. She looked over at Urbino, who excused himself and joined her.
    â€œHe’s struck again!” Urbino would almost have laughed at the Contessa’s exclamation except for the pained look on her face. “Another threat! The same as the others. Oriana found it on the bookshelf. Oh, Urbino! I thought you were going to put a stop to all this!”
    14
    An hour later Urbino and Flint were in the library of the Palazzo Uccello. On the way from the bookshop, they had talked about the latest threat, coming to no conclusions. But now Flint’s interest was obviously only for the little palazzo.
    He appreciatively took in the rows of books, the paintings, the refectory table, and the dark wood confessional where Urbino’s cat Serena was napping. Then he noticed the collection of sixteenth-century Venetian books. He examined them closely.
    â€œI know someone who would give you a small fortune for these. If you’re ever interested in selling any of them, let me know,” Flint said slowly, prolonging every single vowel.
    Flint seemed to be the kind of Southerner who thought he could charm the world if he only drawled. It had much the opposite effect on Urbino, who was, however, perhaps unfairly prejudiced against the handsome man on this point, as on others. Urbino, with probably just as much deliberation as Flint, had made a contrary effort to banish his own New Orleans accent.
    â€œI wouldn’t sell the least of them. They’re a gift,” Urbino said.
    â€œFrom Barbara, of course. Yes, women are sensitive when it comes