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on guard.”
    “He must be annoyed,” said di Santo-Germano; the Captain was his guest in appreciation for the Captain’s successful completion of the Galley of Beirut without loss of cargo or crew.
    “He is indignant more than annoyed, and his ire is directed at Euchario. The Captain seems determined to talk to the Collegio to assure them of your worthiness,” Ruggier said. “I told him he’d serve you better by making sure Euchario stays in his room.”
    “You’re probably right,” said di Santo-Germano. “The Collegio might not like what they discover about Captain Gozzoli if they inquire too closely about him. The armed men he carries on the South Wind are as much corsairs as guards, and their Commander, Sereno Guilherme, is as eager for loot as any Ottomite.”
    “But Commander Guilherme and his men are Venezian corsairs,” Ruggier reminded him.
    Di Santo-Germano smiled faintly. “That does make a difference.”
    “The Collegio certainly thinks so,” said Ruggier drily. “But Arcangelo Gozzoli would still be a poor advocate, I fear.”
    “No doubt you’re right.” Di Santo-Germano turned his back on the window. “Have all the shutters opened. There is a little breeze and it may help to cool the house.”
    “As you wish,” said Ruggier, aware that their discussion was over.
    “And tell Captain Gozzoli that I will be down shortly. I want to change into my Hungarian doublet and trunk-hose—they are less imposing than this, and cooler.”
    “Will you want my assistance?” Ruggier asked.
    “Only as I leave my apartments,” said di Santo-Germano. “I may not have everything straight.”
    “I will attend to that when you wish,” said Ruggier.
    Di Santo-Germano shook his head. “It is occasions like this that makes my lack of reflection inconvenient.”
    “You manage well, in spite of all,” said Ruggier.
    “Habit,” said di Santo-Germano. “But there is no substitute for your keen eyes.”
    “Perhaps,” Ruggier allowed, and left the study, bound for the lower parts of the house.
    Di Santo-Germano set the note from Ambrogio under a leather-bound book on Mediterranean ports, then went out of his study, toward his own apartments on the east side of the house. As he walked, he reviewed what he knew of his servants, making mental notes to be more alert to their various activities. Once in his apartments, he locked the door before unfastening the two brooches that held back the sleeves of his dogaline, then he removed it, next he took off his doublet, then his short, French-style round-hose. Standing in his leggings and camisa, he went to the largest chest—a fine piece of furniture of polished oak that matched the other, smaller chests, and the upholstered chairs—and took out a broad-sleeved Hungarian doublet in black, thick cotton, and black cotton deep-pleated trunk-hose; these he donned, and then took a narrow, Polish-style ruff from an upper drawer of the chest, fixing it around his neck and securing the laces. Last, he removed the diamond clips from his garters and placed them, along with his brooches, in a small case; he carried this into the second room of his apartments, his bedroom, which was Spartan in its simplicity: a single small chest and a narrow bed set atop another chest, with only a single blanket to cover the canvas mattress. A high, narrow window provided what light there was. Di Santo-Germano put the case in the second drawer of the small chest, then left the room, unlocked the door of the outer room, and left his apartments again.
    Ruggier met him at the top of the stairs. “You are impeccable,” he informed di Santo-Germano after a quick look over his garments.
    “Thank you,” said di Santo-Germano, adding in the language of Delhi, “Best to keep to the vernacular; too many foreign words, and we become more suspect than before. You and I will have to be especially careful until we know whom among this household is spying on us.”
    “I understand,” said Ruggier