Page 5

Alexis waved the suggestion away. "No. I'll see to it later."

"You want breakfast?" The boy's face brightened. "There is a place for good food three streets up. My cousin runs it. He won't cheat you if you tell him I sent you."

Alexis smiled. "Come now, he will cheat me a little."

"Maybe a little," the boy conceded. "But not more."

"That is all a man can ask." Alexis dropped a second coin into the boy's palm. "Your real name?"

"Theodoros."

"Theodoros, you are a businessman. Watch the boat for now. If any Venetian comes asking questions about her, you have never seen her, and you don't know who owns her. If a Frank comes, the same. If a Greek comes, send them to your cousin's and come find me."

Theodoros pocketed the second coin with a gravity that suggested he was pricing the risk. "Yes, kyrios."

"Good boy."

Alexis stepped onto the quay and felt the stone under his boots and the salt air in his lungs, and for the first time since he had cast off from Poveglia, he allowed himself a small smile.

Two hundred years since I came to see you. Whole generations of Byzantines had been born and buried while he had been elsewhere.

The city hadn't noticed his absence because a city like this one never noticed anyone's absence. It was a comfort. He was exactly as anonymous as he wanted and needed to be. Venice was also a crossroads of the world, but enough people knew his face there that it became problematic at times.

Alexis ran a few small errands before he found Theodoros's cousin's place. It was above a barrel-maker's, reached by an outside stair that leaned to the left more than it should.

The smell that came down the stairs was lamb fat, bread, mint, and the acrid sweetness of a good, strong coffee being prepared by someone who understood that coffee wasn't a drink but a minor religion.

He had come to Constantinople for many reasons, but this, he decided as he climbed the final step, was as good a place to start as any. People always talked freely in such establishments, and if there was any trouble in the city, it would be good to hear about it.

Inside, the room was small enough to hold perhaps fifteen patrons if the patrons were on good terms. It wasn't full yet, but there was enough that he scanned the room cautiously. Two fishermen were already drinking resinated wine at seven in the morning, which was either the end of their night or the start of a very bad day.

A pair of porters argued amicably over a game of stones played on a board drawn in chalk across the tabletop. A scribe of some sort was reading a letter and frowning.

The last patron was a man that Alexis immediately tracked and pretended not to notice, because noticing people without looking them in the eye was a skill he had been practicing for longer than most civilizations had existed.

The man was drinking mint tea from a small glass. He was perhaps fifty. He wore a dark gray coat with small silver designs embroidered at the cuffs. It was the coat that gave him away because it was expensive and stood out. Also, Alexis had a weakness for beautiful, unique coats.

His hair was long enough to tie back and streaked with silver, and his beard was trimmed close. He was reading a codex, which was another of his interesting traits. He also seemed to be reading it upside down, which was another, and he was doing it without any apparent difficulty.

Alexis took in these details as he crossed the room to an empty table near him, but out of arm's reach. He sat down with his back to the wall and didn't look at the man again.

A short, stocky youth materialized. "You are Theodoros's man? He sent a runner ahead of you."

Clever boy to warn him.

Alexis smiled. "I'm Theodoros's client," he corrected gently. "Bread, please. Whatever is on the fire. Coffee. Thank you."

"Which coffee?"

"Yours, and I will pay extra for the privilege."

The cousin, whose face until then had held the neutrality of a professional host, smiled a little. "You'll enjoy it."

"I suspect I will."

The coffee, when it arrived, was excellent. The bread was hot and had been torn, not cut, and came with a small dish of yogurt and a smaller dish of honey. There was an even smaller dish of something dark and astringent that Alexis identified by smell. It was olive paste with the stones still in it and was a test because only someone who had spent real time in the east would know not to bite down.

He smiled at the cousin, ate the paste with his fingers, and discreetly spat the stones into a napkin. The cousin refilled his coffee without being asked, which was the highest honor a Byzantine taverna-keeper could bestow upon a stranger.