Stone's Fall

He leaned forward, so that his face was close to mine.

'What are you in your dreams, when no one is there? What do you do in this city, which you have persuaded yourself is just a dream? How many people are you lying to now?'

I glared at him, and he chuckled. 'You forget, my friend, that I am in your dreams as well.'

'I don't know what you mean,' I said stiffly. I found that I could not answer him properly.

'Standing by a window? You don't understand it. Why didn't you turn and ask me? I could have answered, you know. I was there, you know I was. I could have told you everything.'

'How do you know about that?'

'I told you, I see everything.'

'That was just a dream.'

He shook his head. 'There are no such things as dreams. Do you want to know more? Ask, if you wish. I can save you, but you must ask. Otherwise you will cause terrible hurt to others.'

'No,' I said, abruptly enough for my fear to shine through all too obviously.

He nodded his head and smiled gently. 'You may change your mind,' he replied softly. 'And thanks to the good doctor, you will know where to find me, for the time being. But you must hurry; I will not be here for long.'

I rose and left without another word. He, meanwhile, sat on his little chair and picked up a book. When I closed the door I leaned with my back against it and closed my eyes.

'Not in a talking mood? Or did you think better of it?' It was Marangoni, standing exactly where I had left him.

'What? No; we talked for a long time.'

'But you have only been in there a minute or two.'

I stared at him.

He pointed at the clock. It was two minutes past three. I had been in that room for slightly more than a minute.

CHAPTER 15

That evening I had my first proper conversation with Arnsley Drennan. I had talked to him before, of course, but never alone, and he never said very much. He was a strange man; he seemed to need no one, but would frequently dine with us. Perhaps even his self-sufficiency needed a rest, on occasion. He was the obvious choice for me at that moment; I needed quite badly to talk to someone normal, rational and calm, who could point out that my afternoon with Signor Casanova had been all complete nonsense. Drennan, who gave off an air of solid good sense, could be relied on not to gossip about it afterwards.

I hadn't planned a conversation with him; it came about by chance, as he and I were the only two people to show up for dinner that night. Longman had one of his rare reports to write as Consul; Cort, fortunately, hardly ever came nowadays, Macintyre and Marangoni were also absent. We ate our fish – Macintyre was correct there, it always was fish and I was starting to get a little tired of it – more or less in silence, then he suggested a coffee down the road in more salubrious surroundings.

'Have you seen Cort recently?' I asked. 'I haven't seen him for some time . . .'

'I ran into him yesterday, poor man. He's in a bad way; he really should go back to England. It would be quite easy for him to do so. But I am afraid he is quite obsessed now. He sees it as a matter of honour to finish this job of his.'

Then bit by bit, as we drank more brandy, I told him about Signor Casanova. He was interested; or at least, I think he was. Drennan was one of those men whose expression never changed very much. But he listened quietly and attentively.

'I can't say I know much about madness,' he said. 'I have come across men driven mad by fear, or by horror, but that is a different sort of insanity.'

'How so?'

'Modern warfare,' he said. 'As you may have guessed already, I was a soldier. I saw many things I did not wish to see, and which will be hard to forget.'

'You fought for the Confederates?'

'Yes. And we lost.' He shrugged to dismiss the subject from his mind.

'So you are an exile? A strange place to choose, if I may say so.'

He glanced at me, then smiled slightly. 'So it would be, if that was why I was here. Well,' he continued, 'maybe I should tell you. Why not? It is all history now. Have you heard of the Alabama?'

I looked at him. 'The warship? Of course I've heard of it . . . Does this have anything to do with Macintyre?'

It was his turn to look surprised. 'How do you know that?'

'I made enquiries.'

'I'm impressed. Truly I am. What else do you know about Mr Macintyre?'

'That he is not wanted back in England at the moment.'

He stared at me in astonishment, the first time I had ever seen any sort of strong emotion pass on his face. I felt quite pleased with myself.

'And who else knows of this?'

'In Venice, you mean? No one. Signor Ambrosian of the Banca di Santo Spirito seems to think he is here because he stole a lot of money. Why do you ask?'

'Because it is my job to protect him.'

'From whom?'