“And so now you’re all jittery, Arco? Why?” Rita was, somehow, never so charming as when she was utterly direct. Or so it seemed to her still-infatuated husband.

“Signora Simpson, it is our last, eh, ‘fellow-traveler’ that worries me. This decision that the ambassadora Nichols sent yesterday-that we should wait for him to meet us in Chiavenna, in this crotto- this I do not like.”

“Why?” Rita persisted. “The cardi-the friar was intercepted when he arrived in the Valtelline from Austrian territory, before he had even sent word of his return to Rome. As far as Borja and the rest of Philip’s papal usurpers know, he’s still on Legation business in Vienna.”

“Yes, so it would seem. But answer me this: how did the ambassadora know where to find him? And in the middle of his journey through the Alps?”

“She has sources who were intimately-and officially — familiar with the friar’s estimated progress and itinerary.”

In that moment, the full cleverness of Arcangelo Severi was revealed for a split-second: his eyes were as clear and sharp as a mousing cat’s. “Yes, I…see,” he confirmed for himself and everyone else with a tight little nod: he had pronounced “see” as “See.” As in “Holy See.”

Damn it, from just that one little tidbit of data-that Sharon has officially reliable sources on the probable actions of the cardinal-Arco figured that we’ve got Pope Urban stashed near Padua with the rest of the embassy staff that high-tailed it out of Rome when the Spanish invaded. Pretty clever “guide,” we’ve got. Easy to underestimate, too. Which makes him doubly valuable to the Cavriani, I’ll bet. Tom leaned back, the last of the black cherry-and-game soup reflecting up like inky blood from the reservoir of his large spoon. “So, Arco, does knowing the source of the ambassador’s knowledge make you a little less worried?”