Venice, that night, at the opera

Though the season had not officially started, the boxes and pit of La Fenice were very nearly filled. This, James was aware, was partly because Rossini's popular La Gazza Ladra was being performed and partly because Francesca Bonnard and her friends occupied one of the most expensive of the theater's four tiers of boxes. As many people were looking up at her box as were looking at the stage.

And, this being Italy, many other people were doing neither.

As he well knew, Italian theaters were a different species from those in England. In Italy, theaters were social centers. To accommodate sociable theatergoers, the stairs and refreshment rooms were enormous. The vast foyers had been used until very recently for gambling. Now, with gambling forbidden, theatergoers were reduced to playing backgammon.

During the season, the educated classes attended the theater four or five times a week. Since this was a home away from home, the boxes were large as well, many of them furnished like drawing rooms and used in much the same way. From some, one could barely see the stage.

During the performance, people ate, drank, and talked. They played at cards, flirtation, and seduction. Servants went in and out. The opera or play provided background color and music, for the most part.

But at certain important times in the performance — the start of a favorite aria, for instance — the audience became hushed, and attended with all its might.

Such a hush was not in progress as James entered the box where Francesca Bonnard held court. Several parties on stage were screeching and bellowing something or other to which no one was paying the slightest heed.

No one paid James any heed, either. He appeared to be merely one of the several wigged and liveried servants going in and out with this or that: food, wine, a shawl. Playing a servant was easy. Those they served took little notice of them. He might stab the crown prince of Gilenia in the neck in front of a dozen witnesses, and later, not one of those witnesses would be able to identify James as the killer. No one would remember what kind of wig or livery he wore.

He was certain of this, having done away with two pieces of human slime under similar conditions.

Lurenze, however, was merely in the way. Since, given the lady's reputation, one must expect a male — or several — to be in the way, James preferred the obstacle to be young and not overly intelligent. The French Count Magny, with the advantages of age and experience — which included not losing his head, literally, during the Terror or thereafter — might have proved a more serious obstacle.

James's attention shifted from the golden-haired boy to the harlot beside him. They sat at the front of the box, Lurenze in the seat of honor at her right. He'd turned in his seat to gaze worshipfully at her. She, facing the stage, pretended not to notice the adoration.