Blaine continued, grimly. "A man was writing to Kurt, letters and poems. Kurt permitted it for a while and then asked that he stop, saying that he could never return such feelings. I am certain it is he, who else would hate Kurt enough to kill?"
Finn was looking at him in utter confusion. "Are you certain? Kurt never mentioned anybody pursuing him enough to make him concerned, and no sane man would kill over rejected letters."
Blaine laughed shortly. "Somebody as beautiful and fascinating as Kurt, do you believe he could not inspire such a passion? I would die for him, perhaps he drove another man to this by rejecting him, either killing him to punish him or so that no other might possess Kurt."
"Most men who are rejected do not kill." Finn's expression was even more full of doubt than before.
"Then this man is insane." Blaine rose from his chair, uneasy at the way that Finn was rejecting his deduction.
"Wait, Blaine. If this man were insane, surely he would have made some further attempt to pursue Kurt after he asked him to stop writing? Have tried to lay hands on Kurt?"
"He did not have the opportunity. Kurt only wrote to him."
Finn tilted his head and looked at Blaine as if he were the madman. "You believe that this man was simultaneously so maddened with passion or hatred that he would kill, but at the same time, he made no objection, did not come to the house or opera theater to press his suit or to threaten Kurt?"
Blaine felt his belief deflate with each word. He wanted so much to believe that he had found the source of the attack and serve as Kurt's avenger and protector. "It does sound far-fetched," he admitted, slowly, resuming his seat. "But who else would harm him?"
Finn asked, slowly, while taking a cloth to squeeze water into Kurt's mouth. "What of Karofsky? He often muttered threats about teaching Kurt a lesson, that a castrato who tries to seduce men should not take on the airs of a man."
Blaine considered it a moment. Karofsky was another man Kurt had rejected and if Kurt were ever to say that Karofsky had tried to kiss him, it would be an embarrassment, even if only a handful believed Kurt. To that extent, Kurt was a threat. But by now Karofsky would have realized that Kurt had not spoken and as time lapsed, he was less and less likely to speak. But somehow he could not imagine Karofsky striking at Kurt thus. "Perhaps, but would a man like that attack from behind, in a crowd, with a glass dagger? He seemed more intent on humiliating Kurt and if he were to attack him, it would be more likely in a fit of rage or in his cups." He had also seen Karofsky nearly applaud Kurt for his courage in returning to the stage in Orfeo. There had been no anger or hatred in Karofsky's face then.
"He has also said or done little against Kurt lately," Finn sighed. "If it were not that Kurt were unmasked and so difficult to mistake for another, I should think he were attacked in error."
"But he was not, and we must protect him." Blaine turned sharply to see Mercedes looking at them both with folded arms.
He rose and gestured Mercedes to his seat, but she walked past him to sit on the other side of the bed. "My boy is no better this morning?" She brushed her hand against Kurt's cheek and then bent to kiss his brow.
"No," Finn shook his head. "He is unchanged, but that, at least, may be good news." He looked at Mercedes seriously. "We know you love him dearly, but leave finding his attacker and avenging him to men, Mercedes, this is no work for women."
She stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. "I will forget that you said that provided that you never say it again." Her voice became brisk again as she addressed both Finn and Blaine. "I heard you rule out a rejected lover and a prejudiced boor and I agree. Remember, my friends, this was an assassination attempt in Venice, not on an opera stage or in a ballad. A glass dagger in a crowd suggests a man accustomed to killing, perhaps even a professional who knew how to approach, attack, and leave unnoticed."
Her straightforward statements sparked other ideas in Blaine's head. "And attacking in a crowd in daylight, that suggests some urgency. To ask an assassin to take that much risk suggests somebody who could pay."
"Somebody powerful, but not powerful enough to successfully denounce him to the Council of Ten as an enemy of the state." Mercedes frowned in thought at she spoke.
Blaine dripped a little more water into Kurt's mouth as he thought. The Council was infamous for quietly disposing of suspected enemies of the state—or personal enemies of its members—in the canals, as disguised accidents or attacks by robbers. "Or who could not denounce him for fear that the denunciation might be used against him."
"So then," she concluded, "Kurt must present some threat or block some desired opportunity for somebody wealthy and powerful, yet not a member of the Council or an intimate of its members, or a close enough intimate to be able to denounce without questions. Finn, you know your brother's finances well enough. Does he hold any secret debts?"
"No, Kurt prefers to keep his money savings in gold and jewels, in case he or we should ever need to flee. He would not buy debts, and I am sure that as a creditor, he would deal only with friends and be generous." Finn paused to think. "The theater has insured his life, I believe, but no huge amount, he is worth far more to them alive and able to sing."
Blaine had not thought of that angle, but as Venice's leading castrato and a fierce negotiator, Kurt was earning a fortune. Men could kill over ducats, let alone wealth. "At the theater, who would take his roles if he should die or be unable to sing?"
Finn shook his head in response to Blaine's question. "Most likely Senesino, perhaps Marchesi, Vittori? But they are all in great demand elsewhere, they would not need to take such a risk."
Mercedes added, "Siface was the theater's other choice for a lead castrato, but he went to England instead. Perhaps if he had lived after returning to Italy he might have wanted to replace Kurt, but he could hardly do so from the grave." She sighed. "Such cruelty, greed, and false pride. That is why I have such a terror of marriage, there are only a few men I would trust." Siface had been murdered for refusing to end his affair with an aristocratic young widow. Her brothers, the Marchesi Marsili, had him murdered and were exiled for it. They claimed it was to avenge the family honor, while others said that it was rage that Siface defied and laughed at them, and still others that they feared the young, wealthy widow would spend her money on enjoying life with her lover, rather than leaving it to them and their families.
"And Kurt's sponsors?" Kurt's rivals at the great theater would have no need for money, but the favor of a wealthy patron might be easier for a rising singer or a lesser one to grasp.
Finn shook his head. "There are many, but they are all so wealthy that their giving to Kurt does not preclude their supporting others. The Duca of Este, when he visits Venice, he patronizes twenty singers, at least, and the others each give to at least six or seven. It would hardly seem worth the risk."
Mercedes looked thoughtful, "There are many other singers who dislike him and would gladly see him humiliated or his career ended, but not enough to pay an assassin, I should imagine, or to take the risk themselves."
"Then we know nothing." Blaine had at least felt more alive when discussing the possibilities, but now worry sat more heavily on his shoulders than ever. He squeezed a few more drops of water into Kurt's mouth.
"Did he move his head a little just then?" Mercedes almost pushed Blaine out of the way to see Kurt more closely. Blaine put his finger to the pulse in Kurt's throat but could feel no difference, but a moment later, Kurt unmistakably turned his head a little to the side.
"Is he waking up?" To see Kurt's eyes open, to look into them as he had feared he might never again on this earth, to see a smile or hear a word from him, if he could hope for this...Blaine felt tears in his eyes.
Mercedes went to the door and called for a servant to summon Burt and another to send for the physician immediately. As Blaine watched, Kurt seemed to sigh and his arm moved a few inches. Mercedes knelt to pray and Burt came into the room, his face still alarmingly grey, but his eyes more alive than they had been for days.
Finn all but babbled, "He hasn't woken up yet, but he moved, it looks as though now he's sleeping, sleeping naturally, he seems to be breathing more easily, we all saw his arm move and he turned his head a little." Burt sank into the chair and, clasping his son's hand to his heart, leaned to kiss his forehead. Kurt stirred a little, so slightly that a casual glance would not have detected it, and sighed again.
When the physician arrived, he smiled in relief. "I cannot promise, my friends, that he will live, that is in the hands of The Merciful, but it seems more likely now." As he changed the bandages, he examined the injury and then ran his hand lightly over Kurt's long ribs. "Ah, I believe I see it now. In an ordinary man, the angle of the dagger would have been through the lung to the heart. But you see, a castrato's build is different, the ribs are longer and wider, thus, and so the rib deflected the blade. It still cut deep and cost him much blood, but the only organ it wounded was the liver. Now, I can say that I truly believe that while he is not entirely out of danger, I believe he will live." He took two small bottles from his bag. "When he does awaken, he will be in pain. Give him ten drops of this in water, no more often than every four hours. It will ease the pain and make him sleep. Give him a mix of water and juice, as much as he can stomach, when he is awake." He took a folded paper that held a grainy dried paste. "Mix this with honey and spread it on the wound morning and night. If the wound begins to turn red or swell or smell foul, smear all of it on and send for me immediately."
"There is nothing more?" Finn looked almost belligerent and Blaine shared his doubts. During his rare and minor illnesses, he had been bled and given at least ten different pills and tonics. Surely Kurt needed more than that.
"I prefer to use only what medications are entirely necessary when a patient has lost so much blood and when nature appears to have taken charge of the healing."
Burt intervened. "It sounds wise, as Kurt was healthy and strong before. During my own illness, I received little medicine and I recovered."
When the physician left, Burt addressed Blaine, "You have been here without a rest these last three days. I want you now to go to your own home, since your parents must wish to see you." He smiled affectionately. "I know you wish to stay with Kurt, but when things like this happen, all parents worry, no matter how irrationally, and nothing eases their fears like having their child under their own eyes." Blaine wanted to protest but as gentle as his smile was, Burt's eyes were adamant, and Blaine reluctantly left, taking a gondola to avoid the crowd that waited in the square for news.
At home, his father looked at him and asked, "So Hummel has died, then?" He added, gently, "I am sorry that it grieves you."
Blaine realized that the exhaustion and grief of the last few days had left more marks on him than the recent relief. "No, no, thanks be to God, he begins to recover." He remembered neglected duties and continued, "I will have a hundred masses said in thanksgiving."
"Better not to be presumptuous in the eyes of God, it may not yet be his will for Hummel to live. Too, if you have the masses said and he dies, you would look foolish." Blaine's exhaustion did not permit the anger that he would have expressed, and he merely said, "With your leave, I will go rest."
His father waved a hand in permission and Blaine, without even allowing his manservant to help him undress, collapsed on his bed. Within moments, he was asleep. He woke shortly after with a nightmare of Siface's murder. His carriage was ambushed and he was dragged from it. Despite his struggles, the four murderers beat him to death. When Blaine managed to sleep again, the nightmare seemed to repeat endlessly, with variations, as though it were a musical theme. Sometimes Siface's face was Kurt's, sometimes the murderers seemed utterly unknown, and yet other times, he recognized their forms and movements under their disguising cloaks but could not put names to them. When his manservant woke him for dinner, he felt uneasy, though at least somewhat more rested.
To his relief, his parents spoke little of Kurt as they dined together, His mother said that she would keep Kurt in her prayers and his father expressed his approval. His father also said that he had told the Bon family that Blaine had been just outside Venice visiting an old teacher who had fallen seriously ill.
"Why would you say that instead of the truth?"
"My dear boy, the attack on Hummel and the rumors about it are the talk of the town. If word got out that you have been with him without rest for the last three days, you would not be able to stir without being besieged by questions, and I would not have had your anxiety increased." He gazed earnestly into Blaine's eyes. "A few lies are permissible to a father whose purpose for the deception is his son's peace of mind."
Blaine had not expected such understanding and answered, gratefully, "Thank you, father. Nobody could hold that against you and I apologize for sounding as though I accused you."
"I am glad you see it thus." His father, seemingly impulsively, pressed Blaine's hand.
His sleep that night was equally restless, although this time he could not remember the nightmares, only the fear of some hidden, lurking danger. He dressed and left to see Kurt. As he arrived, he was astonished to find Handel and Susanna leaving in the same gondola, Handel's arm about her shoulders. The water carried Handel's voice. "So, you see, you need not burn the theater to the ground as his funeral pyre."
"Be silent, beef barrel, and make better use of your mouth."
Blaine hurriedly turned his head so he could not see them kissing one another. At least he had the pleasure of imagining Kurt's face as he shared this piece of news.
Kurt was dozing when he entered the bedroom, with Mercedes and Rachel watching. They told him that Kurt had woken up three times, disoriented and in pain, but awake. Finn, Burt, and Carole were resting. Rachel excused herself a few moments afterward, saying that she wanted to make sure that Finn was indeed resting.
Mercedes looked Blaine up and down. "You look better, but not yet entirely yourself."
"I do not think that I can be, until he is recovered." Mercedes herself was only barely recognizable as the dark goddess of Venice, her eyes red and puffy, her hair and dress disordered, her pose speaking of weariness and grief rather than pride.
She watched Kurt again and then smiled, reminiscently. "Did I ever tell you, or did he, of how passionately I loved him when we first met?" Blaine shook his head and she continued. "I heard him sing and was enraptured, but thought him enclosed in ice. Then when he spoke to his brother, I saw impishness and affection and knew that he was no ice prince. I pursued him and because he responded to my invitations with his and gladly took my arm as we walked, I thought he was responsive to my charms, but not ready to speak of it." She laughed a little. "Poor boy, he had no idea even that such thoughts were in my head. When I finally invited him into my bed and he realized it was not to share a nap, his face. Have you ever seen him blush?" She chuckled again at the memory. "I was so enraged at the thought that he was refusing me, but I am thankful now that we became friends, lasting friends. I think, perhaps, the reason I pursued him so was that some part of me knew that he was entirely safe, that he would never become jealous or possessive, never seek control over me or my wealth, never want more than I would freely give." She sighed, "I would accept an offer for my hand only under those conditions, however much I want a family and children."
"You are true to yourself. As he is." Blaine sighed. "And as I fear I am not."
"What do you mean?"
Blaine explained his family's plans for his marriage and how he felt he must yield. Mercedes listened with sympathy and they sat in companionable silence, holding one another's hands. Kurt woke with a quiet murmur that made Blaine ache with tenderness and he helped Kurt drink, stroking his cheek with shaking hands. Kurt's eyes focused on him for a moment but he was asleep again before he could speak, and Blaine settled him back on the pillows.
Samuel came in, bearing a small folded packet. "The servant gave this too me, he was unable to read it." He squinted and said, "I have difficulty with the writing myself, perhaps you, Blaine?" He gave him the packet and, kissing Mercedes' cheek, sat down and put his hand on Kurt's.
The packet held a white powder and a note from the physician. "To assist in his recovery, give him one large spoonful of this in water each hour." Blaine frowned. It made no sense to him, the physician had spoken against tonics and called in the early afternoon each day. When he explained this to Samuel, the other man's eyes widened.
"Give that to me, then. I wish to be certain of something." Blaine handed it over and Samuel left the room. Santana and Brittany appeared a few moments later, just as Sam returned.
Sam remained standing and addressed them all. "I, well, I soaked a few grains of the powder in water and put it on a piece of bread. The powder, it worried me, after what Blaine said. I went out and found a duck and fed it the bread. Since the note said to give Kurt a large spoonful, I figured a few grains would be about right for a duck." He paused, "Only a minute after I gave it the bread, it died."
Blaine felt as though time and his thought had slowed to motionlessness. He was only barely aware that Brittany's eyes filled with tears and Santana squeezed her shoulders. "All is well for the duck now, Because he gave his life for Kurt, he went right to duck heaven."
"That is so, he even smiled as he died," Samuel added his reassurances, and then met Blaine's eyes, gravely.
Santana told them that she would be back after she had helped Brittany plan a funeral for the duck, and walked out slowly, muttering something under her breath.
"Somebody must have thought that Kurt was not dying quickly enough," Mercedes almost whispered.
"Or known that he was recovering." Sam was staring straight ahead. "But who knows that, other than than his friends? Nobody who has been admitted would have the least reason to harm him." Blaine added grimly, "And if it were a servant, it would be far easier to add poison to the water we have been giving Kurt."
In an instant, he remembered his dream and bent forward, gasping, trying to drive away the realization. A powerful and wealthy enemy. Not able to ask the Council of Ten to remove an enemy, because the reason was an embarrassment. Who needed Kurt removed quickly. And who, unlike nearly anybody else in Venice, knew that Kurt was recovering. Whatever part of his mind regulated his dreams must have been trying to warn him with the repeated nightmares about Siface, murdered for a perversion of the concept of honor. Blaine tried to say, "My parents," but only gagged. Mercedes, acting quickly, thrust the basin under his mouth as he retched and vomited, as though his body sought to reject what his mind could not.