It hadn’t changed much in the decade or so since Michael and Geraint had stayed in Quadri’s. The clientele certainly seemed the same: students nursing one last coffee; a cabal of down-at-the-heel artists doing likewise; some ill-disguised tourists, obviously wealthy and thus ripe for plucking by the local predators; and some off-duty officials and soldiery from the Doge’s palace, the latter confident in their uniforms, enjoying the looks of respect the foreigners gave them and behaving rather less badly perhaps than soldiers usually do in any civilized location. The place was noisy, but not rowdy, and Michael smiled as he approached the bar to pay and collect the keys to their reserved rooms.