IT WAS MIDDAY BEFORE WE LEFT the casa and boarded the gondola. Unlike the day we attended the execution, Giaconda eschewed the felze and sat in the bow. As instructed, I sat beside her, wrapped in my woollen cape and with my mask firmly secured over the upper half of my face. I had been taught exactly how to sit, to look straight ahead and resist the urge to turn my head. We were on display.
Hafeza and another servant, a young girl named Rosalina, a kitchen drab garbed in one of my old dresses so as to look like a lady’s maid, perched themselves atop the felze near Salzi, who was rowing, facing towards us. They too remained very still. We presented quite a picture, four women, our dresses fanned against the shiny adamantine surface of the craft, and the tall, elegant boatman with his navy blue coat, his white shirt contrasting with the sun-kissed flesh of his face, his fine hose and straw hat with the striped ribbon that whipped the back of his neck.
We passed by other gondolas carrying a mix of passengers or bearing fruit, vegetables and a range of saleable wares. The gondoliers maintained a constant stream of chatter, calling out when a bank of fog descended so as to avoid collision. One craft glided very close and I caught a brief glimpse of a rather lined face peering out of the window of the felze. On spying us, it withdrew with a noise of disgust and drew the shutter across swiftly.
‘Pretend you didn’t notice,’ said Giaconda, her lips barely moving. ‘That’s simply Nobile Maggiore’s mother. Her kind does not stand the likes of you or me. They think if they do not see us, we can’t exist. She will be most displeased that she’s set eyes upon us and thus confirmed our presence.’ She gave a small laugh. Beneath her bravado, I could sense resentment. She too was the daughter of a nobile, but begotten on a courtesan, therefore she would never be embraced by her father’s peers. It was so strange that though she was a Maleovelli, she would never be truly admitted to the circles her father occupied.
The irony was that, as a courtesan, she had so much more freedom than the daughters and wives of Nobile Maggiore, of the other nobiles’ wives and daughters. Below the mask, her chin had taken on a determined jut and her mouth was fixed in a smile. Even this freedom exacted a toll.
That hadn’t occurred to me before. It wasn’t so much that Giaconda didn’t care, it was that she couldn’t afford to. Like me, she was forever an outsider. I wanted to reach out and let Giaconda know that I, of all people, understood. But I knew she would pull away. If I was to succeed as a courtesan in these circumstances then I could not care about her either. That she made it easy didn’t placate me. I quashed my sorrow at the thought.
A large arch emerged out of the mist and, and we passed under the Ponte della Pensieri, the main bridge connecting the Ridotto to the Barnabotti Sestiere. Crowds of people jostled against the sides, many looking down upon us. There were cries of ‘Bellissima!’ Something fell into the gondola and I almost leapt from my seat in fright.
‘Steady,’ said Giaconda, placing a hand on my knee.
To my astonishment, two long-stemmed roses lay at the bottom of the boat. Melon-coloured petals were strewn across the seat. Hafeza slid off the felze and picked them up. A few more had missed the gondola and landed in the water, becoming floating tributes to Giaconda, to me – to what we represented. Serenissians loved their courtesans.
The mist clung to us with damp purpose, adding to the weight of our clothes, making me bitterly cold. The air was so still, a precursor to the snow that would later flutter and fall. Just as my teeth began to chatter and I’d lost the feeling in the end of my nose, we finally turned off the Circolo Canal and into one of the bigger waterways that also sliced through the city. Here too elegant, multi-storey casas with their arched windows and engraved facades loomed above us, appearing – impossibly – to float on the dark green waters. Craft lined the sides of the canal, canvas covers securely in place, bobbing against their palines. It was almost mesmerising watching Salzi’s oar split the water, hearing snatches of song, voices, the thump of cargo, the slap of waves and the cheer of happy men. The further we went, the noisier it became, and I realised with growing excitement that we were heading for the mercato, the major marketplace of Serenissima – a place I’d heard so much about, but never before visited. I leant forward, willing the gondola to go faster as anticipation surged through me.
Salzi steered carefully, weaving us through the now heavy traffic. I forgot my earlier instructions not to twist my head and instead looked in every direction.
There were hundreds of gondolas drifting, bumping and pushing past each other. Some rested against water-stairs, emptying their passengers onto the fondamenta. Others aimed for little jetties, remaining still long enough to either take on people or offload them. The cold disappeared in the warmth of chatter, laughter, and human enterprise.
In moments, we were out of the gondola and on the fondamenta ourselves. My zoccoli, which were at least fifteen inches high, enabled me to see in all directions. Domed by the grey blanket of mist that hovered a respectable distance above us, the mercato spread out in an explosion of colour and sound.
It was a series of wide calles, lined by two-and three-storey casas that leant together like conspirators, blocking the light, while below them occupying every square inch of space were stalls, with vendors behind, beside and in front of them shouting the benefits of their wares. Women with baskets over their arms argued with the men and fondled the fruits and other produce, adding to the din. We pushed through the crowd, Hafeza and Rosalina in front, Giaconda beside me and Salzi bringing up the rear.
Moving slowly through the throng, we encountered dirty urchins, giggling at their game, scurrying past my skirts, sweeping them in their wake. Stallholders promising customers the best deals blocked my path, waving their produce beneath my nose, cajoling, pleading with me to buy. Salzi would step forward and shoo them away. I saw other courtesans, the hair on their heads as high and elaborate as their zoccoli, their pale faces deeply rouged, beauty spots prominent on their cheeks or necks. None was alone, but accompanied by servants or, in some cases, patrons. All were masked.
There were dwarves, nuns from the convents, tradespeople of all description milling, shopping, and gawking. Upon togati and doublets, I saw many a woven crest, a pang of recognition making me draw breath. Chandlers, candlemakers, butchers, tanners, paper and maskmakers all mingled with fishmongers, fruiterers, fabric and spice merchants. Perfumes filled the air and faces of different colours wandered past, oblivious to my stares. I saw men blacker than Hafeza, their skin so dark, they looked like shadows in our midst, their wide, white smiles splitting their faces, bringing them to life. There were people with eyes the shape of almonds and beautiful skins the colour of a golden sunset. Their voices were musical as they chanted rather than spoke. I saw hunchbacks, people pushing against the throng to touch their deformity for good luck. Cripples, some like Jacopo, only much worse, limped by. There were beggars, nobiles, mothers, children and even, my heart almost stopped, a real-life harlequin. He pirouetted in a small space in the corner of a campo, then dropped to his knees on the stones and began plucking a mandolin. Soldi were thrown to him, bouncing off the cobbles, but not before a dwarf, also dressed in the geometrical patterns of his master, and hidden beside a floppy-eared donkey with huge panniers, detached himself from the beast and scooped them up, encouraging further generosity with a series of clumsy cartwheels.
We continued to press ahead. I glanced at the stalls – there were fruits of all shades and shapes on display, mounds of spices that looked like vivid dust that could blow away in the wind. I inhaled their pungency and tasted them deep in my throat. A man dressed in a turban and shiny robes beckoned us to try the liquid in his bizarrely shaped vials. Perfumes mixed in a wild infusion and I tried to catch the different odours and place them. My head spun and my heart soared. I wanted to drink this moment in, sup on this melange of wonders.
As we continued, a juggler appeared out of nowhere, flinging flaming torches into the air. The crowd gasped before breaking into applause as he first spun them so quickly they formed a circle of light and then caught them, one by one, dousing the flames.
I was still trying to see what he would do next when I was steered into a nearby series of rami, up some wooden stairs and then whisked across a bridge. On the other side of the Circolo, the noise and number of people diminished and then completely vanished. We wandered briskly along the empty fondamenta and I wondered where we were going. I looked at the signs hanging over the shops and recognised the insignia of the tailor – the golden thread, reel and scissors. We had crossed into the Tailors Quartiere.
We turned off the main canal and into a dark ramo. Light did not reach this narrow lane. Giaconda drew to a halt before an unremarkable shop. Its window was streaked with grime, making it hard to see inside. A cat snaked past the door, rubbing its scrawny body along the wood, yawning as it did and revealing its sharp little teeth.
Before Salzi could reach the door, it was flung open, and standing there was the strangest man. Dressed in a light-coloured togati, which in itself was unusual, he wore a yellow cap upon his head. The sleeves of his shirt were the same mustard colour, only the cuffs were stuck full of pins and an assortment of ribbons. He was as short as he was wide, barely reaching my elbows. He had deeply hooded eyes and a nose that resembled a beak – it was long and very narrow. I wondered if he had to inhale harder than most in order simply to breathe.
‘Buon giorno! Signorina Maleovelli, how wonderful it is to see you!’ His voice belied his looks. It was resonant and thickly accented. There was something hypnotic about it. ‘Come in, come in!’ He bowed so low, his large but slender hands scraped the floor which, I noted as I lifted my skirt and stepped over the threshold, was scrupulously clean.
Only Giaconda and I entered the premises. The others waited outside, which was just as well, because the interior was cramped. I dropped my dress and looked around. In every direction there were yards of fabric, stacked in bales, rolls and simply hanging in lengths across every wall and surface. It was like a chest of soft jewels – dazzling. This was also because the shop was illuminated by dozens of candles, good-quality ones that exuded no smoke or odour. Positioned so as not to pose a danger to the materials and sitting in long, silver holders that had wax catchers at the base, they added grandeur to the place that I would not have assumed from its exterior.
‘I received your message, Signorina, and I have what you requested.’ He bowed again. ‘Is this the lady in question?’ He tipped his head at me quizzically.
‘Sì, Signor Tedeschi. This is my father’s ward, Tarlo Maleovelli. The cloth I asked you to procure is for a dress I want you to make in order that we can formally introduce her to society.’
The old man bowed again and nodded vigorously. ‘A dress? Sì, sì.’ He looked me up and down. ‘I can see why you have gone to such expense, shall I say, taken such a risk. She is worth it, no? What a lovely shape, what fine bones.’
Giaconda did not answer; she simply inclined her head slightly.
I continued to gaze around the shop, looking at the sumptuous material, trying to pretend that Signor Tedeschi’s scrutiny didn’t bother me. I recognised velvet, silk, wool, damask with its heavy patterns – all expensive textiles. One aspect of my education had not been wasted.
‘Well, Signor Tedeschi, where is it? We do not have time to loiter,’ said Giaconda brusquely.
‘Aspettare, wait, please,’ said Signor Tedeschi and plunged into the fabric, appearing to be consumed by its soft maw. On closer inspection, I saw there was a door hiding under the impromptu curtains. He returned in seconds carrying a long roll of what looked like spun gold.
Under the gentle light of the candles, the bolt shimmered like molten metal, reflecting the flickering flames and casting a wide halo. It was stunning, and I found myself lost for words. I could sense Giaconda’s eyes on me from behind her mask. ‘You like this, Tarlo?’
‘It is … beyond lovely.’
Giaconda smiled. ‘Molto bene, Signor Tedeschi. We will take it.’
The Signor made a sound that might have been delight.
‘Included in the price we agreed upon is the making of the dress, sì?’ added Giaconda.
‘Sì, Signorina, it’s all included in the quote I gave you.’
‘Bene, bene. I expect you at the casa tomorrow morning, then. My maid has some initial measurements for you to start with. I also want you to follow my design to the last detail, is that clear? I will provide you with the jewels you are to sew onto the dress tomorrow.’
My eyes widened in astonishment. Jewels on the dress? The Maleovellis were sparing no expense – this was to be a grand introduction indeed. I wondered where and when it was going to occur. My heart started to beat faster at the thought.
‘It is clear, Signorina. This is a very exciting commission. You honour me with your patronage.’
‘Only so long as this is kept secret, Signor Tedeschi. If I should find that one word of this escapes, then not only will you never have our patronage again, you will no longer enjoy the business of anyone in Serenissima.’
‘I understand, Signorina. I am always discreet.’ The small man regarded Giaconda with knowing eyes.
‘Sì. That you are, Signor.’ Giaconda reached out and touched the old man’s face. His eyes lit up.
He took her hand and kissed her glove. Giaconda pulled it away with what appeared to be reluctance. ‘We will start tomorrow,’ agreed Signor Tedeschi. ‘When do you require the dress?’
‘By the end of the week.’
‘The end of the week?’ Signor Tedeschi staggered backwards into his bales, clutching one to prevent himself from falling, the other screwing up his shirt over his heart. ‘Signorina, non é possible!’
Giaconda reached into her purse and pulled out a small leather pouch. It bulged like a bag of nuts. She held it out in front of her. ‘I think you’ll find it’s not only possible, but it will be done.’
Signor Tedeschi released the grip on his clothes and held out his hand. He rested the pouch in his palm. He weighed it thoughtfully before a smile wiped away his frown. ‘Ah, you’re right, Signorina. Miracles can happen – all they need is a little faith.’
Giaconda freed the purse. The coins clinked together as they hit his hand. ‘Or a lot.’ She nodded curtly to the Signor. ‘Till tomorrow then, Signor Tedeschi.’
‘Ci vediamo, Signorina Maleovelli.’ With a grand flourish, the old man held open the door, bending in half as he did.
We sailed past him and back into the draughty ramo.
‘Give Signor Tedeschi those measurements, Hafeza,’ ordered Giaconda. Hafeza obeyed, passing a folded piece of paper to the tailor, who bowed again.
‘Let’s go,’ said Giaconda, turning and leading us back the way we had come. It wasn’t long before we were once again caught in the current of people.
We were just about to cross back over the huge bridge that separated the Opera Quartiere and the marketplace when something caught my eye. Pressed momentarily against a building as a group of soldiers marched past, I saw a square of paper pasted to the outside of a shop. A corner had lifted and it was fluttering in the wind. In the centre was a crude picture of a young boy with unruly black hair, a small chin and cross brows. His expression was pure evil. I would not have given it another glance except for the eyes. They were the only thing of colour on the paper. Silver blazed from the poster, drawing the eye, drawing my eyes.
Bile rose in my throat and I didn’t need to understand what was written below to know who this was meant to be – it was me – as the Cardinale chose to represent me to the popolani; to those he now promised to reward with many a lifetime’s worth of riches should they report or catch me.
My head began to spin, my heart to hammer. Coldness gripped my chest.
Without thinking, I snatched it off the wall and crumpled it into a ball. Only then did I notice that this was not the only one. Pasted onto every surface available was the same image over and over. Crowds had gathered to watch the young boys, urchins, with satchels on their backs, pages in their hands, pasting the offending picture up wherever they could.
What started as a faint whisper soon became a roar.
‘Estrattore, milliones! Estrattore!’
Giaconda turned at the noise and her face paled as she too saw the poster, read what it said.
‘Come, we will leave now. Slowly, with dignity. Do not attract unnecessary attention.’
This time, she grabbed my arm. I did not have the desire or ability to draw from her. I could barely stand. Faces blurred, smiles transformed into leers as all lips formed the word, ‘Estrattore.’ Every set of eyes that lighted on my face saw through my disguise – accusation and retribution was everywhere.
I barely remember reaching the gondola, but when I did, I retreated into the felze. I sat there in the darkness, the window shut, the curtains drawn, clutching my mask to my face, breathing deeply, trying to control the fear that threatened to break me.
I felt the gondola shift and heard the splash of the oar. Then I heard Salzi begin to sing and Giaconda to converse as if there were not a care in Vista Mare.
The snow that had been threatening all day finally began to fall and the women joined me, brushing their capes before they entered. Cramped, it was also warm. Giaconda shot me a warning look. I knew what it meant. We would talk about what had happened when we were in the privacy of the portego.
I knew what I wanted to say – how could they even think of introducing me now? Now that not only the Cardinale, but all of Serenissima was searching for me.
But it was what the poster promised to do with me when I was caught that made my heart plummet and my body grow numb.
At the bottom of the poster, by decree of the Cardinale, was my destiny. When I was found, there was to be an execution. Not of the kind poor Renzo suffered. No. I was not to die quickly. I was to suffer the traditional death of an Estrattore.
In front of all Serenissima, upon a pyre to be especially built by the Circolo Canal, I was to suffer the fate of the worst kind of heretic.
In a twist of cruel irony, the apprentice candlemaker was to be put to the flame.
DANTE FOLLOWED KATINA THROUGH the marshes, trusting the horses to stay on firm ground. He watched her back swaying, in tune with Birrichino’s rhythms, Argento’s making him rock side to side as well. The saddlebags tied across Birrichino’s rump were bulging, packed as they were with most of Katina’s possessions. Those attached to Argento also carried some of her gear; Dante hadn’t been there long enough to accumulate much so was happy to concede what room there was in his packs to her.
Katina had barely said a word since they left Settlement. At first, he’d chattered aimlessly to fill the space, to try to assuage her grief at leaving. But gradually he’d quietened, and respected her silence. Her separation from her lovers had been … difficult. Poor Debora and Alessandro. In the end, there had been nothing more to say or do. They’d just stood together, their faces cast in misery, watching him and Katina load the horses and then ride away. He’d turned at the last moment, just before the mist swallowed them, the camp, and the other Riders who’d finally emerged – not to say farewell, but to ensure they’d really left. His time at Settlement had been brief; it hadn’t been what he’d call welcoming, but he’d still felt that it was somewhere he wasn’t ready to leave. Now the security of the Bond Riders’ home had been ripped away. On the bright side, farewelling Settlement also brought him closer to what he had to do – find Tallow. Excitement surged through his veins at the thought; a thrill that was quickly replaced by guilt as he observed the slump of Katina’s shoulders.
For him, it was yet another beginning; for Katina, leaving Settlement signalled an end – of her status with the Bond Riders, of her time with Debora and Alessandro and, potentially, her long life. He couldn’t imagine how that must feel – knowing that, in all likelihood, you were going to die soon. Perhaps that was why Elder Maggiore had come to their tent just before they left to speak with Katina alone. Perhaps he was preparing her for the worst. They’d spoken for a long time, hidden away from prying eyes and ears. Curious about their conversation, Dante had learnt enough about Katina to understand she’d tell him when she was ready.
Over the last couple of weeks, knowledge of their departure had tainted everything – his lessons in horsemanship, fighting and tracking. It had coloured their rests in the tent, which seemed to become more frequent. Even the passionate love-making of the Bond Riders had turned into little more than long embraces, surrounded by quiet. Dante would hear them, sliding across the enormous shared bed to hold each other, occasionally whispering. Thoughts of the future were like a spurned lover who would not leave. They hung thick in the air, an unspoken intrusion.
In an effort to distract them both, Katina had focused her energy on training him. If he’d thought Debora and Alessandro tough masters, they were nothing compared to Katina and her demands. She worked both him and Argento until he was one with the sweating, feisty mare. She made him practise his sword technique until he bested Alessandro every time. Katina fought him with her daggers, making him bleed, cutting him without care for the consequences until he learnt to block and counter-attack. She insisted that Debora teach him how to lift a purse without the owner being aware, that he learn how to read lips, understand the meaning behind simple hand gestures and mannerisms and how to disguise himself so he appeared neither a Bond Rider nor chandler, so he could blend with the popolani in Serenissima again.
At first he didn’t understand why he had to learn all these things; they might be useful for the brief time he was in Serenissima, but he belonged in the Limen now – what use would they be to him here? Especially since few Riders engaged in such exercises. When he expressed this to Katina, she turned on him.
‘You think a real Bond Rider belongs in the Limen alone? No! Our existence here was only ever meant to be a means to an end. It gave us time to prepare our minds and bodies so we could fulfil our Bonds, carry out our oaths. You’ve already sensed how easy it is to lose sight of that, that the Limen hastens forgetfulness of what we once were. What you will learn is that while some may try to forget their Bonds – it’s impossible. They sit here,’ she said, thumping her breastbone, ‘like an undigested meal, an everlasting ache, a constant reminder of what we pledged. Only some of us work hard to ignore it and even –’ her eyes scanned Settlement, piercing the drifting clouds of vapour, noting the Riders attending to their tack, braiding each others’ hair, engaged in quiet conversation ‘– delude themselves into believing they can.’ Her lip curled in disgust. ‘Well, training keeps us focused, reminds us of what we came here to do – as well as what we sacrificed for the privilege.’ She held her dagger level with his face. ‘And don’t you forget that, Dante.’ She pointed into the fog-bound distance. ‘Our real purpose is beyond the Limen – back in Serenissima.’ She stared at him with steely eyes – her look forbidding the questions she knew he longed to ask, denying him a reply.
Instead, he nodded solemnly. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he said, and with a smile raised his daggers. With a growl of approval, Katina launched herself at him. She’d drawn no blood that time or in any fight since.
The sound of hooves on stone brought Dante back to the present. The marshes had ended; the horses began to climb a shale embankment, slipping on the loose, flat rocks.
‘How much further?’ asked Dante, urging Argento forward with his knees. They seemed to be riding forever.
Katina called over her shoulder. ‘Not much. We’re almost there.’ Without warning, she kicked Birrichino into a canter and reached the top of the rise. Dante quickly followed.
As they topped a second low-lying hill, the mist parted and there, rising into the firmament, was the Limen.
Dante had never really seen it before, and for a moment it took his breath away. As they rode closer, he tried to work out its composition. It was as if the mist that surrounded them had gathered into one place, been infused with silver light and formed an enormous wall – one without beginning or end. It was simply there. Rather than being solid, it was constantly shifting, which gave it the appearance of both fragility and fluidity. Dante knew it was neither. It was a barrier like no other: it divided worlds, people, lives – in time and space.
Katina cantered alongside it for a while before drawing Birrichino to a halt by a group of boulders arranged in a linear fashion that had been daubed with white paint. They’d passed a couple of groupings like that on their journey – markers, Dante thought, but for what, he couldn’t be sure. He pulled up alongside Katina, stretching down to pat Argento’s neck. His eyes were still fixed on the Limen. The horses, he noted, were unfazed; they stood still, heads held high, steam rolling from their nostrils.
‘It’s … huge,’ he said, trying to gauge how far the Limen extended, at a loss for appropriate words.
‘Oh, it’s a great deal more than that,’ said Katina. She shot him a small smile. ‘But I understand what you’re saying. It’s hard to comprehend, isn’t it?’
Dante nodded and turned to her. ‘Is that how you know where to cross?’ He pointed to the row of marked stones.
‘Sì. This tells me that we’re close to the Pledge Stone of Casa di Maggiore.’
‘Why are we crossing here?’
‘Because …’ Katina hesitated. ‘Because it’s easier for you.’
‘Me?’ Dante gave an uncertain laugh. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be all right. Anyway, I’ve got you to lead the way.’
Katina met his eyes for the first time since they left Settlement. ‘No, Dante. I’m afraid you don’t.’
A chill clutched his body. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I … I’m not coming with you. I’m staying here.’
‘But … the trial. The Elders said …’
‘I know what the Elders said.’ Katina raised her voice to stop his questions. ‘I know my sentence was to leave the Limen, but things have changed, Dante. There’s a great deal you don’t know – that I still don’t know, but which we both have to find out. That we need to know in order to fulfil our Obbligare Doppio. There’s also much I have to tell you.’ She seemed to retreat in on herself.
Dante waited. Sensing his impatience, Argento began to get restless. ‘Should I dismount?’ he asked finally.
‘No, no. That’s not necessary.’ Katina took a deep breath and, in a soft steady voice, told him everything Elder Maggiore had imparted to her when he visited her in the cell.
‘Tallow is to destroy the pledge stones?’ he exclaimed, when Katina arrived at that point in her retelling. Argento was startled by his master’s tone, and Dante had to pull hard on the reins to get her back under control. ‘Why? Why would the Estrattore want her to do that? I don’t understand.’
Katina shrugged. ‘Revenge? To prove to Serenissima that the Doge made a mistake in allowing Roma and the Great Patriarch to dictate beliefs and exile, let alone kill the Estrattore? To demonstrate their power; to annihilate the Bond Riders? I don’t know.’
Dante thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. ‘We didn’t openly discuss Estrattore while I was growing up, but we did tell stories about them around the fireplace, the table – Nonno Renzo and Zia Gaia used to whisper tales to me when they’d tuck me into bed as well. They may have just been stories, but I thought the Estrattore were different. You know, beyond something like revenge.’ He paused. ‘I thought they were more thoughtful and gentle; more like …’ He searched for the right words. ‘Tallow.’
‘They were,’ said Katina, her face softening in memory. ‘The stories you were told are probably closer to what used to be the truth than you know.’
‘Used to be?’
‘They’ve been gone for a long time, Dante. What happened to them was … evil. You can’t walk away from that unscathed, not really. Then there’s this place.’ She waved her arm around. ‘It changes people. It distorts everything, eventually. In the end, we all fade to grey.’
‘You haven’t,’ said Dante suddenly, twisting towards her.
Katina’s eyes widened and she was about to protest but stopped herself. ‘Grazie. But I had, Dante. Until I was asked to go to Serenissima and train Tallow – I was just like the others. Caught up in my half-life here, ignoring the call of my Bond, believing that what we did was important, that it had meaning. And now I have you and the Obbligare Doppio to remind me that there is so much more. Others are not so lucky. I can see how the Estrattore might have changed; they feel everything so deeply – joy, sorrow, anger, happiness. You didn’t know them, didn’t know what life was like with them …’
‘What was it like?’ asked Dane softly.
Katina laughed sadly. ‘It was so long ago, Dante, but I remember a world where faith was not something used to instil fear in people, but to encourage love and understanding. Oh,’ she said, holding up her hand, ‘don’t get me wrong, it didn’t always work – in the end, we’re only human after all. We still had troubles, and petty politics and all the things you expect in a rich, bustling country, but we also had a means to control excess – of emotion, of feeling. Of helping those who needed it whether they knew it or not.’
‘That was the Estrattore?
‘Sì. That was how most of them chose to use their gifts.’
‘Tallow did that,’ said Dante. ‘She helped us – she helped everyone during the Morto Assiderato. She saved lives, she brought happiness and hope when there was none.’
Katina’s eyes became glassy. ‘Sì, that’s what most of them did in my time too. There were some – there are always some –’ she half-laughed ruefully ‘– who abused their power, but even then, the others would intervene and quell those who would make … trouble. That’s how I remember them – they tried to bring stability whenever we were at risk of losing it.’
‘Perhaps they will again?’ said Dante hopefully.
‘Perhaps,’ agreed Katina. ‘That’s what we have to try and do – give them the chance, give us all the chance to change. To restore hope and faith in a world that has so very little.’
There was nothing but the breathing of the horses and the swirl of the Limen. Minutes passed.
‘What must we do? What must I do? Tell me.’ Dante reached across and placed his hand over Katina’s where it rested on the pommel. ‘I am glad you’re not coming. That you have chosen to live.’
Katina placed her other hand over his and squeezed it hard. ‘Sì, but now you must go into Serenissima alone, Dante. You must learn what you can, find out where Tallow is and what she’s doing.’ She choked back a laugh. ‘I’ve no doubt she’ll be up to something. It’s in her nature. I only hope that whatever she’s doing, she isn’t hurting herself.’
‘What about you?’
She patted his hand one last time and then let it go. Dante sat back up in the saddle. ‘I’m to wait here for a friend. I have my own task to fulfil.’ Katina pursed her lips.
‘Very well,’ said Dante, blowing out his breath noisily. He knew there was no point questioning her further. ‘I see. Where do I go, then?’
‘To the Tailors Quartiere – the Pledge Stone of Casa di Maggiore is the closest one to that quartiere. Go to the Taverna di Segretezza. It’s run by a Signor Vestire. He’s a good man. They’re discreet there, accustomed to me, to Bond Riders. From there, you’ll be able to use the skills you’ve learnt in here to find Tallow. Use the taverna as a base, listen rather than ask questions, follow any leads, no matter how spurious, and search high and low. Try not to draw attention to yourself, do you understand? Once you find her, observe her. Do not make contact with her.’
Dante stared at her for a moment. ‘But I thought –’ he began.
‘No buts, Dante. This is not negotiable. For Tallow’s sake, you cannot let her know that you are watching. She must not see you. If she did … well. It would influence her in a way in which we no longer have a right. Not at the moment. Trust me, Dante. Please. For all our sakes.’
Arguments and protests contorted Dante’s face as he struggled to accept Katina’s commands, to understand her reasoning.
‘Molto bene,’ he said. ‘For Tallow’s sake, I will stay out of sight.’
Katina grunted. ‘It is up to you to make sure she’s safe. We cannot bring her here against her will, nor can we let her put herself at risk. You will have to use your judgement. If at any point you feel she’s in grave danger, don’t hesitate to act. When you no longer have a choice, bring her here into the Limen.’
‘Then what happens?’
‘I am not sure … yet,’ admitted Katina. ‘That is part of what I have to find out.’
Dante nodded gravely. ‘I see.’
‘Do you? Because, by the gods, I am not sure I do.’
Dante couldn’t help it – he laughed. Katina’s eyes crinkled. ‘No, I don’t really. But it felt better saying that.’ He slapped the hilt of his sword. ‘I will do what I am told. Watch her and make sure she is unharmed. Hopefully, you will discover our next step before I am forced to do what I must in order to protect her.’
‘Bene. Another thing – once you’re on the other side, Dante, back in Serenissima, the urge to contact your family will be strong. But you must resist, do you understand? You will cause them pain if you should walk back into their lives after all this time. Not only that, but you’ll place them in great danger.’
‘Danger?’
‘Sì. Our networks tell us that there’ve been many arrests in your quartiere.’
Dante’s heart lurched. ‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Katina threw her hand up in the air. ‘Do you think that what Tallow was, what she did, would go unnoticed? The drama on the bridge was the talk of Serenissima – according to what Elder Maggiore told me, it still is. It attracted the attention of the authorities. That which they feared most has finally happened. An Estrattore has been seen – worse, she’s lived among them. Can you imagine how the Doge, how the Church reacted to that? As far as they’re concerned, three hundred years of worshipping the one God has come to nothing. They realise how shaky their foundations are if all it takes to undermine them is one Estrattore. They’re furious – and they are also terrified. They understand now how tenuous their hold on the popolani really is and they’re lashing out.’ She paused and looked uneasy. ‘Those who hid her, who knew what she was and said nothing, are being punished.’ She looked deep into Dante’s eyes. Her silver flecks gleamed in the dull light.
‘Who exactly are you talking about? Tell me.’ Dread hardened the coldness that filled his chest, turning it to ice.
‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Dante, and now, but your grandfather. He –’
Dante held up his hand in front of her face. His dark eyes were metal. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. Every heartbeat was painful.
‘When? Who’s responsible?’
‘A while ago. It was the Cardinale. He’s capturing those he believes harboured Tallow and who are withholding information. Your grandfather … he was publicly executed, on Nobiles’ Rise. Others are dispatched, quickly, quietly, without ceremony. But the popolani know. They’re afraid, but not so afraid yet that they talk. This will work both for and against you.’ Katina spoke slowly. ‘The Cardinale’s desperate to locate Tallow; so desperate, he will take any measure. Serenissima is not the place you once knew.’
Dante drew his breath in sharply and threw back his head. He wanted to scream at the mist, cut it with his weapons. Nonno Renzo! No. No. No.
He took some deep breaths, trying to regain equilibrium.
‘All right,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I keep searching for Tallow and, when I find her I watch unless she is danger. If I judge the threat is too great, I bring her to you?’
‘Sì. Go to the Pledge Stone of Casa di Maggiore. Touch it and wait for me. I will come, wherever I am. Hopefully, you will not have to do that. I will learn what I need in here, then I will find you in Tailors Quartiere. But I fear if I am to see this through, then I will have to stay in the Limen.’
Dante’s mouth became a grim line. ‘Of course, you must. But why are we bringing Tallow here? Surely, if the Estrattore are after her, then we’re making it easier for them. Shouldn’t we just take her straight to the Elders or find another, safer place to take her?’
‘The Elders!’ barked Katina. ‘No. They cannot be allowed to have her either.’
‘Why do you say that? I thought the Bond Riders wanted to protect her? To have her restore their souls so they can return to Serenissima, to the real world, a real life? I thought that was what you wanted?’
‘Me? Sì. I do. But there are powerful others who do not.’
‘Elder Maggiore told you this?’
‘Sì. He told me everything I am now telling you.’
‘Can he be trusted?’
Katina wrestled with her response. ‘I believe him.’
‘Then that’s good enough for me.’
Katina shot him a grateful smile. ‘He told me they would use her. Oh, they want her to draw their souls out of the pledge stones in order to make them whole again, but not with the intention of returning to Serenissima.’
Dante weighed Katina’s words. Around him, the mist swirled and parted. He thought for a long while. Beneath him, Argento searched for grass. ‘If they don’t want to return, what do they want?’ he asked finally.
Katina straightened in her saddle. ‘According to Elder Maggiore, the majority of the Elders want to create a new society here, in the Limen. A race of semi-immortals. A new order that will exist alongside Serenissima, a power to be reckoned with.’
Dante’s eyes widened. ‘By God! And they would use Tallow to accomplish this?’
‘Like a rag. They will force her to release their souls from the pledge stones – every single one. Such a task would be too much for one Estrattore, let alone Tallow. It would kill her.’
Dante thought his head was going to explode. He gazed at the shifting border, his need to cross suddenly greater, to get to Tallow before anyone else could. ‘Then we must make sure that neither the Bond Riders nor the Estrattore get their hands on her. But I still don’t understand why we need to bring her here – it seems to me that the Limen is dangerous for Tallow.’
Katina leant over in the saddle and clutched Dante’s shoulder. ‘Everywhere is dangerous for her. But at least in here, I have the advantage – you have an advantage. And we’ll take that for now. Until we can formulate a plan for keeping her safe and allowing her the time to understand what it is she has to do.’
‘And what is that?’
‘That is for Tallow to decide.’
Dante inhaled deeply and exhaled. ‘Molto bene. Then we will make sure she is able to do that.’
‘That, amico mio, is my intention. That’s the nature of our Obbligare Doppio. You wanted to know what it was? What pledge I made on our behalf? It’s simple. I pledged us both to the child of the prophecy. That’s all. And that child is Tallow – the one who will restore balance, bring light into a world growing increasingly dark.’ She gripped his hand more tightly. ‘I know you care for her – deeply.’ She turned his hand over and ran a finger over the glove, over the place where the scar of his Bond nestled. ‘I put my faith in you and your love for her. I know I did the right thing.’
‘What will you do while I’m in Serenissima?’
‘I cannot say exactly until I meet this friend that Elder Maggiore has told me will help us.’
‘Who is it?’
‘All I know is that it’s an Estrattore, someone who, like Elder Maggiore, believes in the prophecy. Someone who has maintained the old faith.’
‘Like you have,’ said Dante softly.
‘Sì, like me,’ Katina agreed. ‘Together, we will help prepare Tallow to learn the truth …’
‘What’s that?’
Before Katina could answer, a noise in the distance made them both swing round. An icy wind swept through the clearing. Argento’s head shot up and she whinnied, pulling on her reins, her ears flat to her skull. Birrichino raised his head and became skittish, walking sideways, kicking his heels, his tail flicking.
‘What was that?’ whispered Dante, suddenly grateful for the long leather coat. ‘Could it be this Estrattore you’re supposed to meet?’
‘Hush,’ whispered Katina, cocking her head to one side.
A faint wail reached their ears, a plaintive song of desperation and terrible hunger. Dante felt his hair stand on end. ‘What was that?’
‘Morte Whisperers.’ Katina was pale, her eyes wide with terror. Birrichino reared, bringing his hooves down hard, jolting Katina. Only her firm grip on the reins, pulling his bit hard against his mouth and digging her knees into his side prevented him from dashing away.
‘What are they?’ Dante tried to soothe Argento and see through the haze, catch the owners of the dreadful sound.
‘Creatures you never want to meet. We’ve no time to waste. Breach now, Dante,’ cried Katina, urging Birrichino into a canter. ‘Give the command,’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘Go Dante, find Tallow!’
Wheeling Argento around, Dante bellowed the words that had been drummed into his head, fear making his voice crack. Katina rode beside him, Dante understood she was determined to see him through the Limen and safe before she fled. As their horses reached full gallop, the wall slowly tore apart a few hundred feet ahead, the grey mist widening, letting the world of time and space enter.
As they rode closer, Dante felt something pass through him, something so cold it made him arch his back in pain. His mouth froze in a rictus, his hands grew numb and the reins fell from his fingers. He began to slide.
Katina lunged towards him and pushed him upright, preventing him from falling. Birrichino and Argento rode neck and neck, their hooves thrumming as they raced towards the opening. Dante scrambled for the reins, twisting them around his wrists, and regained control. He signalled to Katina and reached for his sword.
Katina’s dagger was drawn and she lashed out at not one, but half a dozen of the wraith-like monsters that emerged out of the Limen wall, leaping over Dante and pouncing on Katina, grasping, pulling her into their skeletal-like embrace.
Dante watched in horror as they tried to wrest her from Birrichino and stop her riding away. With long insubstantial fingers, another wrapped itself around her and tried to prise open her mouth. Birrichino reared, his hooves flailing. Dante yelled and bore down upon them.
Katina screamed. The sound was cut off as her mouth was filled while hands groped at her chest, tore at her heart. Dante slashed at the creatures, dismayed as his sword passed through them. Their shrill song rose to a crescendo, piercing his ears, filling his head with terrible pictures, causing his nerves to shriek.
Katina’s dagger flew out of her hand. Her pleading eyes met Dante’s.
Dante did the only thing left to him. He grabbed her reins and, with one mighty surge, rode Argento through the gap in the wall, pulling Birrichino after him.
They leapt into the air and, as they hit the ground of Vista Mare, the creatures dissolved. Dante rode as fast as he could away from the barrier, looking over his shoulder, terrified in case the vaporous fiends returned. Trees tore at his shirt, whipped Argento’s flesh, but still Dante rode on.
It took him a minute to realise the sounds he heard were not pursuit, but Katina’s faint cries. Quickly, he drew the horses to a halt and watched as Katina, her face white, her eyes glazed and her body shrunken, slid off the saddle and crumpled to the ground.
‘DID ANYONE SEE YOU?’ asked Elder Nicolotti, holding aloft the candle, its flickering light striking the rough-hewn walls of the passage.
‘No, Signor, not a soul. We were very careful.’ Stefano emerged from the shadows followed closely by Santo. They bowed before the older man and raised his outstretched hand to their lips.
‘Bene, bene,’ said Elder Nicolotti, accepting their benediction before stepping back and appraising them. They’d dressed hastily, despite instructions. Santo wore his sword instead of carrying it. Elder Nicolotti decided to ignore the serious breach of protocol. Only guards were allowed to bear arms in the palazzo. ‘She has gone?’ He did not have to say to whom he referred.
Santo and Stefano nodded.
‘And the chandler?’
‘Sì,’ said Stefano. ‘They left Settlement a while ago, heading for the Limen.’
‘Bene.’ Elder Nicolotti doused the candle, plunging them into darkness. ‘Then walk with me,’ he ordered, and turned down one of the narrow corridors that riddled the Elders’ palazzo.
Sure-footed, he knew his way. The Bond Riders behind him stumbled and fell. They tried to be quiet, but Santo’s sword scraped the walls, Stefano’s shoulder thudded into a rocky outcrop, forcing a muted groan. Elder Nicolotti grinned as they struggled to keep up. One did not always need a weapon to exert power.
The corridor widened into a small cave. Grey light from the opening spewed in, revealing a bench and some unlit sconces. Elder Nicolotti placed the candle he carried in an empty one and spun round.
‘The time has come for you both to fulfil the pledges you made. You to Casa Nicolotti and you to your partner’s house, Casa Maggiore.’ His eyes alighted on first Stefano and then Santo. Both Riders lowered their heads. ‘You understand what it is you’re to do?’ He directed the first question to Santo. ‘You will enter Vista Mare and follow them. Watch them. Report their every move to Stefano, who will remain in the Limen and relay any information back to me. You’ll use the Pledge Stone of Casa di Nicolotti to communicate. I will give Stefano any further instructions that you, Santo, will follow. No digressing, no elaboration, no unnecessary killing. The timing for this must be right. Do you understand? I want to know who they see, where they go and, above all, I want to know when they find the Estrattore. Am I clear?’
‘Very clear, Elder Nicolotti,’ said Santo, bowing his head again.
Elder Nicolotti considered the Rider carefully. He was still young and, though physically imposing, not very smart. He would have preferred to use Stefano for this mission, but the man had only a few crossings left. The adoration Santo felt for Stefano had proved very useful before and it might do so again, but without the disastrous consequences of their last task. That they’d lost the Estrattore had rocked his plans and shaken the confidence of his peers. It could not happen again. This was their last chance, his last chance.
Elder Nicolotti could read Santo’s insecurity and his desperation to prove his worth. It accompanied him like a bad smell. It was inscribed on his face and in the apprehensive looks he cast at Stefano. How Stefano could bear to have this … this peasant snapping at his heels all the time was beyond him. But then, shame was a great burden that Stefano had carried for years; it had coloured all his relationships, all his actions. It turned real triumphs into perceived failures. For Stefano, Santo was not only someone with whom he could share the guilt and even attribute his failure to, but he was like one of the Church’s hair-shirts – a living punishment – that Stefano chose to wear.
The hatred Santo Pelleta bore for Katina Maggiore, Stefano’s one-time lover, was a wonderful convenience. It suited Nicolotti’s purposes well. Little did Katina’s relative know when he forced this candlemaker to pledge over a broken colleganza all those years ago that it would bind Santo to a plot to free the Bond Riders – and that it would create an opportunity for Casa Nicolotti to rise to power beyond Serenissima and even Vista Mare.
Elder Nicolotti’s eyes narrowed as he studied the two men. ‘Then say your goodbyes now. Do not fail me. Remember who you’re pledged to, Santo Pelleta. You too, Stefano Maggiore. This is no time for error. No time for failure – only success. The time to fulfil your Bonds and free the Bond Riders from their curse once and for all, and give us a future worth living for has arrived.’ His voice deepened and rose, ringing with passion, bouncing off the stone walls and echoing around the chamber.
‘Now go and do that for which we have all waited many lifetimes.’ As Stefano and Santo fell to their knees, Elder Nicolotti touched the tops of their heads, his palms hot, his energy vibrating through their bodies. Releasing them, he spun on his heels and, without another word, disappeared into the tunnels.
SANTO WAITED UNTIL HE COULD no longer hear footsteps before raising his head and turning to Stefano. ‘I wish we were able to do this together instead of being separated.’ Slightly unsteady, he stood up and brushed the dirt from his breeches. Stefano eased himself to his feet and did the same without speaking. Santo waited till he’d finished and then reached over and pushed the hair off Stefano’s face. ‘Nicolotti’s right. This is your chance to remove the stain from your house and, in the process, get rid of the Estrattore once and for all.’
Stefano’s eyes narrowed. ‘We had that chance before, remember? Only last time we were together didn’t go so well. This separation is for the best.’
Santo frowned at Stefano’s tone.
Stefano jerked his head in the direction that the Elder had taken. ‘Just remember what Nicolotti said. Don’t try to do anything foolish this time – no dramatics. All you need to do is keep an eye on them and report to me.’
Santo took a step back. ‘I know what I have to do. I don’t need you to tell me too. I’m not stupid.’
Stefano’s eyes glittered in the shadows. He didn’t respond.
‘I know you’d rather be the one returning, that this is a chance for you to complete your Bond – what with Katina so vulnerable and all.’
‘You really don’t listen, do you?’ Stefano blew out air in exasperation. ‘Let me spell it out for you. Even if I were going, I couldn’t fulfil my pledge. Katina’s –’ he hissed her name ‘– made sure of that, hasn’t she? Until her Obbligare Doppio is complete, none of us can do a damn thing except hang around and hurt. As for me, I’ve got the added benefit of having to wait for you.’
‘Is that so bad?’
‘It is when your insides burn every moment that Estrattore lover walks Vista Mare. Remember, we may share a name, but it’s the blood of Katina’s direct line that taints all Maggiore and I will do whatever it takes to clear that as soon as I can.’
‘Even support Elder Nicolotti?’
‘In that, I have no choice. I’m Bonded. But our purpose is the same … for now. When the time is right, I can both mend the past and shore up the future – for all of us.’
‘Sì,’ laughed Santo, relieved that Stefano sounded more like his old self. ‘Nicolotti has great plans for the Bond Riders.’
‘And if you play this right, Santo,’ Stefano said, stepping closer to his lover and grabbing the hair on the back of his head, pulling him in, ‘Obbligare Doppio or no, Elder Nicolotti will be in our debt. And that bodes well for our future. So don’t ruin this, all right?’
Before Santo could protest, Stefano kissed him roughly.
Drawing away, Stefano untangled his fingers from Santo’s hair. ‘Once she leads you to the Estrattore, there’s nothing to stop you, to stop us. You grab her and you bring her to me. I’ll be ready. I doubt there’ll be a problem. Katina won’t last long as it is.’ His lips became a thin line as he grew introspective.
Santo smiled. ‘Tallow eluded me once – never again. Not now we have the one thing she can’t resist. Your girlfriend was right about that.’
‘Don’t call her that. It’s been a long time since she was that.’
‘Not long enough for my liking.’
‘No,’ said Stefano with a sigh. ‘You’ll only be happy when she’s dead.’
‘Vero.’
Stefano laughed harshly. ‘Me too.’
They both shared a look. Stefano was the first to break away.
‘Go,’ he said, waving towards the cave mouth. ‘Follow. And make sure you don’t fall back into old habits this time.’ Stefano gave him a none-too-gentle slap on the cheek and shoved him in the direction of the exit.
A look of fury swept over Santo’s face and he angrily pushed Stefano’s hand away. ‘Its not me that has old habits to worry about, Stefano.’
Stefano gave a raw laugh. ‘Is that right? Katina’s nothing to me, Santo. I don’t have to prove anything in that regard, whereas you, you have everything. So, prove it to me, Santo. Prove to me that you can do this on your own. For me, for all of us.’
Santo chewed his lips, swallowing the words he wanted to say but knew he’d later regret. ‘I will. Farewell,’ he said huskily. ‘See you on the other side,’ and without another word, stalked out of the cave.
‘The other side,’ said Stefano quietly, his arms folded, his doubts quashed beneath them.
SIGNOR TEDESCHI FUSSED OVER ME like a moth teasing a candle. I wanted to bat him away as he pinned, poked, and pulled me in all directions. I watched him from behind my mask, standing atop a small box while he knelt, working on the hem of my new gown. His mouth was full of pins, a tape measure was flung over his shoulder, ribbons stuck to his doublet, a piece of chalk almost slipping from a pocket. He did not care about how he looked; his focus was on my dress and me. Just as I took pride in my candlemaking, so this little man took great satisfaction in his craft and, as such, would not be happy with anything less than perfection.
Instead of complaining, I sighed and remained as still as I’d been requested and gazed around the room. For the past few days, Signor Tedeschi had come each morning, preparing the dress I was to wear at my first public function. I still didn’t know what that was, but from the elegance of the gown, and the jewels provided to adorn the sleeves and bodice, I guessed it was a major event. Giaconda had not left us for a second. She sat in a chair and watched proceedings, occasionally offering an opinion or demanding a change when she felt the result was in question.
Hafeza would dart in and out, bringing cafe and sweet breads – none of which, while the fabric was being fitted, I was allowed to sample.
I sighed again, drawing a disapproving noise from Signor Tedeschi. ‘Patience, Signorina! I’m almost finished. What should take weeks has taken me a matter of days. If anyone should be sighing, it’s me.’ I glanced at him in surprise. Signor Tedeschi was normally very good-humoured. For the first time, I noticed the sooty shadows under his eyes and the pallor of his skin. I knew from what he’d said to Giaconda that not even the seamstresses he usually employed had been allowed to work on this gown. He’d done every stitch himself.
I wasn’t sure what the mystery surrounding my dress was about, why it had to be kept so secret. All I knew was that the golden cloth that pushed out my breasts, swam over my arms, accentuating my waist before sweeping the floor in a long train, shone with metallic depths that glimmered in the candlelight, showering Signor Tedeschi and me in a buttery glow. My mind started to wander as I tried to imagine how I would look, how I would be received. Since that day in the market, when we’d seen the posters, my newfound confidence had taken a backward step.
Giaconda and Signor Maleovelli were dismissive of my fears.
As soon as we’d arrived home, Giaconda ordered Salzi to fetch her father. We’d gone to his study to await him. He’d entered moments after we’d sat down. Giaconda quickly explained what had occurred, pulling an offending poster from her small purse and unfolding it. I hadn’t seen her take one. I started forward in my seat.
‘It looks nothing like you, Tarlo,’ Giaconda snapped, her usual serenity ruffled. ‘Calm down, for God’s sake.’ I forced myself to keep still as Signor Ezzelino studied the poster, his heavy eyes roaming from it to me and back again.
Then he did what I least expected. He burst out laughing. ‘We couldn’t have hoped for better!’ he said, waving it in the air around him. ‘This is wonderful. Gia is right. This picture of a dirty little scoundrel looks nothing like you. Better still, it declares you’re a boy and offers a reward!’ He passed it back to his daughter, wiping his eyes. ‘Fools! This is a marvellous distraction and the timing is perfect.’
‘We continue with our plans, then?’ asked Giaconda, throwing the poster into the grate. We watched as the edges caught and the fire licked the parchment black.
‘Sì, bella. We do.’ With one last glance at me, Signor Ezzelino left the room.
That had been four days ago and I was still no wiser about the Maleovellis’ plans. Anxiety gnawed at me, but also excitement. This was the moment I’d been waiting for, the time when everything I needed to be, everything I’d been learning would be put into practice. My masquerade would begin in earnest.
‘Soldi for your thoughts,’ said Giaconda softly.
I jumped. I hadn’t noticed her leave the chair. She stood in front of me, the top of her head just below my chin.
‘I … I was wondering where I was going to wear this.’
‘Just where?’ she asked, tipping her head slightly. ‘It needs to be lifted here, Signor Tedeschi. I want them to see her zoccoli.’
‘Sì, sì,’ muttered Signor Tedeschi, quickly pinning the fabric pinched between Giaconda’s fingers.
She returned her attention to me. ‘Don’t you also want to know when?’
‘Of course.’ Signor Tedeschi indicated I needed to spin to the right, so I spoke over my shoulder. ‘But I didn’t think there was any point in asking two questions. I am lucky enough to receive an answer to one.’
Giaconda followed me, so I could see her. She was smiling, her eyes sparkling. ‘Ah, the little one bites at last! Now I am persuaded you’re indeed ready to not only hear where you’re going – but to attend as well.’
I held my breath as Giaconda sat on the edge of my bed and faced me, her hands clasped in her lap.
‘Friday night is the official welcome for the new foreign ambassador. It’s not a ball in the traditional sense – there won’t be dancing. It’s a function to which the Council of Ten and the entire Senate, which is all Serenissian nobiles, are invited. Wives and daughters are excluded, making it the ideal occasion to introduce this foreigner to the delights of Carnivale and the city. Papa will be attending. All the leading courtesans will be there. Consequently, it’s the perfect time to present our latest addition, the one and only Tarlo Maleovelli.’ She did a flourish with her arms. ‘The most desirable virgin the city has ever seen.’
I released my breath slowly. ‘Friday? That’s in three days,’ I said in a small voice. My heart jumped.
‘Sì. You’ll be presented to both your prospective clientele and your competition. After that, we’ll wait for the offers to arrive.’ Giaconda rose and walked around me. ‘In this dress, you’ll attract many.’
‘You think so?’
For an answer, Giaconda looked at Signor Tedeschi. ‘May I?’ she asked.
‘Sì, Signorina,’ he bowed and stepped out of the way, pulling the last of the pins from his mouth.
Giaconda helped me from my perch and led me towards the mirror. Hafeza scuttled out of the way. I ignored her.
‘Shut your eyes,’ ordered Giaconda before moving behind me and placing her hands on my shoulders. I could feel her breath against my ears. I quivered beneath her touch. ‘When I tell you, I want you to look at yourself, not as Tallow or even Tarlo, but as someone else would see you. Imagine the dress finished, your hair done, a different mask.’ She paused. ‘You ready? Open them.’
I did as I was told and through my dark mask saw the woman facing me. A tall, slender woman with full breasts, suffused in gold, her skin soft and white, forming a velvet contrast to the sheen of the fabric. This was a woman people would notice, men would desire.
I shook my head.
‘I don’t believe it. That’s me. Signor Tedeschi, it’s beautiful.’
‘No, Signorina.’ Signor Tedeschi moved in front of me, blocking the dress from my view. ‘It is you who is beautiful. I’m just framing that which God created.’
Giaconda and I exchanged a smile in the mirror above his head. I thought of my past life, my secrets, my lies, the abuse, the pain, the joy, the sorrow, the love, the anger. Abandoned by my own, hunted by others – I was barely my own creature, let alone God’s.
‘That which God created …’ I repeated and began to laugh.
A laugh, I realised as Giaconda joined me, that sounded exactly like hers.
LORD WATERFORD SHUDDERED as he read again the fancy gilt card that had been delivered while he was sitting in his sun-drenched portego overlooking the Circolo Canal. Written in his language, it was clumsy and misspelled, but clear in its intention. There was to be an official function to acknowledge, not simply his arrival in Serenissima, but celebrate the new treaty between the canal-city and Farrowfare. It was to take place in the Doge’s palazzo in two days’ time. He was guest of honour and, as such, would be escorted to the palazzo by no less than one of the current heads of the Council of Ten, Nobile Zanino Nicolotti.
He threw the invitation back upon the tray and rose, gesturing to a servant to refill his cup. Damn, but that cafe the Serenissians drank was addictive. Initially appalled to discover his store of tea was damaged en route, he had soon adapted to the drink of the locals. Bitter, it left a strange taste in the mouth that was easily offset with sugar. He found he not only liked it, but preferred it to his customary drink.
Taking his cup to one of the windows, he gazed out over the jade waters, the surface crazed by the glacial wind that came in from the north, brilliant under the cloudless azure sky. Snow had fallen overnight, covering the fondamenta and surrounding casas in white cloaks. He watched as gondoliers brushed the pristine powder from the top of the felzes, pulled back the heavy covers that protected the seats, periodically pausing to slap life back into their frozen hands as they worked. Gondolas glided past, nobiles and artists standing erect in the bottom, their faces fixed on their destination, refusing to be distracted by the journey. Below him, people scurried along the cobbles, their capes wrapped warmly around them, their caps snug upon their heads. Many had masks firmly fixed to their faces. Such a strange custom. He supposed he must find one to wear to the Doge’s welcome. What would his wife make of all this?
He lifted his eyes and stared beyond the pinnacles of the Doge’s basilica and the towering campanile in the piazza, towards the lagoon, imagining the wide expanse of ocean beyond. An ocean that led back to his homeland, to his wife, Annabel and son, Karlin – back to his queen. He wondered briefly how Annabel was faring. Trapped on their estate in the west, he knew she would be finding his absence difficult, especially since the queen had appointed an overseer to care for his affairs – someone keen to ingratiate himself with Zaralina. He remembered Sir William Oxford. A simpering lightweight who only ever acted in his own interests regardless of the cost to others. Annabel would not be fooled by his false charm. She could play her role, and well.
On the fondamenta below, a small boy begged for soldi from passers-by. A woman wearing those ridiculous wooden heels the courtesans favoured paused and reached into her purse. He watched the young boy bite the coin and scurry away, grateful for so little. Like Farrowfare, even this civil place, where rich and poor lived side by side, had its hierarchy, a class structure that not even wealth could penetrate, for all it pretended otherwise.
A wave of sadness passed over him. He’d missed his Karlin’s ninth birthday. He hoped Annabel remembered to buy him a pony from Sir Giles; no-one bred horses the way he did. Would Zaralina allow Annabel the freedom to contact their neighbour, or would that be something else Oxford controlled?
Zaralina. The view before him disappeared as an image of his queen took its place. Her ivory skin, pale blue eyes and that flaming hair. By the gods, she was beautiful. And dangerous. And clever. And able to utilise supernatural resources.
He glanced over his shoulder as if checking who was about before allowing his thoughts to wander.
Only four days ago, he’d been in his bedroom, reading a most outrageous book by a local poet, enjoying his wine and the candelight, when the fire had momentarily guttered and a chill had pervaded the room. Before he could react, a Mortian had manifested, stealthily, silently.
Leaping to his feet, Waterford had knocked his glass flying, spilling the red liquid on the shining floor. Some had splashed into the fire, causing it to spark and smoke in protest. The Mortian had followed its trajectory before turning to Waterford with his huge mournful, empty eyes. Without a word, he’d handed him a fine piece of paper.
Trembling slightly, and not only from the sudden cold, Waterford had opened it. Before he could read it, there was a knock on the door. The air had shuddered for a moment and the Mortian vanished, dissolving into the atmosphere, the walls, he was never sure.
‘Yes?’ called Waterford, his voice cracking slightly. ‘What is it?’
The door opened and his valet, Jack, appeared. ‘Everything all right, my lord? I heard a noise.’ Jack noted the spilled wine and broken glass. ‘Oh. I’ll get you another glass, shall I, sir? Ask Catherine or one of them Serenissian girls to come and clean this up?’
‘Leave it, Jack. It can be tidied in the morning.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘You sure, my lord? Won’t take a moment. By the gods, it’s cold in here. What’s wrong with these fireplaces? They don’t seem to throw out much heat, do they my lord?’
‘They’re fine, Jack. Please. Leave me.’
Jack frowned. ‘Of course, my lord.’ With a bow, he shut the door behind him, flashing his master a last look of concern.
Waterford let out a sigh of relief and, seeing that the Mortian didn’t reappear, sat back down and opened the letter. It was from Queen Zaralina. He read it quickly. So, they were using the Ottomans. Lord Waterford nodded. It was a risky strategy – those barbarians were unpredictable – but if it paid off, worth it. In the meantime, he was to make friends with the Ottomans’ ambassador and look for an ally among the Serenissian nobiles. Someone open to bribery. Someone ready to not only betray the Doge, but to topple him from power.
Waterford scoured the rest quickly. It contained the usual platitudes about his health and a brief, oh, too brief, report about his family. He read the entire missive one more time before crumpling it into a ball and throwing it in the fire. He didn’t need to respond. The Mortian’s absence made that clear. Where was the creature? Racing back to Farrowfare or lingering somewhere in the shadows? Observing him, formulating a report to take back to his master, that Shazet.
Waterford shook away the gloom the Mortians always made him feel and instead watched the fire take hold of the paper and flame brightly before it quickly died, leaving a charred wreck. He reached for the poker and broke it into pieces, some of which rose up the chimney, blackened bits of plot rising to blow over the city his people were set to betray. Fitting somehow.
It was the crackle of the fire that startled Waterford back into the present.
Turning away from the window, the invitation caught his eye. In the weeks he’d been in Serenissima, his agents had made contact with many traders, learned many things, but until his presence was made official, he’d been all but confined to the casa. Invitations to dinners and dances, never mind the casino, had not been forthcoming. All that was about to change.
He plucked the invitation from the table and looked at it yet again. This time, the spelling errors and poor phrasing made him laugh. How convenient was this welcome? After weeks of delay and formality, the time had come to make his presence known – only not in the way the Doge and his Council were expecting.
‘Oh, you silly people, with your masks and pretence, little do you know that among you is the greatest pretender of all.’
With a smile on his face, he decided to forgo another cafe. A glass of wine was in order.
‘Jack!’ he called, and rang the little bell on the table.
The door opened straight away. Waterford jumped. Jack must have been hovering on the other side, waiting. ‘Yes, my lord?’ asked Jack, entering the room swiftly.
‘Bring me a wine, would you?’
Jack’s eyes grazed the tray, containing the cup of cafe and bowl of sugar. ‘Yes, my lord.’ He bowed and turned to go.
‘Oh, Jack,’ added Lord Waterford.
Jack paused and raised his eyebrows. ‘Sir?’
‘Have you heard from your father recently?’
‘No, sir, not since the last missive. But I believe he and the family are well.’
‘I am glad to hear that.’
Jack hovered for a moment. ‘Anything else, my lord?’
‘While you’re fetching that glass of wine, you might as well bring me the entire bottle.’
Jack picked up the silver tray and its abandoned contents. ‘Celebrating, are we my lord?’
Lord Waterford thought for a moment. ‘Why yes, Jack, I believe I am.’