Heart of Glass

48





Cannons bristle from the side of Vincenzo’s ships as they steer round, trained on the Ottoman fleet. On us. Halim’s men look to their leader. “What are you waiting for?” he shouts. “Attack positions!”

A faint shout of command from Roberto carries on the air. Instantly, his ship lurches in the water to bring itself side-on, and the first cannon muzzle flares from Il Castigo. A second later, a boom cracks through the air, and the water beside our ship explodes, showering us all in spray. Faustina and I fall to our knees. Low clouds of smoke billow upwards, making us cough and our eyes water. Immediately, there’s another forceful boom and our ship heaves dangerously to one side. For a moment, our deck slopes as steeply as a cliff face and I grasp the railings with one hand, my other fist holding on to Faustina’s collar to stop her from sliding down. She’s sobbing with terror.

“Save me, Laura. Save me!”

The ship levels out, water spilling over the deck. Halim has run to the other side, and is braced behind the second mast. He shouts back what can only be an order for his own men to fire. The ship shakes and roars as a volley of cannonballs replies. I can barely look as the rounds howl away, smashing into the water just short of Il Castigo.

Gunfire fills the air as more cannonballs fly towards us. Halim’s men are struggling to return fire—one of their guns goes careening across the deck as if it weighs nothing. Young men race down below deck and come up hauling fresh supplies of powder as the crew hastily wipes down the cannon.

Halim shouts more orders, and the ship steers tightly in the water. The sails lull and snap tight once more, but we’re heading away from the fight. Away from Venice.

I grab hold of Faustina and drag her back under the canvas awning, poking our heads out to watch.

Faruk emerges from belowdecks, keeping his body low as he scuttles across to his master. There’s a thin whistling sound and another iron ball crashes into the deck. Planks of wood splinter and explode. Faruk’s body is there one moment, whipped away the next. My eyes find him on the other side of the ship, lying still. One side of his skull is dented and a trickle of blood emerges from the corner of his mouth. His legs are twisted beneath him, and he groans with pain as a shard of white bone breaks through the fabric of his tunic, blood blossoming around it. His eyes seem to fix on mine, then narrow, until they roll back and he stills.

Low groans emerge from other injured men like a terrible choir of pain. Blood circles out around the body of a sailor lying prone on the deck, reaching out pathetically, calling a word over and over. It might be for water, it might be for his mother—I can’t tell. At a short distance from him, another crew member clutches his head in his hands, where the powder from his gun has exploded in his face. Others are still trying to load the guns. They suddenly look hopeless; nothing like the battle-hungry men sending out war cries only a few moments ago. The whole of the Venetian fleet is turning as one.

Halim staggers over to his old servant and kneels beside him, passing a palm over his eyes to close them. Faustina maintains a low wailing, and flames flicker at the corner of one of the sails, from sparks sent out by the gunpowder. The ship leans heavily as we cut our retreat. Il Castigo is already lagging.

Halim seizes a passing soldier by the collar, and shouts at him while pointing to us. He looks at me. “I can’t listen to that noise a moment longer.”

Faustina’s cheeks are wet with tears as we’re roughly pulled to our feet. “They’ll throw us overboard!” she screams.

But our guard jostles us belowdecks instead. It seems incredible, but Halim must want us out of harm’s way. We pass behind more rows of cannons, through bitter smoke and heat, men struggling to maneuver them into the gunports. I step over a dead man’s body.

“Hurry up!” Our captor takes us around a corner, along a short corridor, and then pushes us into a cabin. He smiles grimly, his face shiny with sweat. “Enjoy yourselves,” he says, before slamming the small door shut.

We listen to the lock sliding into place. Faustina clings to me. “This will be our tomb,” she says.

We’re surrounded by wooden boxes. There’s some navigational equipment on a low table, and I recognize a sextant. Rolls of charts are tucked into a shelf. I wonder if Faustina is right. One direct hit, and this ship will be blown to splinters. I prise the lid from one of the crates with the edge of a compass. It contains what looks like spare sailcloth. I try the next, a smaller box, and find what I was hoping for. An unmistakable fine black powder. If a flame reaches this room, at least our death will be quick. It would be far worse to drown slowly, pulled into the depths by the sodden weight of my clothes.

The noises of battle continue beyond. Explosions, muffled thumps, the singing cannonballs and above it all the screams of the raging and the dying.

As I see it, we have two choices. Either Halim is defeated and goes down with the ship, or he makes his escape and we never see Venice again. Either way, we lose.

“I can’t go to Constantinople,” says Faustina. “The food will never agree with me.”

Despite everything, I laugh. “We won’t be going to Constantinople.” Then I see there’s a third choice, and at once I have a plan.

I grab the sextant lying on a side—its angle-arc, eyepieces and handle are all solid brass, and it’s heavier than it looks. I throw myself against the door. “I’ll do anything if you’ll let us out!” I cry desperately. “Please! Anything!” I can only hope that the sailor understands the full meaning of my words.

“What are you doing?” Faustina asks, frowning at the sextant in my hand.

“Getting us out of here,” I hiss. I bang the door again. “Please. Help us!”

There’s the sound of the lock being drawn back. I wait behind the door, standing on a crate, and put a finger to my lips. Faustina nods uncertainly.

The door creaks open. The same sweat-smeared sailor pokes his head into the room, and I bring the sextant down on his temple with a thud. Faustina yelps as he falls, a dead weight at my feet. “Help me with him,” I say. We bend over, taking an armpit each, and drag his body aside. I check that the corridor beyond is empty, then grab the hem of my skirt and begin tearing at it with my teeth and nails.

“What are you doing?” Faustina protests. “For heaven’s sake, do you know how much that dress cost?”

“I think the dress is ruined already,” I say. Faustina hesitates, then comes beside me and shows me how to find the warp and weft of the fabric, tearing easily along the line of the weave. The two of us rip my skirts into lengths of fabric. Soon, there’s nothing left to guard my modesty but my underskirt.

“Twist them into ropes,” I instruct Faustina. We work quickly, knotting the silk until it resembles a rope of sorts—enough to carry a flame along its length. I take the box of gunpowder down and pour it in the far corner of the room, then carefully lay one end of the silk rope in the powder and trail the rope towards the open door. Finally, I feel through the sailor’s pockets, rifling through his clothes until I find what I’m looking for—a flint box.

“Wait outside,” I tell Faustina.

She finally understands, and her eyes widen. “You’re going to blow up the ship?” she asks.

“Yes, and unless you want to go up with it, I’d move.”

Faustina gathers her skirts, and I kneel beside the end of the rope and light a spark, bringing it down in cupped hands. The silk sets alight easily and the flame fizzes and hisses slowly along its length.

“Time to go!” I drag Faustina after me. Above our heads the cannons are quiet for a moment. We must be maneuvering into position. Voices call out desperate commands.

We head in the opposite direction, not towards the lower gun deck, but towards a leaning stepladder. Through an open hatch, I see smoke in great drifting swathes overhead. I go first, poking my head through. Dead and injured men lie everywhere, the planks slick with blood. A mast hangs at an awkward angle, the sail in shreds. One man rushes past, missing an arm, but hardly seeming to care. For the first time since this battle began, I feel a well of horror swell in my chest.

“Come on!” I hiss to Faustina. My limbs are trembling as I climb into the open. The deck pitches and judders as the keel smashes through rolling waves. There is one remaining mast at full sail, but still she’s fast. I run to the railings, over an injured man whispering a prayer, and see another ship—yes, Il Castigo—in pursuit.

“You!” cries a voice filled with fury. I swivel round to see Halim glaring at me. “Do you know what you’ve cost me?” He lunges and I shrink back. At the same moment, the ship gives a massive shudder. An explosion rips through the air. The gunpowder.

Halim staggers to one side, his mouth hanging open with terror. Splinters of wood erupt into the air, and I cower, shielding my head with my hands. The ship lurches heavily to one side and water swells over my feet. I grab the mast and cling to it as a man slides past me, crying out. His body plunges through the broken railings and disappears over the side of the ship, flailing into the waves.

There’s the hiss and roil of water gushing into the lower quarters. It’s as though the sea is sinking its jaws into our ship. Faustina cries out in terror, clinging to a barrel that’s slipping down the deck. I reach out and just manage to pull her to me as the barrel crashes through the railings and goes the same way as the sailor, into the watery depths.

“Here. Hold on.” I wrap her arms around the mast and grab her chin, forcing her to look into my eyes. “You have to be strong. You have to save yourself.”

The glint of metal catches my eye. Halim has drawn his sword and is climbing slowly to his feet. “It should not have been this way!” he shouts, staring at me, his nostrils flaring. His turban is streaked with blood and the gold sash has been torn from his body so that his tunic hangs in rags.

“Your fate is no one’s fault but your own,” I hiss back.

I spring away, past the main mast, and try to pick my way up the sloping deck. I can hear his grunts of effort as he climbs and slides after me. I clamber over a fallen mast and find myself trapped between the ship’s wheel and a rearing section of the broken deck. Any other men still here ignore me, too busy trying to save their own lives. They hang on to smashed rigging or leap into the water.

I twist round on my backside and come face to face with Halim. He’s been scrambling on his hands and knees, but now he straightens up. His mouth twists in a jubilant smile as he raises his sword in a bloody hand above me. There’s no way out, but I’m not scared anymore.

“Just do it!” I shout.

As I brace myself, there’s a soft thud, and something happens to Halim’s face. The smile of victory softens and slides. His brow creases in confusion. His sword hand falls, and the weapon clatters to the deck; then Halim follows it. He crashes onto the planks at my feet, face-first. A huge splinter of wood emerges from between his shoulder blades, blood spreading over his tunic. And behind Halim, gasping for breath, stands Faustina. She’s soaked through from lying in the water that floods over the deck. “I wasn’t going to let him kill you,” Faustina pants.

We both stare down at the prone figure of an Ottoman prince.

I manage to get to my feet and hug my savior close to me as the ship jerks and shifts beneath us. If this is the end, I want us to face it together. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you.”

A hand grasps my ankle, and I stumble to my knees. Faustina falls backwards with a cry, cracking her head on the wheel. Halim’s face, twisted with anger, grimaces through bloodstained teeth. The wood still protrudes from his back, and he’s mad with rage. I kick, catching his shoulder, then clamber on top of him. His hands flail at me, and his throat gives out a bloodcurdling cackle. I push his arms aside and find his throat with my fingers. I press tighter and tighter, watching his eyes bulge in their sockets as the seawater froths around his shoulders and over my knees. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out. I squeeze with all my strength, pushing his face beneath the welling water. His hands scrabble at my arms, but I push harder, gritting my teeth.

At last, slowly, the fight leaves him. His arms slacken. A trickle of bubbles escapes between his gnashing teeth, and his face is suddenly peaceful once more. This time there is no doubt that his life is over.

I drag myself back up to standing. Faustina is seated against the wheel, her face dazed, blood leaking from a cut under her hairline. The ship sinks farther with each second that passes.

“He won’t be bothering us again,” I tell her. For once, Faustina is too shocked even to cry.

I crouch beside her and throw her arm over my shoulder. My God, she’s heavy! The water climbs up to our knees as the sea starts to swallow Halim’s ship. The sails billow on the water, and the rest of the ship’s carcass turns ghostly as it sinks beneath the surface. I feel my feet leave the deck below, and I struggle to tread water. Faustina throws her arms over a floating piece of timber.

Then the shadow of another ship looms over us, and I look up to see Roberto standing at the gunwale.

He rushes across the deck of his ship. “Hold on!”

He climbs onto the rail and dives off, entering the water like a graceful dart among the floating bodies and detritus. His head breaks the water a few yards away and he swims towards us with powerful strokes.

I hold tight to Faustina with one hand. What’s left of my dress is soaked and heavy. “We’re going to be all right,” I tell her.

As we sail back to the shore, I want nothing more than to fall asleep, but even though I have a blanket wrapped around me, a violent shivering keeps me from slumber. Faustina is muttering her discomforts to the poor young sailor trying to dress her wound.

“How did you find us?” I ask.

“It’s Bianca you should thank,” Roberto says, stroking my hair. “She noticed you hadn’t come home, and told your father. He in turn came to the palace.”

Roberto tells me he was wild with concern, and realized that only one person might know my whereabouts.

“I remembered what you said about Massimo. You were right, and I should have trusted your judgment all along. My father sent soldiers to the barracks, and they arrested him. At first he played innocent, but when we asked about the gunpowder, he couldn’t deny it. The interrogators only had to show him the thumbscrews for him to start blabbing about the rest. He named Vincenzo as his coconspirator, and laid out all the plans that Halim had put in place.”

“So Vincenzo has been found too?”

Roberto shakes his head. “He must have gotten wind of Massimo’s arrest. They found his apartments empty. They’ve put a watch on the harbor, but he’s a wealthy man. He’s probably slipped through the net.”

As long as he’s gone, I’m too tired to care anymore. I find a smile, despite everything. “I wonder if my father still thinks of him as a good suitor,” I say.

Laughter makes Roberto’s chest shake beneath my head. Finally, I let my eyes drift closed.