“Bajamonte Tiepolo,” he began portentously, “was a rich and spoiled nobleman who wanted to be absolute ruler of Venice. He’d been humiliated by the Venetian Council for robbing the people of the province he had governed. He was bitter as poison about it. He believed that the old ways of the aristocracy were being trampled by upstarts like Doge Gradenigo—”
Teo interrupted, “According to him, the Doge was an upstart?”
Renzo raised his eyebrows. “He considered everyone beneath him.”
Teo thought, “Bajamonte Tiepolo’s not the only Venetian who’s felt that way.”
Renzo continued, “So Bajamonte Tiepolo and some of his noble friends raised a secret army, planning to kill Doge Gradenigo and seize power for themselves.
“On the appointed night, just before dawn, three groups of armed men set out from different points of the city towards San Marco. Marco Querini’s group was to arrive via the Calle dei Fabbri. The second party, led by Bajamonte Tiepolo, would come down the Mercerie. And the third group, led by Badoero Badoer, would arrive by water.”
“So many of them! How did he …?”
“It was rumored that Bajamonte Tiepolo possessed magical powers and had woven a spell around many good men. Afterwards they claimed he had drugged the drinks with which they toasted their victory. Even his crest was said to have hypnotic properties.
“But at the last minute”—Renzo paused for effect—“everything went wrong for Bajamonte Tiepolo. Some of his men had a dramatic change of heart and turned informers for the Doge.”
The mermaids smiled proudly then, and Teo guessed that they might have had something to do with changing the men’s minds.
“So,” continued Renzo, “when the conspirators led by Marco Querini arrived in San Marco, the Doge’s loyal army was waiting for them.…”
Teo privately thought that Renzo could have speeded up his recounting of the story at this point. But Renzo was enjoying his human and half-human audience too much, drinking in the admiration of the young mermaids. Teo had a sudden sense that perhaps Renzo, like herself, was considered an oddity at school because of his passion for things in books. Perhaps he’d never had anyone to listen to him like this before?
“Well, meanwhile, Bajamonte Tiepolo’s men were held up at the Rialto Bridge. They looted the public treasury and set fire to the bridge itself. It was wooden, in those days, Teo. Then the Badoer fleet was caught in a storm that came out of nowhere.”
The mermaids looked smug again.
Chissa muttered impatiently, “What a drivelswigger! Drags on like a sea cow’s saliva!”
Renzo blushed and stammered to a halt. To help him out, Teo said encouragingly, “But do tell us what happened next!”
“Eventually Bajamonte Tiepolo’s party tore themselves away from their looting and made their way towards San Marco. The troop was led by a dwarf carrying a flag emblazoned with the Tiepolo crest. Just before they reached the entrance to the square, an old lady, a baker’s wife, took matters into her own hands.
“She leant out of her balcony and dropped her heavy mortar-and-pestle on the dwarf flag-bearer’s head. Bajamonte Tiepolo’s glittering armor was spattered with dwarf blood and brains. Suddenly he didn’t look like an invincible leader. He looked a man who would ruthlessly spill Venetian blood.
“Someone shouted, ‘Bajamonte Tiepolo, Orphan-Maker!’ Someone else screamed, ‘Bajamonte Tiepolo, Il Traditore!’ ”
“Now he’s really telling it well,” judged Teo admiringly. Her eyes flew to the gold mortars-and-pestles that decorated the cavern.
“The spell was broken. The rest of the men suddenly woke out of their enchantment. Marco Querini had already been killed in the battle at San Marco. Bajamonte Tiepolo fled to the safety of his family palace, which was like a fortress. The conspiracy was over.”
Renzo paused. “Except for the punishments. They hanged Badoer between the columns in the Piazzetta.”
Teo asked, “And Bajamonte Tiepolo too?”
Renzo explained that the noble Tiepolo name still counted for a great deal in Venice. “The Doge thought he would gain the people’s favor if he showed mercy. So he negotiated a treaty by which the conspirator would go into perpetual exile: the worst thing you can do to a Venetian.”
“Except for killing him,” observed Teo.
“The Doge wanted to appear merciful, but he had hatred in his heart for the man who’d wanted to murder him. So he ordered his men to raze the family palaces of Bajamonte Tiepolo at Sant’Agostin and on the Grand Canal. Where there is now the modern Hotel degli Assassini.”
“That’s where I am staying!” exclaimed Teo. “And there’s a Bar Tiepolo in there!”
“We do not think that is a coincidence, that ye should be abiding in that establishment,” muttered Chissa, worry creasing her forehead.
Teo felt the air squeezed out of her chest. Until this moment, the violent story of Bajamonte Tiepolo had seemed rather like a fairy tale gone wrong, something to read in an old book curled up on a rainy day, and nothing to do with Teo herself. Suddenly, it felt personal. And she remembered something else. Her parents were sleeping in that hotel now, after a hard day’s searching for Teo and meeting with other scientists.
Lussa continued, “Doge Gradenigo erected a Column of Infamy in the Place where the Palace had stood. To remind the Populace of his Crimes.”
“There’s no column there now.”
“Sadly not—and nor at Sant’Agostin. Its Absence has allowed Venice to forget what She should most diligently remember.”
Teo asked, “But what happened to Il Traditore himself?”
Renzo replied, “I believe he died in exile. As far as I know, that is the end of the story.”
Lussa sighed bleakly, “I’m afraid that was not the End of the Story at all.”
Chissa wound a tendril of dark red hair around her finger and intoned, “No indeed, Undrowned Child. Ye should know there was an even darker side to the tale.”
two o’clock in the morning, June 8, 1899
Two of the mermaids swam up with an enormous turtleshell. They turned it so the hollowed side was facing Renzo and Teo. All they could see was a curved cloudy mirror.
“Look deep inside,” urged Lussa. The mirror cleared and became like a kind of moving storybook, rather like The Key. It showed a dark-haired man going about his life. From the costumes of his companions, and his own words, there was no doubt that this was Bajamonte Tiepolo. The scene was always shown from his point of view, with the back of his head in sight, but never the front.
The turtleshell played out the conspiracy, the death of the dwarf, the ignominious flight back to his palace and Il Traditore’s final departure from Venice in the teeming black rain, with his fellow citizens turning tight-closed faces silently against him. No one bade him farewell. Young gondoliers competed to spit at him. Men cursed him in filthy language. Women held their aprons up to their eyes rather than look at him.
“You’re no Venetian,” snarled a fisherman.
A child cried, “And don’t come back! No one wants you here, Bajamonte Tiepolo.”
Teo and Renzo heard Il Traditore cry out, “But I was Venice’s savior! I wanted reform! Now you treat me like this!”
There was the sound of something wet slapping on his back: another Venetian had spat on him. Then someone tore in half a flag bearing a red, yellow and blue crest. He hunched his shoulders, which shook as if he was weeping beneath his cloak.
But the turtleshell showed that Bajamonte Tiepolo learnt nothing from his defeat. He set himself up on the mainland and started dealing with Venice’s enemies, hoping to find other people to help destroy the city that had humiliated him. He talked obsessively of making his former home sink back beneath the waves. News of his plotting filtered back to Venice. In private, Doge Gradenigo summoned his secret police, the Signori di Notte, and sent them to murder Bajamonte Tiepolo. He was captured, put in chains and strangled by a dark-robed state assassin in a mask.
Teo looked away at this part. It was like a horror-story; like something Mr. Poe would write, or Mr. Dickens. When she looked up, the corpse of Bajamonte Tiepolo was being bundled into a sack. There was no funeral; no prayers were said over his body. The sack was hastily thrown into the lagoon, weighted down with stones threaded among the chains. It sank fathoms deep through the water. Down, down, down it went, landing gently on a bed of seaweed.
The shell clouded over as Lussa told them, “The Location of his Body was a Sworn Secret. To Humanfolk. We Mermaids of course watched and knew Everything.”
Everyone in the underwater chamber fell silent for a moment, thinking of Bajamonte Tiepolo’s fate.
“But he’s quite dead, is he not?” asked Renzo, looking at the mermaids for reassurance. “And buried out in the lagoon. Why do we need to worry about him now?”
“Il Traditore is dead, but, like all Traitors, He does not rest in Peace. His disembodied Spirit has passed the last Six Hundred Years hunting for his Bones in every Corner & Crevasse of the Lagoon. We Mermaids have for Centuries made regular Inspections of his Sea-Grave to ensure his Body was still Enchained & Hidden.”
“But why …?”
“We fear that if—by the use of Baddened Magic—his Spirit was ever reunited with his Body, then He could grow back to his Former Strength.”
“Baddened magic?”
“All Magic is born Good. But Good Magic can be twisted to Evil, perverted for Killing & Cursing.”
“So it was true that he had magical powers?” asked Renzo.
“Yar, Il Traditore had Access to certain Mystical Knowledge. His Studies continued in his Exile. Even after his Death. Though his Memory lacks perfect Function.”
“So he’s never found his bones, at least?” asked Renzo hopefully.
Lussa’s lovely face darkened. “Two months ago, One of our Number went to look on the Secret Spot where his Body was placed. She never returned. Then I Myself went with my Attendants, and We discovered that the Chains were broken. Someone, Some Human Fisherman or Treasure-Hunter, had found the Body of Il Traditore and had taken a Souvenir: the Left Hand.”
“Why would anyone do that?” asked Renzo, wrinkling his nose with distaste.
“No doubt because It bore Bajamonte Tiepolo’s Ring. A priceless Emerald from the Ganges that Marco Polo brought back from his Travels. Il Traditore had got hold of It, hearing of its Magic Powers. It never left his Hand, not in Life or Death.”
“So the fisherman cut off the hand?” Teo whispered hoarsely.
“Indeed. For a Human could never have pulled that Ring off the Finger, whereunto ’Twas bound by a Magical Force.”
Teo murmured, “A ring, a big green stone in it? Oh no, please.”
Into her mind came the unwelcome image of Maria standing beside the boy with the perfect mole and the large green ring she’d thought was glass.
“Of course We took Immediate Steps. We removed the Rest of the Bones to a new Place of Safety. Fortunately, We were able to do That before the Spirit of Bajamonte Tiepolo became Aware that his Body had been Discovered. And before He had hunted down the Unfortunate Human who found It.”
Teo shuddered. “I hate to think what happened to that fisherman.…”
Renzo finished for her, “Who was no doubt forced to take Il Traditore to the original resting place …”
Teo guessed, “Only to find that the bones were gone!”
Renzo interrupted, “But I think I know! There was that story in the newspapers of the fisherman from Pellestrina found drowned with strange marks around his neck—that must have been in the newspapers around two months ago? Before you came to Venice, Teo. The police said it looked as if he’d been strangled, but with just one hand, and no one could have the strength to do that.”
“No Human, ’Tis Certain,” said Lussa bluntly. “But Whatever happened there, We are now Certain that the Hand is back in the Possession of its Original Owner. The Signs of It are all over the City.”
Teo asked, “The fountains, the High Water in the wrong place? The lights going out? The Brustolons?”
“All That & More. Just One Week after Il Traditore got his Hand back, the Creature started upon Its Mischiefs.”
“And the sharks?” asked Renzo.
“Aye, ’Twas Bajamonte Tiepolo who sent for those Dogs of Fish. The Sharks are merely a Beginning. He’s presently summoning the Forces of Evil to help Him—All the Enemies of Venice from the Present & the Past. Behold how They are gathering.”
The turtleshell filled with cloudy liquid again, and inside it the children caught terrifying glimpses of ghastly creatures, men in bloodstained armor and fearsome helmets, white-robed women who looked beautiful until you noticed their hairy goats’ feet—all streaming across the sky with Venice visible in the distance.
Then, in the turtleshell, appeared the image of a solitary white eel weaving through black water. Two long, curved teeth hung outside its sneering jaw. White fins folded like a bat’s wings on its back.
“A Vampire Eel,” breathed Lussa. “The only Natural Enemy of the Mermaids.”
The children and the mermaids watched in silence as the Vampire Eel stalked and fell upon a baby dolphin from behind. It used its forked tail to hold down its struggling prey while it struck again and again with its deadly incisors. As the little dolphin grew still, the eel fixed its jaw on its prey’s neck and visibly gulped for minutes on end. All the while its milky eyes, rimmed with black, turned here and there in search of new victims. The eel’s gills, clustered on the outside of its diaphanous skin, now swelled up like branches of red coral.
Teo remembered the music box with the terrified tin mermaid and the pursuing serpent she had seen at the toy emporium. It had been a Vampire Eel, not a snake, chasing the mermaid round the carousel!
Lussa continued, “The magòghe have gone over to Bajamonte, of course, but the Little Black-Headed Ones, the cocai, are still Loyal. Meanwhile, we too are summoning Support. We await some Dolphins from the South Seas. But They are delayed by a Spillage of Oils & Ambergris from a Merchant Ship in the Spanish Straits. Hopefully They shall be ridden by our Old Friends, the Nereids. We sent Seashells for Them.”
“Shells?”
“We inscribe our Messages upon Seashells and send Them out with the Retreating Tide. The Sea is a most Reliable Courier. With the Shells We have recruited the staunch English Melusine, the Little Steeds of Neptune and the London Sea-Monks and Sea-Bishops.”
Lussa noticed the children’s puzzled looks. “That is, Two-tailed Mermaids & Seahorses, and two very large Species of Squid, respectively. And here in Venice, We have tamed as many of the Wild-but-Good Faeries as ’Tis safe to parley with. Also on our side are the Herons and the Egrets. The Parrots, It goes without Saying. And even the Pigeons. Naturally, the Doves have remained Pure of Heart.”
“And the insects?” Renzo shuddered.
“Alas, gone over to the Enemy in the main, which could prove Problematic.”
Teo asked, “What about people’s pets?”
“The Cats, who cannot abide a Dictator, are with Us. The Dogs are confused. Each Breed is of a different Mind. A friendly Circus-Master currently parleys with Them, Dog by Dog, and has commenced Negotiations with the Winged Lions.”
“The Signor Alicamoussa!” cooed the mermaids, and extremely flirtatious expressions stole across a hundred pretty faces.
Lussa held up her hand. “To return to our Main Drift—the Danger grows acute. The Beasts know It. The Birds know It. They have their Instincts to guide Them. Only Humanfolk remain in Blissful Ignorance. But soon Venice shall start to sink, not evenly & slowly, but in Catastrophic Chasms. The Backbones of all the Weakest & Oldest Buildings shall fail first. Then shall occur a Chain of Collapse, all the Palaces Astagger & Afall like the Pieces in your Human Game of Dominoes.”
Renzo was pale as a glass of milk. Teo felt cold worming through her bones.
And there was one more thing, Lussa told Teo, looking straight into her
eyes: “The Girl Maria. You must give Her a Wide Berth.”
“Who’s Maria?” asked Renzo, in a tone that insinuated that Teo had deliberately contaminated the city. “Some Napoletana friend of yours?”
“She’s not my friend,” protested Teo.
“She has a Friend, however,” said Lussa. “Most misfortunately Maria has taken up an Amicable Alliance with the Spirit of Bajamonte Tiepolo, who can show Himself—for just a few Minutes at a time—as a nice-looking Young Man. More often He’s to be seen as a gargantuan White Bat. He struggles to fix Himself in any one State. Only the Hand & the Ring remain constant.…”
“I’ve seen him,” Teo shivered. “Both ways.”
She explained what she had witnessed in Santi Giovanni e Paolo: the terrible white bat and the headless butcher and the skin of Marcantonio Bragadin ripped out of its tomb. Then she described the boy she had seen with Maria and the white fur growing out of the back of his neck. “I suppose he was changing back into the bat. That was why he had to disappear so quickly.”
Renzo, just as she’d feared, demanded angrily, “Why didn’t you tell anyone, Teo? The police? Me, even? It’s the responsibility of a witness …”
Teo tried to pretend she hadn’t heard. She continued shakily with her account of the young man with the perfect oval mole and how The Key to the Secret City had showed her that the mole meant “murderer.”
Lussa observed grimly, “And the First Person to know That shall be Maria Herself. Once a susceptible Human is under his Power, there is but Little that can be done to save Him or Her, short of releasing the Victim from their Misery.”
“You mean they have to die?” asked Teo, feeling a stab of nausea. She could have tried to intervene in Maria’s friendship with the young man. Instead, she had stayed selfishly silent so as not to lose her delicious days of freedom.
“Alack, a Quick Death is the Only Choice. Unless They can redeem Themselves by betraying their Evil Master. In that Way, Maria could be saved.”
“So long as it wasn’t a trap,” muttered Renzo. “Obviously, you can’t trust anyone from Naples.”
The Undrowned Child Page 11
