“Love! Light! And Christmas Delight!
Diminish all who trade in fright!”
A rude noise, like a balloon deflating, issued from the corner where the spirits huddled. They shrank to the size of dolls and scampered away like rats, leaping for the stanchions and throwing themselves overboard.
“Took off like ruptured ducks!” Signor Alicamoussa grinned. “Feather me!”
“Ship’s rats are bigger than them now!” Teo exclaimed.
Pucretia’s voice came up from the water. “And we brought with us a soda fountain, and a plentiful supply of ROUGH ON RATS.”
ROUGH ON RATS proved even rougher on diminished Christmas spirits.
“Now, what about Sofonisba?” Teo cried.
Turtledove’s brain was running in the same direction. “Where’s that Uish woman now? Estimable Feline, I trust yew’s vanquished the female child-hurter? Because now I’s goin’ to pulverize wot’s left of her. They’ll have to bury her in a hundred cardboard boxes.”
Miss Uish was nowhere to be seen. Poor Sofonisba, however, lay panting on the deck, a bright ribbon of blood flowing from her side. One wing had been cut off and most of her tail lay an inch apart from her body.
Turtledove bent over her tenderly, nudging her with his soft muzzle.
“The bravest cat in the world will get the best care the quacks can provide. Yew’ll soon be better,” he growled. “Yew’ll come back to the Mansion Dolorous and I shall treat yew as one of me own childer.”
“Idiot! Fool!” hissed Sofonisba. “While you’re whispering sweet nothings to me, they’re getting away.”
There was the sound of a splash and a glint of shining pink disappearing beneath the water.
“Wot, in the name of Unholy Cat,” asked Turtledove, “were that?”
“The Cala-Mary!” gasped Teo. “The squid submarine! My parents must have finished it.”
And then she remembered what Bajamonte Tiepolo had said when he sensed her presence in his stateroom.
“Your parents are nearly finished,” he had told her, “in both senses of the word, for, of course, it would be foolish of me to allow them to live once they have served my purpose.”
Bajamonte Tiepolo, Orphan-Maker.
Teo, her face bloodless and her heart almost at a standstill, ran to the booby hatch and hurtled down toward the laboratory.
Teo had had many astonishing things happen to her in her life, more than the average twelve-year-old dreams about, in fact. Yet she’d never been so shocked as she was now, at the sight of her highly rational and scientific parents leaning out of a large porthole and talking seriously to a school of mermaids in the water below.
For the first time in her life, Teo was rendered absolutely speechless.
“You can see them?” she eventually squeaked. She’d been so sure that, in the eminently sensible minds of Alberto and Leonora Stampara, modern science must have done away with mermaids, talking dogs, magical creatures and even reincarnated spirits like Bajamonte Tiepolo, explaining the sight of them as the product of a simple ganglionic imbalance or an ocular disturbance.
A dozen boys and girls poured into the laboratory, ducking their heads shyly at the sight of the unfamiliar adults. The parrots flew in behind them, taking roost on the lanterns.
“My parents,” explained Teo proudly, hugging them fiercely. She was surprised to receive twin embraces that were just as fierce in return.
“The danger must truly be over,” she thought, “for I seem to have come out from between-the-Linings.”
“Oh, Teodora,” sobbed Leonora, “they told us they would hurt you.”
“Did you build that Cala-Mary then?” asked Rosato admiringly.
“We’re not proud of it,” Leonora said gravely, over the top of Teo’s head. “We had no choice.”
“Course not,” agreed Bits magnanimously. “You was slave labor, jist loik Greasy ’n’ Marg’rit. Forced, loik.”
“But now they’ve got away in it anyways,” pointed out Pylorus in a small voice.
Alberto Stampara smiled calmly. “They won’t get far.”
Leonora explained, “Knowing it was to be used for evil, we built a fatal error into the submarine. Two minutes after launch, the cabin will completely fill with dark blue ink.”
“Poisonous dark blue ink,” added Alberto.
“And in serving Venice so against her Enemies,” Lussa declared, “Leonora and Alberto Stampara have now joined the ranks of the Incogniti, Secret Protectors of Venice.”
Teo cried, “Which is why they can see mermaids!”
“You mean they’s made sure that old Bargyminty and that woman’s goan to cark it?” cried Bits. “I hain’t sayin’ I wish anybody ill. But I hopes that’s what you mean.”
A fierce bubbling in the river answered Bits’s question before Leonora and Alberto could. A sudden blush of blue crept over the icebergs juddering in the current around the Bombazine.
“If the ink has been released, it can only be because the cabin filled and the submarine has sunk to the bottom of the river,” explained Alberto quietly.
“Hain’t he got baddened magic, though, yer Traitor?” asked Pylorus. “Won’t he ’scape?”
“Bajamonte Tiepolo has … had achieved a Human State again,” affirmed Lussa. “So He can drown just like an ordinary Man. Like the Woman Uish, who was never More than a Very Bad Example of a Human.”
Everyone’s faces tightened. Yet in her heart, Teo was not a bit sorry. If anything, death by drowning in blue ink wasn’t a bad-enough fate for Miss Uish. And there was no fate too terrible for Bajamonte Tiepolo.
The Venetian mermaids broke into unruly rejoicing. “He has unscrewed his billiard table!” and “Worms’ night out!”
Flos shouted happily, “He’s basted da poison turkey!”
Marsil cried, “And he’s tied up his plum puddings!”
“Puddings! Puddings! Puddings!” screeched the parrots, though one cried “Worms!” in a wistful way.
Pucretia looked up sharply. From her quiver, Nerolia pulled a large green bottle of PATENT VERMIFUGE. The parrot whistled and looked away.
Renzo said soberly, “They will be dead, but the Pretender doesn’t know it yet.”
“And if yer Bargyminty and the childer-hurting wishy-woman is dead …,” Turtledove said slowly and regretfully, “it means we cannot interrogerate ’em as to the Hooroo plans for Venice. We is in the dark. Things ain’t so rosy as we thought.…”
“There is someone we could ask,” Teo said. “Someone who was always thick as thieves with Miss Uish. And she’s still here.”
Everyone turned to look for Sibella. She’d been safely tied to a chair in a corner of the laboratory, awaiting the judgment of the victors of the battle. She dared not struggle, of course, because of her hemophilia.
It suddenly occurred to Teo that it really was outstandingly callous of Bajamonte Tiepolo and Miss Uish to abandon Sibella to the mercies of those left on the Bombazine, all of whom had reasons to hate her. Yet she suppressed her pity. This was war. The fates of London and Venice hung in the balance. There were things to set straight, and this was Teo’s opportunity to do so, while people were at last ready to listen to her on the subject of Sibella’s treachery.
Lussa listened patiently while Teo listed her grievances against Sibella. “She spied on us. She treated us like dirt. As soon as she could, she ran to the Bombazine and joined our enemies. Even when we were at sea, she used her horrible leeches to send messages to them. There has always been something strange about her. And finally, who is she? Why does no one come to find her, or care about her? Nobody loves her, and there must be a reason for that.”
“How very banal,” remarked Sibella, “the case against me.”
Teo felt a red haze pass in front of her eyes. In that blood-colored shimmering, Sibella’s pretty face distorted. The features sharpened, lengthened. Suddenly, Sibella looked almost exactly like a miniature version of Miss Uish herself. Teo swayed, and Sibel
la’s face changed again. Now those blue eyes seemed to darken to greenish brown, with a rim of red around them. And her pupils seemed to narrow like a snake’s.
Teo’s feelings rioted out of control. A fierce torrent of words rushed out of her mouth. “I know who you are, Sibella. Is it so uncommonly banal,” she hissed, “that you must be the daughter of Bajamonte Tiepolo himself? And Miss Uish is no doubt your mother! You are the spawn of Venice’s worst enemy and London’s worst enemy!”
Silence fell on the room.
Ann Picklefinch whispered, “It’s true, that Sibella hes an uncanny way aboot her.”
“That is a dreadful thing to accuse her of!” exclaimed Renzo. “On what evidence?”
Signor Alicamoussa murmured, “Teodora, reckon youse is barking up the wrong dog there.…”
Teo shouted, “She’s not denying it, is she? Remember how she came aboard the Scilla? We didn’t capture her, not like the other prisoners. That Australian ship practically delivered her giftwrapped. And then why did she run to the Bombazine, if not back to Mamma and Papà, like a good little girl?”
Sibella’s face might have been etched on white marble, so unmoving were her features. She murmured, “I was not welcome on the Scilla.”
Lussa intervened, “Teodora, your Rage is intemperate. If this Child were truly the Daughter of Il Traditore & the Uish Woman, would They really have abandoned Her here? Even if They do not love Her, She would surely be worth Something to Them. As their Heiress, at Least.”
“Perhaps she’s still spying! On her own account!”
Suddenly, everyone—the Venetians and the English—was shouting and waving their hands around.
Even Turtledove growled at Teo, “Is yew a few drops short of a tincture, girlie? Don’t niver see them two villains as breeders.” At which the London mermaids below tittered with their hands over their mouths.
Emilio pointed out: “She never actually told them where the Scilla was, did she?”
Unseen by anyone, Sibella quietly undid the ropes that bound her and edged out of the room.
Lussa’s troubled voice rose above the rest, “Yet who is She? Perhaps She is the Daughter of Evil. Mayhap Evil even sleeps in her young Veins. But for now, She is but a Child, Friendless & Hated, and Afflicted with a rare Disease. We should pity Her, surely?”
“By the way, where is the girlie?” inquired Turtledove.
A shriek was heard up above. Tig Sweetiemouth came rushing into the laboratory. “Come upstairs!” she implored the company. “Everyone come on deck!”
“Sibella!” called Renzo, climbing up the hatch.
“I’m up here.” A faint, bell-like voice came from high in the rigging. “And you need have no worry about how to dispose of me. I shall save you the trouble.”
A piece of paper fluttered down to the deck. Signor Alicamoussa picked it up and read aloud, “ ‘And so I end my worthless life …’ ”
Sibella called down, “I suggest you clear the deck. I don’t want to take any of you with me when I jump.”
“It’s only thirty yards. She might be all right, light little bundle loik that. She’ll prob’ly bounce loik a feather!” whispered Greasy. “Wiv maybe a bruise or two.”
“No,” Renzo groaned, “her hemophilia means she will bleed to death from the slightest injury.”
“Poor maid,” whispered Turtledove.
“And she’s so very pretty,” added Tobias.
A minute later, Renzo was quietly climbing up the rigging behind Sibella.
They talked earnestly. Teo strained to read the sentences she saw above their heads. But the wind was rising noisily, blowing all the words out of shape. Sibella touched her chest and pointed south.
Turtledove patted Teo’s foot with his paw. “Doan fret. Renzo ain’t scrootching up to her all lovey-dovey now. It’s jist a bit o’ business up there.”
Sibella finally smiled gravely and nodded once. Renzo offered his hand and helped her down to the deck.
There, he saluted Signor Alicamoussa. “The prisoner is delivered safely. She insists that she will not explain herself except in front of a court of her peers. We”—Renzo colored slight—“may not be considered her equals, it seems. For she says she is the natural daughter of the Pretender himself. That’s why she has hemophilia, the disease of the royal family.”
Signor Alicamoussa gave Sibella a considering stare. “Those eyes! That chin! That brow! Is a possible thing, I reckon, to see the features of Harold Hoskins in that tiny face, yes. Very liken, in factiest fact. Much more liken to his Nobship than to the Uish female or the Tiepolatrocity!”
Renzo said, “So she was placed on the Scilla not as a spy, but as a hostage—until the destruction of Venice was accomplished. Sibella constituted the personal and private bond of the Pretender to Bajamonte Tiepolo. To be held in his custody until Venice was destroyed. Now don’t you see that Sibella has just been an innocent pawn in all this? I am sure any court in any land—”
“We shall take her back to Venice with us, then, yes. She can answer for herself in front of her peers there. Youse’ll know what they say about Venetians?” Signor Alicamoussa smiled delightfully.
“Of course,” said Renzo. “Every Venetian mother says it when she gives birth: ‘Look, a lord is born in this world. We are all lords and ladies in Venice.’ ”
“Renzo,” Teo admonished him, “why are you so happy? Just because Sibella is his daughter does not mean Harold Hoskins won’t be thinking of invading Venice, now that Bajamonte Tiepolo has given him the idea. He loves power! Craves it! Venice would be a crowning jewel in his new imperial crown, wouldn’t she?”
Sebastiano dalla Mutta suggested, “Or perhaps Renzo quite fancies a Queen Sibella ruling over Venice?”
“No, I do not.” Renzo’s voice was clear and stern. “In fact, my biggest fear is that her father will come after her.”
“Easily risolverated.” Signor Alicamoussa waved the piece of paper that Sibella had sent floating down to the deck. “We shall send her suiciding letter to the London bobbies and to her unfatherly father, who is colder than a billabong’s bottom. He will think she has indeed carked it! In the meaningwhiles, we’ll take her with us to Venice, all alivo and bucksome. And perhaps, with a little proper kindness shown to her for once, the pale girlie will come to trust us with the whole truth, yes.”
A gabble of voices broke out. It was the sound of everyone on the Scilla changing the subject to something far more cheerfully suited to the aftermath of a victorious battle, namely the Londoners’ return to the home comforts of the mourning emporium’s soft-lined coffins and cozy coal fires.
“Now.” Alberto Stampara smiled, hugging Teo and shaking Renzo’s hand vigorously. “Tell us just how you two got all the way here from Venice, and what you are doing here on your own.”
Leonora kissed the top of Teo’s head. “You are changed, somehow, since we saw you last. Not just this strange hairstyle.”
Renzo intervened quickly, “She has traveled now, you know. She is more cosmopolitan, perhaps?”
“No, it’s not that.” Leonora looked puzzled. “Teodora is more … sea-ish.”
“Seaworthy!” maintained Renzo. “She is entirely seaworthy.”
Sebastiano dalla Mutta chuckled. “Yes, if you stand close enough to Teo, you can hear the ocean. From between the ears.”
Sebastiano’s own ears stood in considerable danger of a pinch from Renzo at that moment, but Alberto persisted, “What were you two doing on the Scilla? Did your mother permit such a thing, Renzo? Teodora, we thought we left you safe with Anna. What happened?”
Teo and Renzo exchanged worried glances. Two summers before, they had agreed to spare Teo’s parents the difficulty of trying to believe in mermaids, baddened magic, vengeful spirits. If they started recounting the whole truth now, then many other things would also need to be explained. And then it would come out—the painful fact that Teo now knew the identity of her real parents, that she had visited their graves, and that
she wished to be like them and work in the Venetian Archives. This would be too hard on the soft hearts of Alberto and Leonora Stampara, who loved her like the kindest parents in the world. They might be Incogniti now, but they were still human, and they could be hurt.
Signor Alicamoussa saw them floundering. He winked at Teo. Then he put arms confidentially around the shoulders of Leonora and Alberto Stampara and drew them away. “Dear colleagues,” he said, “is very sad news in the altogether of Renzo’s Mamma. Let’s not talk about it in front of the boy. And youse may not realize just what has happened to Venice in your absence.”
“Saved!” sighed Renzo, as the adults moved to a sheltered part of the deck so that Leonora could sit down away from the biting wind.
“As he’d admit himself, Signor Alicamoussa could talk a dog off a meat wagon,” smiled Teo.
“Did someone say ‘dog’?” asked Turtledove, planting his feet on Teo’s shoulders and licking her face clean of all the soot and sweat of battle.
“Not one of my favorite words.” Sofonisba limped up, permitting a caress from Tig. “But I’d honor it now, after having seen you in battle, sir.”
“Yew was no shabby tabby yourself, missis, when it came to the old one-two.” Turtledove nudged her softly with his nose.
“Ah, but I am wrecked and mutilated now by all these adventures,” Sofonisba sighed theatrically. She rolled on her back, erected a rear leg and licked at various sore spots and scratches inflicted by Miss Uish. She sported a large plaster where her wing was once tucked against her side. Her tail was neatly bandaged into a white stump, which still managed to be astonishingly communicative, rapping on the floor to emphasize its owner’s words.
“I’ve no desire to put myself to sea again. What use is a ship’s cat without a full tail? How can the young sailors learn ailuromancy without an all-expressive tail to observe? And my flying days are over. No, a new kitten must be found and trained for the Scilla. By the way, what happens to pensioned-off ship’s cats in this country?”
Turtledove answered expertly, “Ah, they is retired to the Catswolds; ’tis a veritable heaven for cats up there. They has their own villages, like Much-Fondling-in-the-Fur and Purrington, where they lives in ease and style. The Litterbox Lanes is a wonder of modern sanitation. An’ the catnip fields grow green far as the eye can see.”
The Mourning Emporium Page 30
