by Gwynn White
“Venere pudica,” the gondolier called with a laugh then poled way.
“Modest Venus,” Sal said from the bed behind me.
I looked back at him. The moonlight fell on his naked body. He looked beautiful, his silver-streaked hair shining. “What did you say?”
“Venere pudica means ‘Modest Venus.’ That is the Aphrodite of Knidos’ common title.”
“Just how do you know so much about this statue?”
Sal shrugged. “My brother donated a copy to the Pope a few years ago.”
I considered for a moment then laughed out loud.
Sal smiled wryly. “What is it, my Lily?”
“Well, I guess we have to find her.”
Sal rose and came to stand behind me. He kissed my earlobe. “I know,” he whispered.
Chapter Seventeen
It was sometime after midnight when there was a knock on the door. Sal and I had been lying in bed entwined in one another’s arms. Sighing heavily, I reluctantly got up and pulled on a robe while Sal, a sheet wrapped around his waist, answered the door.
“Ah, Signor Colonna…” Vittorio said, looking a little embarrassed, “pardon the intrusion. Signorina Stargazer, I am so sorry to bother you, but someone, a woman, has come through one of the secret passages between the buildings of Ca’ Mocenigo. She wants to speak with you. Her name is—”
“Celeste.”
Vittorio nodded.
“Can you escort her to the dining room? I’ll be down in a minute.”
Vittorio nodded and headed back down the hall.
“Shall I come?” Sal asked.
“Give me a minute with her first?”
Sal’s expression was gentle. “As you wish.”
I slipped on a pair of slippers and headed downstairs. When Celeste entered I was a bit startled; she was wearing a hooded cape and a carnival mask. The porcelain mask was intricately decorated around the eyes and cheeks with inlaid filigree metalwork. Copper and brass rosettes trimmed the brow line.
“One of the benefits of living in Venice,” she said, removing the mask, “is that we are deft at subterfuge. Of course, in my trade, I also know everyone’s secret stairwells,” she said with a smile.
I wondered then if we shared something, someone, else in common but decided not to ask.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she said and took a seat beside me.
I nodded. At once, my senses were overcome by the smell of her perfume; the rich scent of gardenia emanated from her. Thanks to the opium, everything in the room seemed amplified yet slightly out of joint.
“Lily,” she said then, leveling those huge golden eyes on me, “I need to apologize to you. Have you ever been so passionate about something that you just assume everyone else around you cares as much as you do?”
“I’m a professional airship racer,” I replied with a grin.
Her serious demeanor cracked. She laughed but then smiled sympathetically and took my hand. “I never thought about why you changed your name. To be honest, I never even cared. It was not until I spoke of your father, of your past, and I saw the look on your face…I’m sorry I have pried into something very private.” With the accuracy I would expect from an expert on matters of the heart, she had hit her mark.
“My father…you said he’s dead. That is certain?”
Celeste looked sympathetically at me. “As far as we were able to ascertain, yes.”
I had always considered myself an orphan, but something about knowing for sure saddened me. I thrust the feeling away as soon as it arose, holding back tears that welled, choking them down.
“Who was the harlequin? The man who died to give the kaleidoscope to me?” I asked.
Celeste’s forehead furrowed, and her lips pulled back tightly. “His name was Demetris. He was someone very special to me. He was one of us…a priest, really, from Paphos.”
The look on her face explained it all. Her love had died to save the Aphrodite.
“I want you to meet someone,” I told her. “We made a discovery, but you must promise not to discuss prophecies, or ancient ancestors, or…my father. If you can promise that, I’ll help you.”
The lines around her mouth softened. “Of course.”
I rose and asked Sal to join us. Now dressed, he’d been waiting in the drawing room. He entered carrying a rolled map. He smiled at Celeste and introduced himself. After simple pleasantries, we got down to business. I relayed to Celeste what I had seen in the kaleidoscope.
“I believe the numbers represent a line of latitude. It is virtually useless without the line of longitude. But I do have a theory,” Sal explained.
“Sal believes that when Venus is a morning star it may reveal the longitude coordinates,” I said.
Celeste opened a small leather journal and set it on the table. “Venus is about to fall into a period when she is not visible from Earth. But Demetris, the other person searching for the Aphrodite, also saw numbers in the kaleidoscope. And he saw them on the morning star. We didn’t know what they were. Here,” she said pointing to a page where copious notes had been jotted in Greek and a series of numbers.
Sal picked up the journal and read over the notes. He handed me the map then opened a wooden chest he’d carried with him from London. I spread out the map. From inside the chest, Sal took out a number of small measures, a modified sextant, and a very old looking astrolabe connected to a series of dials. Sal went to the front of the palazzo with the sextant and journal, returning several minutes later with numbers scratched down the margin. He then worked the measures and finally set the dial. We sat back and watched; the astrolabe turned, the gears on the dial rotated, clicking into place. Sal took out a pen and drew two lines on the map. Where they crossed, he drew a circle.
Celeste leaned over the map. “That’s not Knidos,” she said.
“No, that is the isle of Kos,” Sal replied.
“The Aphrodite statue was originally created for Kos, but the citizens were shocked by her nudity. They purchased a second Aphrodite by Praxiteles instead, a draped figure. The nude stayed in Knidos,” Celeste told us.
“Maybe Kos ended up with the nude after all,” I suggested.
“But why would Temenos take the Aphrodite to Kos?” Celeste mused.
Sal looked confused.
“A man named Temenos hid the Aphrodite,” I explained away.
“We must go to Kos,” Celeste said.
“Lily, you can’t take the Stargazer. The Dilettanti will follow,” Sal warned.
“I have an associate with a ship. Veronica will let you take the Bacchus,” Celeste offered.
“The Bacchus?” I asked.
“It is a pleasure craft.”
I frowned.
“I’ll arrange it. Can you be ready by dawn?” Celeste asked.
Sal and I looked at one another. Dawn was only four hours away.
“I will need some things. If you can arrange for them, we’ll be ready,” Sal said then began jotting a list on one of the blank pages of Demetris’ journal. He handed the book to Celeste. She read over the list, looked at Sal inquisitively, then nodded.
“I’ll make the arrangements,” she said and rose to go. Celeste smiled at me with gratitude before she donned her mask and left.
Sal and I stood staring down at the map.
“The Greeks and Ottomans are at war,” I commented absently.
“Yes,” Sal replied with a sigh. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulled me close, and kissed the nape of my neck.
We were going. Now I just needed to figure out how to tell Angus and Jessup.
Chapter Eighteen
“You’re just looking for trouble, lassie. Don’t you have enough problems of your own? And what the fuck are we supposed to do if you get yourself killed?” Angus grumbled.
He had a point. “Look, I’m just trying to help. Once it’s done then it’s done. Besides, Sal will be there. You and Jessup can stay in Venice and work on the modifications to the Sta
rgazer. I promise I won’t be longer than a week.”
“We’ve heard that before,” Jessup said with a sour face.
“I mean it. If this turns into a rabbit hole, I’ll come back to Venice.”
Angus sighed heavily and shook his head. “One day, you need to quit running,” he said, his dark blue eyes meeting and holding mine.
I sighed.
Sal looked from Angus to me but asked nothing.
“No more than a week. You promise,” Jessup said, pointing his finger at me. “We need to get ready for Valencia.”
“I’ll be back,” I promised.
By dawn, Sal and I were standing on the roof of Palazzo del Cigno staring up at the airship I would pilot on loan.
“Flying the Bacchus is a lot like navigating a bathtub in a squall, but the old float chugs along,” Veronica said with a laugh. Veronica, or Roni as she told us to call her, had wild brown hair that looped out of control. A lock of pure white hair jutted out from her temple and trailed away from her face, getting lost in a forest of curls. Not even her goggles could keep the wild locks at bay. Her husky voice told me she smoked and drank strong liquor. She wore black boots reaching up to her thighs, short black leather shorts, and a chainmail and leather bodice. Standing side by side with Celeste, Roni made the courtesan look as rigid as the statue she sought.
But Roni was right. The Bacchus was a heavy old airship. Its gold and purple striped balloon, decorated with the image of the Dionysian god, shifted in the morning air. Its deck was covered by a gold tarp. At the front of the ship was a massive figurehead of Bacchus. Roni’s gear galleyman and balloonman, both trained not to ask questions, were along for the ride. I felt uneasy helming someone else’s ship, but neither Roni nor her crew seemed to mind.
“I’d give you a few pointers, Stargazer, but there’s nothing here you won’t be able to manage. Just don’t get too fast or too fancy, and he’ll cooperate,” she told me. She then turned her attention to Sal. “And who are you?” she asked abruptly, looking him over from head to toe with a sparkle in her eye that evoked a twinge of jealousy. My reaction surprised me.
“Salvatore Colonna,” he said graciously, bending to kiss her gloved hand.
“Nice to meet you,” she said prettily. “Colonna? Gee, Stargazer, you have a thing for important men,” she said with a laugh.
I didn’t understand the joke. Puzzled, I looked at Sal who simply shrugged.
Roni and Celeste then exchanged a few words. Roni checked in with her crew one more time, and then with a wave, she headed toward the door that led to the palazzo below.
“Have fun,” she called to me then passed Sal a naughty wink that made him chuckle. The door to the palazzo closed behind her with a bang. I got the impression that wherever Roni went, noise followed.
Celeste, Sal, and I stood looking up at the Bacchus. The rope ladder leading upward wagged in the breeze.
“You going to be all right?” I asked Celeste as I eyed the ladder. While she had changed into more reasonable tan colored travel trousers, laced suede boots, and linen top, something told me that most of her physical exertion usually happened between the sheets.
Celeste followed my gaze up the ladder. It was about fifteen feet to the ship. “I’ll manage,” she replied. And with courage that impressed me, she headed up. Sal and I followed behind.
Once aboard, Sal pulled up the ladder and set the astrolabe. With a few words to Roni’s crew, we set sail. Once we’d risen over Venice, I turned the ship, and we headed south-east. The good thing about the Bacchus was that it was rigged for overnight passengers and long trips. The bad thing was that the trip to Kos was nearly 2200 kilometers. It would take almost two days to get there. Because Greece was, in fact, in a war for independence, we would need a route that avoided the conflict. After considering options, we decided we would fly first to British-held Malta. From Malta we would cross the Mediterranean Sea to Kos. It was a roundabout path, but it kept us out of the war. Malta was a sailors’ port. Supplies, news, and other luxuries would be in abundance. And if anyone did spot me there, well, no one could guess where I was headed.
Sal stood at the wheel beside me as we slipped out of the lagoon and began following the Italian shoreline south. The sun was just rising on the horizon. It illuminated the receding night’s sky with a yellow sheen.
“Well, Mr. Colonna, seems like you are keeping secrets. What did Roni mean?” I didn’t like the idea that Roni knew more about the man at my side than I did.
Sal wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned his head against mine. “Ah, yes, important Colonna men. There are many Colonnas in Italy who are important, but I am not one of them. The Colonna family is very rich and very powerful. My father was a Colonna; my mother was a serving woman. I am just a tinker with an important name and a father who never thought I was good enough to worry about,” he said and paused, “and a famous brother not interested in his father’s bastards.”
There was an odd tremor in Sal’s voice I had never heard before. I was suddenly very sorry I had pried. “Well, they don’t know what they are missing,” I said and turned to kiss Sal sweetly on the lips.
“My Lily,” he whispered, kissing me again. And then, with a playful pat on my ass, he went below to the gear galley.
As I watched him go, I wondered about my own secrets. Like Sal, another life lived locked inside of me. Long ago I had a mother and father. Long ago they called me Penelope. Then the woman who’d given me life tried to take my life. When she didn’t succeed, she’d left me like a piece of rubbish at a stranger’s door. Was this division of self what caused me, and Sal, from really connecting? Was that why now, with our secret selves circling around the edges, we were starting to feel something more than lust? The thought both enthralled and terrified me.
Before teatime we neared Pescara, and I navigated the Bacchus westward over the Italian countryside toward Naples. Roni’s crew had made the trip to Malta at least a hundred times. Malta had a reputation as a good place to stop if you were in the exotic commodities trade. Given Roni’s and Celeste’s professions, exotic commodities were all they traded.
In the late afternoon, after passing Naples, I turned the Bacchus south for a ride over the Mediterranean Sea. We would pass over the southern tip of Italy, east of Palermo, and break again across the sea to Malta. We should put in by sunset.
The Bacchus, while bulky, turned out to be a very sturdy old vessel. Its hearty endurance, rather than the charismatic finesse of the Stargazer, reminded me a lot of the Iphigenia. Like it or not, it was on Mr. Fletcher’s and Mr. Oleander’s Iphigenia that I had learned to fly. That behemoth was just as cumbersome as the ship whose wheel I now held.
As we came to the shore of the Mediterranean, Celeste and Sal stood at the side of the ship and gazed out at the water. The Mediterranean’s gleaming waves made my eyes crinkle. I pulled down my dark goggles and tried to fight the memories that seemed to insist themselves upon me, but the feel of the Bacchus, so like the Iphigenia, and the image of the pair at the rail took me back.
I was almost thirteen when the seams of my adopted family life started to unravel. The balance between Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Oleander, Nicolette, and I could easily be likened to a broken vase that had been poorly mended; with the slightest bit of pressure, it would collapse. And that is exactly what had happened.
Despite Mr. Oleander’s initial insisting that my sole purpose in life would be to slip between the gears in the galley and help mend, grease, and run the airship propellers, Mr. Fletcher saw something else in me. Over the years, Mr. Fletcher had taken an interest in my education and taught me everything he knew, which was a considerable amount. I learned how to keep books, bargain for parts, charm clients, and navigate an airship through the worst weather conditions. There were times when no airship was in the sky save the Iphigenia; Mr. Fletcher did not fear the wind.
Mr. Fletcher was like a father to me. When he would catch Mr. Oleander looking sideways at me, or calling me to sit
on his lap, Mr. Fletcher always gave him a look.
“Yes, brother, yes, yes,” Mr. Oleander would reply then shoo me away. But I could always feel Mr. Oleander’s eyes on me, watching, waiting. I never dared get far from Mr. Fletcher for fear of Mr. Oleander. But then, as time would tell, Mr. Fletcher was no saint either. While I had become apprentice to Mr. Fletcher, Nicolette bore the largest burden on our ship. We were not dubbed a pleasure craft the way the Bacchus was, but everyone knew about the French girl on the Iphigenia. Nicolette’s body was often the reason why we had so many fares. When I was about ten, a well-dressed man had inquired on so-using me. When Mr. Fletcher said no, Mr. Oleander cursed him.
“If I didn’t know better, brother, I’d say you’d be willing to sink us all on account of that alley cat,” Mr. Oleander had said.
Mr. Fletcher, who was drunk at the time, had hit Mr. Oleander so hard that his mouth had bled. After that, I think Mr. Oleander hated me. It was, in my recollection, the only instance when the two brothers had quarreled. Of course, they were not really related.
“Mr. Oleander used to be married to Mr. Fletcher’s sister. I overhead someone say she died in an accident, fell from the Iphigenia, before I was brought to England,” Nicolette explained.
This seemed odd to me. No one ever mentioned the woman. And given the mood of our house, neither Nicolette nor I would dare ask. Despite having had previous romantic attachments, Mr. Oleander never remarried. Why would he? He had made Nicolette his in-house concubine. It was this miserable attachment Mr. Oleander had to Nicolette that led to the ungluing.
Nicolette was about twenty-two the year it happened. For the last year, she had grown increasingly distant and secretive. Every night, after Mr. Oleander used her as was his custom, she’d slip out of our room only to return before sunup. Despite my quizzing, she would never tell me where she was going. All she would say is, “Don’t tell. Promise me, Lil. Promise you won’t tell.” Then, to my terror, she would climb out of the skylight and make her way across the roof. I could hear the timbers overhead creaking as she walked.
