“Very unique indeed," Master De Luca said. “It can travel from any surface to any other?”
“Every surface we’ve tested," Mell said.
“Most excellent," De Luca mused, and the design slipped back across the floor and onto Mella’s skin before she put her boot back on.
“I think we’re next, Master De Luca. ‘Mocenigo’,” Leanarda said. Unlike most of the others, she had opted for a blouse and long skirt instead of the De Luca uniform, but it went well with her pale skin and dark hair.
“Yes that’s right,” Bea waved her forward, “though I have great interest in all of the projects being shown, I’m the most curious about yours, Leanarda and Leo, since I have no idea what your Storm actually consists of.”
“I don’t think anyone at the studio knows, Mistress Bea,” Leanarda lifted a wrapped canvas from where it had sat at her feet, carefully unwrapping the cloth as she spoke. “We work...a little slowly.”
“Mell mentioned that Mella and his Storm works almost all of the time,” Leo said, staying in his place instead of following Leanarda to the middle. “We’re nowhere near that lucky, we’ve only had two successes since arriving at De Luca’s studio, after about fifty attempts. We decided to show the second.”
Leanarda dropped the cloth to the ground and slowly rotated to let everyone present see the painting that was beneath. It was a scene looking down into a small pool, with a silver goblet resting in the sand on the bottom. The blue-green water rippled across the canvas, and the silver of the goblet twinkled with a greater light than the late-autumn sky provided.
“Quite beautiful,” Master De Luca murmured, “but perhaps you should explain exactly what it is that your Storm does for you? If you wouldn’t mind. Does it do more than animate the picture?”
“Easier to show you, Master De Luca,” Leanarda smiled, then reached her hand into the painting. Elena jumped, and around her the others exclaimed with various levels of shock. Leanarda fished around for a moment, then withdrew her arm. Water dripped from her soaking wet sleeve, and the goblet was in her hand, damp and glittering in the light.
“If I may anticipate your questions, I can only retrieve non-living items,” Leanarda continued speaking as if nothing strange had happened, “a single item per painting, as far as I can tell. You see, this one’s gone all flat and motionless now.”
“Even with those restrictions, I don’t think I need to tell you how powerful your Storm is,” Master De Luca seemed almost awed, and the expression made Elena’s blood run cold. The courtyard went silent as Leanarda returned to her spot, her motionless painting in one hand, the silver goblet in the other. Her arm was wet, and she shivered in the cold, but the look of pleased contentment on her face was unmistakable.
“Frederica and Fred Vasari?” Bea broke the silence to ask. Frederica didn’t say a word, she simply stomped off to collect her project, Fred trailing behind her.
“I’ll go help her,” Pietro murmured. A few minutes later the pair returned, with the wooden statue on a small wheeled trolley, a long painter’s sheet draped over Frederica’s shoulder. Elena winced again at the ragged gash that ran from the statue’s shoulder to waist, marring the otherwise smooth carving work that had gone into the wooden girl.
“No speeches here,” Frederica shrugged, taking one of the knives from the pouch that Niccolo carried, “we carved a statue of a girl. Hopefully she’s touched by the Storm, but she might not be. Whatever idiot thought they’d ruin my work doesn’t know a thing about Caelators. They don’t have my Storm so they can’t mess up my statue’s Touch, obviously,” Frederica shot a scornful look at the assembled garzoni, “shows how much the saboteur knows.”
Carlo had been cautious in his work in front of the watching eyes, but Frederica worked almost casually, making the final few cuts along the girl’s neck with apparent ease. She stepped back, and behind her Fred folded his arms and looked on as well. Again, the courtyard dropped into silence. Frederica and Fred didn’t look worried, they just stood and watched and waited, quiet and still as statues themselves.
“Frederica?” The voice was a rasp, almost a croak, but it had definitely come from the wooden girl. Even now Elena could see the locks of maple hair stirring, moving in the breeze instead of their solid mass of a few moments ago.
“Hello, Freja,” Frederica’s mouth turned up in a half-smile, one more genuine than Elena had ever seen her give.
“Why...why is it so hard...to talk?”
“Someone thought they were being clever, hurt you to get to me.” The smile fell from Frederica’s face as she stepped forward, and she wrapped the painter’s sheet across the wooden girl’s nude form. Freja clutched them around her as if she was cold.
“Oh god it hurts...” Freja almost collapsed, but Frederica wrapped her arms around her to keep her on her feet, “it hurts so much, Frederica.” She clasped the sheet to her chest.
“Shh, I know it does, I know,” Frederica murmured, with a tenderness that surprised Elena. “I know it hurts. We’ll do what we can for you, but you have to be brave.” She turned and began leading the damaged sculpture towards the door.
“Frederica, Master De Luca might have questions for you,” Bea called.
“He can ask them later,” Frederica snapped over her shoulder, “I’m going to go take care of Freja.”
“Why would someone do this to me?” Freja asked plaintively.
“You don’t need to worry,” Frederica soothed. “You’ll be alright. And as soon as I’m sure who did this to you, I’m going to make them pay.”
“She needs to learn to be more respectful,” Bea said disapprovingly as the door shut behind the Caelator.
“In this case, I’m inclined to forgive her,” Master De Luca said thoughtfully. “I was starting to worry she didn’t have an empathetic bone in her body. Now then, I think Miss Vasari was the last to demonstrate her project?” He glanced around the half-circle. “Yes, I do believe we’ve seen everyone’s work. I hate to leave you all in further suspense, but the decision ahead of me is not one that I can make lightly. After Bea and I discuss matters, we will send Pietro out to gather you all again.”
De Luca, Bea, and Pietro left the courtyard and entered Pietro’s office, leaving the garzoni to await their fate.
Chapter XXXVI
The Girl Who Grins
Master Bernardo De Luca didn’t sit down so much as he collapsed into his chair.
“I can’t do any more of these, Bea," he sighed. “They’re too hard, too draining.”
“You say this every year, Bernardo," Bea said gently. “Saying it again won’t make Showing Day any easier on you. You’re hurting now, but by this time next year you’ll be recovered enough to handle it again.”
“And again and again and again, year after year, so many garzoni discarded as if they’re worth nothing...I cant keep doing this, Bea, I just cant.” Bernardo passed a weary hand over his brow. “The look in their eyes...the crushing, hurting look. What I wouldn’t give to not have to be the cause of that look.”
“You don’t have a choice, my old friend.”
“I know it!” Bernardo snapped. He instantly regretted his outburst and opened his mouth to apologize, but Bea made a waving motion of her hand as if to tell him he was already forgiven. Bernardo slumped across his desk for long minutes, staring through the stack of neat books that arrayed it. His hands were actually shaking, and there was a pain in his chest.
“This Showing day seems to be hitting you harder than most," Bea observed. “It’s about more than keeping some and letting others go, isn’t it?”
“What else would it be about?” De Luca grunted. Beneath his desk was a bottle of white wine from Rimi, and he uncorked it before realizing he didn’t have a glass to pour it into.
“It has to do with the fact that there’s emotion involved in this Showing Day.”
“There’s emotion, there’s always emotion, have you not been listening?” Bernardo set the open bottle of wine on the d
esk. “From my poor garzoni’s point of view....soon to be ex-garzoni’s point of view...I’m the sole reason their dreams and ambitions are crushed. A bitter, heartless old man who cares more about his stupid pointless rules than about art.”
“You know that’s not the case. They’ll know it too, once they take a position at another studio and work it out.”
“Not all of them are looking for work at other studios," Bernardo brooded, “they might never know.”
“Aaah," Bea breathed, “that’s why this Showing Day was so hard for you. Because you know that she won’t make it.”
“Don’t give me a hard time, Bea," Bernardo sighed. “Not now, not today, not after Showing Day.”
“I’m not going to give you a hard time, old friend. I wouldn’t. You seem set on giving yourself as hard a time as possible anyway.”
“I couldn’t give her a position. I only have four slots, and the choice between them is clear.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Making her a full garzoni would been wrong, I have no choice.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Then why do I feel so miserable about it?”
“Because she’s the first Fabera to be a provisional garzona in this studio for a long, long time, and you were hoping she’d make it?”
“No. I hope all of my garzoni make it.”
“Because of the way her lip will quiver and her eyes tear up when you tell her?”
“No, although a die in igne for mentioning it," Bernardo swore.
“Because you love the little Fabera.” Bea phrased it as a statement rather than a question. The room was silent for a long moment, as Bernardo was torn between sullen anger and heartache. Without answering he grabbed the wine and took a long draught from it as Bea continued. “You love her and so you didn’t use your Storm on her. You didn’t use your Storm on her so you have no idea how she feels about you.”
“If I had used my Storm I might’ve been able to help her, that’s what you’re saying. Was I the reason she didn’t make it through? Did she fail due to an old man’s foolishness?”
“You clearly forget how foolish you were as a young man as well," Bea smiled. When Bernardo gave her a dour look she sobered. “If it makes things any better, I think she loves you too," she added quietly.
“Which part of that is helping me feel better? That the girl I love might love me back, and now I’ll never see her again? Or that the girl whose hopes and dreams I’m about to crush might also feel personally betrayed by my choice?”
“Alright then," Bea said exasperatedly, “how about this; you’re far and away old enough to be her father? Or that until this evening you are her teacher and she your student. Had you told her you love her and now reject her from the studio, she won’t be able to forgive you, and had you told her you love her and now accept her into the studio, you won’t be able to forgive yourself for betraying something you love even more than the Fabera, true art.”
“That’s just ‘restating the obvious’, not ‘helping’," Bernardo took another long pull from the bottle, “nothing is going to help. She’s leaving, she’ll hate me, and maybe even for good reason. Perhaps it’s better that she didn’t know how I felt about her.”
“Midora knows how you feel about her," Bea said quietly.
“What makes you so certain of that?”
“Midora knows how you feel about her," said a voice from the doorway. Bernardo started, almost dropping the bottle. Midora was dressed in the simple De Luca uniform, the light yellow clashing a bit with her blonde hair.
After today, she won’t be able to wear her garzona uniform anymore...
She seemed uncharacteristically downcast, neither the fiery stubbornness nor the fierce cheer he had come to associate with her. Bernardo wasn’t quite sure how to react to her presence.
“I’m going to leave and check on...I don’t know, some excuse or other in the courtyard," Bea said, and she walked through the wall without a backward glance, leaving the room quiet in her wake.
“How long have you been listening at the door?” Bernardo asked.
“Long enough, Master De Luca," Midora said.
“I didn’t want you to find out this way. Either how I feel about you or that you didn’t-"
“Don’t," Midora held up a hand, and Bernardo stopped. “Don’t explain, I don’t think it will help. I...I only came here to tell you...how I felt. But I see you already know, and now that I know you feel the same way I’m...I’m not sure what I’m doing here.”
“There really is a reason that I can’t keep more than four garzoni.”
“I know. I may not know why, but I’ve heard enough to know there are reasons behind who you pick and who you don’t. It’s okay, honestly. I’ll be able to get over it. Someday.”
It wasn’t perfect, but the lump that had risen in Bernardo’s throat lessened just a touch.
“Seeing you like this...is hard," he attempted. “You’re usually so confident, so...” he trailed off as Midora crossed the room to sit at the desk across from him, and reached out a hand for the wine. He passed it over without comment, looking her up and down as she took a long swig from it.
“Being like this is hard," she said quietly, “but like I said, I’ll get over it.” It was the way she said the words that broke his heart more than what she said. She spoke carefully, as if letting any bitterness through would make her shatter into pieces on the floor.
“Midora if you need anything, any money to keep you on your feet while you decide what you’re going to do-" he began awkwardly.
“I don’t think that would be quite fair to the others, Master De Luca," Midora seemed to gain a little bit of her customary fire back from from the Rimi white, and she looked him in the eye, “unless your offer stands for them as well?” Bernardo frowned and took the bottle back. “I didn’t think so. Don’t let your feelings for me cloud your artistic objectivity.”
It was one of the more disrespectful things she had ever said to him, but then, she wasn’t his student anymore.
“What will you do?” he asked, “Prochelli tells me you don’t plan on joining any of the other studios in Milia.”
“There’s a branch of the guild in Florenzia...I had planned on applying there when I left your studio, so I suppose I’ll be sticking to my original plan, just fast forwarded by several years.”
“Bah," Bernardo wrinkled his nose in disgust, “the Faberi Guild? Midora you’re more of an artist than any Faberi I’ve ever met, you have the potential for so much more than that!”
“I agree," Midora laughed sadly, “but it’s a step in my plan, assuming I can even get in. Especially since...” she trailed off and took the bottle back, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air.
‘Since I won’t be a De Luca-trained journeyman.’
She didn’t have to say it for Bernardo to feel it like a punch in the gut. Every part of him wanted nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms and assure her that everything would work out. Was that the protective love he felt of her as his student? The romantic love he felt of her as a man? The appreciative love he felt of her art? It didn’t matter.
“If I were to write a letter to this Faberi guild in Florenzia," he said slowly, “one in which I told them exactly how much I think of you as an artist, how much would that help in the next step of your plan?”
“A letter of recommendation from one of the greatest artists in the world? Yes, I can see that being useful," the twitch in the corner of Midora’s mouth was enough to make Bernardo’s heart rush with relief. “But...promise me you won’t put anything in the letter that you don’t feel to be true, just because of how you feel about me.”
“I won’t," De Luca promised, thinking of several glowing things to include in the letter that he felt to be quite true, “I’m glad I can do something to help you reach the next step of your plan.”
“Next step? A letter from you would send me on my way to becoming leader of the guild...almost h
alfway to the end goal," Midora grinned, her mischievous face brightening the room.
“Being the leader of the Florenzian Faberi Guild is only your halfway point? Exactly how far does your plan take you, Midora?” he asked with a chuckle.
“It takes me all the way to the top, of course," Midora said cheerfully. Bernardo couldn’t help but laugh at her bravado, and she laughed as well, bright and airy.
Not ten minutes since being rejected from the studio, already planning on ruling the world, he thought affectionately, this is the Midora I’ve come to love...unstoppable.
“You think I’m joking, but just you wait," Midora wagged a finger at him. “With all of the help I’m getting, it won’t be long until I’m one of the cogs that runs this machine we call Italoza.”
“If I could believe it of anyone, I’d believe it of you. I won’t be a bit surprised," Bernardo said, passing the bottle back to her for the last of the wine. Tension that he didn’t realize he carried slowly eased away as the pair talked and laughed late into the evening. For years afterward the tableau remained a cherished memory in Bernardo De Luca’s mind; the quiet room, the warmth of the wine, the lovely conversation, and the pretty little Fabera who wanted to rule the world, grinning from ear to ear.
***
“I thought they all made a good showing this year, especially Lorenzo.” Bea’s comment broke Bernardo out of his reverie. “I wish we had been able to see more of Elena’s project, but then I suppose my expectations are abnormally high.”
“There is nothing wrong with high expectations,” Bernardo sat down in his chair, feeling all the older after recalling his younger days.
“I’m sure they’re nothing compared to your expectations,” Bea smiled, “she’s the first Faberi to try her luck at the Studio since...oh I can’t even remember.”
“Since Midora,” Bernardo said quietly.
A Student's Dream (Twisted Cogs Book 1) Page 33
