by Karen Brooks
The women chuckled.
'It's true,' said Helena.
The third woman continued. 'I heard that before he met Lucia, Sebastiano had been busy courting little Venetta Carpucci – you know, her father owns the cobbler's store off the salizzada. He was very attentive, barely left her side. Swore his devotion to her. They'd even exchanged rings and a promise to wed.'
'No!' said Helena and Carlita, clearly shocked.
'Yes! I heard it from her mother!'
'All right, all right,' said Helena. 'If Sebastiano loved Venetta so much, what happened? Even a man as young and stupid as Sebastiano does not usually transfer his affections so quickly, never mind so openly.'
'Maybe not. But our girls should take heed. There are no guarantees any more. Just because a man says he loves you and gives you a ring, it's the promises in front of the padre that are important. But personally, I think he was scared.'
'Of what?' asked Helena.
'Of what he did.'
'What was that?'
'What happens to many girls these days.' The woman placed her hand below her breasts and traced an arc that rose over her stomach, coming to rest against her groin.
The women gasped. Tallow felt sick.
'That's right. Venetta is carrying his baby. The stupid girl couldn't wait until the vows had been exchanged. No, like a common street whore, she surrendered her body to him. What did she expect to happen? But she thought it was safe, that they were committed. And, after everything he did, you can hardly blame her for thinking that.'
'No,' said Carlita, clearly shocked.
'But this Sebastiano, he has no sense of what is right. He abandons the mother of his child for Lucia. Simple. Sad but simple.'
'He didn't want the responsibility of the baby,' said Helena.
'He didn't want to marry used goods,' said Carlita. 'Goods he'd used. Pig.' She spat on the cobbles.
'What's going to happen?' asked Helena.
'What do you think?' said the woman. 'Venetta has no choice now but to enter a convent. The baby, well, who knows?' she shrugged. 'Probably sent to an orphanage. Her parents can't afford to raise it – and they don't want the shame. Poor thing. If only young people would think with their heads instead of their loins.'
'Doesn't this Sebastiano have a conscience?' asked Carlita.
The woman laughed harshly. 'He used to. But ever since he set eyes on Lucia, it's as if no-one else exists. He's ignored all entreaties from Venetta's family. And you know Francesca, she's such a social climber. She's grateful to have a well-to-do soap chandler in the family.'
'And Lucia?' asked Helena. 'What does she say? She's always been a good girl – a sweet one.'
'Perhaps. But as bad as she might feel for Venetta, it's a good marriage for her. She doesn't want to jeopardise it by getting involved. She says, as far as she's concerned, Sebastiano is entitled to change his mind – child or no child.'
'Poor Venetta,' said Helena, shaking her head.
'Indeed. One moment, she had such a promising life ahead of her. She was a bride and a mother-to-be. And snap.' She clicked her fingers. 'In one night, it all changes.'
'God can be cruel,' agreed Carlita.
'This had nothing to do with God,' scoffed the woman. 'This is Sebastiano's fault. This is the fault of man.'
The woman murmured their agreement and, as one, crossed themselves and spat on the fondamenta.
Tallow ceased to listen as they walked away. She slowly sank back onto the slate. The man Lucia was so desperately in love with had already given his heart to someone else! Why, he'd not only made a verbal contract and exchanged rings with her, he'd made her pregnant as well. And now, because of Tallow's candle, because of what she'd put into the wax, he would never fulfil his obligations. One heart broken. Two, likely three, lives ruined, and all because Tallow had felt sorry for Lucia.
What had she done?
She threw the rest of her bread and cheese to Cane and retreated to the darkness of her room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Baroque Scarpoli
reports
WITH THE PATIENCE OF LONG years of practice, Baroque Scarpoli waited for one of the Maleovellis to react to his account of the events on the Circolo Canal. From what he could ascertain about their unusual relationship, it would be Giaconda who would respond, rather than her father. She stood near the window, erect and thoughtful, while Ezzelino sat in a high-backed chair near the empty hearth, his eyes never leaving his daughter's face.
Without moving, Baroque surveyed the room. He'd never been invited into a nobile's casa before, at least not onto the grand main floor – the piano nobile, as they called it. The Maleovellis might have been impoverished, but their casa, located on the verge of Nobiles' Rise, still spoke of ancient wealth and manners.
In earlier days, the Maleovellis had been one of the most powerful and influential nobile families in Serenissima. According to The Golden Book, the register of Nobiles eligible to claim the Dogeship, generations of them had sat at the Doge's right hand as valued members of the Council of Ten. But that was over four hundred years ago and, whereas once the Maleovellis had been close to the Dogeship, now they were almost as distant as the candlemaker they so eagerly sought.
It was not in Baroque's nature to be curious about his targets. Long ago, he'd learnt that even an inkling of interest affected his style. He became uncertain, hesitant – unattractive qualities in a spy. So he'd learnt to close himself off; work on the information given and nothing else. It meant that when he slid his knife between a healthy set of ribs, threw someone off a bridge or passed on information that he knew would alter lives forever, he did it with as much regard as he would have for lacing his boots.
But this young boy from the Candlemakers Quartiere did pique his curiosity. Why did these insolvent nobiles want information about him? At first he'd thought he might be an illegitimate heir. But why would the Maleovellis care about that? God knew, Serenissima was full of the nobiles' little bastards. Why did they want him? The boy seemed unremarkable at best, feeble at worst, with those strange glasses and timid ways.
Baroque couldn't understand what the robust young chandler saw in the child either. But it was evident the older boy cared. Watching them together, Baroque was reminded of the way he used to look out for his own younger brother.
Baroque sighed, then caught himself. He would not become melancholy. Not over this. Not over a boy who in some strange way reminded him of what he once had been and what he no longer had.
'Well, my dear,' said Ezzelino finally. 'You've heard Baroque's story. What do you think?' The old man picked up a pouch from the small table beside him and began to fill a tiny ceramic pipe with the contents.
Giaconda arched a fine black brow at Baroque. 'I think you're losing your touch.'
Baroque coughed, using the action of covering his mouth to lower his eyes. How dare this upstart female denigrate him or his years of experience? He collected himself.
'It could be, Signora.' He lingered on the word, leaving Giaconda in no doubt about the intended insult; what precisely he was insulting was open to question. 'Each generation has a tendency to show the last their weaknesses, even while ignoring their strengths.'
Ezzelino chuckled. 'Bravo. He has you there, Gia.'
Giaconda bowed her head. When she raised it again, there was fire in her eyes. 'Let's see if I understand,' she said. 'After all this time, all you've managed to do is locate the general whereabouts of the boy, but not his precise location?'
'That's right,' replied Baroque. 'Perhaps you're unaware, Signora, that there are over fifty candlemakers and suppliers in the quartiere alone. Which one he's apprenticed to, I don't know exactly. No-one would talk – they were surprisingly reticent or ignorant. If I didn't know better, I'd say they're protecting this apprentice or his master. Whichever it is, this boy has an almost unnatural ability to remain unnoticed. He leaves no impression.'
Baroque saw Giaconda and her father exchange
a quick glance. 'But I did manage to follow this boy and the chandler to the edge of the quartiere. After that, as I told you, I lost him and his friend. They tricked me.'
Giaconda smiled, but her mind worked fast. She turned and gazed out the window. Below, a narrow canal wound its silvery path around the casas, seeking its way into the Circolo.
'But you do know the general area ...'
'Yes, Signora. After a sort.'
'How good are you at disguises?'
Baroque tried not to let his surprise show. 'I used to be thought very good.'
'Papa,' said Giaconda and, sweeping past Baroque, sank to the floor at her father's knees. She plucked the pipe out of his fingers and took his hands in her own. 'I have an idea.' She raised her large green eyes to her father's and put on her most beguiling smile.
'And what is that, Gia?' Her father returned the smile.
'What if we were to get Baroque here to pretend to be a shopkeeper, newly migrated from,' she screwed up her face, 'Vyzantia. He is looking to set up business in the Dorsoduro Sestiere and is making inquiries.'
Baroque cleared his throat. 'But, Signora, I have already tried this type of ploy. The locals do not divulge much to strangers – they are very reticent, very suspicious of outsiders – even those from other quartieri, let alone foreign cities.'
'Exactly. That is why you must become a familiar face. You must make yourself known to them, build trust. Become an insider.'
'But the only way I can do that is by living there. It could take years,' protested Baroque.
'Perhaps.'
'How do you propose Baroque do this, my dear?' asked her father. 'He needs coin for this. All we have to offer him is thin air.'
'No, not all.' Raising her hands to her neck, Giaconda lifted her ebony hair and undid the clasp of the necklace that lay against her throat. 'We have this.'
She held the sapphire and diamond choker towards the candlelight. The flames reflected in the cut stones a hundred times, a thousand times. Baroque's eyes widened. Why, it was worth a small fortune.
'No,' said Ezzelino, his face visibly paling. 'Not your mother's necklace.'
'Why not, Papa? You said yourself, it is my guarantee should all else fail. But now we have a different sort of guarantee, don't we?' She stared at him meaningfully.
'But what if we're wrong?'
She dropped to her knees and drew her father's hands to her breasts. 'We're not wrong, Papa. I know it.' She pressed his hands against the white flesh that spilled over her lace neckline. 'Just as I know that soon, for you and me, heirlooms like these,' she shook the necklace, 'will be mere trinkets.'
'Trinkets,' echoed Ezzelino.
Baroque's eyes narrowed. What were these two up to, that they were prepared to forego a small fortune to make sure the boy was found? Who was he? Or, he thought as he watched father and daughter losing themselves in visions of a very different future, what was he?
As Giaconda began to outline her plans for Baroque, he knew that one way or the other, he would soon find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Council of Elders
'HOW ARE YOU FEELING?'
Katina spun at the sound of the voice, causing her drink to spill down her shirt. She groaned at the size of the spreading stain and quickly tried to daub it with a handkerchief. Familiar hands rushed to her aid, but Katina playfully slapped them away. 'You do realise, Debora, I have to meet with the Elders shortly and you've just made me ruin the only clean shirt I have.'
'Sorry,' Debora replied. They sat on the crest of the hill and gazed at the activity in the campsite below. Groups of Bond Riders were just emerging from their tents. Some began to stoke their fires, others to tend their horses. Over by a running stream, some were bathing. The perpetual grey mist that haunted the Limen made it impossible to tell exactly what time it was but, conditioned by the routines of their former lives, they all acted as if it were morning and they were preparing for a long day.
Katina watched her life companions in silence for a moment. Even though they'd been apart for months, Katina knew that Debora would sense her apprehension of the forthcoming meeting. Of the report she would present to the Council of Elders about her time away – of her time with Tallow.
She reached for Debora's hand and clutched it tightly.
'I know I've said it before, but it's good to have you back,' Debora said softly.
Katina knew Debora wasn't only referring to her return from Vista Mare. 'You can't say it often enough as far as I'm concerned. Glad to be back – I didn't think I was going to make it.'
'Neither did we.'
They sat in silence, pondering what might have been, while the noises of activity slowly increased and snippets of conversation gently wafted up the slope. Katina inhaled deeply. It had seemed so long since she had witnessed the rituals of the Bond Riders.
She had no idea of how long it had taken her to recover but, even here in the Limen, where time as it was understood back in Vista Mare had no meaning, it seemed an age. Once she was allowed out of the infirmary, she'd worked hard to suppress the tremble in her limbs, the ache in her spine and the memories that her recovery had revived. While she knew she'd all but regained her former strength, her reflection in the water as she'd bathed told her a different story. The ravages of her sojourn would remain permanently etched on her face. Whereas once she could have passed for thirty years of age back in her old world, now she would be lucky to be thought less than fifty. She peered into her cup and didn't like what she saw. She threw the remains of her drink onto the grey grass.
Debora clucked in concern. 'That tea was medicinal, Katina. It was specially prepared for you.'
Noting Debora's frown, Katina gave a half-smile. 'I'm fine, really.'
Debora ran a finger from the top of Katina's right eye to the corner of her mouth. 'Don't pretend with me. I know you. How long have we been together?'
'A long time. Since I entered the Limen.'
'I remember the first moment I saw you and Filippo. You looked so sad. So lost and confused.'
'We'd literally had our life ripped out from under us and been handed another. And not by choice.'
Surprised by the bitterness in Katina's tone, Debora touched her gently. 'Of course not, the gods know. I didn't mean it that way. I only ...'
'I know, I know. I'm sorry.' Katina swiped a hand across her forehead. 'I've had a lot of time to think. To remember. And after spending so much time trying to forget. If it hadn't been for you and later, Alessandro, I don't know what Filippo and I would have done. You made us so welcome. You were like an older brother and sister to us. You gave us back the family we'd lost. Helped us to understand what it was we'd become.'
Debora nodded. 'Making a Bond is hard enough for adults. I'd never seen anyone as young as you and Filippo pledged before. We thought it was a mistake, that somehow you'd blundered into the Limen and survived. But then we saw your wounds and knew there'd been no error.'
They both looked at Katina's right palm. A deep white line intersected the other, finer marks of her flesh, puckering at the edges. Katina curled her fingers around it protectively. 'The reason I'm still here all this time later.'
Her mind travelled back to that night at the Pledge Stone; the night Constantina fulfilled her promise to their mother. Terrified, cold and grief-stricken, they'd arrived in the dark, desolate clearing. Even the light of the moon, a silver lire in the sky, had hardly touched the Stone. It sat there, a great hulking monolith giving no indication of what it was capable of doing, of how it was about to change their lives forever.
