Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2)

by Hogarth Brown

  ‘I shall miss you after I return these things’ she said, looking down at herself, and then away from her friend.

  ‘Miss me? What do you mean, and why do you speak so?’

  ‘I think I’m going to go away for a while, Saffie, and you’re the first I’ve told.’ A lump rose in Seraphina's throat.

  ‘Are you leaving Venice for good?’ Silence. The woman then thought of something larger. 'Are you leaving Italy?' Lucia chewed her lip and frowned.

  ‘I can’t say, perhaps: but things have changed.' Her friend’s face muddled.

  ‘Is it to do with him? This man you just told me about and wish to see again?' Lucia nodded and turned back around.

  ‘Yes, in part, but I can’t say more than that.' Seraphina had never seen her friend struck by such a mood, and stranger still from one that expressed confidence and vigour in all that she did.

  'He must be special to turn your head' she said, 'men are like sardines for you. But I guess you found a salmon?'

  Lucia shook her head.

  ‘More than that: he's unique. I'll NEVER meet a man like him again in all of my life.' Seraphina's eyes bulged. For her men were all the same with the odd surprise thrown in. 'Will you manage for a while without my products? My business will pause for a while’ said Lucia. Her friend gave a dramatic sigh, shrugged, and then nodded.

  ‘I’ll manage. I have enough supplies. Besides, if you saw some of the withered trouts around here that can still keep clients’ she said, ‘I’ll have men until the return of the Messiah.' Lucia’s laughter returned, although short-lived, and she wiped at her eyes.

  ‘You’ve been a dear loyal friend to me’ said Lucia, ‘and wherever I go, I shall never forget that.' With those words, Seraphina’s face trembled, and her eyes welled with tears, for there was something in Lucia’s voice that made her feel that she would never see her commanding friend again. A friend that so inspired her with her excellent advice, business savvy, and fierce protection. The courtesan shook her head in disbelief before she spoke.

  ‘No, it is I that should thank you’ She croaked, ‘in so many ways you’ve made me a rich, rich woman’ and with that the two embraced, and wiped away the other’s tears. After many sighs and embraces, Lucia took her leave. The courtesan then watched from her window as Lucia walked like a jewel into the night: a faint glow that grew smaller, and smaller before it turned and then vanished into the darkness.

  ◆◆◆

  ‘So, I see you’ve made it past the Clashing Rocks’ sneered John when he saw the Professor advance to where Prince Fano, Gerben, and himself sat.

  ‘You’re a pig’s bladder’ came the Professor’s reply, and the other men chuckled. ‘They may as well be two Cyclops standing there, and the mistress of the door made me work to get in: if I had not guessed right I think she would have had me tossed into the canal.’

  ‘She would’ said John much amused, ‘I’ve seen her have it done before: there’s no arguing to be had with those two brutes.' He chortled. 'Isabella may look as if a little breeze could toss her’ he added, waving his finger in the air, ‘but she has a mind of iron; you need someone who can keep their mouth shut in a place like this.' With that exchange, the men then gave opinions as they talked, and Gerben added that he had the strength to face any man be he built or not. The men bought themselves drinks, as had become their custom, before moving onto the food after a good session at the tables. Like magnets the four men gravitated to the Bassetta tables, seeing the other games as trifles. They bantered with one another about how much they wanted to bet, as others began to take up positions.

  ‘I'm playing soft tonight’ said Prince Fano, ‘I don’t want to abuse my lady of luck’ he whispered, ‘winning Trent-et-la-va, last week, with three crooked corners upon my card was excitement enough.’ The scene played out in the Professor's mind. He felt the sting again of his losses from the last gambling house the group had visited. He was sick with envy when Prince Fano pocketed his substantial winnings.

  ‘I should think so' John said, 'in watching you we nearly died: winning thirty times your initial bet; how many barrels of Malmsey wine could that buy?’

  ‘A lot’ laughed Prince Fano,

  ‘Aye, you have the devil’s luck’ said John, ‘the devil’s luck.' A look of fear flashed across the Professor’s face at John’s words, but it passed unnoticed by his companions.

  ‘How much will you bet?’ asked Gerben, nudging the Professor in his side, ‘I’m going to push my luck tonight’ said the Dutchman puffing out his chest. The Professor hesitated, and raised his arm to rub at his neck.

  ‘I don’t know?’ he said, ‘I’ve lost quite a lot these past weeks, and this commission was expensive’ he said, tapping the side of his box, ‘I’m going to see how I feel, but I’ll have to be careful.'

  ‘Don’t be a piss blanket’ declared John with a slap, and rub on the Professor’s back, ‘a man like you is far from ruin.' The Professor gave an uneasy laugh and saw his suitcase in his mind's eye, hoping it would still be safe with Illawara. He would need a good win, or to manufacture some more money soon.

  The men expressed some curiosity in the Professor’s completion of his unusual commission, as his friends had loosened his tongue on the subject over time. Winston flashed them the contents of his box. All the merchants nodded at the craftsmanship of the work. None of them had gained the exact name and purpose of the Soul-lanterns. The merchants took them to be elaborate specimen holders, based on the Professor's interest in Golden Orb spiders when Winston had described them. The merchants, fond of oddities behind glass, offered to sell the items from their studio should the Professor wish to see a return on his investment.

  But the lure of the tables overcame the merchant's curiosity with ease, and the Professor was spared probing questions. Prince Fano swept his arm towards an inviting table, Gerben flexed his arms and fingers, and John almost skipped to the table to reach it first. The Professor was the last to arrive. With the usual handshakes and niceties, the men sat down at a broad desk spread with green velvet and received thirteen cards each from the banker which were dealt out by the croupier.

  The men like the other players sat at their Bassetta tables, placed their gambling tokens upon their own cards that they thought would be of a lucky sort, and waited for the banker to turn up a card from the bottom of his deck. The players held their breath as the Banker revealed the fasse card. It was in favour of the Bank and thus claimed half the monies of all those cards that shared its value. Winston slumped.

  ‘Damn it’ he cursed, with one of his first bets half gone.

  Frustration flooded the tables, as the croupiers gathered in the Banker's wins, and many punters lost half their initial bets right off. But hope remained for the others whose tokens were not claimed by the cull. The Professor's companions grinned: their first bets stayed unharmed. More affluent people arrived in the marbled room with many of the women holding masks to their painted faces: some were players, but most were voyeurs and accompanied their men to enjoy the attention as well as the entertainment.

  With the synchronicity of a regiment, two cards were then turned up from the top of the deck by the refined Bankers upon their tables.

  ‘Ace wins, six looses’ declared the Banker of the Professor’s table.

  ‘Bugger’ growled Gerben, and John hissed like the others that lost their money to the bank. For the first card favoured those that shared its value with a win, but the second card drawn repeated the cull. The Professor smiled with satisfaction, as his second bet card, an ace, had given him a win. The lucky ones smiled if the outcome favoured them, yet also prickled with worry and adventure.

  ‘Will you keep your couch?’ said Prince Fano, who had also bet on an ace, ‘or will you go for the Paroli?’

  ‘Paroli’ smiled the Professor, who crooked the corner of his card. The Prince raised his brows, and smiled, but stayed good to his word to play with modesty, and instead added another token to double his investment, but l
eft his card un-crooked. ‘I’m going for the Masse’ added Prince Fano. The Banks drew more cards, and the croupiers called out the suits, to muttering sighs, or whoops of pleasure yet the Professor and Prince Fano’s aces survived on their table as other cards fell. John and Gerben, like many others, cursed or grumbled at intervals as they saw their bets dwindle in front of their eyes.

  ‘Seven-and-the-go’ declared the croupier pointing at the Professor, and with those words, hungry voyeurs gravitated to the Professor's table to see who had gained in the stakes.

  ‘Ace wins, Knave loses’ declared the croupier, and some gasps escaped from the women that stood nearby as they fanned themselves. The Professor’s heart began to beat faster, and his face flushed as a knot of daring and foreboding wound in his stomach: titillated by the tensions the game inspired. Prince Fano smiled, with contentment at having tripled his original investment, and removed his card and its extra winnings from the table.

  ‘Play on’ said John,

  ‘Yes, play on’ came an anonymous female voice from behind him. The Professor dithered, he needed the money, but the tension and excitement that had built around the table intoxicated him, and he felt compelled to go on. His palms grew damp, but the Professor reached forward to crook his card at the second corner, and a small cheer of mostly feminine voices rose behind him.

  ‘FIFTEEN-and-the-go’ said the croupier in a louder voice. Muttering and speculation encircled the table, and the Professor felt a breeze begin to blow about his neck with the fanning of the gathered women. The Professor wiped at his brow and wriggled his toes as the cards were dealt out.

  ‘ACE wins, ten looses’ and everyone, but the croupier and the Banker struggled to contain their excitement. A bead of sweat coursed down the side of the Professor’s forehead, and he coughed several times.

  ‘Bet again’ whispered more voices from the group of women, added to by a good deal of the men. The audience had gown five deep around the table. The Professor chewed his fingernails, something he had not done since a boy, and looked around the table at the bright eyes, and the flushed faces of those that had removed their masks for a better look. He glanced at his friends, who could not help him, and thought how useful the money would be. He hesitated, and pondered the sensible uses the winnings could be put to, and the delicious meals he could have.

  ‘Go again’ rang the choir of voices behind him,

  ‘What's your bet, Signore?’ said the croupier as the Professor procrastinated. The Professor coughed again.

  ‘Go on the luck is with you’ said a male voice this time, and the Professor grimaced as he reached forward, in palpitation, and crooked the third corner of his card. Another cheer erupted louder than before, and adrenalin coursed through the Professor’s veins.

  ‘THIRTY and-the-go’ Proclaimed the croupier, with a swift glance to his banker, and the breeze that blew across the Professor’s shoulders reached gale force: such was the fanning of those that stood behind him. The Professor wriggled where he sat, like a child in desperate need of the toilet. He wiped his finger under his mask to remove the sweat that gathered there. The Banker turned up his cards.

  ‘Five wins, ace loses’ he said to a groan of disappointment that engulfed the table.

  ‘Fuck!’ screeched the Professor, who felt like he had stabbed himself in the stomach. The mood of the table crashed, and the voyeurs, shocked and then bored, moved on to other entertainments and other tables where the stakes had gained in value: restless, and foraging, like seabirds hunting for fish.

  The Professor deflated in his seat, cross with himself for giving into pressure at the gambling table. He stood up with a huff, with his case underarm, to buy himself a drink with what remained of his money. His companions, all played out, joined their friend to console him. John comforted the most, but the Professor sensed a glint of delight at his loss from his fellow Englishman.

  The men stood at the improvised bar, elevated and back from the gambling tables on a higher level preceded by six steps, which overlooked the sunken area for the gaming. The candles in the crystal chandeliers burned bright adding lustre to everything, and the noise and chatter of all assembled filled the room as people played, and won and lost, while the voyeurs perused the tables and combed the room for excitement.

  Then all fell silent as if the noise of the place had toppled through a trap door, and a woman wearing a spectacular cream dress, with jewels and silver embellishments, walked into the room with her plumed mask held aloft. To all present, that looked on in wonder; she glowed as if spot-lit with moonlight. The woman paused, as if to acknowledge the effect of her presence, turned her beautiful head just so, and shimmered in the light as the opal attached to her ivory comb answered the fire of the candles with flashes of pink, purple, and turquoise.

  The mysterious woman made a move towards a space upon one of the Bassetta tables, and the people almost fell out of her way as she progressed. She held her mask in place and fanned herself with slow grace as she advanced to a vacant chair. Every woman in the place, bar none, glanced down at herself, no matter how grand or painted, and felt herself a sparrow in the presence of a peacock.

  Professor Sloane felt a shock bolt through him, for he recognised Lucia in an instant. So did his friends who tugged and pulled at one another like schoolboys.

  ‘It’s her isn’t it?’ whispered John to Prince Fano, ‘that’s our Lucia’ the brown-skinned man nodded,

  ‘Who else’ he whispered back, ‘I could recognise her blind-folded.' Gerben heaved a deep breath,

  ‘Our Goddess returns’ sighed the burly Dutchman, quite overcome.

  The Professor glared at the men before Lucia sat down, and the guests at the table where she sat looked at her as if hypnotised. The Professor wrestled within himself, and his face clouded as the events that took place in Arcetri rolled through his mind. To others, the woman seemed oblivious to all, but the Professor knew in his bones that she had seen him - he felt her gaze come out of her shoulder blades. Winston drank some of his wine, clutched his box closer under his arm, and gritted his teeth as he listened to his friends gush praise at Lucia’s ethereal beauty.

  The croupier of Lucia’s table dealt out the cards for a fresh game to her, and the rest of the players at the table. Everyone placed their tokens upon their cards, but Lucia held back until everyone had placed their bets, and then, to everyone’s surprise, she put four Ducats upon just one of her cards: The Queen of Hearts.

  Much muttering and chatter encircled the room, as people speculated: 'she has money to melt' stage whispered one voice in the awestruck crowd. Lucia had laid down upon her card what would have been almost four months wages for many men. The game started, and all watched as the suits were called out. Lucia’s card survived the fasse, and some other culls until the croupier called out,

  ‘Queen wins, seven loses.' Without saying a word or removing her mask, Lucia reached forward, in a delicate gesture, to crook the corner of her card. The game played on, more cards fell.

  ‘SEVEN-and-the-go’ said the croupier. The Banker drew the next cards. ‘Queen wins, king loses.' Lucia repeated her gesture to crook the second corner of the card. The chatter rose again. The game played on, her card survived, and the croupier then called: ‘FIFTEEN-and-the-go.'

  A deathly silence fell upon the room for a small fortune was at stake upon Lucia's card. The Bank dealt. 'Queen wins, eight loses.' Gasps broke out. Lucia had fifteen times the amount of her original bet upon her card: five years of the average man's wages.

  Without hesitation, Lucia crooked the third corner of her card. The chatter became wilder, more excited than before, and the Professor felt as if he were sitting in a boiling cauldron: such the intensity of the atmosphere in the place. On the game went. The croupier declared, ‘THIRTY and-the-go.' Some people clutched at their faces or wiped their brows. Lucia had ten years wages on one bet. The Banker's hand trembled as he dealt out the cards.

  'QUEEN wins, knave loses.' Shrieks and squeals rang o
ut around the room, and the men stared on agog for what Lucia had upon one card. Glowing in the light, Lucia reached forward again to crook the last corner of her card, with the relaxation of one turning a page in a book.

  I bet that bitch is going to break the Bank the Professor thought, and then the trembling croupier declared, ‘SIXTY-AND-THE-GO’ for all to hear. Play stopped at every single table, and everyone halted what they were doing to watch.

  There were two cards left in the game, all others played, and everyone knew that if the second card tuned up as queen, the bank would owe her nothing. Everyone stood still, transfixed, riveted to the spot as if the Lord had come to judge the souls of men.

  In a spontaneous action, the merchants joined hands with one another and squeezed their palms together in the act of prayer between them. The Professor crossed his arms and frowned. She doesn't need your help he thought to himself.

  Lucia closed her eyes to concentrate, and silence fell as the croupier’s shaking hand reached forward to turn over the first card - a queen. The room erupted into a cacophony of shouts, screams, shock, and jubilation. The merchants embraced each other and jumped about the bar. No one had ever seen a woman win so much in a card game, let alone at sixty-on-the-go. Although there were quite a few people who were worth more per year in the room: two hundred and forty Ducats, twenty years of an average man’s wage, would be a handsome win for anyone.

  Lucia opened her eyes, and fanned at herself with steady calm, as if contemplating a country view, in stark contrast to the carrying on around her. The Banker and the croupier hesitated and looked around the room as if ready to escape, but the crowd began to shout, with one voice:

  ‘Dish it out, DISH IT OUT.' Fearing the scandal and violence that could break out if they did not obey, the men had no choice but to empty their coffers, and some of the other tables, into a large red velvet bag.

  The crowd cheered, especially the women of the room who had become inspired, as the Ducats tumbled into Lucia's new bag like a waterfall of gold. Lucia, keeping her mask in place, put her heavy swag of money in her lap, and attached it to her cintura belt. She then stood and received her cheers before bowing like an empress.