The Floating City

by Craig Cormick

  He circled around the room watching her dance with various men who would invariably become captivated by the lightness of her step and the gracefulness of her limbs, or perhaps even the soft curves of her half-hidden bosom, but she would bow and flick her fan and abandon them at the end of each dance to watch after her wistfully. He had been left like that many times himself.

  But not tonight.

  At one point she broke off from the boorish oaf who was trying to charm her, and walked across to the long table where the refreshments were laid on a sparkling white cloth. She had barely glanced at the array of wines and cordials when he was there at her side. “Good evening, mysterious lady,” he said, bowing low, his arms spreading out wide, as if he was swooping down from on high. “I have been admiring your movements. You remind me of a lady I once knew, but are much more gracious than she, and surely more beautiful as well.”

  Rosaline wore an ornate silver mask inlaid with jewels that covered all her face but her lips. He had hoped to see them smile, but they turned down instead. “Romeo, Romeo,” she said, “Whyfore art thou here? Is it not past your bedtime already?”

  “I am here but to enjoy the dance,” he said. He had long become immune to her snipes about their age difference.

  “If anyone discovers your presence you will think it lucky if you are only hurled into the canal. You may even go home with a thin sliver of steel pressed between your ribs.”

  Romeo waved a hand in the air. “The animosity between our two houses is not so extreme that it would lead to violence during a party.”

  “I believe the animosity between your houses is such that it would be considered a terrible insult that you have attended this party uninvited. It is, after all, being held in the honour of young Giulietta Montecchi. Your presence would be seen as an insult to her.”

  “I have no interest in insulting her or praising her,” he said. Then added, “Mystery lady.”

  She sighed and snapped open her fan and looked away as if suddenly bored. “Allow me to offer you a refreshment,” he said, and pressed a fine silver goblet of wine to her. The same goblet he had been carrying around for much of the evening, laced with the Othmen love potion.

  “You are forever pressing gifts upon me that are unwanted,” she said.

  “Surely you are in need of refreshment,” he said. “Consider it a token of peace that I will trouble you no more.” She turned and looked at him. “Unless of course you request it,” he said.

  “And when have I ever requested your attentions?” she asked.

  He gave no answer but held out the wine goblet to her. “To peace between us,” he said.

  She took it reluctantly and said, “I fear we are not living in times meant for peace.”

  Romeo bowed low again. She considered him a moment and then placed the goblet onto the tray of a passing waiter, turned and walked off across the room.

  Romeo watched her go and felt she had been right. Somebody had just pressed a thin blade between his ribs and into his heart. And it had been her. He watched Rosaline make her way back onto the dance floor and accept the hand of a tall man dressed like a harlequin. Then he turned his head quickly to follow the waiter with the goblet. But he had already been stopped by an elderly woman who took the goblet off the tray and started sipping from it.

  Romeo closed his eyes and muttered a curse. He watched the elderly woman slowly finish the drink and then turn to the old man behind her, obviously her husband. He was in for a surprise this evening, he thought. But the elderly lady only passed him the empty goblet and turned to a younger man beside them and laid one hand on his forearm and started whispering into his ear. That young man was in for an even bigger surprise, he thought.

  Romeo frowned and folded his arms. There was some old saying about the best-laid plans of men being nothing but clouds being torn apart by the wind, but he’d never paid enough attention to learn it properly. There was a sudden bitter taste in his mouth and he looked around for a glass of wine to wash it away. And then another.

  Finishing the second cup and finding it had not washed away the bitterness, he was considering leaving the ball, when a matron who stood nearby leaned close to him and asked, “Do you know which one the young Giulietta is?” Romeo turned his head towards her without answering, glad only that it was not the elderly lady who had drunk his love potion. That would have been the final mockery for the evening. “They say she is the fairest of all the Montecchi daughters,” the woman said.

  Romeo nodded his head, still without answering.

  “They say that there are many suitors here this evening hoping to win her hand. I expect you might be one of them, yes?”

  “No,” he said bluntly. “I find women little but trouble.”

  “Oh?” she asked. “But surely some things are worth a little trouble.”

  “And some things not,” he said sullenly.

  She shrugged. “Since you are not a suitor,” she said, “I can confide in you that I have an eligible son, and I am hoping to represent his case to her.”

  “Ah,” said Romeo, “I see. Well, I believe that lady there with the red hair is Giulietta.” He pointed to the Lady Rosaline across the dance floor, fanning herself gently during a pause between dances. “I think it would be to your advantage to introduce your son to her and I’m sure she would be most pleased to meet him.” The lady gave a small bow, and scuttled off across the dance floor.

  “I hope he has some contagion or fleas of the nether region that he passes to her,” Romeo mumbled. Then, as the music restarted and the dancers took their places for the next dance, he set the empty wine cup down and stepped out onto the dance floor. He would at least enjoy a dance or two before going home, he determined.

  The musical introduction told him this would be a dance in lines, so he took his place on the floor in the appropriate position. As he waited he saw several of the servants walk around dousing candles until the hall was much dimmer and then others came out carrying flaming goblets. Ah, the fire dance, he thought. Splendid! Each goblet was filled with a small amount of oil that had been lit so a ghostly blue flame danced out of it. The servants walked down the centre of the hall and each maiden took a goblet and held it in her right hand. Then they were ready to begin and the orchestra moved into the dance proper.

  Romeo was feeling a little better already. This was a most excellent dance and he was a most excellent dancer. Each woman had to hold onto her partner’s left hand, while her right hand with the flaming goblet was held out from her side, as they danced. At the end of each set, as they changed partners, she would press the goblet into her new partner’s hand who would then pass it back to her as they danced.

  His first partner moved well and he smiled to her as he moved around her, playing up his hawk’s mask and leaning in and then out again. He could see he was charming her. Of course. Who wouldn’t be charmed by him?

  He danced with two more partners before it happened. He had been smiling wickedly at his former partner, who had clung to his fingers as if reluctant to let go of him, when he turned to take the flaming goblet from his next partner. He only had time to register her mask was also that of a bird, a dove, he thought, before their fingers touched around the goblet. The flames within suddenly erupted and burst upwards towards the ceiling, exploding like a firework and illuminating the whole room.

  Everybody stopped and stared in awe and then clapped their hands in appreciation at the clever entertainment their hosts had provided. Everybody except the three pairs of Seers who had been seated at the top of the room, masked heads bowed deeply in conversation with each other, dancing around the politics of the city as much as those on the floor danced. The moment they saw the bluish flame climb to the ceiling they knew what it meant. “Where did it come from?” the female Spring Seer hissed to her consort. “Did you see which couple it came from?”

  “No,” he said, standing to his feet. “They are here though. We must find them.”

  But the music had no
t paused and the dancers had moved on to the next partner to catch up to the dance. The music continued for one more set and then stopped at the sudden chiming of a bell, indicating that it was time for everyone to unmask. Romeo frowned again. He had hoped to be gone by this time in the evening. He looked across for the strange dove-woman who had performed the enchantment trick with her flame cup. He was curious to see what she looked like. The brief touch of her hand had left his fingers tingling. Though perhaps it was the effect of the dancing fire.

  The man opposite Giulietta whipped his mask off quickly and she saw it was Marcuccio Guercio, one of the men that her mother had ambitions to marry her to. He would take this as something of an omen of destiny when he saw who she was. He was handsome enough, but rather dull and boring. So instead of unmasking to him she turned her head to look for the strange hawk-masked man who had performed the fire trick. When he had touched her fingers she had felt some tremble run through her entire body, and wondered how he had done it.

  Romeo, and Giulietta, turned their heads and lowered their masks together and the moment their eyes locked it was as if they were suddenly alone in the hall. They each felt the echo of the tingle and the tremble within them. Felt the need to step out of line past all the ladies and gentlemen gently applauding as the whole hall took off their masks, and generally pretended to be surprised at who they were standing next to. Felt the need to walk across to each other and touch again.

  She could not take her eyes off his face, as if it was familiar to her in some way, but she was sure she had never seen him before. She was close to touching him now, reaching out her hand to take his, when her mother was at her side, threading her arm through hers. “Giulietta,” she said. “There is a young man I want you to talk to.”

  “Yes, there is,” she said, not taking her eyes off the young man in front of her.

  “He is the son of Signora Guercio,” she said, referring to the partner she had just walked away from.

  “What is your name?” Giulietta called to the young man who had worn the hawk mask, staring at her, with his arm out to touch her.

  “Romeo,” he said. “Romeo Cappalletti. And what is your name?”

  But before she could answer her mother spun her head suddenly and stared at him. “A Cappalletti!” she snapped. “In our house? Are you mad?” She turned her head and looked around her. “Leave quickly before any of my cousins recognize you. I will not have blood shed on this evening. Come Giulietta, away.” And she pulled her daughter across the floor, though she kept turning her head to watch him. And he could see the look of sudden sadness on her face.

  “Giulietta?” he said softly. It was impossible. Montecchi’s youngest daughter. They were sworn enemies.

  XIX

  ELSEWHERE IN THE FLOATING CITY

  Vincenzo the scribe sat up in bed violently, and then put out a hand to steady himself. He looked around in the darkness, certain a flash of light had illuminated his room. His heart was beating and he thought he could hear the faint echoing ring of a small child crying. But there was nothing. Just the fading images of the dream that clung to him.

  He closed his eyes and laid his head back onto his pillow. And the memory of it filled him again. He had been flying. Travelling across to the city that was floating not on the waters of the lagoon, but up in the clouds. Somebody was carrying him. A tall dark figure. A strong man who held him in a protective grip and as they reached the city he lowered him to the stones of the streets. And the moment his feet touched, the city began sinking through the clouds. Falling softly out of the sky and down to the waters of the lagoon.

  There was a small boy standing on the very edge of the city, holding a hand up for the dark man to take him up again. Calling out to him in fear. But the dark man just hovered there, watching him.

  The city was bobbing on the waters now, not steadily, but rocking like a boat might rock in a storm, a boat of many buildings and pathways and landings and dark alleys and fine palazzos, all floating upon the waters, held up by the enchantments of the Seers. But then it started sinking below the waters. The small boy cried out in terror now and held up his hands for the dark man to save him, but he was just a distant dark figure, like a grey speck in the corner of your eye that forever danced out of sight when you tried to follow and focus on it. Then he was gone. Then there was the bright flash of light and he was awake.

  Vincenzo felt that child’s terror and knew that it had been him. Knew that the dark figure had been the Shadow Master. As he knew he would follow his strange quest around the city, to find out what the vision meant, even if all memory of the dream disappeared with the morning’s light.

  XX

  ELSEWHERE IN THE FLOATING CITY

  “This is a power that I fear will destroy us,” said the female Winter Seer. The six Seers had locked themselves together in a small room of the Montecchi’s household, despite entreaties from Signor Montecchi that they should come out and bless his daughter. He had knocked at the door and told them how vital it was that they attend to her, but they had ignored his pleas until he had left them, mumbling about ingratitude and lack of civic duty.

  They paid him no heed, as something much more vital demanded their attention. They had a metal chalice on the table before them that was still humming slightly. Each had held it in their hands in turn and felt the residue of power still within it.

  “It speaks of a pair who will be very powerful,” the female Summer Seer said, her husband’s hand held in hers, as ever.

  “But so young and untempered,” the female Winter Seer said. She had held the cup in her hands and tried hard to see the faces of those who had held it, but it was if they were hidden from her. It was frustrating that they had been right there in the same room with them, but they could not identify them. “I can feel it,” she said. “Our destruction is written here.”

  “I feel no such thing,” said the female Spring Seer. “They will strengthen us.”

  “No,” said the female Winter Seer. “They are dangerous to us.”

  “Whichever they are, they must be found quickly,” said the male Summer Seer. “Power such as this needs to be tamed to be beneficial to us.” He picked up the cup again and turned it over in his hands. “And they probably have no notion of their abilities.”

  “They may not even have manifest until this evening when they came into close contact with each other,” his consort said.

  “They are a danger to us,” said the female Winter Seer again. “I can feel it.”

  “Are you sure it is their future you are reading?” the female Summer Seer asked. Both Winter Seers hesitated to answer.

  “Their future can only be written by themselves,” the male Summer Seer said adamantly.

  “No. Their future will be written by us,” the male Spring Seer said. “We cannot allow them to remain unknown and uncontrolled. We must bring them under our wings and train them.”

  “They would need to be kept in isolation from each other,” the female Spring Seer said. “Their power is too raw to enable them to be together until they can control it.”

  “But they will be naturally drawn to each other,” her consort said, giving her hand a squeeze, as if reminding her of some secret between them. She looked back at him and smiled. “And that might be how we shall find them,” she said. “We wait for them to be reunited and we look for more signs.”

  “We cannot afford to wait,” said the female Summer Seer. “We must start searching for them now.”

  The Winter Seers had withdrawn from the conversation, looking at each other closely, as if trying to console the other of a fear they both shared.

  “We should begin our search this evening,” the female Spring Seer said to the Summer Seers. They knew what that look between the Winter Seers meant. “You will look for the young man and we will look for the young woman. We will test them by water or fire or life, but we will find them. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” said the Summer Seers.

  “And wha
t of Signor Montecchi’s daughter?” asked the male Winter Seer. “Should we not attend to her and give her our blessings?”

  “That is hardly a priority,” the female Spring Seer said. “We have much more at stake than the blessing of a silly girl looking for a husband.”

  XXI

  THE STORY OF DISDEMONA

  The night was as black as the feathers of a crow’s wing. Otello walked along the dark city streets with his ensign, Ipato, close by his side. The city light seemed ghostly this evening, with a thin mist about. The harsh clomp of their boot steps echoing about them marked their authority as they walked. “There seem to be a lot of boats on the canals tonight,” the Moor said, watching a gondola row past, a lantern on its prow lighting the way and throwing a dappled path across the water. “I had thought people were still too fearful to venture out.”

  “The Montecchi ball,” said the ensign. “Can you not taste the excitement in the air? Risking a possible Othmen beast in the waters is one thing, but risking not being seen in high society is quite another.”

  Otello smiled. His ensign had an occasional quiet wit that he appreciated. “Indeed,” he said. “Disdemona had asked me to accompany her there to celebrate her sister, but I told her I was needed on duty. It had slipped my mind.”

  “And how is your fair wife?” the ensign asked. “She seemed a little out of sorts when I last saw her.”

  “How so?” asked Otello, turning to the man. The ensign immediately held up his hands as if to protest what he had said. “Perhaps I overstate things,” he said. “It was just a feeling I took away with me.”

  The Moor considered him for a moment and then frowned and turned back to the path before them. They were walking along a street with a canal on one side and tall houses stretching overhead on the other, so that their voices echoed eerily when they spoke.