Although taken by surprise, they had perhaps been planning how to react if such an attack occurred and they were quick to cast spells at the beast, keeping it from them. They were even fortunate enough to find the beast’s weakness, in that they could momentarily transform it into mortal shape. For a spectator, approaching in a gondola, it was a captivating sight, seeing the many-limbed monster in a single flash of light suddenly appear as a man and then transform back into the form of a beast once more.
Only those close enough to the battle could have seen the features on that man though, to identify him as Othmen or Mongol, and know from where the spell had been struck that created such a foul creature. And although much of its body was underwater, it was possible to see that it had large limbs with sharpened ends, such as a crab might possess, but also had a large mouth with sharpened teeth, such as a shark might possess. Its head was indescribable though, perhaps belonging to a sea creature that lives only in the deepest pits and has yet to be pulled up by any mortal fisherman.
How long the battle had been raging one could not say, but the Seers’ boatman had already been slain, with one of the sharpened limbs piercing his body. The two Seers stood upright in their perilously rocking boat, their hands clasped tightly and a halo-like white fire encircling their free hands. Whenever the beast attacked them they used the white fire to ward it off, but it had many limbs and they had only one free hand each.
They might have perished in that first battle had not the Shadow Master arrived. He steered his boat in fast like a deadly arrow, and rammed the beast from behind, leaping onto its back. It turned to attack him, leaving an opening for the Seers to abandon their defence and attack the monster again. They cast their incantation and again, for a mere instant, the beast transformed into a thrashing man. And that instant was enough. The Shadow Master plunged a blade deep between the man’s shoulders and out through his heart. The thrashing man roared and slumped, caught half in his transformation, with his lower half still a beast and his upper torso that of a man. The Seers now leaned forward and touched the bare skin of the man and he shrieked and dissolved into water collapsing back into the canal.
The Shadow Master turned in the air and landed deftly in the Seers’ boat, wobbling for the barest of moments before regaining his balance. He bowed low to the Seers and said he was glad to be of service to them. Then he noticed that one of the Winter Seers, the female, was wounded, with blood flowing from her side. He stepped forward to assist her to a seated position and while he was so distracted the second beast attacked.
It rose from the other side of their boat, a large and darker creature, also with multiple limbs, but with a more hideous head and larger mouth. Its limbs were more like those of an octopus and it looped one around the neck of the wounded Seer and ripped her from her partner’s embrace, lifting her into the air.
The Shadow Master moved with a speed that could not be believed. He suddenly had a blade in both hands and was stabbing and cutting at the beast as it tried to take hold of the other Seer. He had cut it in many places, but in defending the male Seer he had left himself vulnerable and one large tentacle or limb snaked its way under the boat and seized him from behind. It pulled him into the water with the speed of a striking serpent, such that if a witness had but blinked he would not have seen him disappear. The male Seer then stood up and tried to cast a spell over the beast on his own, but without his partner his power was limited.
Now, almost leisurely, the beast wound another limb around his neck and lifted him clear of the boat too. Then it descended into the water, leaving nothing but the choppy water, a dead boatman and one witness to the battle – too stunned by the swiftness of it all to have even moved out of his seat.
“I truly thought you dead,” said Vincenzo the scribe. “I hurried back here to write it anew so that you lived.” The Shadow Master handed back his manuscript as he finished reading it, and said, “Perhaps you could downplay the size of the beast.”
“What do you mean?” Vincenzo asked. “It was enormous and truly frightening.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was. But think how future readers might take this tale,” he said. “They might dismiss it as fantasy, having never seen such creatures.”
“But such creatures are well recorded, and are known to be kept as pets by the Othmen. They train them to attack ships and pull them down into watery graves.”
“Do they?” the Shadow Master asked. “Have you seen them?”
“Well, no. Of course not. But I have seen their pictures on charts and I have read accounts of them.”
“And you’ve met the men who wrote those accounts?” he asked.
“No,” said the scribe. “But anybody who knows me and hears me tell this story will say this can be believed for they know I told it.”
“But years from now historians might not believe you. They might brand you Vincenzo the madman!”
Vincenzo bristled at that. “They would not dare.”
“They can be a cruel lot, historians.”
Vincenzo sulked. “I was going to write that I found you in the canal in the morning, more dead than alive, and brought you back here and nursed you back to strength. But then here you were, and you took those strange pills and salves, and the poisons are gone from your body and your eyes are clear again. Your other wounds are already healing. And your clothes are dry.”
“No one would believe that either.”
“You seem to have more powers than any I was going to create by writing you saved.”
The Shadow Master just shrugged.
“But still I will write one thing into my history to make it become the way things happened,” the scribe said.
“What is that?”
“I am going to record the words you uttered when I found you alive.”
“Which were?”
“That wasn’t meant to happen.”
The Shadow Master almost grinned. Then he said, “Not a particularly stirring phrase though, is it? Perhaps best to make no particular mention of me.”
“Then what should I say?” asked Vincenzo looking at his manuscript in abject disappointment. He was certain he was capturing the very feel of the battle he had witnessed. “I’m the only one who can tell that I saw two of the Seers slay a beast and then be slain by a second.”
“I think the other Seers will know it by now, as will the council.”
“How will they know it if I don’t tell them?” Vincenzo asked.
In response the Shadow Master led him over to the window and pointed. There was a large gap of water where the Autumn Palazzo had stood the night before and the outer parts of the city were notably listing underwater.
The scribe blinked a few times as if taking it in and then said, “What shall we do? Our city is at risk of falling.”
“We shall save it,” said the Shadow Master. “It will be a mighty victory and the greatest moment in your great city’s history.”
“And I will write it safe!” Vincenzo proclaimed.
“Yes, you shall write it safe,” the Shadow Master agreed.
“Telling it just as it should be!”
“Well,” said the Shadow Master, “at least to a point.”
Vincenzo picked up his pen. “I’m going to start by writing you back under the water of the canal now.”
XXXIII
THE STORY OF ISABELLA
Isabella Montecchi felt a bad headache forming. She had slept by herself in a small chamber, but could still hear Captain Selvo snoring like a donkey a few chambers away. She was tired and she now thought her decision last night was a poor one. She should not be punishing the old captain for the Othmen envoy’s actions. But she was in no mood to spend the next few weeks having her Palazzo dock cluttered with the ships of horny old men hoping to bed her and win her hand.
There were already four ships tying up at her palazzo dock, and if she didn’t put a stop to this soon there would be half the ships of the city there within a few weeks. The thought pained he
r. How many nights of lying next to drugged and snoring old men could she endure? She was sure her mother would quip that it was just like marriage, but her mother would also advise her that since she had gotten herself into this mess, she should turn to herself to get out of it.
“Nerissa,” she called.
Her handmaiden came in, grinning from ear to ear. “Have you seen the ships, my lady?” she asked.
Isabella frowned. “I have,” she said wearily.
“Shall I schedule the captains in, one each night?”
“No,” said Isabella firmly. “I want you to tell each of them that I am preoccupied, or sick, or anything, and that they have wasted their time in coming here.”
The handmaiden looked down at the floor and moved her hips a little this way and that. “Umm, we could, my lady, but…” She didn’t go on.
“Yes?” Isabella asked.
“Well, we have learned that the Othmen envoy has put up a poster around the city stating that if any man is turned away by you, it will be proof that you are not a woman of your word, and not to be trusted in business either.”
Isabella felt a throb in the front of her skull. This was a declaration of war. A war she would have to fight alone. “Not a woman of my word?” she asked. “Whose idea was it for this ridiculous wager anyway? It was his!”
“Umm – it was yours, my lady,” said her handmaiden softly.
Isabella frowned again. She was right. It was her own idea.
“Well tell them… I don’t know… we must be able to tell them something!”
“I could tell them that there is already a suitor with you,” she suggested.
“Captain Selvo?” Isabella asked, aghast.
“Well, no, my lady. I mean, a younger more handsome man. We could tell them that you had a suitor and that no man should come calling with his ship until you had made a decision about him.”
“But how am I going to conjure a young man out of the blue?” Isabella asked. “We can’t invent a fictitious man to fill this role. Or are you suggesting that you might dress up as a young man and pretend to be my suitor?”
The handmaiden looked quite shocked at the idea. “No, my lady. I mean there is one young man who might fit the role well.”
“Who?”
“He calls himself Giannetto,” she said. “And he is young and handsome and has a ship at his disposal.” She looked at her feet and blushed a little as she said this.
“And how do you know this?” Isabella asked.
“His was the first ship to dock here this morning,” she said. “He has seen you in the city and says he is smitten by your beauty and wants to win your hand.”
Isabella rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. “So I should invite him to dinner this evening?”
“Yes.”
“And after tomorrow when he wakes up in bed alone and realizes he’s failed also? Won’t the old men just return with their ships again?”
“Not if my lady finds the young gentleman pleasing and offers him a different flagon of wine,” the handmaiden suggested, looking at her mistress with a wicked grin.
“I think you will both be quite disappointed,” Isabella said coolly. “But if it will buy me some time to think my way out of this quandary, go and tell the young man he should come back at dinner time and send all the other ships that arrive today away.”
“Yes, my lady,” her handmaiden said, and bowed low. “And I’ll ask Marina to turn the old captain out of your chamber.”
“Thank you,” said Isabella. And then, just as her handmaiden had reached the door, she asked her, “How handsome exactly?”
XXXIV
THE STORY OF GIULIETTA
Giulietta’s parents tapped lightly on her door, with a knock that a mouse would have considered timid. “I think she is still asleep,” her father said. “Let’s wait until she’s awake.”
“It’s after eleven,” said her mother. “It’s time she was up.”
Her father wrung his hands. He was considered a bold man of action as a merchant, with a cool head when it came to disasters and trouble, but the one thing that unnerved him was the threat of his youngest daughter’s tantrums.
“You go in,” he said. “She might not be dressed.”
His wife rolled her eyes and tapped a little louder on the door and then opened it.
“I’m not up yet, what are you doing coming into my bedroom?” Signor Montecchi heard Giulietta shout at her mother. Then he heard the soft voice of his wife saying something to soothe their daughter and after a moment she called him into the room.
“Good morning,” he said, peeping his head around the corner of the door. “I trust you slept well?”
“Hmmph,” she said. “How would you feel if you were woken up from a sleep?”
He didn’t answer but came and sat on the end of her large bed with his wife and held her hand, thinking it might present the right image in some way. “We’d like to talk to you,” he said.
“Well I don’t want to talk to you,” she said and threw her head onto her pillow, pulling the covers up over her face.
“It’s important,” said her mother.
“It never is,” said Giulietta.
“I think there’s going to be a spectacular new dress involved,” said Signor Montecchi. His wife dug him in the ribs with her rather sharp elbow and he tried not to react as Giulietta’s head slowly emerged from its cocoon like a hibernating small creature looking for the spring light.
“How spectacular?” she asked.
“Very spectacular,” Signor Montecchi said, and held his wife’s hand tighter to avoid another dig in the ribs from her elbow.
Giulietta sat up and almost gave them a smile. “Will it have gems and velvet?” she asked.
Signor Montecchi looked at his wife, who sighed a little and said, “I imagine that it may. I was thinking pearls.”
“Diamonds?” asked Giulietta hopefully.
“Pearls!” said her father.
She pouted for a moment and then asked, “It should be light blue then, to go with the pearls.”
“Uh,” said her father and met his wife’s eyes again. Neither wanted to be the one to say it. “The dress will be white,” he said softly.
“Oh no,” Giulietta said. “That is not this season’s fashion at all. White is so dreary, reserved for confirmations and weddings and things.”
Her father and mother held each other’s hands tight, waiting for the ducat to drop. But Giulietta went on, “I really don’t know what you were thinking in supposing a white dress would be anything that I might want. How should I ever stand out wearing a white dress, even if it was covered in pearls?”
“Well,” said her father. “It really needs to be white, you see, because this type of dress is only ever white.”
She stared at him blankly and said, “That’s ridiculous.” She looked to her mother who was busily looking at her feet. The ducat dropped.
“You don’t mean…?”
Her mother and father looked up at her meekly.
“You can’t possibly mean…?”
“We do,” said her mother.
“Well we do, if you’re thinking what we’re thinking,” said her father.
“A wedding?” she asked.
And suddenly her mother and father couldn’t stop talking. “You’d make such a beautiful bride,” said her father.
“I think it’s about time you took the possibility of us finding a good suitor for you seriously,” said her mother.
“He’s quite wealthy,” said her father.
“His parents are very much looking forward to welcoming you into their family,” said her mother.
“We are certain you’ll be very happy,” her father said.
“He’s really the most delightful young man,” said her mother.
And then Giulietta screamed. The noise of it shook some small spiders out from behind the tapestry on her bedchamber wall, the windows rattled in their frames and her father
thought for a moment that a trumpet blast was being sounded just outside the door. “Why would I ever choose a husband that you picked?” she shouted. “I’m not getting married to anyone you find for me. I hate him already. I hate you too. I hate you, I hate you!” And she started kicking her feet on the bed frantically.
Signor and Signora Montecchi jumped to their feet and beat a hasty retreat out of the bedchamber, closing the door behind them. One of the serving maids had come up and was standing there with a look of concern on her face. The poor girl was new though, and didn’t know any better. Signora Montecchi shooed her away.
Her husband straightened his clothes and said, “Well, I think that didn’t go too badly at all.”
“Much better than I’d expected,” said Signora Montecchi.
“I think we can start making preparations then,” said her husband.
“Yes. Although I think it wise to invite a few of her friends over first and let them gush about how handsome and rich young Signor Paris is, and she’ll be in agreement with them in no time.”
“A splendid idea,” said her husband and strode off down the hallway, rather pleased with the way the day was turning out.
XXXV
ELSEWHERE IN THE FLOATING CITY
The Seers sat in a darkened room, with a low flame in the centre. They were acutely aware of the sets of empty seats about them and the pressing risk that another pair of seats could be made empty any day.
“Have you talked to the Council of Ten?” asked the male Summer Seer.
The female Spring Seer nodded her head. “Council of Eight,” she said. ‘Have you not heard, Signor Candiano was slain his bed last night.”
“I heard he was with a young whore and his heart gave out,’ said the female Summer Seer. “That hardly makes it an assassination.”
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