The Floating City

by Craig Cormick

  “Vincenzo is the superhero of handwriting,” said the stranger, handing the letter back. “If he says it is a forgery then it is.”

  “The super what?” asked Signor Faliero, looking to Vincenzo for explanation. But he looked as confused.

  “That’s not the question,” said the stranger. “The question is, why would someone trick you into turning up for a meeting that didn’t exist and then not try and kill you?” He looked to both the citizens of the Floating City, but they still looked a little confused.

  “Unless…” said the stranger, and then smacked his forehead with his palm, the way they did in Umbria. “Unless it was to keep us out of the way.” He looked at Vincenzo and said, “Oh dear. Come. We must hurry.” The stranger set off at a run, followed by the scribe, trying his best to keep up with him, and Signor Faliero further behind.

  The stranger led them down several alleyways, pushing his way politely past citizens they passed, and over some footbridges until he stopped at a larger bridge, peered down into the canal from the centre and then leapt right over the railing. Signor Faliero saw the scribe run up to the spot and peer over the edge, and then continue running over the bridge.

  He was panting heavily and sweating more than he thought healthy for him when he finally reached the same spot on the bridge. He looked over and saw the stranger on the small stone walkway by the canal’s edge under them, leaning over a body. He rested one hand on the stone railing, thinking he was going to throw up. Perhaps from the effort, perhaps from recognizing the bloodstained body down below him. It was Signor Tradonico. Undoubtedly also lured here by a forged letter by the assassins who perhaps knew that he had uncovered their conspiracy.

  He saw the scribe now come out from an alleyway and join the stranger by the body, panting almost as much as he himself was. “Do you know him?” said the stranger, in a voice that showed no sign of being puffed.

  “Yes,” said Vincenzo. “It is Signor Tradonico. Of the Council of Ten.”

  “Council of Seven,” corrected the stranger.

  “Let me guess,” said the scribe. “This wasn’t meant to happen, no?”

  Signor Faliero felt his head spinning and his heart beating heavily in his chest. He had to sit down or it would be the Council of Six in a moment. He slumped to the ground and then waved away a young man who walked past offering to help him to his feet. After recovering his breath somewhat he stood and looked over the railing, expecting to see the scribe and the stranger. But they were gone. Only the body of Signor Tradonico was there. And whatever secret about the conspiracy against the Floating City that he had uncovered hidden within it. Then he noticed the masks on the stonework below him and recognized where he was. They were at the carved weeping masks of the Bridge of Tears.

  XLII

  THE STORY OF GIULIETTA

  Romeo Cappalletti turned to look over his shoulder and make sure that no one was following him, then knocked on the old wooden door once, then twice, then once again. He was in high spirits and didn’t even turn around to make sure that nobody was lurking in the shadows behind him anywhere, as was his usual custom.

  A small window in the door slid open and a hooded figure stared out at him from the darkness.

  “It’s me,” said Romeo.

  “I can see it’s you,” the figure said.

  “Let me in.”

  “Why?” asked the figure.

  “I have some most excellent news.”

  “For me or for you?”

  “For me,” said Romeo.

  “Then why should I care?”

  “Let me in and I will tell you all about it.”

  “Is there going to be any payment for me in this?” asked the hooded figure.

  “Yes,” said Romeo. “A very handsome payment too.”

  “How handsome?”

  “As handsome as a beautiful maid is beautiful.”

  “So there’s a maid involved,” said the hooded figure.

  There was a sudden splashing in the canal nearby and Romeo turned quickly to see what had caused it. He scanned the water and saw concentric circles where something had just submerged into the water. “Open up,” said Romeo again, “and I will tell you all about it.”

  Friar Lorenzo da San Francesco drew the bolts back, and let Romeo squeeze into the dim room beyond. Romeo thought he looked more sallow than ever. “You need to get out and enjoy the light of the city more,” he advised him.

  “And you should keep your opinions to yourself more,” the friar said. “Now what business brings you here today?”

  Romeo smiled and held out his arms widely. “I am to be married.”

  The friar stared at him and then looked at Romeo’s open embrace. Surely the boy wasn’t expecting a hug for this news.

  “And what is the good news?”

  Romeo frowned. “You will perform the service for us.”

  “To the Lady Rosaline?” the friar asked cautiously. Or perhaps incredulously.

  “It is not the Lady Rosaline,” said Romeo. “It is another.”

  “What is her name?” asked the friar.

  “Does it matter? Why is a name so important? What’s in a name?”

  “It matters to me, particularly if you are so reluctant to tell me.”

  “Would you perform the marriage ceremony without knowing her name?” Romeo asked.

  “I think not,” said the friar.

  “Even if you were rewarded handsomely?”

  The friar considered. Romeo knew the man’s weakness for Othmen drugs.

  “How handsomely, I ask again?”

  “As handsome as my love is beautiful,” answered Romeo.

  The friar took a deep breath in. “Only if you tell me her name.”

  “You may not like it,” cautioned Romeo.

  “I would like it less not to know,” he said.

  “All right. It is the Lady Giulietta Montecchi.”

  The friar reacted as if he had been kicked in the rear by a donkey, his knees buckled a little and he was suddenly gasping for breath. “Are you… are you mad?” he asked. “Are you determined to be strung up in the city square with your testicles stuffed into your mouth? Are you determined to start a war between your two houses? Are you determined to…” But words failed him.

  “We are in love,” said Romeo simply.

  The friar reached around for a seat and sat down heavily. “This is a drug-addled dream,” he said, “and I shall awaken from it momentarily and laugh at how I believed you said you were determined to marry Lady Giulietta Montecchi and that I would perform the wedding service.”

  Romeo folded his arms and waited.

  “Or perhaps it is just a jest that you are trying to test the health of my ageing heart with,” the friar said.

  “It is no jest and it is no dream,” Romeo said.

  “Then perhaps it will seem one in a moment.” The friar turned and reached for a small pipe on the bench behind him. He lit it with a long taper from the hearth and drew in several long deep breaths. He blew out the thick sweet smoke and offered the pipe to Romeo who shook his head.

  “Does your courage return as your eyes cloud over?” asked Romeo.

  “Courage is a strange thing,” said the friar. “It comes to us when we have no need of it and then departs when we are looking for it. It is a friend when we are using words and deserts us when we turn to actions.”

  “And the Othmen drugs bolster it,” said Romeo.

  The friar nodded. “It is true. They do. But such is the foolhardiness of this venture, that even the Othmen spices do not turn folly to fair-mindedness.” He closed his eyes a moment and frowned, then he opened them with an almost sly look. “Are you aware of the parlous state of politics in our city at the moment and the possible turmoil that this proposed wedding will cause?” he asked.

  Romeo waved a hand in the air. “We will be wed,” he said firmly. “And if not by you then by another. For we are in love.”

  “Ah – love,” said the friar.
“Then that changes everything. I had thought it simply a whim, simply a crazed notion. If you had said it was love, I should never have been so reticent. Love is a motive I never hear.”

  “You are mocking me,” said Romeo.

  “If I am to put my livelihood, my life and my testicles on the line I think I am entitled to.”

  “Your testicles are in no danger I think,” said Romeo.

  “Unlike yours,” said the friar.

  “My testicles are my business,” said Romeo.

  “Perhaps more than your wit, since they seem to be doing all the thinking for you.”

  “We will be wed,” Romeo repeated.

  The friar grabbed Romeo by the shoulders. “I seem to be caught in some web of time whereby I find we are having the same conversation over and over with a different maiden having bewitched you each time.”

  “No,” said Romeo. “This is very different. Enchantment happens when we touch. It is true. You will see when we stand here together before you.”

  The friar snapped his fingers at Romeo’s crotch. “It is hardly enchantment,” he said.

  “No, you don’t understand,” said Romeo. “Real enchantment.”

  “Of course, of course,” said the friar, “The earth trembles and the waters rise and lights fill the sky.”

  “Exactly,” said Romeo. “Have you seen it before?”

  “I have heard it before,” said the friar, releasing Romeo and pacing back and forward in the small room. “But tell me, how do you think you will escape this alive?”

  “We have thought it all through,” said Romeo, sitting the friar down and putting his hands on the older man’s shoulders. “We shall be wed in secret. No one will know of it but us. Then we will sneak out of the city and set ourselves up to live somewhere far away where no one will ever find us. No one will ever know us.”

  The friar thought on this for some time and then asked, “You are so smitten that you would leave the city of your birth?”

  “She is my homeland,” he said. “And I am hers.”

  The friar sucked in his cheeks and Romeo could see he was wavering. “There will be no danger to you, but great profit,” said Romeo. “Our parents will know nothing of it. You will be an innocent in this.”

  “All right,” he said finally. “If it is kept secret then I will agree to help you. It may be that this marriage will trigger greater things than you can ever imagine.”

  “Yes,” said Romeo and grasped his hand in two of his and started pumping it heartily. “You have made me the happiest man in the city. And you shall be rewarded handsomely enough to spend your days in clouds of Othmen spice.”

  The friar nodded, smiled and then asked, “How handsomely exactly?”

  XLIII

  ELSEWHERE IN THE FLOATING CITY

  The two sets of Seers were as close as they had come to being pleased for a very long time. It was such a simple but effective idea that they each felt ownership of it – that they should stop searching just for individuals that might have powers, but start searching for couples, bringing pairs together, for it was the joint powers they were after.

  They had spent a long day matching boys and girls until they felt they had found the final pair. It was a gruelling experience for them, to be certain, having to be submerged in water, or subjected to flames and they had clearly traumatized many of the children. But, on the other hand, while there were some nasty burns, nobody had died.

  The girl who sat before them was Rosa, who her parents had said was thirteen, and the boy was Mario, probably a year or two her junior.

  “It is undoubtedly them,” said the male Spring Seer. He had been particularly impressed with the way they had managed to create an air pocket underwater to keep the water from them. They had been fastened to each other with chains and lowered into the bath tub together. They had struggled, of course, and spluttered as the water covered them, but then they could clearly see the bubbles forming around their heads and a large bubble created for them to breathe. Rosa had even smiled back at them from underwater.

  They were a little bit clumsier with the flame, but they would be able to grow their powers with the experience and knowledge that the Seers possessed. It would be a mighty combination, the potential and energy of youth with the experience of age.

  “She is pretty, yes,” the female Spring Seer whispered into her partner’s ear.

  “Pretty enough,” he said in reply. “And what do you think of him?”

  “A bit young to be certain,” she said. “But I’m sure we’ll make something grand out of him, won’t we?”

  “Grand indeed,” said the male Spring Seer.

  “You must hold hands,” said the female Summer Seer and the two youngsters shyly took hold of each other’s hands.

  “That’s it,” she said. “Maintain close contact at all times. That is vital.”

  “At all times?” asked young Mario and looked down at his feet.

  “Yes. At all times.”

  “But what about… well, when we’re asleep?”

  “You will sleep together.”

  Both children blushed at the thought of that.

  “And what about when… well… when we need to do private things?”

  “You will have no private things from each other,” said the male Spring Seer.

  “Not even, well… What about going to the privy?” asked the boy.

  Rosa blushed so hard she almost let go of his hand.

  “Even then,” said the female Spring Seer. “You will stop feeling awkward about it very quickly.” But it did not look like they would.

  “Do you remember when we were first paired,” the female Spring Seer whispered to her husband. “I fear we were just as awkward.”

  “But we don’t have the luxury of time we had then,” he replied. “We must ready them right away.”

  “If those random bursts of power we have seen from them are any indication,” she said, “they might be ready far quicker than we allow for.”

  And then the female Summer Seer asked a question that had been nagging at the back of her mind for some time and had only now crept through. “Yes, but if they were so powerful why didn’t they demonstrate it to us in our trials? Should we have expected more?”

  She looked to her partner and then across to the other Seers.

  “Are you suggesting there might be another pair out there with the gift?” the male Spring Seer asked. “What are the chances of that?”

  “Slim,” she said. “Extremely slim. And yet…”

  “Give them a chance,” said the female Spring Seer. “Wait until the transformation and then see if you don’t feel as strongly about them as I do.”

  The female Summer Seer nodded her head. “Yes, we will know then.”

  The boy took a quick look at the girl to see if she knew what they were talking about, but the look on her face showed she didn’t know either. She did give him a quick smile though. That made him feel a little less anxious about things.

  XLIV

  THE STORY OF DISDEMONA

  Otello felt his anger moving slowly through his blood, making his whole body rage. He had been summoned to see the council again and they had left him standing in the antechamber. Just standing there. Like a servant.

  His captain was due to report to him mid-morning and of course Disdemona would now be there alone with him. He ground his teeth and felt a dull bitter taste in the back of his mouth. He would have liked to turn his head and spit, but instead he stood there, maintaining control over his body. Not showing his anger to anyone about him. The way he had not shown any anger when Disdemona told him that she did not trust his ensign and preferred to be under the care of the captain. Exactly as his ensign had predicted.

  He knew, of course, that if he so wished he could pull out the small dagger concealed in the small of his back and cut the throats of the two men at the doors in front of him, and just march in, demanding the council address him.

  But he just stood th
ere. Waiting.

  Eventually the door opened and some courtier or underling asked him to come forward. He pushed his way past and stepped into the council chamber. He looked around at the seven men, refusing to let his vision linger on the three empty seats. Some of them, like Signor de Abbacio and Signor Hermino stared at him with hungry disdainful looks. Signor Montecchi wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

  The Duca looked like he had aged several years in a few days. He greeted Otello politely and said he had to convey the council’s displeasure that another councillor had been lost.

  “Why play with words?” Signor de Abbacio cut in. “Signor Tradonico, our brother on the council, has been cruelly assassinated. Cut down. His blood spilled on the streets of our city. And Signor Candiano was slain in his own bed! Proof again that the Othmen are trying to kill us all, and proof that the general is unable to do anything to protect us.”

  Signor Hermino led several of the councillors in slapping their palms on the table to indicate their agreement. And their displeasure. Otello said nothing. He had walked into ambushes before and refused to be drawn into this one further.

  “You have been charged with protecting us!” Signor de Abbacio said, pointing his finger at Otello.

  The Moor turned to look at him and met his eyes. Know thy enemy, he thought.

  “We put our trust in you,” the signor continued. “You swore to protect us from the Othmen’s enchantment and their blades, but have done neither.” Then he stood up and leaned forward, his finger pointing more stridently. “I think we could be as well protected if we had asked Othmen mercenaries to do it.”

  Otello felt the anger in his blood rising to a boiling point. He knew just how easy it would be to reach out and crush the man’s windpipe. Or push his fingers into his eyes, digging out the jelly lumps. Or drag him over the table by his hair and smash his head onto the marble floor. He ran over in his mind how easy it would be to kill all seven men here. That’s how he’d like to dispatch Signor de Abbacio – with his bare hands. Then he would draw out the small stiletto hidden in his leather jerkin and step across to Signor Hermino. He’d stab him in the throat and let him bleed to death, trying to call for assistance. The man was a bully and probably a coward. Then he’d turn to de Abbacio’s other supporters, Signors Monegano and Tegalliano. He’d stick them in the lungs. Let them die over several days, bleeding internally. Signors Montecchi and Faliero he’d stick in the eyes. They weren’t too bad and would die quickly.