The Djinn looked something like a human on its upper part, although it was larger and more muscled than any human could ever be. The arms were like giant logs, and the neck like that of a bull. The face however was that of a monster, with huge teeth and a flat nose and slit eyes like some reptile. And the head was covered in spikes that proceeded down the Djinn’s back.
From the waist down, however, the monster was something else. Perhaps serpent, perhaps cloud, perhaps smoke. That part of the body seemed to move and reform hypnotically as if it lacked solid substance.
Most of the citizens were rooted to the spot in terror at the sight of the beast, wondering if they were safe enough standing away from the water. For what if the Djinn rose higher, revealing some monstrous legs that could enable it to climb out onto the city streets? What if it had a giant tongue that could lash out, like a lizard, and pluck people from where they stood? The citizens began slowly moving away from the canal’s edge.
Except for one man. He strode forward and stood before the Djinn and held up his arms to it. The beast immediately turned its attention to him and roared like some mythical creature. People ducked low where they stood, but the lone figure did not move. Then he reached down and drew two swords and whipped them around in the air, as if taunting the monster. He slid them back and forward along the blades of each other rapidly, creating a high-pitched wail that seemed to pain the Djinn.
It rose higher out of the water and then began moving slowly towards the lone figure. And perhaps he surprised the beast by leaping into a small dinghy by the canal’s edge, slashing at the hawser as he did so, his momentum carrying him out onto the water. The Djinn seemed to laugh and it leaned forward and reached for the figure, its huge arms and hands coming slowly towards him. But as soon as it was within reach the man’s twin swords flashed like he held two bolts of lightning and there were sparks where they touched the Djinn and it drew back in fright. Then the figure reached into a pouch at his waist and threw small metallic-looking barbs at the Djinn. Where each one struck there was also a spark and the Djinn roared in pain, its cry so much more terrible now. The man reached for more of the enchanted barbs, for surely only enchantment could have this effect on a creature of enchantment, when the Djinn suddenly sank beneath the waters.
The gathered crowd edged a little closer to see what had happened. Had the figure defeated the Djinn so easily? It was obvious the figure in the dinghy did not think so, because he reached into another pouch and pulled forth a handful of some powder that he cast upon the waters. Whatever it was, it had some power over the Djinn, because it brought it to the surface again, this time nearly under the dinghy, threatening to tip it over.
But the lone warrior kept his footing and balanced the dinghy as it rocked wildly and slashed again at the Djinn as it reached out for him. It howled in rage again and then all the citizens witnessed its lower half form into a large tail, like that of a serpent, that snaked under the dinghy and came up on the other side, attempting to seize the brave man. But he was ready for it. He slashed his swords both forward and backward, cutting at its hands and at the monstrous tail that was trying to encircle him.
Again the beast roared a terrible roar and sank beneath the waters.
Those on the city streets were transfixed. What would the beast do next? What would the lone warrior do? They saw him look around carefully, as if he could see the beast below the dark waters there. And perhaps he could, because he then moved his feet in the boat, dropped one sword and took up the other in two hands, raising it above his head, just as the Djinn burst up from the waters, directly under the boat, splintering it with the force of its attack. As the very boat under his feet burst apart, he plunged his sword directly into that loathsome spiked head, piercing the skull with a flash of sparks and fire that was so bright people had to turn their heads and shield their eyes. The Djinn let out an awful moan and seemed to deflate, the huge torso withering and the snake-like trunk disappearing like mist being blown away on the wind. And for a moment it appeared to take on the shape of a man, perhaps one who had been bewitched by the Othmen to become a Djinn, or perhaps an evil necromancer who had chosen to turn himself into a Djinn. Whatever the creature’s origins, this warrior’s enchantment was stronger than the Djinn’s, and it sank beneath the waters, dead or dying, as the man stood astride it.
And then, most amazingly, the figure leapt onto a few planks of the boat, balancing on them without falling into the water himself. He turned to the crowd and held aloft his swords and called out to them, “I am come as your salvation!” His dark beard and black-rimmed eyes marked him as a foreigner, who would normally have been the source of great mistrust and suspicion amongst citizens of the Floating City. But this man, this Djinn-slayer, was as a hero who had stepped out of the legends of old.
He stood there in triumph and now we could see him more fully. His leather vest was set with silver charms and arcane armoured rings, and his bare muscled arms were bound by metallic bracelets, with leather thongs around his upper arms. His legs were also bound in metal and leather thongs. And, as citizens rushed to their boats to bring him to shore, he threw his head back and let forth a loud victory cry that sounded as bestial as the roar of the Djinn.
Vincenzo looked up to see what the Shadow Master thought of his account of the battle. He had been leaning over his shoulder as he wrote it, quite unsettling really, but Vincenzo had concentrated on capturing the excitement of it while it was still fresh in his mind. He was rather pleased with it, too, but the Shadow Master just frowned.
“Well,” the Shadow Master said at last, “I’m not sure you have to make such a fuss about the man’s muscles nor his cheap circus acrobatics.”
Vincenzo stared at him and said, “But I have created something very difficult here. I have faithfully captured the battle as if I myself were wielding the swords. Surely.”
“Some people are born with swords in their hands,” said the Shadow Master. “Some achieve swords, and some have swords thrust at them.”
“You want me to rewrite it in some way?” Vincenzo asked. “Make it different from what I saw?”
The Shadow Master didn’t answer the question. “So what exactly does that feel like, to wield a pen like a sword?” he asked.
“It feels like you have just emerged from underneath my manuscript, like the Djinn rising from the waters, shattering it into pieces, and that I should drive my quill pen deep into your skull?”
The Shadow Master looked at him in surprise for a moment, and then said with a pleased smile, “Touché!”
LVIII
THE STORY OF GIULIETTA
Romeo Cappalletti was no stranger to the two rather smug-looking guards who brought him before the city magistrate. Nor was he a stranger to the magistrate. The guards seemed very pleased to have him in their grasp today. The young man had previously been charged with disturbing the peace, petty brawls and even one case brought by a jealous lover that he had bewitched the man’s fiancée into falling in love with him and then spurned her. It had all made interesting theatre, but the magistrate had always dismissed such charges with an irritated look on his face.
The guards had been in the job long enough to know that while there was one set of laws for the city there were two different ways that they were applied. One was for the poor and one was for the rich. Normally Romeo and his like would get a stern lecture from the magistrate, at most, and then be sent back out onto the many streets and small plaza cafés to continue to treat the city as their playground. But murder! That was going to be something that no nobleman’s family, no matter how wealthy or influential, could expect to get away with lightly.
But by the look of him, Romeo actually expected to get off the charge, carrying himself with his characteristic cockiness and bravado. Even a night in the city cells had not humbled him. The guards were going to have trouble keeping the smirks off their faces when the magistrate passed sentence on the brat.
By the look of things his family didn
’t think it would go so easy for him either, as his mother and father had actually bothered to come to witness the session today. He also had that drug-addled Friar Lorenzo da San Francesco with him, and it was a mystery how he’d never been dragged before the magistrate himself. Rumour had it that he both traded in and used banned Othmen potions and had secret links to the Othmen. He seemed to have a strong interest in Romeo’s fate, so maybe there was something they were both involved in that might be uncovered. Then they’d have him before the magistrate too. It all had the makings of a very fine day!
Romeo, standing between the two guards, tossed his forelock over his head several times, and gave his parents a conspiratorial wink, as if they’d paid off the magistrate or something. But they just looked back at him glumly. Clearly they had their heads more grounded in reality than he did, the guards noted. And they also noted there was no apparent love between the Cappalletti seniors and Friar Lorenzo da San Francesco. Not only did they sit apart from each other, one of his guards noted the terrible scowls that Signor and Signora Cappalletti sent in his direction.
Perhaps the members of the council had other knowledge about the friar? There were stories of Othmen spies in the city, and perhaps the friar had been implicated with them? That was not impossible, with his love of Othmen spices, he would have contacts and the means. He wondered if any accusations were going to be made in court today. That would be something grand. He would take delight in arresting the man. And torturing him to get a confession. He might be the man who uncovered the plot to take over the city from the inside. He might identify the assassins and their ringleader as this degenerate friar. There was a cunning intelligence in his eyes that others who did not see criminals all day long might not notice. He might rise from being a humble guard to hero of the city. Yes, but pigs might fly too, he thought, and tried to rein in his fantasies.
“This is going to be a memorable day,” said the other guard softly, through lips well practised at talking without moving.
Romeo looked to see if they were talking to him, but the other guard said, also in the same soft voice, “You’d be well advised to keep your eyes on the magistrate, boy, and also to keep a respectful tone in your voice.”
“Not that it will do you much good really,” said the other guard.
“I think your day has come, lad,” the second guard said.
“I’ll have you both dismissed for insolence and brutality,” Romeo hissed back at them, also not moving his lips.
“Normally I’d apologize,” said the first guard, “but I seem fresh out of apologies today. Do you have any?”
The other guard said, “Yes. I’ve got one tucked up inside my arse for just such an occasion as this. Let me fetch it. Oh, hang on, it’s just a fart.”
“Hur-hur-hur,” the other guard laughed, still not moving his lips.
Romeo flicked his forelock again dramatically.
“That’s a nice gesture,” said the second guard. “It’ll go down a treat in prison. That forelock will give them old lags something to hang onto as well, while they drill you.”
“Hur-hur-hur,” said the other.
“I’ll have your uniforms,” said Romeo.
“It wouldn’t fit you,” said the guard on his right.
“Hur-hur-hur.”
“Silence,” said the magistrate, looking up from the papers he had been reading.
“Silence,” bellowed one guard at Romeo.
“Hur-hur-hur,” said the other.
The magistrate, bedecked in grand red robes, and wearing the gold chain of office, also wore the customary three-faced mask, showing one side smiling, one side bitter and the front of the mask that sat over this face, shouting with rage. It was meant to be a symbol of the different judgments that could be made, and to mask any emotion the magistrate might be feeling, but the effect of the three contrasting faces was always to unsettle those the magistrate looked at. It was also a good way for the magistrate to hide his rather large nose that had long since blossomed from excessive quantities of fine red wine. The guards, who had seen him unmasked, knew the effect on his face was to make his eyes look small and close together. He was also known to suffer gout and indigestion and the guards could predict how badly either was plaguing him on any day by the harshness of his sentences. And they could see today they were giving him hell. That made them very happy.
“Romeo Cappalletti,” the magistrate said. “You have been charged with wilful murder, and with armed attack in a public place. How do you plead to these charges?”
“Not guilty by necessity of self defence,” said Romeo calmly.
“Explain yourself,” said the magistrate.
“Tebaldo attacked us and slew my dearest friend Marcuccio before attacking me. I was merely trying to defend my own life,” said Romeo and bowed. “If it please the court.”
“It does not please the court,” said the magistrate gruffly. “I have here a half-dozen statements that you provoked Tebaldo and then slew him in cold blood.”
Romeo looked like somebody had slapped him. “What witnesses?” he asked.
The magistrate waved a handful of papers at him and Romeo knew they would have been Tebaldo’s friends. He was a fool to have not sought out his own witnesses, whether they had been present or not. “They lie,” said Romeo. The magistrate glared at him. “Or rather they err, because they do not understand the truth of it.”
“Which you are now going to explain to me?” asked the magistrate.
“Yes,” said Romeo.
“And based on your word I will then dismiss the charges?”
“Yes,” said Romeo gaining a little of his confidence back.
“Your word against half a dozen witnesses?”
Romeo had a sinking feeling in his stomach. “If given time, I can procure witnesses to support my side of the story,” he said, turning to look at the friar, who began to reluctantly climb to his feet to concoct some pretence to help Romeo.
“Undoubtedly,” said the magistrate. “And undoubtedly I would find each and every one of them guilty of contempt of court.” The friar sat back down quickly. “The council’s law about fighting in public and attacking other citizens is made more important than ever due to our perilous situation. Our city is under siege and as such we need every able-bodied man, and to attack a fellow citizen could therefore be construed as an act of treason against the city!”
Romeo’s mouth dropped open.
“Hur-hur-hur,” said the guard.
“I can obtain witnesses,” said Romeo. “I can pay repatriations. I can do penance.”
“None of which will do my poor cousin any good,” the magistrate said tersely. “She has lost her son and both she and the law demand justice. Romeo Cappalletti, you are banished! If you ever return to the Floating City it will be your death.” And he banged the small wooden figure of a chained man that he held in his hands on the tabletop in front of him.
The guards dragged Romeo away while the magistrate turned to the next matter before him. “No,” said Romeo, “I am to be wed!” He turned his head to his mother and father. His mother put her head into his father’s shoulder and cried. His father would not meet his eyes.
Romeo turned his head the other way and called on the friar. “Help me!”
“Don’t despair,” said the friar, waving his hands at Romeo like he was casting spells in the air. “This just expedites your plans.”
And while Romeo, being dragged away by the two grinning guards, did feel many things – being expedited was not one of them.
LIX
THE STORY OF ISABELLA
Isabella was not unhappy to hear that Giannetto had returned yet again, and her handmaiden had organized the evening meal for them both already. “He has another ship loaded with trade goods?” Isabella asked.
“Yes, my lady,” her handmaiden assured her.
“I am starting to feel sorry for the boy,” she said. “I have half a mind to refuse him and save him the loss which is surel
y going to ruin him.” Her handmaiden frowned. “But tell him to be here at the usual time.” Her handmaiden nodded her head with a smile, and hurried away.
Isabella was feeling buoyant. The extra ship could join the fleet that she was about to send to the land of Ancients for grain. With the former Othmen envoy gone so suddenly from the city the lies about the Othmen attacks on her ships were slowing. And men were being coaxed back to her employ, even if at inflated salaries. But grain would again reach the city and food shortages would be averted. And neither would she lose her fleet and palazzo to creditors. That small part of the fight to save her city that she was playing a part in, appeared to be going very well.
She spent most of the day trying to concentrate on business matters, but found her mind kept wandering. As the day wore on she found she was starting to feel as excited as a young girl going to meet her betrothed. “How absurd,” she admonished herself, and several times she stood in front of the looking glass and came close to giving herself a lecture. It would be a pleasant meal with enjoyable conversation and then she would send the young man away disappointed, she told herself.
But she could see that other her, looking at her from the looking glass, was slightly upset by that idea. There were two Isabellas, she felt. One who was predisposed to turn young Giannetto away, and one who was glad to be seeing him. It was the tug of war between them that had unsettled her all day long, and she should make a firm decision about which self should win this battle, she knew.
Come the evening, she again had him wait longer than was needed, and then had her handmaiden escort him in to sit opposite her, and he again bowed low and told how she was more beautiful even than he had remembered. Was that it? she thought. Was it just the pleasure of having a handsome young man paying her endless compliments that made her agree to this once more? If so, her vanity was costing him dearly and she should learn not to pander to it.
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