The Floating City

by Craig Cormick

  “Am I being insulted or complimented?” Signor Hermino asked, turning to the Duca. The Duca just looked back at him, knowing any type of answer was unnecessary, despite Signor Hermino’s look of earnest enquiry.

  “Gentlemen,” said the Duca, “there may be turmoil in the streets, but we must be above it.”

  “How can we be above it?” asked Signor de Abbacio, “when our own properties and our own families are at risk?”

  “Hear, hear,” said Signor Hermino.

  “If this council is unable or unwilling to make the hard decisions needed to ensure the safety of our city we will see our loved ones drown or die of plague. Surely we are here to represent the voices of the citizens of the city in this.”

  Signor Tegalliano folded his arms and stared hard at de Abbacio. “And how will your proposal do anything at all about it? I didn’t like passing the security of our city over to the Moor Otello, but I like it much less putting it in the hands of that Djinn-slayer of yours!”

  “Of mine?” asked de Abbacio.

  “Does he not answer to you?” asked Signor Tegalliano.

  Signor de Abbacio looked wounded. “I seem to recall that a majority of council agreed that we needed to seek the expertise of a Djinn-slayer to rid our waterways of the Othmen demons that lurked there. Have you already forgotten how Otello was helpless to stop their random attacks, as he was to stop the assassins who were killing our brothers?”

  “Are you saying the Djinn-slayer has slain them too?”

  “I am only saying that we have had no more attacks from the masked assassins since he came to us. Perhaps the assassins fear him more than they ever feared Otello.”

  “All right,” said Signor Tegalliano, leaning forward in his seat. “Let’s put it to the vote once more and forbid any council member to abstain.”

  The Duca saw de Abbacio’s eyes narrow suddenly. “We have already voted,” he said. “Well those of us who consider ourselves men have voted.”

  “Then I propose we vote once more.”

  “I second that,” said Signor Montecchi, seated beside him.

  They both watched the way the tip of de Abbacio’s tongue licked his lips in quick little movements as he tried to find another way to delay the vote.

  “Then we shall vote again,” said the Duca, waving his hand for order before Signors de Abbacio or Hermino could say anything. “We have heard all the arguments for and against I think and don’t need to have them argued once more. All those in favour of our marine guard sinking any vessels carrying plague victims, suspected or proven, that refuse to turn back out to sea, raise your hands.”

  Again Signors de Abbacio, Hermino and their lackey, Signor Monegario, raised their hands.

  “And all those opposed?”

  The Duca, and the two men either side of him, Signors Montecchi and Faliero, raised their hands. Then all eyes turned to Signor Tegalliano. The Duca knew that on many issues he would actually vote with de Abbacio, but clearly he felt this proposal was beyond that which a reasonable man could support. Another man would have let it go and continued his lobbying outside the council chamber, but de Abbacio was not other men. Why he continued to goad Tegalliano to vote, when all reason said he would now vote against de Abbacio, was beyond him. And sure enough, Signor Tegalliano slowly raised his hand.

  “The proposal is defeated,” said the Duca, keeping all emotion from his voice.

  “In the face of defeat I withdraw the proposal,” said Signor de Abbacio, “and I withdraw an insinuation that our council brother did not possess courage.” He forced a smile from between clenched teeth. But his eyes were as sharp as daggers. “I hope our brother continues to exhibit such courage when the patriots who value our city’s safety hear of his vote.”

  The Duca looked at Signor de Abbacio closely, and saw victory etched deeply there. This had all been deliberately staged. He slumped back in his chair. He did not need to call on the Seers to predict Signor Tegalliano’s future. His small triumph over Signor de Abbacio would surely be as short-lived as his own life would now be, and the council would then be down to six members, three on either side, all waiting for the next assassin’s dagger to fall.

  LXXIII

  ELSEWHERE IN THE FLOATING CITY

  It was another vision. Vincenzo held his arms close to himself and shivered. Or perhaps it was a memory. Or foretelling. He could no longer be sure. They crept up on him when he was at rest or deep in thought.

  This one was about Disdemona Montecchi. She was trapped inside a dark tunnel and was clawing her way along the dim stone walls, helplessly trying to find a way out. And she had been calling out to him to find her and save her. Not Otello. Not the Shadow Master. Him! As if she knew him intimately, and knew that he was the only one who could save her. And he felt he did know her. It was always the fear of Otello that had prevented him from acknowledging his strong attraction to her. And now he had to save her.

  But there was something in the darkness behind her that was following her, and he was filled by a thought that he could somehow dig through the earth and find her. But he did not even know where she had been. Did not recognize it. Did not even know why he felt such an urgent need to be the one who found and saved her.

  Perhaps she really was in great peril, as the Shadow Master had said. And he was the one who had to warn her. But if so, why did the vision feel to him like something that had already happened?

  He cursed the Shadow Master for keeping so many secrets from him. He sometimes believed that he was bringing each of the many travails upon the city. Laying a new one down and then another. The plague ships. The refugees. The Othmen envoy. The Seers’ failing powers. Even his dreams seemed the Shadow Master’s doing. And this one was warning him something about Disdemona. Some way he could perhaps save her from peril.

  And that made him wonder, inevitably, if the Shadow Master was really trying to help save the city, or was in fact the one most imperilling it? Or was it perhaps even himself? He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. There was no way to know but to continue to let the story play out, and that frustrated him. There was still so much he needed to know. So many deaths he wanted to prevent.

  But he had to know what he had the power to change and what he could not. And the Shadow Master was the only one who seemed to know that. Damn him! he thought. Dark saviour of the city, and bringer of ruin. When he came to write the history of this great city of his, perhaps he would write him out of it altogether!

  LXXIV

  THE STORY OF DISDEMONA

  Otello closed his eyes as he felt Disdemona lay her hand across his chest and tried to contain himself. She was already dead, but didn’t know it. “How is my lord?” she asked softly.

  “Well,” he finally managed to say, fighting hard to keep any emotion out of his voice.

  “Would my lord like me to rub any aches and pains out of his body?” she asked, moving a little closer.

  He reached up and took her searching hand softly and stilled it. “No. I would rather sleep,” he said. He held her hand tightly.

  “I can feel your heart galloping like a stallion. What troubles you?”

  “Affairs of state,” he said. “There are things that need to be done that I find I have had to steel my heart to do.”

  “Do you wish to tell me about them?” she asked. “A troubled shared is a trouble lessened.”

  “Later,” he said. “I am very tired.”

  She moved her face closer to his, but he could not turn to face her. “Then I wish you a pleasant and deep sleep,” she said.

  “And I you,” he said, his voice close to breaking.

  He lay there a moment, taking deep breaths and then came a knocking on one of the walls. “What is that?” he asked.

  She lifted her head and listened. “It is probably the sound of our house settling,” she said. “It is old and makes many noises.”

  “Hop out of bed and see what it was,” he said.

  “I’m sure it is nothing.”


  The knocking came again.

  “There it is again,” he said. “Hop out of bed and see what is causing it.”

  Disdemona sighed in frustration, but did as he asked, stepping out of bed and walking across the room. “It seems to be coming from our cupboard,” she said. And just as she reached for the door, it swung open and she saw the ensign standing there – changing looks of lust and satisfaction and anger and victory swirling across his features. “Oh!” she said, before he struck her heavily with a sand-filled bag.

  She fell to the floor and called to Otello, “Help me please.”

  He jumped from the bed, his body suddenly trembling like a fever was upon him and said, “You are the most wicked of women and this is the weight of your falseness that now strikes you.”

  “No,” she said, rising up from the floor. “It is not true–” But before she could say anything else, the ensign struck her again.

  “Silence,” he hissed. “You have brought this upon yourself.”

  She met his eye as she fell and knew that he was mad enough to slay her. “Help me,” she said again, calling to her husband. But he then leant over her and she could see a similar blood madness in his own eyes. And with the knowledge of one close to death she understood that the ensign was responsible for the change in her husband. He had somehow infected him with his bitterness and the two men had concocted this deadly scheme together, probably debating poisons and daggers and what might be the best way to avoid being caught.

  She held a hand out to her husband to tell him that she had never wronged him except to love him too unceasingly and that if he would but let her live this night she would surely find a way to not only prove her fidelity but to break this spell that had been placed upon him. But the only words she was able to mutter were a guttural cry as the ensign stepped in and bashed her about the skull, knocking her head onto the tiles brutally.

  Otello stood there as if entranced, his body still shaking uncontrollably.

  “It is done,” the ensign said. “Now come, lift her to the bed as we agreed.” But Otello could not bring himself to touch her. “Quickly,” said the ensign. “Now is not the time to be unmanned.”

  Otello helped him lift her to the bed and then the ensign took a halberd that had hung on the wall just outside the bedchamber and started hacking at the ceiling. “Help me,” he said, but Otello could no more help him than he could help Disdemona when she had pleaded for his assistance.

  Eventually the ensign had brought down a full rafter from the ceiling along with other debris, and he moved the largest beam to cover Disdemona’s head. Then he said, “Now go. Rouse the servants. Call to the neighbours. Tell them that your ceiling has collapsed on top of your wife and she is killed from it. Blame the sinking of the city. Blame the Othmen. Wail for all the fury you feel within you.”

  And Otello walked slowly from the room, finally given a task that he could easily fulfil.

  LXXV

  ELSEWHERE IN THE FLOATING CITY

  There was a feeling amongst the crowd that something quite remarkable was going to happen tonight. A considerable crowd had emerged to watch the Seers, despite the late hour, as word spread they were standing around the canal casting a spell. Public displays by the Seers were very rare and quickly became a thing of folk legend, being embellished in the telling. They were said to be able to float above the ground and rise up into the air. They were said to be able to turn night to day. And of course they were said to have control over the elements of air and water and earth and fire. And with these they would surely not just vanquish any threats to the city, but save it from sinking.

  The four Seers stood around the Grand Canal that wound its way through the Floating City in the shape of a large backwards S. The courtyard on the far side of the bridge was already underwater a few inches, yet people stood there, ankle-deep in water, to watch.

  The two Summer Seers stood by the canal’s wide edge on a paved embankment and the two Spring Seers stood on the ornate bridge that spanned the canal. It was perhaps fifty paces wide at this point. Citizens had fled the bridge, even if they had a need to cross it, as watching the Seers was one thing, but getting too close to them was quite another. There were stories, of course, of people having been turned to statues or simply disappearing from having been too close to them.

  They took their cue from the female Spring Seer, who was cloaked and hooded like her partner to hide her sudden youthful appearance. She held her husband’s hand tightly with one hand and lifted the other up above her head. All the Seers followed her lead, though it looked to the citizens watching that all four lifted an arm in unison. The citizens readied themselves, shuffling their feet a little. It was surely going to require a mighty enchantment to not just keep the city afloat, but to raise it higher from the water, and clearly the Seers would have done this earlier but had to wait for the proper alignment of the stars. This would be a memorable occasion for those few fortunate enough to witness it.

  Those closest to the Seers could hear the four muttering something, and were not sure if it might be dangerous to overhear them and it would send them deaf or might even grant them the power of understanding the language of animals. They shuffled one foot forward and then one foot backwards and looked around themselves nervously. Nobody wanted to be the first to step away. They made incantations with their fingers to ward off ill fortune and remained where they stood. Then they saw a pure white light slowly envelop the two pairs of Seers like they were beacons of hope for the city. A few people shuffled a little closer.

  Then something started to happen in the canal. The water started to move like rain was falling on it, although there was no rain. Some citizens stepped forward to observe it more closely. The Seers then lifted their joined hands, and they saw the water start leaping and moving like it might be boiling.

  Citizens looked at each other to see if others thought it safe or dangerous to step nearer. But only a few souls ventured any closer. Now the female Spring Seer threw her head back and shouted out in some strange language. The water beneath her bubbled furiously and then rose up towards her. Several citizens took a step backwards. Then the water fell away and there loomed in front of the two Seers on the bridge a Djinn. It was enormous. As large as a nightmare.

  Some citizens turned and ran at once, others took a few steps away, but stayed to watch. The Djinn’s body was moving and swirling like it was made of smoke or water, but the torso was that of a large thick-set man and the head was that of a demon, with horns, large pointed ears and fangs.

  The two Seers on the bridge stepped closer together and cast some enchantment at the Djinn. The citizens could see a light spring up and surround it, and it struggled to free itself. The Seers by the canal’s edge cast another enchantment and a wall of water crept up to surround the Djinn too. As if the weight of it was too much to hold, the Djinn started falling back into the water. Then it suddenly shot up again, throwing out its arms as if breaking off shackles, the water and light fell from it and it rose up until it was at head level with the two young Spring Seers.

  They frantically cast another enchantment at it, bright light springing from their hands, but the Djinn threw its head back and gave what sounded like a mocking laugh. The Spring Seers took a step away from the edge of the bridge, understanding in that last moment that they did not have the strength that they believed they had. Did not have the power they had felt existed somewhere in the city. Understood they had made a very big mistake.

  The female Spring Seer turned her head at the last moment to look into the face of her partner, who looked more like a scared little boy than one of the city Seers, and then the Djinn’s claws flashed out and pierced them both through the chest. They screamed in pain and the light around them faded. Then the Djinn pulled them towards him, dragging their bloodied bodies over the bridge’s rail, and it slipped back slowly into the waters of the canal with them.

  Those citizens who still remained stood transfixed, like startled animal
s unsure whether to take flight or not. They had just witnessed something beyond their wildest mythologizing. Then the water started bubbling again, in one patch under the bridge, and it began moving across to the canal’s edge where the two remaining Seers stood. At the first cry of alarm all the citizens fled, and only one or two turned their heads to see the Seers fleeing also.

  LXXVI

  THE STORY OF ISABELLA

  “I don’t understand,” said Vincenzo. “We are besieged on so many fronts, there is chaos in the streets and in the canals, and yet people find time to attend a court as if this were a normal day in the city.”

  “The ancients held circuses to distract from the crises on their doorsteps,” the Shadow Master said. “Often pitting a man against a wild beast. I suspect today will be not be as violent, but the crowd will settle for whatever they can get to take their minds off the chaos.”

  Vincenzo shook his head. “But then why are we here? Shouldn’t we be fighting the Djinn and the Othmen threat and saving the city in some way?”

  “We are here to do precisely that,” he said. “You are most likely going to witness something spectacular here today that may save the city.”

  “An enchantment?” asked Vincenzo.

  “Watch and you will see,” said the Shadow Master.

  Vincenzo gave a shrug and looked around the room. The court was crowded and the people gathered there really did look like spectators about to witness one of the banned battles to the death between man and beast. The two opponents who were to fight to the death were Ansaldo the merchant and an aged bent-over Son of David. For those placing bets around the corners of the room, the sympathetic money was on Ansaldo, but the wise money was on the Son of David.