by Karen Brooks
Signor Maleovelli’s head snapped up. ‘As far as I am concerned, our arrangement is not over, Baroque Scarpoli.’
Baroque frowned. ‘But Signor, I have failed. Tallow Pelleta is lost – he … she could be fish food for all we know. And, frankly, Signor, while I may have fallen on hard times, I also know a great deal about your circumstances. I enter no-one’s employ without at least some knowledge of them, especially regarding their capacity to pay. You not only owe me soldi, but you can no longer afford my services. In light of recent … events, I am happy to extinguish your current debt.’ He began to pull Vincenzo’s cap back onto his head.
‘Ah, but Signor Scarpoli, you are wrong.’ said Giaconda. ‘You cannot afford to leave us. I think your bag would fetch a great deal of soldi, don’t you? Such a fascinating bag with its hidden compartments and false bottom? It’s not what it seems, is it? So many tales to tell. I think the Kyprian ambassador or perhaps the Jinoan one would find it most … diverting.’
Baroque paled. ‘You wouldn’t … There’d be questions … you would come under suspicion yourselves …’
Stony silence met his gaze.
Defeated, Baroque slowly pulled the cap from his head and sank back into his seat. ‘What do you want from me?’ he asked in a flat voice.
Giaconda stood and joined her father, the briefcase propped in front of them. Signor Maleovelli pushed aside a pile of antiquated books and half-unfurled scrolls. ‘As I said, much has happened in the short time you have been away. The end of the Morto Assiderato and the relief felt by wealthy survivors brought much business our way, didn’t it, cara mia?’ Signor Maleovelli brushed a long finger against Giaconda’s smooth cheek. She modestly lowered her eyes. ‘Men who escape a close brush with death like to celebrate in a certain way. My daughter has been in great demand, Scarpoli. As a result, we not only have the means to fund your services, but we also have a very interesting job for you.’
Baroque did not respond. He just sat and waited.
‘Gia, bella,’ said Signor Maleovelli. ‘Pour a drink for Signor Scarpoli. The man looks like he needs one.’
Against her will and with forced grace, Giaconda went to the sideboard and, from a silver decanter, poured glasses of vino for her father, herself and Baroque. She passed them around and resumed her seat. Baroque sniffed the contents suspiciously before taking a grateful gulp.
‘Signor Scarpoli. Our situation has changed in ways that will become apparent to you very soon. But, in order for us to benefit from this change, we require your services again, but not in the usual way.’
‘In what way do you mean?’
Signor Maleovelli took an appreciative sip of his drink, rolling it in his mouth before swallowing. ‘You once enjoyed the reputation of being the finest spy in Serenissima, is that not so?’
‘Once upon a time. Until I was caught and identified, yes.’
‘And, as a spy, you knew all the tricks of the trade – how to speak and write in different languages, how to observe human behaviour, when and how to strike to effect change, is that not so?’
Baroque gave a small inclination of his head.
‘Oh, Papa, let’s not play word games here. Not now, not when so much is at stake.’ Giaconda faced Baroque, putting her glass down on the table beside her. ‘Signor Scarpoli, we know that you’re an expert in all manner of delivering death – knives, ropes, glass, metal, drowning. But there is one method in particular in which we are most interested.’
‘What might that be?’ Baroque drained his glass.
Signor Maleovelli himself brought the decanter over. As he refilled the spy’s glass he took up where Giaconda had left off.
‘Poison.’
Baroque glanced at the glass and began to laugh. The sound dry, without humour. ‘Poisoning is forbidden throughout the Republic. Anyone who does it is exiled or put to death. Their employer’s name is struck from The Golden Book. As nobiles, you would no longer have a right to sit on the Great Council, to ascend to the Dogeship. Your name would be forgotten, your bloodline extinct. You would be nothing more than a sigh in history. You would be as the Estrattore …’ He paused.
A glimmer of a smile played on Giaconda’s mouth as Signor Maleovelli perched himself on the arm of her chair and leant towards Baroque. ‘Only if one is caught.’ He held up his hand as if to ward off protest. ‘No, Baroque, we will not ask you to administer poison. Only that you teach someone all about the properties of every plant and extract in the known world and what they can do – for poison takes many forms. It does not only deliver death. It can also, when administered correctly, when the right ingredients are sourced and mixed, deliver pleasure, health, acquiescence, laspes in memory, and even recklessness. Is that not so?’
Baroque regarded Signor Maleovelli for a full minute. His eyes slid to Giaconda and back to her father. What are they up to? What is going on? ‘Teach. That’s it. You want me to teach someone all about plants.’
‘And how to transform and administer their properties,’ added Giaconda.
‘Your days as a spy –’ began Ezzelino.
‘As a disgraced spy,’ added Giaconda.
‘– are over. From this day forward you will be a teacher in our employ and, my dear man, I can assure you, if the arrangement works out, you will be rewarded for your efforts.’
‘If I refuse?’
‘A bocca di leone,’ muttered Giaconda.
Baroque started from his chair. ‘You would denounce me? You would place my name in the lion’s mouth for the Council of Ten to find?’
‘No, not just your name,’ said Ezzelino slowly.
Baroque visibly blanched. ‘You would deliver my journals to them, to the Doge.’
Silence was the most honest answer Baroque had ever been given.
He swirled the vino in his glass. It reminded him of blood. His stomach lurched. It had been a long time since he’d been outwitted, especially by a barnabotti – an old, impoverished nobile with barely a soldi, only his ancient name to hang his pride on, despite his boasts. This new money he spoke of had been accumulated through trade – the trade of his daughter’s body. He wanted to shake his head. What a funny old place Serenissima was, where sex was regarded as a legitimate business and a nobile could still hold his head up among his peers even while his daughter lay beneath them. Aware of the Maleovellis’ eyes upon him, he took another drink. They were right. For the time being, his life as he knew it was over. The ache that resided deep in his bones told him this was not necessarily a bad thing. After all, how hard could it be to teach someone?
He tossed back the vino quickly, pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel. There were many worse things to be than a teacher – an insegnante.
Placing the glass on the crowded table beside him, he knocked over a large book. It clattered to the floor. No-one picked it up. There were so many already scattered at intervals under tables, beside chairs, one more made no difference. Baroque watched as the pages fluttered, falling open on one covered with foreign script – from Kroatia, by the form of the letters. No doubt, another of Signor Maleovelli’s expensive tomes on the Estrattore. The man was obsessed.
He swallowed and raised his head. He was not beaten, or coerced, not really; but he would allow them to believe that he was … for now.
‘I have often fancied myself a teacher,’ he said.
‘We have a deal then, Baroque. A colleganza?’
Baroque bowed deeply. ‘Sì, Signor Maleovelli, Signorina. We do.’
‘Excellent. I will ask Jacopo to draw up the paperwork and you can sign it tonight. Understand,’ continued Signor Ezzelino, ‘like all our … arrangements … this is confidential.’
‘I would not have assumed it to be any other way.’
‘You will live here, in our casa.’ Ezzelino laughed at the expression on Baroque’s face. ‘For this particular task, you will remain under our roof. We will provide you with food, lodging and all the materials you require. You may fetch the remainder of you
r belongings over the next couple of days, after you undertake another task for me.’
Baroque’s heart sank. Staying in the casa, now that would curtail his freedom. And what about his promise to Katina? Now he’d have to meet with her. Remaining in one place made him a sitting target. He would have to work around his fresh obligations to the Maleovellis, fit in time to find out about Tallow. Get the Bond Rider off his back as quickly as possible. ‘Grazie,’ was all he said, dipping his head slowly while dizzying thoughts crashed against each other in his mind.
‘Believe me, Baroque –’ Signor Ezzelino gestured for him to stand and precede him out the door ‘– in the not too distant future, the thanks will be all ours.’ He paused in the hallway, waiting for Baroque to join him.
‘Now, come and meet your pupil.’
HAFEZA MADE ONE LAST ADJUSTMENT to Tallow’s gown and then stepped away. Satisfaction shaped her lips. She did a little pirouette with her finger. Obediently, Tallow spun around.
It was all Tallow could do not to say something sardonic. Whereas a leisurely bath had been a luxury she’d never enjoyed before and, until the water grew cold, didn’t want to end, being dressed as a woman for the first time in her life had offered her an entirely different set of experiences. She wasn’t sure she liked them very much.
Enduring Hafeza’s prodding and poking for the last forty minutes, Tallow had been careful to keep her arms out of the way and do as she was instructed. Dried and made to stand still on the rug, she’d been given another shift to put on. This one was gossamer-light and even softer than the nightgown and was edged in delicate lace. It was made of the finest material; it had a very low neck, no sleeves, and fell to just below her waist.
Then, Hafeza had shaken out a pair of pantaloons in the same fabric. Gathered at the waist and ankles, they were quite large, and Tallow had laughed at the absurdity of them. That was, until a piece of stiff material with leather laces woven through holes made along the edges had been wrapped around her waist and pulled into submission against her body. Suddenly, her breasts were pushed together and spilled over the top of the corset, the neckline of the camicia displaying them perfectly. She had a waist that curved in a sinuous wave before flaring into trim hips.
‘This is so uncomfortable, Hafeza!’ she gasped. ‘Do you have to pull it so tight? Why do I have to wear this?’ When Hafeza ignored her constant grumbling, she became cross.
‘If this is what a woman endures, I’d rather be a man!’
Hafeza stopped and shook a finger at Tallow, but her eyes were kind. ‘Well, I would,’ said Tallow. ‘I never had to worry about all this. I just threw on my leggings, shirt and sometimes a vest. I certainly didn’t wear undergarments. What a nuisance they’re going to be!’
Hafeza rolled her eyes and continued with her task, helping Tallow step into a rather sumptuous dress before lacing it at the back and adjusting the sleeves.
Only a few sounds escaped Tallow as her unruly black hair was parted, combed and teased into a style. Pins were dragged across her scalp, causing her to screw up her face and once to cry out. Hafeza surprised her by dropping a kiss upon her head. She bit her lip as, finally, earrings were clipped onto her tiny lobes and a strand of pearls clasped at her throat. Their silky coolness was refreshing. Only then did Hafeza allow her to see what she looked like.
Tallow gazed at her reflection in the large mirror that Hafeza carried in from behind a screen in the far corner and propped against a wall. Tallow had never seen herself in a mirror before, let alone in a dress. It was as if a stranger stood before her.
She gazed at the picture she presented, her large silver eyes opening in wonder. She took in the beautiful deep blue gown that, just like Giaconda’s, was cinched in below her breasts. The neckline was scooped, exposing both the creamy edges of her camica and the cleavage she’d once wondered if she’d ever have, let alone display. The whiteness of her skin contrasted beautifully with the midnight colour of the frock. Embroidered around the neckline and upon the voluminous sleeves were cascades of silver swirls, which served to highlight her eyes. Her hair had been swept softly back from her face and into a tiny bun, piled onto her head in an ordered yet gentle way and adorned with pretty jewels that sparkled as she twisted first one way and then the other. Her hair framed her forehead, accenting her eyes.
Her eyes. She had never seen them before, seen what others saw when they looked at her. Now she knew why they recoiled and then stared, unable to tear themselves away. She took a step towards the mirror and closely studied the face of this familiar stranger.
Within the depths of her mercurial gaze she saw another Tallow and then another and another, all reflected back to her. All standing in a gorgeous sapphire gown, all with soft, clean skin, full pink lips and winged brows set in an angular face. But it was the huge silver orbs with slightly darker centres that perturbed her most. She was able to see that she was unusual-looking, mysterious even – except for her eyes. They were terrible to behold. They exposed her difference as surely as if she were the colour of Hafeza. And yet …
She leant closer. She saw her other self tip forward and fingers touch her face, exploring its planes and smoothness until they rested in the outer corner of her eyes. She pulled the ends, stretching the skin. They were alarming. Behind her, she caught Hafeza’s face in the looking glass and watched as she became aware of Tallow’s fleeting look. Fascination was replaced by a smile of such warmth, Tallow could only respond. The black woman gave a series of eager nods, waiting for a sign of approval.
Tallow stood back and turned from side to side. The dress swished. Yes, she looked nice, she really did. The gown was magnificent, even though there were stitches undone and some of the embroidery was frayed. She was unrecognisable as the boy from the Candlemakers Quartiere – Pillar’s little apprentice. But she was still, and always would be, an Estrattore.
Hafeza didn’t understand. Not really. Her skin might be the colour of cafe, but there were others like her in Serenissima and in Vista Mare. Tallow had no-one on this side of the Limen. She’d never fit in, no matter how they dressed her, regardless of what costume they made her don or part they expected her to play. Her eyes would always betray her. She was no better off than she was before. But Hafeza did not need to know this.
Her arm dropped and she turned her back on her other self.
‘Grazie mille,’ she said more curtly than she intended. ‘What now?’
Disappointment made Hafeza’s face collapse. Instantly, Tallow felt terrible.
‘No, no, Hafeza. It’s not you, what you’ve done to me is … amazing. I never thought I could look like this. Like a … woman. Did you know I have spent all my life as a boy?’ She tweaked a lobe, remembering the day the blood of the pledge stones forever altered her ears, and then smoothed the front of the gown, unconsciously thrusting her breasts forward.
Hafeza folded her arms and arched a brow.
‘Oh, of course you do. I’ve done nothing but talk about that the whole time, haven’t I?’
Hafeza grinned.
‘I don’t know what to say. I … I look and feel so different. Grazie, Hafeza. Grazie mille. I should have thanked you immediately. I didn’t expect –’ she indicated the ensemble ‘– I had no idea …’ Hafeza’s grin widened. ‘It’s lovely. I’ve never worn underwear or a dress before. Or jewellery.’
Hafeza made a strange noise.
Tallow realised she was stifling a laugh. She arched a brow. ‘Was it that obvious?’
Hafeza folded her arms, rested her head against one shoulder and stared.
Tallow laughed too. ‘I guess it was also evident I wasn’t used to bathing.’
Hafeza pinched her nostrils and pulled a disagreeable face. Tallow began to giggle. ‘Well, even I know I don’t smell bad anymore. Now that I could get used to. The dressing like this, however …’ She clasped her waist with both hands, feeling the bones that lined the corset and gave her the hourglass shape digging into her sides. ‘This I’m not s
o sure about.’ She spun back to the mirror, the dress following her movements. ‘I guess it might not be so bad …’
Hafeza tapped her on the shoulder and indicated for her to sit on a small stool that she pulled out from under the table. Tallow obeyed, inhaling sharply as her flesh pinched. She had to sit completely straight – the corset would allow for no slumping.
In her hands Hafeza held a pair of shoes. She bent down and pushed the dress away from Tallow’s feet and slipped them on. They were a little big. Made of a similar fabric to her dress, they covered her entire foot. A small wooden heel would give her a bit of height but make walking a chore. She wondered how Giaconda managed her zoccoli, the towering shoes with the great wooden heels that some noblewomen and courtesans wore and which made them appear so tall. Giaconda evidently favoured the additional height the shoes bestowed.
Hafeza stretched out her hand and helped Tallow to her feet. Unaccustomed to even the slight heel, she tottered for a moment before regaining her balance. Holding her fingers lightly, Hafeza promenaded her around the room, allowing her time to get used to them. The wood clacked noisily against the floor.
After two circuits, Hafeza escorted her to the door. She put one hand on the doorknob and then turned to Tallow, eyebrows raised.
Tallow took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. ‘I’m ready.’ She nodded to Hafeza. As ready as I ever will be.
Hafeza turned the handle and pushed. With a flurry of her arms and a sweeping bow, she ushered Tallow out of the room and into a long, narrow corridor.
As they moved along the hallway that divided the first storey of the Maleovellis’ casa, Tallow took note of the surroundings. Mould had climbed the paintwork with ruinous fingers, while some of the cornices had all but crumbled. A few tapestries dangled from carved wooden rods, their ends tasselled and ragged. Some of them looked very old, the images fading into pastel blurs. Many of them were of unicorns or knights from lands far away slaying huge coiled serpents that breathed fire. There were a number of gilt-edged mirrors, blighted with cracks or dark spots, from which Tallow caught a distorted glimpse of herself, taller, more colourful and undoubtedly female. She felt like she was one of the women from the tapestries come to life, woven into a story for which she didn’t know the ending.
