Votive

by Karen Brooks

  ‘Esatto,’ said Signor Maleovelli. ‘But only with our help.’

  My eyes shone. To overturn the Church – the ones responsible for their exile and murder in the first place. It was outrageous, dangerous and wonderful.

  ‘But what if we fail? What if, no matter what I do, you don’t become the Doge?’

  ‘Then, my dear little Estrattore, we’ll all be put to death,’ said Signor Ezzelino calmly. ‘You, me, Giaconda, Jacopo, Signor Scarpoli – horrible, lingering deaths in a very public place. And your Estrattore will remain trapped in the Limen forever and ever and the Church will continue to dictate what we do and what we believe, and Serenissima will one day crumble back into the ocean out of which she arose.’ I felt the truth of his words. My heart became heavy with doubt. ‘But we will not think about failure. If we do, we introduce the notion. Together, Tarlo, we will not fail.’

  As I gazed at Signor Maleovelli, I felt I could believe him.

  ‘There’s a prophecy, you know.’ Jacopo sat forward earnestly, his voice soft at first. ‘It says that one day the Estrattore will create a child who will restore balance to the world.’

  All eyes were upon him; he shifted nervously. ‘There’s mention of it in one of the old scrolls. But you … you could be that child, you know.’

  Oh, I knew. I kept this knowledge to myself.

  ‘The way to restore balance is by placing a Doge on the throne who is not a pawn of the Church.’ Signor Maleovelli spoke with practised assurance. ‘One who understands to whom this city belongs and that this world is big enough to accommodate different faiths, different creeds and diverse beings. It’s all a matter of finding balance. You’re right. She is that child, Jacopo, just as I am to be that Doge. Together we can build a great future for all.’

  There was no doubt, Signor Maleovelli craved power – they all did. And, in return, they would give it to me as well. The power to bring my people home and, in doing so, save Serenissima.

  They were all watching me. They hadn’t stopped from the moment I entered the room. I didn’t care anymore. I had nothing, so it seemed, to lose – only everything to gain. I’d used my talents and risked discovery for a lot less when I lived with Pillar and Quinn. What Signor Maleovelli suggested not only excited me, it gave me confidence, and I hadn’t felt that in what seemed like such a long time.

  I glanced around the room again. This time I could see the cracks in the plaster, the chipped and peeling paint, the mould that grew up the walls, the age beneath the patina of gilt and sunlight. I also saw darker shapes on the walls and floor. Empty spaces where proud faces had once hung, where tables and other pieces of elegant furniture had formerly stood. I glanced down at my dress and noticed that it was patched in places and the design out of fashion. It all made sense now. These nobiles also played a role – one their rank would not allow them to relinquish. And now they wanted the chance to play the greatest role of all and change the future by returning to the past and, in doing so, secure themselves a place in history. This was their last chance, their only hope. And if they were to be believed, Serenissima’s as well. I could not ignore the message, only take the opportunity to act. Just like the Maleovellis.

  An old vision flashed before my eyes. One that had come to me the night I met Katina; the night she told me I was the child of the prophecy. Where Serenissima had once been, I’d seen a wasteland of ruins and dried canals filled with the swollen corpses of those who had once populated them. Carrion birds and bloated toads fed upon the rotting flesh, their beaks and mouths bloodied, their stomachs engorged.

  What Signor Maleovelli said, what he’d learnt, was in accord with Katina’s warnings and my dire glimpse of a possible future.

  A thought occurred to me. ‘What about my eyes? If I venture out of here, they’ll give me away and anything we plan or do will be for nought.’

  ‘There are ways of disguising them,’ reassured Giaconda. ‘You have done it before. Do not worry about that. For now, focus on what might be – on who you might become, or what you could accomplish. On what we’ll all, with your help, attain.’

  I put my hand over my heart and felt its rapid thrumming. I tried to gather my thoughts, get them in some sort of order.

  ‘How do you envision me helping you? What form will my help take?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Signor Maleovelli. ‘We see two ways you can help us – two ways with two stages.’ He leant forward. ‘First, we want you to modify some candles for us, let us see what they can do, what we can achieve with those. You will be guided, shown what we need. Then we have a second part to our plans for you – one that is a little risky but, given time and the right circumstances, will bring about the changes we desire.’

  ‘So you do want me to make candles for you?’

  ‘No,’ corrected Giaconda. ‘Just transform the ones we already have, that we purchase. Everyone uses them. We will tell you what we require you to distil into them, how we want to influence those who burn them. It’s important that you do not touch people – if you’re to remain undetected, it’s essential you don’t use the power of your touch on humans.’

  She let that sink in. I did not miss the warning in her words.

  They were offering me, if not a home exactly, shelter. It also gave me what I hadn’t had before, time. They were proffering me a job as well. I would not feel obliged, beholden to them. I would be earning my way. And what was wrong with manipulating people, anyhow? Isn’t that what everyone did? Quinn did it by beating me into submission, Pillar through benign guilt and Katina by making promises – promises she not only didn’t keep but also broke in a manner I could never forgive. The Maleovellis were manipulating me into helping them with the lure of a home, lovely clothes, a new identity, of being free to be who I was while under their roof, the notion of safety – however false. Only Dante kept his promise, and look what happened to him.

  They were waiting for me to respond. The air thickened, cloyed with tobacco smoke and expectation.

  I thought about the times I’d tried to bring about transformation, with all the right intentions. It had only ended in disaster.

  Signor Maleovelli drew heavily on his pipe and, tipping back his head, exhaled a stream of smoke. I imagined the cherubs burying their coughs in the clouds.

  I cleared my throat before speaking. ‘If I alter the candles according to your wishes, that means you’ll bring people here, to the casa, sì? So that they will be affected?’

  ‘Not at first. We will take them to our … businesses in other areas of Serenissima in order to expand our circle of influence. Later, we will use them here – when you and, of course, we –’ he indicated the others ‘– feel secure in what we’re doing.’

  His words presaged the cloak of gloom that suddenly enveloped me. My bright prospects quickly dimmed as I imagined my days trapped in this casa. Exchanging one prison for another. At least in the Candlemakers Quartiere I’d achieved a degree of freedom. ‘What about me, then?’ I despised myself for the plaintive tone that crept into my voice. ‘Am I to remain in the casa the entire time? Until you are installed on the throne and the Estrattore welcomed back?’

  There was a moment of silence, and then the Maleovellis began to laugh. My cheeks burned and I felt a flash of fear. The sense of stability I’d briefly enjoyed was already disturbed.

  ‘On the contrary, Tarlo.’ Signor Maleovelli was the first to recover. ‘We’re going to teach you not only to move comfortably among the Serenissian nobility, but we’re going to make you the toast of society.’

  I almost started out of my chair. How was that even possible? I was confused. Surely, that was the most dangerous and stupid thing they could do. Hiding me, as Pillar and Quinn had done, made much more sense.

  Signor Maleovelli noted my puzzlement. ‘People rarely see what’s beneath their noses. You have already proved that. How old are you?’

  ‘I’m … I’m almost sixteen.’ I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t entirely sure.

  Giaconda
’s eyebrows shot up her forehead.

  ‘Bene. Bene. You’re older than we thought. All those years in the Candlemakers Quartiere and not even your neighbours suspected what was in their midst.’

  My neighbours! I hadn’t given them another thought. After what happened on the bridge, Dante’s death … They knew about me, knew what I was. That put them all in dreadful peril.

  ‘Do you know what’s happened to the people of the Candlemakers Quartiere? To Pillar, my master? To Dante’s family?’

  There was an uneasy pause.

  ‘I told her, Papa, that you would provide answers to her questions,’ said Giaconda.

  Signor Maleovelli inclined his head towards his daughter, but he did not look pleased.

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t. But Signor Scarpoli will find out for you, bella. Will that make you happy?’

  My eyes shifted over to Baroque, who had moved forward in his chair, as if he was about to bolt.

  ‘I would be … grateful, Signor. Grazie.’

  ‘Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You’re going to perpetrate the greatest masquerade ever, Tarlo. One that will allow you to move in the highest circles. One that will enable you to take your candles to the most intimate and surprising of places – places that for us, as we are now, are inaccessible. And for that, you need some very special teachers.’

  ‘Who will teach me? What do I need to learn?’

  ‘They are all here,’ Signor Maleovelli’s arm swept the room. ‘Full of knowledge, which they will impart to you.’

  I frowned.

  Signor Maleovelli picked up his cane and pointed at Jacopo. ‘Jacopo will teach you to read and write.’ He swung his stick towards Baroque. ‘Signor Scarpoli will instruct you in the peculiar ways of the Serenissian nobility, as well as about the wonderful oils, unguents and plants from all over Vista Mare.’ He paused and then lifted his cane in the direction of his daughter. ‘Finally, Giaconda is going to teach you the most important lesson of all.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, breathless.

  ‘Why, what else could it be in Serenissima?’ He laughed. ‘She will instruct you in the arts of being a woman.’

  There was a nuance I couldn’t fathom. I swung towards Giaconda. She leant towards me.

  ‘Not an ordinary woman, my lovely Tarlo. Not the normal Serenissian woman who is locked away in her casa, denied the beauty of our fair city, the joy of conversation, the pleasures of meeting and talking with new people, never seen or heard. The type that cower behind their fathers’ and husbands’ togati, obeying their every whim. The ones adorned in their pretty little dresses that stare longingly through windows day in and out or desperately try to bleach their hair in the sun atop their altanas. The ones who are shut away in convents, never knowing the pleasures of the flesh. No. I am going to teach you how to be the type of woman that men desire to have and other women secretly want to be.’

  A shiver ran down my spine. A wave of heat swept over my body.

  ‘What sort of woman are you talking about?’ I asked, knowing full well the answer.

  ‘One just like me.’

  Giaconda left her seat and walked around my chair, standing before me. Her eyes sparkled, her hair shone and her teeth gleamed between her tinted lips. ‘A lady who can bewitch men with words, enchant them with her abilities, make them mad with yearning for a mere touch.’ She reached out and ran a finger along my cheekbone. ‘A lady who is paid for her scintillating conversation, for her ability to listen.’ She leant forward and her mouth moved along my temple and down the side of my face. ‘And even more for the exchanges she offers in the boudoir.’ Her eyes dropped to my décolletage; so did mine. I felt hot. But she wasn’t finished with me yet.

  With a long, gloved finger, she tipped my chin and planted the softest of lingering kisses upon my lips. My eyes fluttered shut and my body ached with longing. When she moved away, it was all I could do not to protest.

  When I found my voice, I spoke. ‘You’re a courtesan.’

  I recalled the women I had seen, not just at Carnivale, but parading through the piazzetti and campi in my old quartiere on a daily basis. While I had seen some common puttana, the street whores, the courtesans were different. They clattered around proudly in their high heels, usually with a black servant or sometimes a dwarf tripping along beside them. Other times, well-dressed nobiles and merchants accompanied them. They were colourful, loud; they flirted with their eyes, their mouths, with the very air they inhaled. People would stop and stare and these women wouldn’t just embrace the attention, they’d insist upon it. I first heard them mentioned by Quinn, when she came home from the basilica, affronted at how many had been at the service one week; how, in her words, the padre had simpered over them. Her anger aroused my curiousity and piqued my interest. Pillar and, later, Katina and Dante, would point them out to me in the calles and, in their voices, I would hear wonder, a form of respect and envy, but mostly I heard desire. Just as if they were nobiles, or the Doge himself, everyone knew the names of the most successful ones – Veronica Franco, La Zafetta, Madonna Fiamenga.

  I’d always found them fascinating. Compared to the Quinns and Francescas of the world, women old before their time, trapped by their trade and lowly status in Serenissian society or, as Giaconda described, the magnificently dressed daughters and wives of nobiles, their necks bent out of shape from peering out at the world all day, trying to experience life from the lofty heights of their bedrooms and sun roofs, or even the numerous nuns who scurried about the city before returning to the high walls of their convents, the courtesans offered something different. They didn’t care about the unyielding eyes of judgement; they were too busy. They had money to make and futures to secure. Those who understood that also respected their choices. It was hardly their fault if what they offered for sale was popular.

  If my eyes could be hidden, and my talents controlled and the lessons I was being offered learnt, then, who knew, perhaps I could live a normal life after all. That was, until it was time to bring the Estrattore home.

  My chest fluttered with anticipation. I wanted to sit on my hands to hide their trembling.

  The idea that I was to become one of these women both thrilled and terrified me. My head filled with wild scenarios that scattered as quickly as they formed. I could see how hiding me in plain sight might just work. My mind began to skip along a very different path until a voice broke through my fantasies. I was still being addressed.

  ‘It will take months, Tarlo,’ said Giaconda softly. ‘Can you be patient?’

  I looked at each of them in turn. There was a barely disguised hunger in their gaze. Giaconda gripped the arm of my chair tightly.

  ‘I am to be a courtesan.’ It was as if by articulating the idea it became a reality.

  ‘Sì. That is our intention.’

  ‘I can see that you have given this a great deal of thought,’ I said.

  ‘We’ve had years to plan, to hope,’ said Signor Maleovelli simply. ‘Since long before we found you.’

  ‘What if I say no?’

  Giaconda inhaled sharply. I pretended not to notice.

  ‘Then,’ said Signor Maleovelli calmly, ‘you’re free to walk out this door. But, my dear Tarlo, consider this. Where would you go? To whom would you turn? The Bond Riders have turned their backs on you. Your friend is dead and even your former master dismissed you. No doubt the talk in your quartiere is rife. Something I will have Baroque confirm.’

  Baroque made a noise of agreement.

  ‘I imagine there’s a great deal of anger towards you – for what happened. They’ll blame you, you know, for the Bond Riders, for the death of the young chandler.’

  It was as if the little flickering flame of anticipation burning within me was suddenly extinguished. He was right. God, how Zia Gaia and Nonno Renzo must hate me. It was no more than I already hated myself. A flare of guilt rose that I was even tempted, no, excited by what the Maleovellis were offering. How dare I even consider it? But then,
what choice did I really have? Give myself up to a padre? To the Doge? What if I just left now, entered the Limen and went to find the Estrattore? I scolded myself. What purpose would that serve? I would just join them and they would still be exiled. And what if I couldn’t find them? I’d be lost in the Limen and any good I could do, any of the dreadful mistakes of the past, the lives that had been lost, would be for nothing.

  ‘And you will help me find the Estrattore once you’re Doge?’ I asked.

  ‘Naturalmente,’ said Signor Ezzelino with a laugh. ‘Of course. That is part of the bargain is it not? We have to find them in order to bring them back.’

  It wasn’t difficult for me to imagine this man as Doge. And if he would do as he promised and return the Estrattore, then I owed it to myself, to my brethren, to help him reach those lofty heights, no matter what was asked of me, what sacrifices I had to make.

  But, even as I thought those brave sentiments, doubt tinged with apprehension rippled inside me. I was grateful that, for the immediate future, I would have teachers and the protection of these nobiles, even of Baroque, as sinister as they seemed.

  Their motives were apparent; they’d been frank with me, but I still felt as if they were holding something back.

  I stared listlessly at hundreds of tiny motes dancing in a pulse of soft light.

  ‘Your old life is closed to you, Tarlo.’ Signor Maleovelli’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘It’s not safe for you to go back – only forward. Here, with us, you have a chance at a new beginning. A life of independence. Once the Estrattore are reinstated, your options will be limitless.’ Signor Maleovelli reached over and opened a little box on the table. Inside was fresh tobacco. He spent a few moments re-stuffing his pipe.

  ‘Before we retire for dinner, we should celebrate.’ Giaconda handed me a glass. It was filled with rich, ruby fluid. I resisted the urge to extract, to draw from the crystal and discover something of its past, of its owners’ history. Only I was not supposed to do that.