Votive

by Karen Brooks

  Periwinkle, used to staunch blood, became valuable for expelling negative thoughts. Burning a comfrey candle beside one infused with a concentration of periwinkle made an irresistible combination. Nobiles entered into colleganzas with the Maleovellis, banishing their lack of enthusiasm for an association, keen to establish new and fruitful relationships with a house and family they once thought all but finished.

  When tiredness overcame the household, I burnt candles suffused with a new seed that had been brought back from the provinces of Phalagonia and which Signor Maleovelli believed would make their fortune – the cacao plant. Baroque had managed to smuggle a few back from the docks to the casa for me to experiment with and I discovered that they banished fatigue, providing those who inhaled the candles with unnatural energy. As the days flew by, I relied on these more and more.

  My life fell into a pattern – one that, for the time being, I could not see altering but with which, for the most part, I was content.

  WHEN THE REST OF THE FAMILY retired to their rooms to relax for the afternoon, it was time for me to go down to Baroque. I was just waiting for Hafeza to arrive. She’d recently taken to escorting me whenever she could. It was because of Jacopo. Lurking in the corridor outside my door had become his favourite pastime; that is, when he wasn’t occupied with another task. Not even Giaconda’s terse warnings had stopped him. I was grateful for Hafeza’s company. Jacopo, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, made me nervous.

  I closed the window, latched it and crossed to the bed. I strapped my zoccoli back onto my feet. I had eaten very little at lunch, despite the five tempting courses that had been presented. I was too excited. I knew that today Baroque was bringing a special plant for me to work with. Today we were trying something that would both stretch me and test me to my limits.

  Hafeza knocked just as I tied the last ribbon around my ankle. I rose to my feet, shook down my skirts and waited. Impatient, Hafeza knocked again. ‘Enter!’ I cried. I could not get used to having to give people permission to come into my room.

  She opened the door and curtsied, waiting. I gave her an apologetic smile and walked as gracefully as I could into the corridor.

  ‘Buon giorno!’ I exclaimed as I entered the workshop.

  Baroque muttered something in return. He was stooped over the bench, his hands busy pulling vials and other objects from his jacket. It always amazed me how much he was able to secrete around his body.

  I glanced outside to ensure Hafeza had gone. I tied my work apron around my dress and dragged a candle closer, peering at what he’d brought. There were a few bottles filled with powders and liquids of different shades of yellow, as well as a large cutting from a plant, which he’d laid to one side. It had pretty green leaves, if somewhat wilted, that hid a profusion of bright-coloured berries. It also had purple, bell-shaped flowers. I reached for it immediately, only to find my wrist gripped tightly.

  ‘Wait,’ said Baroque, and released my hand, pulling more objects from his pocket.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You need to be cautious with that plant.’

  I raised my eyebrows and said nothing.

  ‘It’s poisonous.’

  ‘Oh.’ My heart began to beat against my ribs.

  ‘It’s belladonna.’

  ‘That’s belladonna? This lovely plant?’ My lips curled. ‘It means beautiful lady – yet it’s deadly. Who named it? A Serenissian man, no doubt.’

  Baroque’s mouth twitched. ‘You are spending a great deal of time with Signorina Maleovelli, aren’t you?’ He took in my dress. It was a ruby red today, not unlike the robes of the senators. ‘I’m serious. It’s toxic.’

  My smile disappeared.

  ‘Touch it carefully; remember not to extract too much. And, when you’re ready, tell me what its effects are. Why it’s so lethal.’

  With less haste I picked it up, allowing the weight of the head to bow over my fingers. I inhaled sharply as sensations of great sleepiness and utter exhaustion almost overwhelmed me. I wanted to find somewhere to rest my head and shut my eyes. Instead, I pushed through this and allowed myself to probe deeper, but cautiously, into the plant’s properties. What I sensed sent chills along my spine.

  I put it down very carefully.

  ‘It kills. The plant is noxious. It can send people to sleep – but they may never wake. When it is used in other ways, death is swift and agonising.’

  ‘Sì,’ said Baroque. ‘When ingested in certain quantities. Now, perhaps, you won’t make silly jokes when I tell you to be more careful.’ I didn’t respond. ‘Hmm. Now, I want you to touch it again. There’s more to belladonna than meets the eye. It doesn’t have to kill. It can also do many marvellous things. I want you to uncover what these are. Search its properties, identify what they can do, Tarlo, and tell me what you find.’

  There was an edge to his tone that I couldn’t quite fathom. I wiped my sweating palms down the front of the apron. Slowly, I touched the petals of one of the flowers and allowed my senses to open to its effects once more.

  My elbow began to twitch. I tried to manage it, but before I could, spasms began to twist my body. My knees shook. I felt my neck begin to jerk. ‘Steady.’ Baroque’s voice was loud in my ear. ‘Go further, deeper.’

  I did as I was told, diving into the sensations. I wrested back control of my body. ‘You’re right. There’s something else here too, Baroque.’ Pictures of women picking these lovely plants filled my head, smiling women whose eyes sparkled and flashed like jewels. I saw them pounding the buds, the violaceous juices squirting. There was excitement, not caution. These women knew something, used the liquid for … I reached for it, but whatever it was eluded me. I withdrew and took a deep breath. I resisted the urge to stamp my foot. I was so close.

  ‘What is it?’ Baroque bent and examined my face.

  ‘I was almost there, Baroque. You’re right. The belladonna has many purposes and not all are bad.’

  ‘Then you have already learnt something very important.’ Baroque leant over the table. The candle flickered between us, throwing our silhouettes over the crushed belladonna, turning Baroque’s face into a dark prism. ‘Remember this, Tarlo. Even that which seems to serve only evil has another side. Good and bad co-exist. One may triumph over the other; it may be that you cannot find the good; you cannot discover the bad. But they’re all there. Sometimes you just have to search hard to find the other. When you do, expose what’s there and use it for your own ends.’

  I looked at Baroque for a long moment, then at the belladonna. Baroque’s eyes were fixed to mine.

  ‘You’re not talking only about the flower, are you?’

  Baroque sighed. ‘I am talking about the world, Tarlo. About everyone and everything around you. As an Estrattore, you have the capacity to extract both good and evil, that which is heinous and what is decent. Sometimes, you just have to search hard, look deeply to find it. Sometimes, you have to make a choice.’

  Baroque’s hand covered my own. I could feel the roughness of the skin, the precious metal in the band he wore on his middle finger. Without thinking, I began to extract.

  His eyes widened. ‘Don’t!’ He pulled his arm away so fast he banged it against the mortar. Pain twisted his features and he nursed his hand under his arm. ‘What do you think you’re doing? That’s forbidden!’

  ‘Mi dispiace! I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t help it.’

  Baroque slowly withdrew his hand and shook it a couple of times. ‘Of course you can help it. I see how careful you are all the time. I know you extract when you think no-one knows. But we do, Tarlo. We do. Your touch is still clumsy. We’re not made of wax, you know. We can feel you.’ He jabbed his chest. ‘Here. It hurts. Take what you want from the objects I bring, but leave me alone!’ He turned away.

  I felt tears prick the back of my eyes. ‘How am I to trust you if you don’t let me know you?’

  Baroque made a funny noise. ‘Trust me?’ He spun round and began to laugh. It was not a nice
sound. He stormed across the floor and slammed the door shut. ‘Grow up, Tallow! You can’t trust me. You, my dear, can’t trust anyone, and the sooner you realise that, the safer we’ll all be.’ He shook his head. ‘Did you really believe that I was any different? Do you really think that you can trust any one of them up there?’ He stabbed his finger in the direction of the piano nobile. ‘Oh, Tallow,’ he smacked his forehead. ‘I thought you were learning. I thought you were smarter than that. You think a few shared laughs and an exchange of gossip is grounds for friendship? For trust? Not when you’re an Estrattore they’re not, and especially not with someone like me.’

  My insides burned with shame and rage. I’d misread Baroque’s treatment of me so badly. Just because someone was nice to me, didn’t mean they were my friend. A tear rolled down my cheek. I used my shoulder to sweep it away. I had no friends. I coughed and cleared my throat, aware Baroque was waiting for an answer. I straightened my back. Self-pity did not become me. I was stronger than that. I had to be. I just couldn’t speak … not yet.

  Baroque sighed and swung the door open, leaning against it. ‘Leave the belladonna, Tarlo. We’ll do that another day. The Maleovellis want some candles. Not your usual kind either. We’ve wasted enough time today. We need to get these done.’

  I tried to push away my sorrow.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, my voice breaking in an effort to be light. ‘What sort do they want?’

  ‘Ones that will make their new friends trust them.’ He laughed. ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sì,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Bene.’ He slid a box of candles towards me. Inside were half a dozen creamy tapers, different from the ones we’d used the last few weeks. I lifted one out. They’d been rolled well and the wicks were of good quality. Slow burning. They looked like the work of Master Querini on the salizzada in the Candlemakers Quartiere. I didn’t dare extract to see if my supposition was correct.

  ‘You’re to infuse these with loyalty – confidence – and a bit of gullibility, so those inhaling the scent will have faith in what’s being discussed. Capisce?’

  ‘Capisco.’ I replaced the candle and pushed the box to one side and picked through some of the objects Baroque had left on the bench. Using a piece of stone that had been partially carved, and a sea bird’s feather, I became aware that they carried within them many other emotions, many other stories.

  Concentrating, I distilled what was asked of me into the candles. The stone gave me the requisite confidence, the bird feather loyalty, and the fish it had greedily snatched from the ocean as they broke the surface, credulity. I also used a piece of myself, how I’d felt just before Baroque reminded me of who I was; what I was. As I had infused musk into my washing water this morning, so I gave that heady scent to the candles, knowing that whoever breathed their perfume would believe whatever they were being told. The changes took only moments to effect. The candles appeared luminous in the waning light.

  Baroque pressed the taper to his nose and inhaled. Then he turned to regard me. ‘No wonder the Doge wanted you all gone. This is incredible. I can actually feel myself responding to the scent.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’d always thought you were immune.’ Baroque put the candle back in the box and placed the lid on top, pressing down as if to stop the smell escaping.

  ‘Not entirely.’ I didn’t reveal that all I needed to do was touch something else, extract a different emotion for the affect to alter or end.

  ‘Do you know when these are to be used?’ I asked, trying to keep my tone indifferent.

  ‘No. Not exactly, but I can guess. The Maleovellis are preparing to have guests.’

  ‘Guests?’ I was astonished. Since I had been here, only a few tradespeople and some debt collectors had been at the casa, the latter to receive soldi owed. I had heard them singing the praises of the Maleovellis as they left. I’d also smelled my candles burning in Jacopo’s office downstairs.

  ‘Sì. Tonight.’ Baroque regarded me steadily. ‘And so it begins, Tarlo Maleovelli.’

  ‘What does?’ I asked, the innocent note in my voice fooling neither of us.

  ‘The purpose for which you were brought here – to ensure the Maleovellis rise to power.’

  My heart began to pound and a roaring filled my ears. I resented his accusatory tone. ‘It’s the same reason you’re here too, Baroque Scarpoli, only my reasons are not so selfish. As they rise, the return of the Estrattore comes closer. I am doing this for my people.’

  Baroque gave me a long, long look. ‘Then how is your reason any different from mine? Do you expect me to believe you won’t personally gain from that?’

  I didn’t want to answer. Instead, I packed up quickly and fled to my room.

  THE MOMENT I WAS TOLD I’D BE HAVING dinner in my room, I knew that not only were the guests Baroque had told me about expected, but also that I had an opportunity to discover exactly what the Maleovellis were using my candles for and how they were doing it.

  I sat by the fire, prodding the coals to make them smoulder and create more heat. It was a cold night and I would be grateful for their warmth later. I slipped into my nightgown and wrapped a shawl around my shoulders, clasping the edges with one hand to prevent the fringe from catching in the flames.

  There was a sharp rap on the door.

  ‘Permesso!’ I cried, resting the poker against the fireplace. I leant back in the chair and waited for Hafeza to enter.

  She came in backwards carrying a tray from which steam and a delicious smell arose. I could see a large bowl of soup and a bread roll, along with some roasted pigeon. There was also a small plate of pale, crumbly cheese.

  ‘Grazie, Hafeza,’ I said as she placed the tray carefully on my bedside table.

  With a flurry of fingers and hands, she asked me if I would like the bed turned down.

  ‘Sì, grazie.’ She bobbed her head and moved towards the bed. I made a noise that was meant to be a yawn and stretched my arms up in the air. ‘I am very tired. Must be because of all the work I did today. I think I’ll eat and go straight to sleep. Please, don’t bother collecting the tray tonight. The morning will do.’ I winced at my poor performance and prayed Hafeza believed me. I chattered away as she folded back the sheets and plumped the pillows. At first I wasn’t sure she’d heard me, but when she finished, she turned, curtsied and, with a flash of white teeth, left the room.

  To my surprise, I was perspiring. I hadn’t lied to Hafeza before. I didn’t like it. But I had to know what was going on in this casa. To what I was sacrificing my talents.

  I quickly ate some of the soup and nibbled the pigeon and cheese. I wasn’t very hungry. My stomach felt like a tumbler had taken up residence inside.

  I waited a little longer and then extinguished the candles and sat on the edge of the bed. There was no moon tonight. Outside my window, a thick fog lurked, turning the glass opaque. If I could make it undetected to the hiding place I’d chosen, the darkness would serve me well.

  After a while I heard a door close then another open. A burst of laughter made me jump before it was quickly muffled. The guests were here. I guessed that the first course was being served. I’d estimated that there would be a sufficient length of time between the service of the second course and collection of the plates for me to leave my room and make my way to the dining room unobserved.

  I tiptoed across the floor and pressed my ear to the door. There. A door opened. Footsteps, and then a burst of noise before another click. I counted the footsteps. Three servants tonight. They’d hired extra help. Their longed-for soldi were starting to become manifest. My breathing filled my ears.

  Minutes passed and I heard nothing more. I turned the handle and eased the door open and peered out.

  The corridor was alive with dancing shadows, all cast by the candles in their sconces. My heart pounded and for a moment my courage deserted me. What was I doing? Did I really need to know what the Maleovellis were up to? Hadn’t they been good to me? What
if I was caught?

  Before doubt paralysed me, I jumped into the hallway, shut the door and ran. Cloth eyes followed me as I bolted past tapestries before pausing beside a tall cabinet, ready to melt into the shadows if needed. I thought about snuffing out the candles and throwing the corridor into complete darkness, but knew that would arouse suspicion and activity. So I continued on.

  I darted past Signor Maleovelli’s study, reaching the top of the stairs, hesitating long enough to make sure that no-one was ascending. I kept moving, careful not to bump into anything. I scurried past Jacopo’s room and into the main salon.

  The dining room ran straight off the portego. All I had to do was go through the portego and get as close to where they were feasting as possible. I already knew from things Salzi and Jacopo said that the Maleovellis didn’t entertain in the portego at this time of year. It was too expensive to heat and light. So I imagined I would be alone in the gloom; no-one would be using the main room.

  I paused inside the door and took my bearings. The moon may have been hidden, but there was still enough light to turn the room into a palette of greys, and the furnishings into the stuff of nightmares.

  The kiss of crystal and tinkling laughter would have directed me to the other end of the room if the glimmer of candlelight hadn’t. I moved around the edges, careful not to be heard. Sidling up to the doorframe, I dropped onto all fours and peeped around the corner. I learnt to do that eavesdropping on Pillar and Quinn when I was much younger. Illicit looks at eye level were much more likely to be caught than those snatched from the floor – something Baroque, in our many conversations, also confirmed.