Votive (10 page)

I nodded. ‘But only if I can detect it in the first place. You have to understand, I haven’t had much training. I think I told you in the gondola.’ I looked at Giaconda. ‘A Bond Rider named Katina tried to teach me –’ Baroque spluttered his vino, covering his mouth quickly as he coughed. ‘But she had limitations …’ I shot a glance at Baroque and continued. ‘She didn’t know everything. She wouldn’t allow me to do certain things. I’m not properly trained.’ I didn’t tell them what I had done on my own. How I had failed in my attempts to make certain people’s lives better. I was ashamed.

‘Is this the same Bond Rider that killed your friend?’ asked Giaconda lightly.

I stiffened.

‘I don’t think she was on the horse that trampled him, but yes, it’s the same one.’
Why was I defending her? Katina … how could you let that happen?

Over my head, I perceived unspoken words, lingering glances.

‘Let me tell you a story, Tarlo,’ said Signor Maleovelli finally. ‘It may help you understand our position, what we can offer you.’ He waited till he had my full attention. ‘You see, once, a long time ago, the Maleovellis were rich. We
were a force to be reckoned with – we had our own ships, trade routes and even, for a while, a bank. We were close to attaining the Dogeship for, in this city, you have to have influence to hold office. By influence I mean wealth and the power that attracts.’ He paused, a frown creasing his face. ‘And we came so close,’ he whispered, staring at a painting of someone I assumed was an ancestor. His frown disappeared and his sombre tone lifted. ‘But it all changed. Some very foolish decisions and allegiances by my great, great-grandfather meant that in less than a generation, we lost our money and our reputation. We have never been able to regain the position we had, the position our once-eminent house deserves.’ He fixed his eyes upon me. ‘With your help, we hope to have all that restored.’

‘So, I am here to reinstate your wealth.’ I could hear the doubt in my voice. Surely, it could not be so easy. These nobiles could not have the same base desires as Quinn.

‘As I said, in Serenissima, wealth also means power. And power means control. We want to be in control. Not just of our lives, but of Serenissma. Tarlo, I want the Dogeship. With your help, I can have it.’

At first I didn’t know what to say. My mind galloped. ‘You ask a great deal of me.’ My voice was quiet.

‘Sì. But it is within
your
power to give us this. According to what Jacopo has learnt from the city’s archives, all the great Doges in the past ruled with an Estrattore by their side. You’re to be mine, my family’s.’

‘But that’s just like the position the Cardinale has now, isn’t it? He advises on matters of the soul, doesn’t he?’

‘Esatto,’ said Signor Maleovelli. ‘And not just on the soul. And look where that has led.’ He stared out the window, focusing on something in the middle distance, reflecting inwards rather than outwards. ‘Once Serenissima was a mighty, independent power, a force to be reckoned with.
Exiling the Estrattore, changing the core religious beliefs of the entire city and allowing Roma and the Great Patriarch to, let’s say, wield such influence, has not only weakened us, it has made us dependent upon them – and not just on spiritual matters, but for everything. With your help, we can restore Serenissima to her former glory.’ He tore his eyes away from the window and smiled at me. I resisted the urge to shudder. ‘Tarlo.’ He glanced at Giaconda, who nodded approvingly. ‘We know what we’re asking of you is enormous.’ He put down his pipe. It balanced precariously on a little silver dish, the smoking tobacco threatening to spill. ‘But I think you’ll find what we offer you in return is more than adequate.’

‘What is that?’ I tore my eyes away from the pipe to find everyone staring at me, leaning forward.

Signor Maleovelli took a deep breath before he answered.

‘The return of the Estrattore.’

I
COULD BARELY BREATHE
. M
Y HEART RACED
. I wondered for a moment if I’d even heard Signor Maleovelli correctly.

‘Return? You mean, bring the Estrattore back to Serenissima? Reinstate them?’

Signor Maleovelli nodded. ‘I do. Once I’m in power, nothing can stop me overturning the decree that banished them and restoring the old ways. Together, Tarlo, we can bring the Estrattore, the ancient magic, back – back to where it belongs,
they
belong – here in Serenissima, in Vista Mare.’

‘What about people’s beliefs? What about God?’

‘What about them? They will worship what and whom they’re told. It’s happened before, it will happen again. Roma’s God was forced upon us. The truth is, Serenissima has always belonged to the gods – those who created your kind.’ Jacopo tried to contain himself. Giaconda bowed her head towards her father, a look I couldn’t quite read upon her face. Baroque remained impassive.

I couldn’t believe what I was being told. Katina had said there were Estrattore in the Limen and it was up to me to find them. I’d often wondered about the point of that if they couldn’t come back to Serenissima. But now I was being
given the opportunity to bring my people, my ‘kind’, back to their homeland and to see them and what they represented restored. ‘I can bring them back to where they belong.’ My thoughts translated into words.

‘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.