The Mascherari: A Novel of Venice (30 page)

“And you also, Antonio. It is you they seek. Are you certain you will be safe once you reach the charm maker?”

I nodded. But Esteban saw me frown. I was still perplexed at the ship I had seen. And I was a little sad to leave him. I stepped off the boat, wrapping my mantle around me.

“Esteban, if you leave Venezia, I will understand. But I must remain here until I find Elena.”

He stared at me with his usual noble expression and nodded.

“Do you think she will come?” he asked.

“Blanca? Of course she will. You ought not to doubt.”

He gave a half smile.

“She had long wanted to leave Venezia,” he said.

“And now she will have what she desired. Of course, she will come,” I added.

“Good. I wish you well, Antonio.”

“And you too, Esteban. I bid you farewell,” I said.

This was all I could say. There were too many eyes on the port to draw attention to ourselves.

***

After I had parted from Esteban, I ventured quietly into the cramped alleyways, on the edge of the Arsenal shipyards.

Before long, I had rediscovered the bustling
campo
where rowdy children played, dueling amongst themselves with wooden swords and bound sticks.

I was startled by a vicious grip on my left arm.

I looked down to the bony hand whose talon like fingers encircled my wrist. At once, I recognized the disheveled brown hair and the strange colored skirt of Zara, the fortune teller. She held on to my arm and would not let go.  Before I could protest, she raised my hand forcefully and pressed a gilded card, face down, onto my palm. As she curled my fingers to fasten onto the card, Zara’s large round eyes fixed me with a frightening intensity. 

I shuddered at the power of her words. She spoke them as one utters both a warning and a cry of joy from deep inside one’s belly.

“La Torre!” she cried. Her voice made my stomach churn. I wrestled to disengage myself but she kept my hand closed tight onto the card, forbidding that I part from it.

“La Torre!” she insisted. She regarded me for a moment longer before pulling away. Then she bowed to me as though–and this is strange–as though she had been blessed and then she disappeared through one of the
calli
.

For a moment, I remained stunned.  I recognized the third card I had drawn, on my last encounter with Zara. It depicted a burning tower that had been struck by lightning.   To my utter horror, two figures toppled down from the tower which looked to be crested with a crown.

I could not comprehend why the Castilian woman would part from this card, leaving her
tarocchi
pack incomplete. Perhaps she had deemed its message so important, that she was willing to sacrifice it.  Alas, I understood nothing of it.

A little shaken, I slipped the card into my diary and ventured into the
sottoportico
.

When I reached the silversmith’s abode mid-way into the
sottoportico
, I found the old lady waiting for me.

“The amorous one has come,” she cheered.

I looked inside with apprehension. I was struck by the disorder in her home. I did not recall such disarray.

What was she hiding beneath that sudden gleeful expression?

I delayed no further and pressed her with the questions I had long asked myself.

“I want you to tell me more of what you spoke of last time.”

“Last time? I do not remember,” she said, as she stirred a giant ladle in a tin pot.

“You spoke of someone being held in Constanziaca. What is that place? Constanziaca.”

“Ah! Yes. Constanziaca.”

“Yes, Constanziaca. Where is that place?”

“My dearest Tuscan boy. You want to find her, mmm? Sit, sit.”

I did as she said, smelling the musk on her divan, much to my discomfort. She presented me with a cup of her steaming brew. I eyed it with suspicion. It was as black as the Mohammedan drink which I had never tasted but had heard spoken of.  Legions of sailors secretly swore by it and loved its scent, but it was forbidden and the most pious patricians spoke of it as the Devil’s drink. The liquid in my goblet was not as dark and did not give off an odor. I peered once more into my cup, deciding upon whether to drink the foreign liquid with its odd brownish hue.

“Try it! Try it! It harks from the Far East. I brought a sample from Constantinople. You will not find it anywhere here. I, alone, know where it can be bought.”

I took an immediate distaste to the brew. There was a bitter—no, tart flavor to it, even with the honey that she had no doubt added.

“What is it?”

“A herbal infusion from the land of the Catay. I do not know its name. But the little Catay men all drink it.”

I drank it straight, finding it less unpleasant with each gulp.

She stared at me with a certain contentment. I wiped my lips and placed the goblet on the small table before me.

“Old woman, I’ve not much time. Tell me, please. Where is Constanziaca? Is it far from here?”

She eyed me with malice.

“It is an island.” Her dark pupils glowed with curiosity and she continued to observe me.

“An island?” I blinked. For a moment, her traits had seemed less repulsive, almost beautiful. I closed my eyes and opened them anew.

“That is right, amorous one. An island. But you cannot reach it,” she snapped.

She seemed very pleased with herself even as she said those words.

“Where is this island?” I asked. I had not noticed how slurred my own voice sounded.

She did not reply.

She refilled my cup, placed it before me and returned to stir her pot. I watched her from the couch, as she hobbled about like a toad covered in her filthy rags. She had her back turned toward me, now. There was a gruesome efficiency about her as she ignored me and continued to re-arrange her pots, her pliers, canisters and numerous implements. All the while, she hummed some lascivious oriental tune.

Mercilessly efficient. The old crone had now forgotten her guest, as though she had completed a task…

And then, as I stared, she appeared to change form again.  At present she seemed graceful and much younger. I drew a breath, blinking twice. The woman’s hair danced to her hips.

“Magdalena?” I wiped my sweaty face, unsure of what I had seen. The old hag turned to me, a wicked glimmer in her eyes.

I rose up on the edge of my seat, still haunted by her strange behavior.
She had completed what was intended of her
. The room danced before me. My eyes traveled to the Catay drink. The dark liquid I had drunk… A wave of nausea ran through my chest. I rose, stumbling at once, sensing the weakness in my knees. I collapsed to the floor, cursing under my breath.

In my haste to find Elena Visconti’s prison, I had fallen into a trap. An eerie dimness clouded my vision. In a few moments, my intoxication would be complete. But there was still time. The old hag was humming to herself once more. She knew I could not run.  When I was certain that she was not looking, I slipped the pendant from around my neck and slid it beneath the rug. Then, breathing heavily, I somehow managed to retrieve my diary from my mantle and push it whole, underneath her divan.

I knew the warmth pulsating through my neck and head. The cursed old crone had laced my Catay drink with a strong dose of mandragora. Already I could feel my limbs weaken and my senses dull. I heard a stamping of boots through the
sottoportico
as muffled voices neared the door. The black-clad
sbirri
burst through, the clink of their metal swords merely startling the silversmith.

It seemed senseless but in a last effort to escape the
sbirri
, I attempted to crawl on all fours toward the bed. I felt a wrenching pain as a vengeful boot stomped upon my hand. Before I knew it, another boot had kicked me in the stomach.  I rolled to my back, horrified to see Malek’s scarred face peering above me.  A disdainful smile curled upon his lips as he drew his sword.

The last thing I saw before falling into the darkness, was her villainous mouth as she spat out with a flick of her black tongue, “Let me be!
Lasciami
! Take him! Take the Florentine and get out!”

A message from Almoro Donato to the other Capi

5 January 1422

Favorable news.  Antonio da Parma lies in the Wells of the Palace at this instant.  He was brought to us by our trusted friend, Malek.

Yesterday, the
avogadore
remained in a pitiful state, intoxicated as agreed to by the foreign woman in the port. No trace of either his diaries or the stolen documents were found on his person. The woman’s house has been searched with no satisfactory results.

Antonio da Parma was questioned by the
sbirri
last night. He refused to reveal the placement of his journal. To date, I have delayed the application of The Question as I thought best to enquire on your position regarding this matter.  Please remember–the documents he stole from the
cancelleria secreta
must be recovered.

Resend this same pigeon and respond by midday. I will be at the Far East
loggia
on the balcony. I await.

***

Response from the two Capi to Almoro Donato

5 January 1422

Perhaps given the recent arrest of Blanca Canal it would be best to speak to the Doge and reveal all. He is bound to hear of her execution and put forward certain pertinent questions.  Should this unfold, the Consiglio dei Dieci will find itself in much embarrassment.

As for the prisoner, we concur with your judgment and advise that Antonio be placed under The Question. Even with the elimination of the Visconti girl, the
cancelleria
documents must be recovered. If Antonio is not predisposed to speak with you now, he will do so, once he is made to fear for his life.

***

Almoro Donato to the other Capi

5 January 1422

Perhaps it is my seniority that gives clarity in this matter but I must disagree on the first point.

Would you have us reveal to the Doge a secret that the Consiglio has successfully kept hidden for almost seven years? I will ask you to remember and hold fast to our motto
—
secretezza et iterum secretezza—
secrecy, and then more secrecy.

It is inadmissible that Tommaso Mocenigo be informed on this matter.

Do not forget that the patrician murders have cast a shadow on the Visconti offspring.  To admit to our loose hold on her sorcery is akin to an admission of our guilt.  We would be held accountable for the events.

We must abide as we have up to now.  Fear not. The Doge is on his death bed and his health will not permit the level of enquiry that you suggest he will wish to apply.

The Visconti offspring shall die. Maffeo has failed his duty but the Beast will not.

She shall die.  The Doge need not know she ever existed.

As for applying The Question on Antonio da Parma, I will undertake the matter myself.

Tonight is the Eve of Befana.  It must be done without delay. I suggest we do so, two hours past midnight.

Antonio da Parma knows too much and it is unfortunate for him. Once we have discovered what we seek, his death must follow.

Another warning. A Florentine delegation is set to arrive this month. While I am presently aware that Doge Mocenigo is not partial to the proposed Venezia-Florentine alliance, we must preserve the amity between our states. Discretion is therefore of utmost importance: no Tuscan
avogadore
shall be found floating in the canals of Venezia. Let us be discreet.

Journal of Antonio da Parma

5 January 1422

Awake in my cell, I had no sooner heard the Marangona toll and decided that it was the end of the working day, that I came face to face with Almoro Donato.  He crept forth in the darkness with a stern expression upon his face.  He had two guards by his side but he asked them to leave us.

“In chains, you have me in chains, Almoro. Perfid creature. And I know all. I know what you do with the people of Venezia and the wrong you have done to an innocent woman. I know of Elena Visconti’s abduction.”

“An innocent woman, you say?”

“Do not deny it.”

“She is a witch.”

“And yet you have use of her sorcery. Through her abduction, you deceive the people and yourself.”

“Deceive, you say? Your insolence knows no bounds. Elena’s craft lies in the masks she creates. Why should the Republic not make use of her? Does Venezia not employ hundreds of artisans in Murano? Elena is no different.  The techniques of glass blowing remain a guarded secret.  Elena’s art would have remained secret if you had not intervened.”

“You had her create masks of sorcery! What are you advancing, Almoro?”

“The
popolani
are like children. They are base. They do not know what is good for them. Venezia must be kept content. The ruling patricians are in a precarious state, Antonio. Have you never thought that it is too few in numbers, at the mercy of discontented laborers both in the Giudecca and around the Arsenal, under the constant threat of the dissatisfied foreigners that lurk in every
calle
and the mercenaries it itself employs? You are naïve. It takes a strong ruling hand to keep the
popolani
in its place. But it also takes vision. Yes, Antonio. Elena is like the Befana. She sends her gifts to the good people of Venezia and a mask of her hand is enough to bring much joy and contentment. To maintain one’s grasp on the
popolani
demands shrewdness and yes, some cunning.”

“And that would seem to be your great specialty, Almoro. Only I discovered this too late. Do you want to hear a story, Almoro? I’ve wished for years to tell you this. Did you know, Almoro that I delved further than you think on the identity of our Albanian murderer? And let me tell you what I found. He was no Albanian. And that you know very well. That was the ruse you employed to shield his true identity. Do you know this story, Almoro? It is the story of two twin brothers born of a Dalmatian seamstress living on Burano Island. The unfortunate woman had died in childbirth and her two children were given away to an orphanage–two boys. Two boys who grew to gain remarkable strength. And it came to pass that the Consiglio had been training them, training them like savages, training them to kill.”

Almoro emitted a dry laugh.

“Your taste for pathos is endearing.”

“Let me finish. It is too good a tale to waste. One of the boys had a harelip. For years, until manhood, he had suffered taunts for it. Years. But the mind is a fragile entity.  And then you lost him, didn’t you? Our harelip mercenary had been pushed to such lengths, he knew nothing except the pleasure of blood to appease his own wounds. He would have been forgotten and his pain would have gone unnoticed had we not seen the brunt of his blade strike down the women who would not have him. And you did this, Almoro! You did it.  You created this monster, just as you have created Elena.”

“I am once again impressed by your investigative skills, Antonio. But it changes nothing. You fool yourself and understand little of our designs. Elena exists for la Serenissima. There is much we could have achieved. Her masks were employed numerous times for murderous designs that you know nothing of.  As far as Constantinople, Syria, Egypt, Genoa and Bavaria, we had men dispatch coffers destined for those we wished to assassinate. Our political agenda would have been well advanced but she produced too few masks of that kind. She resisted.”

“Murderer.”

“Where men before us have used poison, we resorted to her sorcery. What of it? Crusading armies rise, armed to the teeth, setting out to rape and pillage as far as the Levant and you are not offended.  Why can you not consider that Elena’s powers could have served the same purpose? Imagine it–an army of masked assassins. Fearless mercenaries. Invincible!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her design, Antonio. What we intended for her. She was to be the eternal guardian of the Republic. She was to create masks that would allow the bearer to feel no pain until the very end. Thousands and thousands of them...”

“And so the cruelty in your hearts knows no bounds.”

“Spare me your weak morality.”

“You took away her life and when she avenged her father, which you know well she did, you tried to cover it up by taunting the Contarini family. I know all, Almoro. I’ll not rest until the truth is out.”

His lips curled into a cynical smile.

“That would make you all the more dangerous, Signor da Parma. You are beyond reason and prone to ill-temper. You do not comprehend the Consiglio’s vision and its dedication to state security.  That is a pity. But do not please yourself in your illusions,
avogadore
. Your time in the Wells may extend for longer than you think.” 

He paused, eyeing me with satisfaction.

“I have to admit that you were a perfect
avogadore
, Antonio. A remarkable intuition, you have.” Then looking at my chains, he added, “although it does not always serve you, wouldn’t you agree?
Si, si.
When we learned of the Contarini murders, there was much cause for alarm. Somehow, and we still ignore how, Elena had tricked her guards and slipped in masks destined for the Contarini household. Cursed masks.  You saw the aftermath. What if someone discovered the secret of these masks? What if the sorcery was revealed to all?  By law, we had to send someone to investigate the Carnivale murders. We had no choice. Blood had to be accounted for.  Someone had to be arrested.  And it was then, that I remembered you. Yes, Antonio. You! Your propensity for delusions was just what we needed to rebuff any findings about those masks.  And there you were, in Venezia, at the exact moment when we had need of you, so eager to please.  I knew you would have sniffed magic. I was willing to take that risk. But yours was such a corrupt nature that I could easily silence you for moral depravity.  This was why, from the beginning, I warned you.”

“Oh, you warned me!”

“
Si
, I knew that your distaste for authority would soon deliver the results I sought. And so I warned you not to delve into your false occult beliefs. I told you that we would have none of that. I never once lied to you. My advice was even recorded in the case deposition which you refused to sign. Your persistence is remarkable. Even with little evidence, you were amenable to believe in the signs of the devil.”

“And I was right. Do not deny it!”

“Oh no, Antonio. You see that is
not
how you will be remembered. This, is between you and me. Your persistence is now recorded as, let me remember the exact terms…ah, yes. You, Antonio da Parma, are the subject of fantastical delusions.
Si, si
. And I, as an old friend have reluctantly admitted to being cognizant of your past. Did you know, that I spoke up in a Collegio hearing, that I admitted to your nature and that I apologized for my foolishness in appointing you? You see how well this suited us, don’t you? In the eyes of the Signoria, your rationality as an officer of the law is under question.  That, Antonio, is exactly what I sought. Is it any wonder, given your impotence, if the Three Capi have been forced to propose an overriding summary for this case?  Should you resent the Three Capi for choosing to refute your far-fetched evidence? No. We have done our duty, Antonio. So you see,” he said, his lips curling into a wicked smile, “you were perfect.”

“Is it to jeer at me that you have brought me here?”

“I can see why you might be afflicted. Our word is all we have.  And your word is worth so little now. Sit, Antonio. Sit. I am old and to see you agitate yourself in this manner wears me out.”

I reluctantly sat back down onto the wet floor, cursing him between my teeth. He observed me with mock pathos.

“You must be cold. Shall I find a blanket for you?”

I met his question with a fuming silence.

“Your mantle,” he continued, pausing to gauge my response. “It did not contain the documents you have stolen from the Secret Chancellery. Now, Antonio, I know how fervently you put yourself at task for this case. And I applaud once again, this remarkable intuition of yours, but surely you know that your crime is punishable by death. I will ask you to remember your place and your chains. I will ask you to tell me where you have placed the cyphered message that you took from us on that night.”

“I have destroyed it.”

“You lie!”

“It is burned and forever gone.”

“Lies again. We shall extract this truth. As I said, I am weary and you are still not in the right mind given your recent poisoning. Perhaps we should discuss this another time.”

“You will not find it, Almoro. But hear me now, hear me this once. The truth will find you in time. When you least expect to see it again, it will come to find you. You and your vultures. You have taken an innocent child from her father and used a gift that she possessed for your own ends. You have converted her craft and reduced it to the vilest black magic. It is you, Almoro, who are the harbinger of this evil, not Elena.”

He stared at me with dismay.

“Why persist with your delusions, Antonio?”

His eyes were cold as he approached. He regarded me, his breath putrid against my face.

“Your innocent child has murdered five men and a young girl of her own age. Her heart is as black as her deeds. Must you be so conceited that you do not see the demon’s offspring even when it strikes?”

“Free her, Almoro. If you had released her and let her be, perhaps even her father would still be alive. Her actions are signs of desperation. You are the cunning liar. She is the victim who fights the way you taught her.”

He shook his head.

“You are beyond saving, Antonio. The devil has got to you.”

He sighed again, moving toward the prison door.

“As you like. Let me tell you something, Antonio. You speak of cunning? You believe we deceive the people? You vouch for their innocence. What you ignore is what people, even the patricians, are capable of when self-driven. Have you already cast from your mind the blasphemy on Francesco Visconti’s body? The dark designs of men should be evident to you. Even from those we least expect… Which reminds me, I know that a certain Blanca Canal assisted you into the Secret Chancellery. It took a little force but she has confessed her crime.”

“I do not believe you. What have you done to her? Speak!”

“Do you care for this woman? I am surprised. It seems that your shady acquaintances run deep, Antonio. But do you know who this woman is? And what she did? Did you know, Antonio that it was Blanca who helped abduct Elena Visconti on January 6, 1416? It was Blanca who deceived the child into taking her hand and who led Elena to the
sbirri
on Befana?”

“Why would she do such a thing?”

“Oh, my poor Antonio. You disappoint me. Why do the Veneziani do as they do? Is it not obvious to you? She needed the money. And I have to admit, Catarina could not have done it herself. She was too fearful of Elena Visconti. Who knows what may have happened. We devised a plan. We sought someone with no ties to the
popolani
, someone we could silence.  It had to be someone pure who could never give Elena the
jettatura
and who would inspire the girl’s trust. With Catarina’s help, we found the secluded convent girl, Blanca. She was lured by a generous reward and knew nothing of the child’s powers.”

“Was this, then, Catarina’s idea?”

“Surprised? She was once a determined woman. Age has filled her with doubts and regrets. Not so her own sister. But that will soon be taken care of. This evening, Antonio, we shall give the people of Venezia something to consider. Let no man think he is beyond the Consiglio. Let no man believe he can outwit us and threaten the State’s security. Blanca Canal has earned her rightful punishment. It is a pity you will not see her hang. Perhaps this would have inspired you to reveal where you have hidden this pendant and the documents you ruthlessly stole from us.”

The thought of Blanca Canal’s death filled me rage.  Almost instantly, I forgot my own plight and thought of Esteban.  I shook with all my being.

“If you do this, you will meet your death, Almoro. I have nothing more to say.”

He emitted a wicked smile.

“Your threats are empty. You should pray for her soul, Antonio. That temptress will have all she deserved. As for the Visconti girl…”

I felt my heart leap in my chest.

“What will you do? Answer me!”

He signaled to the guards outside. They approached to open the grilled doors.

“Answer me, Almoro!”  The grilled doors slammed shut.