Even though no one was around, Anna eased open the bedroom door and slipped inside the room soundlessly. Orelia had left several candles burning so the room was alive with warm orange light. She’d only been with them a short time and already the room felt so lived in. And so full of secrets.
She pulled aside the painting of the countryside. The niche behind it was empty. Anna placed the flower gently down inside it and sighed. Why was Maria so concerned with a small ornament Anna found years ago? Surely, it wasn’t worth that much, not in a city practically made of glass. Maybe, just like every other time, Anna was being punished for wanting more than her simple life.
Orelia finally settled into bed late that night, or was it early the next morning? She was not quite sure of the time. The sky was still very dark outside her bedroom window but that was not very telling. Morning had a way of sneaking up on you in Venice. One minute it was the middle of the night and the next minute the sun was rising. They had spent the evening at another ball. Unlike the other balls Orelia had been to so far, this one had three separate ballrooms and when guests had arrived they were given a colored mask that corresponded to one of the three ballrooms. You couldn’t change ballrooms unless you swapped masks with someone else or unless you had one of the few elusive black masks that allowed you to enter any ballroom. It was these people who orchestrated many of the swaps. It was more like a game than a dance. Orelia had only made it to two out of three of the ballrooms. The best part about the night had been that she had not run into Bastian. In fact, though there had been many people at the ball, all masked, she was fairly certain he wasn’t there. Angelique had searched for hours and not found him. Neither of them had seen him since the night at La Fenice a week ago.
Thinking about it now, Orelia reasoned that it must be early morning. The servants had all retired for the night so Orelia had to either go through the long task of undressing herself or go to bed as she was. She began to unpin her gown when there was a knock on the door. ‘It’s just me,’ said Angelique before Orelia had even had a chance to open it.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Orelia when they were face to face.
Angelique looked wide-eyed and wild. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Of course.’ Orelia stepped aside and Angelique slipped into the room, closing the door behind herself. She was wearing just her chemise and her hair was loose. Orelia had not realized how long her hair actually was. It looked even more golden in the dark than it did in the daylight. Under her arm, she held a pair of low heeled slippers and a white mask. ‘I won’t stay long,’ she said. ‘I’m going out.’
‘But we just got back.’
‘I’m not the least bit tired and there’s a street party in Campo San Lio that I’m dying to go to. There’ll be singing, and fried food and country dancing. I’m not very good at the dance, it’s so fast, but that’s half the fun. You should come with me! It’s not too far, just over in the Castello district.’
‘I don’t know... I am quite tired.’
‘Oh, come on.’ Angelique did her signature pout, which was hard to refuse at the best of times, not to mention when Orelia was half considering her offer.
‘Next time?’
‘Fine, next time. Anyway, I was hoping I could borrow a dress. None of my gowns are really suitable for a street party and you have so many beautiful dresses that you brought with you that would be perfect.’
Orelia opened a drawer. ‘There’s not many to choose from.’
Angelique pulled out a pale blue dress and held it up against herself. ‘This is the one.’ Without sparing a moment, she pulled in on over the top of her chemise. She spun in a circle, stopping to admire herself in a floor length mirror on the wall. ‘Yes, this is perfect. Thank you!’
‘Well, have a good time,’ said Orelia.
Angelique gave her a hug. ‘I will. Sleep well.’
Orelia stared at her bedroom door for a few minutes after Angelique had gone. Should she go? It did sound like fun. Was she really that tired?
Within a few more minutes, her mind was made up. She wouldn’t be able to catch up to Angelique now but surely she could find her way to Campo San Lio and surprise Angelique there. She unpinned her gown and took off her pannier and petticoats. She left her stays on since unlacing it would take too long. Over the top she pulled on a simple white dress. She grabbed a red mask off her dresser that she’d been given at the ball they had just come home from and tied it to her face.
She didn’t quite believe she was sneaking out in the early hours of the morning to go to a street party until she found herself outside the palace, crossing a bridge. She knew the general direction of the Castello district from their trips to mass at Santa Maria Formosa on Sunday mornings, but as she got further and further away from the house she wished she’d gone with Angelique. Everything looked the same at night and she quickly lost any idea of where she was heading. There were other people passing by who she could ask for directions but they either seemed too withdrawn or too drunk to approach.
Orelia decided to at least stick to a path lit by street lights. The dark streets, especially those that ran alongside the canals upon which gondolas glided by almost soundlessly, frightened her. She also decided that if she didn’t find Angelique or the street party in the next ten minutes, she would go home. She prayed that her careful observations of every bridge she crossed and street she turned down would get her home.
She heard the street party before she saw it. The sounds of shouting and laughter overlaid with the pings of guitars led her around bend after bend, almost at a running pace, until she emerged, almost breathless, in a large square filled with people. It was brightly lit up by a bonfire in one corner. Orelia stood on the outskirt and took it all in: the group of musicians sitting beneath the well-head playing guitars, the people dancing nearby, the smell of cooking oil and something sweet she could not name. There were people playing cards in one corner of the square and others jumping, fully clothed, off a bridge into the canal. Some people were wearing costumes of characters Orelia now recognized as from the Commedia dell’Arte, but many were dressed just like her. The whole scene was as enchanting as any ballroom.
Angelique was right; this seemed like the place you could have real fun. But where was Angelique? Her eyes searched the crowd for a pale blue dress and Angelique’s golden hair, but unless she was trying to be inconspicuous, which was not Angelique’s style, she was not here. Was Orelia at the right place?
She walked over to a woman bent over a pot hanging over a small fire. ‘Excuse me, what square is this?’ asked Orelia.
‘Campo San Gallo.’
No wonder Angelique wasn’t here. Orelia had stumbled across the wrong party. She looked around wondering if she should continue on and try to find Angelique or just stay here. Her mind was made up quite quickly. She didn’t want to leave, not yet. And besides, she’d probably get lost trying to find the other square. It was only by chance she’d stumbled across this one.
‘Treat yourself to some fried sole,’ said the woman. ‘It’s the best in this district.’
Orelia smiled. ‘It smells wonderful but I don’t have any money with me.’
‘Then it’s my treat.’ The woman used a spoon with holes in it to pull the small fried chunks of fish out of the pot of oil. She tipped them onto a piece of paper and held it out for Orelia to take. ‘What’s a celebration without good food?’
‘Thank you,’ said Orelia. ‘That’s very kind of you.’ She lifted one of the fried morsels to her lips. It was crunchy and salty. ‘This is delicious! What are we celebrating?’
‘The mattress maker’s wife won the lottery. That’s her over there.’ Orelia’s new friend gestured to a plump woman stamping her feet and dancing like she had no care in the world.
Before Orelia could continue the conversation, the sound of something bursting in a fire made her jump. She looked over at the cheeri
ng crowd surrounding the bonfire. ‘What are they doing over there?’
‘They’re burning figurines of witches.’
‘Oh…’ she said, wishing she hadn’t asked. She turned her attention away from the bonfire to a group of men and woman holding hands dancing in a circle. ‘That dance, is that the furlana?’
‘It is. Are you good at it?’
‘Actually, I am. I learnt when I was a child.’
The woman waved a hand in the direction of the dancers. ‘Go on then, go dance.’
Orelia finished off the last piece of fried sole, thanked the woman again and put the paper on the fire beneath the pot. She had not even reached the dancers when a space opened up for her. She took the hands of a man and woman, closing the circle again. One leg skipped over the other and then again in the other direction. Then she kicked her feet towards the middle of the circle, keeping up perfectly with the other dancers. Around and around she went, getting pleasantly dizzy. She laughed when a man broke apart from the circle and entered the middle, performing a series of circles and bends to everyone’s delight.
When he returned to his spot in the circle a few minutes later, Orelia let go of the hands she was holding and danced into the middle. The people in the circle clapped and cheered her along. Among them were a group of young men. They pushed one of their friends forward. He was dressed in the colorful patchwork costume of a harlequin. He stumbled a bit and then righted himself in front Orelia. ‘Could I join you for his dance, miss?’ From the sound of his voice and lack of stubble on his skin, Orelia guessed that he was no older than fifteen or sixteen.
‘Certainly,’ answered Orelia.
They linked arms and skipped in a circle, in one direction and then the other. He was a terrible dancer and he kept tripping over his own feet but he continued smiling as if he was the one who had won the lottery.
‘Thank you for the dance, miss,’ he said bowing before her.
Orelia took his face between her hands and placed a kiss on his forehead. His friends cheered. They both re-joined the circle and continued dancing.
After a few minutes, all the dancers then broke off into pairs. Orelia linked arms with a woman around Aunt Portia’s age and they danced around each other. Orelia laughed at the exaggerated faces the woman made. It came time to swap partners. Before Orelia had a chance to look around at the candidates, she was swept up by the young man in the harlequin costume she’d danced with in the circle. Or at least she thought it was him until she noticed the boy dancing with one of his male friends a few feet away from them. His dancing was unmistakable. But then, who was this harlequin she dancing with now?
‘You are far better at the furlana than the minuet, Miss Orelia.’
The moment he said her name she knew exactly who he was. Of all the people in all the places she had to run into Bastian. He watched her from the corner of his eye as they skipped around, arms linked like the other couples.
‘I’m not sure who you’re talking about,’ she said, holding his gaze. ‘My name is Bianca.’
Bastian pushed a lock of hair away from her face. ‘If you are really not Orelia, prove it.’
‘How?’ said Orelia in a challenging voice.
‘Orelia does not have a very high opinion of me and she would never kiss me. So...’
Orelia left out a huff. ‘That is not happening.’
The other couples separated to change partners again but Bastian retained a firm hold of Orelia’s arm. ‘I thought you might say that. Let’s see... what else would Orelia not do?’ The corner of his mouth turned up mischievously. He was looking behind her at a group the people jumping off a bridge into the canal. ‘Go for a swim.’
Orelia laughed. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘Miss Bianca would do it, I’m sure.’ He let go of her arm and grinned as if expecting her to admit that she was Orelia rather than accept his challenge.
‘Very well.’ Orelia hitched up her skirt and walked to the bridge with determined steps. It was Carnival, after all.
She climbed the few steps to the middle of the bridge then swung her feet over so that she was sitting on the ledge.
‘Come in!’ cheered one of the young men from the water.
Orelia looked down. It wasn’t that far at all. She could really just slip into the water from where she sat perched. But then she looked over and saw Bastian watching from the pavement alongside the canal. The way he was smiling, so sure that she would back out, made Orelia want to prove him wrong more than anything else. She slipped her feet out of her slippers and pushed herself up to standing. How better to prove Bastian wrong than by executing the perfect dive. A million thoughts entered her head as she broke the surface of the water in the canal, the first being how absolutely freezing it was. What if she got sick? What sorts of horrors were lurking in the water below? What was she going to say when she turned up to the palace in a wet dress? Then out of nowhere, Orelia started laughing and laughing.
She swam to the edge of the canal. Bastian was waiting there with an enormous grin on his face. She took his outstretched hand and let him pull her up out of the water onto the pavement. Her dress was heavy and stuck to her skin but nothing could bother her at that moment. She felt so alive.
‘I’m impressed, Miss Bianca,’ he said with a nod. ‘But, please, keep your distance now. I don’t want to get wet. I’m much smarter than that.’
Orelia was about to slap him half-playfully when she decided otherwise and gave him a big, wet hug instead.
‘Ahhh,’ he said shaking her off.
Orelia laughed.
‘What on earth were you thinking?’ scolded the woman who’d given her the fried sole. She hurried over to Orelia and slapped her lightly on the arm. ‘Look at you. You better come inside. I’ll lend you one of my daughter’s dresses before you catch a cold.’
Orelia followed the woman into one of the houses surrounding the square. She waited in a downstairs room while the woman found her something dry to wear. She changed and thanked the woman over and over. When she stepped back into the street wearing a pale yellow dress, the party was still roaring on but Bastian was nowhere to be seen.
Bastian and Marco crossed a bridge away from Campo San Polo, the sounds of the street party following them on the night’s crisp air. The celebrations would no doubt go until daybreak, but the two friends had decided to find some other fun. It was Bastian who suggested to move on since he had a feeling Orelia was the type of girl who didn’t know what she wanted until it was no longer there. Although, she had surprised him tonight, so maybe there were more to her than he knew.
Bastian tossed the last of his fried sole into his mouth. ‘Where do you want to go now?’
‘Since we’ve been slumming it tonight, why don’t we go to a tavern? I feel like some cheap wine,’ replied Marco.
‘As long as there is one not far; my legs are aching.’
‘That’s because you’ve spent the last few hours dancing the furlana with every woman in San Polo.’
Bastian replied with a smile. ‘Not every woman. The mattress maker’s wife was a bit too much woman for me.’
Marco laughed.
After crossing another bridge, they found a tavern, but as they approached the entrance they came upon something, or rather someone, in their way.
‘Isn’t that Salvador Oro?’ said Bastian, peering down at the expensively clothed body lying spread-eagled on the paving stones.
Marco nodded. ‘Who else wears bile and Burano lace so beautifully together?’
‘Is he alive?’ said Bastian, watching closely for any signs of life.
Marco nudged Salvador’s side with his boot. ‘Yes, he’s breathing. Shame, really.’
‘That’s a bit unfair. He’s not too bad when you get to know him.’
‘I can’t stand him. You know his family’s fortune was made centuries
ago through trading wax,’ said Marco, circling Salvador’s body.
‘Are you jealous of his family’s wealth?’
Marco scoffed. ‘They say he bathes in diamonds!’
‘That would just hurt.’ said Bastian with a grimace.
‘I don’t think Salvador feels much.’ Marco gave Salvador a hard kick to the leg. ‘See?’ A mischievous light came into Marco’s eyes.
Bastian knew what that meant.
‘I bet I can convince Salvador when he wakes up, that he is a poor man with not even two ducats to rub together,’ said Marco. ‘I bet I can convince him that his life of wealth and privilege was all just a dream.’
‘How do you intend to do that?’
‘Leave that to me. Is it a bet?’
‘Fine. I bet that you can’t convince Salvador Oro that he is poor,’ said Bastian, eyeing the ruby ring on Marco’s finger.
‘Good. Now help me with him.’
Bastian grabbed Salvador’s feet, while Marco lifted him from beneath the arms. ‘Where are we taking him?’ Bastian asked as they walked down the street, carrying Salvador between them. Even though he was disguised, Bastian cast anxious glances at the people they passed. The last thing he needed was for his father to hear about this. ‘Doge’s son seen carrying dead body through San Marco’, the Gazzetta Veneta would read. Fortunately, no one they passed seemed to notice the limp body between the two of them, or if they did they simply didn’t care. It was Carnival, after all.
‘We’ll take him to my apartment in Santa Croce,’ answered Marco.
‘I didn’t know you had an apartment.’
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