by Anna Hoghton
A MESSAGE FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
I never thought that I would read another story about Venice that was as heart-warming, exciting and unexpected as Cornelia Funke’s The Thief Lord. But clever Anna Hoghton has filled that misty, mysterious watery world with a new kind of magic. In The Mask of Aribella, she’s brought to life a thrilling tale of wondrous masks and loyal friendship – and a battle against a deadly foe. Brilliant. Call me a gondola now!
BARRY CUNNINGHAM
Publisher
Chicken House
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Copyright
To Matt and Sue
‘Magic is believing in yourself. If you can do that, you can make anything happen.’
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Aribella and her friend Theo sat side by side on the deck of the fishing boat, looking out across the lagoon to their island home. Already Burano’s brightly coloured cottages were dissolving into the distance. It was the last morning of September, the day before Aribella’s thirteenth birthday.
‘Aren’t you going to help?’ Theo’s papa called, struggling with the sail. ‘The others are leaving us behind.’
Theo rolled his eyes but sprang to his feet.
Aribella stayed where she was. Girls were bad luck on boats, so fishing folk said. Thankfully, Theo’s papa wasn’t as superstitious as the rest of them and allowed Aribella on board, but he drew the line at her handling the sail. Since he was already doing her a kindness, she did not complain. All the same, she watched Theo keenly as he wrestled with the ropes, trying to learn as much as she could.
The dirty old sail whipped about the creaking mast, then billowed and caught. Theo let out a small whoop of triumph.
‘Bravo!’ his papa called, angling the rudder.
The ancient fishing boat began to move smoothly across the dark water, gathering momentum, and soon joined the small fleet sailing towards the main island of Venice.
Sleepy-eyed boys regarded Aribella warily from the decks of the other boats. She dropped her gaze, used to these sorts of looks.
Theo flopped back down beside her. ‘Still don’t get why you wanna come,’ he said, dipping the toe of his boot into the passing water. ‘I have to, but you – you could spend the morning exploring rooftops, or playing with Luna, or swimming, or—’
‘I like coming,’ Aribella interrupted, wrapping her cloak round her body.
Theo snorted. ‘No one likes getting covered in fish guts.’
‘I don’t mind it,’ she insisted.
‘Suit yourself,’ Theo scoffed, but he was smiling.
The lagoon and sky lightened to orange and pink. The world was soft and hazy, like the edge of a dream. Other fishermen called greetings to Theo’s papa, which he returned cheerily. Aribella felt a tug of yearning as she looked up at his open, bearded face. He was so bright and full of life, so unlike her father.
Aribella loved helping at the fish market – the pescheria – because, just for a short while, it made her feel that she was part of something, that she belonged. And though she felt guilty for admitting it, she relished the excuse to be out of Papa’s gloomy house, where he sat, day after day, making his beautiful lace in silent mourning. It had been ten years since Mama passed but Papa had never recovered. Aribella had been an infant and could barely remember her. She worried about Papa constantly, except at the market, where she was so busy she could forget for a while – though she’d feel bad about that afterwards.
Theo leant back on his elbows and closed his eyes. Aribella kept hers open, gazing at the other islands as they floated by. There was Sant’ Erasmo, dotted with farms that produced fruit and vegetables for the whole city. Some Burano boys had once tried to steal artichokes there and been chased off with sticks. Lots more boats were setting off from the island’s jetty, on their way to market. Next was Murano, the renowned glass-blowers’ island, and then San Michele, the cemetery island.
Gulls cried on the horizon and the sun slid out of the lagoon. Thin trails of pale blue ribboned the sky and the main island of Venice came dazzlingly into view.
Piazza San Marco was already full of crowds. The rising sun shone off the red brick of the bell tower, the campanile, and the pale walls of the Doge’s palace gleamed. It was low and rectangular, decorated like the most beautiful cake, with a pattern of stone arches that were as intricate as Papa’s lace. Rows of dark windows looked out towards the lagoon like the eyeholes of a Venetian mask.
As their boat got closer, she made out the carving of the head of a lion in the palace wall, its jaws open. The Lion’s Mouth. She was too far away to read the inscription engraved underneath, but she knew what it said. Even children who couldn’t read knew: Per Denontie Segrete – ‘For Secret Accusations’.
Parents warned naughty children that their names would be put into the Lion’s Mouth and the Doge’s guards would come and punish them . . . Of course it wasn’t really for disobedient children. Anyone seen as dangerous could have their name placed in the Lion’s Mouth at any time, by anyone. No one knew what happened to them after the guards came. Some said they were thrown into the palace prison. Others, that they were hanged between the columns in Piazza San Marco in the dead of night . . .
One thing was for sure: you didn’t want to find out. Aribella shivered.
‘Hello? Aribella?’ Theo waved a hand in front of her eyes.
‘Sorry. I was miles away.’ She smiled. ‘What were you saying?’
But whatever it was, was forgotten, because the next instant Theo jumped to his feet, making the boat rock, and pointed, shouting, ‘Santo cielo! It’s the Doge.’
Sure enough, sweeping ahead of them, moving far faster than the fishing boats, was a fleet of elegant gondolas, steered by masked palace guards. And seated in the middle gondola, recognizable by his snow-white robes and glittering diamond mask, was the Doge of Venice.
Aribella jumped to her feet too. The Doge had not been seen outside the palace for months and had been ill for years. A cheer rose up as he raised a gloved hand and waved. He had always been generous to the poor, at least before he fell ill.
‘Good to see him up and about,’ said Theo’s papa.
The Doge turned towards them, and his jewelled mask flashed blindingly in the sun so that Aribella had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, the Doge had turned back towards the palace.
‘Do you think he wears the mask to hide how poorly he is?’ she asked Theo.
Theo shrugged. ‘Maybe. I remember seeing him when I was little and I swear he didn’t wear a mask then. You weren’t even born,’ he teased, adding, ‘He probably just likes it. If I owned a mask with that many jewels on, I’d wear it all the time too. Though it’s not his mask I’d want—’
‘It’s the gondolas,’ Aribella finished.
Theo smiled. ‘Just look at them – they’re so fast! Do you
know that they’re made from several different types of wood? Oak, cherry, elm, pine . . .’
As a matter of fact, Aribella did know because Theo had already told her – many times.
‘And they’re deliberately lop-sided to counter-balance the weight of the rower at the back,’ he continued. ‘And that curved bit at the front – that’s called the ferro. Isn’t it, Papa? Oh, I’d love to own a gondola one day.’ Theo sighed wistfully.
Theo’s papa rolled his eyes and ignored him.
‘Maybe you will,’ Aribella said encouragingly.
Theo only sighed again and Aribella regretted her words. She knew what Theo was thinking: only those born into rich Venetian families got to own gondolas. Theo would be a fisherman all his life, like his father and grandfather before him. Still, at least he knew his place in the world. Aribella envied the clearness of his path. Her own was as murky as canal water.
The palace fleet reached the jetty. The Doge stepped from his gondola and disappeared through an archway into the palace, followed by his guards. A few fishermen let out groans of disappointment to see him go, calling out wishes for his good health. The fishing boats swung away from the palace, moved past the campanile and entered the Grand Canal, the main waterway of the city, which snaked in an S-shaped curve through the main island. This morning, as on all mornings except Sundays, it was a sparkling ribbon of activity, packed with trading boats laden with wares: bright tomatoes and flashing sardines among them.
More traders called greetings to Theo’s papa.
‘Ciao! Buongiorno!’ Theo’s papa called back, and Aribella glowed with pride just to be on the same boat.
She gazed up at the grand palazzos either side of the Grand Canal that were the homes of Venice’s richest families. The flower-covered balconies, beautiful jetties and arched entrances were a world away from the higgledy-piggledy cottages on Burano. Many were worthy rivals to the Doge’s palace itself, and the sun slid from window to window as if it couldn’t decide which to stay in. Aribella and Theo spent many morning journeys fantasizing about what it might be like to live in a palazzo. Theo always teased Aribella about her favourite, which was halfway along the Grand Canal, just before the Rialto Bridge. The orange-and-purple stained-glass doors were smashed and boarded up, and the canary-yellow paint was peeling. It was a wonder it hadn’t been torn down, but Aribella was glad it hadn’t. There was just something about it that she liked.
The world was suddenly cold and dark as their fishing boat slipped into the shadow beneath the Rialto Bridge. Aribella and Theo played their usual game of touching the underside with their fingers. It had seemed so tricky when they were young and small, but now they could both reach the slimy bricks with ease.
It reminded Aribella that her days following Theo to the market were numbered. Thirteen was considered an adult by some. Theo was going to be a fisherman but what would she become? A lacemaker like Papa? She was clumsy and awful at sewing, but how else would she and Papa survive when his eyesight worsened, as it surely would?
She pushed these worries from her mind as they emerged back into the bright sunshine on the other side of the bridge. As usual, she caught the smell of the pescheria – a pungent, salty odour that she’d grown to love – even before she saw the colourful mishmash of stalls crammed under the arches of the loggia.
Theo’s papa docked the boat on the traders’ jetty and went ahead to set up the stall, leaving Aribella and Theo to unload the fish. The crates were half-empty today, just as they had been all year. The recent decline of fish in the lagoon was making every family on Burano anxious. No one could afford to lose money.
‘Bad catch again this week,’ Theo muttered.
‘Everyone’s in the same boat,’ a nearby fisherman remarked. ‘Must be a change in the swell or something.’
‘Pah!’ called another, his expression dark. ‘It’s been eight months of this! I’ll tell you the real reason. Fortune teller said a blood moon’s comin’. And you know what that means.’
‘What?’ asked the first fisherman.
‘It’s a bad omen. Very bad indeed.’ The second man gave Aribella a suspicious look she pretended not to see.
‘What’s a blood moon?’ Aribella muttered to Theo as they carried the crates away.
‘No idea, just some rubbish.’ He shrugged. Like his papa, Theo didn’t have time for folk tales and other ‘superstitious nonsense’. ‘That man wastes all his family’s bread money on fortune tellers and palm readers, Papa told me,’ he added dismissively.
Palm readers were always robbing fishermen of their hard-earned coins. But she couldn’t get the way the man had stared at her out of her head. She was used to dirty looks from other children, but the adults usually let her be.
Aribella tried not to think about it and concentrated on working hard instead.
It turned out to be a fun morning. She and Theo prepared all the fish, and sold a decent amount too. Theo made her laugh by pretending a lobster was alive and dancing it across the table. At lunchtime, his papa brought them warm bread rolls and they sat down on the cold stone of the canal-side to eat, their legs dangling over the water. The canal smelt a great deal better in autumn than in summer, and though it was chilly, it was pleasant sitting there in the sunshine with Theo.
‘Are you and your papa doing anything nice tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘No. Why?’ Aribella asked.
‘Because it’s your birthday, of course! Thirteen is a big one, you know.’
‘Oh.’ Aribella flushed. She’d almost forgotten and Papa wasn’t likely to remember either. When she was little, Papa would buy her a slice of cake to mark the day, but as she’d grown older he’d stopped. It was as if each birthday reminded him that yet another year had passed without Mama.
‘Nothing planned,’ she muttered hastily. ‘You know how he is.’
‘Is he still sad?’ Theo asked. ‘Sorry, I just mean . . . well, it’s been ten years.’
‘I know. But if anything he’s getting worse.’ She looked away, swallowing hard. If she thought about it too much it made her eyes sting.
‘Sorry, Ari. I don’t mean to upset you . . . I only mean that maybe you could remind him or something? I’m sure he’d want to celebrate.’
‘Maybe,’ Aribella said. Theo was being kind, but she couldn’t imagine Papa celebrating anything.
Theo seemed about to say something else when a sneering voice made them both turn.
‘Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.’
Aribella’s stomach dropped.
Gian was a tall boy, with greasy hair and lips that did not turn up at the edges when he smiled, though this did not often happen and was usually at someone else’s expense.
Theo stiffened. ‘Shove off, Gian.’
‘Got every right to be here,’ Gian replied. ‘Not like her. She’s not one of us.’
Theo’s mouth opened to reply.
‘Theo, it’s fine,’ Aribella said quickly. After years of this, she knew that Theo sticking up for her just made things worse. Gian looked for any excuse to have a fight. She’d learnt that the best reaction was no reaction at all.
Unfortunately, Gian seemed bored today. ‘What’s that you got there?’ he asked, swiping the last half of Aribella’s bread roll and shoving it in his mouth. ‘Yuck, stale.’ He spat the unchewed roll into the canal.
Aribella watched it disappear and tried not to think of how hungry she would be later.
‘You can’t do that,’ Theo said crossly. ‘Here.’
He tried to hand Aribella the remains of his roll but she shook her head.
‘It’s fine, I’m not hungry.’
Gian was still looming over them, like a dark cloud. ‘You heard what they’re all saying at market? That blood moon stuff?’
Theo rolled his eyes. ‘You’re not listening to silly stories again, are you, Gian?’
‘They’re not silly stories! The blood moon is real. It’s an omen.’
‘An omen of w
hat?’ Theo scoffed.
Gian paused dramatically. ‘That the dead are rising. Evil, soul-sucking spirits. Out on the lagoon.’
The hairs on Aribella’s neck tingled as Gian’s words hung in the air. Theo was silent. Did he believe this? she wondered – until she realized that he was struggling not to laugh. Her fear eased instantly as they both began to giggle.
Gian’s face turned lobster red.
‘If you believe that, then you’re more stupid than you look,’ Theo muttered, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, ‘which is saying something.’
Gian’s face went from red to purple. ‘What did you say?’ he barked, his eyes popping dangerously.
‘Nothing,’ Theo said innocently. ‘Think Gian’s hearing things, Ari.’
Aribella couldn’t resist. ‘Maybe it’s the evil, soul-sucking spirits,’ she murmured, and they both doubled over.
Gian’s expression turned darker than a sea storm in winter. He grabbed Theo’s shirt collar and pulled him to his feet.
‘Let go of him!’ Aribella shouted.
‘You ought to be careful who you’re loyal to, Theo,’ Gian spat, ignoring her. ‘She’s not even from Burano. Nor her papa. No one knows where they came from but they don’t belong with us.’
Theo twisted out of Gian’s grip. ‘Shut up!’
Gian’s eyes gleamed malevolently. ‘Why doesn’t her papa leave his house? Why doesn’t he talk to anyone? And what happened to her mama? She doesn’t even know! Doesn’t even know her own mama’s name, I heard.’
Aribella tried not to react but her face was growing hot with shame. Who didn’t know their own mama’s name? Papa refused to tell her anything about Mama, however much she begged.
‘Don’t you dare talk about Aribella’s family like that!’ Theo snapped.
‘Want to know what I think?’ Gian asked, grinning.
‘You think? That’s a surprise,’ Theo replied, squaring up to him.
‘Theo, just leave it, please . . .’Aribella said.
‘I think her papa killed her mama,’ Gian went on. ‘That’s why he’s so weird about it. That’s why it’s all a big secret.’