by Anna Hoghton
‘That’s not true!’ Aribella shouted. She hated rising to Gian’s bait but she couldn’t stand him calling Papa a murderer. Papa had loved her mama, she was sure. This truth was what she held on to when she felt most lonely – that her parents had once loved each another. That Papa had once been happy. Sometimes it was all the comfort she had.
That was the moment her fingers began to tingle, quite suddenly, like pins and needles. At first she thought it was the cold – gutting fish all morning without gloves could do that – but it was such a strange sensation that she looked down at her hands. They were oddly blotchy. She clenched them into fists.
‘My mama died too,’ Theo growled. ‘You want to tell me that my papa killed her?’
‘Your mama died of pneumonia, everyone knows that. It wasn’t some great big mystery.’
‘Come on, Theo, let’s get back to the stall,’ Aribella urged. The tingling in her fingers was more painful now, like needles stabbing into her nail beds. What was going on? She stuffed her fists into her pockets and pushed past Gian, moving between the stalls. Theo followed.
‘Yes, if you don’t mind, we’ve got work to do,’ he called back.
But Gian followed them to their table. ‘Can’t you see that I’m trying to help you, Theo? You’ll catch something nasty hanging around with her.’
‘Just so long as we don’t catch stupidity from you,’ Theo replied, loudly this time.
Gian’s eyes flashed and pushed Theo hard, making him crash into a crate.
Aribella felt a rush of blood to her fingers, and a rush of something else – more urgent, angry and hot than anything she’d felt before. It coursed through her like a fever dream, like someone had lit a match and her whole body had become a firework about to rocket into the sky and explode. Her fingers were so full of the shooting pain now that tears sprang to her eyes. She saw Gian take another step towards Theo and, without thinking about it, her hands flew out of her pockets to grab Gian and pull him off, when –
Her fingers burst into flame.
It took Aribella a moment to comprehend what she was seeing. Her fingers were alight! Bright yellow sparks danced on each fingertip, as if her hands were made of matches. What in the lagoon . . . ?
She realized Gian was screaming. Panic seared through her. She released her grip and stumbled back, dazed. The sparks disappeared and Gian fell into another market stall with a crash, knocking eels all over the cobblestones. He continued to scream, writhing around in the eels, clutching his arm. His shirt, Aribella saw now, was frayed and burnt where her fingers had touched it. Did she really do that?
She stared down at her hands. The skin on her fingers was bright red and raw, as if she’d pressed them against a stove, and the pain was all too real.
Theo caught hold of her. ‘Ari, are you all right? What did you . . . ?’
Aribella opened her mouth to explain but . . . how had she done it? She didn’t understand.
‘She burnt me,’ Gian spluttered, finding his voice. Then he was stumbling to his feet, shouting, ‘I knew she was bad, I knew it! She’s the reason for the omens. She’s a curse . . . a demon! A witch!’
‘No!’ Aribella gasped. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be . . . Her entire body ached and stung, as if she’d swum a great distance, and she was horribly aware of the ominous hush that had fallen over the other market stalls and the countless faces that had turned to stare. Theo was standing beside her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face. What would she see? Confusion, anger, fear? She couldn’t bear it.
‘Witch!’ Gian screamed again. ‘I’ll put your name in the Lion’s Mouth. You and your weird papa. Witch, witch, witch!’
Aribella couldn’t move or speak. People were crowding round now. Other boys and girls took up Gian’s chant: ‘Witch, witch, witch!’ Hands reached out to grab her.
‘Get back,’ someone shouted – maybe Theo – but Aribella was already twisting away from their grasps, already pelting from the market, her boots and heart pounding in unison. What had she done? How had that happened?
Aribella didn’t dare look back. She raced across the Rialto, shoving through the crowds on the bridge, and plunged into the twisted and narrow streets on the other side of the city.
The ghastly chant carried on the wind behind her, following at every turn until she wasn’t sure if it was real or in her head.
Witch, witch, witch . . .
But there was only so far she could run. Once her name was in the Lion’s Mouth the guards would come looking . . . and what would she do then?
Aribella hid on the main island for the rest of the afternoon, lurking in shadowy alleyways and keeping out of sight. She eventually made her way to the campanile at Piazza San Marco, reasoning that any guards looking for her would not expect to find her so near the Doge’s palace. How long did it take them to act on accusations from the Lion’s Mouth?
She tried the tower door and found it unlocked. She climbed the hundreds of steps to the top and emerged into the open air. There, she sat under the enormous golden bell, looking down over the city she loved. The rooftops were so close it seemed as if they were whispering secrets to one another, as if they were one big family of which she was not a part.
Aribella shivered wretchedly and examined the new scars on her fingers. Her mind reached for explanations but found none. How had this happened?
She sat there until her limbs ached. The bell bellowed above her every hour, sending nesting pigeons wheeling away and forcing Aribella to shove her sore hands over her ringing ears. In the last light of the setting sun, the bell rang five times, and she saw the silhouettes of the little fishing boats heading back towards Burano.
Gian must have put her name in the Lion’s Mouth by now. Had he put Papa’s name in too? Would the guards go to Burano tonight? Had they been already? She should have thought of that before. She briefly considered not returning to Burano at all – would that protect Papa? – but she had to at least warn him, if it wasn’t already too late . . . What if she was too late? She should have left sooner.
Aribella stretched her aching limbs and hurriedly climbed back down to the square. Her stomach was growling like a wild animal. She kept her head down as she rushed towards the jetty where she managed to persuade a glass-blower from Murano to take her back to Burano in exchange for her lace-edged handkerchief. Mercifully, she asked few questions.
The sun dipped below the horizon as the boat crossed the lagoon, and the sky was dark by the time the glass-blower dropped her at Burano’s harbour. Aribella ran through the cobbled streets, her pace only slowing when she reached the bridge that led to Via Fortuna. The name of their street had always struck her as ironic, given how little fortune they’d had. The only good fortune was that Theo lived there too.
The other cottages were quiet but their windows glowed, suggesting warm fires and hot dinners inside. She crept past, hoping no one would see her. She’d never felt more of an outsider in her life, as if she were a ghost haunting someone else’s world.
She couldn’t resist peering into Theo’s kitchen window as she passed, but immediately regretted it. Inside, the table was laid and Theo’s younger brother and sister were playing and laughing with their papa. Even without Theo, the happy scene filled Aribella with a longing as deep as an ocean. Theo’s family might not have a mama any more either, but there was a warmth in their kitchen that she had never known in her own. Theo’s house was a proper home.
His little sister Mia looked up and saw her. She smiled. Aribella’s breath caught. She pressed a finger to her lips and slid back into the shadows, knowing that if Mia had been old enough to understand what had happened at the market today, she wouldn’t have smiled like that. What about Theo? Did he hate her now? The thought was too awful.
Feeling utterly miserable, Aribella continued along the dark street, tensing at every noise – the hoot of an owl, the closing of a door. At last she reached Papa’s bone-white cottage, which stood, bleak and cheerless, betwe
en the other more colourful cottages.
She paused. What if the guards were already inside? She listened carefully, but heard nothing.
A black shape shot out of the shadows making her jump.
‘Oh, Luna, thank goodness it’s only you!’ Aribella whispered, her heart returning to its normal rhythm as she smiled down at the black cat tangling around her ankles. She scooped her up and buried her face in the warm fur.
Luna was the name Theo and Aribella had given the stray when they’d first found her on the harbour when they were small. They fed her scraps of fish left over from market and often saved her from the sting of Gian’s boots. Aribella thought again about what had happened at the market, and quickly put Luna down. The cat mewed disgruntledly.
‘I’m sorry, Luna. It’s not safe. I might hurt you.’ Aribella’s lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears. She turned away and pushed through the front door into the tiny kitchen, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the gloom.
As usual, Papa hadn’t lit any candles, so the only light came from a low fire in the hearth that needed stoking. The wind moaned through the chimney and sent the windows creaking like old bones. It was nearly as cold inside the kitchen as it was outside.
There was no sign of any guards. Papa was hunched in his rocking chair, a blanket wrapped round his frail shoulders.
His fingers flew back and forth across the trail of lace in his lap, like spiders weaving an intricate web. Even now, full of fear and panic, Aribella marvelled at his skill. The technique he used was called punto in aria – ‘stitching in air’. But usually only women made lace; another reason Papa was so excluded.
The smell of cooked onions lingered, and Aribella noticed the black pot over the hearth. Papa must have made soup. She shut the door and stood wringing her blistered fingers, wondering where to begin.
‘Papa, I’ve done something awful,’ she said at last.
Papa looked up. His face creased into grooves of concern. It had been so long since he’d shown any signs of emotion that Aribella could hold on to herself no longer. Hot tears spilt down her cheeks.
‘I did something, Papa, something I didn’t mean to . . . something I don’t even know how to explain.’ She knew she wasn’t making any sense. But how could she get Papa to understand when she didn’t understand it herself?
‘I was angry,’ she began, looking at the floor instead of at him. ‘This boy was saying nasty things at the market. About Mama. Theo tried to stick up for me but the boy attacked him, and then I don’t know what happened, I was just so angry I . . . I sort of exploded. There was this rushing feeling – all the way through me.’ Aribella tried to remember exactly what had happened. ‘Then my fingers were stinging, and suddenly sparks shot out of them . . . little flames of fire. I know it sounds mad but I swear I’m not lying! And now Gian – the boy – he’s going to put my name in the Lion’s Mouth, Papa, and maybe yours too. They could come for us at any moment. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did this. I don’t know how I did this or what any of it means. It feels like an awful dream, like a nightmare . . .’
She could barely breathe, her chest was so tight. But there it was, the truth – at least, what she understood of it – out in the open between her and Papa. But what of the part she didn’t understand? Was she really a curse? A witch?
She looked up. Papa’s face had gone quite white and his eyes had grown wide.
‘Did anyone else see it happen?’
Aribella was not sure what startled her more, the rare sound of Papa’s voice, his sudden urgency, or the fact that he seemed to believe her. Shouldn’t he protest more, say it couldn’t be true? Instead, he seemed both afraid and strangely unsurprised. As if, somehow, he’d been expecting this.
She nodded shamefully. ‘It was at the market. I’m not sure how many people saw but Gian will have told them all anyway. I’m so sorry, Papa. I’ve put you in danger and I don’t even understand how it happened. We have to leave Venice. Right now.’
Papa sat back in his chair and rubbed his forehead wearily. ‘And go where?’
‘I don’t know,’ Aribella admitted. They had no money, no boat, no family or friends who might help. And Papa was so frail.
‘We can’t run away, Bella,’ Papa said softly.
There was resignation in his voice. She wished he’d hug her and tell her everything was going to be all right, but he stayed in his chair, staring into the fire, already a million miles away.
‘Have some soup,’ he said eventually.
‘I’m not hungry.’ But her stomach growled traitorously.
‘Have some soup.’ It wasn’t a suggestion.
Aribella went to the pot and ladled onion soup into a bowl. She didn’t bother with a spoon, just put the bowl to her lips and drank. The soup was lukewarm and bland, but it eased the empty feeling inside her. She swayed on the spot and realized her eyelids were drooping. Her entire body was still aching.
‘Bed now, Bella.’
‘But, Papa!’ How could she possibly sleep at a time like this? ‘What if—’
‘Bed – now.’ Papa’s voice was suddenly hard as a slammed door. His tone shocked her. But she did as he said. What else could she do?
Aribella climbed the rickety staircase up to her bedroom with a heavy heart, clutching at the small hope that if the guards weren’t here yet, then maybe Gian hadn’t put her name in the Mouth. Maybe Theo had stopped him, or the Doge hadn’t believed it . . . Even so, these thoughts did little to comfort her. All she could think about were the flames in her fingers, and what they might mean for her and for those she loved. If she was a witch or a curse, she shouldn’t be on Burano near Theo or Papa, or anyone at all.
‘Bedroom’ had always been a generous term for the pokey room where Aribella’s thin, lumpy mattress curled up the walls. It was a good thing she didn’t have more than two changes of clothes, for there would be nowhere to put them and the low rafters meant she always had to stoop. The room was unbearably hot and sticky in the summer and freezing in the winter.
She removed her boots but lay down on her mattress fully dressed, knowing she would not sleep. Endless questions tumbled through her head. What would she do if the guards came? Even if she and Papa had money, where could they go? Venice had always been her home and she dearly loved the floating city and its islands. She knew so little of her mama, but she had lived and died in Venice and being here gave Aribella a feeling of connection to her. Perhaps that was why Papa didn’t want to leave either. But why hadn’t he seemed more surprised by what had happened?
She regarded her fingers warily in the moonshine that spilt through the window. But no, that couldn’t be moonshine, the colour was so strange. Aribella looked up, confused, and crawled to her window.
The moon was full and low – and red.
A jolt of shock passed through her. The blood moon’s real. It’s an omen . . . Could it be? Had the fisherman and Gian been right? She leapt to her feet and banged her head on the rafters, falling back to her knees.
‘Ow!’ she groaned, then shut up immediately.
There were footsteps marching in the street below, men with heavy boots – guards. It had to be. Fear clenched round Aribella’s heart.
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!
Fists thundered on the front door of their cottage.
‘Open up!’
She could hear Papa shuffling around downstairs. No, Papa, don’t let them in!
‘Open up!’ came the voice again, and then there was the sound of wood splintering. They were breaking the door down! She heard more shouting, then Papa cried out. She had to help!
And now came another sound, right behind her. Someone was coming in through her window! Aribella scrambled to her feet and flew towards the door. A hand grabbed her arm, and another clamped over her mouth. Aribella gasped for breath, tearing desperately at the hands.
‘Shh, Ari. It’s me.’
‘Theo?’ She stopped struggling.
‘I saw the guards coming,�
� he said hurriedly, pulling her to the window. ‘We have to get you out of here.’
Downstairs, glasses smashed. There was more shouting.
‘I need to help Papa!’ she whispered.
‘You can’t,’ Theo replied frantically. ‘They’ll be up here for you soon. Come on.’
Aribella could hear the neighbours calling to each other in the street, wondering what the commotion in the white house was about.
‘The moon!’ she heard one of them shout. ‘The omen!’
Heavy footsteps stomped up the stairs. Aribella had seconds left to decide, but she knew Theo was right. They clambered out of the window and on to the roof just in time.
BANG. The door of her room slammed open.
Aribella and Theo scrambled further away from the window. The roof tiles slipped precariously underneath them. They grabbed hold of the chimney and crouched behind it, clutching each other, bathed in the strange light from the moon. The wind was cold and wild around them as if it were trying to capture them too.
She heard footsteps cross her bedroom floor, moving towards the window.
For a few terrifying seconds they held their breath, hidden behind the chimney. The seconds seemed to stretch for eternity. Aribella’s heart was beating so loudly she was sure the guard would hear it.
Finally they heard him shout, ‘She’s not here!’
As his footsteps retreated, Aribella gulped air. But her relief was short-lived.
‘Two of you take the old man back to the palace prison,’ the guard called. ‘The rest of you search the island. She can’t have got far.’
Aribella and Theo stayed on the roof, shivering, as the guards spread out across Burano. They banged on doors, searched homes, questioned nightgowned fishermen. Aribella’s heart broke as she watched two guards lead poor Papa away. Theo had to restrain her a second time from climbing down and chasing after them.
At last the guards’ lanterns moved towards the harbour, before disappearing against the inky darkness of the lagoon.
Only then did Theo release his grip on her arm.