Mask of Aribella

by Anna Hoghton

  ‘Was the Mask Maker really attacked by a spectre?’ Fin said.

  ‘And why did Nymeria cough up Rodolfo’s name?’ asked Seffie.

  ‘I’d have thought if anyone was safe it would be the Mask Maker,’ Helena said.

  ‘Did the mark look the same as the one on your friend, Ari?’ Seffie whispered.

  Aribella nodded. ‘Exactly the same. It was definitely a spectre that bit him.’

  Helena shook her head. ‘Oh, this is bad, very bad. Did you see how shocked the Elders looked? Rosa was shaking . . . And I can’t believe Rodolfo is the one behind everything. I mean, why would he try to warn everyone about the spectres if he was making it all happen?’

  ‘To look clever, perhaps?’ Fin suggested. ‘Or maybe to make himself appear innocent?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s how Jacapo will see it,’ Seffie muttered darkly. ‘It’s a bit of a coincidence that Rodolfo was there that night the spectre attacked your friend. But I still find it hard to believe he’s evil.’

  ‘Me too,’ Aribella agreed passionately. ‘He saved me and Theo, remember.’ She didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Still, it does look suspicious that he’s disappeared . . .’ said Fin.

  ‘Maybe he’s been kidnapped by the real person behind all this,’ Seffie protested.

  ‘Yes. Or maybe he’s in hiding because they know he’s on to them,’ Aribella added. ‘Maybe that person put Rodolfo’s name in Lion’s Mouth to cover their own tracks.’

  ‘Do you mean Zio?’ asked Helena.

  ‘He can’t be dead. We were just in his room. And the book he borrowed was there too.’ Aribella held up the black volume. The Book of Mysteries.

  ‘It’s got to mean he’s alive, right, Fin?’ Seffie said.

  Fin turned as pink as he always did when Seffie talked to him directly. ‘The fact this book didn’t return to the library after Zio was meant to have died, I would say that yes, he is likely still be alive.’

  Helena’s eyes widened. ‘That’s why you wanted it? To prove Zio wasn’t murdered?’

  They all nodded.

  ‘You didn’t tell me that part,’ she said sourly, crossing her arms. Aribella could tell she felt left out.

  ‘I’m sorry we kept so much from you, Helena,’ Aribella said. ‘But the Elders have been ignoring what is happening. Thanks to you, we have a chance of finding out the truth before it’s too late.’

  Aribella placed the plain black book on her bed. Seffie and Fin huddled round to look. Helena uncrossed her arms and joined them.

  Seffie sniffed. ‘I know they say you should never judge a book by its cover but . . .’

  Aribella opened the book carefully, expecting the pages to have decayed like everything else in Zio’s room. But they were pure white and pristine, as if the book was brand-new. There were three hundred pages of dense text, and no contents page or index.

  Aribella leafed through the pages, feeling a wave of hopelessness. ‘We need someone to read this, and fast. Do you think Julietta’s speed applies to reading?’

  ‘Doubt it,’ said Seffie. ‘Maybe Helena could freeze time in twenty-minute stints.’

  ‘Ugh, that would be exhausting,’ said Helena. ‘Breaking the rules once was one thing. But I would have to do it . . . about a hundred times to read all this.’

  Fin cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said smugly. ‘I’ll get through it faster than anyone else at Halfway, no Cannovacci power needed.’

  ‘Reading is the greatest power there is,’ Aribella murmured, repeating Rosa’s words. ‘Thank you, Fin.’

  Fin nodded, already riffling through the delicate pages with practised ease. ‘Well, seeing as Helena actually broke hotel rules, and the world as we know it is in peril, I think pretending to get stuck in a door and reading a book is the least I can do.’

  Helena hid her face behind her hands. ‘Don’t remind me!’ she groaned.

  ‘It’s a shame dissolving through walls isn’t more useful,’ Fin joked, keeping his eyes on the page, but Aribella could tell this bothered him.

  ‘It is a useful power, Fin,’ she said. ‘You need to believe that. The Mask Maker said true power comes when we let go of false masks and accept ourselves as we truly are,’ she added.

  Fin looked up long enough to give her a small smile before returning to the book.

  Aribella tried to smile back but found she couldn’t. She kept thinking of how frail the Mask Maker had looked hanging over Bruno’s shoulder, of the hideous black mark on his neck. He had seemed so powerful. If a spectre could attack him, what hope did anyone else have?

  Helena was clearly thinking the same. ‘I can’t believe the Mask Maker was attacked,’ she repeated, as if trying to get her head round it.

  ‘Did you see Nymeria do anything?’ asked Seffie suddenly. ‘I mean, before she coughed up Rodolfo’s name.’

  Aribella shook her head. ‘No, why?’

  ‘Exactly!’ Seffie exclaimed. ‘She didn’t do anything. She just kept sleeping, even when the Mask Maker came in injured. There’s something wrong with her at the moment and that’s bad news. I’m going to find out what, but in the meantime it seems we can’t rely on Nymeria to tell us when Venice is in danger – or even the Mask Maker.’

  ‘I hope he doesn’t die,’ Helena said. ‘He hasn’t had an apprentice for years. And then what will the Cannovacci do? What will Venice do?’

  Aribella tried to comfort her. ‘There’s still hope if Marquesa can make the antidote in time.’

  But even she knew this was a slim hope. Marquesa had said the Four Thieves Vinegar took twelve hours to brew. The mark would have spread by then. She recalled how swiftly even a few drops had worked on Theo’s wound that night on the lagoon with Rodolfo . . .

  And that’s when it came back to her – the vial Rodolfo had given her. What had she done with it? She had put it in her pocket.

  Aribella’s heart skipped a beat and she rushed over to the wardrobe, threw open the doors and rummaged around in the back of it for her old clothes, wishing desperately for the vial to have survived Rosa’s laundering.

  ‘Aribella, now is not the time for an outfit change,’ Seffie called.

  Aribella ignored her. It had to still be here . . . it had to be! She found her old clothes. They felt more scratchy and rough than ever. Had she really worn these every day only a few weeks ago? It already felt like another life.

  She plunged her fingers in the pockets of her trousers, feeling for the vial. Aha! It was still here – thank the lagoon, it was still here! She pulled the vial out, her heart racing.

  There was still a little of the gold liquid left inside.

  There was no time to explain. Aribella raced up to the fourth floor. She did not know which suite was Marquesa’s, but the sweet scent of brewing herbs drew her to one of the doors, which was ajar.

  Clutching the vial tightly to her chest, Aribella knocked and pushed the door open. ‘Marquesa?’ she called.

  The entrance room was full of soft cushions and low tables with softly glowing lamps and pretty patterned tablecloths. A potion was bubbling in a brass pot over the fire. Was that the Four Thieves Vinegar? It was green and seemed a long way off turning gold.

  ‘Marquesa?’ she called again, louder this time.

  There was a groan from a door to her right. Aribella rushed over to it.

  The Mask Maker was lying on a low couch, his eyes closed, his cloak and mask removed. His aged body looked oddly shrunken and child-like. The beaked mask was propped on a stand on a side table, watching with its empty gaze. The Mask Maker’s face was kinder and more vulnerable-looking than she’d expected. He looked ordinary, like someone’s grandpa. For the first time, Aribella wondered about the Mask Maker’s family.

  He gave a moan, turning his head, and with a sharp intake of breath she saw the mark from the spectre bite again. It was already darker and had spread down his neck and across his chest, reaching, with webbed veins of bla
ck, towards his heart.

  Hurrying, Aribella moved closer. She fumbled with the vial, but before she could unstopper it, the Mask Maker’s eyes snapped open.

  He reached out and grabbed her wrist.

  ‘Clara?’ he groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. ‘Clara?’

  Aribella’s skin went cold. She looked behind her, half expecting to see someone there. But they were alone in the room. He must have been hallucinating. It must have been an effect of the spectre bite, or whatever relief Marquesa had given him in the meantime.

  ‘Forgive me, Clara,’ the Mask Maker wheezed, gripping more tightly. ‘You must forgive me. I shouldn’t have made it, I was tricked.’

  Made what? The Mask Maker sounded as if he was talking in riddles.

  He turned towards her, staring wildly. ‘I was a blind fool. I didn’t see that it would break the boundary.’

  Break the boundary?

  ‘But you did, didn’t you, Clara? That’s why you took it. You were always so clever . . .’ The Mask Maker trailed off, his eyes rolling back into his head.

  Aribella couldn’t yet make sense of what the Mask Maker was saying, but it felt extremely important. She tried to focus on the vial. She needed to pour some drops on to the bite. But where did she start? His neck? His chest? There were only a few drops of the remedy left: what if she wasted it in the wrong place? There was no room for mistake.

  ‘Stay with me, Signore,’ she said. ‘Stay still.’

  But he was tossing and turning. ‘Clever girl. I am sorry . . . I broke the oath of the Mask Maker when I made it. Keep it safe, wherever it is . . . or else the world is doomed.’

  ‘Keep what safe?’

  ‘He used my weakness against me. He flattered me

  . . . Zio . . .’

  Aribella’s skin tingled. Zio was at the heart of this. And Clara too.

  She remembered how proud the Mask Maker had been showing her his collection. The best in Venice. That’s what he’d said. Zio must have asked the Mask Maker to make him a mask, and Clara had taken it.

  She tried to stay calm. ‘Signore, please keep still. I’m trying to help you.’

  But his arms and legs were thrashing wildly. It was hard to open the vial with the Mask Maker still gripping her. She finally got the lid off and reached towards him. But his other hand shot out to grab her, knocking the vial out of her grasp. It fell on to the floor where the golden liquid spilt and was absorbed instantly into the rug.

  ‘No!’ Aribella cried. She dropped to her knees next to the vial, but it was all gone.

  ‘Forgive me, Clara?’ the Mask Maker asked, his eyes wide. ‘Please. The darkness . . . I feel it coming. I am sorry for what I did. I should have told the truth long ago . . . I knew he would come for his revenge.’ He put a hand over his heart. ‘Give me this final wish.’

  Aribella swallowed. She didn’t even understand what he wanted to be forgiven for. And anyway, it was Clara’s forgiveness he sought, not hers . . .

  The Mask Maker’s eyes were full of anguish so she nodded, hoping it would be enough. She saw the flicker of an expression pass over his face – something like acceptance or peace – then he closed his eyes, and lay back, finally still. He was dead. Aribella knew it at once. She felt sick and numb. She’d never seen anyone die before. Her whole body began to shake as she stared at the Mask Maker’s lifeless corpse, at the horrid black mark covering his chest. For a moment, it felt as if Helena had stopped time again, and she was the only thing still moving. And then the door opened behind her. She turned.

  ‘Aribella? What are you . . . ?’ Marquesa’s eyes moved to the Mask Maker. She dropped the fresh herbs she was carrying.

  ‘He’s dead,’ Aribella whispered, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. ‘He’s dead.’

  Marquesa made Aribella move to the fire. She gave her a cup of sweet hot cocoa and wrapped a thick blanket around her shoulders. Rosa was there too, her face pale. Aribella knew there were things she needed to tell the Elders – important things – but she was too shell-shocked to speak.

  ‘We shouldn’t have left him,’ Marquesa muttered.

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ replied Rosa, and after a moment’s pause, ‘How bad are these spectres, Marquesa?’

  ‘Bad, if the old stories are to be believed.’

  Rosa shivered. ‘I didn’t really believe they were a threat until tonight. I feel a fool.’

  Marquesa shook her head and said softly, ‘None of us did. It’s very hard to believe nightmares until you see proof.’

  ‘I don’t understand what’s wrong with Nymeria either,’ Rosa went on. ‘Why didn’t she wake when the Mask Maker came in, or before? She should have. I’m worried she’s sick. Venice could be in great peril and we’d have no warning.’

  ‘It is strange,’ Marquesa agreed, frowning.

  ‘Are you feeling any better, Aribella?’ Rosa said, turning to her.

  ‘I’ll give you some potion to help you sleep,’ Marquesa said, and disappeared into another room.

  Rosa took Aribella’s empty cocoa cup from her. ‘I’m so sorry, Aribella. We should have been here. We thought it would be quicker to gather ingredients together.’

  ‘I had some Four Thieves Vinegar. I could have saved him.’ Hot tears spilt from Aribella’s eyes.

  ‘Hush,’ Rosa soothed. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  Marquesa reappeared, holding a round glass container full of pink liquid. She was looking confused.

  ‘What is it?’ Rosa asked.

  ‘My sleeping potion . . . I had a large amount of it in my stores. Enough to knock out an army, but this is all that’s left. It’s not hard to brew but I wonder who took it? And why?’

  Rosa’s eyes widened. ‘You don’t think someone has been drugging Nymeria, do you?’

  Marquesa looked serious. ‘Rodolfo is the only one who has disappeared . . .’

  Rosa shook her hand. ‘I can’t believe that of him.’

  ‘We didn’t believe it of Clara, either,’ Marquesa muttered.

  For a moment Aribella wondered whether to mention Zio and everything that she and her friends had discovered, but her thoughts were so scrambled. She didn’t know what to think or where to begin.

  Rosa took her arm. ‘Come on, you’ve been through enough already tonight. Let’s get you to bed.’

  Rosa escorted Aribella up to her room and made sure she drank every last drop of the potion.

  ‘I need to tell you something,’ Aribella murmured as she slipped between the sheets.

  ‘Shush,’ said the key keeper firmly. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’

  The potion sent Aribella into a sound and dreamless sleep that lasted the whole night. But when she woke the next morning the Mask Maker’s lifeless body reappeared in her mind’s eye so that even the bright sunshine streaming through her window could not take away the coldness she felt. She lay in bed, staring at the canopy above her, trying desperately to make sense of it all.

  The Mask Maker was dead. He had been killed by a spectre. He was a Cannovacci, a Mask Maker, and he’d been killed because he had made a forbidden mask. For Zio.

  Zio and Clara . . . Clara and Zio . . . the two names went round and round in her head . . .

  A part of her wanted to hide away from it all in bed, but she knew that was no good. Now, more than ever, someone had to find out what was happening, and right now Aribella, Seffie, Fin and Helena might be the only people who could do that. Where was Rodolfo? A part of her felt angry with him. Even if he was about to be checked-out, she couldn’t help feeling that he’d abandoned them. And now he was suspected of killing the Mask Maker and drugging Nymeria! But he had said that she had to trust him, and she would – she didn’t believe he had done such awful things. But the accusation meant he wouldn’t return any time soon. It was up to them.

  So despite everything, she got up, dressed and hurried down to breakfast. The weather had not improved since last night, and wind and rain lashed at the win
dows.

  The dining room was practically empty. Hardly any Elders were there. They were probably having a council meeting. She agreed with Rodolfo: the Elders seemed to spend far too much time discussing things and too little time acting. Ursula sat alone. She looked paler than ever, and she was dressed for winter, in a white fur coat and white gloves. As their eyes met, she smiled and came over.

  ‘I’m so sorry for what you went through last night, Aribella,’ she said softly. ‘We all see now that Rodolfo was telling the truth.’

  ‘Why didn’t you see it before?’ Aribella asked. ‘Couldn’t you see it in his thoughts?’

  ‘Rodolfo’s thoughts have always been hard for me to read. He’s good at hiding things.’

  ‘But why didn’t you see the truth in my thoughts, then? I saw the spectre with my own eyes.’

  Ursula grimaced. ‘Forgive me. It was a mistake. And I should never have told Jacapo about your visit to the Doge. I think it’s fortunate you told the Doge to warn the Inbellis. I’m sure Jacapo will agree after today’s meeting, especially now the spectre’s existence has been proven beyond doubt. Have you had any news about your papa’s trial, by the way?’ she added earnestly.

  Aribella shook her head and felt a stab of shame as she realized she hadn’t thought about Papa once today.

  Ursula gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I’ve heard the Doge’s sickness has worsened so maybe it’s been delayed. But try not to worry. Do you have any other family on Burano island? Other friends, perhaps?’

  Aribella looked away. Did she? Did Theo still think of her as his friend? She felt another stab of guilt. He probably still believed she was locked up in the Doge’s palace with Papa.

  Aribella wondered if Ursula read this in her thoughts, because she said, ‘Well, by way of an apology, if you ever want to visit anyone on Burano, my gondola is yours to take whenever you need.’ With a gloved hand, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a wooden miniature of her own gondola, which she handed to Aribella. Just like Rodolfo’s, the permesso was an exact replica, perfect in every detail, right down to the pink cushions.