“It’s Signor Flavius,” said the lieutenant. “He’s one of the Council of Ten.”
“It was sorcery,” said another man.
“It was an Othmen beast disguised as a man,” said a third.
“I was frozen to the ground by his spell,” said a fourth.
“I was blinded and made deaf,” said another.
“Save your stories,” the lieutenant said. “None of them is going to appease the Moor’s anger about this.”
X
THE STORY OF ISABELLA
Isabella Montecchi strode slowly around her chamber as if actually considering the Othmen envoy’s offer. She was wearing a white dress, woven through with multiple golden threads, and puffed sleeves, and suspected that to him she probably looked a prize gift-wrapped in gold. She had, on previous occasions, refused his entreaties rather unceremoniously and asked him to leave her house. But she knew it was a slow path to ruination. The envoy, she was certain, controlled the Othmen spies in the city and was spreading news to the Othmen pirates as to what ships were leaving the city at what times and where they were headed. He was a dangerous man for a businesswoman to enter into conflict with.
“Do you find my offer a tempting one?” the envoy asked.
Isabella turned and looked at him. He was neither fat nor balding, but she could tell that in just a few years he would be both. He was the wrong end of his best years for courting a woman, that was certain, and certainly past his dancing days. But that was only the beginning of the catalogue of things about him that she found distasteful. His small stubby fingers that always felt sticky; his leering eyes and the way he licked his lips when he talked to her, like he was tasting sweets; the list went on.
“Most tempting indeed,” she said. “But I fear that if I married you I would not be able to stay in this city that I love so much and would be forced one day to relocate to the land of the Graecians, or worse, the Othmen, where I would know no joy or comfort!”
The envoy licked his lips and said, “That is something you should not fear. The lands of the Graecians are those of the ancients and they are a wonder to behold and filled with every comfort a noble lady could imagine.” She cocked one eyebrow. She had heard they were barren lands, over-tilled, where rich nobles lived in luxury while slaves did all the work and lived in squalor. “And the lands of the Othmen make them pale by comparison,” he added.
“Have you been to the lands of the Othmen?” she asked.
“None are allowed to travel there and return again,” he said. “But I have seen pictures of them and I have read the poetry they write. They are a very cultured people.”
“Indeed?” she asked. “Then tell me what you know about the lands of the Othmen.”
“Ah,” he said. “Where to begin? They are lands of milk and honey. There are palaces of gold and jewels and cushions of silk and ermine. The weather is never too hot nor too cold, nor the days too long nor too short. There are deer that are as tame as a house cat and will feed from your hands. There are fountains of water that are as clear as crystal and cool to the throat. It is a land that anyone would wish to live in one day.”
“And you have been promised this?” she asked. “To be allowed to live in the land of the Othmen one day?”
“Indeed I have,” he said, emphasizing the word I.
“I have heard that the lands of the Othmen are deserts,” she said. “And the people wage wars over the few water ponds and forests that exist. I have heard that sand devils live beneath the ground and can rise up and take an unsuspecting passer-by. And I have heard that the noblemen have fifty wives, and treat them as little more than servants.”
The envoy waved his hand in the air, like he was shooing away a pesky insect. “These are malicious lies spread by those who most fear the Othmen and wish others to hate them. How can you trust the word of anyone who has never been to their lands?”
“Indeed?” she asked again.
The envoy then changed tack. “We are entering the times of the Othmen,” he said. “They will soon spread across the land and rule all countries. Those who oppose them will find it was a poor decision, and those who work for them will find themselves richly rewarded.”
Isabella had to turn and look out the window towards the far-off sea so that he would not see the sudden rage on her face. These same Othmen had killed her husband and sacked their ships and murdered the crews, and not because they had ever opposed the Othmen. Merely because they were traders from the Floating City whose wealth the Othmen longed to possess, as their envoy longed to possess her and her wealth.
“Here is my offer back to you,” she said, picking up the jewelled ring he had laid on a silver tray for her as part of his bridal price. She turned it to the light and saw the way it sparkled. It was not of Graecian nor Othmen make. It was probably crafted by a jeweller in the Floating City and stolen by Othmen pirates and given to the envoy in payment for his work for them. “I am a widow as you say, and in need of a husband who can look after my interests. But I am also a businesswoman and so I am going to set a task for you as a suitor. Indeed the task will be set to all suitors and he who can complete it will win my hand in marriage.”
The envoy looked at her cautiously. He did not like the idea of having to compete with other men. He considered a moment and decided that there would be ways of tipping any competition in his favour. “Tell me what you propose.”
“Well,” she said. “As you yourself have intimated, a woman who has known the passions of a husband finds it hard to sleep alone at nights and by all rights needs to find a husband to fulfil her desires.”
The envoy’s face reddened a little at such blunt talk, but she could also see lust descending over his face like a veil. She turned and stepped close to him and reached out one hand and touched him gently on the sleeve. He licked his lips rapidly.
“I propose that he who wishes to win my hand must sleep with me.” She saw the envoy nearly choke on just the idea of it. “And if you can enjoy me, and also please me, then I will become your wife. But if you cannot enjoy me, then you forfeit a large sea vessel filled with your most precious cargo.”
The envoy stood as if turned to stone for a long while and then his tongue darted out and licked his lips again. She saw his eyes were almost completely misted over. “And when should one attempt this challenge?” he asked in a strained voice.
“This evening,” she said coolly. “Bring a vessel filled with precious cargo and have it docked down below the window here. I will be waiting with a fine meal.”
The envoy’s eyes narrowed a little, his mind trying vainly to find the trap or trick to the offer. But whatever small part of him was protesting to be cautious, it clearly could not be heard above the roar of his own blood filling his ears. “It will be laden with the most precious cargo I possess,” he said. “And I’m sure it will please you as much as I please you myself.”
“I look forward to this evening,” she said.
The envoy bowed and nearly tripped on his own puffed-up shadow as he gleefully departed.
XI
ELSEWHERE IN THE FLOATING CITY
Romeo Cappalletti turned to look over his shoulder and made sure that no one was following him, before knocking on the old wooden door. Once. Then twice. Then once again. He turned and looked back down the narrow alley that he had walked along as he waited, just to be certain nobody was lurking in the shadows. Each alleyway in the city was like no other in its shadows and shapes and smells, and even the sounds of the water lapping against stone walls nearby, and Romeo knew the sight and smell of this alley well.
A small window in the door slid open and a hooded figure stared out at him from the darkness.
“It’s me,” said Romeo.
“I can see it’s you,” the figure said.
“Let me in.”
“Why should I?”
“I have some good news.”
“For me or for you?”
“I have something you desire,” sai
d Romeo.
The hooded figure looked at him for a moment and then asked, “Or something you desire?”
Romeo tossed a lock of light hair over his forehead, as he did often, and pouted. His youthful attitude was lost on the figure behind the small window though. “I can pay,” he said.
“That is news,” said the hooded figure.
There was a sudden splashing in the canal nearby and Romeo turned quickly, all composure suddenly lost. “Be quick,” he hissed. “They say there are monsters in the canals.”
The figure drew the bolts back and opened the door enough for Romeo to squeeze in. “In my experience the worst monsters are those in men’s hearts,” the figure inside said as he rebolted the door.
“You should write a book of your lyrical thoughts one day, Friar,” Romeo told the older man, as he turned and lowered his hood. Friar Lorenzo da San Francesco was a thin man of middle age and average height, with sallow pale skin and possessed of such sunken eyes that he always looked sickly.
“Are you well?” asked Romeo, as he often asked of the friar.
“Well enough,” the friar said. “Now what business brings you to visit me today and disturb my work?”
“It is your work that I wish to talk to you about.”
“You have need of spiritual guidance?” asked the friar in mock surprise.
“I have need of your other work,” said Romeo. “That which you deny you are conducting.”
“Should I now feign ignorance of what you speak?” the friar asked him.
“You would do well to feign ignorance,” said Romeo. “For if the Council of Ten ever found you were experimenting with the spells and potions of the Othmen I’m sure they’d be more than displeased by it. They might even think you were in some way in league with the Othmen devils and hand you over to their inquisitors, who boast they can make a man curse the day he was born.”
“Rather I curse the day that you found out about my secret works,” said the friar.
“But who else could procure the things you need?” asked Romeo.
“One must barter with imps to sup with the devil,” the friar muttered.
“Enough word play,” said Romeo. “To business. I have need of a love potion.”
The friar sighed, turned and sat down at a table where there were vials and potions laid out. “I have advised you already that your obsession with the Lady Rosaline is a misguided one,” he said.
“Only because you lacked the necessary ingredients to manufacture a love potion,” said Romeo.
“That’s correct enough,” said the friar. “You know well that I require a water lily of the Nile, and that only grows in the far-off heathen lands where neither you nor I are ever likely to go.”
“But where traders might venture?” asked Romeo, reaching into his shirt and bringing forth a small pouch.
The friar’s whole face changed. “Show me,” he said excitedly. “Where did you get this from?”
“From a certain merchant who got it from a certain merchant who got it from a certain merchant,” said Romeo.
“Or from a certain charlatan looking for a spoiled rich boy to fool out of his gold?”
“I am assured it is genuine,” said Romeo.
The friar took the small pouch and opened it delicately. Inside was a dried white leaf. He considered it carefully, turning it this way and that. “It may be,” he said at last. “It just may be.”
Romeo smiled. “So, for the potion, I need something that I can administer to the Lady Rosaline at the masked ball of the Montecchis this week,” he said.
The friar looked at him in alarm. “The Montecchis? Are you mad? There is a blood feud between your Houses. If you’re caught at their ball they will cut you open.”
“They wouldn’t risk breaking the Council’s Peace,” said Romeo. “Any who do will be banished. And anyway, I will be masked.”
The friar looked pained. “Is there not a simpler way? Could you not contrive to visit her at her home and give her the potion there?”
“She would be too suspicious of my motives,” Romeo said. “I have tried to charm her in her own chambers before and it went badly.”
The friar laughed. “That must have been a slap in the face for you. Beautiful and handsome Romeo who all the young girls of the city dote on, and the one woman he is interested in spurns him.”
Romeo’s face turned a little red. “Do not mock me,” he said. “Others have done so and regretted it.”
“Yes, yes,” said the friar. “Do not take offence. I can remember the impetuousness of youth that always demands immediate satisfaction, whether it be in love or in war.”
Romeo stared at him in surprise.
“I was not always a friar you know,” the old man told him.
“I had always imagined you emerging from your mother’s womb wearing a friar’s robes,” Romeo said.
“Yes, yes,” said the friar. “And I can remember the incessant dull wit of youth too. Now leave me to my work, and leave me with two gold coins, and I will have the potion ready on the morrow, and then you can test whether this is indeed a water lily of the Nile or not.”
XII
THE STORY OF GIULIETTA
“Giulietta!!” Signora Montecchi called upstairs to her daughter. But there was no response. “That girl needs a good talking to,” she said to her husband.
“Of course,” he said, worried that he would be the one volunteered to do the talking. Then he turned to a maid and said, “Run upstairs and see what is taking her so long, would you?”
The maid bowed and set off up the stairs. “I think we both know what is keeping her,” said Signora Montecchi. “She is staring at herself in the mirror and has a head full of silly ideas about being the most important person at the ball.”
“It will be in her honour,” her husband reminded her.
“It will be to find a husband for her,” his wife said in a hushed voice. “But she will be too busy thinking about how pretty her dress will look and what type of hair-do she will wear and what type of mask to wear to even suspect it.”
“Well, we were young once too, you know,” said her husband. His wife smiled and put her hand on his arm. It was true, she could remember her own masked ball and the feeling of excitement of knowing everyone would be looking for her, and she’d be hiding behind a mask for most of the evening until the unmasking. She was able to spark up conversations about herself and see what other people had to say – or didn’t. She even asked people if they could point her out, and they usually pointed to some poor girl with a pretty mask and said, “I believe that’s her.”
“I wish we were living in such times still that we could indulge her so,” she said. “But you know this is about securing her future.”
Her husband nodded his head sadly. They had already decided that they were going to try and find a suitor who had estates far from the Floating City, and so could take her far away. Somewhere much safer. But the thought of losing her, their youngest daughter, filled them with anguish.
“It will be the best for her,” Signor Montecchi said. “It is far too dangerous for her to stay here. Just imagine what might become of her if the Othmen managed to invade the city? She is so fair and so young.”
Signora Montecchi had imagined it far too many times already. Much better she was in a dull marriage far away than here and in such danger. “Do you really think such a threat is possible?” she asked him, although she knew her husband was a cautious man not prone to flights of fancy.
“The council believes we are all in terrible peril,” he said. “If the Othmen manage to assassinate any more Seers, our defences will fall.”
“But there are still three pairs,” she said. “They could not hope to kill them all, could they?”
He shrugged. “We never imagined they could manage to kill a single pair.” His wife shivered a little.
“Shouldn’t the council send one pair away then? Somewhere safe?”
“What good would that
do?” he asked. “They could not use their power to keep the city afloat and could not hold back the powers of the Othmen if they were not in the city. No. We need them here. Our only hope is that the city’s defences hold. The council is trusting the military defence to the Moor. He is our most capable warrior.”
“But he’s not one of our city,” his wife said. “Not really.”
“Our daughter Disdemona might beg to disagree on that,” he said. “Once wedded to a citizen of the city, he is wedded to the city.”
“Yes,” said his wife glumly. She still had a strong feeling that the marriage would end badly.
“And the Seers have begun a search for younger Seers with potential that can be paired.”
“Oh dear,” said his wife. “There hasn’t been a pair found for over forty years has there?”
Her husband shook his head. “No. But the Seers say they feel the presence of them. They are young but if they can be found and brought under the tutelage of the older Seers they might be able to bolster our city’s defences.”
“I imagine you were sworn to strict secrecy over that,” she said.
“Of course,” he replied. “Upon pain of expulsion from the council.”
“Thank you,” she said, letting him know how much it meant to her that he shared such matters with her, and she placed a hand on his arm again.
“Have you been looking over potential husbands?” Signor Montecchi asked her.
She laughed. “Yes. I have met with several of their mothers already and I think there are at least two very good candidates.”
“That’s promising. Who are they?”
His wife looked horrified. “I can’t tell you that. I’m sworn to strict secrecy!” He laughed. And then they both turned their heads to see Giulietta and the maid coming down the stairs.
The Floating City Page 4