by C. A. Pack
A new sentence appeared.
PLEASE LIST IN DETAIL WHERE CHARACTER ORIGINATED.
Johanna was confused. Casanova had appeared when she opened Shakespeare’s First Folio, but that wasn’t where he originated. He came from Venice. He had shown her pictures of the Grand Canal and said his home was nearby. She wrote 18th Century Venice, via Shakespeare’s First Folio, but wasn’t sure if that was the right answer.
PLEASE CLEAR MAIN READING ROOM FOR DELIVERY.
What the heck does that mean? She walked out and found Jackson and Casanova attempting a conversation in Italian. “Jackson, we need to clear this room for a delivery.”
“What kind of delivery?”
“I don’t know. It just said, ‘clear main reading room.’”
Jackson pulled the leather chair into a corner and used the iPad to tell Casanova to move over to it. Johanna helped Jackson push the sofas and tables out of the way.
“Now what?” he asked.
“We wait.”
Before long, the floor began to vibrate like an earthquake was imminent. Johanna kept her eyes on the shelves, praying the tremble would not send books tumbling to the floor.
Casanova shrunk back into the cushions of Mal’s chair, with a look of terror on his face. A mechanical whining noise—like a helicopter engine roaring to life—blocked out all other sound until a giant glass-like bubble with a man inside materialized in the middle of the floor.
He appeared to be about twenty-five years of age, dressed in the style of the eighteenth century. His dark gray frock coat and matching breeches complemented his pale blue waistcoat and matching silk stockings. He wore a wig, but no hat, and his shoes were made of black kid with silver buckles. Suspended from a chain worn around his neck hung a pair of scissors-glasses, but the chain had caught on his cravat, ruining the perfect line of his outfit.
“Johanna,” he said, taking her hands. “My older self told me all about you. Indeed, he made sure I read ourfull diary about how you came to replace us at the library!” He looked around, smiling. “It looks almost the same.”
She stared, stunned. “Mal?”
“Yes. Isn’t it amazing? Your dilemma gave me the opportunity to pull a few strings and finagle the use of this wonderful time machine from the twenty-second century. It looks fragile, but the turbulent passing through time didn’t scar it in any way, although I’m sure my brains are quite scrambled.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to pick up Casanova, of course, and deposit him back in our time.”
“‘Our time’?”
“Yes, his and mine. As you know, I’ve lived a rather long life. I was more than four hundred years old when you met me. In Casanova’s twenty-fifth year, which is the era I departed from, I am merely one hundred and forty. The easiest solution to your problem was for me to dispatch myself to help return him to his proper place.”
He turned toward Casanova. “Buongiorno, Signor Casanova. Sei pronto a tornare a Venezia?” Good morning, Mr. Casanova. Are you ready to return to Venice?
Casanova jumped up. “Venezia. Si.”
“So that’s it?” Jackson asked. “You just hop into a time-traveling bubble, and poof?”
“It’s not as simple as all that. Taking him home is considered the transport of human cargo, and as such, I had to declare the particulars of the trip to the members of Lloyd’s of London on Lombard Street. And because of the unusual nature of the vessel we’re using and the time period it originated in, the transaction required a lot of secret deal-making and under-the-table brokering. I dare say, it literally took months to accomplish.”
“Months? But he’s only been here since yesterday.”
“The months dragged on during my wrinkle in time, not yours. The past is past. But I must ask Signor Casanova how he got here.” He turned toward the man. “Come sei arrivato qui?”
Casanova told Mal, in Italian, how he had “borrowed” Shakespeare’s First Folio and, after falling, had become trapped inside of it. Apparently, it wasn’t so bad, because he ended up inside the Merchant of Venice, so he felt right at home. But he could not travel outside of the parameters of the story, which he found very frustrating. Then, he showed up here, but once again, he could not escape this library. If he could return home to Venice, his Venice, or even Vienna, where he had been partying before he fell into the folio, he would be forever grateful.
Johanna hated not knowing what Casanova had told Mal. “What did he say?”
Mal winked at her. “I’m sure you’ll read all about it in my diary. It’s much too interesting a story to leave out.” He put his hand on Casanova’s shoulder and started pushing him into the bubble.
“Wait a minute,” Jackson demanded. “You said this bubble came from the twenty-second century. If you’re from the past, how did you get it?”
“Now that’s an interesting story—but it probably won’t appear in my diary for another two hundred years.
“Come, my good man.” Mal grabbed Casanova and pulled him into the bubble. A moment later, they were gone.
“So that’s it?” Jackson’s tone expressed his disappointment.
“You want more?” Johanna raised her eyebrows, incredulous that he thought Casanova’s departure in a time-traveling bubble was anticlimactic.
“It would have been nice to talk to Mal a little longer. You always talk about him, but I never met him before. How could he be four hundred years old? I just wish he could have stayed awhile.”
“And Casanova, too?”
“Not so much. Come to think of it, you’ve certainly cooled off toward him.”
“I had a momentary lapse in judgment yesterday, but everything is fine now.”
“So you don’t hate me for the way I treated him?”
“I could never hate you.”
“Oh. I guess I thought you did, because ... uh ... you never gave me a birthday kiss.”
Johanna grinned. She walked across the room and picked up a coin from the floor. “Here. Maybe you’d like this better.” She handed him the ducat.
“No. Old money can be more trouble than it’s worth. I learned that the hard way. Anyway, you can use it to buy a new iPad for the library. Besides, I’d rather have the kiss.”
“There’s always next year.”
“You’re going to make me wait?”
“Okay. Just one birthday kiss.”
“Fine.” He pulled her into his arms, and he felt his spirits soar.
It’s not the number of kisses that matter. It’s how long they last.
—LOI—
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The exceptions to the preceding are President Harry and First Lady Bess Truman, Secret Service chief Frank Wilson, and actor Ethel Merman, who are historical figures. Their itineraries mentioned in this book are historically accurate. All other material is the product of the author’s imagination.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic, digital or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Published by Artiqua Press
www.ArtiquaPress.com
LIBRARY OF ILLUMINATION:
(Book THREE)
CASANOVA
Copyright © 2012 by C. A. Pack
All rights reserved.
BOOKS IN THIS SERIES
The Library of Illumination
(Johanna’s Story)
The Library of Illumination:
Book Two
Doubloon
s
The Library of Illumination:
Book Three
The Orb
The Library of Illumination:
Book Four
Casanova
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank my family and friends for their support; my editor, Neil Hock; and special thanks to my brother, Carl Mealie, who corrected my horrible Italian translation.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
C. A. Pack is the author of Code Name: Evangeline and the Evangeline’s Ghost series, as well as the series of novelettes that make up The Library of Illumination. She is currently working onThe First Chronicles of Illumination,a novel length collection of the first five books.
Carol is an award-winning journalist, and former assignment manager/anchor atLI News Tonight in New York, and has worked as a news writer at WNBC-TV, and Cablevision’s News 12 Long Island.
A member of International ThrillerWriters, and Sisters in Crime, Carol is also a former president of the Press Club of Long Island. She lives in Westbury, NY, with her husband, a couple of picky parrots, and dozens of imaginary characters who are constantly demanding page space.