by Sasha Gould
I straighten the stool that she kicked over, and the three of us come to sit around the kitchen table. Bella Donna pours us all tumblers of water, and Aysim begins her story. We hear how she arrived in Venice with her loyal maidservant, Emen. How they were wearing each other’s clothes as disguises, fleeing from Halim’s violence. They were attacked, and Aysim managed to escape, but Emen did not.
Aysim’s voice breaks. “My faithful servant, the only person to show me loyalty. I let her die.” Her dark eyes brim with tears.
“She was the girl in Roberto’s apartments, wasn’t she?” I whisper.
Aysim nods, tears coursing down her cheeks. Bella Donna hands her a linen handkerchief.
“It was me they meant to kill!”
I feel sick to my stomach. Gales of loud male laughter spill from one of the rooms down the corridor, as though mocking me. Through the kitchen doorway I see a member of the Grand Council emerge, straightening his tunic. I quickly turn my face away, and Bella Donna hurries to shut the door.
Aysim tells me of her brother’s lust for power, his hatred of Venice.
“He’s been planning this moment for over two years,” she says. “At first it was just a fantasy. His advisers told him it couldn’t be achieved.”
“So what changed?”
“He sought new counsel—a witch who covers her face with a silver mask.”
I swallow hard. “Why does she wear a mask?” I ask. Though I suspect I already know the answer.
Aysim waves a hand before her own face. “A terrible disfigurement.”
My mind fizzes as a spiderweb of connections starts to take form. Prince Halim and Carina are working together? So Roberto’s kidnapping wasn’t a coincidence—it was orchestrated with Halim’s knowledge. Can my dead sister’s old friend be behind everything that’s happened?
The scale of the plot is almost too great to believe, and I try to see its many facets. One other point also bothers me. “Roberto?” I ask her. “Have you ever … met him?”
Aysim shakes her head. “I saw him from a distance in Constantinople. After I tried to dissuade my brother from his mad plans, he shut me out of everything.”
“But Halim showed us a letter, in Roberto’s handwriting,” Even now, those words of affection sting me—they seem so real, so true. “A love letter.”
Aysim laughs bitterly. “My brother has a forger. A cunning man called Faruk. It must have been his work.”
The plan is almost perfect. Paint Roberto as the cause for a war, sow discord among your enemies. But what sort of monster would try to kill his own sister?
“What can we do?” asks Bella Donna. “Is it too late?”
Not if I can present this girl to Massimo and the Council—if I can show them Roberto too. Then they’ll have to believe me. Roberto will be pardoned, and the Doge’s authority restored. As much as I dislike Massimo and the new leaders of Venice, they do care for their city. They are not heartless, like Halim. They will do what is best for Venice, when they are shown all the facts.
I hold out my hand to Aysim. “You must come with me,” I say.
She’s quaking again, and shakes her head. “Why? I’ve told you all I know.”
“To make men listen.”
43
Getting Roberto out of the house is easier than I expected. Father is asleep, and with Faustina keeping an eye on his door, I go to wake my fiancé. He looks so peaceful, his curls resting on the pillow. I kiss his lips, and he stirs.
“We must go to your father,” I say. “I have the key to your freedom.”
He dresses quickly in clothes Faustina has borrowed from the laundry, and we are soon outside in the predawn twilight. Aysim waits in a gondola, her shawl drawn over her head. Roberto nods politely to her, and she responds in kind.
“This is the woman you’re supposed to have killed,” I tell him. “Halim’s sister.”
“I recognize you,” he says. “You were there—when I visited Constantinople.”
“My brother likes to keep me close,” she replies, “but not too close.”
We disembark a few streets from the palace, and the gondolier slides off silently.
“Don’t you need to pay him?” asks Roberto.
He hasn’t seen the mark of the key subtly inscribed on the outside of the gondolier’s oar. Nor does he see that, beneath the scarf, the pilot is a woman. “It’s fine,” I tell him. “I paid in advance.”
As we approach the palace, Aysim takes my arm. “There’s something I meant to tell you,” she says. Her brow creases in concentration. “Halim has another accomplice in Venice—someone who used to send him secret messages.”
I share a look with Roberto. “Do you know who?” I ask. “Carina?”
Aysim shakes her head. “I think it would be a man. Halim doesn’t trust women. He thinks they’re too emotional.”
Another Venetian in league with Halim. How many traitors can one city hold to its bosom?
I push my thoughts aside as we enter the palace through a servants’ doorway. We pass unhindered up a stairwell until an old man crosses our path. He’s one of the many older grooms who wait on the Doge, and when he sees us he looks so startled I wonder if he might fall over. “Roberto?” he says.
“It is I, Carlo,” Roberto replies. “Please, not a word of this to anyone.”
The old man nods, and Roberto leads us on through the palace, creeping along the narrow, low-ceilinged corridors normally used by staff alone. Finally, after following the convoluted channels, we emerge from behind a curtain into a gallery within the Doge’s private apartments. The golden ceiling and marble floors no longer intimidate me. The three of us walk to the set of double doors that leads to the Doge’s office. Two uniformed guards see our approach, but although they gape with shock, they don’t question Roberto’s authority, and they throw open the doors. “Wait outside,” I say to Aysim gently.
The Doge sits at a large desk with a small group of men, the faithful few who have stuck by him. He looks up at our appearance, and the scroll he is holding falls from his hands.
“My son!”
Roberto is already striding across the room, and within moments he is in his father’s arms. The older man sobs with relief, rocking Roberto as he squeezes his eyes shut. No one says a word; we wait for the Doge to compose himself again. He holds Roberto at arm’s length and shakes his head in amazement. “Where have you been?”
“We don’t have much time,” I interrupt. “Can we speak in private?”
There are low grumbles of protest from around the room.
“Do as she says,” Roberto tells them. “If it weren’t for Laura, I’d be dead.”
After the men have shuffled out to an anteroom, I clear my throat. I tell the Doge that Halim’s pretext for war is a lie. His sister isn’t dead at all. The Doge shakes his head in disbelief.
“But I saw his face,” he says. “He almost tore out his hair with grief.”
“My brother—he is good actor,” says a voice in faltering Italian. All eyes turn to see Aysim step into the room, drawing her scarf away to reveal black locks. “For years he fooled even me.”
“You are his sister?” asks the Doge.
“The girl who is killed—she is my servant,” says Aysim. “My friend, also.”
The Doge’s face darkens as he looks from Aysim to Roberto. “You’d better explain what’s really happening.”
“My brother wants war to … to make himself a man,” says Aysim. “He use tricks.”
“And why are you helping us?” asks the Doge. “You are no daughter of Venice.”
His tone is hard. Too hard, I fear, but Aysim lifts her chin to answer him.
“My mother come from Venice,” she says. “When I am small girl, she tell me of it, at night before I sleep. So I am part Venice, see?”
The Doge nods, and his hand falls heavily onto his desk. “And to think that villain would have taken my son’s life.… We will blow his ships out of the water!”
&n
bsp; “There’s no need for bloodshed,” I say.
“No need!” shouts the Doge. “Halim and his plotting almost cost us everything. My own Council turned against me.”
“Laura’s right,” puts in Roberto. “We should expose them publicly. That way you can win back the support of the Council.”
The Doge turns away from us and walks towards the west-facing window that opens onto St. Mark’s. I can tell that he’s thinking, measuring up one course of action against another. “This girl is wiser than most of my Council,” he murmurs. When he turns again, a smile has crept over his lips. “Noon is the time when Prince Halim’s ultimatum is due. Perhaps we can deliver more than he expects. Summon my messengers!”
44
When the time is close to midday, the main hall of the palace is crowded with men from the Grand Council and their retinues of clerks. The Doge has sent out word that his errant son has returned, and it’s as much because of curiosity as anger that the men gather.
Aysim and I sit half hidden in a gallery above. We watch the Councilors flock into the chamber with their attendants. They preen and strut like exotic birds. Massimo is the last to appear, escorted by a dozen soldiers.
“Where is he?” he bellows. “Where is the murderer?”
The Doge, dressed in his officiating robes at the other end of the hall, looks calm. “He will be handed over when the Ottoman delegation arrives.”
Massimo bristles. “If this is some trickery—”
“It’s almost as if you’re looking forward to battle,” says the Doge.
From the look on Massimo’s face, I rather suspect he is.
As the clock strikes noon, Faruk arrives at the head of several fearsome-looking footmen with their bare chests oiled. He strides into the heart of the chamber with his chin raised haughtily until he stands before the Doge’s dais. I wonder if Massimo does not wish the Turks to know of his grab for power, as he did nothing to prevent the Doge from taking his usual place, nor did he ever expel him from the palace.
Ranged before the Doge are the men of the Grand Council. Behind them crowd lesser officials and scribes clutching parchment and quills. The room falls silent at last as they listen carefully to everything that’s being said.
“I hear that your son Roberto has reappeared. I am pleased for you, Alfonso,” Faruk says. “Pleased for Venice also.”
There’s a gasp—how dare he call the Doge by his first name! Faruk sends a quick, nervous smile around the court, realizing his mistake.
“Where is your master?” asks the Doge.
Faruk grins, and shrugs. “My master is not a fool. In this city, he trusts no one.”
“Is that right?” asks the Doge. “We are men of honor.”
Faruk’s grin falls away. “I mean no disrespect to Your Honor,” he says, “but now that your son is back, we’d like him to be handed over. As you are aware, Prince Halim wants to see justice done. If he can deal directly with Roberto, Venice will be saved”—he waves a hand through the air—“from a most unfortunate set of events.”
The Doge gets to his feet. There is nothing of the frail old man about him now.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he says, maintaining his politeness despite all that’s happened. “New information has come to light.”
Angry muttering breaks out in the chamber, and the Doge waits for it to die away. He looks over the top of Faruk’s head and snaps his fingers at us. I press gently at Aysim’s back, and she stands, moving forward to the edge of the balcony. Her head is bowed modestly, and she is dressed in the latest Venetian fashion. But then she lifts her head to look into Faruk’s eyes, and energy crackles through the room.
Faruk staggers back in recognition. He licks his lips nervously, his glance darting from the Doge back to his master’s sister.
“Who is this woman?” he asks, his voice faltering. “I don’t understand.”
The Doge’s eyes narrow. “Oh, I think you do.”
Faruk seems to see that there’s no denying Aysim’s existence and switches his tactic. He gives a cry and lifts his hands towards the balcony. “Princess Aysim! You’re alive!”
The assembled Councilors burst out in exclamations. Aysim’s glare doesn’t shift from Faruk.
“It’s a miracle,” he continues. “Prince Halim will be saying prayers of thanks all night!”
“It’s not a miracle, Faruk,” she replies in Italian. “Your killing men found Emen in my place. By her death, your crime is seen.”
The Doge motions his head, and several soldiers, sensing the shift in power once more, draw their swords. Faruk’s attendants do the same. Most of the Councilors, my father included, huddle around the perimeter of the chamber.
“You would not harm an ambassador?” asks Faruk.
The Doge points at him, taking a step nearer. “I would not,” he says. “I will show you more respect than you have shown us. Go back to your cowardly master. Tell him that if he has not left my harbor within the hour, I will smash his ships under the iron fist of Venice. Do you understand?”
Faruk looks to his men, then backs away, before turning and retreating to the door through which he entered. Aysim takes her seat beside me once again and smiles.
“Did I perform well?” she asks in French.
“Perfectly,” I say. “It’s time for us to go down and tell our story.”
The Councilors are stunned into silence, and Massimo’s face burns red with shame. The Doge stands before them.
“We were all taken in by Halim’s deception,” he says, “but now we must stand together again. Swear loyalty to me, and the past will be forgotten.”
One by one, the members of the Council line up to kneel at the Doge’s feet and kiss the ring on his right hand. I hear my father muttering something about “never doubting you, my lord”; loyalty is as fickle as the winds of the sea.
Massimo, I notice, is last in line. “Forgive me,” he says, bowing obsequiously.
The Doge’s jaw is set hard. “Of all those who turned against me, your actions were the most disappointing.”
“My lord, I—”
“But you are a good soldier, and Venice needs you more than ever,” he says. “Halim may still risk a fight. Can I trust you, Massimo?”
“I will do everything in my power to serve you,” says the soldier.
The Doge’s face relaxes into a smile. “Then go. Keep the fleet on alert.”
Massimo steps down from the dais and summons his men around him. They process out of the chamber, leaving only the Doge, Aysim and me.
“Come here, child,” the Doge tells me. He takes my hand and brings me to sit beside him. “I owe you everything.”
“Our fight is not over yet,” I warn him. “It has only just begun.”
45
My limbs feel heavy with tiredness, yet my mind is awash with a hundred thoughts. I kiss Roberto farewell and make my way back home with Faustina. Aysim has been given a room in the palace, and the parties are already under way as news of Faruk’s departure spreads. Apparently his oarsmen rowed him from the harbor at quite a pace. Musicians sprinkle the alleys with their melodies, and laughter, so long absent from our city, seems to have returned. I hear snatches of a conversation between two laborers in the doorway of a tavern. “I always knew the Doge had it in him!” one says.
I can’t help a rueful smile. Only a few days ago, people were saying that the Doge’s days were numbered. Now they clamor to pour praise on his head.
Father is already at home. As I walk into his library, accompanied by Faustina, he twists round in his tall armchair to look at me.
“I suppose I owe you an apology,” he says, closing his book.
“That’s up to you,” I reply. “You’re the master of this house, after all.”
His face softens, but he drops his gaze. “I was wrong about Roberto,” he says. “He will make a fine husband.”
“Better than Vincenzo?” I ask.
Faustina snorts with derisi
on, but Father silences her with a glare. A smile plays on his lips. “Perhaps,” he mutters. “Although he will surely be a hero when his fleet helps defeat those wretched Turks.”
“Surely Halim will not fight now,” I say.
“He’d be a fool to do so,” my father agrees. “Massimo has stockpiled enough gunpowder to sink Halim’s fleet of ships—to sink ten fleets!”
Not if Teresa’s information is correct, he hasn’t. But there’s no reason my father would know this. “Then let us hope there’s no bloodshed at all,” I say.
“At any rate, this is men’s work now,” Father says, turning back to his book.
After I’ve left the room, Faustina begins to climb the stairs. “Would you like me to take the pins out of your hair?” she asks.
Something is troubling me, and it’s not just my father’s brash confidence in a Venetian victory. I shake my head, trying not to let my face betray the turmoil of my emotions. “No, thank you.”
When I hear Faustina’s door close on the upper level, I stand for a moment on the stairs, letting my thoughts lead me. Something about the gunpowder doesn’t add up. If it’s useless, and there was no reason for Silvio to make up such a lie to his wife, Massimo can’t possibly be so sure of himself. He must know the battle is far from won.
I head straight back out the front door. My suspicion is building like an unstoppable flood. It’s a conspiracy grander than anything the Segreta could achieve, but it’s possible.
For if the Segreta didn’t murder Silvio—and I’m sure they did not—then who did? Could it have been the man who knows that the barrels of gunpowder stored in the Arsenal are useless? Could he be Silvio’s murderer?
I know my mind is getting ahead of itself, that I’m seeing treason where perhaps there is none. But Aysim said that her brother had a fellow plotter in Venice. What if that person is the very man Venice expects will save them? Massimo was quick enough to depose the Doge when he had the chance. His loyalty is only to himself.
Enough gunpowder to sink ten fleets.