Dark Shimmer (7 page)

“Please tell me.”

“I crave you.”

“Plain talk.” His voice trembles. “I could get used to plain talk.”

M
arin stands at the bow with spread legs as the long, narrow boat glides toward the island he calls Murano. It's the glassblowers' island. Antonin, another giant who arrived this morning to take us away, stands at the stern, using a long oar to propel and steer us. Bianca sits beside me under the little canopy. None of them seems anxious. I press my lips together.

I am still in a brother's robe—Marin threw my smock in the fire before I could protest. But this robe has advantages: if necessary, I can pull the hood up and sink down inside as small as I can manage. The others have no way of hiding, though. No one can fail to notice their hugeness. I am ready to fight, for their sake and mine, but it seems we'd be much safer if we all had a way of hiding. I stare as the lighthouse ahead grows larger.

Bianca laughs. “Have you never been in a gondola as skinny as this one?”

I look at her. “A what?”

She points at my hand. “You're gripping the side so tight. But this gondola is very steady. Aunt Agnola says it's as safe as any old wide gondola, and she's afraid of everything. Let go.”

I fold my hands in my lap.

Bianca puts her hands on top of mine and sits sideways facing me. “I was so excited when Papà had this gondola made. All the noble families are getting the new shape. And lots of ladies can fit under the canopy at the same time. Antonin will ferry you to afternoon parties with Aunt Agnola and me and the Contarini girls and their mamma. They live near us. If you walk, you have to cross three little bridges to get to their palace. We love to hear things like that about the city since we're never allowed to walk the alleys. The Contarini boat has sea horses engraved in the iron at the front. It's much fancier than ours. The girls love to say that.”

I fix my eyes on hers. “Do you want to pinch them when they say that?”

She whispers, “Sometimes I think of pinching.” We look away, trying not to giggle.

“No! Of all the things that could go wrong…” Marin looks right at me. “Pull your hood up, hide your hair, and hush. I'll do the talking. And, Bianca, fold your hands in your lap. Not a peep, child.”

My hair is hidden before he finishes speaking. Coming quickly across the water is a small skiff. This is it. The tormenters. They will hurt us now. My knees press hard together. I gather Bianca in my arms and think of Mamma. She always said to be brave, stand tall…if there's nowhere to run…otherwise, run like mad; no one could catch me.

I dare to look ahead, to face our enemies. The skiff has two rowers and a third man in the center, all standing. A sword hangs from the belt of the man in the middle.

Oh, Lord, they are monsters, too! Why harm us? Outcasts need each other.

The skiff comes up and the front rower throws a rope to Antonin so he can pull the boats together. “Sire, what business have you in Murano?” asks the swordsman.

“What business is it of yours?” says Marin.

“We are
sbirri,
representatives of the Republic. We inspect all boats entering and leaving Murano. The secrets of our industry must be protected, as you well know.”

“We are here to make a purchase.”

“Glass?”

“No.”

“A mirror? Show us the money.”

“Not a mirror. Ladies' clothing.”

The man frowns. “Only that? Why come to Murano for a tailor?”

“Exigency.” Marin looks at me. “Would you mind lowering your hood?”

My hands shake, but I do as told.

Marin points at me with his chin. “My lady's gown was ruined. The good brothers were kind enough to lend that habit. But she needs new clothing before we return to Venezia.”

The swordsman looks at me a moment, then bows. “Pass freely.”

The front oarsman collects the rope and they row away.

“Scoundrels,” mutters Marin when they are out of earshot. “The Republic hires criminals to patrol the lagoon. Thugs. If I'd given any indication we had large sums of money on us, they'd have found a way to extort some. I should have demanded their names so I could report them.”

So Venezia hires monsters to patrol the lagoon. Tormenters must abound there, but clearly there are kind people, too. People who befriend monsters.

“You called Princess Dolce ‘my lady,' ” says Bianca. “She is now, isn't she?”

Marin's mouth hangs open. He looks from her to me and back again. “We will make formal introductions in Venezia, of course. But Dolce has already accepted my invitation to stay with us.” He looks at me and smiles.

Bianca bounces on her bottom. “I knew it.”

I did, too, of course. But what it all means is more than I can fathom.

Bianca presses against me. “Aunt Agnola is good. I love her, you know I do. But a mamma is different. You'll be my mamma. Won't you?”

I put my arm around her again. “I will be good to you, as good as my mamma was to me.” We nestle into one another, and the moment feels like a prayer. As though Mamma is listening, approving. And I wonder suddenly if the Lord gave me Bianca to make up for stealing Mamma.

Soon we step onto the pebbled shore around the lighthouse and climb up stairs onto a path. Marin leads the way. I mustn't show my fear. I learned that over and over on my island.

Everyone we pass is our size. I stop and stare. This is an impossible world. Have the monsters formed a colony on Murano, like birds?

Marin makes inquiries in a candle shop, and soon we are at the door of a tailor. Marin explains he wants a fine dress for me. Something in silk, in a brilliant color.

“Come in, come in,” says the tailor. He leads us through a foyer and up the stairs, into his workroom. He bows to me. “Choose what you like. I can have anything ready within a fortnight. If you please, take a look at these fabrics.” He waves his hand toward rolls and rolls of silks, wools, linens, in every color.

“No,” says Marin, “you don't understand. We need the dress now.”

“Now? I could perhaps have it ready in ten days at the soonest, but—”

“Now. Before the afternoon. We return to Venezia this eve, and she must be wearing it.”

The tailor shakes his head in dismay. “Impossible.”

“Surely you have dresses that you could adjust for my lady.” Marin hands the tailor a small purse.

The tailor takes the purse hesitantly. He weighs it in his palm. “Of course.”

“And we'll need someone to arrange her hair.”

“Of course.”

“I'll go buy jewelry.” Marin turns to me. “When you're ready, we'll have a little refreshment. Then leave for Venezia.” He heads toward the stairs.

I run after him and clutch his arm. “Please…”

“What?” He bends toward me. “Don't be alarmed, Dolce.” His voice is so soft. “Fears plague you. I see that. But whatever wrongs were done you, they have ended. You are with us now.”

“Now?”

“Day by day, Dolce. That's how life moves.” His eyes hold mine fast. “I'll be back soon. What's your pleasure? Pearls? Gold?”

“I…I don't know.”

“Then I'll choose just one necklace. In Venezia you can choose for yourself.”

My fingers uncurl slowly. Marin races down the steps.

“I'll need you to take off that robe,” says the tailor.

“She has nothing on underneath,” says Bianca.

The tailor opens a drawer, takes out a white shift, and hands it to me. “Slip this on, Signorina.” He turns his back.

I put on the shift. “Ready,” I breathe.

“All right, then. I have two gowns that could do quite well, with a stitch here or there. Silk, of course, as the fine sire requested. One is purple, the other indigo. Do you have a preference?”

“Indigo,” says Bianca.

I touch her cheek. “Why?”

“I like the word.”

I look at the tailor and nod.

I stand in the light from the window while he pins the dress, then takes it off me and sews, then puts it on me and pins again. He's precise. The silk is soft. I feel suspended, unable to guess at what might happen next.

Finally, the tailor steps away. “I believe that does it. Take a look.” He picks up a mirror from the table. The mirror reflects perfectly. It's because of me that Murano has such mirrors.

I gaze at my image.

“You are indeed fair, dear Signorina,” says the tailor. “And indigo was a fine choice. It's nearly as dark as your hair.”

Fair? I look hard. I am me, still and always. Clothing changes nothing. I look at the tailor's face. He seems utterly sincere. I shake my head and look out the window. I feel a pang in my heart. “Bianca! Look!” I point. Venerio's short boat passes along the canal. He rows. Francesco stands in the middle. Has Venerio found someone to replace me? Does anyone miss me? Maybe the boy Tommaso. But he'll forget me soon.

Bianca leans out the window and follows my finger. “Dwarfs. I like them. Don't you?”

“Dwarfs?”

“Haven't you ever seen them before?”

I nod.

“They're funny. They always make me laugh.”

The tailor comes to stand beside us. “Ah, those are the ones from Torcello. It's fever-ridden, that place. No one else wants it, so we might as well leave it to the freaks. They come here now and then, for supplies. They appear to be demented, poor things. Simpletons at best.”

I clap my hand over my mouth to hold in the sick.

Bianca tilts her head from side to side. “Demented? But you're wrong. They're capable of lots of things. They make good servants.”

“I suppose that must be true. They say if you visit Torcello, they'll run you off. The men are strong. But every now and then someone still tries to sneak over there to snatch one of the children to sell.”

I stagger to the nearby cutting table and press a hand on it for support. The room swirls.

“Are you all right?” the tailor asks.

I put both hands on the table. My chest heaves. “Do you…do you, Bianca, do you have dwarf servants?”

“No. Hardly anyone does, really. There aren't enough of them. If you don't like dwarfs, you better not show it. Papà says all people have dignity, no matter how ill-formed or unable.”

“Yes,” I say. “That's true.” I cry into my hands.