In the Shadow of Shakespeare (39 page)

It
was true.  She didn’t know how she didn’t notice. That explained the
dwarves.  And the bright colors.  She clapped a hand to her
forehead. 

 “Sorry. 
I’ve been preoccupied.”

He
looked at her quizzically.  She handed him twenty Euro and he handed her
the bag.

It
was early afternoon and couples strode by hand in hand as she crossed the
bridge to the hotel.  She paused at the center of the bridge, looking out
at the water and over the Grand Canal.  Yes, she was certain she was on
the right track.

 ***

Surprisingly,
Luisa Vernetti was happy to see her.  Alice had expected a disgruntled
bureaucrat.  But instead she encountered a pleasant and more than a little
excited woman who wanted nothing more to talk to her about the history of
Venice. 

The
tiny office was crammed with papers and books that had no discernible
order.          “You know,” began
Alice.  “The smell of this room reminds of an old library. When I was
young I used to stick my nose in my favorite books and breath in that old book
smell. Deep.  It was soothing.”

Luisa
laughed, a light tinkling sound that reminded Alice of springtime warblers.

“Yes,
the smell of history.  It is comforting at times.  And, I must also
admit sometimes it is stultifying.  All this history…and only me and one
other archivist in charge of it all.”

 “Your
English is impeccable,” Alice blushed.  “I’m sorry,” she quickly
retracted.  “That’s sounds very condescending.”

 “No
worries,” Luisa laughed again.  “I studied in England.”

 “Maybe
you understand the nature of my request, then?”

 “In
all my time of working here, and it has been fifteen years now, I have never
gotten such a request.  In fact, I don’t think anyone has asked for such
records.  Surprisingly.”

 “Perhaps
the task is too daunting.  I mean, miles of shelving.  That’s a lot
of history.” said Alice.

 “Yes,
it is.  And you need to know where to look.  But come, I want to show
you something.”

They
left the tiny office and entered the main hall, a seemingly endless parade of
shelves containing books and folders.  The thin sun entered through a side
window illuminating the dust that was in the air.  Luisa waved her hand,
throwing the millions of particles into a gyrating frenzy.  “And all of it
turning slowly to dust.”

Alice
sneezed. 

 “Bless
you.  I don’t have time to dust this thousand year history.  Just
parts of it.” She turned the corner and pulled a book from the shelf.  “
But here, this is what I wanted to show you.”  She handed Alice a large
book.  Alice set it on a table.  “Turn to the marked place.” she
said.

She
flipped to the letter G.  “I think I recognize this book, or I mean, I’ve
heard of it.”

 “This
is the Book of Gold.” Said Vernetti.  “In it are all the famous patrician
Venetian families.”

Alice
looked through the columns of G’s. 

 “There
all here,” said Vernetti.  “Every noble that was somebody; that managed to
get his family name listed in this book.  And some of them went to pretty
drastic lengths to get listed in this book.  If you made it into this
book, you
were
somebody.”

 “A
popularity contest of sorts?”

 “Yes,
you could say that.  You were guaranteed all the special privileges of the
realm if you made it in.  The best courtesans; the best banking
relationships.  You name it; you had it.  Do you recognize anyone in
particular?”

Alice
traced her finger down the page and stopped at a name.  “Gonzaga?”

 “Yes!”
Vernetti’s eyes lit up.  “Now, after I found that name, I did a little
more searching.  Come.”

Vernetti
led Alice through the maze of books.  After walking what seemed to Alice
the entire thirty six miles of shelving, she turned, “It’s right over here.”
She walked towards a section that looked as if it hadn’t seen the light of day
in many years.  Vernetti flipped a switch and a soft light flickered over
head.  “I had almost forgotten about this section, but when I saw the name
Gonzaga, a light when on.” She glanced above them at the old flickering
bulb.  “So to speak.” 

Plucking
a volume off the shelf she set it on a nearby table.  Sitting down, she
motioned for Alice to sit next to her.

She
turned to a page and pointed to a passage.  “It is here I found some very
interesting information that I think you will be interested in.  And I’m
so happy the patrician decided to write in Italian instead of Latin. 
Because I would have had trouble with the translation.”

 “What
is it?” said Alice.

 “It
is the Gonzaga family chronicles of a particle period.  In this instance,
the time period that you were looking for was the summer of 1593.  Would
you like to hear it?”

 “Please.”

 “In
the flowering summer heat,” Vernetti began, “we received a poet and playwright
from England.  He wishes to study the
comedie d’arte.
  After
some deliberation, we decided to give him asylum.  He goes by the name of
Christopher Marlowe.”  She paused and looked at Alice.  “Is this the
information you seek?”

Alice
could only nod. 

 “Here
is your scapegoated, maligned, and banished intellectual. 
Congratulations, you found him.”

 “No,
you found him.  I thank you.  I thought it impossible.”

 “Maybe
it is the spirit of
carnavale. 
Perhaps it is a thinning of the two
worlds where all things meet.”  She shrugged.  “I have never found
such a fantastical discovery. And yet, come to think of it.  I did get a
request once.”  She glanced out the window, a faraway look in her eye. 
Long ago, when I first started working.  He was an American, too.”

 “Someone
else searching for Christopher Marlowe in Venice?”

 “No,
he said he was looking for Shakespeare.
 
Smelling, Snelling…Schelling.  Yes, Jim Schelling, that was his
name.”

Alice
blanched.  “You’re sure?”

 “Yes,
quite.  I remember now.  Are you alright?  You don’t look well.
Your face has drained of color.”

Chapter 52

Alice
stumbled into the narrow street.  The night air was filled with smoke and
the sound of drunkenness and merriment was everywhere.

Her
spirits rose and then crashed again in quick succession.  The fact that
she had found him alive, here in Venice, was one half of the puzzle.  Now
the Shakepeare critics could not so easily dismiss Marlowe as a possibility in
penning the plays and sonnets. 

She
thought of Jim Schelling making his way to Venice to find Marlowe in the Book
of Gold. Why would he venture all the way to the patrician archives to hunt
Marlowe down?  Was he trying to get rid of the evidence?  The paper
trail?  He had always been quick to dismiss Marlowe as Shakespeare, and
had made fun of her, calling her a Marlovian.

Luisa
Vernetti said that she had refused his request of taking the Book of Gold with
him.  She said the archival repository was in no way a library, but she
would be more than happy to make a copy of any documents he would
like.   She said he then became angry with her.  He stated that
he knew people in high places and they wouldn’t make her life very comfortable
when they found out she had refused his request.   Vernetti told him
she was a simple bureaucrat, and not many people would care to be bothered with
her.  When he realized no amount of wheedling or conniving would get him
what he wanted he had left.

Alice
imagined her tinkling laughter trailing after him as he descended the stone
stairs that led to the top floor of the archives.

Vernetti
had begged off coming out for a celebratory drink in the spirit of
carnvale
. 
She had said the
carnavale
had worn on her over the years and all she
wanted to do was get back to the mainland and her family.  Venice now was
a city for tourists and
carnavale
was a festival of fantasies.  “As
I grow old I am too much rooted in the present.” She had said.

Alice
pulled the mask from her bag after being jostled on the street for not
partaking in the illusion.  She was reminded of the masques of the
Renaissance staged in England.  A favorite of Ben Jonson, Kit Marlowe had
not written any.  Just one, he had told her during the night of the quill
pen, for a nobleman.  He would not tell her who.  “There is such a
device, as you would not believe.  A very honeyed thing ‘tis.  Come
to.  I shall show thee.” 

A
display of fireworks rose overhead, turning into a cascading rainbow of
color.  Alice turned towards San Marco square, pausing at a column. A line
of masked merrymakers held hands and wove themselves through the line of
columns.  When they got to Alice they playfully pushed her forward. 
She fell into the square and was helped upright by a masked man clad in
black.  Through the smokey maze of the square there was a small stage.

The
haze cleared but the smell of incense and marijuana lingered.  Punch and
Judy strode about on the stage and the crowd laughed uproariously.  Alice
crept, listening to what the characters said.  It was a mixture of old
Italian and Latin, and she could not understand a word of it.  The
audience stared in rapt attention. 

An
orange flash caught her eye, and to the right of the stage a small band of
dwarves appeared.  Alice recognized them from the train station. Much to
the consternation of the actors, they formed a ring around the stage and began
circling round.  The audience laughed even harder at their antics. 
Once the dwarves realized they had stolen the show, they disbanded and moved
towards the spectators.  In a dreamlike haze, a dwarf motioned to
Alice.  She stared at him a moment then moved towards him. 

 “Alvis?”

He
turned the corner and disappeared around a column.  She quickly followed
so as not to lose sight of him in the crowd.  The spacious square turned
into a passage along a narrow canal.  The canal thinned of people and
became dark and deserted.

 “Wait!” 
Alice hurried to keep up as the dwarf turned into what looked like an entrance
into a deserted shop.  The entrance led into an alleyway and as she turned
to look for the dwarf someone grabbed her from behind and shoved something hard
against her hip.

She
screamed and the man dragged her further into the alley into a shop
entrance. 

 “Tell
me where it is and I’ll let you go.” His breath smelled of stale wine and 
cigarettes and she gagged as he pressed his face close to hers. 

 “I
don’t know what you mean.”  Her heart pounding, she desperately tried to
imagine what the man wanted.

 “Don’t
play stupid.  You’ve seen the book seller and have the document.”

The
man pushed her into the corner and pulled away from her, cornering her next to
the door.  She recognized him from the Paddington Station hotel as the man
who had been following her.  He pointed the gun at her head.

 “If
you won’t tell me where I can find it, I’ll kill you.”  His eyes trained
on her and Alice saw the cold steel the hotel maid spoken of.

 “Please,
I – ”  A muted thumping noise hit the man and a piece of his head blew off
and hit the wall.

Alice
screamed and sank to the ground.  Another man came towards her and she
clawed at the wall trying to upright herself.

 “Alice.” 
His voice was gentle and he held out his hand to help her to her feet. 
“It’s Neville Cruise.”

 “What?!”
she screamed.  “Why should I believe – ”

The
street lamp illuminated his face, and she realized he was telling the
truth. 

He
bent over and pulled the man’s wallet from his jacket.  She could barely
look at the bloody mess. 

 “Come
quickly.” He began walking.  “They’ll be watching us and we need to
leave.”  He moved swiftly away from the scene and Alice stared after him.

 “C’mon!”
He ran back and grabbed her arm, pulling her after him.

 “We
need to talk to the police.  The authorities.”

He
laughed.  “Right.”

 “What
are you doing?”

 “I
work for the British Secret Service.  M16.”

 “What?”

 “Rather
like your CIA.  Except better.”  He smirked.

 “How
can you joke about this?”

He
frowned.  “Alice, please.  If we don’t leave now there will be a
whole lot more trouble to follow.”

 “Why
should I believe you?  You could be a psycho and working with this
guy.  A whole lot stranger things have – ”

 “He
believes you’ve seen the London Bookseller.”

 “How
would you know that?”

 “There’s
a whole lot of things I know about.”

 “Yeah? 
Like?”

 “The
Shakespeare connection.”

She
began following him.