The True Adventures of Nicolo Zen (18 page)

When she stopped before me, I saw her blue eyes peering through the mask. Then she pushed the mask up over her forehead. It was Adriana. A little older, slightly taller, and even more beautiful than I remembered her to be. She didn’t show surprise or smile. In fact, she showed no sign of recognizing me, unless I counted the momentary look of fear that flashed across her face when, without a word, she produced an envelope from inside her cloak and handed it to me. Then she walked away hurriedly with the men at her heels, heading for the Ospedale. When she reached the doors, they opened without her knocking. A man and woman silhouetted in the darkness, who resembled Luca and Marta, ushered her in and closed the doors behind her. The two men peeled off and disappeared down an alley. The gondola was already gone.

I looked down at the envelope, which was pale blue with a red seal. I was about to open it when my hands and legs began shaking, then the ground beneath me, and everything before me—the Ospedale, La Chiesa, the promenade, and the canal—all of
Venice seemed to be turning upside down and suddenly it just evaporated, and I found myself sitting at Maximus’s table, flushed, catching my breath, as if I had just traveled a great distance. Yet, though I felt as if I had been gone for hours, in that room only a few minutes had passed. The dinner plates had not been cleared. My teacup was still warm. Téodor the crow was staring at me. But the tureen was gone. And Maximus with it.

Behind me, someone cleared his throat. It was Ludwig, standing in the doorway. “Maximus has retired to his quarters, sir. He told me to bid you good night and to see you out.”

Ludwig led me down another corridor lined with the black flowers. Among the rooms we passed were a library and a workroom filled with tools and paints. When we passed the kitchen, I spotted a silver cat perched on a beam above the entrance. She was licking her paws, and the bell on her collar was tinkling softly. She paused to look down at me as I passed, and I was certain I saw a small smile form on her lips.

In the foyer, Ludwig helped me on with my coat, which had been thoroughly dried. When he opened the door for me, Lila surprised me, appearing out of nowhere and taking my arm. “I’ll walk you to the street,” she said with a wan smile.

The rain had stopped, but water was still dripping loudly from the trees.

Halfway down the path, she whispered, “When you return to Venice, give this to my sister, Meta.” She handed me a box, about seven inches long and three inches wide, wrapped in black paper and tied with a black string. Her voice was friendly now, but urgent.

“Then you are sisters.”

“Yes, of course. And I am Venetian. My sister and I used to work together. Identical twins can be very helpful to a magician onstage, as you can imagine. When he created his double, one of us had to come to Vienna with him.”

“It’s true, then.”

“Tell my sister we’ll be reunited.” She glanced back at the door. “Please, there’s no time for more questions. Just do as I ask.”

“But I’m not planning to return to Venice now.”

“Trust me, you’ll be returning sooner than you think.” She squeezed my arm. “And be careful when you do.”

With that, she turned back to the house and I walked to the corner and hailed a cab. I gave the driver Madeleine’s address, then sat back and closed my eyes. I needed to regain my bearings.

As my carriage crossed the city, I reached into my jacket for a handkerchief and instead came on the mail I had picked up that day at Hoyer’s office: a bill from my tailor and a bank check for my recent recitals. But there was a third envelope, tucked between those two. Pale blue with a red seal, exactly like the envelope Adriana had handed me when I was transported. This time I was able to read that it was addressed to me, care of Hoyer. My heart beat faster, thinking for a moment it might be from Adriana, but the taut, masculine handwriting told me otherwise. The letter, dated two weeks earlier, was written by my old friend Bartolomeo, but it turned out to be about Adriana. In other words, as Maximus had promised, it was essentially a message from the person I had concentrated on.

Bartolomeo wrote:

My dear Nicolò
,

I hope this finds you well. Here in Venice we have heard of your newfound fame. It does not surprise me, and I am happy for you. But I am writing to you now with some sadness. Matters have only worsened at the Ospedale since your departure. Master Vivaldi is constantly traveling himself now, to Marseilles, Paris, Brussels, Madrid—anywhere he can stage his operas and make money. Perhaps he, too, will end up in Vienna. They say he is heavily in debt. Luca and Marta have the run of the orphanage, and they have turned it into a prison. In addition to Carmine, they hired two other porters, who are in fact waterfront toughs. The girls are not allowed out into the city except to perform. But there have been no performances. The morale is low. The
privilegiate di coro
rehearses long hours, not in preparation for concerts, but merely to be kept busy. A substitute conductor named Sabato was hired, whom the girls detest for his arrogance. I took it upon myself to write to the Master, but have yet to hear back from him. I am writing to you, however, about a matter much closer to your heart. Adriana has run away from the Ospedale and not returned. I happened to see her the afternoon she left, on the bench in the courtyard. She was preoccupied and fretful. She had a small bag at her feet that she tried to hide from my view. I pretended not to see it. I asked her what was wrong, and after some hesitation, she answered that she had learned by chance that her friend Julietta had not run away, as everyone was told, but was in Padua in dire circumstances. Adriana would not elaborate, except to say she felt she must flee the Ospedale and find her. I warned her how dangerous this could be, and I offered her my assistance. She refused. Like the other girls, she had learned to be suspicious of everyone. A few hours later, when the girls were called
to dinner, it was discovered that Adriana was gone. The porters were dispatched to find her, and I was relieved when they returned empty-handed, for I would not have wanted her in their clutches for a moment
.

I am sorry to be the one to deliver such news, but I thought you ought to know. I should add that Adriana asked after you, and I told her you were in Vienna, making a name for yourself. She wanted to know how long I had known your true sex. I took the liberty of telling her some of your story, so she would understand why you had entered the Ospedale as you did. She knows why you were expelled, and what you did for her, which moved her greatly. She cares for you, Nicolò. If I can be of service to you, call on me. I hope we will see you in Venice again soon. In the meantime, I remain

Your friend
,

Bartolomeo Cattaglia

I felt angry and guilty, and most of all, helpless, after reading and rereading this letter. While I had been gaining fame and riches, and seeking out pleasure, my friends had been in trouble, and maybe in worse danger than I had imagined. I had often rationalized of late, while enjoying Madeleine’s favors and basking in the glow of my audiences’ applause, that I would put my riches to good use one day, making a triumphal return to Venice and taking Adriana away from the Ospedale for a better life. It was too late for all that grandiosity now, but I knew what I must do: settle my affairs in Vienna as swiftly as possible and travel to Padua. With the time that had elapsed, I had no idea whether Adriana was there, and if so, where I might find her. But I had to go.

As I ascended the stairs to the Marquise’s apartment, I remembered how certain Lila had been that I would be leaving the city soon. Just how soon, and with what further measure of desperation and confusion, I would find out the moment Madeleine opened the door.

“Where have you been?” Madeleine cried. “Noémi’s husband is here, looking for us. We must leave Vienna at once.”

“Her husband?”

“Yes, the Baron told me he arrived this morning. And that he knows about her various affairs, of course, but even worse, that he imagines you are one of her lovers.”

“What?”

“It’s true. He thinks you have been involved with her, not me. He knows you are a famous musician—that would be enough. Your age would be meaningless to him.”

“But who would have told him such a thing?”

“Who knows? You were seen coming and going from here. People gossip. Servants talk. It doesn’t take much. The more a rumor spreads, the more it can be twisted.”

“But can’t you just tell him the truth?”

“Don’t you understand, Nicolò? He is furious with us. Noémi left him—forget that it was for good cause—and we have been living on the money she took. He wants revenge. And you have become one of his enemies.”

“Where will you go?”

Hurrying around the corner from her bedroom, the Marquise answered my question.

“We will go to Budapest. Somewhere he never goes.” She lowered her voice. “You’re welcome to join us—for your own safety.”

Madeleine took my hand. “Will you come? We were waiting for you.”

Over her shoulder, in the parlor, I saw their trunks and suitcases lined up. The Marquise’s maid had just entered, carrying her coat. I knew Madeleine was lying: if I had arrived fifteen minutes later, they would have been gone.

She read my expression and averted her eyes. “Honestly. If you didn’t come, we were going to go by your apartment.”

“We were,” the Marquise added, unconvincingly.

I flushed, as much with embarrassment as anger. In the preceding weeks, I had seen how duplicitous the Marquise was, juggling her lovers, but I had expected more of Madeleine. I realized just how much my feelings for her had blinded me. “No, Madeleine. You go.”

“You don’t know my husband,” the Marquise said, pulling on her gloves. “He’s a vengeful man.”

“You mean he’ll challenge me to a duel?”

“No. He’s a coward. He’ll hire men to beat you. Or worse. That’s his way.”

Now I did believe her. But after all I’d seen and heard that day, and with so many things happening at once, I wasn’t afraid. I just felt numb.

“I’ll be all right,” I said. “Anyway, I think he’ll be more interested in finding you, not me.”

The Marquise smiled wryly. “You’ve learned some things since you arrived in Vienna. Come, Madeleine.”

Madeleine hesitated, then embraced me, and despite my
anger and confusion, I held her for a moment, feeling the warmth of her body for the last time.

“There’s no time for this,” the Marquise said. “Get back to your apartment. Ask Herr Hoyer for assistance. His brother is police commissioner, no?”

“You really think I am in that much danger?”

“I know you are. Now, go.”

Madeleine squeezed my hand. “Think of me sometimes, Nicolò.”

I looked around the apartment—the sky-blue drapes, the mirrors, the divan by the window—and drew in the scent of all those lilies for the last time. I wanted to tell Madeleine that I would never forget her, but she had already turned away to put on her coat, and I left.

The Marquise was right.

When I arrived back at my apartment, I froze when I found the front door ajar. I knew Gertrude would never leave it that way. And for the first time, I was frightened. I could have fled the building at that point, but nearly everything I owned was in those rooms—not the least of which was my clarinet. And I had to make sure Gertrude was all right.

I pushed the door open, and the only light was the glow from a dying fire. I didn’t hear a sound. My heart was beating fast as I walked over to the fireplace and lit a tinder stick from the embers. I lit a candle and, holding my breath, slowly made a circuit of the apartment. I didn’t come on any intruders, but they had been there all right.

The place was a mess. It had been ransacked, everything turned upside down. Drawers were emptied onto the floor, furniture upended, plates and glasses shattered. My clothes were strewn around the bedroom. And three things were missing: the lockbox hidden in a cabinet behind some books, a pocket watch Hoyer had given me on my birthday, and my clarinet.

My clarinet was gone.

I still didn’t believe in sin, and punishment for sin, but at that moment in my apartment on the Braunerstrasse, I had a flash of doubt. I wondered if I was exactly the sort of sinner the
priests railed about, the kind who rejected God and disdained the Church, and when he was most sure of himself, fell into a pit of misery. I could hear them condemning me—for pride, greed, deceit, and who knows what else—as they made clear that no punishment I suffered would be too great, no misfortune too excessive, unrepentant sinner that I was. I even heard the voice of my former choirmaster, the gentle Father Michele, thundering
Repent, Nicolò, or be damned!

But I was saved from my doubt, and from further self-pity, when I heard an actual sound in the apartment that terrified me. A scratching and thumping, barely audible, in the closet by the kitchen. I stood outside the closet for several seconds before opening the door slowly and holding the candle up to the darkness. To my horror, I saw Gertrude lying on the floor, her wrists and ankles bound with rope, a piece of cloth stuffed into her mouth, and her eyes wide with fear.

I removed the gag, but only after I had untied both pieces of rope was she able to speak.

“I thought they would murder me.”

I helped her up. “You’re all right now.”

“They broke things, they took things. They shut me in there, Herr Zen.”

“Did they hurt you, otherwise?”

“No. Just the ropes,” she said, massaging her wrists. “They knocked at the door. I thought it was you. There were two of them, not Austrians.”

“I’m so sorry, Gertrude. This should not have happened to you. Come, we’re leaving here. We’re going to Herr Hoyer’s house.”

“But your things …”

“We need to go now,” I said, taking her arm.

She was breathing hard and unsteady on her feet. “Wait. I was able to hide something before they tied me up.”

“I don’t care about the lockbox.”

“Not the lockbox.”

I followed her into the kitchen. She leaned down by the oven. “Hold the candle lower, please,” she said. She reached into the gap between the oven and the wood bin and pulled out my clarinet.