Somewhere far off I could hear my own voice angrily describing what I was seeing, responding to the Maestro’s questions as if they were intolerable distractions. The part of me that wandered through the inferno was unaware of him, preferring to admire the twisted columns of flame that supported the roof, unseen far above. This was not the Inferno of which Dante sang, but a metaphorical playground of the fire elementals. Faces watching me were not damned souls, for many smiled. Some I knew, but they were all unimportant for my quest, so I pushed on through them without response.
Now the floor tilted downward until I walked thigh-deep in a sea of flame. Waves ran through it, and at times ran through me also, so that I walked underwater, except that the water was fire. In the troughs, when my head was above the fiery sea, I saw a figure in the breakers, two figures contesting together, so I headed in their direction.
One was undoubtedly Neptune, the old man of the sea, easily recognizable by his flowing beard as the model for the statue in the courtyard of the Doges’ Palace. The other was a mighty horse-a seahorse, obviously-plunging and bucking amid the fiery foam. This was important and I watched until I was certain that Neptune was going to win the tussle before I resumed my journey.
Clear of the ocean again, I walked down a long canyon lined with an infinity of alcoves holding infinities of shelves, each bearing infinite fires. “This,” I declared, “must be the storehouse of all wisdom,” for some shelves burned with clear, pure golden light, and others with dark red evil. Clothed in flames and whirling sparks, many people moved to and fro along the central hall, veering off to explore alcoves, ever seeking whatever it was their hearts desired. One couple I followed, although they did not seem to notice me trailing them. The woman was of rare beauty and they walked together bravely, hand in hand.
The man cried out and fell; in that moment I recognized him as Nicolo Morosini, Eva’s dead brother. The woman reeled back from whatever it was that had struck him down and turned to flee. I stepped aside as she approached, but after her came a small but fearsome thing of evil, perhaps a spider, moving too fast for her. Like a cat it leaped upon her. I rushed to help, brandishing flame, but she succumbed before I reached her and then the thing, whatever it was, darted toward me. Now it was my turn to fly in terror. I ran as hard and fast as I could but it pursued, racing over the ground, a fiery scorpion on many tiny legs. It was gaining, gaining…
I cried out and the Maestro battered the pyre with the poker to shatter the visions and bring me back.
15
T he last relict logs collapsed in heaps of ash. Jumping awake, I squealed and almost fell over backward. I must have been sitting there for hours, for the wood had sunk to a bed of glowing coals. The real world seemed dark, cold, and unpleasantly solid. My eyes ached.
“Oh, well done, Alfeo! Well, well done!”
I could not recall the last time he had given me such praise, but I hardly registered it at the time. “What’d I say?”
“You don’t remember?”
I did, or at least I would when I had time to separate all the confused images, but I just shook my head. My throat hurt too much to speak.
“Wonderful things. Are you all right?”
I nodded, but thirst tormented me as if I had been eating salt. My legs were numb, my throat burned. I staggered to my feet, cotton hose slipping on the terrazzo. “Need a drink!”
“Of course. You go to bed. I’ll close up here.”
That was an unparalleled concession! I really must have done well. I had discovered a whole new talent.
“Yes.” I skidded and staggered across the room. The air out in the salone was probably as hot as ever, but felt like a welcome caress of cold after the atelier. Sweaty cloth clung to my skin. The big hall was dim, for only two lamps were lit, so it was the sound of a sword scraping from its sheath that stopped me, before I even saw the flash of the blade in front of me.
“Gesu!” Vasco’s startled face came into focus.
“Saints!” I croaked. “You back again?” I hauled off my hood.
“You?” He sheathed his sword. “What in Heaven’s name are you doing?”
“Rehearsing for Carnival. Why are you here?”
“The Council of Ten sent me back to guard you.”
Disgusted, I said, “That’s a wonderful step up for you. Now get out of my way.” I headed for the water barrel.
In the kitchen, I found Giorgio in the near darkness, asleep with his top half sprawled on the table, and the bench taking his weight. I made enough noise with the ladle to waken him. He sat up, showing no surprise at seeing me clad in black from the neck down.
“I’m sorry, Alfeo! The vizio bullied his way in past Luigi and insisted the Ten had sent him. I made him promise not to disturb-”
I paused for air. “You did right.” Another long, long drink…“You couldn’t refuse him. No harm done.” Except, of course, that Vasco was an armed man and he had entered uninvited, so he had broken the Aegia Salomonis. He might have done no direct harm himself, but what else had he let in that might? Sensing our barrier, had Algol used the vizio to break through and perhaps been able to pervert and falsify all my pyromancy? Damn!
“But before that-”
“Never mind!” I insisted. “Tell us in the morning. Go to bed.”
So Giorgio slunk off up to the attic, furious at having failed in his duty. I, having drunk enough to fill the Grand Canal, stalked back into the salone. I could hear the Maestro and Vasco arguing, so I left them to it and went into my room, locking the door behind me.
Here the air was even cooler, for all three windows stood wide and the heat had broken at last. As I hurried over to close the casements, I heard rain and distant rumbles of thunder. I had drunk so much water that I ought to have been breathing steam, yet I burned as if I were still infested with fire elementals. The effect they had on me then was that I needed-desperately needed-Violetta. Fortunately, she seldom goes to sleep before dawn. My clothes were still in the atelier and I could not waste time in changing. Although I rarely attempt the jump across to the altana of Number 96 when there is a wind blowing, that night I was ready to dare anything.
Having tied my keys around my neck with a lace, I opened the central casement again and lifted out the three loose bars, setting them on the floor with their tops leaning on the sill. Then I scrambled out and stood with my heels on the extremely narrow ledge just below, clinging to the fourth bar for support and already soaked. I heard the marangona bell in the Piazza toll midnight as I replaced the other bars and pulled the heavy casement ajar. Then I turned, leaped into the dark, hit the tiles with my foot, caught the rail of the altana, and was across.
The higher rooms at Number 96 were still jubilant with laughter and music and even a few angry voices, but the corridor and the stairs were dark and empty, so no one saw the bizarre apparition running down from the roof. Probably no one would have cared anyway, except to ask what special service I was getting and what it cost. The topmost floor houses the gentlemen’s brothel and the ground floor provides speedy service for those who cannot afford better, while between them lies the floor where the four owners have their personal apartments; visitors there are admitted by appointment only and are few, because two of the owners are now retired. I let myself into Violetta’s suite and went straight to her bedroom. She always keeps a light burning, and that night she had two, for Aspasia was reading a book.