Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2) Read online

'Which do you prefer?' The Gondolier shrugged.

  'I don't mind Raven, I know the bird is dark, like me, but they say it's also wise and has a long life.' The Professor nodded at the logic, although unrelated to what he considered good taste.

  'Okay, Zarif, which I personally prefer' said the Professor, 'but I shall say goodbye to you then - Raven.'

  The Professor overpaid the Gondolier by way of thanks, and to give the man encouragement. Raven beamed as he pocketed his coins in the hubbub of the Grand Canal. Another customer, given confidence by the striking Professor stepping out of Raven's boat, clambered into the gondola and declared where he wanted to go. Raven thanked the Professor before he got straight to work, and waved him off as he paddled his new client amongst the jostling curved boats. ‘ONE MORE THING’ called out the Professor, when, in a flash, he remembered a painting by Carpaccio of a black Gondolier, ‘what does Niello mean?’ The Gondolier looked back but just smiled and shrugged his shoulders, and waved once more before he turned and paddled along the boat infested canal.

  Professor Sloane strode with confidence along the embankment, opposite to what would become Santa Lucia train station, to take a brief look at the church facade of San Simeone Piccolo, one of his favourites, with its Neoclassical columns, only to find it absent. He rolled his eyes. ‘Idiot - it's not built yet’ he grumbled to himself, tapping at his forehead. He blew air out of his nostrils with a snort, before he stood still for some time to look about him, and gazed into the mid-distance before he turned back on himself and walked with measured pace as if to try and retrace the steps he remembered from the future. ‘Focus’ he told himself as he walked on to seek out a craftsman with the skill and reputation worthy to make Hekate’s precious Soul-lantern.

  The Professor laughed at himself, as he looked around, at thinking so little would be different. All the buildings looked newer, than he remembered, with many new buildings under construction, and the general sparkle of the place greater.

  The clothes of the people were very different, even when compared to the Paduan's - so fashionable the Venetians were - but the hustle and bustle were the same. The Professor then noticed the biggest difference between the old and the future Venice as he gazed about: ‘no cruise ships of tourists - ha!’ He chuckled and almost skipped with joy. The Professor turned back to take a right down Calle Lunga and strode as if he had shed a dead skin as he sauntered among the crowds that populated the walkways, and took satisfaction at being one man amongst many.

  ◆◆◆

  Antonio and Hermes had delayed their arrival to the Paduan dock by spending the night in lodgings offered by a friend - reducing costs while still providing relief from his Mother. The pair reached the same place as the Professor soon after he had crossed the lagoon. They had spoken with low voices, during their carriage ride to the Gondolier point.

  'Who do you think he is? The man in the letter?' Said, Hermes. Antonio threw up his hands,

  'I've no idea' he shrugged, 'could be anyone.'

  The pair went on to speculate about the character of the person who had written the letter, and even if the author of the message or Giuseppe Monticello were the same person. They took a gondola ride from a short but agile Gondolier, a chatterbox, that talked in a rapid staccato sprinkled with song. Hermes enjoyed his singing but ignored the chatter of the man, and instead relished sitting snug with Antonio, as Venice rolled into view. Hermes looked at the reflections off the turquoise lagoon as the Gondolier indulged his talent for singing and burst into a serenade to Venice and all her virtues. Hermes saw Antonio beam in the sunshine, laughing in recognition before he joined the Gondolier in song. The youth saw the light play across Antonio's skin as he matched the oarsman's singing, and struggled to keep a smile off his face.

  This is the most romantic day of my life thought Hermes.

  ◆◆◆

  The Professor meandered this way and that through the narrow walkways of Venice and noted the differences and similarities of the younger city with the older. He took the chance to go into the multitude of mask and jewellery shops, of varying quality, to ask which jeweller had the best reputation. His questions were met with ironic laughter after each shop owner had extolled their own talents, but a consensus soon emerged among the tradesmen and women that a man called Levin Glanz was the best when it came to complicated work and that his workshop was on Calle del Fontego next to the Rialto Bridge. The Professor rolled his eyes and shrugged on hearing the location, and at the time he could have saved if he had taken the gondola straight there.

  The Professor continued onward to make his way through the splendour, and the detritus of city life: beautiful buildings that rose above the narrow-paved streets cluttered with slender donkeys and carts of produce. Elegant ladies and Gentry wore their fortunes, in jewels and fabric, as they flaunted past beggars, and sniffed at pomanders filled with sweet scents from the East Indies as they tried to mollify the pong of Venice, its lagoon, its animals, and its people.

  The Professor mustered discipline and self-control, after a long walk, when he reached the Rialto bridge, and chided himself for not being more sensible, for he had forgotten the Rialto was the only main bridge over the Grand Canal at that time, and the crowds to cross the structure were large. He patted himself down to be sure his money remained concealed, and that his Soul-lantern sketch still laid snug in his inner pocket before he entered the jostling throng to cross the bridge with people of varying standards of hygiene. Of all the things the Professor struggled with most, with being in the past, was people’s body odour. Some of the people stank. Although a vigorous man, the Professor almost swooned with the stench that came off a swine herd that held two content, and fat, piglets under each arm as he crossed the bridge - the man and his beasts reeking together. The Professor wished himself nose blind as he shuffled along up and over the Rialto with the masses; but he received compensation from a whiff of fresh air, that blew over the brackish water, and the glorious views across the Grand Canal that flowed out to the rest of the lagoon and Adriatic.

  It had taken the Professor a while to find the Calle del Fontego side street: for in bustling along with the masses, he had lost his bearings. After backtracking, gruffing as he went, he made a right and left turn and found the shiny facade of Levin Glanz’s workshop. For the Professor, a peep through the glass to look at the glittering pocket watches and jewellery, of silver, gold, and gemstones, was enough to confirm Glanz’s reputation. Professor Sloane had to turn his shoulders before he ducked through the doorway to enter the workshop, and saw a man and woman of quality discussing a virtuoso piece of ruby encrusted jewellery with a youth behind the counter. The height and breadth of the Professor had made the couple turn, and the Professor caught a glimpse of a broach that crackled with pink-red light in the woman’s pale hands:

  ‘May I help you sir?’ came the round voice of a female before the youth could address him.

  The Professor drew in a breath after he turned to see a mature woman, he guessed of forty-five, that stood embellished and resplendent with pearls and jewels, which adorned already expensive clothes of pale grey damask and blue ribbons.

  The Professor took an involuntary step forward, as she glittered, and her lips curled up, a little at the corners, above a daring neckline that plunged down to cradle a heaped cleavage, that propped up a vast necklace of sapphires and rose cut diamonds. The Professor held his breath for a while, but the mistress of the workshop, unabashed, took pleasure in the pause - always enjoying the attention she received, and which inspired envy in her female friends and family.

  The woman used her well-trained eyes to assess the potential customer. The Professor's bearing shone through his modest clothing.

  He breathed again, after clearing his throat,

  ‘I’m looking for Mr Glanz’ he said, projecting his voice, ‘I’m told that he’s one of the best’ he added and stood to his full height.

  ‘Indeed, he is’ said the store mistress with pride as looked up i
nto the eyes of her new potential customer, 'though his wares may be too refined for a man large enough to darken our doorway.' The Professor pursed his lips at her piquant comment.

  'You don't know what I'm looking for' said the Professor, letting his eyes run over the woman. She drank in his appreciation as the youth behind the counter shifted position, and the couple pricked their ears - pausing their conversation. The woman's smile crept up to one corner of her mouth as she held the Professor's gaze.

  'Maybe we can interest you in a pocket watch - perhaps?' The Professor let her words linger in the air before she spoke again, 'and I can usually guess what a customer needs because I’m Levin's wife, Giaconda' she said, almost as if to remind herself as well as maintain propriety with a stranger. The Professor tilted his head in acknowledgement - not that he cared.

  Giaconda pointed to the youth that spoke in low tones to regain his client's divided attention, 'this is our son Giacomo’ she added. The youth acknowledged his mother’s address with a polite nod and continued to discuss the ruby broach with the refined couple. The woman took on an air of coolness as the Professor admired her. ‘May I ask, what your enquiry is with my husband? Don…?’ The Professor's eyes twinkled.

  ‘Sloane’ he said, 'Don, Winston Sloane.'

  ‘Oh, so you’re from England?’ said Giaconda answering in English, ‘how may we help you?’ The Professor raised his brows at her fluency.

  ‘I have a commission to offer him. I have a complicated design that I need making, and I think he has the skill to create it.' She assessed the Professor’s face and voice for truth and honesty. The woman glided to the Professor and paused to look up into his face.

  ‘May I see it?’ He paused at the question, ‘the design?’ Winston coughed, before flashing his eyes again over her bust, but pulled the paper out of his pocket and began to unfold it:

  ‘It’s not my best work’ he warned before he apologised for some of the wonky lines of the drawing. She took the paper from him. Giaconda's eyes narrowed as she scrutinised the sketch, adjusting its distance from her eyes and turning it this way and that.

  ‘Oh, I see' she said, turning the drawing once more, 'is it a lantern of some kind?' The Professor nodded with relief - never a gifted man for drawing, much to his chagrin. ‘Come with me’ said Giaconda with a sweet smile to her guest. ‘Will you be alright here looking after the shop, Giacomo?’ She said to her son in Italian, and the brown-haired youth nodded. ‘I’m going to take this... Gentleman to see your father' she said returning to English. She returned the drawing to the Professor. 'Follow me’ she said to him with a tilt of her head.

  The Professor, not one to think of jewellery much, could not help but feast his eyes upon the exquisite designs displayed in glass boxes and wondered to himself why he had never spoilt any woman he had had with jewellery: one of Iona's bitterest complaints after he had bought the diamond for Illawara. He realised then, in the store, that it would have given him a pleasure to see a woman he liked adorned with his gifts.

  He followed Giaconda’s full figure, and rhythmic walk, to the back of the display area and up some wonky stairs that lead to a window that overlooked a small courtyard hung with geraniums. ‘This way’ she said after the Professor had paused to admire the view. He followed the mistress of the jewellery store up another flight of stairs, that creaked, and listened to the ruffle of her dress and the gentle clink of her pearls that were roped through her brown hair, streaked in places with grey. The pair then arrived in an elegant showroom frescoed with cherubs bearing fruit. Amongst the glass jewel cabinets were others filled with porcelain and cameos.

  ‘Darling’ said Giaconda, in Italian, to a seated bespectacled man surrounded by designs, delicate tools, and rectangular sheets of gold and silver. ‘This is Mr Sloane from England' she said in English, 'he has a design for you to see.' The seated man then stopped examining the intricate thimble he was looking at, to rise from his table, he being of medium height, and walked over to greet the Professor.

  ‘You have a jolly face’, the Professor said, and the Jeweller smiled with skin almost as rosy and shiny as his gems. The stocky man gave the Professor a firm handshake when he looked up to him, and the Professor observed that Glanz had kept a full head of salt and pepper hair which complemented his paunch:

  ‘Welcome to my studio, Mr Sloane. How may I help you?’ he said with heavy accented English before he returned to his smooth native Italian to address Giaconda. 'Does he speak Italian, my dear?' His wife nodded. Levin looked relieved. ‘Please, take a seat' he said, gesturing to his table that had another chair next to it.

  ‘Thank you’ said the Professor, returning to Italian.

  ‘May we get you some refreshment?’ asked Giaconda as she ushered the Professor by his arm to the high-backed chair.

  ‘Yes, thank you. That would be welcome.’

  ‘Very well’ she said with a smile and rang a little bell that lay on the table. In an instant, a small blond girl appeared in the room, via a side door, wearing a clean shift and an apron. The Mistress of the house whispered something to her, and the inquisitive waif stared at the Professor’s hair, as she nodded before she scurried off downstairs.

  ‘Let’s see what you have for me then’ said Glanz. The Professor sat down as Giaconda took up another chair, from the other side of the room, to seat herself close to him. The Professor could feel the warmth of her body, and he hesitated again before he laid out the design. The Professor shifted his eyes to Glanz as Giaconda leaned in as if she had not seen the sketch before.

  Mr Glanz peered over his glasses to look at the Professor: ‘Don’t worry Mr Sloane, my Giaconda inspects every design that comes to me. She could sell mud to frogs. She has excellent taste, and a keen eye for quality and fashion.’ The Professor was not thinking of fashion as the heat rose to his face.

  ‘Thank you, Levin, my darling’ she said with a brief side look to her new guest, and the Professor noticed how gems could throw reflections on a woman’s skin.

  ‘Now let me see… What is this?’ said Levin, ‘it seems to be a lantern of some sort.’

  ‘Yes, it is. But the drawing needs a bit of work’ said the Professor coughing.

  ‘Indeed, it does: looks like you drew it with your eyes closed’ he chuckled. The Professor had a flashback to San Matteo.

  ‘That’s what I thought’ said Giaconda, the pair tittered, and the Professor’s face turned a deeper pink, but he joined in with the giggles of the couple who liked to tease a client with money in his pocket. The Professor pondered how close the couple had come to reality in his execution of the design, but only Lucia knew the truth. Winston relaxed when the little maid returned to the room, in steady concentration, with a tray holding a jug of refreshing lemonade and three glasses. The girl laid the tray with care upon the table. He studied her, she can’t be more than twelve thought the Professor:

  ‘Thank you, Sasha,’ said the mistress of the store, and the maid gave a quick curtsy, ‘off you go now. There’s a good girl.'

  'Thank you; Mistress' said the girl, before she left to carry out other chores required around the establishment. Levin had already grasped a quill in his hand.

  ‘May I?’ he said holding up the scrawled design.

  ‘Be my guest’ said the Professor, and Levin started first to shape up the lines and forms of the original sketch with stronger mark making, and then began to transpose the design to a fresh sheet of smooth paper, with the grace and elegance Sloane had seen in Japanese calligraphers. Giaconda then moved her chair around next to her husband to inspect his craft as it unfolded. She addressed the Professor as Levin worked:

  ‘It’s a simple design, but it could be improved and made stronger with five panes of glass rather than four, don't you think so darling?’ Levin agreed.

  ‘A hexagon you mean?’ said the Professor.

  ‘Yes’ came the joint response of the couple who were of one mind when it came to design. The Professor nodded - seeing himself make his ho
ney offering to Hekate - and though the structure of honeycomb appropriate.

  ‘We see that you’ve not made provision for a candlestick holder within, and no holes for air. Would you like us to add them?’ said Giaconda as Levin added some embellishment to the design.

  ‘No holes please, gaps, or candle holder - a flat base is fine’ he said. The couple looked at each other.

  ‘But your candles will suffocate, are you sure?’ She said. The Professor then thought of the spiders perishing inside of the Soul-lanterns and thought better of it.

  ‘You're quite right' he said, 'but only small holes to let a little air in’ he agreed with a sheepish expression. The Professor could not argue. He sipped his lemonade as Levin added some finishing touches to his drawing, with some approving murmurs from Mrs Glanz, and he found his original design much improved: with tasteful baroque flourishes atop the lantern, and with additions made to the hanging hoop.

  ‘Much better - don't you agree?’ said Giaconda, as she looked at the new design, ‘we can understand that drawing, of any kind, may not be your profession, but we’ve added a little imagination to the original composition.' The Professor offered a porcelain smile as he allowed himself to think of what imaginative things Hekate would do to Giaconda’s mangled corpse, as she drank her lifeblood, but he resisted the desire to defend himself. Levin then asked particulars about size and materials and the Professor, quite bombarded, eventually settled for copper gilt.

  ‘How many do you need?’ said Levin, ‘am I correct to imagine that you’ll be wanting a pair to hang from a doorway, or carriage?’

  ‘I’ll need twelve of them’ said the Professor. Husband and wife exchanged looks with one another.

  ‘And when will you need them?’ said Giaconda.

  ‘As soon as you can manage’ he said. She paused and looked sideways again at her husband before he spoke up: ‘My husband works quickly, but twelve of these will take a few weeks at the least.' The Professor grimaced, fidgeting in his chair, as he rubbed his chin.