would not see the gondolier’s smiling face again. I felt guilty about that.
In silence, Baroque and I went up the stairs. Jacopo loitered at the top.
‘Tsk, tsk, tsk,’ he muttered. ‘Naughty cousin.’ His grin only enhanced his delight. ‘I am here to comfort you if you need it,’ he said to my back.
Giaconda snapped. ‘Don’t you have work to attend to, Jacopo?’
He stammered something and limped away. I allowed my lips to curl.
Signor Maleovelli was seated behind his desk. Papers rested askew in front of him. Navigating our way between the chairs, Baroque and I stood patiently and waited. I repressed a yawn. My early morning adventure was catching up with me.
Finally, Signor Maleovelli raised his head. The afternoon sun streaming behind cast him into shadow. His hooded eyes glittered.
‘Where have you been, Tarlo?’ he asked. It had been a long time since he’d directed a question or any conversation to me. I was taken aback. ‘I went to the Candlemakers Quartiere.’
‘Really?’ he said. He glanced at Giaconda, who had followed us into the room. ‘Why?’
Something in his tone warned me not to implicate Baroque. Without rushing, I explained that I had a sudden urge to see my old home and that I had found Baroque and insisted he take me. Baroque had unhappily obliged.
Signor Maleovelli’s eyes passed from me to Baroque and back again.
‘Sit down, Tarlo,’ he said. He did not extend the same courtesy to Baroque. He didn’t believe me. ‘You placed yourself in unnecessary danger. You placed all of us in danger and, it seems, on a whim.’
‘Mi dispiace,’ I said and lowered my head. I could not see how what I did was any more dangerous than what the Maleovellis had me doing night after night.
He did not speak for a while. Instead, he rustled through the papers in front of him. I watched the dust motes float on a sunbeam, noticing how they all seemed to ascend rather than descend, aspiring to greatness, I mused.
‘I do not see the point in going back,’ said Signor Maleovelli. I jumped; I’d been lost in my thoughts.
‘Perhaps not, Signor,’ I said. ‘But that may be because you’re surrounded by your past.’ I gestured to his crowded room. ‘Mine is still to be discovered, but what I had back there in the Candlemakers Quartiere, I felt I should say goodbye to before I leave it for good. Surely you would grant me that?’
Signor Maleovelli studied me carefully, then he began to chuckle. ‘Do not try to use your charms on me, young woman.’ He reached for his pipe. ‘They do not work.’ He opened his pouch and began stuffing the fragrant weed that Jacopo had brought back from the Contested Territories into the bowl. ‘You have taught her well, Gia. For a moment there, she reminded me of you.’ I could feel Giaconda stiffen behind me.
He used a spill to light his pipe and slowly the room began to fill with smoke. I tried to clear my throat as silently as I could.
‘Who saw you?’ asked Giaconda, her voice slightly muffled from the handkerchief she pressed to her face.
‘My former neighbours. But they didn’t recognise me. I was masked.’ I raised my hand slightly; the mask dangled from my finger as proof. I thought about Francesca’s daring. To attack people she thought were nobiles with a broom! Things had changed. Either fear or a fresh sense of courage inspired that. I hoped it was the latter but did not want to explore what had caused it. I knew the answer.
Giaconda couldn’t hide her relief at my words.
‘And what about you, Baroque?’ asked Signor Maleovelli. ‘Did anyone –’ he emphasised the word ‘– recognise you?’ Signor Maleovelli leant back in his chair.
‘No, Signor. They did not.’
‘Still, I think your little sojourn there will arouse suspicion. There will be talk. That will attract the attention of the Signori.’ Signor Maleovelli frowned. ‘It’s just as well I have planned a diversion.’
Baroque shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
‘What might that be, Signor?’ he asked.
‘A dinner party,’ answered Signor Maleovelli. ‘Tonight I have some very important guests and for that I need some very important candles. Capisce, Baroque? Capisce, Tarlo?’
‘Capisco,’ I answered.
Baroque muttered. ‘What kind do you require?’
Signor Ezzelino leant across his desk. ‘The kind that will persuade my peers to go against their better judgement. The kind that will, when the Council of Ten vote upon who they will support to be the next Doge, make them cast their decision in my favour.’
I