Heart of Glass - By Sasha Gould Page 0,76
and can’t explain your business here, you must leave Venice.” The soldier unsheathes his sword and points the blade back out towards the ocean. The man stands, nodding, and begins to work on untying his mooring ropes.
As soon as the soldiers are busy harassing another captain, I step out from behind the crate and slip away towards the Church of St. John. I pass beneath the arched stone doorway into the cool and shade. I dip a hand into the holy water and make the sign of the cross. The service has already started, so I take a seat at the back of the church.
The Mass is well attended, a mixture of the wealthy merchant classes and the poor. A peasant woman sits alone across the aisle from me. I’m looking into space, barely concentrating on the priest’s Latin chants, when I spot a familiar silhouette some rows in front. Paulina, her head bent and her lips moving. My friend looks floored by grief. A young woman, now a widow.
As the service ends, we are blessed and instructed to do God’s will. I cross the flagstones swiftly and reach Paulina. She turns when I whisper her name. Her eyes are ringed with the bruised circles of sleeplessness, and her irises themselves seem sunken, darting around with fraught anxiety.
“Laura,” she says softly.
“How are you?” I ask, laying a hand on her arm. “Did you … ?” I daren’t finish my question, but she knows what I mean.
“I think so,” she begins, pulling her hand distractedly through her hair. “I left it where it could be found, marked with his name.”
I draw her to one side, away from the departing worshippers. Her shrunken cheeks make her look half starved. “When was the last time you ate?”
She shrugs. “I have no appetite.”
The two of us sit on wooden chairs in a side chapel off the main nave. No one will spot us here, and if they should, then we are just two friends talking.
She looks over a shoulder nervously. “I hardly know whom to trust.” She turns back to me and then her gaze falls, guiltily. “There’s something new. Have you seen this?” She slips a hand down the front of her bodice, and I see that there is a secret pocket hidden between the silk lining and the burlap stiffener. She quickly pulls out a fold of paper.
“More propaganda?” I ask, my voice thick with disgust.
In reply, Paulina unfurls the parchment and hands it to me. I scan its contents. It’s another diatribe against the Segreta.
“I’m scared,” says Paulina. She’s the Segreta’s newest recruit, and the practical part of me realizes that she is our weakest too. She’s already crumbling under the pressure of what she volunteered to do. I should have found someone else to run my dangerous errands for me.
“Don’t be silly,” I say, feigning lightheartedness. “You don’t take things like this seriously, do you? The Segreta are too strong to be destroyed by printed words. You’re strong.”
Paulina doesn’t look convinced. “I’ve heard they’re doing awful things to Allegreza. Even worse than we thought. Oh, Laura, I’ve heard …” She lets out a sob and shakes her head vehemently. “I couldn’t do it, I know I couldn’t. I couldn’t stay quiet under torture, and Massimo doesn’t seem to be reacting at all to our … promise.” She looks into my face, her eyes pleading for reassurance.
“You must be strong,” I tell her. “The Segreta rely on us. Allegreza especially.”
Paulina’s face crumples, and she hides her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking as her body is wracked with sobs. Nearby, a woman with a broom glances towards the sound. I give her a minute shake of the head and smile patiently. She nods, and moves farther down the church, sweeping in wide strokes.
Paulina has managed to compose herself slightly, wiping away the tears with the hem of her sleeve. “Have you heard from Roberto?” she asks.
“No.” I can hear the emotionless quality of my own voice. That’s how he’s left me. Not even a word.
“That’s it, then,” Paulina says, tucking the scroll back inside her secret pocket. “War will come to Venice. Even the Segreta can’t do anything to stop this.” She gets to her feet and turns to leave, pressing her hand into my shoulder. “Take care, Laura.”
It feels as though she’s bidding me goodbye for the last time. With a sweep of her skirts, she’s gone, and I am left alone in the sparse little chapel.
When I arrive