Heart of Glass - By Sasha Gould Page 0,9

I ask her.

“He said the gunpowder stores were tainted during the last flood. It’s almost all useless now. Whole barrels of it. Admiral Massimo is furious and told him not to tell anyone. But when my husband drinks, his tongue is as loose as his fists.”

This is very interesting indeed. Gunpowder is the source of our power on the seas. If our enemies were to discover this, the whole city could be in danger.

“Well done,” Allegreza says, coming to place a hand on the woman’s arm. “You have guaranteed your safety. In return for your secret, we can initiate you into our group.” She jerks her arm, and a small dagger emerges from her sleeve, her hand grasping the hilt. The blade glitters.

Teresa backs away. “What is your intention?”

Allegreza smiles and turns the blade in the light. “It is nothing, really. A small nick across your palm. Here, give me your hand.”

But Teresa is cowering against the wall now. “I don’t want to be cut! I’m a simple woman.” She looks from face to face, her eyes wild. “Please, let me go.”

Allegreza makes a small movement, and her dagger disappears. “Calm yourself,” she says gently. “You can leave us. We will put your problem to rights.”

A sob escapes Teresa as her eyes dart, like those of a trapped animal, to the door. “Thank you, thank you.”

She turns on her heel and walks up the stone steps out of the cellar. She’s at the top when Allegreza calls out, “Remember, Teresa, say nothing of what you’ve seen here.”

Teresa disappears into the night. Not all are made to be members of the Segreta, and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again.

There is a few moments’ pause. “If what she tells us is true,” I say, “our ships are guard dogs without any teeth.”

“And Massimo is in trouble,” says another of the women, referring to the Admiral. “The blame will fall on him if this comes out. That must be why he’s keeping this a secret—we would have heard if he’d made an official report to the Doge on the matter.”

“But how can we use the information?” says Allegreza.

Silence stretches between us. I can’t think of a single sensible theory to put forward. Paulina, her eyes wide behind her turquoise-trimmed mask, lets out a sigh of frustration. “That woman’s secret means nothing!”

But Grazia steps into the center of the circle. “Not so hasty, young one,” she says. How many secrets has Grazia known? How many years has she been a member of the Society? Since before I was born, I’d vouch. “No information is without value,” she says. “That woman is married to a soldier—part of a world we rarely glimpse. We should wait and watch our chess pieces. When the time is right, we’ll know what move to make.”

Allegreza nods slowly. “There’s wisdom in your words, sister. Even a lowly pawn can achieve a checkmate. In the meantime, we must look to solve Teresa’s problem. That should be easier.”

“Agreed,” we murmur. One by one, we climb the stairs to leave. Another secret has been shared tonight. Another mystery awaits.

5

A girl in scarlet tights walks above our heads. Emilia and I crane our necks back to watch as she balances on a taut rope stretched between two hooks high on the walls. She holds out her arms over the stiff net skirt that surrounds her hips, as satin slippers, dyed the same color as her stockings, curl with the precarious grip of her toes on the rope.

“Don’t jump!” calls out a boisterous man, and his friends laugh as the girl passes over them. They stare greedily at her long limbs, encased in silk.

“Unbelievable,” Emilia breathes. A group of lute players passes before us, followed by a performer wearing the familiar uniform of a colorful patched tunic and leggings. He hops nimbly and turns a cartwheel, and we are forced to leap, laughing, out of his way.

Emilia’s cheeks are flushed from the heat of the ballroom, and she holds her hands to her sides. She is wearing an embroidered dress with a frilled collar at her breast. Her throat is as white as alabaster, and her hair sparkles with the gold ribbons that draw back her curls. Around us pass men and women wearing ornate masks covered in feathers and sequins, gathered scraps of lace and fluttering curtains of silk. Sinister hooked beaks, laughing clown faces and feathered hats abound. Ribbons quickly work themselves loose, and the heat of the room has people