The Glimmering Sea

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The man standing over her was not old but not young either. She had no way to be certain. The skin of merfolk had natural lubrication keeping their skin smooth but Terrans wrinkled as they aged. The hair on the Terran's face masked his years and was also decidedly disturbing. No merfolk grew hair anywhere other than their heads.

His eyes probed her as though he was trying to memorize her.

"I am Vittore. That is my costly velvet you use as a cloak. Alas, old woman, it cannot hide your rags." He stepped back. "Your silver hair misleads. Your face is very young."

Armida's voice would not come. She cleared her throat.

"Are you ill, my child?"

"No. Well, yes. I have come a long distance." Armida was near collapse. "I am hungry and in need of lodgings. Might you be able to help?"

"No money, I assume. What skills do you have?"

Armida had nothing but the truth. "I have none. Though I am willing to learn."

Vittore sighed. "You are a lucky one."

"I do not feel lucky."

"My wife may find you useful. And I lost an assistant last week, so you arrived on my doorstep. Luck or fate, who knows? When my wife can spare you, you may assist with my work—assuming you do not get in my way. In return, I will provide you with a cot in my home and meals as necessary. But first, you need a proper dress and shoes. Come with me to the storage room."

Vittore opened a door in a back corner. Gesturing to Armida, he said, "The Scuola provides clothing for members' needs. Find yourself something and come back to the front when you're ready."

Clothes were strewn in haphazard piles on the floor. The stink made Armida gag. Two small gray creatures scuttled across the floor, nails clicking, but they didn't trouble Armida. They weren't much different from the crabs she used to chase as a merpup.

The first dress she pulled out was greasy to her touch; she threw the disgusting thing back. She needed plain, unremarkable clothing. The grey woolen dress could be cinched to fit and the linen chemise and stockings would be suitable. The shoes she chose were cut from wood and several inches thick with a wide leather band to hold her foot in place. They were awkward, which would disguise her clumsiness.

"Ah, much better. A suitable backdrop for the lovely peridot and shell necklace you wear. Be careful you don't lose it."

Armida twisted the centerstone and repressed a sob over Paolo. "Can I truly have these garments? I am most grateful."

"Yes, of course. If you are to work for me, I need your name. I am Vittore Carpaccio, once Scarpanzo."

"I am Armida."

While she'd been selecting a dress, Vittore had placed a cloth on the bench. He put a half loaf of bread and a pear on the square of material. Armida was so hungry, even bread was appetizing. The cheese was another matter.

"And your family name?"

"I have none." The panic Armida had been holding back fluttered in her chest.

"No family? Or no family who will acknowledge you. Let me guess, your parents died."

"No, my father, and without him, my mother...."

"I see. I suppose she mistreats you and regards you as competition for finding a husband. It is good you left. No doubt she would've found someone who would beat you both. That is too often the way. But you still need a name."

"Torquato. Armida Torquato."

"Perfect. I'm glad you show a bit of a smile. Let's get started."

"What work do you do? And what must I do?"