The Glimmering Sea

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Rinaldo was with a woman. A Terran. And they were smiling. Armida wanted to scream out her unexpected agony as she stepped off the narrow boat. Her agitation must have shown on her face because Vittore put his finger to his lips, a gesture Armida took to mean quiet was needed, though it, like many Terran gestures, was bewildering. Then he tipped a finger to his ear. She turned her attention to listening.

The breeze carried the faint sounds of a song to where they stood in front of a dark wooden door. The sculpted brass mermaid fixture shocked Armida. Vittore clasped the tail, raised and brought his hand down briskly to knock on the door. Twice.

Vittore had drawn his eyebrows together in a question. "Have you never seen a mermaid? Didn't your father tell of these sea creatures, as they are a legend among the fishermen? Mermaids are believed to have the most beautiful voices; thus, the proprietress decorates with mermaids." He laughed. "I painted a mermaid in my Miracle of the True Cross painting, but the tiny image hardly competes with the many mermaids in the paintings and sculptures throughout the city."

Thinking back to the book from Torquato's library, Armida said, "I do not believe anyone has ever seen a mermaid." She wondered how many false images there were in Venice. She'd have to ask Torquato about his claim that Terrans had forgotten the existence of merfolk. It seemed to her they were, instead, obsessed with them.

"I have decided tonight you will be known as Gemma to protect your reputation. Do not question me. We want to guard your family secrets. Whatever they might be. Above all, hold your tongue."

The door opened inward with a slow creak.

"Vittore! You have been absent too long. Those paintings of yours keep you away from your friends. Who is the lovely you have brought to us tonight?"

The woman in the doorway, silhouetted by the candlelight behind her, was attired neck to toes in a costume mimicking fish scales, beautiful silver fish scales. But they weren't false scales. Armida held herself silent though she felt as if her entire body wailed. They were mermaid scales—real mermaid scales—as real as those she'd had most of her life, but they hung on the woman as a dress. She wanted to vomit.

"Be gentle. She is my assistant, not a starving kitten I will leave behind to become part of your menagerie."

"Menagerie? You are quite cruel to describe my girls so crudely, Vittore. And from you who has been so...appreciative of their talents over the years."

"No need to bring that up. We have come to hear you sing."

"Then you are here in time. I have finished warming my voice. Follow me."

At the top of the stairs, the hallway led to a room the length of the building, glass doors framed with damask curtains at the far end. They crossed the herringbone wood-planked floor, and the woman directed them to a red velvet settee in a semi-circle of similar seats already filled. The woman who had admitted them joined two men at the front.

Frustrated by the lack of the right words and the fear of showing her ignorance, Armida asked Vittore, "Who is the man sitting at the desk? And the other who holds the wooden bowl—it has a handle with strings." The objects these Terrans cluttered their lives with were mysterious. Torquato's education had left many gaps.

"Poor girl. It is a spinet, not a desk, and the other is a lute. They are musical instruments and the men are musicians. My advice is to ask no more questions, or they will toss you out as the peasant you seem to be. Must I remind you not to use your given name?"

She opened her mouth to respond when the most glorious clouds of sound enveloped her. She closed her eyes and drifted inside her thoughts. No equivalent existed in Marea. No dolphin clicks, no whalesong, no chanting, nothing of the natural play of the water, nothing was like what she heard in this drawing room. She tilted her head back and, when she opened her eyes, gasped at the painting on the ceiling.