The Mourning Emporium (12 page)

Teo looked up dizzily. The first things she saw were Miss Uish’s calf-high spats rising over her lace-up shoes. Then she raised her eyes higher. Miss Uish’s face was distorted with anger. For once, she seemed unable to speak.

Peaglum deftly trussed Teo in tight coils of rope.

“Spy on me, would you?” sputtered Miss Uish eventually. “I know just the thing to cool the curiosity of an impudent Nestle Tripe. And as for the Nestle Tripe’s crony, the St—the boy Renzo, let us search his hammock! I’ve seen them whispering together. They’re up to something. Summon the boy! This Ongania brat can bear witness before we … dispose of him.”

Bound and gagged, Teo was dragged below. Renzo was already in the cabin, facing a corner. Teo’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of the stripes of red on his right hand behind his back.

“Stand beside your hammock, boy!” When Renzo was in place, Miss Uish ordered Peaglum to upend the canvas. Renzo cried out, reaching with his damaged hand. It was too late. There was a dull thump and a shocking explosion of china. The painted money-box that had been A PRESENT FROM LONDON lay in fragments on the floor.

Miss Uish poked at the wreckage with her shoe. Then she picked up Renzo’s mother’s shawl and ripped it in half and then quarters.

“Rags for swabbing the deck.” She thrust them into Peaglum’s arms. “Now take the Nestle Tripe … you know where!”

“Teo,” Renzo whispered down to her. “Stay awake! You have to stay awake! It would be madness to fall asleep in the icehouse!”

“Why?” she yawned. “Miss Uish isn’t going to let me out. Ever. She wants me to die here. She’ll probably boil my body up for marrowfat.”

“She wouldn’t dare!” hissed Renzo. “The school inspectors have our names.”

“And mine is an invention. I don’t exist, officially anyway. No loss.”

Teo had no feelings at all in her hands or feet. For the first hours, she had kept awake in the narrow pit by sucking ice, and nibbling on pieces of bread that Rosato and Sebastiano had furtively dropped down the hatch.

But then she had stopped even feeling hungry. The silver-tongued waves around the Scilla seemed to whisper “Sleeeeep, sleeeep.” An almost pleasant torpor had stolen over her. Teo was happy to lapse into half-dreams in which her adoptive parents warmed her with hugs and a pink cashmere blanket. She even dreamed that her real parents came to visit her, and that her mother’s sweet breath wafted down the icy shaft to warm her cheeks.

“Darling Teo,” whispered Marta Gasperin, “let me read you a story, my love.”

Teo was almost angry when another crust of bread fell on her head, shattering the image of her mother’s face.

Miss Uish was attending a gala at Lady Layard’s. That evening, Peaglum, left in charge of the boys, had roped them together in their hammocks and locked himself in his cabin, from where the clinking of bottles could be heard. As soon as snores reverberated through the ship, Renzo slit his bonds with his ferro pocketknife.

“Where are you going?” whispered sharp-eyed Fabrizio as Renzo slid out of his hammock and crawled along the floor.

“Going to get help for Teo,” he hissed back.

When he’d taken her the bread he’d saved from supper, she had not even seemed aware of his presence. He suspected that she did not know who he was. Teo had crouched on the floor of the icehouse, talking softly to people who weren’t there. “Mamma,” she’d whispered, “tell me about the Gray Lady at the Archives, your friend in the old days. Did you know I met her too …?” Peering down, Renzo had seen that Teo had removed her boots and stood barefoot on the ice.

“Help from whom?” Fabrizio was incredulous. “Miss Uish has got everyone in Venice eating out of her hand.”

For a moment, Renzo toyed with the idea of telling Fabrizio the truth. Fabrizio was a child—that meant he would be able to see the mermaids. It would be nice to have a companion on the long tramp through the ice to the House of the Spirits. It would be even nicer to share with someone their worst fears—that the vengeful spirit of Bajamonte Tiepolo was once more abroad.

But if they were caught, the punishment would be dire. Fabrizio was thinner than any of them, slender as a weasel. Renzo could not bear the thought of what the whip would do to him.

“Will you cover for me?”

Fabrizio nodded. He pulled the blanket off his own hammock and leaned over to tuck it into Renzo’s so it looked as if someone were still inside. There was a tinkle of broken china. Renzo had sewed the pieces of the PRESENT FROM LONDON into his pillow.

“Thank you,” Renzo whispered, creeping out of the cabin. He climbed up on the deck and slid down the ladder.

The iced paving stones crackled like broken glass underfoot. Renzo sneaked through the quietest streets, avoiding the late-night cafés like agli Omnibus and Trovatore.

Down in the cavern, Renzo was horrified to find the mermaids busily dismantling the Seldom Seen Press. They were carefully wrapping in dried seaweed the printing machine’s struts of fish bones, levers of oyster shells and pearl buttons. While they worked, they sang a sea shanty that sounded odd, until Renzo realized that the words were in English. Other mermaids floated in a torpid state, muttering and snoring, while thin crusts of ice formed around their tails.

“You can’t be leaving us!” he gasped.

“ ’Tis dat giddy kipper, the Studious Son, come among us!” called Flos. “Where’s the Undrowned Child, bless ’er ’eart?”

Lussa glided forward, flicking her tail. The ice that coated it shattered and sprayed the gold mosaic walls with shards, ringing out like gunshot. “What has come to pass, Lorenzo?”

He explained about the icehouse and Teo’s descent into semiconsciousness, lamenting, “Signor Rioba’s handbills haven’t worked—no one in Venice believes what is going on aboard the Scilla. There’s no one to help us against Miss Uish. She can kill Teo if she wants to. No one would ever know.”

“Poor Suffering Child!” Lussa grieved. “But Lorenzo, have You petitioned the Ship’s Cat? Is the Beast properly Invested?”

“Oh, she’s the model of a ship’s cat. But Sofonisba doesn’t care for any of the sailors, I’m afraid. So no, I haven’t asked her.”

“Ah, the old Boy/Cat Problem. She might care for Teodora. I presume the Cat has sniffed out her True Sex? Yar. So appeal directly to the Beast. You of all People know that Something in Cats’ Higher Natures can come forth in an Emergency.”

Renzo nodded, remembering how a cat called the Gray Lady had given her life to protect the precious Spell Almanac from Il Traditore. And during the battle in the lagoon, teams of winged Syrian cats rescued prisoners from cages in the enemies’ masts, flying them to safety on Persian carpets. And Venice’s winged lions, who’d come to life to defend their city, were nothing if not cats.

“Absolutely. I’ll try Sofonisba,” Renzo said eagerly, “soon as I can find her.”

Since Miss Uish had appeared on the Scilla, Sofonisba had kept herself hidden away as much as possible. Renzo explained to the mermaids that Miss Uish took every opportunity to grind Sofonisba’s tail with her sharp-heeled boots.

“So,” pronounced Flos, “if da estimable feline’s da sworn enemy of dat baggin’ Uish woman, then it makes sense she’ll be pantin’ to help one of her victims, woan she jest? No matter how cattishly contrariwise dat Sofonisba’s a-feeling! Now this palaver ain’t filling da floating portmanteau, is it?” Flos busied herself with inserting the coral letterforms of the Seldom Seen Press into velvet pouches.

Renzo tried to keep the plaintive note out of his voice. “How can you leave at a time like this? Aren’t you supposed to be Venice’s Protectresses?”

“We are summoned to the North, Lorenzo. And in any Case, We must leave. In this cold, Lorenzo,” replied Lussa, “my Pretty Ladies are reduced to a State of Torpor. We cannot be Vigorous Defenders of Venice if We are but Half-Conscious or Dying.”

The sleepy voices of the mermaids chanted:

“Bajamonte’s gone to sea,

Roasted wraiths upon his knee,

He’ll come back and murder me,

Bad old Bajamonte.

Bajamonte’s fat and fair,

Eats goat stew and bottled bear;

I’ll hate him for evermair,

Bad old Bajamonte.”

“I don’t believe those are quite the original words,” remarked Renzo.

“Yar,” said Lussa, and shrugged, “but at least the Frightful Naughtiness keeps some of my Ladies sufficiently Awake to prepare for our Journey.”

Renzo asked, “But why north, Lussa? Where?”

“To Britannia herself.”

“London?” Renzo leaned forward avidly. Then he paled, “But someone is killing mermaids in London, Lussa!”

“London! London! London!” screeched the parrots, waking up a few of the snoring mermaids, who shouted, “Roasted Wraiths!” and “Bottled Bears!” and “Yoiks!” before slipping back to sleep.

Lussa explained, “Seashells have arrived from our Sister-Mermaids on the Thames. The London Mermaids insist that their Troubles have a Venetian Flavor and that We must rush to their Aid. They dare not leave their Cavern after what befell the Melusine. More Shells arrive each Morning, each increasingly Desperate. Yet behold their Script, Lorenzo. Is it not strangely Languid? Almost Drunken?”

Lussa held out a scallop shell scrawled with girlish loops.

“We fear that London has already fallen to the same Baddened Magic that threatens Venice.”

“London too! Why would Bajamonte Tiepolo …? Why can’t her own magical creatures help her?”

“Since the Murder of the Melusine, it seems there’s scant other Help for London. For all her Greatness, Britannia’s own Magic has been Dulled by Decades of Severe Rationality imposed by her Human Queen.

“London once had more Ghosts per Square Mile than any other Place on Earth. But Victoria was not amused by the Idea of Fairies, Ghosts or Good Spirits. The English Queen’s little Mouth has always enjoyed a Sulky Pout more than a healthy Scream of Fright or Wonder. For the Londoners, ’Tis Manifest that Industry works, makes Money, builds Factories. They have mistaken Speed & Grand Scale for Magic.

“So Britannia’s own Magic has gradually Stilled to almost Nothing. Her Haunted Houses have been Razed to build Railway Arches. Paved over are her Plague Cemeteries & the Graves of Those who died in the Great Fire of 1666. London’s Ghosts have been Dispossessed, & have given up the Ghost, as It were. Now there are just a few Fairies at the Bottoms of Surburban Gardens.”

“My father loved London …,” Renzo began, but Lussa interrupted.

“Do not fear, Lorenzo. We would wish to take care of London, as we take care of Venice. We have already dispatched Three Dozen of our Incogniti to set up a Business selling Hot Spiced Pumpkin. The Londoners shall quickly come to love It as a Delicacy, just as the Venetians do. Our Incogniti shall ply their Wares on Barrows at populous Corners and so gather Knowledge for Us. They are also to parley with the Thousands of Italian Children who play the Barrel Organ, or exhibit Performing Squirrels, White Mice & Dancing Dogs in London.

“Meanwhile, the London Mermaids’ Shells tell Us that the imminent Death of the English Queen bodes no Good for Anyone.…”

Flos called out, “Da turtleshell shows dat da Uish woman’s gettin’ ready for to leave her party. Ye better make with da legs, Studious Son!”

Sofonisba listened to Renzo with a tolerant expression.

“Teodoro, the boy-girl?” yawned Sofonisba.

“Shh. No one’s to know that.”

“And you want me to help how?”

“Go down to the icehouse and try to warm up her body with your fur. You know Teo … is … special,” wheedled Renzo.

“Evidently,” remarked Sofonisba. “Not many girls can turn a boy that red in the face.”

“It’s just that … I …,” stammered Renzo.

“Whatever it is you’re quite unable to say,” remarked Sofonisba, “is likely to be supremely uninteresting to me. However.”

Ten minutes later, Teo awoke from her iced stupor to the sound of purring and a tickling feeling in her face. Above her, something heavy thumped across the deck.

She did not really wish to be roused back to the real world, where there was biting cold and cruelty, and no sense of hope whatsoever. It was better simply to fade away. No more floggings, no more hunger. No more fear.

A rasping feeling invaded her left hand. Teo opened one eye. Sofonisba was busily licking the feeling back into her fingers. Teo was not grateful: as the numbness disappeared, stabbing pains ran through each hand.

“Avast licking there!” she implored the cat. “Just let me be.”

In answer, the cat set to work licking some pink back into Teo’s blue feet.

When it became apparent that the icehouse was not going to kill Teo, Miss Uish freed her.

“I suppose you’re faintly more use alive than dead,” she said with a sniff the next morning, hauling Teo up by her elbows and dumping her on deck. “You’re the orphan with the best aptitude for English, apart from the St—Renzo.”

Renzo quietly approached with a blanket, while Miss Uish bent to light one of her bitter cigars with a piece of curled paper she took from a sack on the deck. It was the latest of Signor Rioba’s handbills unmasking the true situation of the Scilla’s orphans. From the look of the bulging sacks, there were none left in Venice.

Renzo, wrapping the blanket around Teo’s shoulders, pointed silently. Teo thought, “No one in Venice knows what’s happening to us. She’s made sure of that.”

Miss Uish’s attention had wandered to Rosato and Giovanni, who were struggling to position a large boarded-up crate. “Show me some speed!” she snarled. “Or I’ll show you something you won’t like.”

The thumping noise Teo had heard down in the icehouse was now revealed as the commotion of ten such crates being winched on deck. She knew better than to ask Miss Uish what those boxes contained. Miss Uish was too happy, purring over the cases, slapping any boy who handled his corner clumsily, all the time urging haste.

Rosato and Sebastiano were set to drilling round holes just under the stanchions of the Scilla.

“Ten inches in diameter,” shrilled Miss Uish. “Not a fraction more, and not a fraction less. Or there’ll be consequences. Bring up the supplies! And pull those chicken coops up now! Faster! We’re days behind as it is, you laggards! If I miss my rendezvous because of you …!”