The Mourning Emporium (39 page)

After much discussion, the Scilla—made visible and audible by a new spell—made a brief journey to Greenhithe, and a small portion of portable cash was retrieved from under the beech tree.

It was fun to walk around the dockland shops with a fat purse of coins. Teo and Emilio dipped in and out of establishments called Jack and His Mother and Jolly Jack Tar, buying all the instruments they’d had to pawn to survive in the skinny days before the battle. To their new aneroid barometers, binoculars, chronometers and charts they added ropes and cases of ship’s biscuits. They bought canvas trousers, pilot coats and flannel shirts for all the sailors. At Negretti and Zambra, they purchased a smart new telescope.

Renzo insisted on a trip to Harrods, where he and Pylorus invested in such luxuries as Broadway Fine-Flavored Toothpicks and an Improved Continental Mangle & Clothes Wringer. And Renzo could not pass up a white stoneware dog-food trough for Turtledove, illustrated as it was with a fleur-de-lis, at just two shillings.

On the way home, Pylorus guided Renzo to the bookshops at Took’s Court, where both were lost to literary pleasure for several hours. In gratitude, Renzo treated Pylorus to a fruit jelly at Alfred Pill’s on Cheapside, followed by buns in Lombard Street. And over a plate of Ha’penny Busters, Pylorus produced an awkwardly wrapped package from his pocket. When Renzo opened it, he found a graceful white teacup with the words A PRESENT FROM LONDON below an etching of Tower Bridge.

As Renzo turned it silently in his shaking hands, Pylorus explained, “Teo told me about your pa’s gift wot that Uish female smashed. And then Bits found this in the river near Blackfriars. We thought you should ’ave it, Renzo. Aw, doan cry. You Eyetalians is godawful sentimental!”

The London mermaids also offered supplies for the Scilla’s return trip. They even brought gifts for the parrots—seven-pound bags of CARDIAC for poultry. “It excites a healthy action of the stomach, strengthens and invigorates young chicks.”

“Excites! Excites! Excites!” shouted the parrots.

And for the Venetian sailors they had VIKING INVALID TURTLE SOUP, INVIGOROIDS and sachets of Antispasmodic Tea, all packed in a COMMODIOUS CABINET FOR PATENT NOSTRUMS, much gilded and scrolled.

“And finally,” Pucretia announced, “we have MOTHERSILL’S SEASICK REMEDY!”

“None of us has been seasick in our lives,” protested Giovanni. “We’re Venetians! We don’t know how.”

For Turtledove, Nerolia flourished SPRATT’S DOG PURGING PILLS, which he gallantly swallowed and pronounced “most refreshing.”

But he balked at the frowsty smell of NADIRE’S WORM POWDERS. “Not putting that up my fugo, not for nuffink. I’m full to the bung as it is, thankee kindly, ladies.”

Pylorus Salt handed Renzo a small stack of magazines. “Aw, I thought you might loik somethin’ to read on the voyage.”

“Boy’s Own Paper!” exclaimed Renzo, eagerly leafing through.

Pylorus enthused, “It’s a real bloodcurdler! Full to burstin’ wiv hangin’s and robberies and adventures, all true as life ’n’ twice as grisly!”

The next day Teo and Renzo left the Scilla one last time, walking back through the newly slushy streets to the cavern under London Bridge.

The mermaids swam a final farewell lap around the cavern, brandishing tridents and shields. Flos called out, “Dere’ll be Vampire Eels to deal with yonside in Venetian waters, and dey’ll not catch us napping. Dem wobble-bellied bloodsuckers’ll be—”

“Utterly overcome by Flos’s Forsoothery, not to mention our Tridents.” Lussa smiled confidently.

“Will you come to the Scilla first?” Teo asked. “We’re about to set sail ourselves. Everyone’s there. It’s time to say goodbye, really, this time.”

The goodbyes were brief, because no one could bear to dwell on them. Even Fossy’s violin was silent. Teo was bidding a reluctant farewell to her adoptive parents yet again. Even she could see the sense of it, however. Alberto and Leonora had undertaken to deal in person with the British authorities, informing them of the treasure at Greenhithe, the death of Peaglum and the machinations of Miss Uish, insofar as they could be contained in nonmagical accounts that would not frighten anyone, or provoke a cynical, disbelieving reaction. Then the Stamparas would take the next boat to the Continent and a train to Venice.

“We shall calibrate reality and acceptable levels of magic to a nicety,” promised Alberto, “as if we measured them in a test tube.”

Lussa added, “And London’s own Magic is stirring again after all these Years of Suppression. I speak not just of the Ghosts coming out of the Arches to save the City. There’s a Scottish Writer, one Mr. Barrie, at work upon a Tale of Mischief & Enchantment set in Kensington Gardens.”

“Excellent news!” exclaimed Renzo and Pylorus simultaneously.

“But them good ghosts is goin’ to stay inside the arches, hain’t they?” asked Pylorus. “ ’Cos otherways the Ghost-Convicts would be getting out too, seeing as ’ow they is plugged in there by the good ones. I been lookin’ close, and you kin see them spirits all flattened an’ pressed agin the blackened bits o’ the arches.”

“Fortunately Humanfolk rarely look close, Pylorus,” Lussa replied. “The Ghosts would be Disturbed only if London took it upon Herself to clean those dirty Arches, dislodging the Soot of Decades.”

“An’ after all the money wot’s been spent on the funeral of Her Late Majesty,” said Turtledove, “there woan be any funds for cleanin’ up the town, not for an age. An’ there’s more good news, Yer Wetness. Pylorus, show ’em today’s Times.”

It was noted, in a small paragraph on the third page, Harold Hoskins, cousin to the late Queen, has been escorted to a Royal Navy vessel and is returning to the island of Hooroo to resume his duties as Governor of His Majesty’s penal colony. The King has been pleased to confirm that the appointment has been made “for life.”

“Then London is Safe for Life,” confirmed Lussa. “And a Handful of our Incogniti shall remain in the City to ensure that All is Well.”

Uncle Tommaso smiled at Renzo. “This is where I belong now.”

“But is home to Venice, yes, for me,” said Signor Alicamoussa. “For nothing could be sweeter or more intense than the longing I have to set eyes on my own galumptious girl again. Do you ever get the feelings that a wombat is lodged himself in your throat-parts? Is how I feel when away from my wife too long.” He winked.

Turtledove embraced each of the Venetian sailors in a meaty hug that lasted almost longer than any of them could hold their breath.

“A lovely long sea,” commented Teo, looking down on the unvarying blue rollers. The wind filled the belly-parts of the sails like a light yet satisfying meal. A week of stormless weather, with a sense of anticipation and warmth in the air, had so far made for pleasant voyaging.

Yet the return journey felt so much slower than the voyage out. Without the Sorcerer’s four magical winds, the Scilla seemed to be making inching progress.

How impatient were the young sailors to return to Venice!

But how afraid that they might not reach home alive.

For the coral necklaces around their necks were changing color. No one wanted to mention it, but all of them were slowing down. It now took Sebastiano twenty minutes to tie a simple knot. Emilio gazed at the charts for long minutes without being able to focus on them. Giovanni stirred the soup in slower and slower circles. Cookie had taken to his bunk. Most of the Incogniti lay palely on the decks, hardly able to feed themselves.

Renzo blamed the noxious fumes emanating from the bilge water that swilled around the boat, entering through the cracks made when the Scilla was squeezed between the tentacles of the colossal squid. The sailors roused themselves to bail out as much of the foul liquid as they could. Yet they soon lapsed back into apathy.

Teo felt it first in her shoulders: a sense of dragging downward. It seemed too much effort even to sit up straight. She longed for her hammock. But when she got there she still felt as if the dead weight of her dissolved energy was pulling the canvas down from its hooks. It became too much trouble even to speak.

“It is the Half-Dead disease.” She forced herself to face it. “We must have been infected when we fought with the Ghost-Convicts.”

As it developed, the symptoms of the Half-Dead disease resembled those of scurvy, the old curse of sailors miles from shore and without fresh fruit and vegetables. Their mouths grew sore: their gums swelled around the roots of their teeth. All had the filthiest breath, no matter how often they brushed their bleeding teeth with birch twigs. Every limb ached. Their arms and feet moved feebly. Their bodies were covered with bluish and reddish spots. No one wanted to eat: it was too painful.

On the morning of February 14, Teo opened her mouth to clean her aching teeth. The first touch of the birch stick burst her gum, releasing a stream of black and putrid blood.

As Teo returned dizzily to her hammock, she wondered about Sibella.

Sibella still minced about the deck, pert and proud in her fine clothes. She alone had not succumbed to the Half-Dead disease. So did Sibella really have the cure for it, as she claimed? Or—Teo bolted upright—did the girl perhaps even cause it? Could Sibella be stealing the blood of healthy people to keep her alive? Were the leeches …?

“Of course! The leeches!” Teo exclaimed aloud, holding her hot head. Despite Teo’s vociferous misgivings, Sibella had been permitted to keep her pets and her pillow box and her private cabin. Teo herself slept down with the boys in what increasingly resembled a hospital bay.

Fabrizio had joked, “Let Sibella keep the leeches! They’re her only friends, apart from Renzo. Who can she send messages to now?”

Teo rolled out of the hammock. She staggered from wall to wall all the way to Sibella’s cabin. She burst in without knocking.

A wet-eyed Renzo was kneeling on the floor, as Sibella announced tragically, “But my heart is as lead.”

So this was how Renzo was spending Valentine’s Day!

Teo could not keep her temper any longer. “Oh, avast with all the feminine vapors, Sibella! You should walk the plank!” she shouted. “You’re not saving us from the Half-Dead disease with your stupid necklaces!” Teo ripped hers off her burning neck and flung it against the wall. “No! It is you who’s been spreading it! You’ve found a way to make your disgusting hemophilia contagious. By using your leeches and worts.”

Renzo stood up unsteadily. His color was high, his eyes feverish. “Teo, you’re delirious. Go back and lie down. I’ll bring you a tisana.”

Ignoring him, Teo lowered her voice dramatically. “I’ve worked it all out, Sibella. You want the Scilla to be a ship of corpses by the time it reaches Venice!

“I’ll bet you creep down to our cabin in the night and put those leeches on us … and let them suck on us.…” Teo wiped droplets of sweat from her brow, but nothing, not even her dizziness, would make her stop now. “And then, and then … you replace our blood … with some kind of poison. It must be you! You have your father’s bad blood. He might have gone back to Hooroo, but you’re still acting out his dastardly plot, aren’t you? Aren’t you? And tell me this—why won’t you ever let me read your heart?”

Teo jabbed a shaking finger toward Sibella’s chest. The girl took a step backward, tripped over one of her fur boots, and stumbled against a low beam. She cried out, putting her hand to her head. It came away bright with red blood.

Teo was barely conscious of Renzo’s hiss of intaken breath. Fabrizio had followed her into the cabin, sensing trouble. He whistled. “Will Sibella bleed to death now? I’m going to get Signor Alicamoussa!”

Renzo’s voice was harsh with fear. “I don’t understand you, Teo. You spared Bajamonte Tiepolo, and yet you don’t scruple to cause the death of an innocent girl.” He turned away from her. “Sibella,” he pleaded, “is there anything that can be done for you?”

“No,” replied Sibella with tragic resignation. “I await my fate. I just hope it will be quick.”

Signor Alicamoussa rushed into the cabin with the London mermaids’ COMMODIOUS CABINET FOR PATENT NOSTRUMS under his arm.

“Teodora mia,” he said regretfully, “I know you are comfoozled by her, yet was it really necessary to go the whole animal on this diseased child?”

He busied himself with the COMMODIOUS CABINET, asking Sibella, “What are your deathly symptoms? Do youse have the not-far-from-the-chamber-pots? Are youse qualmish in the belly parts?”

Teo’s eyes ran blurrily over the word “COMMODIOUS” painted on the cabinet. It was at that moment that the page of the book that Teo had wanted to consult all these weeks finally flashed up involuntarily in her mind. It was page 245 of Diseases of Childhood, 1889, a Commodious Compendium for Caring Parents. She had memorized that book several years ago, lying in bed afflicted with the mumps.

And there it was on page 245, the one fact that revealed the great lie of Sibella’s existence and identity. Teo read aloud: “ ‘Females may carry the hemophilia gene to the next generation, yet they do not suffer from its fatal symptoms themselves.’ ”

“Beg yours?” whispered Signor Alicamoussa.

Fabrizio shouted, “I knew it! I always thought it was strange. Why should a girl with a dangerous blood disease want to play with leeches, of all things? It was obvious; we just couldn’t see it.”

Surprisingly, Teo’s first emotion on hearing her own words aloud was pity for Sibella. She spoke slowly: “You were never sick. But you were told that you were by those who were supposed to take care of you, in order to keep you frightened and passive, and to make you act as a spy.”

Signor Alicamoussa whispered, “Now the gatto is out of the sacco!”

Sibella sank to the floor. The blood on her hand was already dry—it had clotted perfectly well. She looked at the rusty stain on her skin, and then at Teo, and back at her hand again. She opened her mouth, but could not speak.

“I suppose,” thought Teo, “it is a big thing to be given your life back.”

And surprisingly, she was happy to have bestowed that gift. Even more so because now Renzo, instead of embracing Sibella, was folding Teo herself in his arms in a long, warm hug. Her dizziness returned. She felt dreadfully hot and cold, as if her skin was a glacier covering a deep vein of hot lava. Renzo too swayed, looking white as mozzarella.