The Undrowned Child Read online

  “In the Meantime, You must avoid Maria like the Very Plague, Teodora. She must never hear of Us. As yet, Bajamonte Tiepolo knows Nothing of this Cavern; indeed He does not know that We even exist, or that Anyone is working against Him. This Secrecy is our Strongest Protection, and ’Tis most Fragile.”

  “What about Signor Rioba?” asked Renzo.

  “Il Traditore cannot know Signor Rioba is the nom de guerre of a School of Mermaids. We have sought to make Signor Rioba’s Tone authentically, well, Male.”

  “No one would think he was a girl,” said Teo, smiling. Those insults he’d piled on the mayor were rather too ripe for that.

  “You can be sure Bajamonte Tiepolo is hunting for Signor Rioba, with the Aim of silencing Him.”

  “How can a disembodied ghost do that?”

  Chissa observed, “He has his henchmen. And his hand back. He can kill.”

  Lussa added, “And He has a poor Human Skin that he hopes to make Use of. A Hero’s Remains, whose Heroism He hopes to steal thereby.”

  “Marcantonio Bragadin!” exclaimed Renzo, glancing disapprovingly at Teo.

  “And He seeks One More Thing to swell his Strength: Something He lost when He was driven out of Venice: his Spell Almanac. ’Tis a most sophisticated Volume, a vast Repertoire of Baddened Magic. His Spells will have included The Transference of a Bad Old Spirit to a New Body & The Reviving of the Wicked Dead. Also Food-Potioning & Fear-Twisting the Brain & many, many Death-Curses.”

  “Surely he’d remember his baddened spells? Why doesn’t he just use them?”

  “Remember, his Form is still Evolving. It sheds its Memories each Time He transforms. He cannot retain the Necessary Spells for Long enough to make Use of Them. The Brustolons, for example, would be a Fine Brutal Army for Him. But He can for now animate just One at a Time and then only for a few Scant Seconds.

  “They shall stay Inanimate, as long as Bajamonte Tiepolo does not obtain the Almanac. And even then … He absolutely needs his Full Strength back to utter the Spells Themselves. A Spell, as You know, is not simply a Set of Words.”

  Teo and Renzo tried hard to look as if they did know that, but Lussa tactfully filled in, “The Being who casts a Spell must send out some of his Soul with it. ’Tis knowing how to harness Soul & Words & Time & Desire that gives a Spell its Power. Of course, One must first be in Possession of the Words.”

  “So why hasn’t Bajamonte Tiepolo got his Almanac back?” asked Teo.

  “Answering that Very Question is exactly how You Children shall prove Your Usefulness.”

  half past two in the morning, June 8, 1899

  Teo and Renzo gazed at Lussa apprehensively.

  “We nourish Strong Suspicions that the Spell Almanac is now stored in the State Archives of Venice, with the Hatches battened down upon It for Safety. It might even be disguised as Something Else. You must go to the Archives & bring It back to Us. Here We can, We hope, study the Spells & turn Il Traditore’s Magic back against Himself. Teodora—You are specially charged with this Mission.”

  Teo stared at the mermaid. The word “why?” formed on her silent lips.

  “You must invent some Manner of Scholarly Pursuit that will disguisingly account for a Visit there. Lorenzo, You must smooth the Waters with the Archivist. She is a Formidable Piece of a Woman, We hear. Though unlike Mermaids in that She is reputed not particularly fond of Children. You must charm Her, Lorenzo, in the Venetian Style. It shall not be easy for You. You must be Crafty as Cuttles. If It comes to the Attention of Bajamonte Tiepolo that Someone Else is hunting for his Spells …”

  Lussa’s expression said more than any words could ever express.

  “B-but,” stammered Renzo, “we are not … magical creatures like you. We really couldn’t … We have no special powers.…”

  One of the mermaids muttered sarcastically, “Aren’t ye the plucky fellow?”

  Another asked, “Have ye been a-sipping at da ninny-broth, eh?”

  Renzo flushed as the parrots chorused, “Ninny-broth! Ninny-broth! Ninny-broth!”

  Avoiding Renzo’s humiliated eyes, Teo said politely to Lussa, “We’d like to help, of course. But why do you need children for this mission?”

  Lussa explained: “Children will arouse less Suspicion than Adults. Our Enemy has surely mounted Guards outside the Premises. We have Reason to think that Il Traditore suspects that his Almanac lies inside. There have been Attempts …”

  Chissa smiled. “Thwarted until now …”

  Lussa continued, “But the Main Reason for your Employment is so Simple that It has obviously escaped You. We Mermaids have no Lubbersome Legs—We cannot walk into the Human Police Station or the Town Hall and explain the Danger. Nor can We swim into the Archives.”

  Teo and Renzo nodded.

  “Adult Humanfolk in any case have Limited Vision. Once They pass the Age of Thirteen or Fourteen, They can no longer see Mermaids or Ghosts. We need some Children to act as our Ambassadors. All through History, We have found Children our Best Allies. Children & Nuns.” She cast her eyes upwards.

  “So the nuns upstairs in the House of the Spirits know about you?” asked Renzo. “But you are … forgive me … pagan creatures. There are no mermaids in the Bible. Surely the nuns would not even want to believe in you?”

  “They understand who We are, and They help Us in Subtle Ways. The Nuns of the House of the Spirits are Special Ladies. They are quite Antique, some having nearly One Hundred Years. Although deeply Religious, their Minds are Open because they are Clean of all Manner of Things that clutter up the Consciences of Ordinary Humanfolk. Living long & purely good has given Them an Innocence & a Vision like That of Young Human Children.”

  “Can the nuns see ghosts too?”

  “O Yar indeed! They look after the Garden Ghosts, comforting Them as best They can. They never reproach Them.”

  “That’s another thing! Why are those ghosts so sad?”

  “Aye, Surpassing Sad. They are Humanfolk who were in the Process of mending their Wicked Lives when Death overtook Them. Our Garden Ghosts are caught between States of Being. Until Someone finds a Way to help Them.”

  “Are they between-the-Linings?” asked Teo urgently.

  “Between the what?” snapped Renzo.

  “Nay.” Lussa frowned. “They are not so Fortunate. They are Ghosts who are in-the-Cold.”

  “Fortunate?” speculated Teo to herself. “Then it’s good to be between-the-Linings? I suppose Pedro-the-Crimp is in-the-Cold? He was sad and sorry too.” Aloud, she asked, “Will they ever get out?”

  “Perhaps. They may redeem Themselves by a Selfless Act in Time of War.”

  “Is the Butcher Biasio in-the-Cold too?”

  “Nay. The Butcher never repented his Crimes. He’s another Tribe of Ghost. A Badder Kind. We call Them ‘in-the-Slaughterhouse.’ ”

  “How do you pick them apart from …?”

  “Easily. Their Spirit-Forms are Mutilated. If You see a Ghost carrying his Head, or with his Hands cut off—avoid Him! Those like Butcher Biasio feel Nary a Drop of Guilt for the Harm that They did. They desire to keep doing the Very Same.”

  “So the Butcher wants to keep killing and eating children?” gulped Teo.

  “He’s ravenous for Them. Though of course ’Tis an untidy Process, his Digestion. He must balance his Head on his Neck and hope that no Morsels leak out of the Gappy Hole.…”

  Renzo interrupted, white-faced, “And Bajamonte Tiepolo is in-the-Slaughterhouse too?”

  “No, he’s a third Manner of Ghost, the Worst & Rarest. Such Ghosts have lost their Original Form entirely—all that is left of Them is their Boiling Anger. We say this Kind are ‘in-the-Meltings.’ For, like Anything that boils, They cannot settle, as We have seen with Bajamonte Tiepolo. Their Obsession is Bloody Revenge. If One of Those Ghosts should escape his Fate, become Solid & Fixed, then the whole World, and not just Venice, stands in Danger.”

  “But,” said Teo slowly, “I still don’t see why …?�
��

  “Why You Two? You each have your Special Qualities. Lorenzo’s talent for History & the Fact that he’s a Gondolier’s Son—these Items mean that He has Special Knowledge of Venice that shall be Vital in our Task. Venice is in his Blood and He has Abilities inside Him of which even He does not yet know.”

  Renzo stood a little taller.

  “But,” thought Teo, “what can an undersized and possibly dead orphan from Naples do to help Venice?”

  Lussa continued, “You, Teodora, are Clever with Languages & Working out Puzzles, & You are Blessed with a Memory that operates like a Human Photographic Machine.”

  “But I’m not Venetian. Actually,” protested Teo, full of self-pity, “I am adopted. I don’t know where I come from, so I don’t belong anywhere.”

  Renzo exclaimed scornfully, “Adopted!” in a tone that sounded as if “adopted” was even worse than “from Naples.” He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you ever think of asking the people who adopted you where you actually came from?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt them,” said Teo steadfastly. “It’s not their fault that I never quite feel at home anywhere. It’s not their fault that I am clumsy and I don’t fit in. It’s just that I am rather odd, I suppose.”

  Teo was trying to fight off tears, but one sneaked out of her eyes anyway.

  Lussa looked at her seriously. “Teodora, ’Twas our Intention to spare You This a While, but … Did You ever wonder how You got your Name?”

  Teo shook her head, and the tear flew away.

  “Well, Lorenzo will know that your Namesake—Teodoro—was the Ancient Protector of Venice. Before Saint Mark was our Patron Saint We had Saint Teodoro to watch over Us.”

  “What a coincidence!” remarked Renzo.

  Lussa answered, “In fact Not.”

  “Do I have something to do with Venice after all?” asked Teo eagerly. “Is that why I feel so at home here? Why it has been so easy for me to learn Venetian …?”

  “A smattering of Venetian,” interrupted Renzo.

  “Very well, a smattering of Venetian. But it’s more than that. I love to be here. I always wanted to come. I kept plaguing my parents.…”

  Renzo opened his mouth, but Lussa held up her hand. “There is no Need for You to swagger so with Teodora, Lorenzo.”

  “Ninny-broth!” clacked one parrot quietly.

  “Teodora.” Lussa spoke again. “Now ’Tis Timely to explain an important Part of your Own History to You.”

  Teo swallowed loudly and nodded, feeling rather as you do in that moment before you are asked to turn over the paper in an examination. She was not at all prepared for the next question.

  Lussa asked, “So, Children, are You ready for a Dip in the Drink?”

  “The Drink?”

  All around them, young mermaids chorused, “Da Ditch, da Pond, da Oggin, Sir Briney, Harry Hogwash, da Old Gray Widow-Maker. Da SEA!”

  “In other Words …” Lussa smiled. “Children, are You ready for a Swim?”

  Teo felt goose pimples raise themselves up all over her body.

  Renzo whispered, “A sw-w-w-im?” and Teo noticed that he could not keep the trembling out of his voice or the pallor off his skin.

  three o’clock in the morning, June 8, 1899

  “Ahoy! To the Bone Orchard!” Teo had no idea what or where that was, but it did not sound very cozy.

  Renzo hissed, “It’s an old sailors’ name for a cemetery. Venice’s is on an island. San Michele. You can see it from the garden of the House of the Spirits.”

  “We’re going there?” asked Teo nervously.

  A cemetery? In the middle of the night? In a city where everything was going seriously wrong? And the word “swim” had been used. Swim through the shark-infested waters? Where Vampire Eels had been sighted?

  Lussa seemed to read her thoughts. “The Eels have no idea where We are. Meanwhile, the Sharks cherish no great Amity towards Mermaids. The Concept of protecting a City, or even looking after Other Beings—that is Unknown in their Primitive & Nasty World. So They do not understand what We are for.”

  “Wouldn’t they just eat you anyway?”

  “The Rumor among Them is that Mermaids are tough & taste abominable. I suppose ’Tis the Vast Amount of Curry that We consume. Also, Sharks do most viscerally detest Mermaid Voices. If We sing in High Pitch, It hurts their Ears terribly, whereupon It drives Them away. Usually.”

  Renzo suggested, “Er, couldn’t we take a boat?”

  “We have only Rafts for distributing Signor Rioba’s Handbills. We shall give You some Cauls, however.”

  “Cauls?”

  Chissa explained, “The net that covers some human babies’ heads in the womb. Sailors believe that those nets can save people from death by drowning. Mind ye, sailors also think warts can be cured by rubbing ’em with eel blood! Foolish coddles! But lately we always keep some cauls at hand. Just in case the stink of ’em puts off the sharks.”

  Lussa tied a little dried packet around the neck of each flinching child. Teo caught a whiff of something sour and salty. Two mermaids flopped over in the water; Chissa told Renzo and Teo to walk down into the pool and climb onto their backs.

  “Handsomely!” the mermaid urged the children.

  “We cannot change the way we look,” said Teo defensively.

  Chissa laughed delicately. “I am sorry. By us ‘handsomely’ means ‘with caution.’ Which brings to my mind the book. It will not serve as ballast when ye swim, Undrowned Child.”

  Teo did not like letting go of The Key to the Secret City, but she handed it to Lussa, who placed it carefully on a dry cushion of moss. “It will be safe as a Shrimp in its Shell here.” She smiled reassuringly.

  Teo felt curiously empty. She had grown so used to the feel of the book between her bodice and pinafore, where she usually hid it. The mermaids seemed kind, but she didn’t know them, not as she knew The Key to the Secret City. And now these mermaids were asking her to swim across the lagoon and did not appear to be offering any choice in the matter.

  The water was surprisingly warm. Of course, Teo remembered, the Creature had been heating it up. Lussa did not need to remind her not to swallow any of it. They set off through a torchlit gilded tunnel, emerging under the House of the Spirits, on the edge of the lagoon. They pulled out into the stretch of velvety black water that lay between the House and the island of San Michele, where the white stones of the cemetery gates glowed encouragingly in the dark.

  “ ’Tis a Ladies’ Sea tonight,” murmured Lussa. “Calm & Fair.”

  Teo and Renzo clung to the backs of their mermaids, trying not to tangle their fingers in the lustrous curls that hung down their backs. Lussa and three others accompanied them, holding burning brands above the water to light their way. Everyone was silent, keeping their eyes fixed on the approaching shore.

  “Shouldn’t you start singing now?” asked Renzo tensely. “You know, to keep away the sharks?”

  “We are singing.” Lussa smiled. “A special Melody for the Sharks. In this Case, ’Tis simply too High in Pitch for Human Ears to register It.”

  And indeed, they arrived at the cemetery island untroubled.

  Once there, Lussa handed Renzo one of the burning brands. “Hurry now, walk straight past Three-and-Thirty Graves, then to the Right past seven Graves, and then Left past four Graves. Then You shall find what You need to see in the Bone Orchard.”

  In the graveyard, leaves were rustling in the wind, and strange shadows shifted in the moonlight. It was hard to count the graves in the nearly total darkness. The wavering light of the brands swept over weeping stone angels, broken urns and the faces of dead Venetians daguerreotyped on little china discs. Many recent ones showed the faces of children. The mermaid’s instructions led them to the far edge of the graveyard, away from the main lanes. Eventually they pulled up short. Exactly where they should walk now was an overgrown clump of flowering bushes.

  “There’s nothing here,” sighed Renzo. “The mermai
ds must have made a mistake.”

  “I don’t imagine Lussa has made a mistake in a thousand years,” remarked Teo. “Hold this.”

  She handed Renzo her brand and used both hands to stretch apart the branches of the bushes in front of them. Renzo shone the light through the parting. A small gravestone glowed eerily white among the green foliage.

  Teo ripped at the branches, snapping off leaves and clumps of flowers until she’d cleared a space big enough to kneel down. “Now give me the brand, Renzo.”

  It was a small, fairly new grave, just eleven years old—the first thing Teo noticed was the date carved on the top of the stone: JUNE 15, 1888.

  Then Renzo, leaning over her shoulder to read the mossy writing, whispered, “No! I simply don’t believe it!”

  Teo forced herself to read the rest of the tombstone. Carved into the flecked granite were the following words:

  JUNE 15, 1888

  MARTA AND DANIELE GASPERIN

  DROWNED IN THE WATERS OF THE LAGOON. SURVIVED ONLY BY THEIR INFANT DAUGHTER, TEODORA. MAY THEIR LOVING SOULS

  REST IN PEACE.

  Renzo noted, “June Fifteenth! The anniversary of Bajamonte Tiepolo’s conspiracy!” Then his face changed. “But, the thing is …”

  “Their infant daughter, Teodora,” repeated Teo. “I was a baby in June 1888.”

  Teodora-of-Sad-Memory, that was how the book had first greeted her. Teo suddenly remembered the expression on her adoptive mother’s face when she called her “my water-baby”—it had always been sad, not joking. She felt sick and yet unbearably excited at the same time. Renzo’s incredulous eyes showed her that his thoughts were hurtling in the same direction.

  “That seems to be what the mermaids are trying to tell you,” he said.

  “How could Marta and Daniele Gasperin have drowned? Renzo, I know it’s not exactly historical, but do you know anything about it? Of course, you were a baby then too.…”

  From Renzo’s waxen face, Teo understood that he did indeed know something, and that something was going to hurt, very badly.