The End of Innocence

“It’s so far,” her mother quavered, all but wringing her hands and giving her that pleading look.

“Two hours isn’t that far.”

The stout woman's face crumpled, and she gathered her daughter into a fierce embrace. Brianna gently untangled herself, turning to her father, his tired eyes glistening. Not one for displays, he offered a stiff handshake.

‘Love you, da,” she said, and gave him a quick hug.

Turning to the seated relatives, she gave them a bow. “Bye now, I’ll see you soon!” she offered with a chipper smile.

As she turned to the door, her mother began sobbing loudly, then Aunt Selene rose to stand beside her and join in. One after another, her aunts, uncles and cousins joined the weeping chorus, until a long line of sobbing Mazzettis faced her. It wasn’t like she’d died, for heaven’s sake! Perhaps the cheerful wave she gave the crowd of weeping relatives was forced, but they only cried louder, several wailing outright. It was a punch to the gut, and she felt tears welling, but she got through it, stepping into the yard in the driving rain, darting to the waiting carriage. The driver sat hunched under his cloak, raising his head enough to give her a questioning look.

“Go,” was all she said, and so Brianna Mazzetti, youngest daughter of innkeep Ferdinand Mazzetti, traded her village of Marcon for Venice, the spring rain pounding on the carriage roof in sheets. She brooded over her last image of her family, wailing like a Greek chorus, as they clattered onto the high road through the downpour.

The rain lessened, then stopped, and the sun was shining as they climbed the ring of hills above Mestre. The gloom of her sendoff was fading, and she began to feel excitement about seeing Venice for the first time as her home. Eager for a glimpse, she was leaning out the window as they crested the rise, noticing a large wagon with a wheel off just ahead.

Then everything happened at once. The two men bent over the wheel suddenly charged at the carriage, one seizing the horses by their bridles while the other pulled a large knife and raced for the door. She was out the opposite door and looked back to see her attacker, a large man with a brimmed hat pulled low, framed in the far door with a surprised look on his face. He was clawing at this neck, where an arrowhead jutted out. There wasn’t much blood, but the man gave a gasping groan, and fell back.

Hoofbeats thundered close beside her, and there was yelling, a scream and silence. Panicked, she looked for a place to run to, but before she moved, a rider on a gray horse was beside her, looking down with an expression somewhere between amusement and contempt.

“What happened? Who are you?” Brianna was terrified, her hands were shaking, and she thought she might throw up.

The rider looked around, then slung a crossbow across the saddle before speaking.

“What happened is, you’re a lucky poppet. These fellows meant to kill you,” and when she spoke Brianna realized it was a woman. Dressed in black tunic, trousers, and boots, dark hair pulled back above high cheekbones, she radiated a dangerous confidence as she edged her mount around the back of the carriage, examining the man she’d shot, who was thrashing feebly on the ground.

“Who are you?” Brianna demanded, but the woman ignored her.

“What ho, Mallet?” she said, as a large dark man on a chestnut horse trotted back from the broken wagon.

“Just the two, looks like. No prisoners, eh?,” the man rumbled. He stopped, and began cleaning his sword on what she realized was a man’s hat. There was a moment of quiet before he gave a satisfied grunt, sheathing the sword and tossing away the hat.

“You got hasty again, huh?” the woman accused.

“Mine’s no deader than yours, just messier,” Mallet shrugged.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Brianna asked again, her voice rising.

They turned to stare at her, the woman’s face showing a wary amusement.

“I’m Spoons, and this is Mallet. We want to get you to Venice.” The man dismounted, rolled the wagon wheel off the road, then dragged the protesting team onto the verge.

“Fat lot of help you were, Dulcie,” Spoon jeered at the driver, but Brianna was relieved. If they knew the driver, maybe things were all right.

“Aw, I knew you had it. I didn’t want to spook the horses,” the driver answered in an aggrieved tone. “And I’m lousy with a pistol,” he added, gesturing vaguely with a hand cannon that suddenly appeared, “I was waiting for him to get close.”

The wagon out of the way, the big man returned and began to quickly search Spoon’s victim, retrieving a small purse before dragging the man towards the wagon. After that, he dragged the larger and messier corpse from the front of the carriage, this time by the boots.

“What happened? Who are these people?” While Mallet worked, Dulcie and Spoons studied the road ahead and behind with intent looks, eyes constantly scanning. They ignored her.

“Anything?” Spoons asked when Mallet returned.

“A few coins. The big one’s clothing’s middling quality, probably Genoa. Small one’s wearing cheap stuff, shoes from Venice.”

Dulcie edged the carriage forward, and looked down at the corpse. “Think I seen the little one, down in the stews. Went from sailor to drunk to thug.”

“Time to go, unless you want to explain this,” Mallet said, gesturing at the bodies.

“Time to go,” Spoons agreed.

“Who are you people? I’m not going anywhere til you tell me what’s going on!”

With a sigh, Spoons dismounted, and stalked to face her, just a little too close. The woman wasn’t quite as tall as Brianna, but somehow she towered over her.

“How old are you, poppet?” Spoons asked in a low tone that made Brianna flinch.

“Seventeen!” she said defiantly, the age she’d chosen to be in Venice.

Mallet snorted, and Spoons spoke slower, and more gently, which was scarier. “Listen, poppet, they say you are good at numbers, and maybe other things, but you’re no good at lying. And if you ever,” her voice rising, “lie to me again, I’ll birch you bare-assed in the middle of the street. You understand?” The woman was all but shouting now.

Brianna nodded. Spoons radiated violence like a loaded crossbow.

“Say ‘I understand,’” Spoons demanded in the same commanding voice.

“I understand,” Brianna mumbled, looking down.

“Now, how old, poppet?”

“Fourteen.”

Mallet, now atop his horse, snorted, and Dulcie laughed.

“Hands off, Dulcie, no touching the goods!” Spoon snapped.

“No worries, Boss, I like’em a little more wicked anyway,” Dulcie sneered. “And filled out.”

“Well, since you’re fourteen, you’re my responsibility, and you can get in the coach like a good girl, or I tie you up and stuff you in myself. So what’s it to be?” Spoon’s tone was pleasant, but her eyes promised she meant it.

“I, I need to get to my Auntie Corrine in Venice.”

“Auntie Corrine, is it?” the women snickered. “We have orders to deliver you to the Lady Corrine Tessoriero. You’d better hope they’’re the same person, cause that’s where we’re going.”

“What happened here?”

“What does it look like? Someone tried to kill you. We killed them instead.”

“But why?”

“Why? Because your Auntie Corrine has enemies that would hurt you to hurt her. Now inside.”

“What enemies?”

“We don’t have time for this. Get in! Dulcie, roll it” Spoon snapped in a voice used to giving orders. Brianna was barely inside before the carriage lurched forward, tossing her back into the seat. She was certain the driver did it on purpose.

With the blinds pulled, she could hear but not see them enter the bustle of Mestre, mostly the clatter of carts and thumps and curses of loading. Missing was the creak of rope and slosh of brine, so away from the docks, but the gull’s cries made clear where the water was. She maintained her dignity and refused to ask what was taking so long, but the minutes dragged by. Finally a horse clopped up slowly.

“Trouble?” Spoons asked in a low voice.

“At least two teams of three,” Mallet said in voice soft for such a large man. “Felt like I was missing something, too, but couldn’t find it. The others must have been lookout who got hasty.”

“North, then,” Spoons said, and without another word they were briskly clattering along, Dulcie making the horses work, the riders keeping up easily. The city sounds died away and then disappeared before they stopped on a low rise. Brianna peeked out the blinds to see the wide waterscape of the lagoon glowing blue beside them. They sat very still for long moments, Spoons and her people listening very intently as they studied the low ground to the right of them.

“Anything?” Spoons saiid at last.

Mallet just shook his head, but Dulcie said, “The critters ain’t upset. And I believe himself is home. Seems sound to me.”

A quick wave of something very like relief washed over Spoon’s face, and with a nod she gestured Mallet forward, giving him a lead before following alongside the cart. It was a quiet ride though fields, but still Brianna felt safer when they pulled up to a long dock reaching a deepwater channel where a handful of larger ships were moored. Spoons headed for the largest, a sleek galley, leading them as close to the gangway as possible, where a lanky sailor leaned just a little too casually against a piling.

“Captain Correlli for Captain Donato, urgent,” she said in a crisp, authoritative voice unlike what she used with her men. The sailor snapped upright and all but bolted onto the ship, returning in a moment with a younger man whose clothes said civilian, but whose bearing shouted soldier.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” the newcomer asked Spoons, his face a mixture of concern and affection.

“High priority package,” Spoons replied, jerking a thumb at the carriage and Brianna. “At least two cells loose in Mestre. I need a ride into town.”

“One boat?”

“Better make it two.”

Donato made a bit of a face, but turned to the man next to him. “Two boats to the city, now,” and the sailor was up the gangplank, shouting and cursing, creating a storm of activity on the galley.

“And after the package is delivered?”

“My boys find them,” Spoons said, with a gesture to Mallet and Dulcie, “the boat crews are the anvil, you’re the hammer.”

“Timing?” Docetti asked.

“Jump at sunset. You and I meet outside Three Corks an hour before.”

“I’ll be there, should I bring friends?”

“It’s a serious violation. Bring friends. And crossbows, I’d like to keep it quiet.”

“Right, see you then, Captain. If you’ll excuse me,” he said with a bow, and disappeared into the bustle of the galley.

“You heard, the Three Corks before sunset, lads. Take care,” Spoons told her men as she dismounted and handed her mount over to Dulcie.

“See ya there,” Dulcie said with a grin. Mallet just grunted, and then they were gone.

After a short wait, ‘a boat’ turned out to be a sixteen oared pinnace, manned by fully armed sailors in the elegant uniforms of the Lagunari. Another pinnace cut into the channel ahead of them, and the short, brisk man at the tiller looked to Spoons, then called to his crew, “Number off from bow when ready.”

The men counted off so fast that it must be a game to them, Brianna thought. When they finished, the coxswain looked to Spoons, who nodded. “Bow pair, take it away!”, the coxswain shouted, and they glided into the channel through the deepening afternoon.

The city’s skyline was a dramatic silhouette in the fading light, and then they were gliding down the Grand Canal, past palaces and warehouses, threading their way through a shifting maze of boats and rafts of every description, the coxswain barking “Lagunari” a few times to clear their way. She’d been in the city before, but it was ten times as exciting now that it was home, it was hers.

Just past the Rialto Bridge, they turned south onto a much quieter canal, to an audible sigh of relief from oarsmen. The narrow waterway was walled on both sides by tall buildings, and they stopped alongside a plain, unmarked door, Spoons rapped lightly, and it was opened immediately by an imposing man in livery, who gave the boat an assessing look while blocking the way.

“Captain Correlli, as expected,” Spoons said briskly. The doorman nodded, and invited them in with a flourish. Spoons turned to Brianna. “Come along, Poppet, you’re home.” To the coxswain she added, “Wait, should be quick.” With that, she stepped through the doorway without looking back.

Brianna took a deep breath and followed. She wasn’t sure what to expect, since the outside was plain at best, but she certainly hadn’t expected a palace. Chandeliers blazed, reflecting light off dozens of mirrors in a high ceilinged room with light wood paneling above shining marble floors. Brianna gave a little sigh of wonder, and she spun around to take it all in, her gaze coming to rest on an annoyed looking Spoons, who was all but tapping her foot in impatience.

After a minute or two, Spoon's obvious irritation was replaced with a resigned air, and she stalked over to sprawl in an elegant chair. Brianna realized how out of place the captain looked in this room. For that matter, so did she, her Sunday best from the inn looking poor and threadbare here.

The clatter of several sets of shoes snapped her out of her reverie, and then Spoons was at the door, at attention. A grand lady, dressed in lace and taffeta, swept in, attended by footmen and maids.

It was her Aunt Corrine. But not the aunt she knew, who dressed in plain fustian, had a quick smile, and was inseparable from her mother as they bustled about the inn. This was a far more imposing person, a creature from a different world.

“My lady,” Spoons said with a bow, “may I present to you Brianna Mazzetti.”

“Bri!” Corrine gave a squeal of delight, and suddenly she was in a tight hug, her face in a wall of rustling silk. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Releasing her, Corrine turned back to Spoons. “Any trouble?”

“Ambush above Mestre, likely Genoa. It was odd, I think we surprised them. They have teams in town, I’m going back to clean it up.”

“I see. Need support?”

“Yes. Mallet maybe sensed something.”

“Get them. Prisoners if you can,” she told Spoons in a cold tone. Turning to the doorman, she said, “Christof, see to it.” The big man nodded, and left in a hurry.

“Anything else?” she asked Spoons.

“Food and drink for my boat crews? I’ll fill you in on what we find.”

“Very good, Captain, God speed.” Corrine made hand gestures to her entourage, scattering them.

Then Spoons was gone, and they were alone, Corrine escorting her down an elegant hallway.

“I’m so glad you’re here, dear,” Corrine said in Aunt Corrine’s voice. “Welcome to Sabine House. There’s a lot to fill you in on. We’re an unofficial, a very unofficial, part of the government of Venice. We take care of things the official parts don’t.”

“I, I thought I was here to be a clerk,” Brianna managed, still stunned by the events of the last hours.

“Oh, you’ll certainly be clerking, but there’ll be more. We’re going to meet Lady Artemisia, head of Sabine House. She’s an important, difficult woman. Be polite, and answer her questions the best you can.” They turned through a pair of double doors, flanked by what could only be guards, who nodded to Corrine respectfully.

The room took her breath away. Ornate marble columns lined the sides, mirrors and paintings between them, the far end graced with a glory of stained glass in red and blue. She hurried to keep up with Corrine’s steady pace, trying to take it all in, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant. The older woman glanced at her, then took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

“The Mirror Hall is meant to be intimidating,” she whispered. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t lie.”

At the far end was a small dais, and on it what could only be described as a throne, an imposing seat glittering with inlay. Sitting on it was a scowling woman, dressed in elegant finery in white and gold. Brianna couldn’t guess her age, somewhere between forty and sixty, perhaps. Her face was unlined beneath an elegant coiffure, but her eyes were piercing, studying Brianna with a hard gaze that made her feel trapped. Still, she couldn’t help but feel this was the most beautiful, most powerful woman she’d ever seen.

“You’re late!” Artemisia snapped. Her voice was tight and raspy.

“Trouble in Mestre, she had to take the long way,” Corrine said smoothly even as Brianna was flailing for something to say.

“Resolved?” Artemisia demanded.

“Still cleaning it up, I’ll report when it’s done.”

Artemisia gave a curt nod, and Corrine continued, “My lady, may I present to you our newest candidate, Brianna Mazzetti.” With that, Corrine stepped back.

“So, what have you got to say for yourself?” Artemisia asked.

“I, I came to be a clerk, your ladyship.”

“A clerk, eh? If I loan you 1000 ducats at 8 percent, repayable in full in three years, what will you owe me at the end?”

Brianna was stunned for a moment, but snapped out of it to answer, “1260 ducats, rounded up.”

“Hmph,” snorted the old woman, for Bri was starting to think of her as old for some reason. “I have ten thousand ducats. I can put it into Dalmatian lumber, due in November, or silks from Alexandria, due in May. Which do I do, and why?”

Brianna thought for a moment. “The wood is safer and sooner. The Dalmatian coast is low risk. Silks pay more, with more risk. The timing of the wood is good, winter will be shutting down the high country, and supply gets tight. The timing of the silks is bad, the monsoon blows from the northeast, and you could take delivery right when a Portuguese shows up with a ship full of cheap silk. Buy the wood, sell it to the arsenal, and take the profit to Amsterdam to buy spices and silks. With luck, you’ll be back in time to undercut the May boat from Alexandria.” The room was very quiet, and she felt a flash of fear she’d said too much, or too little, or something stupid.

Artemisia was staring at her like some fascinating butterfly. “I’m starting to like you. Corrine, the cups,” she said.

In a moment, there was a small table in front of her, with three overturned cups.

“It’s a game,” Corrine said, lifting a cup to show a coin before shuffling the cups at high speed. “Which one has the coin?”

Brianna pointed, and Corrine lifted the cup to reveal the ducat. “Again!” her adopted aunt said. On the third round, Brianna hesitated. “There’s no coin,” she said. The two women looked at each other.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Corrine,” Artemisia said stiffly.

“Let’s try something different,” Corrine said, removing two of the cups. “I have a copper, a silver, and a gold. Which one’s underneath?”

Brianna concentrated. “Copper,” she said with confidence. Again on the fourth try she hesitated.

“None of them. There’s metal, but different.”

Wordlessly, Corrine lifted the cup to reveal a dull chunk of lead.

Artemisia was grinning like that cat that drank the cream. “I think we’re going to be friends, Brianna, very good friends. You’ve done very well piercing the Lesser Illusions. If you learn them well, we’ll teach you the Greater Illusions. Sabine House works on a rewards system: if you work hard, we’ll gift you things. You’re a talented young woman, and we have loads of things to teach you. We’re going to have so much fun!”

It sounded a little false, but not in a bad way, and she wanted to please the lady so much.

Brianna was exhausted but exhilarated when the two women finally turned her over to the looming Christof, who dangled her bag from a huge paw like it weighed nothing.

“This way to your dormitory, Lady Mazzetti,” the giant rumbled, heading out a side door.

Brianna was on top of the world. Emboldened, she asked, “What do you do here, Christof?”

The man slowed to look back at her, as if for the first time, and suddenly she felt judged, and very small. But he only cracked a slow smile.

“I’m the doorman, but I help keep the place running. The guards answer to me, and I keep track of comings and goings.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“The candidates room together in the west wing dorm, I’m taking you to meet them. They’re at supper now.”

An awkward silence followed, and to fill it she asked, “How long have you been at Sabine House?”

He snorted. “All my life. I was raised here.” After a pause, he asked, “What do you think of us so far?”

“It’s incredible, beyond my best dreams. It’s a whole new world. And the ladies! Lady Artemisia is so smart, so wise.”

Christof grunted. “She’s an impressive woman.”

“She’s amazing!” Brianna proclaimed. “She’s everything I want to be!”

Christof might have stumbled for a moment, but he recovered and said, “Take your time finding your footing here. Artemisia’s path isn’t easy, and it’s not for everyone.

“Oh, no,” Brianna promised. “I’m going to grow up to be just like her!”