Page 15 of What Dreams May Come
“Obviously!”
As we walked, Quartiglia stripped me of Isabella’s short blue cape and wrapped me in her long cerise cloak to disguise me and cover the box I held. Berengaria shoved her box at me and took mine, then passed that one off to Venera. Fennina jostled through the crowd, another two boxes changed hands, and anyone who watched was confused by who was who and who carried what.
I hoped.
I glanced behind me but could see nothing but swarms of masked guests and Gordiana, who brought up the rear. “You don’t engage that man in a pissing match. You of all people!” she scolded.
“Not if you want to come out unscathed. For this to succeed, you must remain free!” Quartiglia body-blocked a gentleman who sought to break through our circle.
It occurred to me, as we hustled into the relative safety of the crowd, that these women were tall. I mean...tall. Not possibly man-tall like Madame Culatello, but woman-tall like, um, tall women. Their boobs were at myeyesight line.
Was this what it took to be a desirable, successful sex salesperson in Verona? Did men want to be intimidated? Because while I was not woefully lacking in height, I did not possess the Amazonian dimensions of these women. Usually if I lacked confidence, I assured myself I was smarter than anyone around me, but these women—they survived and thrived in a tough market. Truly, I perhaps viewed the matter incorrectly. Maybe to be successful, they had to live through each encounter and their strength, reach and agility would discourage a vicious male and enhance their chances of survival. Certainly having them on my team meant we had a better chance of tonight keeping Madame Culatello’s fortune and winning custody of Princess Isabella’s ring.
Satisfied with my analysis, I watch them as they displayed their wares in ways that riveted the attention of men and women. They hid in plain sight, obviously female and definitely scandalous, and among them, I had vanished. The results of this night, I realized, would bring an increased trade to La Gnocca, but first they had to live through it. Weallhad to live through it...or nonewould survive.
I set my mind to the plan. “Has Count Prospero once again mounted the dais?”
Berengaria joined us, and she held her strongbox in her hands. “Yes, but he’s dispatching his guards around the ballroom. They’re on the hunt.”
“Break off two by two,” I instructed. “Then go alone. If you’re captured by one of Prospero’s knaves, open your strongbox and use the distraction to escape at once. Return to La Gnocca and wait for...” I glanced around but could see nothing but guests. “Has Madame Culatello notjoined us yet?”
Heads shook.
“Where did she go?” Quartiglia asked.
I saw the great concern her absence caused her ladies. “She said she had a task. She is most competent and we can trust she’ll return without delay.” I crossed myself inreverent hope.
The ladiesfollowed suit.
“Now go!” I gestured.
The ladies moved quickly, at once losing themselves in the crowd, and I was left to make my own way among guests, distracted time and again by a laugh that sounded familiar or a costume that glittered with gold thread. Neighbors who embroiled themselves in scandal, I thought,and, knowing the Montagues and the Capulets, family.
I heard murmurs start, for while I had bound my breasts and fluffed my codpiece, Madame Culatello’s ladies had not. They looked like, moved like sensual cat women on the prowl.
Speculation started, too, from menand from women.
“What are they holding?” “What could be in the strongboxes?” “Money? A message? Is there holy symbolism? Or devilish meaning?”
And of course, “Who are these women who so boldly go among usin male garb?”
Like a drumbeat of doom, the first of great wooden outer doors slammed shut, then the second, then one of Prospero’s henchmen lowered the bar and hooked it through the iron fixtures. Those of us at the party were trapped, and a man’s gravelly voice proclaimed, “Count Prospero has proclaimed all will unmask when the city clockchimes lauds!”
Lauds. The dawn. That first indication of morning’s light...and far too soon for my plan to succeed.
Shouts of denial issued from every throat and echoed back and forth between the walls, up to the high gilded ceiling and down tothe tile floor.
“You have one hour!” the gravellyvoice shouted.
No upright citizen of Verona wished to display themselves in this notorious masquerade.
Were they married? They could losetheir families.
Were they perceived as honorable? They could losetheir prestige.
Were they holy, monks, nuns, saints? The taint of this unhallowed place would tarnish them in the public eye and the eye of the Lord.
Yet for me, a single thought cheered and calmed. Count Prospero challenged me, for he feared he could lose: the wager and his own unblemished reputation for terror.
