Sikkila, a village near Sankla

The sea looked pale turquoise in the morning. The air smelled of salt. There was no sun, just a narrow strip of a golden dawn in the east. The waves gently stroked the shore with their foaming palms. I could feel the swell beneath my feet. The waves were playing, dragging me with them. I shivered slightly in the morning chill. The water was warmer than the air so I plunged into it, taking the warmth from the sea and giving it the warmth of my heart.

They say that the waves can whisper the innermost into your ears. That’s why people come here, to get away from the hustle and listen. Every time you distinguish something new into yourself. I was attached to the sea since the Night my soul touched its deepest secrets. But for Carita, I’d still be there – like a coral, fish, or a mindless patch of sea foam.

Each time getting to the shore caused more and more difficulty. I felt as clumsy as a turtle. The body seemed too heavy and there was a little ringing in my ears. The wet skin tightened in the sunlight like a thin mask, sharp pebbles dug right into the heel, and I had to jump on one foot to get to the shoes, which I’d left at a safe distance from a playful swash. The sea followed me, its turquoise mocking eyes winking and gleaming with silver: “Why, are you leaving already? Let’s play a little longer!” But for now, I had the strength to turn my back and ignore its courtesy. Too many things were keeping me on the shore.

To the right, the dark roofs could be seen behind the sand dunes covered with prickly grass. That was Perna, a fishing village, where Manriolo and I found our shelter for the winter. My friend worked as a carpenter and helped local fishermen. Sometimes I envied his ease. When a person is at ease with himself, people around him feel at ease too. They loved Manriolo. And they were scared of me. There were whispers behind my back: scimara, the sea witch. Still, they willingly asked me for advice. Where was the best place to set the nets? When would the next storm take place? I felt like an interpreter between people and the deep blue country that lay half a league from their shacks.

On my way home, I tried to hide in the narrow strip of shadow along the street, as usual. As I passed the market, Aldo, our neighbor, gave me two fish – my fee for the sea lessons. I thought I’d better fry it before it was too hot. When the sun was overhead, life in Perna stood still as its piercing-hot rays drove everyone into the shade. Even the loudest dogs hid until the evening chill.

The stove in the yard was really old. You had to fire it up carefully not to choke in big clouds of smoke. We actually had the money to fix it. There was even enough to buy our own boat. Not once had I hinted at it, but Manriolo always refused. And I knew why. We didn’t buy a pot or a frying pan for this house since we’d found it empty on the outside of the village. We only used what’d been left of the previous owners. That shelter was temporary, until it was the right time for us to come back home. 

We didn’t get any news from Venetta ever since. Several times I took up my pen to write to Julia... but I never sent my letters. We got away with our last year’s deception by a miracle. I wonder if someone suspected me in don Arsago’s death or something even worse. Did anyone remember me at all? And Alessandro... Did he ever think of me or did he marry a Venettian beaty and forgot my name? No ship would dare to sail the Long Sea in winter so it was a good excuse to stay where you are and wait. But the time passed, the spring was over, yet I still couldn’t make up my mind…

Ouch! The fish was burning!

I hastened to turn it over. One side got burnt again. Pulcino reminded of himself with a sharp cry to receive his portion of fish guts and then hid from the heat under the roof. I thought about Venetta again when another shadow fell on the sand next to mine. Here he came! Wherever Manriolo wandered in the morning, he was never late for dinner.  That ability amazed me most about him!

I smiled and turned around, ready to give him a couple of witty jokes. But I bit my lips as I saw him. Usually he would bring the plates and place them on the old cracked table under the gray olive tree where we dined. However, this time his hands were empty, and there was a new expression in his eyes. He looked excited, like a man who’d managed to make a big decision. So I wasn’t even surprised when he said:

“We’re going back. Back to Venetta.”

***

The captain who’d agreed to take us to Venetta, was from Ariminum too. His name was Alonzo Carignano, and he sailed the Primavera, a small felucca as light and agile as a swallow. He usually cruised along the Polybian coast, stopping at one port or another to take a shipment of wine or wool on board. Or less legal cargo, for that matter. No guard ship could ever catch up with his Primavera at night! And even if they did, a good bribe to the customs officers would help settle the case. Signor Alonzo was used to handling large sums of money, judging by his rich coat of fine cloth and his gold signet ring. The hard line around his mouth and the unyielding gleam in his eyes showed that he was as good at talking as at fighting if he needed to.

“That’s Francesca,” Manriolo introduced me when we met at the nearest tavern to discuss the detail. “We’re going to Venetta together.”

Signor Alonzo gave me his perfect smile and said that he would be happy to help us without any payment, since don Roberto d’Este, Manriolo’s previous master, was a good friend of his.

“We Ariminans should stick together,” he said. “I will do Roberto a favor today, and he’ll pay me back tomorrow. That’s what keeps the world running.”

Just in case, I cautiously asked if it wasn’t too dangerous for him to come to Venetta, since the Ariminans were not welcomed there because of the politic. The captain shrugged:

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“I don’t care a fig about politics. Let the senators and counts break their spears if they want to. We’re merchants and we have our own interests!”

We were sitting in a port tavern that all smelled of fish and cheap grappa. Manriolo looked really excited. He put on that defiant, triumphant look again which made him stand out back there, in Venetta. I could understand that: my friend was not a kind of a man to spend the rest of his life in a quiet village. He had to put up with it for a while, but now he was on full alert, ready to face his new adventures.

After discussing the details and timing of the upcoming trip, signor Alonzo and Manriolo cheered and walked down the memory lane of Ariminum, their hometown. In the meantime, I took a closer look at our new friend. He was portly and strong, with a clever face and a short reddish beard. Under his eyebrows as thick as a finger, curious blue eyes glittered, as changeable as water in the sea. Something kept me from trusting him. He was too ... flexile. You might lay out all the background about yourself in no time, and he would listen carefully, shaking his head and putting everything he heard in his pipe.

The deft innkeeper brought a new jug of wine to replace the empty one. More wine made the two sailors’ memories sound sentimental, though for Manriolo those days were long time in the past.

“I’d like to see the Arsenal again,” he sighed with a hint of nostalgie in his voice. “My whole childhood was spent in the shipyards!”

Signor Alonzo, too, remembered the cool covered galleries in the streets of Ariminum, the old well in the stone courtyard where he used to play as a child. With a warmth in his voice he described the striped black-and-white facade of the church opposite his parents’ house.

“Last time I rebuilt the choir stalls in the church and decorated it with new columns of carving,” he boasted. “There is no place like home. The further you go, the more you want to see the lighthouse in your own harbor again!”

“He’s too sentimental, don’t you think?” said Pulcino, who was standing guard outside. “Such people tend to be really cruel.” We couldn’t imagine a seagull taking place at our table in the tavern, of course. However, Pulcino was too curious by his nature just to stay away from our conversation. Our friendship with him began long before this trip, back on the island of Miracolo, when I picked up a helpless chick on the pier. Chiamata’s magic allowed us to exchange thoughts, even if we were far away from each other. I could, for example, "borrow" his body and mind to fly as a seagull and see the city from high above. Such gift I’d been used to seeing as a game since my childhood, but last spring in Venetta I realised that there were people who took magic very seriously and wouldn’t mind to use it in their dirty political games.

I still felt guilty. When I foolishly got involved in all those Venettian intrigues, it almost cost Pulcino’s life. He still couldn’t fly properly after don Arsago’d taken his anger out on him. I tried to help him as much as I could, but sometimes it seemed that Pulcino lost his trust in people forever.

Maybe my suspicion of signor Alonzo was somehow influenced by Pulcino as well? We shared our thought and emotions, after all!

Manriolo laughed out loud:

“But for Francesca, I’d already be in Venetta by now! My valucco can get me there much faster than your Primavera − no offense, capt’n! A week or less, or my name isn’t Manriolo!”

I kicked his leg under the table. He always forgot to keep his mouth shut. Life in Venetta taught me to be more careful. The less people know about your abilities, the better! Valluco was a large marine animal, like a dolphin. Manriolo called his friend Grigio for its grey skin. Their connection was similar to ours, yet less strong.  One of the reasons why Manriolo took me with him when I had to escape from Venetta was because he wanted to learn the art of chiamati. However, he was a bad student. He lacked patience and was used to be listened to, not to listen himself. He rarely took the trouble to care about other people’s thoughts and feelings.

Right there his talkativeness was particularly inopportune. I even thought that signor Alonzo kept pouring him more wine for some reason! And I didn’t like that curious glint in his eyes.

“You don’t like fried fish, do you?” I asked, putting the plate in front of them just to move the jug away.

The captain shook his head:

“No, thank you. In unknown places like this I trust nobody but good wine. This rule has never failed me yet!”

Manriolo burst into laughter again as if it was much of a joke. He seemed completely charmed by his new acquaintance. I tried to change the subject, but it didn’t help: signor Alonzo kept steering the conversation to us.

“Such a pity don Roberto is on a voyage now. But I’m pretty sure his wife will be so happy to meet you.”

“Isn’t Julia in Ariminum?” I wondered.

“Well, she seems to feel more at ease in her own house with her brother than with her mother-in-law,” the captain said with a wink.

“You see? It’s all working out!” Manriolo exclaimed.

I kicked him again, trying to get his attention. “What kind of person is signor Carignano?” was the silent question in my eyes. “Did he show you any sign from your master? A ring, a dagger, a letter at least?” But Manriolo only gave me one of his happy, meaningless smiles ever.

However, maybe I was just winding myself up for nothing. What difference did it make whether he was a captain, a pirate, or a condottiere? I’d see Julia again. And I’d see Alessandro too! My heart knocked treacherously at my ribs, and I hastily lowered my eyes to avoid signor Alonzo’s long look.

Sometimes I dreamed of Alessandro, and they were sad dreams. I missed him. I tried to remember his face, his faint smile in the corner of his mouth. His habit of retreating into the shadow when someone started to stare at his ugly scar.

I often dreamed that I was searching for him in a Venettian port, asking everyone where he was, until someone pointed at a tiny white speck of sails disappearing in the distance. In my dreams, I was always late. And every time when I looked at the blinding stretch of the sea between us, I woke up with a burning face and a pain in my chest.

Manriolo’s slapping on my shoulder shook me from my thoughts. “Believe me, she is happy! It’s just that women are so attached to their house, like cats, you know. It’s really hard for them to take off!” They both burst into raucous laughter. Suddenly, our squalid hut in Perna seemed like a cozy shelter to me compared to the jovial atmosphere of the tavern. As it grew darker, the tables were manned and the air was filled with their voices. Their mugs and elbows kept bumping us all the time. I thought I had to get Manriolo out of there before he made a mess of things. In the heat of the moment, he could have done something that would make people remember us for another ten years!

“Why don’t you pour a bucket of water on his head?” Pulcino recommended, taking a sarcastic interest in our conversation again. “He’ll sober up at once!”

Signor Alonzo laughed and joked along with everyone else, but his eyes remained surprisingly sober. He didn’t even get red from the drink. No, I definitely didn’t like him. The captain met my eyes and saluted with his mug:

“You are so quiet, signorina Francesca. Discretion is everything, right? I wonder if you have some trustworthy people in Venetta. Is there anyone you can turn to?”

It didn’t take me too long to make a short calculation:

“Yes. Two people.”

Alonzo twitched his cheek as if to hide a grin:

“I’m sure they’ll both be very happy to see you.”