1 - Interrupted Aria Read Online Free PDF Page B

leaned over the edge of the stage and suspended a ship’s anchor from a chain around his neck. His last miracle involved a number of his family members. He balanced two brothers on his wide shoulders, and a sister climbed up on those two. Before a child was passed up to the terrifying height of the woman’s shoulders, the rest of the family crossed themselves and fell to their knees. Many of the spectators followed suit. The drum beat out a furious rat-ta-tat and the crowd held its breath as the tiny child moved higher and higher. When it reached the pinnacle of the family pyramid and spread its arms in triumph, the cheering of the crowd was not diminished when we realized the figure was not a child but a youthfully dressed midget.
    In search of other pleasures, I followed the tempting fragrance of fresh-baked pastry into a nearby café. Every seat was taken, so I joined the maskers hugging the walls to watch a handsome couple dance an impromptu furlana . The man was unmasked and had removed his coat. Although he had reached his middle years, he was vigorously built. The fine silk fabric of his breeches stretched over a lean, taut belly, and his white stockings covered muscular calves. Those nearest him expressed delight at his footwork and clapped the beat of the tune to encourage him on and on in the spinning dance. His partner was a tiny minx-like woman in a dress of gold satin that floated up around her knees as she whirled. Her face was covered by a moretta .
    Thanks to my musical training, I possessed the wind of an athlete, but I wouldn’t have been able to complete as many repetitions of the frantic dance as these two. The man finally stumbled to a stop with a good-natured laugh and motioned to one of his servants, who brought his master a cool drink and a cloth to wipe his brow. Now I had a good view of his full face. He was not a handsome man, but he had strong, regular features and a manner that bespoke strength and assurance if not outright audacity. His own brown hair was pulled into a pigtail and topped with a simple, unpowdered wig. Not surprising. I couldn’t imagine a man with his obvious drive sitting still long enough to get a thorough powdering.
    The man’s bravos cleared a path to the door, but his dancing partner jumped playfully in his way. She removed the knob of the moretta from her mouth and flung her head back to be kissed. The gentleman obliged by cradling her chin in his strong hands and thrusting his tongue where the mask’s holder had so recently been. Then he swept her aside and, without a word, headed for the door. One of his men held the woman’s wrists as she tried to follow.
    My mouth was still watering for pastry, but I found myself pinned to the wall by a woman of obvious wealth who had slashed her gown of velvet and satin to pose as a beggar. She giggled with her male companion, who was disguised as a nun. “If La Belluna hears about her lover dancing with a ballerina from the Teatro San Moise, there will be hell to pay.”
    “Oh, he’ll just buy her a diamond trinket and it will be forgotten,” answered the sham nun. “Adelina Belluna knows the rules of the game.”
    “Well, if I were her I’d be getting everything out of Domenico Viviani that I possibly could. You never know when he’s going to be ready for a new romance.” The couple laughed as they darted toward a free table.
    I barely had time to register the thought that the man who danced the exuberant furlana was my new employer when another, more malevolent conversation reached my ears.
    “What outlandish thing do we have here? Is it a boy or a girl?” a deep voice asked in a lazy drawl.
    “Perhaps it’s a girl dressed in manly attire as a carnival disguise. There’s no fuzz on those cheeks,” an acid voice replied.
    I turned slowly, as if to search for a waiter or an empty table. In the sea of chattering masks, how could I tell who had uttered those words?
    “If it is female, the poor girl is to be pitied