2 - Painted Veil
make Caesar’s appear taller by comparison.”
    “Horsehair?” I spoke for the first time. Horsehair was a poor material for a principal singer. The trainbearers and spear carriers had to make do with those common bristles, but must I? Had my value sunk that low?
    “Yes. We have some back at the shop. I’ll bleach the hair and get a sample of your costume fabric from Madame Dumas. After it’s dyed, the crest of horsehair will match your costume and stand up about so.” She ran her hand over the top of the helmet. “I can make it look right.”
    I was seething. I kept telling myself that it was only a helmet and it shouldn’t matter so much, but it did. Florio already had the lion’s share of the crowd-pleasing arias and I had been left with precious little music that would stir the gondoliers and their followers. Did the expensive star have to upstage my wardrobe as well? I realized that my answer lay in the question itself. Too many ducats had been spent to bring Florio to Venice and too many people were anticipating his performance for me to imagine that his contract stipulations would be ignored. If Torani did not indulge Florio’s vanity, then Ministro Morelli or his superior, the Savio, would find a director who would. I swallowed hard. I saw I would have to accept the change, but nothing could make me like it.
    Carpani adjusted his spectacles and inspected the helmet as if he had just been appointed Savio in charge of millinery. “You won’t be paid any more,” he cautioned the seamstress. “In fact, since you are replacing valuable ostrich plumes with an inferior material, the theater should request a partial refund.”
    “The replacement will involve a good deal of labor.” The girl spoke as firmly to Carpani as the clerk had to Florio. “My mother and I can ill afford the time. We have a large order of masks to finish for the new comedy at the Teatro Sant’Angelo.” Carpani frowned as the girl went on. “But because this theater has been such a loyal customer, we will undertake the job at no extra charge.”
    Torani spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Surely, Signorina Del’Vecchio presents the perfect solution. Let’s have her take this cursed helmet back to her shop and get on with rehearsal.”
    Carpani handed her the helmet with a sharp nod. As he passed in front of me on the way back to his notebook, he muttered under his breath. Several phrases carried: “What can you expect if you deal with Jews? Cut-throat dogs the lot of them.”
    “Signor Florio?” Torani asked with a tentative smile. “Will these arrangements be suitable?”
    The haughty
castrato
glanced at his manager, who still clutched the thick contract in his sinewy hands. After receiving a judicious nod, Florio acquiesced with surprising cheerfulness and moved to his rehearsal mark as if nothing remotely unpleasant had just occurred. It was as if he had been playing the scene for dramatic effect, just a bit of fun to enliven an otherwise boring rehearsal.
    “Tito?” At least Torani had the grace to ask my permission, even if the alteration was a foregone conclusion. I agreed with a great show of amiability, sternly reminding myself that one costume was not worth getting upset about. After all, I had other things to think about. I had a wandering painter to find.

Chapter 4
    True to his word, Torani released me with plenty of time left in the day to search for Luca Cavalieri. The theater sat at the confluence of two narrow canals, midway between the Piazza and the Rialto. Of all the open spaces in the city, only the vast square before the glittering, domed Basilica and its soaring bell tower enjoyed the designation of Piazza. Any other square, no matter how many homes and shops might enclose it or how grand a church might adorn it, was only a
campo
. Along with the Doge’s palace and the Senate’s headquarters, the Piazza San Marco boasted a number of cafes and taverns, but I remembered Luca mentioning a
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