Chapter 4

We went ahead and paid for a gondola ride. When in Venice, you must -- I guess. At least Lauren thought so. Fiorella rolled her eyes and went to get some coffee.

Lauren and I climbed into the boat, carefully taking our seats. The gondolier took one long step, kind of hopping in, and pushed off from the quay. We drifted. He took his position, facing forward and grabbed the oar. He got control of the boat, balancing, and adjusting to the current with practiced motions. We proceeded toward the Grand Canal.

"Are you Americans?" he asked, in English.

"Yeah," Lauren replied.

"Very nice. How do you like Italy?"

"We love it," she said.

"It's very beautiful. Venice is the most beautiful city in the world."

I couldn't argue. It was indeed very beautiful.

I wondered if he would have a problem with lesbians. I put my arm around Lauren and leaned close. I bent my head back and peered at him. He gave me a grin. He leaned into the oar, rowing with strong, smooth motions. His body was lean. His face was nice.

"How long will you be in Venice?" he asked.

"A couple days," I said.

"Oh? That's too short."

"Yeah. I know."

"I guess I'll have to give you a good tour."

"I hope. Do you know the Palazzo Mocenigo?"

"Of course. I know all the historic sites. Except, it is a hotel now."

"I know. Will you show us."

"Sure."

"What is the Palazzo Mocenigo?" Lauren asked.

"Just the residence of a famous Venetian family," I replied.

"Oh ... Why do you care about it?"

"It's where Bruno lived right before he was arrested."

"Who -- what?" Lauren asked.

The gondolier spoke: "You mean Giordano Bruno?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"Who?" Lauren repeated.

"Giordano Bruno," the gondolier said, "He was a great magician during the Renaissance."

"Yeah," I said.

"Oh -- Was he one of those Hermetics guys?"

"Yeesss," the gondolier exclaimed, drawing out the word. The pace of his rowing changed. I glanced at him again. He had a peculiar look.

We were quiet. We proceeded along the canal. Brick houses jutted straight up from the water. Smaller canals branched off on either side. We passed another gondola, containing a family, a mother, a father, and three lovely girls. A water taxi rumbled by.

"So," the gondolier continued, "How do you know of the Hermeticists? Are you history students?"

"Something like that," I said.

"Hmmm. My ancestor, ten generations ago, was one of the constables who arrested Bruno."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My family even had a copy of his arrest warrant. It was issued by the inquisition, signed by a cardinal."

"Oh? Cool. Do you still have it?" I asked.

"No, when my grandfather figured out what it was, he gave it to the University."

"I see."

An old wooden bridge arched over the canal. It was the "Ponte de l'Academia," the gondolier informed us. We passed beneath.

"So, are you two curious about magic?" he asked.

"I guess. Why?"

"I dabble in magic. There's a school in Padua. It's kinda secret, but my family is old, and we know lots of people."

I grinned. The odds seemed incredible.

"Is it like with card tricks and stuff?" I asked.

"No. Real magic."

I looked at Lauren. She looked at me. We both sat up, turned, and looked back at him.

"Let's see a trick," I said.

"Yeah," Lauren added, "What can you do?"

He blushed a bit. "I'm not very good. I can only do little things."

"Any amount of real magic would be amazing, right?" I said.

He smiled. He took a coin from his pocket.

"Take it and hold it in your hand."

I did.

"Now squeeze it, hard."

I squeezed. He muttered a spell. I felt magic flow, a small amount. I didn't cast a counter-spell. I let him do his trick.

I felt the coin vanish. I opened my hand, and showed that it was gone.

"Very nice," I said.

Lauren smiled and clapped. He gave a little bow. He continued to row, looking pleased.

It had been a shift spell. A small and simple one -- but still -- I was impressed. I resisted the temptation to shift the coin back.

We turned, facing forward again. We passed more buildings, more gondolas, and another water taxi. Soon the Palazzo approached.

"The Palazzo Mocenigo is coming up on the right," he said.

"Which one?"

"The one with the fake colonnade over the windows."

I saw which building he meant. It was lovely enough, with four floors of arched windows climbing up. However, it seemed rather unassuming by the standards of a venetian palazzo. It hardly seemed like the residence of a former doge.

The gondolier lifted his oar, and we drifted in front of it.

"Would you like to stop?" he asked.

"No. I just wanted to see it."

"OK."

He lowered the oar and resumed rowing.

"Bruno was a master of memory magic," he offered.

"Yeah. So I've read."

"It's very difficult. Few magicians still use it."

"Are his books still read?"

"Sometimes, but not often. He's fallen out of favor."

"Really? Why?"

"Well -- uh" -- he stuttered a bit -- "the modern Italian Hermeticists are all good Catholics, very traditional. Bruno was not."

"Ah. Tradition. Does the Padua school allow women?"

"No. The English and American Hermeticists do, but not the Italian. The high-level magicians even live as monks."

"I see."

I got quiet. I heard the steady splash of his oar. I leaned into Lauren, and we watched Venice pass by.

After a bit he offered: "If it were up to me, I'd let women in."

We arrived back at the quay, and the gondolier's assistant came down and caught a rope. He tied off, held out his hand, and pulled us up. I noticed Fiorella sitting on a bench by the Doge's Palace. She saw us and walked over.

"How was the trip?" she asked.

"Interesting," I replied.

I turned to thank the gondolier. He had already stepped off the boat, and was shaking Lauren's hand. He gave her a little peck on the cheek. I shot him a stern look.

"Uh -- well, I hope you two have a nice stay in Venice, even if it's too short."

He smiled at us. He saw Fi and smiled at her too.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"I'm Paolo."

Of course he was. He looked exactly like a Paolo.

"Look," I said, "Maybe we could meet later for drinks."

"Uh -- " He looked at the three of us "Yeah, that would be great."

"What's a nice place?"

"What are we deciding?" Fi asked. We had been speaking English.

"Where to meet for drinks," I said.

"The Piccolo Mondo," she offered.

He smiled, switching to Italian. "Yes. That is very nice, but expensive ... I know of a little restaurant that serves drinks and a nice dinner. I get off at six. Want to meet around seven?"

"Sounds great," I said. We got directions.

Fiorella arched her brows. We shook his hand again and left him smiling. We walked into the Piazzetta.

"So, when did we start liking boys?" she asked.

"He is a magician. A Hermetic. Goes to school in Padua."

"Really?"

"Yes. And he likes to talk, it seems."

"I see. Perhaps we should have wine with our meal."

"Exactly."

We toured the Doge's Palace. We passed through the Bridge of Sighs and entered the old prison. It had been built after Bruno's time -- he was likely jailed in the palace itself; those cells were long gone -- but still, I imagined him in his tiny, oppressive cell, scribbling out his turgid, symbol laden manuscripts, before being sent to Rome to his death.

We had lunch at a small cafe.

"So what is up with this Bruno fellow?" Lauren asked, "And why do we care so much about Padua?"

She looked at me straight on.

"He was a powerful magician. He defied the church, saying that Jesus was a magician and other stuff. They burned him."

"Nice. Why do we care?"

"He was a master of memory magic."

"I got that. Still..."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"He had a mask, a powerful magical artifact."

She stared at me. She waited.

"It's in Padua. I'm gonna to steal it."

"Ah!"

She sipped her coffee. She took a bite of food.

"Does Fi know?"

"Yeah."

"Hmmm."

She was quiet for a bit.

"So, how long -- exactly -- were you gonna keep me out of your little conspiracy?"

She took another bite.

"I guess until whenever you asked."

She sat quietly.

"Are you mad?" I asked.

"No," she said, her voice flat, "Everything's fine."

She looked away from me. Everything wasn't fine.

The restaurant was crammed into the ground floor of an old stone building set in a narrow ramshackle plaza. It had three small, hazy windows and a stout door braced open by a barrel. I approached with Lauren and Fi behind me, and peered through the door. It was poorly lit, but I heard the faint murmur of voices and the clink of cutlery. I entered.

I found a cramped room with a low plaster ceiling. The patrons turned. I met their gaze, stepping in, weaving among the tables and chairs. Their murmur turned to a hush. Lauren and Fi joined me. We looked for a seat. There were three smallish tables, which were occupied, and a larger one, which was not. We headed toward it.

A man came from the kitchen smiling. He looked at us and frowned.

"Hi," I said, "We're here to meet a friend."

"Ah, yes. You're here for Paolo. He's late, as usual. Go ahead and sit."

He motioned to the larger table. We sat.

I studied the other patrons. Two monks sat face to face, hunched forward, mumbling. An empty bottle stood between them. A father sat rigid in his seat, presiding over his family. His wife squirmed and fretted over their two well behaved, unhappy girls. A man sat alone. He was large, his face like stone.

I looked up. The room had an ornate crown molding inscribed with absurd figures: men, women, animals, all deformed. One man had serpentine arms. A woman had one leg and wore a green robe. There was a jackal with red eyes and a long tongue. I quickly counted thirty-six. They were the decans, ancient demons venerated by the Hermetics.

We were in a den of magicians. I looked at Fiorella. She nodded, recognizing it too. Lauren just sat, looking around. She frowned.

The patron approached our table.

"Can I get you something? Wine?"

"Sure," I said, "The house wine will be fine."

He grunted and headed to the back. We sat, waiting for whatever was going to happen.

Paolo arrived, smiling.

He rushed to our table. "I see you found it! It is a bit dour, I admit, but I promise, you'll love the food! Have you met my uncle? He runs the place."

The patron came back with our wine.

"Bring another bottle," Paolo said, "And say 'hi' to my friends."

The patron, his uncle, grunted again. He finally gave up a "Hello" under Paolo's demanding stare. He left again for the other bottle.

Paolo laughed. "He's a good old goat, I promise."

The other bottle came. Glasses were filled.

"Let's toast to -- uh -- well -- happiness," Paolo said.

We raised our glasses. Happiness was something I'd drink to. I looked at Lauren. Her glass came up halfway. She took small sips.

Paolo asked for the antipasto. The uncle left again. We were alone.

"So," Paolo asked, "If it's not rude -- I want to ask -- are you two together, like girlfriends?"

He meant Lauren and me. He had asked in English.

"Yeah," I said. I looked at Lauren. She didn't object.

"And you?" he said to Fi, switching to Italian, "You like girls also?"

"Yes," she said.

"Just girls?"

"Yes."

"Ah."

"Do you have a problem with that?" Fi asked, her voice slow and clipped.

"No! No! Not at all. I just wanted to know -- uh -- where I stand. Like, would this be a nice evening, or a very nice evening -- if you see what I mean."

Fi nodded. She drank her wine.

"I will be a nice evening," I said, hoping that saying it would make it so.

His uncle returned with the antipasto. We ate. It was delicious.

The antipasto was quickly gone, and the uncle brought out buttered pasta with vegetables. Paolo took a huge serving, reaching across the table. He gulped down his wine, then refilled his glass. He took big bites. More wine.

We had small servings. We sipped our wine.

"So, Paolo," I asked, "Can you show us more magic?"

I said it quietly, not to be overheard. His eyes got big. He turned his head, glancing at the other tables. No one seemed to have heard.

He looked back. He whispered, "Uh -- can we not talk about that here. It's supposed to be secret."

I smiled.

"Sure."

He glanced over his shoulder again. He finished another glass of wine.

The next course was chicken, grilled with herbs. It was small and thin, but tasted good, once I'd separated the meat from the bone.

Paolo took big bites. He spat the bones onto his plate. He drank more, another glass. He leaned back in his chair, kind of slumped to one side. He looked at us and laughed.

I glanced at Fi. She arched her brows. I grinned. Lauren just sat and watched.

"It seems stuffy in here," I said, "Maybe we can go outside -- the four of us -- for a walk or something."

"A walk!" he said, "Fine! But first coffee. Uncle! Bring us some coffee."

The uncle came out.

"Paolo, you're drunk."

"Yes!" Paolo replied, "I am."

The uncle gave us a disapproving look, as if we were to blame.

"I think you should say goodnight to the young ladies and go to your room."