The Glassblower of Murano - Marina Fiorato [57]
Yes - this should serve. The blade and handle are made all of a piece, so there is no weakness in the knife.
As Corradino sat and watched his black knife cool, he looked his last around the chamber. Known to no other save Giacomo, the room had been made for Corradino the day after he had discovered the secret of how to make his mirrors. All his most private work was done here. This salon kept the secret.
The secret, which lay buried in the art of glassblowing.
The secret that he merely stumbled upon when a vase that he was making went wrong. The secret which saved him from death at the hands of his greedy masters, The Ten. The secret which had freed him from the prison of Murano and given him the status to walk about Venice almost as other men, and thus give life to his greatest creation, Leonora. The secret which was not written anywhere, even in his vellum notebook, and was known to no man but he. The secret that was coveted by the foreign king who had brought him to this pass.
The secret which I swore to take to my grave. I did not know how true I spoke.
CHAPTER 17
Dead Letter Drop
Vittoria Minotto was intrigued. It was not a state of mind she experienced often, and in order to revel in the sensation fully she had suggested Florian's as a meeting place. If one was to put in for expenses, one might as well enjoy the experience.
The day was fine but there was a breath of Autumn in the breeze, so Vittoria chose a table just inside the famous green and gold salon, where he would easily be able to find her. There were no strains of string quartet or piano today. Many of the tourists were now gone - Venice was preparing to enter her period of hibernation before Carnevale. It was interesting to note - and as a local she had become aware of it over the years - that the thronging school parties and coach trips of summer gave way, in the winter months, to quiet weeks with the `city break' couples dotting the piazza for the four days from Thursday to Monday.
Vittoria ordered her ruinously expensive caffe arnericano and lit her cigarette. She looked out into the square, to see if she could spot her date arriving. Ah, there he was. Young, good-looking, walking with a purposeful stride which scattered the pigeons. Better and better.
He found her at once. `Signorina Minotto?' It was the voice from the phone call. Low, driven and agitated.
She inclined her head and blew out smoke. `Si'
He sat and, unbidden, took a cigarette and lit it. She liked him at once.
`I think I might know something which might interest you. About Leonora Manin. Actually no, it goes further back than that. About Corrado Manin. It might make quite a good story.'
That was it. He had said it. The word that she loved, that she lived for. The word that had captured her attention from being a little girl at her father's knee, holding her breathless from the words; `Once Upon a Time'. How she had begged to stay up, to hear more!
A Story.
'Go on.'
CHAPTER 18
Non Omnis Moriar
Giacomo del Piero looked from his window over the Murano canal. He was sure he heard something stir without and carried his candle high, peering through the narrow quarrels of his window. He saw nothing, but the flame of his candle illuminated only his own reflection, fractured by the leadings of the panes. He saw an old man.
Giacomo turned from his image and thought of what he would do now. He supposed he must eat - there was some fine Bolognese sausage in the pantry, and a jug of wine to go with it, but somehow he had no appetite. He felt he needed to eat less as his age advanced - other things nourished him now. His books, his work, and his friendships. He thought of Corradino in particular, and that the boy had become as a son to him over the