Read Online 3 - Cruel Music by Beverle Graves Myers - Free Book Online

and I caught a definite flick of his eyelid as he speared another chunk of melon. My God, was the man actually winking at me? Didn’t he understand the need for discretion? I made a quick survey of the group clustered around the table and was relieved to note that all the guests appeared deep in conversation with their neighbors.
    “Tell me,” Cardinal Montorio continued in a forced, hearty tone, “why have you not adopted a name for the stage? Your fellow singers usually take a name to honor their patron or their birthplace.”
    “I had no patron. In the beginning, my father made arrangements for my…ahm…career and for my initial training at the conservatorio . After he died and I found work, I paid the maestros the balance owed in small installments.”
    “Then you need a name that reflects the glory of Venice.”
    “I prefer using my own.”
    “Let’s see,” he said, ignoring my statement and twirling his fork with a thoughtful gleam in his eye. “How about Veneziello?”
    I shook my head.
    “No? Then something to honor our republic’s patron saint. Marco…Marciano. I have it…Marcolini. The perfect name for a castrato from Venice. What say you?” Cardinal Montorio smiled expansively.
    I took a sip from my glass, then raised my chin. “With Your Eminence’s indulgence, the Amato family settled in Venice even before the bones of our revered saint were enshrined in the basilica that bears his name. Since I won’t be leaving any sons to carry on the family name, I can at least honor my ancestors by singing as an Amato.”
    “I see.” The cardinal’s lumpy face lost its vapid expression. He wrinkled his forehead in a questioning frown, and for the first time, I caught a glimpse of the intelligent curiosity that led him to probe nature’s mysteries. Cardinal Montorio glanced at Abate Lenci, who had been hovering anxiously. “My nephew warned me that you’re a bit of a free-thinker. An independent mind is an admirable trait. But for someone in your position, Signore, it could be more liability than virtue.”
    Before I could form a reply, the cardinal abandoned his thoughtful mien and inquired about my journey to Rome. I quickly launched into a description of our travels, relieved to have hit on a safer topic of conversation. Lenci chimed in with a few amusing observations about the sea voyage and had his uncle smiling and chuckling in no time. It was my mention of the Ancona project that turned the smiles to frowns again.
    “Ancona,” growled Cardinal Montorio. He slapped his plate down on the spotless tablecloth, sending melon balls on a careening course among the silver serving platters.
    As a white-gloved footman swooped in to herd the melon into a napkin, Lenci caught my eye and shook his head in a warning gesture. He was not the only one to react. Abate Rossobelli had reappeared, still in his black day jacket. At the mention of Ancona, his lanky form jerked like a fish on a hook.
    “How far has the work progressed at that teacup they call a harbor?” Cardinal Montorio grumbled.
    I thought back to the spit of land that hooked around the silted-up bay. “That would be hard to say,” I answered, very aware of Rossobelli standing across the table, staring at an epergne piled with frosted grapes as if they were rubies and emeralds coated with diamond dust. “Engineering isn’t in my line at all. I remember seeing several large machines, but I have no idea what they were doing.”
    Montorio turned to his nephew. “You always have your nose into everything. What did you see?”
    “As you may recall, we were in a bit of a hurry to put Ancona behind us,” Lenci replied dryly. “But I did notice a pair of dredgers at work on the mouth of the harbor, and the walls of the dike were being widened and reinforced.”
    “Have they started on the lighthouse, yet?”
    “Barely.”
    “How long will it take to complete the project?”
    The abate shrugged. “There’s a lot of work remaining, at least