Read Online Daughter of Venice by Donna Jo Napoli - Free Book Online Page A

to go about our day within the
palazzo
without interference from them.
    So the only ones who might question what Paolina and I are doing are family members. Father is undoubtedly working already; he leaves at dawn and doesn’t return till the midday meal.
    That means Mother is the one we need to avoid on this floor. But I cannot hear the shrill voices of Maria and Giovanni, so Mother may well be off somewhere with them—probably in the kitchen. At yesterday’s evening meal Maria blurted out that she missed Mother, she missed making treats with her in the kitchen. Mother said that was silly; she was right there. But her face showed that she knew she’s been too scarce lately. She’s allowed the whole marriage business to consume her. She must be in the kitchen with Maria and Giovanni now—I’ll bet on it.
    Paolina and I walk to the stairs, our hands clasped in front under the secrets of our fat bellies. We could run, we’re both so excited. But that might arouse Cara’s suspicions.
    The next two floors down present the greatest dangers: our other six brothers.
    Cristina Brandolini once said she envied me for having such a large family. I was happy when she said it; I love all of us. But this morning I wouldn’t mind if I had fewer brothers to sneak past.
    Piero and Antonio and Vincenzo are hardly a threat, of course, because they’re probably already strolling the Merceria, on their way back from walking Father to the Senate. But Francesco could easily be home still, especially if he spent his night frisking around with courtesans. If he caught us on the stairs in our nightdresses, he’d demand to know what we were doing. When we didn’t answer, he’d shoo us back to our floor and start who knows what kind of teasing tonight at the evening meal. And teasing like that could lead to a family inquisition.
    Paolina takes the parcel out from under her skirt and puts it under her arm so that both her hands can hold the stair railing. Solemn, she walks on tiptoe.
    I kiss her cheek and toss my own satchel over one shoulder. Then I take Paolina’s parcel from under her arm, so that she can hold the railing more firmly. We hardly breathe as we pass the entranceway to the rooms on the next level down.
    And now there’s only one floor to go before the ground floor. This is where Bortolo and Nicola sleep, with Aunt Angela to watch over them. This floor is also where the kitchen is, though Cook and Giò Giò sleep on the fourth and fifth floors above the ground floor, with the rest of the servants. And this floor is where Uncle Umberto sleeps. But if he hears us, all we have to do is run. He’s slow in his blindness, and so long as we don’t say a word, he’ll never know who passed on the stairs.
    That’s everyone. For now, at least.
    We’re halfway down the stairs when laughter rings out—unmistakably Nicola’s. Aunt Angela’s lament predictably follows. Nicola has played some naughty trick on her again.
    No sound of Bortolo. Oh, no. Sure enough, there he is, lying on the floor in the middle of the doorway, watching us come down the stairs. His big head rests on the back of his folded arms. His eyes shine like one of Venice’s zillions of cats. He lifts his brows without saying a word.
    I nod, equally silent.
    We’ve just agreed with our faces alone that I will bribe him, as I have many times before. For, although this is my first time going out on my own, I’ve had other secrets of various types and Bortolo has developed a special knack for discovering them. I’ll have to bring him a treat from outside.
    Now he points at Paolina, ready to extort from her as well.
    She shakes her head.
    Bortolo gets to a sitting position and opens his mouth, but I rush to him and clap my hand over it.
    “Please, Bortolo. It’s only me who has a secret,” I hiss. “I’m the only one who owes you. Paolina is going right back upstairs.”
    His eyes bore into me over the top of my hand. He doesn’t look convinced.
    “I’ll