The Scribe

THE SCRIBE

By

I.C. Wagner

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 I.C. Wagner

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Message from the Author

Chapter 1

A gondola reaches the mooring of a candlelit palazzo and immediately the gondolier hurries to help his passenger out of the swaying vessel. Heavy velvet curtains obstruct the entrances and windows, keeping both light and privacy within the confines. As the guest ascends the marble stairs flanked by torches, servants swiftly pull the curtains apart and let her enter. Inside, the temperature is much warmer, and an usher rushes to her side. Balancing a mighty twelve armed candle stick, he escorts his new guest through the corridors.

Eyes are everywhere and pry through elaborate disguises from behind columns, artistic grillworks and corridors. One can hear the echo of footsteps shuffling quickly from one hideout to the next, while the shadows of the candlestick and those of the other ushers add to the confusion. A trail of whispers begins to swell into a quiet choir behind the new female guest, and the white glaze of the many masks flash like mirrors once they are detected by the candlelight. Like vermin, they come out of their hiding and vantage places to form a lusting train.

Stepping out from the building, she crosses a beautiful courtyard in which a garden has settled and strolls past a delicate fountain, whose gurgling rose water both revitalizes and adds an air of mystery at once. Upon entering a large ballroom decked out with heavy, plush furniture, its inhabitants are shocked to see that this guest covers her face not with a mask, but only with a large ornate cavalier hat adorned with the most beautiful of feathers. Its shadow hides one side of her face, while a wind gust blows a lock of hair before the other.

Her appearance is also much cause for disbelief. From black leather gloves spring forth puffed and slashed dark Tyrian purple sleeves that are attached to an embroidered brocade bodice, which stops just above the waist and forms at its front a sharp plunge leading towards a silver buckle. Her unclothed skin is covered with dark, ornamental tattoos that come together to form an exquisite lace pattern, which is studded with costly blue diamonds. Instead of a billowing skirt, black roughened leather pants and polished knee-high boots complete her ensemble. Her nimble gaze dances across the masked faces of her audience, some of whom are well hidden behind decadent culinary table decorations. There are pudgy men, who think their masks hide their lack of youth, chasing after girls, who are certain that theirs hide their lack of age. Couples too make good use of them to allow their faces to take a rest from portraying happiness, while singles skillfully hide their coy smiles with their aid. Gossip also stays out of the light, as both masks and fans conveniently hinder any lip-reading attempts.

But in a corner at the far left of the room, behind a stuffed pheasant decoration sitting on top of a pâté mount, her true target is found. The pheasant is not the only one to obstruct a clear view of this man, since he is also flanked by heaving bosoms and dropping morals. She struts directly towards him and shoos the chicks away. Intrigued by this confidence, he makes no effort to dissuade.

She halts in front of him, leans down and draws a long feather out of her cavalier hat, then dips it into his glass of red wine, which he holds firmly clasped in his hand. Forcefully she twists his head to one side and ensues to write upon his neck with the wine drenched feather quill. His hands clench the chair, while he remains seated in near paralysis. With the last letters being inscribed onto his neck she whispers, Mark my words, then swiftly draws back and begins her exit.

When movement revisits the masked actors, a great haste partakes as all try to reach this lucid scribe. Quickly she slips through one of the heavy curtains leading into the little garden. Greedy hands tear on them only seconds later and are met by a blinding white light emitted from the full moon, but of her there is no trace to be found. Only the sweet smell of the gurgling fountain remains.

Silence and then he jolts, finding himself lying on a day bed. Alcohol corpses of the bygone party litter the palazzo floor in front of him. He grabs the side of his neck, but does not feel anything aside from his smooth skin. Relieved, he slumps back down. The wine stains on his collar remain invisible to his touch.

Chapter 2

The morning sun begins its daily routine by inspecting the mischievous deeds and chaos its sibling, the night, has left behind for it to tidy up. Lifting itself onto the honey marbled window frame, it slips down onto a heavy Persian rug, revealing dust and floating fibers as it goes along. Many of the exhausted and firmly asleep inhabitants of the house roll into the shadows provided under tables and sofas, as the sun searches their identities. Creeping further into the decorative landscape of the rug, it parts ways upon hitting the shards of a broken wine glass and disperses into every direction before finding its focus again, and continuing its course towards the golden lion feet of a day bed. Tediously it crawls up the steep legs, when it is suddenly met by a helpful hand reaching down. The sun crawls up into its palm and rests before continuing its journey.

Baldassare Algeneschi lies melodramatically upon a day bed. One hand leisurely dangling down the side, while the other clutches his neck. Not being a person who enjoys mornings, he is surprisingly awake after having had a disturbing yet also very arousing dream, which seems to be slipping out of his consciousness faster than he can recall it.

The sun has already started to illuminate the room he fell asleep in last night, and the scene it reveals resembles that of a battlefield. At the center, the handsome, dark-haired Baldassare lies enthroned on a lion-clawed bed, coat draped over the headpiece, chest bared through an open white chemise. At his feet, comrades, adversaries and conquests lie defeated and bespeckled with wine and food. Although he can barely recall any of last night’s events, as usual, the sight is indication enough to him that it must have been a good night.

He sits up and walks over to a mirror, kicking aside some of the human litter obstructing his way. Looking at his mirror-self, he cannot help but fixate his gaze on his neck. There is nothing to be seen, but he cannot shake off the feeling that there should be something for him to see. However, what he can see, he does not like. Red wine stains on the collar of his brand new silk chemise. He glares at the still sleeping and snoring inhabitants of the room.

Forfeiting your wage today, are we?

Leaning against the door, Baldassare is greeted by his cheerful friend Pasqualino. Parties do not seem to reduce his energy level even a bit. Usually not one to squander an opportunity to earn money for his extravagant lifestyle, unless it involves hard work, Baldassare is today not at all concerned about his usually imposed curfew. As an employee of the prominent Algeneschi Trading Company, he has access to all the greatest goods and riches to be had. The only downside to this fabulous occupation is his patriarchic father who for some reason does not appreciate his son’s lifestyle, but nonetheless sees himself forced to employ him, even if it is just to keep up his reputation and the adoration of his loving wife. To ensure that his extravagant bohemian youth keeps business interruptions to a minimum, he set up the rule that should Baldassare not commence work punctually, at the lenient time of nine o’clock in the morning, his wage for that day will be cut in half. The consequence of that being no funds for partying in the coming evening, or at least nothing Baldassare would consider a party. Only one exception applies to this rule. As much as his father hates to admit it, the opulent parties his son attends often play host to the wealthiest people and hence also many of his clients. Every now and then, Baldassare manages to extract lucrative contracts out of the attending guests or is able to talk them into buying luxury items, which he flamboyantly showcases. In the event of garnering such a very lucrative contract, Baldassare is exempt of the above rule and could even take the day off, after setting up the orders in the office that is. Last night was one of those lucrative nights, but surprisingly Baldassare’s thoughts belong to neither the deal nor his plans for the coming night.

I thought the entire city had already established that you are handsome. No need to keep checking, unless of course you think that one of the lovely maidens here has caused a wrinkle to appear. Surely that could only be a laughing line. Pasqualino stands next to Baldassare and while looking over his shoulders, mockingly pulls on the skin on Baldassare’s face.

Still gazing sternly into the mirror, the grimaces caused by Pasqualino’s pulling and tugging gain even more absurdity.

No, Pasqualino, the ladies were fine and my face is perfect, thank you. Baldassare smiles, while turning his head from one side to the other. But do you remember a particular incident from last night? A gorgeous young lady walked up to me. She was different, mysterious, and she did something strange. I just can’t remember what it was. Something with feathers.

Sounds exciting. Pasqualino grins and picks a grape from the leftovers of the banquet and throws it effortlessly into his mouth.

It was not like that. I don’t think that she was even interested in me in that way.

Well then you should ponder no longer, because it clearly must have been a dream.

Baldassare gracefully ignores Pasqualino’s remark and swiftly continues on, I think it had something to do with my neck. Something I should remember. Do you see anything?

Well alright, let’s have a look. Pasqualino walks over and strokes across Baldassare’s neck. Yes, you’re right. There is something rough right here. I, I think you forgot to get a shave that spot, my friend.

That being said, he jumps laughing out the door with Baldassare quickly grabbing his jacket in close pursuit. They run, laugh and scream through various stairways, then rush through rooms, great and small, providing a sudden and rude awakening to all the sleeping inhabitants.

Passing some of the ushers who have begun sweeping and polishing the palazzo entrance, Pasqualino grabs a feather duster from one of them and swings himself into the middle of the imposing sculptures depicting the Three Graces, which decorate the court.

Are these the feathers that occupy your mind? he calls out to Baldassare. I don’t think that they will get rid of those stubbles in your face, but oh what wonderful other things one could do with them. He begins to swirl the duster around the silhouettes of the three lovely marble maidens. Meanwhile, the ushers and other servants have begun to vehemently try to persuade him to step down from the pricey sculptures. Enough needs to be replaced and repaired already, without having to deal with the demolition of a one of a kind commissioned art piece. Especially if that art piece stands right at the entrance. How should they conceal that?

With a loud laugh Pasqualino eventually jumps back to the ground, bows cordially and hands the feather duster back. Now, now, there is no need for all this commotion. I only wanted to contribute my humble part to your wonderful efforts to reinstate yesterday’s splendor to this fine palazzo.

Arm in arm the two men exit onto a busy main street, which greets them with the usual hustle before swallowing them up. Young boys rush with paper wrapped packages in-between stores and lustrous homes. Honorable ladies, who were not in attendance at last night’s parties, display their virtue and prettiest daytime wardrobe in hope of enticing a good match. However, in spite of their virtues, they do not at all object to gaining the attention of less virtues men stumbling out of party locations, such as Baldassare and Pasqualino. In fact, both of them have frequently discussed that these ladies probably only want attention from men such as them, since hardly any other men can be found out on the streets at a time like this. After all, it is already almost eleven o’clock in the morning, and one should really be busying oneself with work or getting ready for lunch.

Then there is also the curious mix of modern automobiles and decorative carriages. Rapid progress has been made in the past one and a half century, especially in the areas of science and engineering. Much of it has to be credited to the brilliant work of Leonardo da Vinci and his peers. In the past forty years alone, steam power has been invented and electricity commercially developed. Although still pricey, more and more automobiles can now be seen cruising along the streets, or at least those which have been properly paved. However, the majority of the population as well as the transportation business of goods still rely on horse carriages and to a certain degree locomotives. Progress has been pursued with such great haste by authorities and nobility that to most people it seems as if they are living in a fantastical dream place ruled by sorcerers. Religion, in comparison, seems perfectly rational and common. What, after all, is a burning bush compared to a steam engine? And thanks to the invention of the telephone, the voice of Baldassare’s father seems to be increasingly more ominous than that of God too. With all these changes happening, the only thing that is still somewhat of a constant is the prevailing fashion sense of the late Renaissance, which people are very busy adapting onto all kinds of new inventions. A prime example of this fusion being Baldassare’s dashing chauffeured automobile, to which they are headed now.

The automotive Brass Era has largely come to an end, and the new fashion favors increasingly closed designs with integrated, elegantly rounded and swung fenders. Wooden chassis have given way to lighter and more moldable metal sheets. The passenger capsules are now also fully enclosed, allowing for much more elaborate interior décor, such as fine leather and fabric seats, gold applications, and sometimes even intricate renderings on the side panels and roof. Size has also increased with the new generation of automobiles, partly due to the wish to provide passengers with more comfort room, partly also because the bigger the automobile the larger the attention it garners. A point of view that has been happily adopted by the male clientele as a new playground for displaying their dominance. The elongated engine hood is ironically not part of these endeavors, but proves to be a mere necessity to house the larger and more powerful electric engines. Baldassare and his family naturally have also upgraded their entire fleet to meet the newest automobile standard.

For some time now, a discussion has been underway whether or not to switch to petroleum, but due to the very difficult extraction and refining process this is largely viewed as the lone musings of very bored and wealthy men. Subsequently, it presents no feasible alternative to the electric powered engine design in use at the time.

The chauffeur is already waiting for Baldassare and Pasqualino, and is clearly enjoying all the attention he and his automobile are garnering from passersby. The metal chassis has been coated with multiple thin layers of vitreous enamel in an eerie hue of midnight blue, which is topped with an additional clear layer to enhance its luster. This method of layering has the effect that the color gains great depth and splits into different shades of brilliant blue when hit by light. The front fenders are swung in an especially daring fashion, forming bold waves around the wheels, which bear golden crests on their peaks. Massive handles resembling single stallions jumping out of the foaming ocean, the official emblem of the Algeneschi family, have also been crafted out of solid gold and provide entrance into the lavish interior, which is set on topping all of the above. Rich, red velvet seats embroidered with gold threads greet passengers. Once seated, one can find an exquisite assortment of liquors arranged in a beautifully carved wooden box attached to the back of the front seats. Additionally, one can also unclasp panels on either side that are decorated with flower renderings, embellished with gold leaf and small gems. Once opened, they present to the seated guests trays that hold quill, ink, paper, wax, a candle and matches, all ready for writing up notes or signing and sealing contracts while on the go. The roof, on the other hand, has been painted with Renaissance depictions of the seasons, day and night, as well as symbols of trade. Most are accompanied by female characters, real or mythological, who further illustrate these themes. An impressive and so far unmatched piece in automobile luxury, with such great love to detail that neither Baldassare nor any other passenger has ever gotten tired of gazing at it.

Good morning, Signori. I hope your business dinner was successful. The chauffeur swings open the back door.

Indeed it was, Antonio, Baldassare replies while giving him a pad on the shoulder.

Signore Algeneschi, will I be providing my services to you also for the remainder of the day and possible also the night, or will I be on standby for your father?

Baldassare pokes his head out of the automobile again. Antonio, I said it was a very successful night, he winks at him.

I see, Signore. Antonio closes the door and goes around to his driver’s seat. In that case, I shall ready the automobile for the night.

They drive off to the Algeneschi Trading Company headquarter, passing by and crossing over numerous bridges along the many canals that divide the city in more or less idyllic looking isles and archipelagos. It sometimes isn’t clear if the city is slowly moving into the ocean or if the ocean is expanding onto the city. Either way, the many waterways and overall aquatic feel of the city, together with its reputation for being a hub for science, have led to it being nicknamed Nova Atlantis. Those opposing the progress spreading out from it hope that the nickname does not only impart the positive mythological aura of Plato’s Atlantis, but that it also foreshadows its inevitable doom.

For now, however, the booming sciences and subsequent trade activities catering to the many needs of the scientists, sponsors and their companies, as well as the export of their innovative end products, have bestowed incredible wealth onto the city. This wealth can perhaps most noticeably be seen in its uncommon cleanliness. Sewage and waste disposal systems have swept away virtually all filth, dirt, excrements, foul odors and the likes from public spaces. This, in turn, allows more displays of precious arts in public. Statues, monuments, gardens and intricate building facades cover the entire city like a veil of culture. For some, this artful display is seen as a sign of social shallowness, but one should not forget that it is only made possible by extraordinary intellectual feats.

The Algeneschi family’s intellectual and innovative capacities, however, are not on display in form of novel scientific inventions. Instead they chose the trading industry as their domain, which they have revolutionized in many ways. The great-grandfather of Baldassare Algeneschi saw the growing demand in the fledgling sector of science and through some acquaintances began catering to the demands of the scientists. A generation later, Baldassare’s grandfather decided to not only cater to scientists, but to also incorporate some of their inventions in the trading company itself. Subsequently, the Algeneschi Trading Company became the first to use locomotives and steamboats for freight transportation and, due to the aforementioned friendly relations, acquired them at exceptionally favorable prices.

Today the Algeneschi Trading Company is the biggest and most prestigious trading company in the upscale and scientific market segments. If something is thought to be extremely hard to obtain, or if one is not even sure if the desired object exists, it is the Algeneschi one turns to. Known for their wit and education, the Algeneschi often also become advisors for high-end research projects, due to their expertise in materials and resources. If one material cannot be obtained, one can be sure that they will know of an alternative or go-around solution. Aside from these demands, the success of the scientists has also opened up an additional source of income. Successful inventions are very often also lucrative, resulting in most scientists becoming wealthy and some even obscenely wealthy. With this newly gained prosperity many have also developed quite luxurious tastes and cravings. Not having much personal contact with the other trading houses and trusting the reliability of the Algeneschi to obtain rare goods, it was just a matter of time before the first requests for luxury goods started pouring in. This is also the field Baldassare feels most comfortable with. Not because he does not have an interest in the sciences, quite on the contrary, but luxury goods are the only sector able to still exceed the nearly unlimited creative possibilities of the sciences. Unlike inventions, it is here that the implausible and impractical is in high demand, and thus the possibilities are truly endless.

The automobile turns into the main entrance of the Algeneschi Trading Company’s headquarter, which greets guests and visitors with a lush little garden situated at the center of a large rondel. The blue vitreous enamel coating flashes up as the sun hits the chassis and sets in motion lively ripples overflowing the entire automobile.

Shall I wait for you tonight before I scout out the parties? Pasqualino asks as Baldassare steps out of the automobile.

You never wait for me, he replies.

Just trying to be polite. See you tonight then. Smoothly the automobile drives off to Pasqualino’s home, with its remaining passenger.

The headquarter is a very imposing building. Not because of its opulence, there are far more opulent buildings in Nova Atlantis, but rather due to its forceful and solid appearance. Gleaming white marble with bold and deep angular carvings, a theme that has also been adopted in the design of the impeccable gardens surrounding the building. Depending on the time of day and weather, these carvings create different types of shadows that sweep across the entire façade, changing its garb multiple times throughout the day. Right now, it looks very bright and welcoming, something that surely does not reflect the mood Baldassare’s father is in by now.

As Baldassare enters through the heavy wooden doors, he moves quickly through the light suffused entrance hall and joyfully greets and is greeted by all types of employees. Swiftly he climbs up the stairway and turns sharply to enter his office at the end of the hall on the first floor.

Argh! Baldassare stumbles backwards down the hallway, trying to pull off his face whatever just jumped him when he opened his office door.

What on earth?! Meanwhile, having regained control of the situation, but not his countenance, he firmly grasps his attacker, who is looking more intend on scratching his face than ever.

When the morning sun had called the rooster to perform his duties, he by no means had expected to be the happy recipient of a promotion. While still standing majestically on one of the last dunghills remaining in the city, he was relocated shortly after breakfast into a plush room. Unfortunately, the rooster, who till now had not been inside any human home, developed a sudden onslaught of claustrophobia. With no way out, as well as lacking food, other chickens and proper earth to scratch at, Baldassare’s face seemed like a reasonable substitute to at least eliminate his need for scratching and to vent some of his built-up anger.

What is a rooster doing in my office? And who let him in?! Baldassare shouts furiously.

Well firstly, he was instructed to alert me of your arrival, and secondly I thought that since you are having so much trouble with clocks, he might be a more reliable wakeup call for you.

Baldassare flinches and takes a quick breath before disposing of the rooster by throwing him over the balustrade as he turns.

Father! How thoughtful of you. Actually, I was just about to go to your office.

You don’t say. Salvatore Algeneschi is not looking pleased, but then again this is the standard look he has when dealing with his son. He is anticipating worse to come.

It got a bit late last night, Baldassare begins to explain, but his father is already walking back to his own office. In quick pursuit, he continues his defense, knowing that he will not gain his father’s attention again before he comes up with something feasible and profitable.

I had a chat with many of the guests and there seem to be numerous new orders to be coming in during the next month. There are some new projects, and the scientists would like us to take care of the supplies.

This is no news to Salvatore Algeneschi and certainly no reason to not withhold his son’s wage. After all, they have a virtual monopoly on supplying all greater scientific ventures. Baldassare is of course aware of this, but for some reason still prefers to commence their conversations with a bit of polite chitchat.

Father, do you remember the engagement ring shown to us by the jeweler from Constantinople?

That hideous fallout of a mind suffocating on opium? Salvatore Algeneschi scorns.

Good. You remember. Baldassare is not about to argue about taste with his father. As you know, it is also a very costly hideous fallout from a mind suffocating on opium, and I found a buyer for it.

Salvatore Algeneschi drops the papers he is sorting through on his desk and swings around.

Who? he demands.

Signore Borromeo.

That pompous pig, who likes to wallow in his own grotesque decadence? His father steps closer to him.

Oh good, and you remember him too, Baldassare adds quietly.

In his presence, even that dreadful ring looks tasteful. I didn’t think we’d ever sell that thing, but that alone is still no feat justifying your late arrival.

No, it isn’t. But this might be. He has ordered two of them. Baldassare allows himself a tiny smile.

He wants two? What for?

Well, there is his mistress, who he wants to surprise with it on her birthday, and he also has another acquaintance in England, who he fancies would also be very obliged.

And let me guess, he will offer both overpriced rings in accordance with their intended purpose of them being engagement rings?

Correct. But what is even more important, is that the entire overpriced sum will go twice into our checkbooks.

Salvatore Algeneschi knows what his son is getting at. He turns back to his desk.

If that is so, than why are you still standing here? Don’t you have an order form to fill out?

Right away, Signore. Baldassare retreats cordially from his father’s office and makes his way up to the roof floor where the order processing is situated.

Chapter 3

The Palazzo Algeneschi is built right along one of the canals situated within the third city ring and has a wonderful view across the city’s bay. Cormorants sit on wooden pegs, of which some are used as moorings. Every morning they sweep up from the still black waters, taking with them the darkness of the night, only to return it back to the bay in the evening. The palazzo stands in stark contrast to the dark waters surrounding it, with its bright canary yellow façade accentuated with coral highlights. Unlike the headquarters, it largely forfeits any straight angular shapes and prefers instead a mix of tall rounded and smaller floral cut windows. Arches, curves and pillars make up the remainder of its architecture. The Palazzo Algeneschi can of course also be accessed via ground and has a very well paved street leading up to it, on which Baldassare is currently being driven on. Heavy iron gates swing open as the automobile approaches, and Baldassare immediately winds down his window to take in the citrus smell emanating from the lush estate garden.

Over the years, his family has added further species of citrus to the garden and together with other plants, such as magnolia, oleander, bougainvilleas, as well as Gallica and Damask rose varieties, created a distinct and unmistakable perfume for the Palazzo Algeneschi, which sets it clearly apart from other estates. Baldassare grew up with this ever-present perfume, and every time he senses it’s unique zesty, rich aroma, his muscles relax immediately, his mind begins to ease, while at the same time it also feels refreshed and sharp. Overall, this is a very good place to think about more difficult subjects and some of life’s mysteries, such as what happened to him last night. What did happen last night?

With this thought still intact he tells Antonio, only a short distance after having passed the gates, to stop and chooses to walk the long path to the palazzo on foot, drifting off behind trees as he goes. The entire garden is a cleverly designed world in its own, which directs any visitors through it by means of invisible interventions and nudges. Paths direct one’s direction, strategically placed obstacles beckon one to stray, and a change in perfume leads one back to the main path. Baldassare squanders a good portion of the day here, letting himself succumb to the guidance of the garden’s architects, before pulling himself out of the lulling gentle stream of stimuli and finally arriving in his home. Being greeted by his servants, he goes directly onto the inner courtyard and makes his way up to his room. Why couldn’t he remember, and why did he still have an uneasy feeling on one side of his neck? After pondering this for a good half an hour, he comes to the conclusion that either his memory is like a sieve and its tangible contents have left a long time ago, or he is just incredibly tired. Settling on the later for the time being, he decides to lie down on his bed and soon after falls firmly asleep, content that tonight’s street masquerade may help him get back into last night’s atmosphere and in turn perhaps make him see things more clearly.

Clean shaven and visibly excited, Baldassare jumps out of the gondola and into the masked masses. The city has once again been tucked in under a beautiful starry-eyed night sky, which has been tightly pulled into every street, alley and canal, and even wanders deep within the underground sewers. This is the type of festival Baldassare enjoys the most. An outdoor gathering of people from all walks of life, that flows through the streets like blood through a pulsating vein. One can wander freely and yet is not bound to stay anywhere. There are no hosts to upset by lateness or a sudden departure, and one can remain put on one spot, yet still experience a dozen parties. The electric streetlights are usually turned off completely during these festivities, or at the very least dimmed. What illuminates the night now are candles, crackling torches, lanterns attached to gondolas and one’s own burning curiosity. Baldassare squeezes through the packed streets and takes in the characters he meets along the way.

The wearing of masks has become an almost daily occasion and a public obsession. Most people keep at least three different masks at home, but others have entire closets devoted to this pastime. In an age where almost everything is possible, people seem to crave for exploration outside of laboratories and the discovery of human as well as personal boundaries.

As Baldassare keeps moving through the throngs of people, he enters deeper and deeper into character. Tonight he wears a Diavolo half-mask, displaying a white face with sharp, accentuated features, arched eyebrows, a black cap with golden edges and horns, as well as his own ruby red painted lips. Heavy fabrics rustle as he passes others, and sometimes embroideries and applications get caught in his coat. Subsequently, there is a constant tugging to be felt, and Baldassare wonders with each one if it is just the brushing of another coat, a gentle invite of a lady, or the nimble hands of one of the many pickpockets. Oh, and the smell! Heavy perfumes mixed with sweet tobacco, candied fruits and roasted meats. Spoiling the auditory senses is lively chamber music pouring out of windows and doorways, as well as loud belly laughter from groups of men, followed or preceded by coquet giggling from women.

A flame shoots past Baldassare’s face, as he passes a group of travelling artists. Towards him darts with great speed a young gypsy woman, who drapes the colorful ribbons of her jingling tambourine around his head and draws him towards her. This is an invitation Baldassare cannot decline. He playfully peeks through the ribbons, then throws them into the air and grabs her by the waist. The