Gondolas

[This was originally written as a creative writing assignment for my History of Technology class.]

Janus had only seconds to come up with a plan B. The water was growing higher around him, the icy waves threatening to suck all the air from his lungs. He could hear Noemi struggling against the current just behind him, but her ragged breaths grew shallower each second. Using his satchel as a makeshift flotation device, he snatched her wrist and began hauling the two of them back onto the boat. The gondola, however, had other ideas. Its oar slid off the low sides and began to drift away into the murky water. 

“Porco cane!” Janus cursed, just loud of enough for Noemi to give a sigh of dissatisfaction. Grasping the oar before it could slip away into the murky water, Janus managed to sling his satchel across his shoulder, tuck the oar under the arm that was clasping Noemi’s hand, and try to grab the side of the rapidly departing gondola. Janus, however, only managed to smack the side of the gondola thus pushing it farther away. He let out another string of curses.

“Janus, shut the hell up,” Noemi said through gritted teeth, “or we will get caught.”

Janus did not feel the need to remind her that they had already been loud enough, falling out of a rented boat and all, and therefore remaining quiet was a futile endeavor.

Using his satchel as a counterweight, Janus managed to swing his leg over the port side of the gondola. The counterweight on the starboard side allowed him, like it did to gondoliers, to put his whole body weight on one side and still not tip the boat. He flung his sopping wet bag onto one of the benches. Minchia, he thought, Bernacelli is going to kill me. The Employer would not be pleased with Janus’s soggying of his prized gondola. The ornate decorations that adorned the stern of the boat were Bernacelli’s best attempt at notoriety. Those and the red lacquer that coated the entirety of the hull. The seats inside, like most Venitian gondolas, were custom to the buyers demands. Excellent craftsmanship both ensured that buyers had their boats to their exacting plans and that the gondolas remained an elite form of travel. There were, however, stirrings of the Doge outlawing gondola customization. It was, as Noemi so often complained to Janus, a growing problem for the class divides within the city. As thieves, peasants, and—although they would never admit it—self-proclaimed adventurers, Janus and Noemi did not fall into the category of “elite citizens” in 1483 Venice. 

Finally managing to haul himself into the intricate gondola, Janus got to work on pulling Noemi into the boat with him. Although she was small, she was not the thinnest girl Janus had ever met, but her small frame compensated and Janus yanked her with only little struggle into the rocking boat. 

Gondolas, however, were not exactly meant for the ocean. Well, that’s not to say that they were unsafe outside of the slow-moving canals of the city. Bernacelli’s gondola was just, as Janus liked to say it, far more form than function. The craftsmanship was excellent, but Janus much prefered a Carrack. Sturdy ships Janus thought. Reliable. Gondola’s were too showy. 

Well, gondolas would have to do for now. As Janus and Noemi drifted silently towards the city canals, the water grew calmer. The waves shrank into lullaby ripples and the glassy blackness added a simultaneously eerie and beautiful silence to the night. It would have been incredibly romantic if Noemi had not been the opposite of interested in Janus. 

“So that went well,” Noemi broke the crystal silence.

“Shut up,” Janus’s tone was more pointed than he meant it to be. He softened his next words. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt. And at least we didn’t wreck this bloody gondola.”

He scoffed in disgust at the lavishness of it all. Though a small part of him twinged with jealously. 

“Oh it’s not all bad. I would really like to at least once set foot on a trireme though…” Noemi’s expression gave way to wistfulness, and Janus snapped his fingers to get her back. 

“We can talk about your trireme dreams later, but our first plan fucking failed and I can’t deal with that kind of emotional turmoil right now.”

“Fine, I say we just steer this floating shitpile into Bernacelli’s living room. Then we’ll really piss him off.”

“Ha ha. Thank you, you hilarious gift to post-feudalism.”

“Okay but my point still stands. I can’t deal with being seen in a god damned gondola in broad daylight. I might live on a salary of negative florins a week, but that’s better than flaunting wealth like a coglione.” 

“Fair point. So, to the Flats then?”

“To the Flats.”

Noemi and Janus glided through the inky canals, their path lit by an oil lamp that was much too stuffy for either of their tastes. The cold bit at their fingers and their still-wet clothes clung to their bodies making the two of them shiver. With no cover from the sea wind or the possible prying eyes of other Venetians, they took turns steering the gondola through the slimming canals while the other huddled in the bottom of the boat.

With the lacquer and painted panels on all sides and the floor, Bernacelli’s gondola had no resemblance to its former eight-wooded glory. Most of the other 10,000-odd gondolas of Venice were owned by those just as rich, or richer than, Bernacelli. They were all made with the same combination of elm, mahogany, birch, oak, lime, cherry, walnut and larch, each wood serving their own purpose, but those who could afford gondolas took the idea of lavishness at face value and then some.

Finally arriving at the Flat, Bernacelli’s personal dock, Janus and Noemi disembarked, taking the oar with them. They crept along the side of the first building, another one of Bernacelli’s, and into an alleyway. In the pitch dark, they would have been at a loss for getting back safely, but experience guided them through the winding passages leading to Bernacelli’s home on the outskirts of town. 

Along with other merchants, Bernacelli believed that the closer to commerce he was, the more money he would make. And he was correct. He had grown to own a large portion of the wool industry in Venice, distributing the goods to be used in clothes, sheets, and other commodities. His money allowed him homes, horses, and, of course, a growing assortment of hand-crafted gondolas.

The cobblestone streets eventually opened into a courtyard framed with bushes and marble benches—Bernacelli’s personal style was equally as intricate and unnecessary as his gondolas, and Janus hated every bit of it. The center of the courtyard was home to a marble fountain, a cherub in the center spitting water out of its fat little mouth.

Next to Janus, Noemi let out a half-laugh half-strangled cry. The two of them had spent many a lazy afternoon laughing about Bernacelli’s taste in art. While the rest of Venice, especially the wealthy, seemed to share his sensibility, Janus and Noemi found it all more than a bit ridiculous.

“Noemi dear,” a slithering voice cut through the stillness of the night. “I would be a bit more careful about your...comments on my property.”

The shadowy outline of a slim man materialized in the moonlight beside the arches of the courtyard.

“Excuse my insolence,” Noemi bowed her head. She had too much pride for sincerity, but being stripped of her job was a much larger threat to her pride than sucking up to this snake of a man.“It was out of line and I apologize.”

Bernacelli grinned, catlike and cunning, but not altogether cruel. He was drunk on power, Janus had come to realize, not bloodlust.

Bernacelli’s shoes clicked on the stones in the courtyard as he strode towards Janus and Noemi. His white tights were partially covered by a brightly colored tunic that was nearly the same color as his gondola. 

“Why so long, Janus—I did lend you my prized gondola, did I not?” Noemi had predicted this question and, while Janus had known it would come, he had been hoping Bernacelli would be asleep by the time they returned. Of course, he was mistaken.

“Or,” Bernacelli continued, “did I make a mistake in letting two urchins set foot on it. Why, I should have let you walk here like your scum filled shoes intended for you. That would explain your tardiness, walking, I mean. Is that not how both of you got here? On foot?”

Janus bit his tongue in fear that he would spew any number of carefully worded reminders that foot travel was not only extremely efficient, but was the most common among all but the highest of classes, and was it not Bernacelli’s fault that Janus and Noemi made just short of dirt in a week? If he wanted them to increase their efficiency maybe he should allow them more than a week’s worth of bread to consume in a month. That, at least, would prevent the fainting that had caused Noemi to tumble off the gondola. 

“Something wrong Janus?”

“Nothing, sir. Just a bit cold.”

“Then maybe you should have thought to bring a coat.”

And with that wisdom, Bernacelli snatched his oar from Janus’s damp grasp, handed Noemi a crisp sheet of paper, and retreated into his home.

“Well that went swimmingly,” Janus commented, wringing out the last drops of canal from his hair. 

“Shut up and let’s get the hell home.”

Although they did not live together, Janus and Noemi were close enough in residence to have the same path home. Without a gondola—and to maintain what little cover they could find—they set off on foot to the outskirts of the city. By taking bridges and tiny side streets, they found a reasonably quick way home. Little talking accompanied them as they crept through the streets of Venice. Janus, as usual, was the one to break the lasting silence.

“I was thinking—”

“Shocker.”

“I. Was. Thinking. that after this assignment we get out of here.”

Noemi stopped dead midstep.

“Janus, what on earth are you on about.”

“Well,” he had planned this speech to her so many times that it was no surprise he was at a loss for words.

“I hate this city. It’s beautiful and vibrant and so filthy rich that it makes me sick.”

“It isn’t all like that and you know it. Think about it, we finish work, steal some shit, and sell it to make some money. Then we can get a house and I can make knives and you can….do whatever you’re good at. We’ll be low-level merchants. Nothing that will buy us horses, but maybe better shoes if we need to travel anywhere. Sightseeing, you know?”

Janus laughed at this. An image of the two of them in huge leather shoes with packs, no horses, little food, and only what they could carry in a wagon and with their hands popped into his mind. Sightseeing.

“I just meant that I can’t stand the wealth. I want to buy a gondola for Christ’s sake. I was going to stick around long enough to buy an actual boat, but that died quite quickly, huh.”

As a child, Janus had seen the Carracks travelling at 80 miles per day and had dreamed of joining a crew. A journey, he had told his father, some day I’ll make a real journey. His father had tossed him in the air, adopting the thick accent of some foreign merchant he had met. Yes, Janus ma’boy. A journey you will go on and bring back all the riches of India! Six months and we’ll be eating like kings for years to come! Janus had dreamed that night of a home filled with gold peices, a giant carrack in the center.

“Yeah, I know. My mother told me stories of the triremes that she once saw off the coast of Naples. I’m not sure if she was even telling the truth…” again, she drifted off into some hazy memory that Janus had no access to. She’d once told him of her mother coming home from the marketplace with a handful of sketches of ancient Roman triremes, each one manned by 200 men, sails billowing in the wind. She’d become obsessed with the images.

“Funny that,” Janus again broke the silence.

“Hm?” 

“For two people so obsessed with stupid boats, we’re awfully keen on running away from the ocean.”

“That’s you, Janus, not me. I’m not in any hurry to leave.”

They’d arrived at a slanting street dotted with tiny houses. Here, the streets were still stone, but a quarter mile further they turned to dirt as the city transformed into farmland.

Janus and Noemi would never have been able to afford such luxury as a cobble stone fronted home, but Bernacelli had used a strategic offer to render them indebted to him lest they even lose loyalty. Their first task had been a definite test of this loyalty: a journey on horseback to gather blue paints for Bernacelli’s daughter’s painting hobby. It had taken them over a week to return to Venice during which time they had spent a full two days burning florins in Florence after not realizing that Bernacelli had sent them only enough food for the journey there. 285 kilometers was little trouble for the horses—they made the trip to Florence in only three days but taking minimal stops and spending no more than a few hours to rest in smaller farming towns along the way—who could have managed nearly 280 kilometers a day if not for rest and food. Once in Florence, Noemi and Janus, having just met a month before, were forced to find another three days worth of food after they found the horses needed more than adequate sleep each day and far more food than Janus or Noemi had anticipated. Coming from the families that they did, Noemi was not used to caring for horses intended for travel and Janus had never even been allowed to touch one. They had returned from their Journey with well-fed horses, a pot of blue paint, significantly fewer florins than when they had started and, despite its speed, a healthy dislike for travel on horseback and the many minutiae that came with it.

Noemi bid Janus goodnight and retreated into her home. The one, unlit room contained a bed of sorts, a small pile of clothes, a few baskets, and a bucket in the corner. Noemi was not altogether pleased with her situation, but made the most of it with wood carvings she had begun making at twelve years old. Now 23, the shack was covered in them. Mostly of boats, the carvings were any size—due to Noemi using whatever wood she could find—and were created with the craftmanship one might expect to find in an old man’s shop. Noemi’s collection of knives sat in a leather bound case in a plank of wood resting in one corner of the room; they had been a gift from her father, a knife maker, before he left Rome and never returned. Although the fastest for all but nobility, foot travel had the obvious perils of getting robbed, looted, and left for dead. She assumed this is what had happened to her father, but had never been entirely sure. Before working for Bernacelli, Noemi had planned on becoming a metalsmith herself, creating knives for wealthy people or selling her wares at the market. That had all been dissolved the second he found her behind a bread shop and led her, with the promise of food and riches, to his disgustingly elaborate home.

Noemi toyed with the note in her hand. Crinkled, slightly yellow paper was adorned with the swooping script of a wealthy merchant. Upon first glance, the note contained nothing of special interest to Noemi, but, as she read through the assignment for her Janus’s next job, her breath caught in her throat.

… due to interest in sorcerer and the summoning of hell-creatures… instructions on doorways to other realms… collect at once.

The words danced off the page in the barely moonlit darkness. For a moment, Noemi assumed her eyes had failed her; the light was too dim or she was just too tired to comprehend. Bernacelli had presented many difficult assignments in the last two years, but not supernatural had crossed her path. This, however, was wholly different. 

Breathing heavily and trying to decide if she was delusional or Bernacelli had finally cracked under his wealth, Noemi resigned to sleep and discuss with Janus the next morning.