Table Of Content1 -The Peacock and the Firebird
The Peacock and the Firebird
Copyright © 2005 by Julia Talbot
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.
ISBN: 1-933389-30-3
Printed in the United States of America.
Torquere Press electronic edition / November 2005
Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.
http://www.torquerepress.com
2 -The Peacock and the Firebird
Prologue
The minute handwork of making masks was what appealed to Anthony. If someone had told him
five years ago that he would do it for a living, that he would sell off pretty much everything he
owned and apprentice at the premiere Maschere in Venice, he would have called the loony squad
to come and pick them up; but that was exactly what he'd done.
The life of an artist had always called to him, and he took art classes in high school, excelled in
them, but in college he chose to follow his mother's advice and get a business degree, something
he could really use, she said, something that would support him. He let his creative side out by
taking long vacations to exotic locales, and taking picture after picture. From Mexico to the
Bahamas to Europe, he spent his hard-earned money on lavish hotel packages and wandered side
streets snapping photos of strangers and staircases and doorways.
The trip to Venice during Carnevale was what did him in. The city was cold, and the wind off the
water bit right into him, but the spectacle that was the renewed Carnevale fascinated him. The
masks and the costumes and the lavish parties were a visual feast that he simply could not resist.
And when Anthony wandered into the Laboratorio Artigiano Maschere, near San Giovanni e
Paolo, he was utterly lost.
Niccolo, one of the master maskmakers there, had sat and let Anthony throw questions at him in
broken Italian for hours, laughing at his terrible accent and encouraging his interest. The man
was a third generation puppeteer and had started in the mask business in 1979, when the
Carnevale was revived after several hundred years of obscurity.
The history of it fascinated him, the city captivated him, and when Niccolo offered to let him
come back to the studio the next day and mold his own mask, Anthony readily agreed. He found
something in the plaster and papier-mache and the paint and spangles, something that truly called
to him, and Niccolo seemed to agree. Before he ever left Venice he had an offer to come back
and apprentice with the man. All he had to do was arrange the visa.
And quit his job. And tell his mother.
Fuck.
Six weeks later he was back in Venice, living just off the Strada Nuova , within spitting distance
of the Ca D'Oro, on one floor in a converted palazzo that he paid 250,000 euro for, which was
3 -The Peacock and the Firebird
ridiculously cheap as condos went. Hell, he couldn't get one for that price in New York, that was
for damned sure. There was a piece or two of seventeenth-century fresco on his walls, and a
ceiling made of heavy beams painted gold, with disturbingly squid-like chandeliers of Murano
glass, and he couldn't be happier. A little old lady named Annamaria lived one floor up from
him, and if he hauled her garbage out on Thursdays, she did his laundry on Saturdays.
He was... amazingly content. The process of making masks was immensely satisfying to him.
The clay mold came first, and that was where he got to really branch out, well, after the first few
months of making the traditional forms and proving he could master them. The Bauta, or white
half mask and black veil that came with a tricorn hat, the Medico della Peste, with its plague-
resistant nose and funny spectacles, the gatto, or cat, which was a cat-shaped half-mask, and so
on had to be completed to Niccolo's satisfaction before he could design his own. Once he had --
and Niccolo said he was a quick study -- he was able to work on his own masks, fantasy masks
as they called the non-traditional artist's fancies.
His mother called weekly. Some days she pleaded with him to come home. Other days she
sounded almost happy for him. He assured her he was eating, and that he had plenty of money
left, and that yes he was wearing his scarf. She, in turn, told him about his Uncle Emilio's gout,
and how her Greek neighbor got arrested for slaughtering lambs in the back yard, and
occasionally how proud she was of him, even though she hated him for leaving her.
Within a few months, Anthony was used to being called Antonio, his Italian was getting much
better, and his mask making skills were such that Niccolo wanted to set him up with a shop of his
own. And for the first time since he set aside his artistic dreams and went to college, Anthony
Tandino was well and truly happy.
4 -The Peacock and the Firebird
Chapter One
The finishing touches on the cat mask Anthony was working on would have to wait. A whole
passel of American tourists had just come into the shop, and he was going to have to make nice.
Customer service was frankly his least favorite part of the job, but compared to corporate sharks,
New Jersey housewives on holiday were a cinch. Hell, they thought he was cute.
They were very sweet, too, once he explained to them that everything in the shop was handmade
in Venice, not mass produced in Japan, and he showed them the cute little lion masks, made and
signed by Niccolo, because they all liked the idea of something that stood for Venice. They
bought a good bit of stuff, though, and pretty much made his day of sales, and they were looking
for somewhere to eat too, so he was able to recommend the trattoria Annamaria's grandson
owned off the Calle de Racchetta. It was May, and yes they had outdoor seating and yes it was
lovely.
They piled out the door leaving behind a trail of Windsong and laughter. He was laughing
himself at their antics, patting his cheeks and telling him they had daughters, if he ever came
back to the states. He watched them go, and was so distracted that he failed to see the man
standing next to the cash register until he turned back his work table, and it made him nearly
jump out of his skin.
"Buon giorno, signore." Anthony summoned a smile and looked the man over. Nice. Well
dressed, tall, hot as Hell.
"Ciao. You are Anthony, yes?"
"Uh. Yes." The man's English was only faintly accented, very good, actually. Black hair, glossy
and faintly curly, bright eyes of an unusual bluish green framed by coal black lashes, the kind his
sister always said it was so unfair for a man to have, a strong nose and cheeks, they all combined
to make an altogether devastating face.
"Bene. Niccolo sent me to see you."
"Oh?"
His brilliant answers made him grimace inwardly. This man turned him into a blithering idiot
and he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the faint hint of amusement that crinkled up the laugh
5 -The Peacock and the Firebird
lines around those astonishing eyes. Those eyes made him want to start on a new mask, a fantasy
piece of peacock feathers and teal leather. Or maybe it was just his long-shelved libido firing up.
In a big way.
"Si. He said you are the one to help me. I have a rather large order I need by mid-summer.
Niccolo tells me he is busy with the puppets, but you he recommends highly."
Well, that was cool. That Niccolo thought highly enough of him to send a good customer to him.
Or maybe this guy was just a pain in the ass, but he had a feeling that Niccolo would have
warned him if that was the case.
"What sort of order? Would you like to sit down?" Anthony gestured to the stool next to the cash
table, and the man nodded and sat easily.
"Grazie."
"No problem. So what sort of order do you have?"
Anthony moved behind the register and sat as well, a little more comfortable with the suddenly
less formal feel. Sometimes Italy was still as little too dress-up for the American boy in him.
Carefully moving his gatto out of the way, Anthony smiled and waited, leaning lightly on his
desk.
"I am having a Midsummer party at my home here in Venezia. In late June. I will need many
custom masks for my guests, as well as larger masks to be used as decoration. I want unique
designs, fanciful, if you will. Not something I am able to buy off the wall."
Oh, wow. That would be quite a coup for him and his little shop. And Niccolo's assistants would
turn out the usual tourist fare for him if he got behind. He was probably getting ahead of himself,
though. The guy probably wanted five masks, and maybe a few wall hangings.
"How many masks would you need, approximately?"
Oh, that smile was just deadly beautiful. Blinding. Anthony blinked.
"Oh, I will need perhaps one hundred masks. Twenty-five or thirty of them will need to be one of
a kind, made to my specifications. The rest will be split simply between male and female, and I
will leave the design to your imagination. I will also need several full size wall pieces for the
ballroom. Perhaps five? These will need to be quite large."
Anthony tried very hard not to get excited. A lot of people would find out how much custom
work like that cost and buy stuff off the rack instead. A job like that could really make his name,
though, so he'd try his damnedest to make a deal.
"It costs one hundred to three hundred euros for a custom mask of the kind you're talking about,
anywhere from twenty five to fifty for the simpler masks and the wall hangings can run
anywhere from five hundred to a thousand, depending."
6 -The Peacock and the Firebird
"Excellent."
Blinking some more, Anthony nodded. "Um. Okay. I charge fifty percent in advance for molds
and materials, just in case."
"I would expect no less, especially from one of Niccolo's school. Shall we meet Saturday night
after you close at my home so that you may see what sort of wall hangings and custom designs I
require? You can then have the next week to work up sketches and give me an estimate. Will you
come for dinner?"
Feeling a little blindsided, but willing to take the job, Anthony nodded. "Sure. I'll just need your
name, and an address. What time should we meet?"
"You close at 7:30, yes? Shall we say nine?"
"Yes, that would be fine." He'd gotten used to keeping what he thought of as Italian eating hours,
often eating dinner at ten or eleven at night.
"Bene. Here is my card. It has all of the information on it that you require. I will look forward to
meeting with you, Anthony. I can see from your work that you are as talented as Niccolo said."
"I... grazie." He was rewarded with one last blinding smile before the man got up and left, as
quietly as he'd come in. The space inside the shop seemed to swell, like the man's very presence
had soaked up light and air. He flipped over the card the man had handed him. The address
embossed in gold on the Florentine paper was in an exclusive neighborhood, near the church of
San Giacomo dell'Orio, full of historical monuments. The crest beside the name drew a ring of a
far-off bell even if the name was unfamiliar. Anthony would definitely look forward to meeting
Santino Rossi again.
7 -The Peacock and the Firebird
Chapter Two
The last of his customers left at 8:15 on Saturday night, but Anthony wasn't going to complain.
The very nice grandparent-type pair had bought one mask for each of their granddaughters and
one of his one-of-a-kind jesters for their grandson. It was a hefty sale, and if it meant he didn't
get to go home and change before he went to see Mr. Rossi, well, then so be it.
The streets were much quieter when he left than they were when he went to work, the throngs of
tourists blunted by the need to eat. Every trattoria he passed was full, though, the good smells of
wine and pizza and meat drowning out the smell of the canals that were getting a bit more ripe as
the weather got a bit warmer. He took the traghetto at the Ca D'Oro and wended his way through
the pescheria, which was pretty well shut down for the night but still smelled like lemons and
squid, and as always he admired the mermaids and dolphins and larger than life fish on the
window grilles.
From there he turned to the right, following the twisting, narrow streets and small bridges to the
Campo San Giacomo dell'Orio, where musicians were set up, playing Vivaldi. Mr. Rossi's villa
was quite a pile of rocks, set off behind the campo, opposite the church. It was one of the
unpainted marvels of white stone, going from white to dark gray to black, with arched windows
on the façade and deep double-shuttered windows on the sides. The gates were of iron, done in
scrolls that matched the crest on the card in his hand. The winged lion of Venice, with a sea
serpent's tail, repeated in endless loops. The grilles were attached to solid wood doors standing
some eight to ten feet high, the kind he had photographed idly more than once.
Unlike his own converted flat, this gate had only one buzzer, with no label, and he rang it,
expecting an electronic tone to open the gate for him, completely surprised when a uniformed
footman opened it seconds later with a sober, "Buona sera, signore."
"Buona sera. I have an appointment with Signore Rossi."
"Si."
The fellow closed the gate and turned on one heel, smartly gesturing for Anthony to follow,
which he did. He thought the days of having servants were over. He was, apparently, misled. The
courtyard was dark, too dark to see much, but he had the impression of a generous patio and a
large garden, well shaped and manicured. The house was just as impressive close up as it was
from the street, and as the footman let him in, Anthony felt transported to the eighteenth century.
8 -The Peacock and the Firebird
Soaring ceilings with exposed beams showed the house to be older than the decor, but the gilt-
and-paint panels between the beams were reminiscent of the famous gold staircase in the Doge's
palace. The chandeliers were Murano, but the squid was noticeably absent. Exquisite florals and
exceptional figurals abounded. The only other decoration in the entry hall was a hunt board and a
grand gold and plum striped settee with something like six legs. It looked like nothing so much
as a giant centipede. Still, the effect, when combined with the flagged stone floors and grand
stone "outdoor" staircase, was imposing.
"Ah. Anthony. Ciao."
There was his host, appearing from a side door that he would bet was a sort of conservatory, and
those blue eyes shocked just as much the second time as they had the first. There was no
stammer in him this time, though.
"Buona sera, signore. I brought my sketchbooks and also some swatches."
"So ready for business! Excellente. Shall we dine first, though?"
Anthony blushed, feeling chastened. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry."
"Nonsense! There is no need to apologize. If you wish, we can delay dinner and have drinks
while we discuss. Please." Santino led the way up the stairs, which opened into a huge hall,
flanked with set after set of double doors. One set led to a sitting room that seemed much more
intimate than the rest of the house, with small seating groups and floor lamps and a table of
decanters.
"A drink?"
"A campari and soda would be great."
"Certainly."
Before he knew it he had a drink in his hand and they sat across from each other while Santino
chattered. "Do you like the house? It is old, one my family has owned for many generations. The
place was ready to sink and I came and decided to renovate. That is why I wish to host the
midsummer ball this year, instead of my cousin Cecilia. She has a house in Rome that is not even
hers, you know, except by marriage, and she is very proud. It would be nice to upstage her."
Nodding and sipping, Anthony listened, amused as anything by his suddenly house-proud host.
When Santino ran down, he flipped open his sketchbook.
"So what sorts of masks did you want?"
"Oh, my. I want many different kinds. Shall we start with the wall mounted ones?"
They discussed shapes and sizes and detail, and Anthony made several sketches, which caused
Santino to exclaim with delight.
9 -The Peacock and the Firebird
"So talented!"
The sincere admiration warmed Anthony more than anything else might have, and he expounded
on all sorts of ideas based on the winged sea lion theme until a discreet cough interrupted him.
"Dinner, signore."
"Bene. Come, Anthony, and eat with me and we will talk more."
The servant led the way into another set of rooms, through to a dining room that dazzled the eyes
with its pristine tablecloths and crystal drop chandeliers. The enormous table was set with two
places at one end, lit candles giving that corner of the room a warmer glow.
Anthony laughed. "I don't think I've ever eaten in such grandeur. I'll be afraid to drop something
on the table."
"Don't be silly, Antonio. It is just linen. It will wash. Come, sit. We'll have antipasto and I can
tell you all about my famigilia, and what sorts of masks they will wear."
The meal was sumptuous. A simple appetizer of crostini, fat ravioli stuffed with cheese and
almonds, poached chicken with herbs, plus a green salad and some cheese for dessert. All of it
came with good, strong red wine, and Anthony was glad he had gotten used to the Italian habit of
dining over many courses and a couple of hours. Not that he noticed the passage of time. Santino
kept him enthralled with tales of a family that sounded like something out of a soap opera, with
arranged marriages and gay twin cousins and a father that owned a fashion house in Milan. The
family was apparently in to all sorts of businesses and interests and from the sounds of it,
intrigue.
When the clock in the hall outside struck midnight, it came as quite a shock to both of them.
"Allora. I have kept you here so long!" Santino smiled. "And you have not even seen the
ballroom. You must come back soon, so that we may finish the initial consultation."
Anthony found himself smiling back warmly, even though he was clearly being dismissed, and
normally he would be unhappy about having to come back twice to do a simple thing like
preliminary sketches. Santino's company was simply too enjoyable for him to be upset.
"I'd like that."
"Good. So would I. Would you like for my boat to take you home? It is late."
"No, that's fine. It's not far." It wasn't, really. Nothing in the actual city of Venice was far, and
though the traghetto would no longer be running, he could cross at the bridge.
"Are you certain? It will take no time at all."
"No, really. I like to walk."
10 -The Peacock and the Firebird
