The Venice Conspiracy by Jon Trace Page B

water on to the surface to keep it workable, wipes tiny fragments of waste from her blade after every cut and polishes the sharp tip on her tunic.
    Lost in her art, she is oblivious to the daylight fading. The grey ghosts of night start to gather.
    First, a rustling noise. Then the sudden presence of a strange man’s feet.
    Tetia looks up.
    ‘I am Kavie, noble colleague of Magistrate Pesna. We have come to see your husband, Teucer.’
    Tetia shakes back her hair and looks up at the dark-haired and slightly built stranger. ‘He is not here. He is at the home of Larthuza the Healer.’ She notices Kavie is not alone. The magistrate is standing behind him. She gets to her feet and brushes down her tunic.
    Pesna nods an acknowledgement at her. ‘Aah, the sculptress wife. What is it that you are making?’
    Tetia tries to shield it from him. ‘It is nothing. A rough design. Not nearly of fine enough quality to grace your noble eyes.’
    ‘Let me be the judge of that.’
    Tetia doesn’t move. ‘I have many fine vases, plates, statues, urns. I store them outside, behind the kiln. I would be honoured to show you.’
    ‘I’d like you to show me what you are attempting not to.’ He pulls her away from the clay. ‘What piece of fancy can be so important that it must be created while your husband lies ill on the floor of a healer? What muse so powerful that it drives you to work at a time like this instead of being at his side?’
    Pesna stoops to see.
    He notices the lavish intricacy of the etching and kneels. ‘My, but this is good.’ He stretches out a hand. ‘ Very good.’
    ‘Do not touch it!’ Tetia fears she has overstepped her position. ‘ Please , Magistrate, I beg you! It is not finished. It will break if you handle it, and I wish it to be a surprise for my husband.’
    Pesna does everything but touch. He examines it from all angles. ‘It is a rare piece. Perhaps unique. You have a talent, child.’ He lifts his head and stares straight at Tetia. ‘I see many qualities in this visceral work. Explain it to me. What was your intent?’
    Tetia hesitates.
    ‘Come on, girl! I do not have all day.’
    ‘They are visions.’
    ‘Visions?’ He looks intrigued. ‘Extraordinary. Finish it. Make sure you complete it quickly.’
    Kavie bends to take a closer look. He does not share his friend’s love of art and sees nothing visionary. ‘I am no expert, but I think this is not the cheeriest of objects to present to your husband.’
    ‘Indeed.’ Pesna stands up and brushes his knees. ‘It is not suitable for a sick man. When you have finished it, I will buy it from you.’
    ‘I cannot.’ Tetia feels her heart thump. ‘I am sorry. It would not be right for me to sell to you something that I have made for my husband. What would the gods think of me?’
    Pesna claps a hand on the finely robed shoulder of Kavie. ‘She is clever, is she not?’ He turns back to Tetia. ‘I had come here to tell your husband that he is no longer fit to be our netsvis. That his blindness is a divine act of displeasure from the gods and that once the temple is completed he and his wife - you - should seek pastures outside the walls of our settlement. But this—’ he points at the clay, ‘this is the most striking art I have ever seen. My home is filled with beauty, originality, curiosity - the rarest that Greek and Etruscan artists can muster - and this piece belongs there. Indeed, your own husband told me I should acquire more spiritual works.’ He takes one final, stooping look at the clay. ‘To me - this is a positive sign from the deities - a sign that its creator and her husband should also remain near to me. Protected by me. Patronised by me.’
    He moves closer to Tetia. Close enough for her to smell old meat and rough wine on his breath. Close enough for him to hold her chin between his manicured thumb and forefinger and make a bead of sweat roll down her brow.
    ‘So what is it be, young Tetia? Will you make your peace