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The Fortune Keeper by Deborah Swift
From
Chapter 1
Venice
November
1643
Mia unhooked the clasp and swung her cloak off,
hanging it on the back of a chair. ‘Here, signor. The new Torah, properly bound
at last,’ she placed the book before him like an offering.
‘Ah!’ Signor Bravaggio picked up the top volume and
lifted it towards his nose. ‘There’s nothing I like more than the smell of new
books. Especially Jewish books!’ He inhaled deeply then turned the book in his
hand, weighed it, sniffed it again, then smoothed the surface of the embossing
with his thumb. ‘Beautiful. Your father has done another exceptional job with
the binding. I hate to see these go, but my client is getting impatient, and
won’t wait.’
Bravaggio examined the other volumes and then unlocked
the iron bound coffer that lived in the kneehole under the desk. She paced
around the room examining it for anything new, but turned at the rattle of
coins.
He dropped a jute bag on the table before her. ‘Same
as we agreed,’ he said. ‘Be careful carrying that amount around the streets.’
He withdrew a sheaf of unbound paper from the coffer and flapped it at her.
‘The Trickster of Seville by a monk, Tirso de Molina,’ he said. ‘A play in Spanish, but the translation is
with it. Tell Herr Weber it’s to be set in print and then bound in red calfskin
like the others. And here; the new HaggadĂ , the rite written in everyday Italian.’
He handed her a slim wooden-bound volume. ‘Space for pictures too, if Herr
Weber can find someone brave or foolish enough to carve them.’
‘Not a chance. But Fabio will love binding this
HaggadĂ as much as the play. He reads them all, you know, before he makes the
covers. He’s never been in a synagogue but he’s the best-educated Jew in the
ghetto.’
Bravaggio laughed. ‘He knows a good idea when he sees
one, your father.’
‘I worry he doesn’t go to Mass though; it might raise
questions with the Inquisition.’
‘Don’t even speak of the name. Fabio’s always been his
own man; he’ll be all right. It’s Weber’s good fortune he took him on, or
Weber’d have no print business at all. But here, something else that will
interest you.’ He smiled and passed over a hand-copied manuscript. She read the
frontispiece and saw it was by Girolamo Cardano — an astrological commentary.
She looked up, to see Bravaggio’s amused eyes.
‘Is this what I think it is?’
He laughed; a dry, parched sound. ‘The one that dares
to include a horoscope of Jesus the Galileean? Yes. Cardano lost his
professorship over it.’
‘You’d trust me with this?’
‘As long as you’re careful. It’s not for binding, just
for reading. And I want it back when I return. ’ He tapped his nose. ‘Like the
others, it’s on the Index Librorum
Prohibitorum. If anyone catches you with it, the Inquisitors will want to
know. But knowing your interest in the heavens, I know you’ll be careful.’
‘I wish you’d reconsider and take me as a student,
teach me what you know, signor.’
‘I’ve told you, I’m too old for teaching now. And you
know it’s not possible. Fabio says that your mother doesn’t hold with anything
that even whiffs of a dispute with the church.’
Mia put everything into her calico shoulder bag, along
with the money. ‘Yes, these days Giulia forbids nearly everything.’ She sighed.
‘It makes things hard. But there’s nowhere else I can go. Only the convent. She
frowns every time I get out my charts. When shall I tell Fabio these others
must be finished?’
‘For when I return. I’ll be gone a month, but you
understand it’s not for my benefit, but for the benefit of my Armenian client,
and those awaiting the new thoughts from Madrid. But to some, it’s heresy. So
be careful.’
‘So what’s new? Everything you give me is heresy.
You’d have no business without it.’
Bravaggio chuckled, and wagged his finger at her. ‘Why
do you think I wear gloves? To keep the stink of it off my hands.’
She grinned at him. They understood each other. He
knew she loved coming here, to his library, full of shelved books from floor to
ceiling, and the drawers full of old parchments from antiquity and the fresh
printings of new ideas, like new shoots coming up from the earth. Only to him
could she explain her restless mind, and her obsession with the stars and the
night sky.
Thank you for hosting me!
Deborah
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Website: https://helenhollick.net/
Amazon Author Page: https://viewauthor.at/HelenHollick
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Thank you very much for hosting Deborah Swift today, Helen.
ReplyDeleteTake care,
Cathie xx
The Coffee Pot Book Club
My pleasure :-)
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