Tonight’s entertainment is a bloody affair…
To celebrate the launch of Sanguine Sin, Carnevale writer Dave LaPorta is back on TTCommunity with another lore-expanding story.
A BLOODY NIGHT
Guiliana, or the Matron as she was known to her working girls, stood proudly at the head of the meeting, atop a small table so that all her girls could see her. The courtesans had gathered in a loose cluster in front of her, a candle chandelier dimly illuminated the picture gallery room that they stood in. The cheap paintings plastered around seemed almost genuine; imitations of the intricate Roman banquet frescos that could be found adorning the walls of the great Renaissance palaces. The Matron composed herself, securing the hairpin that held her long, red hair in place, before addressing her girls. “Ladies, thank you for coming tonight. I know you have all been busy with your work and being here means you are missing out on clients.” Several courtesans mumbled under their breath before the Matron raised a hand up to silence them. “But rest assured, the rewards of tonight will more than make up for a handful of measly coin.” She gestured to the table separating them and whistled. “Just look at this creature in front of you, poor pet that he is.” The ladies watched as a man dressed in a fine blue jacket was dragged out from underneath the table by a well-built, tall courtesan. Immediately their interests piqued, the group of harlots started towards the man who shrivelled away in fear. Yanking him by a chain, the muscular courtesan soon gained control of the man, slapping him across the face hard to deter any future resistance. The patrician shrunk back in defeat and resignation; his severely bruised face bowing low. “This fine gentleman is known as Dandelo Barbargo, an extremely wealthy man who owns numerous theatres throughout the city. However, he also has a secret, one I suspect he doesn’t want his darling wife to find out. But if you’re a good boy and answer every question I ask, then there’s no reason for her to find out now is there, Dandelo?” The Matron purred, her scheming eyes bearing down on the patrician as if he were no more than dirt. “Dandelo here is part of a notorious masquerata group that meets every few weeks, one of the groups the Prince has targeted. What a fine opportunity to not only impress him and gain favour, but it might finally be time to bring her into the fold. Just think of all the power we’ll gain if we’re able to use the witch!”
A symphony of shrieks echoed around the room as the harlots roused themselves into a frenzy of anticipation. They had waited for this chance for weeks, waiting for the right time to take the power of the Rent for themselves. They just needed a few willing – or unwilling – sacrifices, it mattered not. Regardless, Matron Guiliana knew exactly where to find such a large amount of prey. Taking a long stiletto from her belt, she nimbly jumped off the table, landing next to Dandelo, whose eyes were open wide with fear. Gently caressing his cheek, Guiliana sliced the stiletto across his forearm, expertly missing anything vital. Ignoring the man’s cries of agony, she began to cut him again and again, revelling in delight as his blood splattered across the floor with each slash. “Tell me where and when the next masquerata is being held, and I’ll stop.”
Whimpering, Dandelo tried to say something but spluttered over his words, earning another vicious slice across his thigh by Guiliana. Falling backwards, Dandelo raised his arms in defence. “Stop it, please! I’ll tell you what you want to know, just please stop!”
A wicked smile flashed across Guiliana’s face as she slowly strutted around the room, turning the knife over in her hands. “Where then? Better be quick, those wounds look rather nasty, and it would be a shame if you bled to death.” The courtesans erupted into laughter, like a pack of braying hyenas.
The evening’s festivities had been perfectly arranged: wine, exotic dishes, and dancers. Erico Morosini had even hired the finest classical musicians the city had to offer, his large palazzo bedecked in the finest rugs and tapestries, depicting the glories of the Venetian empire. The victories at Motta and Lepanto taking pride of place on the ceiling of the ballroom. Golden frames housed portraits of the Morosini family, with extra care taken to the family members that had ruled as Doge. Erico had never lived up to his illustrious family’s name, much to the chagrin of his mother who continued to scold him for being a failure. But this masquerata would be where his fortunes changed – this was his chance to impress the other nobles and hopefully win their favour. Yes, things are starting to look up, he thought to himself as he directed servants’ carrying plates of cooked meat. That night Erico had put on his finest clothes: his shoes were decorated with buckles made of gold; his blue jacket inlaid with silver, woven to create an intricate geometric pattern; his rings inlaid with the finest jewels. The guests had begun to arrive at sunset, filling the ballroom with laughter, music and chatter. Erico slid his mask down over his face and mingled with each group of guests in turn, making sure to make himself known to them and trying his hardest to leave a favourable impression. Behind closed doors Erico had even arranged for more depraved activities to take place for his especially debauched guests. He had prepared a special tasting event for that evening, musing that although cannibalism was illegal, it just made it even more exhilarating. He ushered a plump man into the tasting room and took his seat at the head of the large rectangular table, impressed by the sheer variety of foods his cooks had prepared. Erico had spared no expense, and it seemed to have paid off, noticing the delighted expressions of his guests as they tasted the various dishes on display.
The evening was progressing as planned, servants appearing to take away empty plates, only to replace them with new delicacies moments later. Erico watched as his guests had begun to work themselves into a frenzy, hungrily anticipating the main course. Human flesh tasted of pork, Erico had been told, and now it was time to find out for himself. Wiping the crumbs from his chin, Erico clicked his fingers, and his servants quickly re-laid the table with fresh cutlery and plates. This is it, my standing is assured, Erico revelled in the thought as the party awaited their final course. But the wait continued until, after a few minutes, a quiet murmur broke out amongst the guests, some remarking that the service was pitifully slow. They do seem to be taking a while Erico could feel himself turning red from embarrassment. Damn! This will reflect poorly on me if I’m seen to be lax with my servants. I’ll have those cooks flogged for this; everything was going so splendidly! A sudden piercing scream brought Erico back to his senses, and he flew down the hallway towards the balcony to find out what the commotion was. He wrenched open the large double doors to the balcony overlooking the ballroom, expecting to see his servants slacking off. But what met Erico was a scene that could only be described as a nightmare. To his horror, a brutish woman with a club had climbed the stairs and headed straight towards him. Panicking, Erico turned to flee but got caught with a severe blow across his head by another courtesan who had snuck up behind him.
Guiliana stepped over the corpse of a maid who had come at her with a large platter, licking the blood off her stiletto as she scanned the large ballroom. Her courtesans had entered the masquerata easily enough. Taken in as part of the night’s entertainment, they were able to gain admittance and assume their positions, poised to strike with no-one suspecting the wiser. That had made their initial strike all the more savage; taken completely unawares, scores of guests and servants had already been brutally cut down as the courtesans began their bloody sacrifice. Pandemonium ensued, the remaining guests shrieking in terror, trampling one another as they scrambled towards the exit, only to be dragged back in by the muscular escorts that accompanied the courtesans. Guiliana stood in the middle of the ballroom, both her arms outstretched, revelling in the slaughter. Around her the massacre was reaching a crescendo, a dreadful chorus of screams and the clang of metal filling the air. Guiliana slowly turned her head as a large noble in a finely decorated blue jacket was hauled towards her, his white stocks plastered with the blood of his guests. A little lamb being led to slaughter, Guiliana gloated to herself as she stared down at the whimpering wreck of a man who had organised this masquerata.
“Ladies,” she clapped, “it is time to finish the ritual. There is but one more life we must take before we can summon her. How well my girls have done, just look at all the blood we’ve spilled! She can’t deny us any longer – tonight, we summon Baba-Yaga.”
With a lighting slash of her stiletto, the matron sliced the main artery in Erico’s neck before the man could even utter a single word. Clasping at the gaping wound that was now spurting blood, Erico fell to the floor, squirming like a freshly caught fish. Fear, Guiliana thought, fear is what Baba-Yaga wants. Fear and blood. Raising her hands above her head like some macabre performance, Guiliana began to utter the incantation: “with this humble sacrifice I beseech thee, O’ Maiden, Mother and Crone of the unholy trinity, combined into one soul. We call you, witch of forest, to grace us, to play our most important role. We seek your wisdom and would form an alliance – please, heed our goal!”
The courtesans stood silently in anticipation, the only sound coming from the metronomic pattering of blood dripping from their knives onto the floor. Just as the suspense was becoming almost too much to bear, the silent tranquillity was shattered by a piercing cackle that resonated off the walls. The cacophony of laughter climaxed as a large black cauldron, adorned with skulls, appeared in the centre of the ballroom, hovering above the assembled courtesans. Suddenly, the spilt blood began to congeal and was pulled upwards towards the cauldron by some unseen force, creating the illusion of a reverse waterfall. It wasn’t until the last drop of blood had enter the cauldron did a crooked hand appear, grasping the rim. Pulling herself up, Baba-Yaga appeared to the room as a withered, wrinkled old hag, whose matted dirty grey hair fell messily upon her malnourished shoulders. Her nose was crooked and when she smiled at the assembled women, her teeth were as sharp as their stilettos and her breath stank of rotten meat and blood.
“My coven,” she cackled, spreading her arms wide in welcome. “What a bloody night! I see you have summoned me here with quite the sufficient offering. Why have you summoned me here? I was enjoying my rest, but I suppose you seek a reward for the bloodshed.” The courtesans stood in wonder, almost reverence. A few bowed their heads whilst those whose bloodlust had yet to be satiated had even begun cutting themselves.
Guiliana was the only one to hold the witch’s gaze. “Baba-Yaga, we seek an alliance, a pact forged in blood. We seek power, your power. The Guild can turn the tide, I can rise higher within it and maybe even become a Prince.”
Pointing a bent finger at those who had cut themselves, Baba-Yaga whispered something, and their wounds began to heal. “The offering has already been accepted ladies, no need for more blood: I have plenty you see.” She cackled to herself as she splashed some blood out of the cauldron. “Now, to the matter at hand. I have had many names throughout the ages girl: Hecate, Circe, Morgan and most recently Baba-Yaga. Your ambition is little and insignificant to me, a mere speck of dust in the wind, but I believe we can come to an arrangement.”
A shadow fell across her face, her eyes piercing down at Guiliana whose turn it was now to squirm. Reaching outwards with a hand, a sheet of old papyrus wreathed in flame appeared in front of the courtesan leader who took it and began reading. “Of course, there is a price to be paid for sharing my magic,” Baba-Yaga sneered cruelly, “the price is steep my dear, but should you accept, you will know power the likes of which has not been known in centuries.” Baba-Yaga liked saying such things to foolish mortals, ambitious enough to seek her help. They always accepted in the end, the folly of humans knew no bounds – and Baba-Yaga loved the folly of humans. Oh yes, this will be very amusing, she cackled loudly as Guiliana began writing her name in her blood on the contract. Very amusing indeed.