A Songbird's Lament

Chapter 14

Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay, I've been surprisingly busy this summer, but I just got a random boost in motivation and inspiration. I'd like to thank my friend, Artnoodle, who probably isn't on Wattpad, for offering some very valuable constructive criticism and advice this chapter. On a side note, this chapter and the following few take some inspiration from Benedetto Marcello's satirical written work, "Il Teatro alla Moda", which details some operatic practices and 'instructions' for singers. If you get some of the references to it and the one single historical one, let me know in the comments. 

 "Are you ready?" Gaetano asked, lips barely parted as he held Gabriele's hand.

Gabriele nodded, his mouth tight with excitement and a twinge of fear. To quote many a librettist, the sea of his mind roared with the waves of a thousand thoughts.

"Almost," he replied.

"I could always...if you are in pain," Gaetano said, preparing himself to be of aid to his lover.

Sighing and shaking his head, Gabriele fanned his face. Anticipation boiled in his stomach. He hadn't done this in quite a while, he could barely remember the last time. His hands trembled slightly as he bent over, waiting for the pain...

Picking up the fallen sheet music he had been supplied to practice before his first rehearsal, Gabriele winced.

"I must have slept in a bad position," Gabriele said, rubbing his back, "I really must stretch more often,"

"You must, if you are in this much pain," Gabriele said, letting go of Gabriele's hand.

The pair made their way to the lodgings of the composer, crossing bridges and busy, twisting streets. The water in the canals shined brightly that morning.

"Is there anything that I must be warned of?" Gabriele asked.

"About what?" Gaetano asked back.

"I mean, is the composer prone to shouting or any other sort of...simply acting like a fool?" Gabriele said, trying his best to be polite and failing miserably.

"He appears to be rather wealthy, I believe someone must have left him a rather large inheritance," Gaetano replied, "I'd like to be honest and say that he's not pleasant to be around in the least,"

Finally, they had reached the house. It was far too grand for a person of his caliber. Gabriele could hear someone loudly banging away at a harpsichord inside. Gaetano let out an exasperated sigh and knocked.

When there was no answer, Gabriele took the ornate, lion-shaped door knocker and banged it. The metallic scraping of the harpsichord stopped, and there was a shout from another room in the house.

A moment later, the door opened and a maid stood before the pair. Pushing some mousy brown stray hairs off her forehead with the back of her hand, she rested her hand on her hip. Discreetly peering around and behind her, Gabriele saw mahogany furniture and expensive embroidered curtains.

"You both are the singers, I assume?" she asked, her free hand resting on the doorknob.

Gabriele smiled, gripping his sheet music in a hand.

"No, we're tax collectors," he said.

A momentary expression of fear flitted across the maid's face, and then she composed herself, annoyance casting a thin veil over her features. Before she could answer, another voice chimed in from the other room.

"Palmerini, is that you?" a man asked, leaning back from his seat at the harpsichord to see the people on his doorstep.

"Amusing, but I can hear your voice, eunuque," the maid hissed, stepping aside to let them in.