Page 368 - The Grotesque Children's Book

Chapter 64.

My chariot, my dragon!

It turned out that it was not the integrity of the Italian justice system which saved
Carola’s life. (If you thought it was, more pity you and our advice to you is confess to nothing.)
It was actually the ampleness of her bosom and the apricottishness of her cheeks which saved
her. Yes, it was her resemblance to Bianca de Cappello which tipped the scales of justice in her
favor. Bianca herself intervened on behalf of Carola. Bianca recognized the potential usefulness
of having on hand someone who resembled her own royal personage, if only to make silent
appearances on public balconies, waving to crowds celebrating a holiday when she was too tired
or ill to do the waving herself. But perhaps there might come a more sinister use for this girl one
day if Bianca, say, had uncovered an actual, verifiable assassination plot. Bianca could dress the
girl up in some fineries and send her into harm’s way while she, Bianca, tiptoed out the back
way. Very handy, thought Bianca, to keep the girl around. Especially handy to have her in
prison, so I always know where she is. So, you’re welcome, poor dear, your trial might be
postponed for just a little while. And a little while after that. I never was very good with time.

But oh! my jewels, my jewels! Who did take them, I wonder? Not one of my ladies;
they haven’t the courage. Not Allori; he wouldn’t put his children into jeopardy like that.
Someone else. Some rival. Some petty thief. Some Austrian! Yes, some Austrian ambassador,
bent on revenge for Joanna. Though how they got access to my private chambers, now that’s a
matter of betrayal and bribery. And the reason for this is that its innermost power and soul has
become thrown out unto the outermost, and the hidden soul is now revealed and shines through
the pure body as a light through a lantern.

It’s not so much the jewels themselves. Those pearls, why, we can just send another pod
of divers out to dig out more. I’ll miss the great circlet of pearls. I’d grown quite fond of that.
No, let someone else wear the pearls and laugh in secret haughty pride they stole them from me.
Farewell, my pearls, to another you shall go, shall go, to another you shall go.

But my Dragons! Oh, my Red Dragons! I grow weaker without them. They were my
strength, my eyes! The one jewel pendant round my neck, a red oval, a red mandorla, keeping
watch over me, guarding me. My chariot, my dragon! Contiguous to the Orb of the Moon, and
to blend with a quantity of each of the three other Elements, to compose every mixed body, upon
whose resolution the Fire presents us with Fire, and Earth, and the rest. Count then my Mandrola
above all on the fleckless labor, digestions and distillations!

And my other dragon, my powder, my vigilance against surprise assassins. On my
Forehead you perched, my friend, my guardian demon. Ready at a moment’s unclasping, my
locket, my antidote, my day beauty, to mix into water or wine and drink, my invulnerability,
stolen, stolen! In this hour, then, they can have at me! Shh, do not tell them, my dragon, you are
in the wild. Keep quiet my ruby, keep quiet my powder. Into whose hands you are now

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