City of Flowers Page 11

  ‘No,’ he said, opening his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Giuditta. She seemed quite amused. ‘It doesn’t mean she isn’t there, only that you are not a sculptor.’

  *

  Sulien was still being mysterious when Sky arrived the next morning. It had been easy enough for him to feign tiredness when he had gone to bed in his own world; he had spent a lot of the day fencing and training and Nicholas was a hard master.

  ‘I’m knackered, Mum,’ he had said, scooping Remedy up to take him to bed. ‘Is it all right if I don’t set my alarm?’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Rosalind had replied. ‘I won’t see you till late tomorrow afternoon. Remember I’m having lunch with Laura and she always has a lot of gossip to pass on.’

  Now Sky was wondering what on earth dinner with the Duke would be like and what else was on the agenda besides.

  ‘Come,’ said Sulien. ‘It is time you met another Stravagante.’

  *

  Luciano and Rodolfo were in their lodgings and the older Stravagante had unpacked his mirrors. He was adjusting them now, focusing the first, as always, where he believed his wife to be.

  ‘Silvia does not seem to be in Padavia,’ he said, frowning.

  ‘You know how often she goes to Bellezza,’ said Luciano. ‘She takes awful risks.’

  Rodolfo sighed. ‘It is her nature and always has been.’ He paused. ‘Arianna is very like her, you know. Impetuous, certain her choices are right, and liable to walk into danger.’

  ‘Do you think that’s what she’ll be doing here?’ asked Luciano. He couldn’t forget what it had been like when they had left the Duke in Remora after the death of Falco. Niccolò had been unconscious when they had removed hastily from the city, and this wedding invitation was his first overture to Bellezza since then.

  ‘You know I would not let her do that,’ said Rodolfo. ‘But I shall not always be here to guide her. One day she must learn to make the right choices on her own. I can form my own opinion and advise her about any dangers, but she must be the one who decides if it’s right to come to Giglia or not.’

  Luciano saw the Ducal palace in Bellezza coming into sharp relief in one of the mirrors. Twisting the knobs and levers underneath, Rodolfo roved through the rooms of the palazzo until he found what he was looking for.

  Bingo! thought Luciano, as the mirror showed Arianna, her maid Barbara and Silvia in the Duchessa’s private chamber. They were all looking at something which could not be seen in the mirror, and appeared worried. Rodolfo bent close to the glass surface and then focused another mirror on Leonora’s house in the Piazza San Suliano. Immediately William Dethridge’s large face swam into view.

  ‘Maistre Rudolphe!’ the Elizabethan’s voice crackled. ‘I was juste aboute to seke thee myselfe.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Rodolfo. ‘I have seen both Duchesse and they look worried. Has something happened?’

  *

  Sky couldn’t believe his luck, getting into Giuditta’s bottega. He had been interested in sculpture for a long time but didn’t dare think about studying it, because it would mean a Foundation Year in art school, followed by at least another three years doing a degree, and he didn’t think Rosalind could afford it. Whenever they talked about university, she assumed he’d do a three-year course in a subject like English.

  But as soon as he walked into the bottega, Sky’s heart leapt. He envied the apprentices who worked on their own projects while Giuditta’s monumental work was created under their eyes. The workshop was full of maquettes and copies. In one corner stood a carved wooden angel holding a candle sconce, painted silver. Sky jumped when he looked from the angel to one of the apprentices; he had the same face.

  The floorspace was dominated by a huge block of white stone on which Giuditta was working. She was chiselling furiously at the back of it and Sky wondered if she were making another angel; something very like wings seemed to be emerging. The sculptor’s face appeared round the block of stone, whitened by the dust she was creating. Her hair too was like that of one of her statues, stiff and moulded to her head. When she saw the two friars, she climbed down from her ladder to meet them.

  ‘You have come for your angel?’ she asked Sulien, and Sky had the strangest feeling that if these two Stravaganti had been alone in the room together they would not have bothered to use words.

  ‘And brought you the sky,’ said Sulien. ‘This is Celestino – Brother Tino, we call him. He comes from far away.’

  Giuditta looked at him closely. If it had been anyone else, he would have been embarrassed.

  ‘You have a good face,’ she said, and he suddenly felt his chin grasped by her chalky fingers and his face turned towards the light.

  ‘I like its planes and angles,’ she said. ‘But it is not a monk’s face. And it would be a shame to trim all that hair to a tonsure.’

  Sky felt thoroughly seen through, recognised as a Stravagante and fake friar and one with very unreligious thoughts about girls. But he didn’t mind; Giuditta reminded him of Georgia, in a funny way. She had no small talk, just said what was on her mind. And he knew instinctively that she was honest and reliable.

  ‘I wish I could be your apprentice instead,’ he said truthfully, and was aware of suppressed laughter from the four young men who had downed tools and were watching him with curiosity.

  ‘Art and religion?’ said Giuditta. ‘We don’t separate them here. Come and look at this marble,’ she said, and took him over to the block she had been working on.

  ‘Is it another angel?’ asked Sky.

  ‘No,’ said Giuditta. ‘Those aren’t wings. That’s the Duchessa’s hair and cloak.’ She walked him round to the other side of the statue. ‘Now, put your hands here, about halfway down. Can you sense her?’

  Sky hesitantly put his hands on the marble. He had never seen Arianna but Georgia had told him about her. He guessed that he was touching the marble somewhere at the level of her middle. He expected to imagine sliding his hands round her slim waist, a strangely intimate gesture to make to someone unfamiliar and important, even though it was only a statue.

  He frowned. Clear in his mind was a pair of white hands almost pushing him away. He opened his eyes, unaware that they had been closed till then. He found himself looking straight into the brown gaze of the sculptor.

  ‘She resisted me,’ he said. ‘Her hands are here,’ he indicated, ‘pushing me away.’

  Giuditta smiled. ‘They are resting on a ship’s rail,’ she said. ‘But only I know that, I and the apprentices. And now you too, Brother Tino. I think you must be an artist of our kind.’

  Sulien and Sky carried the wooden angel with its candlestick back to the friary. It was wrapped in a bundle of sacking but still about the size and shape of a person, if you didn’t count the wings. It made Sky feel as though they were carrying a corpse through the streets of Giglia.

  *

  ‘Yt is the dresse,’ said Dethridge. ‘Yt has arrived. And yt is worth a fortune. The Dutchesse asked me to telle thee. She is afeard. And so is her lady mothire. They thinke it bodes ille.’

  Chapter 10

  A Man’s Job

  Sky left Giuditta’s bottega feeling ten feet tall. She really thought he could be a sculptor, like her! And that mattered so much that it took a while for him to realise that they had something else in common: they were both Stravaganti.

  ‘You are quiet,’ said Sulien, smiling, as they carried the angel home. ‘I think our visit has taught you something?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sky, ‘but it just makes me want to find out more. I mean, what does it mean that you and I and Giuditta are all, you know, of the same Brotherhood? You’re a friar, she’s a sculptor, I’m a schoolkid. How does that make us the same and how are we like this mysterious Rodolfo and a boy who used to live in my world? Or Georgia and Falco, who is now Nicholas?’

  ‘Not all Stravaganti are practising scientists,’ said Sulien quietly, checking that they were not
overheard. ‘Rodolfo, yes, and Doctor Dethridge, but many others of us follow other professions. In Remora, for example, there is a Horsemaster, and there is a musician in Volana. But we all know the ones in Bellezza and we communicate by means of a system of mirrors. As for the ones from your world, all we know is that the talismans seem to choose potential Stravaganti who are for some reason not happy there.’

  He stopped and turned from his end of the angel to look in Sky’s face. ‘I feel that was true of you when the talisman found you. But I don’t know if it still is.’

  *

  Rodolfo had asked William Dethridge to visit the Duchessa again and to get her to hold the dress up in front of the mirror in her chamber. He and Luciano were now staring at it.

  ‘She can’t wear that,’ said Luciano decisively. ‘She can’t accept such an expensive present from the Duke. Or anyone, except perhaps you.’

  ‘I couldn’t afford it,’ said Rodolfo grimly. ‘Just look at those jewels! She’s going to be more richly dressed than any of the di Chimici brides.’

  ‘You don’t mean she should wear it to the wedding?’

  ‘I don’t see how she can avoid it, without offending the Duke,’ said Rodolfo. ‘And with things the way they are, we must be very careful not to offend the Duke.’

  ‘Is that why we’re going tonight?’ said Luciano. ‘I really don’t see why we have to go and meet him in his own palace – he might poison us both.’

  ‘He might,’ agreed Rodolfo. ‘He is perfectly capable of it and would have the means, but I don’t think he will. Remember, he is still fascinated by our Brotherhood and he wants to know all our secrets. He is much more likely to torture us than kill us.’

  ‘Great,’ said Luciano. ‘Nothing to worry about there, then.’

  *

  Sandro was waiting back at Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines. He looked rather forlorn, lounging round the Lesser Cloister, watching friars weed the garden.

  ‘No work today?’ asked Sulien.

  Sandro shrugged. ‘Nothing new,’ he said.

  ‘Would you like to do something for me?’ asked Sulien. ‘Brother Tino and I are going to make liqueur.’

  Sandro’s eyes brightened. He would be in the laboratory, which had always fascinated him, and the Eel couldn’t tell him off for that.

  Enrico had asked him to find out what he could about the pharmacist-friar. But Sandro resolved not to tell his master about anything he found out.

  Sulien’s work on his list of formulas was progressing slowly. He was now making a new batch of the liqueur Vignales, for which the friary was famous, and whose recipe was a secret from all except the other friars. Sandro and Sky both felt honoured to be entrusted with even a part of the mystery.

  ‘How do you know how to make it if you don’t have a recipe already?’ asked Sky.

  ‘It has been handed down through several pharmacist-friars to me,’ said Sulien. ‘I made it under the supervision of old Brother Antonino, my predecessor. More than once. But it’s never been written down before.’

  It took hours, filling a sort of cauldron with sugar, alcohol fermented from grapes and the various herbs and spices that Brother Sulien instructed the boys to supply from colourful ceramic jars. It soon became obvious to Sky that Sandro couldn’t read and that Sulien was careful to instruct him in ways he could understand – ‘please bring me the blue jar on the far left of the bottom shelf,’ or ‘the aniseed is in the tall green jar with the pink stopper,’ and so on. To Sky he just said, ‘I need cinnamon,’ or ‘fetch the ginger root.’

  The pile of parchment, with recipes for perfumes, lotions, elixirs, tinctures and tisanes was growing slowly, but Vignales was an important addition. The three worked steadily and quietly for several hours until the cauldron steamed with a thick sticky blue liquid that smelt to Sky a bit like cough mixture. Still, Sulien assured them both that it was a highly prized and expensive drink, and they could certainly attest to the strength of its fumes. Sandro, who had eaten nothing all day, was beginning to stagger.

  ‘Enough,’ said Sulien. ‘We can leave it to cool now and bottle it tomorrow. It must be getting late. Now, Brother Tino and I have to dine with the Duke but you, Sandro, look in need of a meal nearer home. Go to Brother Tullio and say you have been helping me all afternoon and I said to give you something to eat.’

  Sulien took a bottle of the blue Vignales from a shelf. ‘From my previous batch,’ he explained. ‘The Duke will be pleased to get it as a gift.’

  ‘Here’s one I made earlier,’ murmured Sky.

  ‘He’s wonderful, isn’t he?’ Sandro said to Sky, and Sky was surprised that the scruffy urchin, so tough and hard-bitten when they were out exploring the streets of Giglia, was so impressed by the gentle and scholarly friar.

  ‘I thought you said he was a poisoner?’ he whispered.

  ‘I don’t really think he can be, do you?’ Sandro whispered back. And Sky just had time to shake his head before they had to leave for the Via Larga.

  *

  ‘Why are we entertaining these Bellezzan charlatans?’ asked Prince Fabrizio, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his white ruffled shirt. ‘I thought they were our bitter enemies.’

  ‘If you think diplomacy is about entertaining only people you like, then you have learnt nothing from me at all,’ said his father, severely. ‘It is true that Rodolfo is a Stravagante and that there is something sinister about his assistant, as he is calling him now. I haven’t forgotten his involvement in Falco’s death – how could I? But at the moment, we have problems nearer home than the Stravaganti. It was not they who tried to poison me.’

  ‘The Nucci are planning something, I’m sure,’ said Fabrizio. ‘They’ll not let Davide’s death go unavenged for long.’

  Both father and son knew who was responsible for that death but they would not say a word about it, even when alone with other family members. The expression ‘walls have ears’ might have been invented to describe the di Chimici palace in the Via Larga.

  ‘Besides,’ said the Duke, as if he had no thought of the Nucci, ‘I must treat the Duchessa’s Regent with due respect.’

  ‘Huh!’ said Carlo. ‘It’s not as if she showed us much courtesy, turning down Gaetano and rushing away from Remora the minute poor Falco died.’

  Niccolò rounded on him and Carlo wondered if he had gone too far.

  ‘I won’t have a word said against the Duchessa,’ the Duke said. ‘And I shall expect you all to behave to her father with the same civility you would show to the lady.’

  Gaetano remembered how hard he had needed to persuade his father that Arianna had intended no slight either in refusing the offer of a di Chimici marriage or in hastening back to her own city. For himself, he would have no trouble at all in being civil to Luciano, who was his friend, and he had a deep admiration for Rodolfo.

  He couldn’t help wondering what his father was up to.

  *

  Sky felt nervous walking to the di Chimici palazzo with Brother Sulien. It was one thing to explore it with Sandro, which he had done more than once, or to run there in an emergency as on the day Niccolò di Chimici had been poisoned, but to enter it as the Duke’s invited guest was quite another. The guard at the gate ushered them into the courtyard with the bronze Mercury, where another flunkey escorted them to the Duke’s private reception rooms.

  Sky had not seen them before and was overawed. The servant opened the double wooden doors and ushered them into a room more magnificent than anything the twenty-first-century boy had ever seen. But his awe soon turned to fascination. It was obvious that the Duke was a great patron of the arts.

  Every wall was covered in paintings, of the kind Sky’s art teacher had taught him were called trompe l’oeil, ‘eye-deceivers’. Pillars, columns, staircases and balconies all appeared to grow from the walls but were two-dimensional painters’ effects. Gods and goddesses leant from the balconies and nymphs danced round the columns, chased by satyrs. Sky stood open-mouthed until a cultiv
ated voice cut through his reverie.

  ‘I see your novice is a lover of the arts, Brother Sulien,’ the Duke was saying.

  ‘Indeed, your Grace,’ Sulien replied. ‘He is most impressed by all the great beauties of your family’s city.’

  Sky saw that Duke Niccolò was completely recovered. It was the third time he had seen him and he was an impressive figure, tall and well built, with the typical noble features of well-defined cheekbones and a thin bony nose. His white hair and silver beard were cut short and rather suited him. He was dressed in a crimson velvet robe over a lace-trimmed shirt and black breeches, ‘like an aristocratic pirate,’ thought Sky.

  The young princes and the princess were now introduced to the friars, as if they had not met in that mad scramble to save the Duke’s life. As indeed they might not have, so different were they now in their elegant clothes, with their composed manners. Sky soaked up every detail to tell Nicholas back home: Princess Beatrice, so dignified and graceful in her low-cut black satin (still in mourning for her brother), Fabrizio haughty and handsome but perfectly polite, Carlo rather nervous and Gaetano as ugly and charming as ever.

  The Duke led the way into a second equally elaborately decorated room and Sky saw two figures waiting to meet them there.

  ‘May I introduce Senator Rodolfo Rossi, the Regent of Bellezza?’ said the Duke. ‘Senator, I should like to present to you one of our most distinguished scientists, Brother Sulien of Saint-Mary-among-the-Vines – and his novice Celestino. You may have heard what signal service they did me recently when I was indisposed after a poisoner’s attack.’

  There were bows and polite murmurings, even though Rodolfo and Sulien were actually old friends.

  ‘And this is my assistant, Cavaliere Luciano Crinamorte,’ said Rodolfo, presenting him to the two friars. ‘I think that he and Brother Tino are not far apart in age.’

  ‘And close in age to my youngest son, Gaetano, too,’ said the Duke.

  Sky saw the little crease of pain that crossed Niccolò’s face as he hesitated over the word ‘youngest’, but Gaetano quickly corralled him and Luciano and, under the excuse of taking them to admire a fine painting, got them away from the others, while servants brought wine.